Читать книгу Kingdom of Souls - Rena Barron - Страница 14

According to my father, everyone has a little magic in them – only our family has more than most. He says that to the patrons who come to his shop to make them feel special. He knows it’s not true, but people need something to believe. The crowd filing out of the coliseum certainly has no magic, and it would seem, no heart or conscience either.

They talk about the missing children like they’re the latest scandal, and it annoys me no end. To attend the assembly you must have property and standing. No one here will worry about their children, for none are without attendants day or night. I push through the throng of people, losing a few beads from my sheath along the way. There are so many of us that the grey-washed West Market feels alive for once. Alive and teeming with petty gossip.

‘She’d better watch herself, lest she ends up like the former Ka-Priest,’ a man leans towards his friend to say. He’s loud enough that some people mumble their soft agreements. Others rally to my mother’s defence.

I only glare at him. It isn’t the first time someone has flung that particular threat at my mother. It still stings. I don’t like that Arti and the Vizier are always bickering. Sometimes it turns nasty. That said, she’s done good for the Kingdom. When the Vizier joked about raising tithes again, he left out why the Temple asks for money. My mother and the seers run all public services in the Kingdom. Free education for those who can’t afford private scribes, meals, shelter for orphans. Programmes that my mother created when she became Ka-Priestess.

The former Ka-Priest, Ren Eké was before my time, but people still sing his praises. He was beloved for his wise and quiet nature, and he and the Vizier got along well. People say there was better collaboration between the Guild and Temple back then. As an Eké, he bore the honoured position in Tribe Litho that marked him as the head of his extended family. Yet, one foggy morning, a fisherman found the Ka-Priest impaled on a hook in the bay. Naked, his body mutilated.

So even if my mother and I don’t always see eye to eye, I worry about her. It’s no small feat to kill any public figure, but to attack a witchdoctor would be even harder. Still, his death remains as mysterious as this child snatcher on the loose, one who can hide from magic.

Witchdoctors, real witchdoctors, can mend a broken bone with a word or ward off a storm with a ritual. Powerful ones like Grandmother can see across time. Arti can too, even if she doesn’t bear the title witchdoctor since leaving the tribal lands. My father can reverse ageing and extend a person’s life beyond their natural years. I’ve always thought my family safe because of their magic, but now I’m not so sure.

A shiver creeps across my shoulders as I duck down alleyways chock-full of bins of rotting food to avoid the crowd. Grandmother had seen a green-eyed serpent while reading the bones and believed it to be a demon. Now Arti had only got a glimpse of the child snatcher. She and the seers think it’s the work of anti-magic. What if it’s something else?

A demon and missing children. It doesn’t seem to make sense, but the timing is too close, the circumstances too strange. Why would a demon be in a vision about me? I’m nothing special. Yet, as impossible as it sounds, even I could feel the wrongness of the magic in Grandmother’s tent. It was nothing like the feather touch of tribal magic. The magic had been invasive and curious, hostile. The situation with the children is far worse. The biggest question is why; what reason would anyone have to take children?

I slip out of the alley and into a different crowd in the East Market – my nerves on edge. I keep remembering the way Rudjek refused to look at me after my mother all but accused one of his brothers of being the child snatcher. If he doesn’t want to see me, I can’t blame him. Not after this morning. As I brace myself for the possibility that he won’t come, dread sinks in my chest. I miss our routine – I miss him.

I pass people haggling over day-old bread, overripened fruits, cured meat, and charms. Donkeys laden with sacks of grain kick up a fury of red sand. The market writhes like the Serpent River after a rainstorm, and reeks of sweaty feet and dung.

As everyone goes about their business, hard faces stare at me. Soft faces. Kind faces. Faces of all colours. Faces leathered from too much sun. Faces so structured they look carved from stone. Jovial, round faces. The people in Tamar come from everywhere – across deserts, across seas, across mountains. The city is home to all who embrace it. Most noticeably so in the East Market, which is why I love coming here.

