Page 79 of The Gilded Ones

I can see I’ve been dismissed.

I walk away trembling, still no idea what just happened. I do know one thing: I have to be wary of what White Hands plans, or I might fall afoul of something even more dangerous than deathshrieks.

The Oteran empire itself.

“I call it the infernal armour,” Karmoko Calderis declares, lifting up a golden helmet.

It’s early morning and we’re standing before the statue of Emperor Gezo, watching her make this triumphant announcement, the culmination of months of gruelling labour on her part. She’s been working day and night ever since the novices arrived last year, refining the method for making armour out of cursed gold. Finally, her efforts have borne fruit: suits of armour impervious to deathshriek claws, comfortably cool under the sun’s hottest rays, and lightweight enough for running.

“We’ve revolutionized the process,” Karmoko Calderis crows.

“Oh, she’s revolutionized something, all right,” Asha snickers under her breath. She has just come back from a raid and is still filthy with the mud from her journey. Even so, she’s exuberant. Her team filled their quota. Yes, three of the girls are still in the gilded sleep, and yes, one of them has lost an eye, but no one is being flayed this morning – an enormous victory, given how much harder the raids have gotten these past few weeks.

It’s almost as if the deathshrieks sense that we’re about to attack their primal nest, so they’ve launched an all-out assault. They want to kill as many of us as they can, just as we want to kill as many of them as we can. If it’s this bad now, I can’t imagine how much worse the campaign will be when there are hundreds of thousands of them on the battlefield.

“She’s all revolutionary,” Asha continues, snickering.

“Quiet, ye,” Britta hisses.

I turn my attention back to Karmoko Calderis as she gives instruction on how to receive our suits of armour. I need to pay close attention. Ever since I spoke with White Hands the night she told me all those awful things, I’ve been determined to get armour that covers me more fully. The makeshift helmets we’ve been using recently only barely cover our heads and the ones we ride out through the city with are much too bulky to use during a raid.

I want armour that covers my entire face and the rest of my body as well. I don’t know if the leathering the others spoke of will happen again, but if it does, I want to make sure no one sees – especially not Keita. Just the thought of him witnessing the sight sends dread coursing through me. I don’t ever want him to see me like that, so monstrous in form.

When Karmoko Calderis opens the forge the next morning, Britta, Belcalis, Asha, Adwapa and I are all standing there, waiting. Months of bloody combat and raids have wiped away my fear of bleeding, so I’m first in line. Besides, the karmoko did tell us each suit could be personalized, and I’m looking forward to seeing what designs she has on offer.

The karmoko’s face splits into a toothy grin when she sees me, Ixa curled around my neck. “Ah, Deka, you’re perfectly on time,” she says gleefully, rubbing her palms together. “Come in.” As I walk in, she stops and glances pointedly at Ixa. “You may leave the creature outside. Can’t have fur disturbing the process.”

Ixa blinks confused black eyes at me. De…ka?

He seems to be understanding what other people are saying more and more lately, although he’s still unable to say anything more than my name. I wonder if he ever will. I would ask White Hands about it, but I’m too wary of the way she manipulates everything around her.

Yes, I say to Ixa. You have to leave.

Sniffing his annoyance, he does as he’s told and stalks outside. I enter the forge, eyes widening when I see the changes that have been made in the past few months. Looping metal pipes have been attached to the ceiling, and they all end in gigantic vats suspended over a fire that is stoked to a constant blaze by sweating assistants.

Karmoko Calderis points gleefully to the large wooden chair in the middle of the forge. “Why don’t you have a seat. Let’s get started, shall we?” She holds up a blade.

I take a breath, look at its gleaming edge. “I’m ready,” I say, stepping onto the chair.

I have a suit of armour to make.

It’s a hot day for the cold season. Britta, Belcalis, Adwapa and I are perched on a bluff above the rock outcropping where deathshrieks have made a nest. They’ve been menacing a village called Yoko, on the outskirts of Hemaira, and its elders personally requested the Death Strikers, gave us a map to the source of their woes. That’s why I’m here, sweat trickling down my back, leather armour chafing at my skin. I’m part of the advance team, my ability to track deathshrieks by instinct a tremendous asset in rocky, difficult terrain like this.

Below me, the deathshrieks huddle in a group around a protrusion of white rocks. They’ve spread only a small amount of mist, so they’re easily visible despite their distance from our hiding place. Normally, the scouts would watch them in preparation for our advance, but at my suggestion, my friends and I have started doing so instead. It’s important that we’re familiar with our enemies in order to deal with them effectively. At least, that’s what Karmoko Thandiwe always says.

Captain Kelechi agrees, which is why he, the recruits and the other alaki are back at the camp, making the last preparations while we four watch the deathshrieks. I didn’t, of course, tell him my true reason for insisting we do so: deathshrieks have become increasingly fascinating to me. Ever since that day at the marsh, when they wore those cochleans to keep my voice from overpowering their will, I’ve been doing everything I can to watch them – to study them. And what I’m learning has made me very concerned.

The karmokos and the jatu keep telling us that deathshrieks are mindless beasts with very little intelligence, and yet they’ve always seemed almost human to my eyes. They even appear to have a language. It took me some time to identify it as such, but there they are in a circle, rumbling and clicking to each other. Take away their terrifying appearance and they could be a contingent of alaki and recruits preparing for a raid. In fact, I’m certain that’s what they’re doing: preparing to menace Yoko again, to slaughter more people and steal more girls away.

The elders sobbed as they told us about this when we arrived, sobbed as they told us how the deathshrieks rounded up all the twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls and took them away while their family members lay dying on the ground, body parts scattered around them. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that whatever girls they took are probably lost for good.

We can never find the girls the deathshrieks take, not even their remains. The corpse piles in deathshriek nests are always filled with adults, all of them men – there’s never any hint of women or girls. Every time I wonder about this, a memory of that little girl I saw from the first raid flashes in me. I always wonder what happened to her – is she still alive or was she eaten by the deathshrieks…or worse? The thought unsettles me, so I turn to Ixa, perched in feline form on a nearby tree. Signal the recruits, I say to him.

He nods, sprouting wings from his back as he takes off. It’s a favoured trick of his – one I’m very grateful for. It’s made him useful to the group, and Captain Kelechi always appreciates usefulness. I’ve even had a golden helmet made from my blood for his drakos form, which he flaunts proudly at every opportunity.

“I can never get used to that,” Adwapa whispers beside me. “Gives me the shivers, it does.”

We’re far enough away that sound won’t carry, but we’re always careful to remain quiet all the same.

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