Koré gave no sign that the other orishas are doing anything to help. The sun orisha Re’Mec with his ostrich feathers, ram horns, and eyes made of fire. Essi, the sky god. Nana, the world shaper. Mouran, the roar of the sea. Sisi, the breath of fire. Yookulu, the weaver of seasons. Kiva, the protector. Oma, the dreamer. Kekiyé, the shadow of gratitude. Ugeniou, the harvester. Fayouma, the mother. Fram, the balancer.
I imagine they look like their statues, but no, that must be only one of their endless manifestations. Koré appeared to me in two forms, neither exactly like her statue. I hope that they’re doing something to help the edam, for with each moment that passes, I doubt myself more.
Blisters cover my feet by the time we reach the sand-swept villa that is to be our new home. Terra’s face is scarlet from the sun. The others haven’t fared any better. There is magic here too, and as soon as we’re inside the granite wall, time shifts, and we’re in the early evening hours. Terra gasps, and Nezi whispers something to Ty. I press my lips together. My mother will not have the satisfaction of any reaction from me.
Inside the wall, ducks float among lily pads and lotus blossoms in the middle of a pond. Palm and nehet trees glisten in the moonlight, healthier than any tree ought to be in the desert. Beds of lilies, daisies, and roses fill the garden. Birdsong breaks the silence.
When Arti climbs from the litter, we stop cold, unable to trust our own eyes. Terra clutches her donkey’s lead rope so hard that her knuckles turn white. Nezi and Ty busy their eyes elsewhere. I cradle my belly as a whimper escapes my lips. Had they not understood before, they understand now. There’s no going back. No return to normal, or in our lives what passed as normal. My father doesn’t react to the change in Arti, and the laborers seem to not notice or care.
Koré’s message from earlier taunts me. You must do whatever you can to delay your mother. It plays in my mind like a broken harmony as bile burns a trail up my throat. Under better circumstances, I’d laugh at the irony, but I can’t even breathe as I stare at my mother’s belly. It’s thrice the size it was when we left Tamar. Growing so fast. The child will soon be born.
Part III
She tastes of firestorms and ashes,
Of new beginnings and endings.
She is the monster stalking the dark,
The savior guarding the light.
She sleeps in a pit of vipers and fire,
And awakes in a windstorm of fury.
—Song of the Unnamed
Twenty-Four
The donkeys stamp their hooves and back away from my mother. Her gaze sweeps over the lot of us, her forehead slicked with sweat. She takes one step and falters. My heart lurches as the curse relents again. My father, Ty, and Nezi rush to Arti’s side.
Terra stares at me with eyes stretched wide, the lead rope wound tight around her hand. She opens her mouth to speak, and I shake my head. I realize now that like me, she had no idea what was going on in our household.
“I need rest,” Arti grunts, still hunched over. “The child stirs.”
Oshhe and Ty walk with her across the courtyard and gardens to the arched entrance of the two-story villa. Nezi stays behind to oversee the laborers unloading the donkeys. I slip the box of scrolls into a sack and throw the strap across my shoulder. I can’t risk someone discovering them.
The laborers spend hours carrying our possessions into the villa. Like earlier when the day stretched on far too long, night is never-ending. Perpetual darkness blankets the sky, and all the lights in the villa come to life on their own. The magic is simple, but here I don’t trust it. I stay with Terra in the kitchen, so neither of us is ever alone, although that won’t last beyond tonight.
“How . . .” She lets her question hang in the air between us.
With the tethers of the curse slack, I could reveal the truth about Arti, but I don’t want to drag Terra any deeper into my family’s troubles. There’s still a chance that she’s under my mother’s influence too, whether she knows it or not.
Two of the laborers pass by the kitchen, heaving a large crate down the hall. “Ty likes you.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Get her to convince my mother to release your contract. Tell her you’re homesick, that you miss your family. Say whatever it takes.”
Terra hugs an arm around her stomach. “I’ve been thinking about some things since the banishment . . .”
I cut her off. “If Arti won’t release your contract, do your work, keep to yourself, be invisible. As soon as you get the chance, run away and don’t look back.”
Tears streak through the dust on her cheeks from the trek across the desert, and my heart aches for her. “I’m scared, Arrah.”
I clasp her shoulder, remembering all the times she bustled around my room in the mornings. Her plopping down on my bed to dish out the latest gossip, or sharing news of her family. She doesn’t deserve to be stuck in this gods-awful place. “I’m afraid too,” I admit as Ty sweeps into the kitchen. Both Terra and I startle, and Ty raises her eyebrows to ask what’s wrong. The answer should be obvious.
“I’m going to rest.” I cast Terra a look that I hope she understands. Be invisible. “You should get some rest too. We have plenty of time to unpack.” Or no time at all—it doesn’t matter in this place where time is so fickle.
My new room—unfortunately—is down the hall from my parents’ on the second level. My legs tremble as I climb the steps, and my feet are on fire from walking all day. Once I’m inside the room, jars of oil on a table flare to life. I sense greedy eyes on me, demons’ eyes, like the moment before Shezmu possessed my father. Except more intense this time. It’s hard to breathe, knowing that the demons are here too, outside my perception. I try to ignore the panic racing through my body, but it’s impossible.
There had been a heavy curtain around my bed at our old villa, one of the many Mulani touches, but not here. There are no dancers on the hallway wall, leaping and twisting to unknowable songs. No salon with a low table and colorful pillows to sit upon. No courtyard teeming with medicinals for my father’s shop. No sneaking off to meet Rudjek by the Serpent River. No visiting Essnai at her mother’s dress shop or Sukar teasing me to no end. No more witty banter between Majka and Kira. The villa is sparse and cold, filled with stiff high-back chairs, rough stone columns, and vaulted ceilings. It’s nothing like home.
I wash before climbing into bed with the box of scrolls and bones. I’m reluctant to open it here, but I’m desperate and don’t think there will be anywhere else more private in the villa. My hands shake as I remove the two scrolls and spread the bones on the bed. The rituals are written in Aatiri, and it takes me a moment to fall into the rhythm of the language again. The first scroll has instructions on breaking bindings and curses. The second one calls upon the ancestors for help.
As I reread the first scroll—more carefully this time—demon magic washes over me like a cool spring. I can’t lose myself, not like on the ship. I can’t let it lure me away from the task at hand. Not again. How easy it would be to embrace it, to give in, to let it merge with my soul. That’s what it wants. It’s not satisfied with Arti’s curse. It wants all of me. I close my eyes, falling a little deeper. It’s hard to resist the temptation. The magic feels like a part of myself that I hadn’t known was missing until now. I want to let go, to sink into the promise that it will always protect me. No. I can’t fall into this trap.