Rudjek’s shotels slip from his hands in a silent thud as he drops to his knees.
I scream in my ka and the trees in the forest tremble, and I scream in the room and Sukar’s masks crack in two. Rudjek, oh gods, no.
I blink, and he’s lying in a pool of blood. The craven crouches over him, its black eyes examining Rudjek like he’s some curious thing. It dangles his family crest on one of its claws.
“Here lies Rudjek Omari.” He coughs up blood. “The one to put an end to the Omari legacy.”
My foolish, foolish Rudjek. Only he would make jokes on the edge of death.
He falls still.
I lash out at the craven, but even with all this power, I can’t reach the past. A veil separates me from it. I push my ka so hard that my tether starts to tear from my body and pierce the veil—pierce time itself. I don’t care what will happen if it breaks. I’ll lose myself in the spirit world forever, or I’ll die, but not before I rip out the craven’s throat.
I’m almost free when a dozen cravens step into the clearing. They peer up to where I’m floating above the tree line, and their anti-magic sends me back to the present. I land inside my body so hard that my back slams against the door. Chest burning, I lie on the cold floor, weeping for my friend.
Part IV
For her story begins at the end,
Full of pain and sweet revenge.
For she shall not rest in this life,
For she must suffer for her sins.
—Song of the Unnamed
Re’mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King
I want to tell you a story about a Tamaran man who walked into a forest and died.
No, this story isn’t about you. Yes, you’re dying and yes, you’re in the Dark Forest, but this is about another man. Are you always this insufferable, Rudjek?
Where was I? Yes. The man lived in a time when a single king thought himself the lord of all the lands. He sent his army into places that did not belong to him and took things that were not meant for him. When he finished warring with the people of the North, he turned to the tribes. But the tribes were clever. They offered him magic and he took them into his council.
The king had riches beyond his wildest dreams, but he still wanted more. He heard of the fertile lands beyond the southernmost valley bordering his kingdom. The witchdoctors warned him that an orisha protected that land. The fool did not listen, of course. Fools never do.
Who am I? I’m Re’Mec. The cravens are my wards.
You noticed! Yes, I’m Tam too. It’s short for Tamar, which is another of my names.
The cravens gave you that nasty wound, but they had good reason. You’ll see.
On with the story.
The king commanded his cousin, Oshin Omari, to take the land by force. Oshin and his army arrived in the valley at sunset. His men retired for the night to rest before battle. Half kept watch while the others slept. When the second shift woke to relieve their comrades, they found their heads on stakes. No one had heard a thing. Not even a whisper.
Oshin, having had too much to drink and too little sleep, decided to charge into the forest on his own. By now you already know he’s a fool, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise.
Yes, I know he’s your ancestor. Why do you think I’m telling you this story? I know who you are, Rudjek Omari. Better than you know yourself.
Here’s the version of the story that you’ve accepted as true. Though if you take half a mind to think about it, you’d know it couldn’t be.
Oshin Omari marched into the Dark Forest alone to find the cravens unawares. Like the honorable warrior he claimed to be, he made his presence known. The cravens wanted to tear away his flesh with their teeth and claws, but their elder was so impressed by his courage that she challenged him to a fight to the death.
As the story goes, Oshin Omari bested the elder with his shotels.
Seeing that a mere human had beaten the strongest of them, the cravens conceded to his prowess. They vowed never to attack the Kingdom so long as the army stayed away from the Dark Forest. Oshin agreed to these terms.
This next part is debatable. Some claim he made it up to win his cousin’s favor.
When Oshin left the forest, he took the elder’s body as a souvenir. He used her bones to make trinkets that his family passed down from generation to generation. The bones protect their wearers from the influence of magic.
Most of that story isn’t true. Except the part about the bones.
Cravens are anti-magic. I made them that way.
Do you want the truth, Rudjek? Not the story?
I promise you the truth is much more interesting than the lie.
Thirty-Three
Between sobs, I tell Essnai and Sukar what I saw in the vision of Rudjek. The room trembles, more masks falling and cracking as the magic responds to my anguish. Essnai forces me to drink red bush tea spiced with snakeweed to calm me. It’s effective, but my father would have steeped a matay leaf in the tea so sleep would come faster. Thinking of him makes me that much more miserable. My mind drifts in and out of sleep the whole day and half the night. I dream of Rudjek stretched out on a blanket by the Serpent River. Him palming his shotels with a foolish grin. Me in a panic, searching for him in the East Market. Him lying still in a clearing in a forest of forever night, a pool of blood spreading from his wounds.
“Let me go,” Rudjek’s deep timbre echoes in my dream.
“Arrah,” another voice purrs, one that is warm air on a perfect day and wraps around me.
The chieftains’ memories tangle in my head, too. They tell me their stories.
The Litho chieftain, a man of many vices and an affinity for taking lives.
The Mulani chieftain, Arti’s cousin, who served her people faithfully.
The Zu chieftain, the greatest scrivener of his people, lover of men and wine.
The Kes chieftain, a man who lived most of his life traveling the spirit world.
The Aatiri chieftain—Grandmother—who loved deeply and led with an iron fist.
They’re a part of me. Their memories, their hopes and dreams. Their secrets, truths, and lies twist in my head until they ring in my ears as loud as morning bells. I bolt upright in bed, their voices teeming on the edge of my mind. I’m drowsy from the tea, but it hasn’t dulled the pain—nothing will do that. Rudjek is gone, and there’s a hole in my heart that throbs like a toothache. Some part of me would be content to stay in this room while the rest of the world burns, but no, I can’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself. With the chieftains’ magic, I have a chance to do something useful for once. There has to be a reason that Koré sent me to the Temple. It must have something to do with the low hum of magic in the courtyard.
I climb out of Sukar’s bed and go to the basin to splash water on my face, but it’s empty. I avoid the mirror—afraid of what I’ll see. Sukar and Essnai have lit the torches down the hallway outside the room. I pad down the long ingress, and peek into the communal barracks. Favorite attendants like Sukar got their own rooms, but most of them shared quarters. My friends aren’t there. I try to reach out with my mind, but I’m too tired and the magic fizzles.
Sukar pokes his head from the kitchen down the hallway. “I thought that was you.”
He leans against the doorway. His tattoos have rearranged themselves back into their original position. Raised tiger claws settle on his cheeks and bars stretch across his forehead again. “It was getting late, so we didn’t want to wake you.” He pushes away from the wall. “You okay?”