The Gilded Ones

by Namina Forna

  I glance at the deathshrieks. The first of them is just now stepping onto the ground. When it notices me looking, it glances up, its eyes meeting mine. There’s a look in them, a predatory intelligence. It opens its mouth.

  “NOW!” I shout, taking off down the path.

  A blur passes me, Katya already leading the way, her eyes wide with terror. “DEATHSHRIEKS!” she screams, panic making her disregard Keita’s instructions. “DEATHSHRIEKS ARE ATTACK—”

  A massive white form slams into her, sending her tumbling into the bushes. As she falls, the deathshriek goes after her, but Surem quickly blocks it, atika at the ready. The deathshriek hisses at him, teeth and claws bared in annoyance.

  “DAMMIT, KATYA!” Keita growls, bolting over.

  I do the same, shocked to find the other three deathshrieks splitting off behind us to head off the novices and jatu now running to answer Katya’s call. Why aren’t they shrieking, I wonder. We’re the closest ones to them—why aren’t they trying to attack us?

  I barely have time to think this before the deathshriek in front of Katya moves, claws raking down to easily slice through Surem’s wooden sword. Surem whimpers as it falls apart in his hands. The deathshriek raises its claws again, about to deliver the deathblow, but Katya lunges up, pushing Surem out of the way and then darting backward.

  For just a moment, I’m sure she’s safe, sure she’s evaded the claws. She’s one of the fastest girls in the Warthu Bera, after all. But then I hear the sickening crunch of bone, see the claws protruding from her chest.

  “Oh!” she gasps, eyes wide with surprise.

  Her spine rips back, pulled out by the deathshriek’s claw.

  Time seems to suspend, my entire body caught in amber, as I watch Katya bleed out through that gaping hole in her back. A strange blue color is racing out of it—a shade of blue I’ve never seen on anything before. Her body twitches once, twice, then stills. I know, without having to ask, that she’s gone. There’s no golden sheen of an almost-death, no gilded sleep for her.

  “Katya…,” I whisper, my chest deflating, horror leadening my limbs.

  I turn to the deathshriek, which remains where it is, watching her. It almost seems…surprised. Shocked that it killed her so easily. A low, deep feeling rumbles inside me, a heated volcano that turns my blood to fire and my breath to ash.

  “GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU BEAST!” I rage, the words erupting from my mouth. My voice is layered, powerful now, as I repeat, “GET AWAY FROM HER!”

  The deathshriek’s entire body immediately goes rigid, its eyes rolling in its head. It staggers away, limbs jerking as if they’re on strings. Adwapa and Asha swoop into the space it left, quickly plucking Katya’s body up. The moment they do so, the exhaustion crashes over me, a wave of tiredness muffling everything around me, dulling my senses to their lowest. All I see are flashes: The other deathshrieks grabbing the staggering one and then running back over the wall the way they came. Adwapa gently resting Katya’s body on the ground as novices and karmokos finally arrive. Surem rushing to Katya’s side, tears in his eyes.

  Karmoko Thandiwe gestures for the novices to pull Katya’s body away from him. “Who raised the initial alarm?” she asks, glancing around.

  “Deka did,” Britta replies. “But then Katya started screaming, and—” She stops, her voice breaking.

  I ignore her, my eyes fastened on Katya’s corpse, on that horrible blue color seeping from her spine. Just a few moments ago, she was darting in front of me, long red hair gleaming in the dark…and now…now…My entire body buckles, suddenly unable to hold up its own weight.

  Even after almost a month here—a month seeing at least one alaki corpse return from every raid—I still didn’t understand how easily we could die. After all, those were novices, older girls far removed from me and my friends. But Katya—how could she succumb so easily? How could the deathshriek’s claws strike true the very first time? As tears fall freely down my cheeks and exhaustion weights my limbs, fingers snap, forcing me to look up.

  It’s Karmoko Thandiwe, frowning as she stares down at me. “Your eyes, Deka,” she murmurs wonderingly. “Whatever’s happened to your eyes…”

  That’s the last thing I hear before darkness reaches up to claim me.