There’s comfort in knowing that, like me, no one in this crowd quite fits. It always fascinates me how a person can at once blend in and stand out here. That would be the greatest advantage for the child snatcher, becoming invisible. My pulse throbs in my ears as I glance around again – seeing the market with new eyes.

Barefoot boys in tattered trousers and girls in dirty shifts duck through the crowds. Their small hands are quick as they slide them into pockets, lifting a money pouch here, a bracelet there. When a woman catches a little boy trying to steal her armlet, an unseen child on a rooftop strikes her with a pebble. Distracted and rubbing her head, the woman lets the little thief slip away with his prize. I don’t condone what the orphans do in the market, but I don’t judge them for it either. City life is hard for those who don’t come from a family of status. Unlike in the tribal lands, where magic is all that matters, money and influence rule here.

The sun beats down on my back as I cross a street dense with food merchants. A plume of smoke from their firepits chokes the air and waters my eyes, but it smells wonderful. Roasting chestnuts, spicy stews, plantains fried in peanut oil. My stomach growls a reminder that I haven’t eaten today. But I can’t stop for food; I’m too focused on getting to the Serpent River to see Rudjek, too anxious that he won’t be there.

He’d slipped out of the assembly before his father adjourned the proceedings. I’d watched as he’d tried to hide his anguish behind a blank, bored stare, but his is a mask that I can see straight through. I know him too well. My mother had dealt him a nasty wound. He’d already hated the way his father treated his brothers after the Rite and blamed himself for not being in the market that day to calm Jemi down.

I startle at a faint rustling at my side and catch one of the little thieves trying to lift my bracelet. I grab his arm – not too tight but firm enough to stop him from wiggling his way loose. The boy looks up at me with sad eyes, his lips trembling. Little con artist.

Before he drops a tear, someone slaps the back of his head. ‘Scat, or I’ll call the Guard.’

‘Ouch,’ the boy protests, and whirls around, holding his head. ‘You’re one to talk, Kofi!’

The would-be thief must be new to the market – I’ve never seen him before. From the hidden pocket under my belt, I dig out a silver coin and pass it to him. ‘You could’ve asked first, you know?’

He smiles sheepishly. ‘Next time I will.’

When the boy runs off, Kofi steps into his place. At twelve, he isn’t much older than the would-be thief. Fish scales cover the apron he’s wearing, and he smells fresh from the docks, which is to say like rotting entrails. His eyes go wide as he takes in what I’m wearing. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asks me.

I purse my lips and glare at him, even though he’s right, of course: my sheath is impractical and too conspicuous. Wearing something like this in the East Market proclaims me an easy mark to any thief. At least my family doesn’t wear a crest like Rudjek’s. ‘The better question is, why do you have a silver coin behind your ear?’ I retort.

He grins as he reaches for one ear and finds nothing.

‘The other ear.’ I tap my foot.

His hand moves quicker this time as if the money will disappear in the blink of an eye. When he retrieves the silver coin, he tucks it inside his apron, a blush of joy warming his tan skin. I’ve snuck him enough coins lately that he no longer protests that he must work to earn its value. Our family has more money than we need, and like Oshhe always says, a coin hoarded is a blessing missed.

Kofi’s father is among the many fish merchants in the market. I came across their booth a year ago, drawn to where Kofi stood on top of a crate, selling outlandish tales to a crowd. ‘Desperate to flee a river of ice,’ he said, ‘the fish swam all the way from the North.’ When I shouted to him that this was unlikely, he changed his story, quick as a whip. ‘You’re right! This batch swam from the Great Sea seeking refuge from a giant serpent. Only they didn’t know that we eat fish too!’

Days after, I saw him with a woman who I later learned was his father’s new wife. She grabbed Kofi by his shoulders, her teeth gritted. ‘You’re so useless, boy,’ she spat. ‘Can’t you do anything right?’ Without provocation, she slapped him. The strike cut through me. I stepped in to stop her, but the next day Kofi came to the market covered in welts.

When I saw the woman again, I introduced myself as the Ka-Priestess’s daughter. I told her if any more harm came to Kofi, there would be serious consequences. That was the first time I relied upon my mother’s position to gain an advantage. It worked: Kofi’s stepmother stopped hitting him after that. Instead of beatings, she now ignores him. I know what that feels like, so I decided to be his pretend-sister from that moment on.

