Redemptor

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-3984-2

  eISBN 978-1-68335-720-9

  Text copyright © 2021 Jordan Ifueko

  Cover and interior illustrations © 2021 Charles Chaisson

  Map illustration by Christina Chung

  Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura

  Published in 2021 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

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  For young revolutionaries, who have chosen the loneliest job in the world

  CHAPTER 1

  My name was Tarisai Kunleo, and no one I loved would ever die again.

  I stole down the palace hallway, my sandals slapping the words into music—never again, never again. I would play this song until my soles wore thin. Griots, the sacred storytellers of our empire, shaped the histories we believed with their music.

  I, too, would sing this story until the world believed it.

  Tar? The base of my scalp hummed as Kirah connected our Ray bond, speaking directly into my mind. Are you all right?

  Kirah, my council sister, and Mbali, the former High Priestess of Aritsar, stood ahead of me in the broad palace hallway. I caught up to them, smiling manically before remembering that they couldn’t see my face.

  We wore ceremonial veils: colorful beads and shells that dangled to our chests, concealing our faces. Tall leather hairpieces, stained crimson and shaped into flames, circled our heads. Our costumes honored Warlord Fire, creator of death, and disguised us as birinsinku: grim women of the gallows, on our way to perform holy death rites on imperial prisoners.

  I’m fine, I Ray-spoke to Kirah, gritting my teeth. Then I willed my voice to be light and chipper, speaking aloud for Mbali’s sake. “Just—you know. Excited for Thaddace.”

  Servants and courtiers danced out of our way as we swept through An-Ileyoba Palace. Rumor warned that birinsinku spread foul luck wherever they went, and so as we passed, onlookers warded off evil with the sign of the Holy Pelican. No one guessed that I, Mbali, and Kirah hid beneath those glittering veils, plotting to free the most hated man in Aritsar from prison.

  Dayo had named me Empress of Aritsar exactly two weeks ago. Until then, the world had believed that only one Raybearer—always male—existed per generation. The Ray was a blood gift, passed down from Aritsar’s first emperor, Enoba the Perfect. Its power granted emperors near immortality, and allowed them to form a council of bonded minds, uniting the sprawling mega-continent of Aritsar.

  But Enoba had lied about the gift in his veins. He had never been meant to rule alone, for two Rays existed per generation—one for a boy and one for a girl. That Ray now swelled in my veins, upsetting five hundred years of Arit tradition. My sex alone had made me plenty of enemies, but if that hadn’t been enough . . . with one impulsive vow, I had placed the entire empire in grave danger.

  For eras, demons called abiku had plagued our continent, causing drought and disease, and stealing souls down to the Underworld. Enoba achieved peace through a treaty, sating the abiku by sending children into the sulfurous Oruku Breach—two hundred living Redemptors, or sacrifices, per year. I had voided that treaty, offering myself instead as a final Redemptor. The abiku had accepted on one mysterious condition: Before I descended to the Underworld, I had to anoint the rulers of all twelve Arit realms, forming a council of my own.

  They had given me two years. If in that time I failed to anoint a council and cast myself into the Oruku Breach . . . the abiku would raze the continent. No one would be safe then, not even the priests in their lofty temples, or the bluebloods in their gilded fortresses.

  Enraged, the nobles had plied me with tests. If my Ray was fraudulent, my promise to the abiku could be voided, and the old treaty reinstated. But before hundreds of gaping courtiers, I had walked across hot coals, chugged goblets of pelican oil, and submerged my face in gourds of holy water—all tasks, legend had it, highly lethal to any but a Raybearer.

  The strongest proof of my legitimacy, however, shimmered in lurid patterns on both my forearms: a living map of the Underworld, marking me as a Redemptor. The abiku would not have accepted my treaty, relinquishing an eternity of child sacrifices, for anything less valuable than a Raybearer. To win my soul, the abiku had made a promise—and a deal made by immortals, once sealed in blood, could not be broken.