  “I saw what you did last night.” Keita’s voice is an unwelcome whisper in my ear.

  It’s evening and we’re at the lake, observing Katya’s funeral rites. Alaki aren’t allowed burial in the ground, so we’re burning her on the water, in a small boat we’ve turned into a funeral pyre. In the absence of a male guardian, Surem is in charge of her rites, and he reads solemnly from the Infinite Wisdoms. He’ll be leaving Hemaira the moment the funeral rites have ended, returning to his home in the Western provinces. He can’t take the thought of witnessing any more comrades’ deaths.

  I don’t blame him. If I had the choice, I’d leave too. It doesn’t matter that Mother was once here, that there are still questions I need answers to. I want to escape this place—want to run somewhere far away. But I’m bound to these walls, just as Katya was.

  Her skin is the deep indigo of the summer sky now, and her long red curls flake in tiny patches as the fire flickers over them. She never cut her hair after that first day here, not even when it got in the way of training. I always thought the matrons would punish her for it, but they never did. It smells like apples as it burns away—the big red ones from the Northern provinces she once told me she was fond of. I don’t know whether this is fanciful thinking or not, but it drives away the metallic odor of blood from my nostrils, the lingering memory of her ripped-out spine, the look in the deathshriek’s eyes when I addressed it—the same look I saw in the Irfut deathshriek’s eyes.

  I inhale the smell to banish the horrible thought before I turn to Keita. “What do you mean?” I murmur. I’m so numb, I’m not even afraid that Keita suspects me, that Karmoko Thandiwe likely does as well. What kind of life have I chosen that people die so easily? That friends die so easily?

  One much better than what you had before…I stifle the unhelpful thought. I don’t want to think practically right now, don’t want to think about what happened yesterday, when the deathshriek stood over Katya, and I spoke—

  Keita moves closer. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says. “And, if it helps, I don’t think Karmoko Thandiwe will either.”

  This assurance does nothing to dull the twitchy, agitated feeling that’s crawling over me. “What exactly is it that you want?” I ask, looking up. If there’s one thing being here in the constant presence of deathshrieks has taught me, it’s that Britta was correct: my gift is valuable, which means other people will do awful things to get their hands on it. On me.

  A memory of the cellar flashes through my mind: golden blood on the floor, the elders approaching, buckets in their hands. I push it away, wait for Keita to reply.

  It takes him a moment to reply. “The same thing I want from everyone,” he says, determination in his gaze. “To help eradicate the deathshrieks.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Deka. Whatever that is that you did last night, it seems like it might be useful. I think we should explore it—in secret, of course.” I nearly laugh at the irony. Just weeks ago, Britta suggested the same thing. I force myself to pay attention as he continues: “I don’t think my commanders would take kindly to such things, much less the priests.”

  These last words, the priests, stoke my agitation, and that memory flashes again, Elder Durkas’s hand, a knife inside it. I breathe to calm myself. “Why should I trust you? If you saw what you think you saw, why should I believe that you won’t betray me to the priests or your commanders?”

  He shrugs, golden gaze meeting my own. “There are monsters at our gates whose very screams can cause a person’s eardrums to explode, and whose claws can saw through bodies smoother th
an a knife through butter. Don’t you want revenge?”

  There’s a look in his eyes now—a bitterness. He isn’t just talking about me, but also about himself, perhaps even the other uruni as well. “Aren’t you tired of losing people to them? Always losing to them…”

  I find myself nodding, anger abruptly boiling inside me. More images rush through my head: the attack on the village, all those corpses lying in the snow, then the cellar, golden blood pooling on the floor, and finally, Katya, claws piercing through her chest.

  Deathshrieks have already taken everything away from me. What else am I going to let them take? I know I can command them—that I can force them to do my bidding. I need to learn more about my ability. Need to use whatever this thing inside me is to get back at those monsters. To get revenge for Katya.

