Page 8 of The Gilded Ones

I remember the Ritual of Purity, the deathshriek leader’s approach – how cold those black eyes were as they met mine. Then the jatu and the village men’s counterattack. Blood on snow. Father in danger. And then that voice emerging from me…that awful, inhuman voice…followed by the look in Father’s eyes as he commanded Ionas to cut me down. The look that I understood only when I saw the golden blood dripping down my belly.

“No…” I whisper, sobs wracking my body. I can almost feel the jagged edge of the sword again, feel the darkness descending upon me.

I rock back and forth, so deep in my horror, I barely notice the footsteps echoing down the stairs, barely see the figures approaching. Only after they’ve been standing before me for some minutes do I look up, discover Elder Durkas reading fervently from the Infinite Wisdoms, a bandaged Elder Olam and the village elders standing silently beside him. There are only five of them now. I wonder about the others, and the image of two elders’ spines shattering under the sweep of deathshriek claws blisters through my mind and my stomach lurches.

I double over, vomit pungent on my tongue. Elder Durkas steps forwards, his eyes filled with disgust. “To think, we sheltered such a creature in our midst.”

His words freeze the vomit in my throat. I surge to my knees, holding my hands out to him. “Elder Durkas,” I plead, “please, this is a mistake! I’m not impure! I am not!”

Guilt surges inside me, a horrific reminder: my skin tingled when the deathshrieks came, and when they left, it was only because I told them to.

Because I commanded them.

Elder Durkas ignores me and turns to the other men. “Who will purify this demon and rid our village of her abomination?”

His words terrify me. I begin begging again. “Please, Elder Durkas, please!”

But the elder says nothing, only turns to Father, who glances at me. There’s an expression in his eyes, an uncertainty.

“Remember, that is not your daughter,” Elder Durkas reminds him. “She may look human now, but that is the demon that has possessed her – the demon that called deathshrieks to our door and killed our families.”

Called the deathshrieks? The words splinter, choking me with horror. “I didn’t!” I protest. “I didn’t call the deathshrieks.”

You made them leave, however… The reminder slithers in my mind and I force it away.

Elder Durkas ignores me, continues talking to Father. “You brought her impurity into this village. It is your duty to cleanse her.”

To my horror, Father nods grimly, then steps forwards and holds out his hand. Ionas places a sword inside it.

When it gleams, its blade reflecting the dim light, my fear explodes. I scramble against the wall. “Father, no! Please, no!”

But Father ignores my pleas and approaches until he’s standing just before me, the tip of the sword resting on my neck. It’s cold, so icy cold… I look up at Father, trying to see any hint of the man who once carried me on his shoulders and saved the creamiest portions of milk because he knew I liked them best.

“Father, please, don’t do this,” I beg, tears pouring down my cheeks. “I’m your daughter. I’m Deka, your Deka, remember?”

For a moment, something seems to spark inside his eyes. Regret…

“Cleanse her or the jatu will come for you and the rest of your family,” Elder Durkas hisses.

Father’s eyes shutter. His lips thin into a tight, grim line. “I cleanse you in the name of Oyomo,” he declares, raising the sword.

“Father, no—”

The blade slices through my neck.

I’m a demon.

I know it the moment I open my eyes. I’m still chained in the cellar, but my body is whole again. Not a single scar or blemish marks my skin – not even the portion of my neck where Father beheaded me. I touch it, a whimper wrenching from deep inside me when I feel the skin there, once more silky smooth under my fingers. It’s as if I’ve been completely reborn. Even my childhood scars are gone.

I hurriedly kneel, bowing my head in prayer. Please don’t abandon me, Infinite Father, I beg. Please purify me of whatever evil has taken hold. Please, please, please…

“Your prayers won’t reach him,” Elder Olam says from the corner. It’s his turn to watch me, it seems. Unlike the others, he does so with fascination rather than disgust. “He’s already rejected you from His Afterlands twice.”

His words are like an arrow piercing my heart. “Because I’m a demon,” I whisper, horror and disgust an acrid bitterness in my mouth.

“Indeed.” Elder Olam doesn’t bother to prettify his answer.

He doesn’t have to. What kind of cursed creature doesn’t die from a beheading? Even deathshrieks topple when their heads are cleaved from their bodies. I close my eyes against the memory, try to breathe out my rising panic.

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