Page 5 of Her Soul for a Crown

Though centuries had passed since Reeri lost his life, the memory of it was sharp and persistent as a mosquito bite.

He no longer counted how often his first memory surfaced, how often he had let it, imagining the gold-red daylight rising behind his eyelids, the chirping and buzzing and sizzling rousing him.

On the first day of life, he had opened his eyes to wood; above, below, and to each side. The floor was crammed with candles, fabrics, oils, and vessels. A shrine , instinct had thrummed.

Through the doorway, he looked upon them for the first time.

Humans . They passed by, chatting and laughing.

Animals, too, in flight or on foot. A compulsion to be near them, with them, reverberated in his chest. Reeri stepped forward, cautious not to disturb the offerings.

His fingers tingled with anticipation as he crossed the threshold.

A gentle caress rippled down his spine as the balmy sun touched his shoulders. The powdered, gritty earth warmed his soles and wedged betwixt his toes. He marveled at feeling, at experiencing, as he took another step—

And snapped back into the shrine.

Reeri’s brow furrowed. He took one step into the sun and another—back into the shrine.

The pull began at his navel, a force binding and confining him to the wooden room. His heart beat swiftly at the thought.

Mayhap he was only moving too slowly. With a sudden start, he ran across the threshold, one foot in front of the other—

And snapped back into the shrine, toppling over vessels and snuffing out candles. Fear trickled down his spine. He was here to commune. All his instinct rang clear with it. The Yakkas were sent here with a purpose. Why else leave the Second Heavens? Yet communion could not be achieved alone.

It took weeks for Reeri to test it thoroughly. The fettering force never lessened. Its potency remained high in the early morning during the songbirds’ rise, in the afternoon under the scorching sun, in the evening dusk with the soft, cool breeze, and at midnight’s reign as the moon shined bright.

His fists clenched, the muscles in his arms rippling as he glared at the walls. Were his brethren facing the same obstacle? Why had the Lord separated them, as if they were not a clan as they were in the Heavens?

A cough sounded in the doorway. Reeri glanced over his shoulder as a man crashed to his knees, head bowed, eyes averted, outstretched hands presenting the finest fabrics.

“An offering, great Blood Yakka. Hear my prayer. Please protect my family from the bleeding fever. I offer the most expensive of silks.”

The words struck Reeri, pulled him closer. Gently, the man placed the offering in his hands, and smooth, liquid cream spilled across Reeri’s fingers. “Son of Earth, your prayer has been heard.” He bowed his head. “I accept your bargain.”

A vision burned, sudden and clear: the man stood with his family, a boy, two girls, a wife, and an elderly mother.

Reeri only had to think the word protection , and an incandescent layer of aether covered their bodies.

A sense of rightness settled on his shoulders.

The disease ravaging the villages with fever and bleeding the people dry would not touch them, for a time.

Another bargain would be necessary in the future.

Communion , instinct said. O Heavens. This was the reason for his descent.

But as the man left, a cold emptiness filled the room.

Reeri wanted to be out under the sun, with the birds and elephants.

He wished to explore the land, to follow the wind that rustled the plantain leaves, to find the one with whom his soul communed, introduce them to his brethren and experience this life together. As one, whole and hale.

The image was so vivid, he nearly believed he had made it, when a tug began at his navel.

Reeri glanced down. For a moment he was paused, unmoving.

Then he snapped into another shrine, in another village.

This one far vaster and more ornate, the doorway sheathed in beads.

Beyond lay a bustling, thriving market. On the floor lay a woman holding bowls of steaming rice before her.

“Great Blood Yakka, hear my prayer. Please avenge my son. He did not deserve to die.” The woman shook, holding back her cries.

Reeri needed no further details. The bargains were all that mattered, the purpose for which he had been created.

They were a shadow of the power of Lord Wessamony of the Second Heavens, the Great Destroyer, who could imbue pure destruction with the snap of his fingers.

Yet his powers were bound to the days of the Maha and Yala Equinox—a balance demanded of the cosmos.

So Wessamony made his own balance in return.

The Yakkas were unfettered by the seasons or movement of the stars, yet they could act only once a deal had been struck, lest the balance of the cosmos be undone.

