Page 38 of The Gilded Ones

“Because I wanted to show you that size does not matter,” she explains. “No opponent is infallible, no matter how big he is. Deathshrieks may be bigger, but no matter how frightening they seem, how intimidating they may be, you are just as strong, just as fast – especially when you enter the combat state, which you experienced this morning when you ran and your senses became heightened, your reflexes sharpened.

“We will explore this more as time goes on. For now, let us continue the lesson.”

“Raise your lazy arses, neophytes!”

I don’t need this aggressively shouted reminder. Two and a half weeks in, the schedule is second nature to me now, so I’m already washed and dressed by the time Jeneba comes to lead us to the courtyard. The recruits are waiting there, the leather armour on their bodies gleaming under the flickering light of the torches.

I blink, startled by the sight.

I haven’t seen any of the recruits since the day we were matched in Jor Hall. Heard them training, of course, their voices carrying over the wall. But even on lunar days, when we all have a full afternoon to ourselves, we haven’t crossed paths – not that I expected it. Unlike us, they’re free to go into the city that day, free to mix with the people beyond the Warthu Bera’s walls, as are the assistants and matrons. The only people who never leave the Warthu Bera are the alaki – not that we’re allowed to roam inside the training ground either. I’ve confirmed this trying to enter the Hall of Records the last two lunar days.

Assistants and matrons constantly guard the corridors, ready to greet any alaki who strays off the beaten path with the barbed end of their rungus. Just as Jeneba said, neophytes are not allowed in any of the restricted areas until our first three weeks end.

Thankfully, they’re almost over.

In three days exactly, I’ll enter the Hall of Records. Then I’ll read from the Heraldry of Shadows and answer the questions that have been plaguing me ever since I entered this training ground.

I can almost imagine it now, seeing my mother’s name there, reading about her life, her deeds, learning about her abilities – about mine as well.

Anticipation races through me at the thought.

As I savour the feeling, golden eyes meet mine across the courtyard. I stiffen, unnerved, when Keita nods at me, his expression cold as it was the first time I met him. The novices are directing us to merge lines, so I reluctantly shuffle towards him, grateful that my hair has already regrown to its former length, courtesy of my alaki healing. I’ll have to cut it again soon. It interferes with training. Most girls have taken to hacking theirs off every morning like the novices do, and some, like Adwapa, keep their heads perfectly bald.

Once we’re standing side by side, Keita nods down at me. “Morning greetings, Deka,” he murmurs.

“Morning greetings,” I reply, fighting the urge to duck my head. Just as before, I feel uneasy when I’m near him. Something about him makes me remember Ionas and what happened the last time I got close to a boy.

Maybe it’s his height. He’s just as tall as Ionas, and that’s no common thing.

I forcibly return my attention to the front of the courtyard as Karmoko Thandiwe steps forward, dark-brown skin gleaming against her clay-daubed hair. This morning, she’s wearing midnight-blue robes and a half mask painted darkest onyx. All the other karmokos behind her and Captain Kelechi wear similar masks, as they always do whenever men are about.

I don’t envy them. I can only imagine how impractical those masks would be during training, with all the sweating and dirt we have to deal with.

“In the past two and a half weeks,” Karmoko Thandiwe announces, “you have learned the basics of speed, strength, weaponry, and combat. Today, you will begin training in pairs, starting with your daily run. Remember, you are partnered from now on, and you must account for each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Understood?”

“Yes, Karmoko,” I shout along with the other girls.

She nods at Gazal, who steps forward, her uruni, a slim, blond Northern boy, just beside her. “Let’s go, neophytes, move your arses!” she commands, setting off in a quick jog.

I follow behind her, easily keeping pace. Over the past few weeks, the run has become my favourite part of the day. I can already notice the air slowing around me as I move faster up the hill, muscles loosening, senses coming alive. I’m slipping into the combat state, much more easily than when I first arrived.

I turn to glance at Britta, about to chat with her, as always, but she isn’t there, and neither are the other girls, now that I’m looking. They’re all at the bottom of the hill, shuffling at least five steps after the recruits, even though their muscles must be spasming and twitching from the effort of running so slowly. They’re doing exactly what they would have done in their home villages – holding themselves back so they don’t show up any potential husbands. But the Warthu Bera isn’t a home village, and there are much greater dangers here than upsetting a few boys. The memory of the corpses in Irfut’s snow flashes across my mind and I dig my nails into my skin.

I dart over to Britta and the others, not caring when the recruits stop and watch, astounded by my speed. “You can’t slow down for them,” I say. “You have to make them keep up with you.”

“Deka,” Britta whispers. She glances at the gawking recruits, embarrassed. “Ye can’t let them see ye like that – in the combat state an’ such. It’ll frighten them.”

The other girls around her nod in agreement.

“She’s right,” Katya says.

“Frighten them?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Do you think we’re here, learning all these new things, endangering ourselves, just for the sport of it? There are deathshrieks outside these walls, and they will kill us if we don’t learn how to fight them. We will die out there.”

Memories bombard my mind, sudden and violent. The gold, the blood… I gag, nearly tasting it dripping into my mouth, the way it used to do.

“Have you ever died, Katya?” I ask.

She blinks. “Well, no—”

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