Page 2 of The Gilded Ones

Never.

It’s still early morning when I reach the village square. There’s a slight chill in the air, and the roofs of nearby houses drip with icicles. Even then, the sun is unseasonably bright, its rays glinting off the high, arching columns of the Temple of Oyomo. Those columns are meant to be a prayer, a meditation on the progress of Oyomo’s sun across the sky every day. High priests use them to choose which two days of the year to conduct the spring and winter Rituals. The very sight of them sends another surge of anxiety through me.

“Deka! Deka!” A familiar gawkish figure waves excitedly at me from across the road.

Elfriede hurries over, her cloak pulled so tightly around her, all I can see are her bright green eyes. She and I both always try to cover our faces when we come into the village square – me because of my colouring and Elfriede because of the dull red birthmark covering the left side of her face. Girls are allowed to remain revealed until they go through the Ritual, but there’s no point attracting attention, especially on a day like this.

This morning, Irfut’s tiny cobblestone square is thronged with hundreds of visitors, more arriving by the cartful every minute.

They’re from all across Otera: haughty Southerners with dark brown skin and tightly curled hair; easygoing Westerners, long black hair in topknots, tattoos all over golden skin; brash Northerners, pink skinned, blond hair gleaming in the cold; and quiet Easterners in every shade from deep brown to eggshell, silky straight black hair flowing in glistening rivers down their backs.

Even though Irfut is remote, it’s known for its pretty girls, and men come from far distances to look at the eligible ones before they take the mask. Lots of girls will find husbands today – if they haven’t already.

“Isn’t it exciting, Deka?” Elfriede giggles.

She gestures at the square, which is now festively decorated for the occasion. The doors of all the houses with eligible girls have been painted gleaming red, banners and flags fly cheerfully from windows, and brightly coloured lanterns adorn every entrance. There are even masked stilt dancers and fire breathers, and they thread through the crowd, competing against the merchants selling bags of roasted nuts, smoked chicken legs, and candied apples.

Excitement courses through me at the sight. “It is,” I reply with a grin, but Elfriede is already dragging me along.

“Hurry, hurry!” she urges, barrelling past the crowds of visitors, many of whom stop to scowl disapprovingly at our lack of male guardians.

In most villages, women can’t leave their homes without a man to escort them. Irfut, however, is small, and men are in scarce supply. Most of the eligible ones have joined the army, as Father did when he was younger. A few have even survived the training to become jatu, the emperor’s elite guard. I spot a contingent of them lingering at the edges of the square, watchful in their gleaming red armour.

There are at least twelve today, far more than the usual two or three the emperor sends for the winter Ritual. Perhaps it’s true what people have been whispering: that more deathshrieks have been breaking through the border this year.

The monsters have been laying siege to Otera’s southern border for centuries, but in the past few years, they’ve gotten much more aggressive. They usually attack near Ritual day, destroying villages and trying to steal away impure girls. Rumour is, impurity makes girls much more delicious…

Thankfully, Irfut is in one of the most remote areas of the North, surrounded by snow-capped mountains and impenetrable forests. Deathshrieks will never find their way here.

Elfriede doesn’t notice my introspection, she’s too busy grinning at the jatu. “Aren’t they just so handsome in their reds? I heard they’re new recruits, doing a tour of the provinces. How wonderful of the emperor to send them here for the Ritual!”

“I suppose…” I murmur.

Elfriede’s stomach grumbles. “Hurry, Deka,” she urges, dragging me along. “The line at the bakery will be unmanageable soon.”

She pulls me so strongly, I stumble, smacking into a large, solid form. “My apologies,” I gasp, glancing up.

One of the visiting men is staring down at me, a thin, wolfish smirk on his lips. “What’s this, another sweet morsel?” He grins, stepping closer.

I hurriedly step back. How could I be so stupid? Men from outside villages aren’t used to seeing unaccompanied women and can make awful assumptions. “I’m sorry, I must go,” I whisper, but he grabs me before I can retreat, his fingers greedily reaching for the button fastening the top of my cloak.

“Don’t be that way, little morsel. Be a nice girl, take off the cloak so we can see what we’ve come—” Large hands wrench him away before he can finish his words.

When I turn, Ionas, the oldest son of Elder Olam, the village head, is glaring down at the man, no trace of his usual easy smile on his face. “If you want a brothel, there’s one down the road, in your town,” he warns, blue eyes flashing. “Perhaps you should return there.”

The difference in their size is enough to make the man hesitate. Though Ionas is one of the handsomest boys in the village – all blond hair and dimples – he’s also one of the largest, massive as a bull and just as intimidating.

The man spits at the ground, annoyed. “Don’t be so pissy, boy. I was only having a bit of fun. That one isn’t even a Northerner, for Oyomo’s sake.”

Every muscle in my body strings taut at this unwelcome reminder. No matter how quiet I am, how inoffensive I remain, my brown skin will always mark me as a Southerner, a member of the hated tribes that long ago conquered the North and forced it to join the One Kingdom, now known as Otera. Only the Ritual of Purity can ensure my place.

Please let me be pure, please let me be pure. I send a quick prayer to Oyomo.

I pull my cloak tighter, wishing I could disappear into the ground, but Ionas steps even closer to the man, a belligerent look in his eyes. “Deka was born and raised here, same as the rest of us,” he growls. “You’ll not touch her again.”

I gape at Ionas, shocked by this unexpected defence. The man huffs. “Like I said, I was only having a bit of fun.” He turns to his friends. “C’mon, then, let’s go get a drink.”

The group retreats, grumbling under their breath.

---