  Dayo had begged me not to provoke the nobles further. “Just for a while,” he had pleaded. “I want them to love you, Tar. To see you as I do.” Out of guilt for making him worry, I had promised to keep my head down. And I would. Really.

  Right after I broke an imperial traitor out of prison.

  The late morning sun glowed through An-Ileyoba’s unglazed windows, casting arch-shaped halos on the rainbow floor tiles as I swept through the palace with Kirah and Mbali. A song wafted from the courtyards outside. Courtier children chanted with morbid glee, watching as Imperial Guard warriors erected an executioner’s platform.

  When you meet Egungun, will you have your eyes-o?

  Tell me, will you hear him, if you have no ears-o?

  Dead man, dead man, fell like a coconut

  Round head rolling

  on the red hard ground.

  Brats, Kirah Ray-spoke soothingly, sensing my anger through our blood bond.

  I hunched my shoulders. Arits believed that upon death, all souls followed after Egungun: the first human being, born of Queen Earth and Am the Storyteller. Egungun roamed the Underworld beating a drum, leading souls in a parade to the paradise of Core. Those children were mocking Thaddace, who faced beheading in a matter of hours.

  The former High Judge of Aritsar had done the unspeakable, an act that until two weeks ago, many had believed to be impossible: For the first time in five hundred years, an Anointed One had murdered his own Raybearer.

  But Thaddace had only acted as my mother’s puppet, killing Olugbade in order to save Mbali’s life. I had revealed Thaddace and Mbali’s relationship to The Lady, giving her leverage to force his hand, and so ultimately . . . this was all my fault. Besides, Thaddace was mine. Like my council siblings, and High Priestess Mbali, and Melu the alagbato. Even Woo In and Kathleen, my mother’s Anointed Ones, held cherished places in my story.

  I had pined my whole life for a family. Now that I had cobbled one together, dysfunctional and cursed as it may be . . . nothing would snatch it from me. Not even an imperial execution.

  I forced my brow to relax. If my plan with Mbali and Kirah succeeded . . . Thaddace would not dance for Egungun anytime soon. Laugh at those children, I told myself. Float, confident that you will win in the end.

  But an intrusive thought shook my resolve: Isn’t that what your mother would do?

  My jaw hardened. For too long, Aritsar believed girls could only be two things: virtuous servants of the empire, or dev
ious villains, like The Lady. But it was time I silenced those voices.

  My lioness mask lay hidden against my chest, a bump protruding from beneath my wrapper. My fingertips warmed as my Hallow summoned hazy memories of Aiyetoro, the only other obabirin, or empress. She had lived too long ago for my Hallow to retrieve her thoughts. But the remains of her haughty confidence put a spring in my walk. Of course I could rescue Thaddace. Who could stop a divinely blessed Raybearer? Who could keep the sun from rising?

  You are Tarisai Kunleo. And no one you love will ever die again.

  Thaddace waited in the open-air prison of Heaven, a platform atop the tallest tower of An-Ileyoba. Kirah, Mbali, and I had made good time crossing the palace. The corridors were still sparse but for a few sleepy courtiers. Funeral shrouds bundled on our backs concealed supplies to aid Thaddace’s escape. Birinsinku tools completed our disguises—tiny vials of burial herbs and holy water, jingling on our birinsinku belts as we ran.

  “We’re going to make it,” I said, laughing in spite of my nerves.

  “He won’t accept help,” Mbali warned when we arrived at the steep staircase to Thaddace’s prison.

  I shoved down the nugget of doubt in my throat and smiled at her. “Of course he will.” I tried to forget that only yesterday, a servant had slipped me a calfskin letter. The writing had been burnt directly into the hide—a marker of Thaddace’s Hallow.

  I have heard of a plot to secure my escape. If these rumors are true, then you are a fool.

  I killed an emperor, for Am’s sake.

  I was not forced. I was of sound mind, and despite any loyalty you have for me, I am only reaping what I have sown. Your position is precarious enough. Do not join me in my ruin and make Aritsar lose faith in your legitimacy.

