There’s no air in the void, but I don’t need to breathe. There are only the countless threads that connect everything like an intricate tapestry. At once I’m in my dark room in the villa and on the edge of a precipice where Tyrek, the Almighty One’s youngest son, sits overlooking the sea. I take one step forward and my sandal lands on rocky terrain.
The wind blows against my back, threatening to push me over the edge of the cliff. It would be interesting to fall and break every bone. One day I’ll try it, but today I have work to do. I could kill Jerek myself—rip off his little protection trinkets and shove them down his throat—but there’s no fun in that . . . no finesse. I will make his own son kill him.
One day I’ll kill my sister too and that makes me sad.
Twenty-Eight
Efiya is missing. It’s hard to tell how long she’s been gone, with the way time passes in Kefu. It could be days, or it could be much longer. Even in her absence, she leaves a piece of herself behind. It’s nothing I can see, only feel. A chill that creeps down my back in the heart of day, or a breeze so sweet that it makes my stomach ache.
I pace around the gardens to calm my nerves, but it doesn’t help. I keep expecting to see her little face poke from behind a tree. I wish things could be different. But I can’t forget that she turned children into ndzumbi and released a demon from its prison. The mangy ginger cat is gone too. Terra and I have searched up and down for him.
I pass by Nezi tilling the soil in the vegetable garden. She’s been at it all day without rest. Even though she’s covered in dirt, I still see the red welts on the back of her hands. I keep walking. I haven’t been able to face her since the first time the children came to the villa. Ty has been avoiding her too. I find our matron standing in the kitchen door, staring at the wall that surrounds the outer edge of the gardens. She wrings a dirty dishrag in her hands. Terra is next to the well, washing clothes in a barrel, scrubbing so hard that her fingers must be raw. She doesn’t talk either. None of us do. We wait.
At least Efiya released her control over the children. One day in the middle of running in the gardens with them, she said she didn’t want to play anymore. On her command they snapped out of their trances. The younger ones began to cry. Terra and I took them home to parents who hadn’t even known they were missing, because of Efiya’s magic.
The children who came from the streets, I put on a barge headed for Tamar with a letter addressed to the orphanage. I stopped myself again from sending a letter to Rudjek. It was harder the second time. I can’t say how long we’ve been in Kefu. Sometimes it seems like years have passed and sometimes mere bells. Sometimes the sky doesn’t change for days. The eye of Re’Mec tilts at an angle like it’s about to spill lava from its mouth. The thought of years passing in the rest of the world makes me anxious. Rudjek could be fully grown by now. Essnai and Sukar, Majka and Kira too. Would they forget me, or hate me because I haven’t written? Either way, now that I’ve seen Efiya’s powers, I know that I can never ask my friends to come here. I couldn’t live with knowing what would happen.
And the edam. What’s become of them and their plan? Something must have gone wrong, otherwise Grandmother would be here by now. Oshhe sits cross-legged on the second-level wraparound balcony with his eyes closed. Even though I would give more of my years without regret to free my father, the risk is too great. If I fall into another deep sleep, Efiya could release the Demon King and I would’ve done nothing to stop her. I bite back my tears and they ball up inside me, brewing and swelling like tides, aching to break free.
Heka showed me a mountain of broken bodies piled so high that they reached the edge of the sky. Blood rained down on the Kingdom. Puddles turned into lakes and lakes into raging rivers. I can’t let that happen.
“I’m sorry, Father.” I press my hand to my heart. “I’m breaking my promise again.”
Arti paces back and forth on the balcony. At night, she stalks up and down the hall, waiting for Efiya to come home. She’s been more agitated than usual, so Efiya must’ve left without telling her either. If so, then what new perverse thing has captured my sister’s attention? After she turned children into ndzumbi, I can’t fathom what else she’s capable of. I’m worried that she’ll do something even worse.
I stop turning in circles and sit with my back against the nehet tree closest to the pond, alone save for the ducks. I’m waiting for a good moment to dig up the ancestor bones I buried here before the ritual. No telling how many years this next ritual will take from me, and no guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s worth a try. The ancestors are our link between the living and the ascended, and we call upon them for help and guidance. Before, Oshhe often called them through dream visions and Grandmother read their bones to see the future. I will use their bones in a different way. I’ll use them to call my ancestors across time to join with me if they choose to answer. Now I wait for Efiya. My plan depends upon her presence.
Since she’s been gone, the demons in the walls whisper in my ear at night, calling me ndzumbi because I’ve given up so many of my years to magic. They say that I don’t have enough life to give for another ritual. They say that I’m as good as dead, but I don’t care. I don’t want to die, but if trading my years means I can stop Arti and Efiya, then I’ll do it again.
I convince myself that I’ll know if she releases the Demon King because I’ve felt his magic before. It was at once a calming force and a raging fire inside me; it protected me, it almost seduced me. His magic gave me the one thing that I’ve always wanted. No longer was I the charlatan daughter born of two powerful witchdoctors, desperate for magic. Arti had in fact given me a gift in her own twisted way—magic that answered to me without question, and without having to trade my years. It’s gone now, and I miss it.
Efiya’s presence pricks against my skin, and she steps out of thin air in front of me. I jump to my feet, refusing to believe my own eyes. My sister . . . she’s . . . My mind tries to make sense of the girl standing face-to-face with me, no longer a child. She’s the very spitting image of our mother, but even more beautiful. She’s like the orisha statues at the Temple—hard to look at too long. If the Unnamed orisha was unremarkable, then Efiya is on the other end of the spectrum. She’s as old as me now.
I drop down on the grass again, breathless. “You’re back.”
“Did you miss me?” Efiya’s words flow like the sweetest song, her voice all grown-up.
I tighten my arms around my knees but don’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. She smiles at my clenched fists. She knows that I fear her whims. It was only a little while ago that she delivered her first nasty surprise.
“Are you well, Arrah?” she asks, sitting down across from me. “You look a little ill.”
Her magic scrapes my mind like cat claws against stone. She doesn’t let her frustration show when she’s met with a barrier that she cannot penetrate. I allow myself the smallest smile. My mind is still my own. Even if it’s nothing compared to the demon magic or my sister’s, it’s something that will always be my one advantage over her. Something that will always be truly mine. “Quite well,” I grumble.