Page 2 of Her Soul for a Crown

The lack of wind dismayed Reeri.

So too did the lack of smell, taste, touch. If he closed his shadow eyes, he could nearly sense the sun warming the skin that was not there, the juice of a mango on his lips, the wave of his hair in the midday breeze.

The aether betwixt the Heavens and Earth was a vast, dark nothingness. It was a holding place, a pause, a prison. Two centuries—he had been more than a phantom two centuries ago, with a body and a life.

Reeri shook the memory loose before it cinched tight as a noose. He waited for the shadow offerings to come and envisioned the one he needed. The one the Lord of the Second Heavens wanted. The one that would grant him a body once again.

Moreover, the one that would save all whom Reeri had damned.

A shadow appeared into the nothingness in front of him. A shadow bowl of steaming shadow rice. Reeri pinched the rim betwixt two shadow fingers, the wisps of his edges and the bowl’s twirling and twining together.

Great Blood Yakka, hear my prayer, send a disease of the stomach upon the house of Perera for the anxiety they’ve caused my son. I offer the finest rice of my harvest.

If shadows could grind, Reeri’s teeth would be dust. The humans had become sanguinary as of late, demanding of retribution for the smallest of offenses. Time had matured their temper yet diluted their convictions.

Rice was not a fair exchange for a disease. How was he to demand more for the bargain if they did not already see its true worth?

“For the Heavens’ sakes, Reeri, hurry up.” A voice came from behind him. “Lord Wessamony is furious you are late.”

Reeri scowled over his shoulder. “None of these are right. They will not give him what he wants.”

Calu, one of the three Yakkas condemned to this fate with Reeri, plucked the bowl from his insubstantial fingers and examined it. “What he wants today is options. The Maha Equinox is nigh, and he is anxious to have the relic before then.”

“All the more reason for me to wait for the human who cares enough about their bargain to agree to find it as their elevated offering.”

“There is no finding the relic. We have tried for centuries to no avail. Let us go and get this over with.”

“No.” Reeri snatched the offering back. Too much hinged on this undertaking.

“The No Yakka strikes again.”

If shadows could bristle, Reeri would be full of spikes. “O Heavens, spare me another nickname.”

“Why forgo the only fun I have had in centuries?”

Reeri clenched the shadow bowl in his fist. It did not crumple.

The fault lies entirely with you.

“Present this offering to Wessamony,” Calu said, pulling Reeri from his memories. “Who knows? Mayhap it is the one that will lead us to the relic, and you will stop looking as though you are going to bite someone’s shadow in half.”

“I do not appear that way,” Reeri scoffed.

“Of course, you do not. Everyone adores speaking with you. See the line behind me?”

Nothingness stretched beyond him.

“Your wit has not aged well.”

“At least mine has not withered on the vine.” Calu sighed. “He wants you. He is threatening Kama if you do not come.”

Shadows churned like the ocean. “Why did you not begin with that?” Reeri spun on his heel. His shadow heart pounded. Kama was supposed to be safe. Only the others were—

No.

He would not allow it to happen. Not again.

From the time the cosmos burst into existence, the Heavens lay split in two.

On one side stood the pearl-encrusted gates of the First Heavens, barring all from ascending the gilt stairs to the Divinities’ realm.

On the other side, the Second Heavens’ ivory structure loomed over a lake, its domes and turrets, towers and spires stretched as if they could pierce the steps and enter the others’ sphere.

The cosmos demanded balance. One realm contained purveyors of unconditional blessing, the other of contractual obligation.

Both fulfilled a necessary role in human life.

Curses and cures, mercy and misfortune—it all came from the Heavens.

Only the vehicle for which it was given differed, for it was not balance if all favor came freely, nor if all aid came with a price.

Yet in the centuries since the Yakkas’ banishment from earth, the balance had tilted, turned, soured. The Divinities of the First Heavens had stayed the same, but Lord Wessamony had changed the function of the Yakkas of the Second. All due to Reeri.

“Brace yourself—he is short of temper today,” Calu said, pressing open the intricately embellished double doors to Lord Wessamony’s court.

The ivory floor—the only aspect of the past that had survived—was smooth as glass.

Where gold statues once stood, depicting the great Lord in all his glory, broken stone now lay in heaps littered in dust and debris.

Where frescos once adorned walls, now the blackest tar marred their faces.

The main chamber, once vast and bright with heavenslight, was now made brighter with fire and brimstone.