  I once told you that there is no justice, only order. But I was wrong. Sometimes justice and order are one and the same.

  Leave me to my fate, protégé. I join Egungun’s Parade.

  Thaddace had not signed the letter. His seal ring had been confiscated, and he had known, besides, that a signature was unnecessary. Every time I touched the calfskin, my Hallow caused the memory of my former mentor’s hands, the sting of his pain and resolve, to chafe my skin. He had likely heightened his feelings on purpose, knowing that they would seep from the paper and coerce me.

  “You can convince him to escape,” I told Mbali. “I know he’s worried about ruining my reputation, but we won’t get caught. All we have to do is—”

  “He won’t come,” repeated Mbali. “This isn’t about you, Tarisai. He’s only pretending it is.”

  We stared up at the landing. Kirah reached for my hand and squeezed. The last time we had stood here, eleven arrows had been aimed at my mother’s heart. The Lady had survived the botched execution, only to be accidentally poisoned by Woo In, her own council member. Beneath her veil, I was sure Mbali looked haunted as well.

  “Thaddace was supposed to protect Olugbade at all costs,” Mbali said. “That is the point of being an Anointed One, and why I was ready for The Lady to drop me from this very tower. But Thaddace . . .” She sighed. “He couldn’t let me go. He broke the most sacred vow he’d ever made, and now he feels the universe is owed a debt.”

  Cold crept down my arms. “He wants to die?”

  Mbali nodded, the beaded strands of her veil clinking together.

  “That’s . . .” I sputtered. “That’s insane.”

  “No,” Mbali deadpanned. “That’s just Thaddace.”

  Kirah crossed her arms. “The High Lord Judge does love one thing more than order, High Priestess. And that’s you. I’ve seen it.”

  “You shouldn’t call me that anymore,” Mbali scolded her quietly. “You became High Priestess Kirah the moment Olugbade died. Likewise, Thaddace is not the High Lord Judge. Not anymore.” She shot her mirror-black eyes to me. “The sooner you both embrace your roles, the better.”

  Kirah flushed. “Well, I still think you can convince him, High . . . Anointed Honor. When you walk into a room, he changes. You’re his Core.” She used a stubborn tone that I suspected she got from her mother. “And you know it.” Then she held out four gobs of wax.

  Mbali looked doubtful, but sighed, shrugged, and plugged her ears. I plugged mine as well, and Kirah cleared her throat and sang into the rafters. The sound was muted, but I recognized the same lullaby Kirah had sung when we first met, waiting for our turn to be tested in the Children’s Palace.

  Even with my hands clapped over my plugged ears, the jangling timbre of Kirah’s voice seeped into my limbs, reminding them of how tired they were. Of how sweet it was to rest. How surely a nap, even here on the cold tiled floor, was precisely what I needed . . .

  I shook my head and hummed a counter tune, clearing the fog from my mind. The guards at the top of the stairs were not so lucky. When their shadows appeared on the steps, the four warriors were hunched with exhaustion, yawning as they squinted down at us. Three made it a few steps before slumping in the stairwell, their spears dropping with a clatter as they began to snore. The last guard seemed to realize what was happening, but before she could cry for help I bounded up the stairs, clapped her head, and stole the last few moments of her memories. Guilt pricked me as she stared at my veiled face, her own washed of emotion.

  I gritted my teeth and pressed her temple again, erasing the entire morning, as well as the day before. Years of trying to coax away Sanjeet’s nightmares had taught me that minds were dangerously resilient. With enough context, people could reconstruct their stolen memories, like filling in the missing tiles of a mosaic. If Thaddace was to escape, I couldn’t let guards remember who had helped him.

  The guard succumbed to Kirah’s song at last, slumping against me. I laid her gently on the landing, then wiped the memories of the three other guards, taking no chances.

