Kingdom of Souls. Rena Barron

       CHAPTER 7

      After another restless night I crawl out of bed before dawn. So many dreams spin in my head. One about a real green-eyed serpent slithering through the East Market. No bigger than a river snake, it moved through the throng of shuffling feet with ease. In another, the child snatcher stalked the tribal lands with a string of children bound by rope in trailing in their wake. Then I saw Rudjek standing on the edge of a forest as dark as night, with the eye of Re’Mec at his back. Some connection between the three had been clear in the dreams, but now sleep fog clouds my mind.

      If I hurry I won’t miss my father before he leaves for his shop. I slip into the sea-blue tunic and trousers I wanted to wear yesterday and carry my sandals to not wake the others. Terra will be put out when she finds me gone at eighth morning bells.

      The sun peeks over the horizon as I pad down the long hallway. Our villa curves around a courtyard where my father grows herbs for his blood medicines. My parents’ twin rooms are at the opposite end of the villa. Ty and Nezi have their own rooms, and Terra’s is next to mine.

      Mosaic figurines dance along the wall, twisting, twirling, and leaping to keep pace with me. The magic is Mulani, one among many traditions of my mother’s tribe. From the dancers to the white curtains to the silk pillows in the salon, Mulani staples decorate our home. Even if Arti never visits the tribal lands, she must miss something about her life there, to keep these small mementos. I pause to stare at one of the dancers, and he stops too. When I was little, I used to press my hand against the wall to feel the hum of magic. Arti tried to teach me how to make the dancers move, but I couldn’t. She knew what it meant even then. Years later, the unreadable look on my mother’s face in that moment still haunts me.

      Oshhe squats over the roots of a kenkiliba bush in the courtyard, running his fingers through the soil. ‘You’re up early, Little Priestess,’ he says, his back to me. ‘Can’t sleep?’

      After I inhale a deep breath, I say, ‘I have a lot on my mind.’

      ‘Help me collect herbs.’ He offers up a pair of shears. ‘It will put your mind at ease.’

      My father cuts leaves from the bush while I settle in front of a thicket of tangled matay vines. I snip at the small red buds, careful not to prick my fingers on their thorns. He doesn’t press me to talk; instead he quietly fills a small sachet with leaves. The courtyard is his sanctuary. Nezi manages the gardens surrounding the villa, but my father cares for his medicinals.

      ‘I received an invitation at my shop yesterday – one I know you were expecting.’ Oshhe moves on from the kenkiliba bush and begins collecting seeds from a neem tree. ‘You have my blessing to attend, but we’ll need to convince your mother.’

      I do want to go to Rudjek’s ceremony, but with all the things that kept me up last night, it’s the least of my concerns. ‘What she did yesterday was awful.’

      My father’s face pinches. He says he wants nothing to do with politics, so it’s a subject rarely discussed in our household. I figured out long ago that it’s not politics he doesn’t want to hear about: it’s my mother’s schemes.

      ‘It was cruel,’ I say, unable to hold back my words. ‘She made a spectacle of the missing children just to strike at the Vizier. What kind of person does that?’

      ‘Still your tongue, daughter,’ Oshhe says, ‘before you say something you may regret.’

      I snatch another vine so fast that a thorn pricks my finger. I bring my thumb up to my lips but think better of it. Matay causes sleepiness in small doses and hallucinations if one ingests too much of it. My father nods his approval when he sees that I remember.

      ‘I don’t agree with your mother’s ways,’ Oshhe says, ‘but her animosity towards the Vizier is not unwarranted. He is not a kind man, daughter. I need you to understand that. I know that you and his son are close. I was hesitant all those years ago when you asked if you could go play with him by the riverbank. I only allowed it because one cannot judge the son by the father. Children are innocent.’

      Rudjek has always wanted to keep our friendship from his father. I assumed his reason was the same as mine, since our parents hate each other, but I’m no fool either. The rumours about the Vizier are even worse than the ones about my mother. People say the Kingdom has no enemies because he orders the assassination of anyone seen as a threat. ‘Father, I didn’t come to talk about the ceremony.’

      He gives me a sheepish grin. ‘Sometimes it’s better to ease into difficult conversations.’

      It’s hard to know where to start or what to say. Everything that’s happened since the Blood Moon Festival tangles in my mind. Disappointment, fear, and disbelief eat at me, but I refuse to let them win. I have too much pride for that. I’m too stubborn.

      ‘Do you think the green-eyed serpent is a demon?’ I finally work up the nerve to ask. ‘Could one have survived the War with the orishas and hidden herself this long? What would a demon want with me?’

      My last question strikes a nerve, and my father flinches. It pains me to admit that my mother has a point. There’s no reason a demon would have anything to do with me. I dig my fingernails into my palms. I’m grasping for connections, a reason, but nothing makes sense. Before my father can answer, another, more desperate question rolls off my tongue. ‘Do you know when the first child went missing?’

      Oshhe cocks an eyebrow, waiting to see if I’m done. When I don’t speak again, he inhales deeply. ‘It’s hard for a parent to not have the answers their child seeks … but I sense that there may be a link between the Aatiri chieftain and Arti’s visions. Whether this is the work of craven anti-magic or demon magic, I cannot say. We must hope it’s anti-magic. If demons are back, then there will be much trouble ahead.’

      My father pauses, studying the tangled matay vines on my lap. His eyes brim with the shine