Kingdom of Souls. Rena Barron
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Almighty One, for my tardiness,’ Arti says, casting her glance to the floor. ‘I am late for reasons that will become apparent during the assembly.’
The Almighty One leans forward on his throne, his eyes combing the length of her body, then says, ‘Begin.’
While the Vizier’s attention is on the Almighty One, Rudjek seizes his opportunity. He’s halfway down the stairs before his father even notices. He returns to his empty seat, while I’m stuck counting down the moments until I can do the same.
The crowd perches on benches facing each other that stretch up around the curved rotunda. Some sit so high that shadows shroud their faces. There’s two thousand of the most influential people in Tamar here. People with an interest in the outcome of political decisions. They’re as polished as the quarry stone that makes up the round building. And they glow too, for the mosaic ceiling casts a prism of colours upon them. My sheath pales in comparison to the beaded kabas and jewelled headwraps worn by some of the women. Not to be outdone, the men dress in fancy agbadas, elaras, or the latest imported fashion.
The platform where the assembly meets is a two-tiered crescent moon. On the right of the first tier is a curved table and high-backed chairs for the Vizier and his four guildmasters. On the left, Arti and her seers sit in an identical arrangement. A spiral staircase leads up to the second tier. It’s more for show than anything else. There’s a pulley concealed behind a curtain that lifts each of the royals up to their private booth.
When Arti finally takes her place, I look for a seat. Sukar waves to get my attention. He and Essnai are sitting across from Rudjek, on the opposite side of the coliseum. Two blue-robed scribes look put out when I squeeze between my friends, forcing them to move over.
‘Uncle said the Ka-Priestess was up to something,’ Sukar whispers, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. ‘I didn’t think it was this. Interrupting the Vizier in his moment of glory … well played.’
‘Bring forth the first order of business.’ The Vizier barks the command to the courtier standing at the edge of the first tier. The man steps forward and clears his throat as he unties a scroll that reaches to his knees. He begins reading a summary of today’s agenda. Taxes, tithes, plans for a new public building, and another million mundane things that buzz in my ears. I’m starting to think that like my father, I’m allergic to politics.
‘Does he have to stare like that?’ Sukar whispers. ‘He looks like a lost puppy.’
I don’t ask who. I know who. Instead of listening to his father and my mother bickering, Rudjek is fanning himself with my letter. There’s an expertly drawn donkey on the front – he knows the reason why. He grins at me and starts flourishing his hand in bolder strokes. I have a sudden urge to poke my tongue out at him but think better of it.
High above us, the Almighty One carries on a hushed conversation with Crown Prince Darnek. The only royal who seems interested in the proceedings is Second Son Tyrek. He’s the same age as me, two years younger than his brother. He leans forward on his throne and follows the debate. But the Almighty One is never called upon to vote unless there is a tie, and today there are none.
I spend the entire assembly counting down the time to freedom. After two solid hours of debating and voting, the Vizier turns to the audience. ‘Does the public have any concerns to bring forth today?’
In the few times I’ve been in attendance, no one in the audience has brought an issue for debate. People seem content to sit and listen to the squabbles between the Guild and the Temple instead. I sit up straight, itching for him to adjourn the assembly. From the bored looks around me, I’m not the only one.
‘With no further concerns,’ the Vizier says, ‘I hereby close—’
‘I’d like to raise a concern that we have overlooked,’ Arti says from her perch among the seers. Her kaftan shines the richest gold while the other seers’ kaftans are pale yellow. The striking contrast leaves no doubt that she, and she alone, is the voice of the Almighty Temple. Much the same as Rudjek’s father in his pristine white and gold elara. In all the Kingdom, only the Vizier wears white silks. His guildmasters wear a variety of colours. The Master of Arms, Rudjek’s aunt. The Master of Scribes, the Master of Scholars, the Master of Labourers. Half of whom look utterly disinterested in the proceedings.
‘By all means, speak,’ the Vizier says. ‘We hope it’s not to ask for yet another increase in tithes for the Temple. Please have mercy on our pocketbooks.’
Nervous laughter rumbles through the coliseum, and people cast curious glances at each other. Even the guildmasters crack smiles.
The seers do not. Each of them wears a grim expression.
‘There is a matter of grave importance.’ Arti rises from her chair. Her face is even grimmer than the other seers’, and my pulse quickens. Nothing ever gets under my mother’s skin. If she’s worried, then it must be something bad. The room quietens as she glides to the centre of the tier, and the Vizier huffs before yielding the floor to her. He whisks back to his seat, irritation etched on his face. ‘It pains me to say that a number of children have disappeared under the City Guard’ watch.’ Arti pauses, her voice breaking. ‘Some from the orphanage, some not.’
The audience turns to one another in collective whispers. I glance at Sukar, who shakes his head, and then at Essnai, who mouths, her voice low, ‘Did you know about this?’
‘No,’ I say under my breath. I’m as shocked as everyone else, and don’t understand why my mother waited this long to share such important news. It should’ve been first on the agenda.
‘I’ve heard of no such report,’ the Vizier says, his brows creasing into a deep frown.
‘While praying to the orishas on our recent vigil,’ Arti says, addressing the audience, ‘I saw something very disturbing. When I commune with the orishas, my ka wanders our great city, and our lords reveal things to me in strange ways.’
I glance up at the Almighty One’s booth again. Second Son Tyrek leans over to get his father’s attention, but the Almighty One waves him off. He’s busy laughing at something Crown Prince Darnek just whispered in his other ear.
‘There’s a vile person stalking the city and stealing children in the night,’ Arti says, her voice quiet. ‘A person I can only glimpse but not see clearly, because something protects them against my sight.’
The Vizier’s elara ruffles as he whirls around to face the Master of Arms, his twin sister, who sits to his right. ‘Is there any truth to this news?’
General Solar and the Vizier share the same sharp features and dark eyes. She leads the military forces of the Kingdom: the gendars, the guardsmen, and the shotani.
‘I received a report this morning.’ General Solar’s voice is as cold as her brother’s. ‘I am confident that the head of the City Guards will discover and arrest the culprit with speed.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence,’ Arti says, ‘but this is no ordinary child snatcher, to hide from our magic.’
Barasa, the Zu seer, adds, ‘It must be the work of anti-magic.’
The audience gasps, and my eyes land on the crest on the Vizier’s elara. Anti-magic comes from craven bones. No one possesses it outside of the Omaris and the royal family. It isn’t something you can buy. No one has seen a craven in centuries. Not since they slaughtered a legion of the Kingdom’s army in one night.
It isn’t hard to figure out what Arti and the seers are insinuating. Everyone knows the story of the Vizier’s – and Rudjek’s – ancestor who fought the cravens in the Aloo Valley. He’d slain a craven and later made trinkets of its bone to protect against the influence of magic. The bone could be the only thing to hide its wearer from the seers.
The Almighty One leans forward, his shaved head glistening with a dusting of gold. ‘Are you accusing the Omaris?’
I notice how he doesn’t include his family – the