  How many days of stolen memories, I wondered, did it take to erase who someone was? Suppose I erased a crucial moment or epiphany—was that akin to murder?

  I swallowed hard, trying not to think about it. For the few memories I stole from the guards, Thaddace would survive to make thousands more. That made it all right—didn’t it? Sacrifice of the few for the many . . . I shivered, hating the cursed arithmetic of empresses.

  One of the guards wore a necklace of keys; I lifted it over his head and lurched up the stairs. There, behind the iron-barred door that led out to Heaven, stood Thaddace, hands clapped firmly over his ears.

  I beamed with relief. If Thaddace hadn’t recognized Kirah’s Hallow in time, we would have had to drag his sleeping body from the tower.

  “Anointed Honor,” I said, parting the birinsinku veil, “it’s me. We’ve come to get you out.” My smile faded at Thaddace’s empty stare. A sharp ammonia smell rose from buckets at his feet, and a threadbare tunic, pulled up like a hood over his head, served as his only protection from weeks of beating sun and wind. Livid burns speckled his pale skin. His hair and beard had been recently shorn—more mercy than humiliation, where prison lice were considered. I wondered who had snuck him the razor, and why—though the thought sent me shivers—he had not used it to end his misery.

  He uncovered his ears. “I told you,” rasped the former High Lord Judge, “not to come.”

  “I’ve never been good at following directions,” I reminded him, and fumbled with the ring of keys, racing through the guards’ stolen memories. An image of the correct key surfaced in my mind. I held it to the lock . . . then yelped and dropped the key ring, sucking my blistered finger.

  “Really?” I accused Thaddace, gaping in shock. “Using your heating Hallow on the iron? That’s low, Anointed Honor.”

  He said nothing, green eyes dull and sullen.

  “You could have melted the whole lock,” I said then, realization dawning. “All this time, you could have freed yourself!”

  “I have not spent my life,” said Thaddace in his thick Mewish brogue, “enforcing the laws of this empire to flout them now. In a few hours, I will lay my head on tha
t chopping block. And so help me gods, I will settle my debts at last . . .” He trailed off as his gaze fell behind me, where Mbali and Kirah stood.

  The former High Priestess removed her veil. “And what about the debt you owe to me?”

  The resolution in Thaddace’s jaw crumbled, like a pillar of salt in water.

  “What of your siblings, who have suffered enough?” Mbali asked, reaching through the bars to stroke his weather-scarred face.

  They tried to speak without words, eyes filled with mute longing. But no energy crackled through the air—no sparks crossed the space between them.

  They don’t even have a mental bond anymore. Kirah Ray-spoke, her horror sharp in our mental bond. I guess their Ray abilities disappeared when the old Emperor died. Tar . . . that just doesn’t seem fair.

  No, it didn’t. I was still reeling at how quickly the old Anointed Ones had been stripped of their power. After Emperor Olugbade’s death, Arit law required his council to be permanently exiled from An-Ileyoba so that the our council’s new power would go unchallenged. Olugbade’s Eleven now resided at a cloistered temple just outside Oluwan City. After a complicated series of disguises and bribes, Kirah and I had just managed to smuggle Mbali back into the palace, knowing she was our only hope of coaxing Thaddace from prison.

  Thaddace and Mbali can still be together, I pointed out to Kirah, trying to comfort myself as well. They don’t need the Ray to survive.

  But I wasn’t sure if I meant it. I thought of my nights with Sanjeet since returning to An-Ileyoba: our bodies pressed into the shape of each other, sugary nonsense drifting between our minds until one of us dropped asleep. I would love him without the Ray, of course. But when I imagined the mental link vanishing, erecting a wall of adamant between our minds forever . . . I shuddered.

  Thaddace wept into Mbali’s palm. “I have to stay,” he whispered. “We lived to build an empire. To shape order from chaos, a world where rules matter. If you think I’ve gone insane—”

  “I think,” Mbali said bitterly, “that you’re the same fool I fell in love with. The one who thought the right set of laws could save humanity.”