Page 85 of The Gilded Ones

I reluctantly sit there, stiff until he pulls me closer. His arm is warm, comforting on my shoulder. He leans his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes, inhaling the musk of his scent. Let this go well, I beg inwardly.

“You can tell me anything, Deka, you know that,” he whispers. His lips are so close, if I lean any nearer, they’ll brush mine.

I pull back. “Some things are too dangerous to tell. You yourself always say that.”

His body tenses and his eyes search mine, worry shining in them. “If it is a danger to you, then I want to share in it. We’re partners, remember?”

I nod, hide my head in the crook of his neck. “What if I heard something that should not be possible?” I mumble. “What if I heard something that would upturn everything we thought we knew? Perhaps even destroy everything?”

“You’re talking about deathshrieks, aren’t you?” Keita pulls back, tilts my chin up so I look in his eyes. “What did you hear, Deka?” he asks.

I look away. “More like what I think I heard.”

“And what do you think you heard?”

“I think I heard a deathshriek speak,” I force myself to say. “Not in Oteran, or any human language, but I could understand it nonetheless. As easily as I understand you.”

“What did it say?” Keita asks, his voice suddenly hoarse.

I swallow. “Betrayer,” I whisper. “It called me Betrayer.”

Keita becomes even tenser, if possible. “Why would it say that?”

“I don’t know.” The lie slides smoothly past my lips. “I don’t know anything any more.”

“Have you told anyone else of this?”

I quickly shake my head.

He nods, relieved, then stares at me, his eyes deadly serious now. “Never speak of this again. Not ever again, Deka. And don’t ever try to talk to them again.” When I open my mouth to protest, he sighs. “You can already command deathshrieks, Deka. To understand them as well – to have them speak to you… That is the type of power that can upend the natural order.

“People kill over these things. People die over these things. You might die over this. Never forget, Deka, that you are an alaki first and foremost, because I guarantee you, no one else will.”

A cold sweat shivers over me, and my heart pounds so fast, my entire body shakes. Keita’s echoing the same thing White Hands said, the same thing I’ve thought over a thousand times before.

I nod. “You’re right. I won’t speak of it again. I won’t ever speak to them again.”

He reaches his arm around me, embraces me so tight, I can feel his heartbeat through his skin. It’s beating a loud, panicked beat. The same one as mine. “All you have to do is remain safe until the campaign is over, Deka,” he whispers into my hair. “All you have to do is remain safe for me.”

“I promise,” I whisper, settling against him.

We remain as we are, heartbeats pounding in unison, until the drums sound, beckoning everyone to dinner.

Thank Oyomo for my armour.

That’s all I can think as I stand to attention in the courtyard of the Warthu Bera the afternoon of the campaign, the midday sun blazing high above us. It’s once again the dry season and the heat suffocates the hundred of us girls that have been chosen to march on campaign. Everyone else remains behind, a reserve force to support us if further waves of attack are necessary. I hope this won’t be the case, but more alaki are brought to the Warthu Bera every day as a precaution. They stare at us from the corners of the courtyard, their newly bald heads shining wretchedly in the blistering sun. I wonder if they’re frightened or awed by what they see.

All the girls leaving today gleam from head to toe in golden armour. Mine has scales to mimic Ixa’s drakos form and jagged spikes all down the back. It’s strangely light and cool, considering that it covers every part of me but my eyes. It vibrates subtly whenever I near it, as does all the other infernal armour – especially Ixa’s, since it was also made from my blood. White Hands had Karmoko Calderis make him a suit for his drakos form, because she wanted to ensure that the rest of the army sees the power of the Warthu Bera, that our prowess shines above that of all the other training grounds.

She and the other karmokos are in front of the gathered girls, but only she will accompany us, as our ranking commander, which is why she’s riding a massive white stallion, Braima and Masaima standing guard on either side of her. Like us, they’re all covered from head to toe in armour, although White Hands’s is bone-white to match her gauntlets. The twins are also carrying assegai, long wooden spears tipped with sharp onyx blades. Apparently, they could be karmokos, they’ve so mastered them.

“Today is the day you have been preparing for, for so long,” White Hands declares. “We begin our march to the N’Oyo Desert, where we will meet and destroy the deathshriek scourge sweeping across our beloved Otera. That is where you, the honoured defenders of Otera, will carve your names into the history of this our empire! That is where you, the alaki of the Warthu Bera, will become legends!”

White Hands’s speech is so rousing, the gathered girls clap, excitement building. Even I can’t control the sudden drumming of my heart. It’s finally happening. Our time is finally here.

“Can ye imagine it, Deka?” Britta says. “We’re finally goin’ on campaign.”

“And we’re going to kill every deathshriek we see,” Adwapa says excitedly. “Twenty heads for each of us per day. No – thirty!”

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