Page 5 of The Gilded Ones

Since the doors haven’t yet opened, I take in the temple’s stark white walls, its red roof. Red is the colour of sanctity. It’s the colour pure girls will bleed when Elder Durkas tests them today.

Please let mine be red, please let mine be red, I pray.

I spot Elfriede at the front, her entire body rigid. She must be thinking the same thing. Like all the other girls, she stands with her face revealed one last time, although she hunches slightly to hide her birthmark.

The temple doors creak open, and the crowd hushes. Elder Durkas appears at the top of the stairs, his usual pinched, disapproving look on his face. As with most priests of Oyomo, his mission is to root out impurity and abomination. That’s why his body is so thin and his eyes are so intense. Religious fervour leaves little room for eating or anything else. A golden tattoo of the kuru – the symbol of the sun – gleams in the middle of his clean-shaven head.

He extends his hands over the crowd. “The Infinite Father blesses you,” he intones.

“The Infinite Father blesses us all.” The crowd’s reply reverberates through the square.

Elder Durkas raises the ceremonial blade towards the sky. It’s carved from ivory and sharper than the most finely honed sword. “‘And upon the fourth day,’” he recites in the deep, booming voice he likes to use for these occasions, “‘he created woman – a helpmeet to lift man to his sacred potential, his divine glory. Woman is the Infinite Father’s greatest gift to mankind. Solace for his darkest hour. Comfort in…’”

Elder Durkas’s words fade to a low droning as my skin begins to tingle, the blood rushing underneath. It’s coupled by sudden awareness: the stillness of the wind, the crackle of melting icicles, and, somewhere in the distance…the crunch of heavy footsteps on fallen leaves.

Something is coming… The thought flitters through my mind.

I force it away. Why is this happening now?

Father must have noticed my distracted expression, because he sighs ruefully, eyes squinting against the sun. “Ever has your mind been inclined to wander, Deka,” he whispers, voice low so the others won’t notice we’re talking. “You’re so very much like your mother.”

When his lips turn down in sadness, I frown at him. “You’ll develop lines,” I say.

Now he smiles, suddenly looking like the hearty man he used to be, before the red pox and Mother’s death conspired to shrink him to a shadow of himself. “A bit like the river condemning the stream for rushing too fast, don’t you think?” he jokes as the line begins to move.

I nod, return my attention to the temple steps. Elder Durkas has finished his recitation. The Ritual of Purity will now begin.

Agda is the first girl to walk into the temple, and her face is pale with nervousness. Will Oyomo favour her or judge that she has succumbed to impurity? The crowd leans forward, tense. The chattering, the whispered conversations – all fade to a hush, until soon the only things you can hear are the disgruntled yips of the dogs and the huffed breaths of the horses tethered to the nearby stables.

Moments later, a startled cry erupts from inside the temple. Agda emerges soon after, her blue scarf clutched across her chest, where Elder Durkas cut her with the ceremonial blade. Once she arrives at the top of the stairs, she pulls off the scarf and holds it above her head to display the red blood it’s saturated with. A relieved cheer swells through the crowd. She’s pure. Her parents rush to embrace her, and her father proudly fixes her first mask onto her face, a delicate gold half mask in the shape of the budding moon to declare her newfound womanhood. She casts a victorious glance around the crowd, her lips curling into a smirk when she glimpses me.

Once she walks back down the stairs, the next girl enters, and the Ritual of Purity begins again.

I train my eyes on the door. The sight of it – large, red, and imposing – frays my nerves, causing my stomach to clench and my palms to moisten. The tingling strengthens – a low hum now, fine hairs lifting, awareness rising.

Something is coming. The thought filters through my mind again.

It means nothing, I remind myself firmly. I’ve felt such things many times before and never once seen anything strange—

Terror slams through me so suddenly and heavily, my knees buckle. I grasp Father’s hand to remain standing. He frowns at me.

“Deka, are you all right?”

I don’t reply. Fear has frozen my lips, and all I can do is watch in horror as a sinister tendril of mist snakes around Father’s feet. More of it is slithering into the square, chilling the air. Above us, the sun flees, chased away by the clouds now rolling across the sky.

Father frowns up at it. “The sun is gone.”

But I’m no longer looking at the sky. My eyes are on the edge of the village, where the winter-stripped trees crackle under the weight of snow and ice. The mist is coming from there, heavy with a sharp, cold smell and something else: a distant, high-pitched sound that jitters my nerves.

When the sound shatters into an ear-piercing shriek, the entire crowd stills, petrified statues in the snow. One word whispers across the square: “Deathshrieks…”

Just like that, the lull is broken.

“Deathshrieks!” the jatu commander calls, unsheathing his sword. “Arm yourselves!”

The crowd scatters, the men racing towards the stables for their weapons, women herding their daughters and sons back to their homes. The jatu plough past the crowd, heading towards the forest, where colossal grey forms are appearing, inhuman shrieks heralding their approach.

The largest deathshriek is the first to step foot over the leafy border marking the edge of the forest. A hulking beast of a creature, it’s rawboned to the point of gauntness, its clawed hands dragging almost to its knees, spikes erupting all the way down its bony spine. It seems almost human, black eyes blinking, slitted nostrils flaring as it surveys the village. It turns to the village square, where I’m still standing, terror-struck, and my breath shallows – short, fast spurts of air now.

---