Rena Barron - Kingdom of Souls

I didn’t know at the time what she’d done, but my father explained it to me after we returned home. In his shop one day, I asked if the charlatans in the market were like the woman in the desert. The ones who looked like they had one foot in life and the other in death. He said that some tribal people without magic had learned how to trade years of their lives to possess it. Upon finding this out, I bounced on the balls of my feet with excitement, because it meant I could have magic too. Oshhe squeezed my cheeks between his big hands. ‘No magic is worth your life, Little Priestess. That is not our way.’

He stared into my eyes, his expression so serious and grave that the excitement fled as fast as it had come. ‘Promise me you’ll never do anything like that, no matter what.’ His deep voice echoed in his shop. ‘Promise me, daughter.’

‘But why, Father?’ I said, jutting out my bottom lip.

My father sighed, his patience waning. ‘When you barter your years for magic, it takes of you what it will. It does not matter the complexity of the ritual, spell, or charm. There’s no way to tell until it’s too late. Even I cannot reverse the damage that comes from such foolishness.’

Magic has a price if you’re willing to pay.

I, in fact, am not willing to pay. If I can’t have magic gifted to me, I’ll do without. I still have my pride, and that means something. I lift my chin and face Arti.

‘Is there a reason you’ve come to see me this fine morning, Mother?’ I say, my jaw set. ‘I need to get ready for my lessons.’

Arti glances up at that, her face impassive. It’s a wonder my parents ended up together. Oshhe is full of stories and laughter while my mother is sharp-tongued and efficient . I have to believe that once she was warmer, long before she became the third-most powerful person in the Kingdom.

‘Suran plans to name his youngest son his heir at the assembly today.’ Arti folds her arms behind her back and begins to pace. ‘Not that he has much choice, since the other two are an embarrassment to the so-called Omari legacy.’

I clutch the tunic against my chest as if it can protect me from the animosity in her voice. It’s no secret that the Vizier and my mother hate each other. ‘Is that so?’ I say, forcing my voice to sound bored and uninterested.

The Vizier is the right hand of the Almighty One. He governs the Kingdom. As head of the Almighty Temple, my mother is the voice of the orishas. It’s said that Re’Mec himself visits the seers on occasion – when the mood strikes – but Arti never speaks of it. Because the seers come from the tribes, she also oversees trade with the tribal lands. Relations with all other countries, such as Estheria, Yöom, and the North, fall under the Vizier’s domain.

‘Two can play Suran’s game,’ Arti says. ‘You will attend the assembly with me.’

‘But why?’ I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue. It goes without saying that I have no place or reason to be there. I’ve never dreamed of being Ka -Priestess one day. Even so, it hurts knowing that without magic I’d never even be considered.

The Almighty One hand-picks the Vizier and Ka -Priestess. The title of Vizier always falls to an Omari, close cousins of the royal family. As for the Ka -Priest or Ka -Priestess, the Almighty One chooses the most powerful of the seers. It’s a small mercy that my mother’s position isn’t a birthright, or I’d be an embarrassing end to our family legacy. ‘We will make a statement of our own,’ Arti says on her way out. ‘Be ready at half bell to ten.’

‘But …’ I protest.

My mother pauses in the doorway with her back to me. ‘Did you say something, Arrah?’

What’s one more slight to add to a treasure trove of them? ‘No, Mother.’

Once a month, the leaders of the Kingdom meet to debate taxes and tariffs and new decrees. The Almighty One and his two sons, Crown Prince Darnek and his younger brother, Tyrek, the Vizier and his four guildmasters, and my mother with the four other seers from the Temple. When I go to the assembly with Essnai and Sukar, it’s fun, but I dread attending with my mother.

With Arti gone, I slip into the sheath, admiring the splash of bright beads that run from the neckline to the hem. It’s fitted through the hips, flaring just below my knees. I loop the belt low around my waist and toe on the sandals. Although it’s quite pretty, I prefer my trousers. They have pockets.

While I’m adjusting the sheath in the mirror, Terra strolls into my room with a jewelled box tucked under her arm. She smiles, her freckles standing out against her tan skin. She looks regal with her golden hair done up in braids. It’s nice to have someone my age in the villa. There’s never a dull moment with her. She collects gossip like some people collect figurines.

‘I bet Ty gave you a scare,’ Terra says, her voice bright and musical.

‘You could’ve warned me,’ I grumble. ‘She was in a mood this morning.’

At that, Terra descends upon me with a little too much gleam in her eyes, like I’m a plaything to mould to her wishes. She massages oil into my scalp before twisting my braids into an elaborate crown with strings of pearls woven between the strands. While I can’t deny it’s beautiful, it’s also very heavy. Terra spends what feels like forever powdering my face in shades of golds and silvers. When she’s done, she grins at her handiwork and rushes me outside. Nezi has already opened the gate, and the litter waits in front of it. Eight men stand with their eyes downcast, the sun glistening off their brown skin.

The red curtains are half-drawn, and my mother waits inside. I swallow hard and join her. The compartment is cool and smells of wood polish laced with her sweet perfume. We sit facing each other, but Arti doesn’t see me. Her eyes are vacant as she stares into a corner. She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t stir when Nezi commands the labourers to proceed.

‘Get going now,’ our porter yells, ‘and take care with them.’ There’s a subtle ‘or else’ in Nezi’s voice, a warning. I wouldn’t put it past her, if an accident were to befall us, to personally seek retribution.

The men lift on three, and we’re on our way. Our villa sits on the north edge of the district, among other fine estates owned by families of import in Tamar. I steal glimpses of the city between the curtains, soaking in the bright colours. We travel down back roads to avoid the crowds of the West Market. Most people will go about their regular business today. It’s only those with influence that attend the assembly. My father never comes, citing his allergy to politics.

After a long silence between us, Arti says, voice low and calculating, ‘When we arrive, follow my lead. Do not speak, do not smile, do not sit until after I’ve taken my place on the first tier. Do you understand?’

I startle at the sudden fire in her words.

‘Yes,’ I say, knitting my fingers together.

Long before we reach the coliseum, we hear the roar of the crowd. Towering orisha statues stand in a row guarding the most prominent families of the city. Soon the crowd is as thick as bees, as scholars, scribes, and heads of families clamber into the coliseum. The building is a honeycomb-shaped mammoth with doors large enough to accommodate giants. When people see our litter, they slink to the side, the labourers never slowing.

Tenth morning bells strike when we are mere moments from entering the dome, which means we’re late. There’s no mistaking that my mother’s up to something.

She’s got a scheme brewing in her eyes.

A gong echoes in the West Market, marking the start of the assembly. If my mother’s even a bit mad about being late, she hides it well. The look of disinterest never slips from her face.