Closing his eyes, Reeri inhaled the scent of the rice, noting the difference in aroma from that given in the previous shrine. Undeniably it hailed from a different farm, but was also a different grain. The thought rubbed against him—another part of life withheld.

“Daughter of Earth, your prayer has been heard,” he said betwixt clenched teeth. “I accept your bargain.”

The vision came quickly: The man who had taken her son’s life appeared in bold colors.

He was short and wide, a father of six boys; his pastimes included whipping and belittling.

Reeri’s lip curled. The word came to mind, striking down upon the man.

Spleen . It ruptured, poisonous waste seeping into the man’s blood. He would succumb within the week.

So it went.

Reeri’s binding pulled him to various shrines, where he either accepted or rejected bargains. Only those without fair exchanges, whose offerings were not nearly as grand as their request, were rejected. Balance must always be kept.

Was that why the Yakkas had been separated?

When the silence rang out in the emptiness of his chambers, he meditated on the question.

His eyes stayed closed against the temptation of anger and self-pity, against the sun beckoning him forth.

The perfume of simmering curry and the musical notes of a village’s laughter celebrating two souls finding and communing with one another, did nothing to help.

Every sense reminded him of the various facets of life he had not, and would not, experience.

Reeri gritted his teeth as the scent of curry crept closer.

A pinch nipped his cheek.

“Ow!” Reeri’s eyes flew open. “Why would—Kama.”

Taller than most, with a willowy stance and a far-off gaze, the Yakka inched closer, her head tilted. “You looked dead.”

“I am not,” Reeri said.

“Clearly,” Kama sighed, as if disappointed, and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Reeri scrambled to stand. “This is my shrine. Are you not bound to yours?”

Kama leaned against a wall, took a long, slow bite of her food. “Coconut milk is my favorite part of curry. Do you think I could bathe in it?”

“Kama—”

“I shall give it a try. Surely someone is desperate enough for love to pour me a river’s worth.”

As one of the sisters of the Yakkas of Love, Kama’s powers resided over the heart. With nothing left for the mind, Calu had once jested. Reeri’s impatience boiled. “Answer my question, please.”

Kama licked her fingers clean and dropped the empty bowl to the ground. It skittered and knocked over a candle. “Have not their offerings been strengthening you? Or have you been too enthralled with your dreams to take note?”

“What do you mean?”

She cocked her head. “The shackle loosens with each bargain.”

“Mine does not.”

She glanced at the floor of offerings. “When was the last time you tested it?”

In truth, he did not know. After so many failed attempts, he had taken to brooding about it instead.

Kama’s gaze brightened. “Go ahead, do it. That is what you were dreaming about, was it not? Being outside. Eating curry. Living life with the one with whom your soul communes.”

Her velvet voice, made for completing bargains of the heart, picked at the thread of his desire and tugged. Reeri did not fight it. As he had done countless times, he reached inside himself and grasped the invisible line attached to his navel, hope blooming. This time, he found his fetter lax.

“There you go,” Kama cooed. She stepped lightly over to him.

“Take hold of your dreams, Reeri. Come and commune.” She bent down and brushed a delicate finger across the spot she had pinched.

Then, with a peal of laughter, she danced out of the shrine.

Arms raised to the Heavens, she said, “The flashier your craft, the faster they will pray!”

Reeri’s cheek burned.

It burned with the hottest desire.

***

Flashy was not Reeri’s forte.

But he knew within the depths of his being that he was not meant to be alone. It was written on his heart. Alongside each name in his clan and the nameless soul he might one day find.

He began with boils. The kind that was puss filled and contagious. He moved on to rashes, reaching up spines and covering necks. The bursting organs were no one’s favorite. They could not watch their enemy suffer.

No, the humans craved blood bubbling to the surface, choking their enemies’ throats and flooding out of their mouths. They thirsted for rivers to spout from noses, streams to burst from orifices.

Reeri complied.

Quickly, half the island prayed for his wrath.

The other half cowered and begged for protection, not against the natural illnesses spreading through the land, nor against the other Yakkas’ crafts—they prayed for protection against his own hand.

That it would not crash upon their houses, their bodies, their loved ones.