‘Did you hear about the giant sea turtle that rolled in with the tide this morning?’ Kofi starts to say, but my attention lands on Rudjek. He’s wading through the thicket of people, making a direct line towards me. The effect he has on the market is immediate. Girls flash him smiles and some try to catch his eye by stepping into his path. People stare at the craven-bone crest pinned to his collar.

Whenever anyone from a family of status comes to the East Market, there’s always a ruckus. But he loves the market as much as I do: it’s our second-favourite place to meet, aside from our secret spot by the river.

Merchants clamour for his attention, but Rudjek’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. He sidesteps a man selling the tiny bells favoured by followers of Oma, the god of dreams. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his pale brown skin flushed. I let out a breath and the tension in my belly eases.

‘This morning was interesting,’ he says, interrupting Kofi. Up close, the shadow of purple bruising on his right cheek matches his fancy silk elara. His obsidian eyes sparkle in the sun beneath long dark lashes.

I shift onto my heels. ‘Are you okay?’

Rudjek waves off the question, though his body tenses. ‘You missed my glorious match yesterday. I came in second.’ He glances to his right, where his attendant and best friend, Majka, stands clad in a red gendar uniform. I didn’t notice him until now. ‘Only because he cheated.’

‘By “cheated” I think you mean “wiped the arena with your ugly face,”’ Majka says. He presses two fingers to his forehead and flourishes a slight bow to me in the way of my father’s tribe. The perfect Tamaran diplomat’s son. More so than Rudjek, Majka has the look of a typical high-bred Tamaran – rich brown skin, hair as thick and black as night, and deep-set dark eyes. I return the greeting with a smile.

Kira – to Rudjek’s left – clears her throat. She’s also clothed in a red uniform, a single black braid across her shoulder, her face as pale as a Northern winter. Unlike Majka and Rudjek with their double shotels, she has a dozen daggers strapped to her body. A merchant tries to shove a crossbow into her hands and another one waves tobachi knives to get her attention.

Families of import rarely set foot in either of the markets, not if they have attendants to send in their stead. Some families either can’t afford attendants, or choose not to have them. We have Nezi, Ty, and Terra, but to my relief, none with the sole purpose of following me around everywhere. Rudjek isn’t so lucky.

‘I see you’re enjoying your new post, Kira,’ I say as she shoos off the merchants.

Her face contorts into a frown. ‘I wouldn’t call guarding him a real post.’

Rudjek grabs his chest in mock offence, his eyes wide. ‘You wound me.’

I shake my head, still not used to Majka and Kira in their new gendar roles. At seventeen, they’re only a few months older than us, but old enough to begin careers. Majka’s mother is a commando under the Master of Arms, Rudjek’s aunt; his father is the Kingdom’s ambassador to Estheria. Kira’s father is the Master of Scribes. Both of them grew up competing in the arena with Rudjek for fun. After they joined the gendars, he petitioned to have them replace his old attendants. It’s a high honour to serve the royal family and their closest cousins, the Omaris, and Kira and Majka hadn’t earned the rank to be considered. But Rudjek’s father agreed, if only to strengthen political alliances with their respective families.

‘Hey, I was talking to her first,’ Kofi says, crossing his arms. ‘Wait your turn.’

Rudjek laughs and pats Kofi’s head. ‘Hello to you too.’

I cast an apologetic glance at Kofi. ‘I’ll stop by to see you tomorrow, I promise.’

Kofi pokes his tongue out at Rudjek before darting off into the crowd.

‘That little runt.’ Rudjek feigns indignation. ‘I have half a mind …’

‘Shall we go?’ I ask.

Without waiting for an answer, I head for our spot along the river, taking one route while they take another. It wouldn’t be so secret if four people marched straight to it. Rudjek has had many attendants over the years, and he’s bribed them to keep our secret. When coins haven’t worked, he’s turned to subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle persuasions. He really can be charming when he wants. Not that I’d tell him, lest it go to his head.

