Kingdom of Souls. Rena Barron
never loses patience and encourages me to keep trying. I wish my mother would be that way instead of voicing her constant disapproval.
‘Are there any easier tests?’ I ask the moment we are alone.
Grandmother throws the bones again. ‘Those were the easier tests, Little Priestess.’
I wince. ‘Please don’t call me that. It only makes things worse.’
She frowns but doesn’t look up. Something in the bones has her full attention. She points to two bones that lie crossed together. This is new. They’ve never landed like that before.
The sacred circle did change something.
My heart races as I lean forward in anticipation. Could this finally be it?
Grandmother’s finger shakes as she speaks in two voices. One is a low hiss that comes from her throat, and the other sounds like glass shattering. Both are so terrible that they send chills down my spine. Her head snaps up. ‘Who are you?’
I shrink when her eyes land on me – only the whites visible. ‘What?’ I ask, not knowing what else to say. I’ve seen her in trances before but never anything like this. Something shifts in the air. ‘Grandmother, what’s wrong?’
‘Leave!’ she shouts, staring over my shoulder. I jump to my feet and whirl around. The tent flutters and the unlit jar of oil sparks to life. I back away. No one’s there, but a new, unfamiliar magic rushes into the room. Magic not coming from Grandmother and definitely not from me. Magic that I can’t see, only feel slithering on my skin. ‘You do not belong here, green-eyed serpent!’
Spittle shoots out of Grandmother’s mouth as she barks the last words. Sparks of magic – tribal magic – fill the room. It lights on her skin. Her whole body begins to glow. The bones rise from the ground and spin, caught in an impossible windstorm.
I clench my fists as her magic sweeps through the tent. It flits against my arms like moth wings. I want to flee, but I don’t move. It won’t hurt me.
Grandmother’s head snaps backwards so hard that her spine cracks. I gasp. Soon we’re both shaking. She leans to one side, sweat pouring down her face. For the first time, she looks old and fragile. I kneel next to her.
‘It will pass,’ she says, straightening herself up again, though she’s still panting.
‘What … what was that?’ I stutter.
‘Have you seen the green-eyed serpent in your dreams, child?’ she asks, her voice sharp.
‘What?’ My teeth chatter, and I hug my shoulders. The tent is cold in the aftermath of the strange magic. The space feels too small, the air too thin. Something bad was here – something powerful enough to challenge Grandmother. ‘I don’t understand.’
She clucks her tongue, then glances at the curtains separating us from the rest of the tent. They stand as stiff as sheets of metal until she draws a loop in the air with her finger and they become cloth again. ‘Enter, Oshhe.’
My father bursts through the curtains with so much force that he halfway rips them from the ceiling. His expression is panicked as he looks between us. Upon seeing that we’re all right, he lets out a deep sigh. ‘Honoured Chieftain,’ he says, bowing. Then his voice softens. ‘Mother, what happened?’
‘It’s hard to put into words,’ Grandmother says. ‘Please join us, son.’
Oshhe squats beside me, his eyebrows pinched together. ‘Are you okay?’
I nod and lean against his side. He wraps his arm around my shoulders. He’s warm and smells of grass and sunshine, and his embrace calms my nerves. ‘To answer your question, Grandmother,’ I say. ‘No, I haven’t seen a serpent, green-eyed or not, in my dreams.’
‘I think you’d better explain, Mother,’ Oshhe says, his voice calm – too calm. He only uses that voice when he’s not happy.
‘There was someone here … something.’ Grandmother shakes her head as if clearing away cobwebs. ‘Someone who does not belong. Perhaps a relic from the past, I do not know, or an omen of the future …’
Again Grandmother speaks in riddles, but her voice shakes a little. Whoever, or whatever, this thing is, it’s rattled the great Aatiri chieftain, and that scares me too.
‘She – the green-eyed serpent – possesses magic I do not know,’ Grandmother finishes. ‘Magic that feels very old and very powerful.’
‘Magic you don’t know?’ Oshhe questions, one brow raising. ‘Was it … an orisha?’
‘An orisha here?’ I blurt out. ‘In the tribal lands?’
I can’t imagine the orishas in the tribal lands any more than Heka in the Kingdom. Though the tribes acknowledge that the orishas exist, they hold Heka above all. In the Kingdom, the orishas take precedence, but the citizens come from all walks of life and so do their deities.
‘No, not an orisha,’ Grandmother says, her tone reluctant. ‘Something else.’
‘A rebirth, perhaps?’ Oshhe says. ‘A powerful witchdoctor who has cheated death.’
Grandmother massages her temples. ‘I can’t be certain. I need to talk to an old friend who will know more. It will take time to reach her, for she does not walk these lands.’
A chill runs down my spine. Grandmother is the Aatiri chieftain. I’ve never known her to not have an answer. She’s one of the most powerful witchdoctors in the tribal lands, in all the world.
‘You haven’t said what this green-eyed serpent – what she has to do with me,’ I say, unable to hold my question back any longer.
Grandmother regards me again, her eyes bloodshot. ‘In truth, I do not know, Arrah.’
Her words knock the taste from my mouth. The Litho boys would’ve beaten me if not for Essnai and Sukar’s help. The boys’ magic had been feeble and nothing special, yet still too much to handle on my own. Now this? My mind slips back to the sacred circle again. Why couldn’t Heka gift me with magic? ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘I will not lie to you,’ Grandmother says. ‘I do not think she means you well.’
‘But you have an idea of what she is,’ Oshhe says, his face blanching.
Grandmother’s voice drops low – the way one utters an unspeakable secret. ‘I don’t want to speculate.’ She scoops the bones into her lap, her hand shaking. ‘It’s best if I consult with the other edam first …’
‘Grandmother!’ I beg. ‘Please … you know, don’t you?’
She worries her fingers across the bones, still refusing to meet my eye.
‘Mother,’ Oshhe says, his jaw clenched, ‘speak your mind.’
‘The green-eyed serpent,’ Grandmother says after a weary breath, ‘is said to be a symbol of demon magic.’
Silence falls upon the room and Grandmother’s words hang like a noose between the three of us. Demons are myths, legends. Stories that parents tell to scare their children into behaving. The scribes teach us that the orishas saved mortal kind from them. Back home we call someone who sucks the joy out of life a soul eater. It’s meant as a harmless insult – one inspired by the tales that demons feasted upon kas. Everything I know about them comes from those half-forgotten stories. People fill in the gaps in the folklore with their imagination. The scribes say that the orishas erased the full memories of demons from our minds to protect us. Now Grandmother’s telling me that demons are real, and one is very much alive.
‘It’s impossible,’ my father whispers, the news stealing the strength from his voice. ‘There has to be another explanation. Demon magic has been gone for thousands of years.’
‘Yes,