Page 83 of The Gilded Ones

My hands are shaking so hard now, I have to clasp them to stop. Where is Britta? I need Britta! “Britta?” I call, looking for her. Needing her to comfort me.

Belcalis shakes me. “Are you listening, Deka? What’s wrong with you?”

I don’t reply. I slowly wipe the blood from my face, then crouch beside the deathshriek and turn it over. A tear is running down one of its eyes. It’s crying… I marvel distantly. It’s crying as it dies.

Everything seems far away now. So very far away…

Keita runs over, concern in his eyes as he dispatches a nearby deathshriek, then turns to me. “Deka?” he says.

I don’t reply. Can’t reply – not now, when everything seems so broken.

He turns to Belcalis. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. She’s been acting strange since I arrived.”

“Deka, are you all right?” Britta has finally rejoined the group and is bashing away at a nearby deathshriek together with Beax.

“Britta…” I say weakly, my heart in my mouth. I don’t know what else to say.

There were only a few deathshrieks in this nest, and they’re dead, and it’s my fault. The moment I sensed them, pointed them out to the others, their lives were over. Because I can sense them coming but they can’t sense me.

This whole time, I thought I was the hero, the righteous saviour, here to liberate Otera from the deathshriek scourge. But in reality I was a destroyer – a monster who falsely thought she was destroying monsters.

I turn towards the temple, towards the steps leading up it. I’m so tired now – so very tired. I think it’s time I sat down.

“What’s wrong, Deka?” Britta asks, concerned.

But I can no longer speak, no longer corral my growing despair.

I ignore her and continue walking, almost in a daze, towards the temple ruins. I don’t want anyone to see my face, don’t want anyone to see the deathshriek-like leathering that has no doubt already surrounded my eyes. When I reach the nearest stone fragment, I take a seat and look down. To my surprise, I’m sitting on what appears to be a toe. I glance up, frowning when I discern the rest of the statue under the weeds and mist. It’s a goddess statue, a wise-looking Southerner in flowing robes. The very same Southerner I saw in that other temple, her face chiselled and intelligent as she looked down at the scroll in her hands.

I look around, make out the other statues, the same ones from the cave where I found Ixa.

The rest of the Gilded Ones.

The rocks the deathshrieks nested under near Yoko flash through my mind. They were the very same type of white rock as the rocks I’m sitting next to: the remnants of other statues.

The world tilts.

Every deathshriek nest we’ve been to is a temple of the Gilded Ones. It’s the deathshrieks who have been worshipping them as goddesses, the deathshrieks who have been leaving behind flowers and candles. And we never once considered them. Never once thought they’d have the capacity for intelligent thought, much less religion.

White Hands told me I wasn’t half deathshriek, but I think she lied. I think she not only bred a half deathshriek, she bred one that could destroy all the others.

She bred the perfect monster.

I’m quiet when we return to the Warthu Bera, my mind rattling with thoughts of what I’ve discovered about the deathshrieks and the temples. Memories of all my previous encounters with them filter through my mind – not just the ones outside but the ones here too. I suddenly think of Rattle and the others, how dull their eyes seem compared to those of wild deathshrieks. Why is it that they’re so vacant and all the other deathshrieks are not? Why is it that the deathshrieks outside the Warthu Bera are intelligent enough to maintain temples, yet the ones here seem capable of barely more than grunting? It’s a mystery I must unravel.

“Ye all right, Deka?” Britta asks me as we go to sleep.

I nod. “I’m fine,” I say.

I wish I could tell her about what I discovered, but I don’t want to involve her in my affairs any more. It’s too dangerous. All those things White Hands said during our last conversation about rebellions and true monsters. I may not be the most intelligent person, but even I know that talk of rebellion leads swiftly to executions and final deaths.

Add to that the changes happening to me – the leathering on my face, the way I can understand deathshrieks. One alone is frightening, but the two combined – that’s enough to condemn me.

I don’t want my friends anywhere nearby. I’m not damning them along with me if something happens and I’m sentenced to the Death Mandate.

“I’m worried about ye, Deka.” Britta’s softly whispered words pull me from my thoughts.

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