Rena Barron: Kingdom of Souls

Harper Voyager

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Copyright © Rena Barron 2019

Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2020

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

Rena Barron asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008302238

Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008302252

Version: 2020-06-10

To everyone who dares to dream,

dares to live their truths,

dares to stand against atrocities,

dares to say I am enough , this book is for you …

… and for my family.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part I

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Re’Mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Koré, Orisha of Moon, Twin King

Part II

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Fram, Orisha of Life and Death

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Fram, Orisha of Life and Death

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Part III

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Efia

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Efia

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Part IV

Re’Mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Re’Mec, Orisha of Sun, Twin King

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Part V

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

The Demon King

Acknowledgments

An Interview With Rena Barron

About the Publisher

For she will rise from the ashes alit in flames.

For no water will ever quell her pain.

For no redemption will befall her.

For we will never speak her name.

—Song of the Unnamed

Be still, Little Priestess.

My father kneels before me with a string of teeth threaded between his fingers. They shine like polished pearls, and I square my shoulders and stand a little taller to make him proud. The distant echo of the djembe drums drowns out his words, but it doesn’t tame the twinkle in his eyes as he drapes the teeth around my neck. Tonight I become a true daughter of Tribe Aatiri.

Magic of all colours flutters in the air as gentle as wingbeats. I can’t be still when it dances on my father’s dark skin like lightning bugs. It flits along his jaw and leaps onto his nose. My hand shoots out to catch an ember of gold, but it slips through my fingers. I giggle, and he laughs too.

Girls gossip as their mothers fix their kaftans and bone charms. For every one the magic touches, it skips two, like the rest of us are invisible. My chest tightens, watching it go to others when it’s never come to me – not even once.

The few girls who speak Tamaran ask me what it’s like living so far away in the Almighty Kingdom. They say that I am not a true Aatiri because my mother is not of the tribe. Something twinges in my belly, for there is truth in their words.

I hold my head high as my father straightens my collar. He’s the only man in the tent, and the other girls whisper about that too. I don’t care what they say; I’m glad he’s here. ‘Why doesn’t magic come to me, Father?’

The question comes out too loud, and silence falls upon the tent. The other girls and their mothers stare at me as if I’ve said something bad. ‘Don’t worry, daughter,’ he says, folding the sleeves of my orange-and-blue kaftan, which matches his own. ‘It will come in due time.’

‘But when?’ I stomp.

It isn’t fair that many of the Aatiri children younger than me have magic already. In Tamar, I’m the only one among my friends who can see magic at all, but here, it flocks to the other children and they can make it do things. I can’t.

‘Maybe never, little ewaya ,’ says the oldest girl in accented Tamaran. She glares at me and I wrinkle my nose at her. I’m not a baby , and she’s wrong. It will come.

The girl’s mother clucks her tongue and fusses at her in Aatiri. Her words slide over my ears without meaning, like all the strange and beautiful languages in the markets back home.

‘Even if the magic never comes,’ my father says, ‘you’ll still be my Little Priestess.’

I poke my tongue out at the girl. That’ll teach her not to be so mean.

Another girl asks why my mother isn’t here. ‘She has more important things to do,’ I answer, remembering how my father had begged her to come.

‘Why the sad face?’ my father asks, squeezing my cheeks. ‘Imebyé is a time of celebration. Tonight, you begin the long journey into adulthood.’

The djembe drums stop. I bite my lip, and the other girls startle. It’s time to go stand in front of the whole tribe so the chieftain can bless us. But for once, my legs still as the other girls hurry from the tent with their mothers.

‘I want to go home, Father,’ I whisper as the last girl leaves.

Some of the light fades from his eyes. ‘We’ll go home soon, okay?’

‘I want to go home now ,’ I say, a little stronger.

He frowns. ‘Don’t you want to take part in Imebyé?’

I shake my head hard enough to make my bone charms rattle.

My father comes to his feet. ‘How about we just watch the ceremony together?’

The chieftain walks into the tent and I tuck myself against my father’s side. Her silver kaftan sweeps about her ankles and stands out against her midnight skin. Salt-and-pepper locs coil on top of her head. ‘Do my son and granddaughter plan to take part in a ceremony they travelled fourteen days to attend?’ she asks, her deep voice ringing in the tent.

My father wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘Not this year.’

The chieftain nods as if satisfied. ‘May I speak to my granddaughter alone, Oshhe?’

My father exchanges a look with her that I don’t understand. ‘If it’s okay with Arrah.’

I swallow. ‘Okay.’

He squeezes my shoulder before leaving the tent. ‘I’ll save you a spot up front.’