Page 18 of The Gilded Ones

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why – how – I slept so long,” I say, still in shock. I turn to White Hands. “Is that something that happens to alaki? Is it normal?”

“No,” she replies. “But you needed your rest. Experiences such as the one you had can take their toll. Even humans, when faced with your circumstances, sleep away their pain. Better now than when you reach the Warthu Bera.”

I frown. “The Warthu Bera?” I’ve never heard those words before.

“The training ground where me an’ ye are assigned,” Britta says excitedly, tapping the old Hemairan symbol on the back of her seal. “That’s wha this symbol means. It’s the most elite one.”

My forehead scrunches in confusion. Why would we be sent to the most elite ground when we haven’t even done any training yet?

I can’t comprehend it. I can’t comprehend anything right now. That dream resurfaces, a vague memory edging at my thoughts. It flitters away when White Hands passes us each small sticks of what looks like charcoal. I recognize them immediately: tozali. My mother used to line her eyes with it every day to protect them from the sun.

“Rub this on your eyes. You’ll need it. We depart upon the hour.”

“Yes, White Hands,” we say as she leaves.

Once she’s gone, Britta and I apply the tozali using a small jug of water as a mirror. My hands tremble as I rub the stick against my eyelids. My muscles have become so weak now, every tiny movement has them howling in protest. It’s even worse when I begin packing up what remains of my things. When did I eat last?

And how could I have slept so long? My limbs feel rubbery – new – the way they felt every time I woke up after the gilded sleep. Even worse, there’s a strange feeling somewhere deep inside me, as if something is changing…growing… I can’t help but feel that I’ve become different somehow, in a way I don’t yet understand.

Britta watches me the entire time, a perplexed look in her eyes.

“What is it?” I ask, my mind still racing.

“Why is it that ye survive even when ye do not eat?” she whispers. When I glance at her, startled, she explains: “Ye didn’t have a bite of food or even a drop of water. I had to eat all your meals so the other passengers wouldn’t notice you were asleep for the entire journey. I told them ye were sick – that’s why ye weren’t movin’ or talking. But they would’ve wondered about ye if ye never ate. So I ate for ye. I mean, I knew ye were strange, but this…” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “This is unnatural, Deka.”

Unnatural… There it is, that word again.

I know Britta didn’t mean to hurt me, but the word still stings. Even worse, it’s true. I don’t feel any hunger any more. It’s disappeared, vanished to a place where I cannot find it. I shrug sadly, trying to push back all the horrible feelings rising inside me, the fears at this new, worrying sign of my impurity.

“I don’t know. It’s never happened before. It must be like White Hands says, I was sleeping away everything that happened in that cel—”

“Are ye hungry now?” she asks quickly.

I know she’s interrupting so I don’t have to finish the devastating words. I nod gratefully. “I suppose I could eat.”

She quickly hooks my elbow with hers, offering me a bright smile. “Then let’s feed ye before yer stomach starts dancin’ the Northern jig,” she says, pulling me up the stairs.

We emerge to sunlight so blinding, I have to shade my eyes against the glare. Crowds upon crowds of people mill across the docks, their voices a formidable wave of sound emerging from every ship, street, and stall. There are too many people, too many sounds… I have to fight the urge to block my ears.

“Oyomo preserve us!” Britta exclaims. “Have ye ever seen so many people in yer life?”

As I shake my head, speechless, Britta waves goodbye to the sailors and other passengers. To my surprise, they wave cheerfully back. “Travel blessings, Britta,” a grizzled old sailor calls.

Britta beams in return. “And the same on yer next journey, Kelma!”

When she sees me looking, she shrugs. “We became friends,” she explains. Then she leans closer, whispering: “They told me all sorts o’ things over the journey. Deathshrieks have been attacking Hemaira! Every night, a few of them slip in, an’ no one knows how.”

My eyes widen. Deathshrieks in the capital? How is that even possible? It’s said the walls of Hemaira are impenetrable, that the city itself has been made into a walled garden impervious to siege. That those creatures could already be here, so close – my mind shudders at the thought.

“And what do they say about us – the alaki?” I ask.

She shrugs. “People don’t know about us yet. Only the priests and elders know. But then, they’ve always known.”

I nod bitterly, until a motion catches my attention: White Hands, beckoning to us from the docks, where Braima and Masaima are already saddling themselves to her wagon.

“Hurry, hurry, Quiet One,” Braima calls. “The day is passing faster and faster.”

I hasten my pace, aware that people are giving Britta and me curious stares. We’re two unmasked girls of Ritual age, no male guardian present to oversee us. It won’t be long now before we’re stopped. Just as I think this, a plump, pious-looking man, embossed Infinite Wisdoms scroll under his arm, separates from the crowd and begins walking towards us, a severe look on his face. Before he can reach us, however, White Hands smoothly cuts in front of him, waving us onward.

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