Page 14 of The Gilded Ones

I flinch at the words, shame growing, but White Hands’s expression freezes colder than the wind now whipping through the air. “I neither fear little girls nor need shackles to compel them,” she says, ice dripping from her words. “Now if you will excuse me.”

She clicks the wagon’s reins.

Just like that, I’m riding out of the only home I’ve ever known.

Elder Durkas watches me, a chilling hatred in his eyes. Who will he bleed for gold now that I’m gone?

As we pass the last houses on Irfut’s outskirts, White Hands gestures towards the girl. “Deka, this is your travelling companion, Britta. She is going to the capital as well.”

“Hullo,” Britta says again. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem scared of me at all, even after what Elder Durkas said. But then, she’s an alaki like me.

I manage a small, shy nod. “Evening greetings,” I mumble.

“Britta will explain to you more about your kind,” White Hands says. “She should know. She’s the same as you. Well, almost.”

I cautiously examine Britta from the corner of my eye. She catches my look and grins again. Other than my parents and Elfriede, no one’s ever smiled at me so much. I fight the urge to duck my head in embarrassment.

“So yer new to this alaki business too,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“I just heard the word for the first time today,” I reply, glancing down.

Britta nods eagerly. “I didna know about it meself until I started bleeding the cursed gold durin’ me menses. Me da nearly keeled over when me ma showed him mine. But they did me right, called herself.” She nods at White Hands. “She came an’ took me two weeks ago. Apparently, I’m one of the lucky ones.”

When I glance up at her, confused, she explains: “Afore, most girls got executed in the temples the moment they were discovered, an’ their families were punished so they’d never speak of it. Now everybody gets sent to the capital. They’ve even started takin’ the younger girls, the ones who haven’t been proven by the Ritual of Purity. The minute they suspect ye, they cut ye an’ that’s that.”

Despised are the marked or scarred, the wounded and the bleeding girls… The quote from the Infinite Wisdoms rushes through my mind, and I nearly laugh at the irony, the wickedness of it all. Now I understand why they don’t want girls to get cut or wounded before the Ritual of Purity. It’s so the impure ones like me don’t discover what we are, don’t ask any questions before it’s too late. It’s also likely the reason they don’t kill impure girls before the Ritual. Kill an impure girl any other time and her family will protest, the other villagers will ask questions, voice their objections… It’s the Ritual that gives legitimacy to the murder.

An impure girl is despised by Oyomo, her very existence an offence to Him. Her murder is sanctioned by the Infinite Wisdoms, and who can argue with the holy books? Who would dare even try? All the families can see from then on is the demon that somehow invaded their bloodline. The sheer wickedness of it stings.

Britta looks at me, pity rising in her eyes. “Must’ve been horrible, wha those bastards did to ye back there. I’m so sorry for wha happened to ye.”

More memories, all so sudden and powerful, my body trembles from the force of them. The cellar…the gold… Blood rushes to my head, and light becomes pinpricks. I close my eyes against it, faint.

“Ye all right?” Britta asks, concerned.

I slowly nod. “I am,” I say. Then I clear my throat, try to change the subject. “So what did White Hands tell you about our kind?”

Britta’s eyebrows rise. “White Hands? That’s herself’s name?”

Her surprise is so unexpected, so genuine, I smile and shake my head. “I don’t know what her real name is. I gave it to her because of the gauntlets.”

Britta nods, quickly understanding. It’s bad luck to ask the emperor’s emissaries directly for their names. Never invite trouble into your house, as the saying goes.

I prompt her again. “So what exactly am I? What are we? White Hands never explained fully.”

“Demons,” Britta says, the word a shard of ice through my heart. “Well, their descendants, leastways.” She leans closer, eyes wide as she whispers, “She says we’re the descendants of the Gilded Ones.”

“The Gilded Ones?” I repeat, alarm rushing over me.

I know the Gilded Ones – everyone in Otera does. Four ancient demons, they preyed upon humanity for centuries, destroying kingdom after kingdom until everyone finally banded together for protection, forming Otera, the One Kingdom. It took several battles before the first emperor was finally able to destroy them, and he only did so using the might of Otera’s combined armies.

Every winter, villages enact plays chronicling the Gilded Ones’ defeat. Elderly aunts wear masks carved in their images to frighten naughty children, and men burn straw figures in their likeness to scare away evil.

And I’m being compared to them. Being called one of them. Heart drumming a sudden and panicked beat, I rummage in my pack and unearth the golden seal White Hands gave me, quickly counting the stars embedded in the ansetha. When I see what’s there, tears sear my eyes. Four. Four stars in the symbol. Four Gilded Ones.

Why didn’t I suspect this? I should have known, should have at least suspected, the moment my blood ran gold. The Gilded Ones were female, after all, and they were always depicted with gold veins running over their bodies. No wonder Oyomo took so long to hear me, no wonder I had to submit to the executions, the bleedings, for so long. I am an insult to the natural order itself.

Britta doesn’t seem to notice my despair as she smiles at me. “Oh, ye got one of those too,” she says excitedly, holding a golden seal identical to mine. “White Hands gave it to me when me ma an’ da handed me over. Most saddened they were to see me go, but it was—”

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