As I push through the crowds, an ice-cold chill runs down my back. Familiars slink across the market like a pack of rabid cats ready to pounce. No longer than my arm, their shadowy bodies are shapeless and ever changing, as fluid as a breeze. As they flood the streets, their presence sucks the warmth from me. I take a deep breath, watching as dozens of them swarm around a young girl. They crawl across her face and cling to her limbs, and she’s none the wiser.

A few others in the market see them – the ones with tribal blood. Their faces have gone stark and they whisper to each other. But most people don’t see the Familiars at all.

One or two Familiars are a nuisance, with the way they slither over everything, but a horde means only one thing: something bad is coming. Thinking of the missing children, I realize that the bad thing is already here.

In a daze, I cut through the mud-brick houses on the bank of the Serpent River and travel upstream from the docks. There are no Familiars here, but cold gnaws at my bones. The tribes believe that Familiars are the relics of a people destroyed by the demons long ago. In the demons’ lust for kas, they ravaged a whole realm before Koré and Re’Mec, the Twin Kings, waged war to stop them. Familiars are the only things left of that time. Restless ghosts with no souls, seeking what they cannot have again – life.

When I reach our well-worn spot amidst the tall reeds, I see Majka and Kira standing guard on the riverbank – far enough away to give us privacy. Rudjek sits on a yellow blanket spread across the grass. ‘Father’s putting on a big fight to celebrate the end of the blood moon,’ he says after a yawn. ‘You must come. I’m undefeated in the swords competition three years straight. I’m only the best swordsman in Tamar. Well, outside of the gendars, I suppose.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea after this morning,’ I say, my throat parched.

His eyes, darker than the hour of ösana, widen in question. With his full attention on me, the space feels smaller, the air warmer. ‘What’s wrong, Arrah?’

His voice cracks when he says my name and his boasting fades away. As I sit beside him, his scent of lilac and wood smoke sends a tinge of heat up my neck. I should say something to distract him or pretend that I don’t like the way my name rolls off his tongue, but I don’t. Not immediately. I let this strange, wonderful thing linger between us. He’s my best friend, and insufferable half the time. But lately I imagine something else – I imagine something more.

Guilt settles in like an old friend, and I glance away. Even if our parents didn’t hate each other, a wrongness edges into the back of my mind. Yes, I want more, but I don’t want to ruin what we have now if it goes wrong. One moment I’m on the verge of confessing to him and the next I bury my feelings under a rock.

‘Nothing,’ I say quickly, before our conversation veers off course. So many thoughts tangle in my head. The Familiars, the child snatcher, the green-eyed serpent. On the surface they’re unrelated, but together they remind me of moves in a game of jackals and hounds. A game built upon strategy, evasion, and misdirection. I could be drawing connections where none exist, but I don’t believe in coincidences. I shake my head and smile at him. ‘Why the fancy blanket today?’

I smooth my hand across the quilt, feeling the intricate patterns of the stitches. He knows me so well that he doesn’t protest when I change the subject.

‘I didn’t want you to ruin your fancy dress on the grass.’ He rearranges his scabbards, which lie next to him on the ground. ‘It’s very pretty.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, staring at the boats ambling down the river. It’s so wide that the water seems to stretch on for ever.

After a long and awkward pause, we both try to speak at the same time. We laugh and some of the tension eases. ‘You go first,’ I say.

‘About this morning,’ he says, his voice catching in his throat. ‘My brothers would never do something so vile. Jemi and Uran haven’t been themselves since the Rite of Passage, but my father … my father keeps them in check. He has a gendar who sends regular reports on Jemi’s squadron, and Uran is never without his attendants. When I say never, I mean never.’

I reach out for the family crest affixed to his collar, but I stop myself. ‘May I?’

Rudjek scratches his head, looking sheepish. ‘Of course.’

I run my fingers across the smooth craven bone carved into the shape of a lion’s head. It’s cold even in the heart of a much-too-warm day. Had I any magic, it would repel me. But nothing happens. Its yielding touch is a reminder that I should listen to my mother. Maybe it’s time to give up my dream.

