I swallow hard—fear edging into my mind. “Not without my father.”
Oshhe sits on the grass beneath the tree where Majka and Kira were only moments ago—a pile of milk candies on his lap. “You will know when the right time comes.”
I’m relieved that my father is here. There’s a promise beneath his words—that one day, we’ll return to lazy afternoons in the gardens. One day, things will be normal again. He’ll go back to running his shop, and I’ll come to help him.
I can’t hide in this dream any longer. I must find my way out of the darkness. The dream sputters and groans, pushing me into another illusion, trying to chain me here. I’m in the desert, following a trail of dead nighthawks. Their broken wings and split bones flow like a river up to the gates of the villa.
Magic coats me with an oily residue that clings to my flesh. I’ve wished for magic all my life and once I had a taste, I couldn’t wait to rid myself of it. The irony of it twists in my belly. Grandmother once told me that our greatest power lies not in our magic, but in our hearts. I thought she was trying to placate me, but no, she understood the importance of knowing one’s strength. With or without magic, my power lies in my mind, my decisions, even in my mistakes.
Once I take two steps into the garden, it plunges into darkness. I force myself to keep going. Beyond the gate, it’s still midday. Beyond the gate is the place of dreams. This place is something else. It’s a manifestation of where the orishas imprisoned the demons. My unconscious mind clings to it, stuck between life and death.
I trudge forward, every step labored. I’m unable to see the villa, only unending darkness that bleeds into my eyes. A weight presses against my skin to keep me from returning home. The darkness means to keep my ka here—lost like a leaf on the wind.
The darkness is something else too. It manifests into endless people crowded around me like a pit of writhing serpents. Men, women, and children covered in white ash like Tribe Litho.
They screech in agitation and the sound scrapes against my mind. I cover my ears, but it does no good. Their screams are inside my head. I’m in this place, and this place is in me.
The villa is my body—the brown stone, the asymmetrical shape, the arched entranceway. They’re all pieces of me.
With my teeth gritted, I wade through the bodies and dozens of hands reach for me—smearing their hot ash everywhere they touch. My racing heartbeat echoes in the darkness, but I keep my focus. In this place, my mind is all I have.
I push and shove.
They clasp my shoulders and arms.
“Don’t go,” they whisper.
I elbow and duck.
They block my path.
“Stay with us,” they plead.
A woman with braids stacked atop her head like a crown beckons to me from the door to the villa. It isn’t Grandmother; she’s much taller and not quite as slight. Arti is shorter, her form fuller like all Tribe Mulani women. It’s not Terra or Essnai or Kira either. The woman is my guide. She’s my cord to the living. She’s my path back to my body.
I won’t let this be the end of me.
Sweat pours from my forehead by the time I’m through the tribe. It isn’t until we’re standing close to each other that the shadows lift from the woman’s form, and I realize: she is me. I’m her.
Although she is young, she looks tired and worn, and her skin is sallow. But she smiles. A weary smile. A warm smile. I shake off the last hands holding me back and reach for her. When we touch, she inhales a sharp breath.
I stand in her place now, looking upon the people in the dark with their hollow cheeks and sunken shoulders. They stare at me with sad eyes that glow with the mark of demons. They open their arms to invite me back into their fold, their collective plea a chorus on a dead wind. Koré told me that the demons here take bits and pieces of your soul, but these demons are different from the depraved ones that taunted me in the desert. I almost pity them, until I remind myself why the orishas trapped them here.
“You will not have my soul,” I say to the demons. “I promise you that.”
When I awake from that place of dreams and nightmares, Arti is at my bedside. She’s nursing a baby and startles when I move. The child looks to be six months or more. The ritual shouldn’t have knocked me out more than a few days, but it’s hard to tell how much time has passed when time has no meaning here.
Arti is gaunt with dark circles under her eyes. She sighs and the tension melts from her shoulders. There’s no mistaking her relief at seeing me alive. “I keep underestimating you, daughter,” she says, drawing her lips tight. “I won’t do that again.”
My mouth is too dry to answer, my tongue too tired to move, and I can’t stop staring at the child. She has our mother’s golden honey complexion and wild black curls. Her green eyes shine with an insatiable appetite that rivals our mother’s too. She gurgles. Actually gurgles like a normal baby. Had I not seen the deeds that brought her into existence, I’d think that she’s like every other six-month-old. I’d cradle her in my arms, glad to have a little sister.
Efiya, Efiya, Efiya. The invisible demons crowding the room sing her name.
I’m weak for now. It’ll take time to build up my strength again.
But when I do, I will kill my sister.
Twenty-Six
Efiya’s wistful cries drift into my room as Arti paces the hallway to calm her. She’s been like this the whole day, and no amount of walking or cuddling seems to help. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I’m grateful that she’s keeping our mother busy. Even the demons in the walls fall silent in the wake of her despair. As far as I can tell, Arti has done nothing save for answer to Efiya’s every whim. Her plan to unleash the Demon King’s ka is on hold for now, and I intend to make sure it stays that way.
My head throbs, and I want to escape to the gardens to think. But though it’s been days since I woke from the ritual, I’m still too weak to get out of bed. I strain to move my legs again and spasms tear through my spine. I slump against the pillows. Outside my window the sun is overcast; the clouds ripe for a storm. In Tamar, the sky is like this during Osesé—when cool winds wrap around the city and rain floods the Serpent River. We left the Kingdom in the middle of Ooruni, which means that I’ve missed a whole season between the two. Koré warned me about Kefu, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
Not for the first time, my mind falls on Grandmother and the other edam. I don’t know if a day or a year has passed for the rest of the world, but I wonder why they haven’t come yet. Koré can’t expect me to delay Arti for long, not with how fast Efiya is growing. Not that I’ve been able to distract my mother when she’s so preoccupied with . . . my sister.
At nightfall, Ty sweeps into my room with a tray in her arms, and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. I hope it isn’t lukewarm broth or tepid water again. I peer past her into the hall as Arti rocks Efiya against her chest, stroking her curly hair. A pang of longing moves through me, and I bite my tongue. Ty smiles. She’s been in a good mood since the ritual. Having a new baby in the house has lifted her spirits.
“Hello Ty.” I return her smile. Despite everything that’s happened, I’m glad that she’s well. I straighten my back against the headboard before I catch one of her disapproving hisses. At least I can do that on my own now. It was worse the first days after the ritual when Ty and Terra had to prop me upright and feed me because I couldn’t move. Neither complained, and I was grateful for that too.