Empty of heavensong and void of heavenly communion, the acoustics made for—

“Reeri!” A voice thundered. It reverberated through the hall and rippled Reeri’s shadow.

A whimpering sounded along the south wall. He dared not spare a glance. He knew who was there, how they were strung up, and why.

Him. The answer, eternally, was him.

“You dare refuse my summons again,” Lord Wessamony said from upon his gilt throne, a blue hue blazing up his twisted horns. One hand squeezed tight around the Great Sword, gold and bright, glowing in its own glory. “I shall take from you the rest of your clan.”

Reeri paused at the base of the dais, a small step in front of where Calu stood alongside Sohon and Kama—the four of them the only unshackled Yakkas remaining after Reeri’s mistake.

“My apologies, Great Lord.” Reeri bent at what used to be a waist. His eyes flicked to Kama’s shadow hand curled tightly around Sohon’s. “I lost track of time searching for the perfect bargain.”

“Show me your findings.”

Reeri straightened. Wisps of his edges flickered. “I was unable to—”

“Show me!” Wessamony demanded.

Reeri lifted the phantom rice bowl, brought his lips close, and whispered, “Son of Earth, your prayer has been heard.”

Reeri felt the moment the offerer heard his words. It was akin to rain misting on one’s face. Sensed but not seen.

Thank you, gracious Blood Yakka. A faceless voice echoed in the great court. Thank you—

“It has been heard, not accepted. Yet,” Reeri said. “Offer up Fate’s Bone Blade, and you will have your request complete.”

The relic? But it has been lost for centuries. They say those who seek it never return.

“Your request is grand. So too must be your offering.”

Yes, of course, but—

“Enough of this!” Wessamony growled. His lips curled back in disdain, baring sharp teeth. One wave of his hand and the Great Sword swung, cutting through the shadow bowl, severing Reeri’s connection. “You bring me worthless offerings from spineless humans!”

“I tried to—”

“Try? You are not trying! You are failing! Have you no care for your souls, for the souls of those you have damned? Mayhap you wish eternal damnation on your clan! Mayhap I should send the rest there, too!”

Reeri clenched a fist. “No.”

The sound of the sword came first. The sight came second. Reeri did not think—he moved, launching himself in front of Kama and closing his eyes against the sharpness. Yet it never came.

A scream pealed instead.

Reeri’s head snapped up and to the south wall, where hundreds of Yakkas in varying states of suffering stood chained.

The Great Sword was as long as three human men, golden as the sun, and quick as lightning.

With a twang, it sliced through one of the Yakkas’ shadow shoulders. Her cry echoed off the marble floor.

The Great Sword swung back again, catching Ratti on her other shoulder, then her chest, her arms, her abdomen, shredding her shadow.

Each one of her screams tore through Reeri’s shadow heart.

For though they could not taste or smell, the Yakkas could feel the lash of a whip, the cut of a blade, the undoing of their existence.

“Please,” he murmured.

“You are the damnation of your brethren,” Wessamony seethed. A gleam, red as fire in his eyes, a curled smile on his lip. “You are the ruination of all my plans for the ascendence of the Second Heavens. You deserve this and more.”

Reeri glanced behind him. Calu’s shadow hand twirled tightly around Kama’s. The three of them braced against the pain of watching their sister’s death. Again.

“Yes, my Lord.” It slid from Reeri’s lips, low and broken.

“Have I been gracious, granting you a chance of atonement?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do you want redemption?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“What, then, shall you do?”

Dissent.

The word spilled unbidden in his mind, like the agony bubbling on Ratti’s lips. Ratti, the sister who loved to hug him, who grounded Kama in reality, who knew how to make Sohon smile, who coaxed Calu out of his shell. Ratti, the oldest of the Yakka sisters, with the purest heart.

Riot.

It burned down his throat.

Revolt.

It kindled in his heart.

“What will you do to redeem their souls, Reeri?” Wessamony boomed. “What will you do to return to your bodies?”

Reeri watched Ratti shiver as her shadow knit back together. Within an hour, she would be ready to die a thousandth time.

“I will find the dagger.”

Wessamony nodded, appeased. The Great Sword flew to his hand, pristine, as if the torture it doled out was insignificant. “May it be the only bargain any of you make before the Maha Equinox.”

Reeri turned on one phantom heel. The venom of two centuries seethed below his surface. Wessamony was no great Lord. He cared not for the redemption of his creation, only for his plan of ascendance.

What would Reeri do?

He would find the dagger, save his brethren from damnation, and fix what he had broken, then safeguard them for eternity.

He would kill Wessamony.