‘What does it feel like when someone with magic is near you?’ I’ve never asked before, avoiding anything that could lead back to my lack of magic. What would it be like if I had magic and we were close … closer than we are now? That’s the true question burning on my lips.

Rudjek shrugs. ‘I don’t know … It vibrates a little if the magic is directed at me; otherwise, I don’t feel anything.’

I move from the crest on his elara to the pendant that hangs around his neck. My fingers brush his throat and we both tense. He leans a little closer to me, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I missed you.’

Majka clears his throat and we jump apart. ‘Am I interrupting anything?’

‘No!’ we both yell in unison.

‘Nothing at all,’ I add, piqued.

‘Of course not.’ Rudjek frowns at him. ‘What do you want?’

Majka glances over his shoulder at Kira, who is still on watch. ‘I am to remind you that your father expects you at the council meeting at fourth afternoon bells.’

Rudjek grimaces at his trousers legs, dusty from the market. ‘Give us a moment, will you!’

Majka nods with a crooked grin and pads off to where Kira is waiting.

‘I’m sorry, I do have to go.’ Rudjek sighs. ‘Father will be in a mood after this morning.’

‘It’s true, then,’ I say, my throat dry again. ‘He’s going to name you his heir?’

Rudjek winces and looks away. ‘It is. I … don’t know how I feel about it yet. I’m the youngest. I never thought the responsibility would fall to me. My father’s expectations – well, everyone’s expectations – of me have changed.’

I don’t want to think about what this will mean for our friendship. If he – no, when he becomes Vizier one day, he won’t be able to shun his duties to sneak off to meet me by the river.

‘What about the gendars? All you’ve ever talked about is joining their ranks.’ I regret my question when he glances longingly at his shotels. ‘How will you survive if you can’t fool around in the arena all day?’ I add to cheer him up.

‘I’ll make do.’ Then under his breath, he says, ‘I can be quite crafty.’

I pick at the beads on my sheath. ‘You can’t turn it down, can you?’

‘No.’ He scoops up a rock and flings it into the river. ‘My mother sent a message to her childhood matron in Delene asking her to come teach me proper etiquette.’ He forces a humourless laugh, sombre like both our moods. ‘What do the Aatiri say? “A man’s character lies not in his fine clothes, but in the purity of his soul.”’

‘The purity of his ka,’ I correct him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rudjek says with a shy smile. ‘Here I am rambling on and on, and I haven’t asked you about the tribal lands. How did things go?’

I groan. ‘Not well.’

Rudjek arches an eyebrow. ‘You want to talk about it?’

‘Another time.’ I’m not ready to tell him about the Blood Moon Festival and Grandmother’s vision. It’s something I’m still trying to wrap my mind around, and he’ll only worry. I’ve done enough of that on my own.

‘One more thing before I go.’ Rudjek rubs the back of his neck. ‘Mother sent an invitation to my Coming of Age Ceremony to your father’s shop. I thought if your mother got her hands on it, that would be the end of it. But … you’re coming, right?’

I wrinkle my nose, reminding him what I think about his Coming of Age Ceremony – hence the donkey on my letter to him. Before I can answer, he adds, rushing his words, ‘True, it’s a bit archaic, but …’

‘You mean with the half-naked dancers?’ I cross my arms. ‘It’s a silly tradition.’

‘Pretty please.’ He bats his lashes at me and I can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t that our parents don’t know we’re friends. There’s only so many of the scholar, “district’s ceremonies one can go to, and not know everyone your age. I’ve seen Rudjek compete in the arena countless times. This should be no different, yet I hesitate to say yes.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say, but I know what Arti’s answer will be if I ask her.

I utter a goodbye as Majka and Kira drag him off. Staring at the river again, I can’t stop thinking about the Familiars swarming the East Market. Enough people can see them that the scribes have come up with an official explanation. They call them harmless, wayward shadows, but I’ve never believed that. Even without real magic, I can’t deny the signs.

Wherever the Familiars go, death soon follows.