  “I am tired,” I whisper, suddenly thinking of everything I’ve lost. Mother, Father, my life back in Irfut. I think of Katya, who only ever wanted to go home—to be a wife to Rian, to have a family. “I’m so very, very tired.”

  Keita nods. “Me too, which is why I’ll gladly swear my loyalty to you—protect you with my life—if what I saw you do can help us kill more of them.” As I glance up at him, startled by this fervent declaration, he holds out his right hand. “I mean it. Partners—in truth, this time?”

  I stare at his outstretched hand, confusion rising. No man has ever offered me his hand before, as if we were equals, but that’s exactly what Keita’s doing. Perhaps he truly does mean everything he’s saying. Or perhaps this is a trick, one that could end my life. Either way, he already has his suspicions about me. Perhaps it’s better that I ally with him, watch him for any weaknesses I might exploit. A devil’s bargain, to be sure, but what isn’t in this life of ours?

  I take his hand, marveling at how odd it looks against mine. Skin versus gilding, brown against gold. “Partners—in truth,” I say.

  This time, Keita squeezes my hand before he releases it. My breath catches, though I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s all the exhaustion.

  “See any changes?” Keita asks, his voice echoing off the damp, dark walls.

  It’s early morning, and we’re in the caverns under the Warthu Bera, using the spare few minutes we have between lessons to test out our theory about my ability. The others are back in Karmoko Huon’s lesson hall, still packing up from combat practice. I’ve warned them to stay away until I’m more certain about Keita. I’m still not certain what his motives are. As he stands lookout at the end of the passage, I stare down at a bucket of water, my skin tingling feverishly. Deathshrieks are caged in the next cavern over, and their muffled grunts and clicks are causing my blood to pool faster and faster, moving in tandem with all the mist now crawling around me. They secrete it whenever they’re agitated, and they’re always agitated down here.

  I examine my reflection, then sigh. My eyes are still as boring and gray as they were ten minutes ago. “No differences,” I say to Keita. I pick up the bucket to empty it, then stop—think. “What if I get closer?”

  “What? No, they’re not wearing their gags—”

  “Just keep watch,” I interrupt, rushing away.

  The next cavern has been hollowed out into a makeshift stable, cages on either side. Lights flicker dimly in the sconces, illuminating the rushes on the floor, the chains binding each cell’s monstrous occupant. Deathshrieks become more aggressive when they’re in the same cage, so the karmokos separate them. There are about twenty here in total, the bulk of the deathshrieks at the Warthu Bera. The remaining few are kept in the other caverns. My skin prickles, my heart beats faster as I approach them. The ones here aren’t gagged, so a single scream from them could end me.

  But no, that’s not true. I remember how it was in Irfut, everyone’s ears bleeding when I alone could continue standing. It was the same thing when Katya died. I could hear the shrieks, feel their power, but I wasn’t affected by them the way the others were. I just have to concentrate on my breathing, keep my mind on the present the way Karmoko Huon taught me. I’ll be fine.

  Taking a deep breath for strength, I walk down the center of the caverns, aware of the gleam of predatory black eyes, the rustling of chains, as massive bodies stretch in the corners. The heavy, pungent aroma clouding the cavern strengthens, as does a lighter, sickeningly sweet smell I cannot identify. I ignore the low groans, the fear rising inside me, as I walk over to the largest cage, the central one. A subtle hissing starts between the cages as this one’s occupant slowly rises, distinctive, silvery quill-like projections on its back immediately recognizable from our first evening at the Warthu Bera. When it staggers forward, massive body shimmering in the dull light, my mouth goes dry.

  Rattle, the alpha deathshriek of all the ones here.

  The chieftain.

  I look up at him, at those eyes gleaming with hatred toward me. “Go on—scream,” I whisper. “I want you to.”

  Something has risen inside me, a dark and abrupt feeling I would almost call rage, riddled through with the razor’s edge of another emotion: grief. I think of Katya, think of those hateful claws ripping through her body, and I walk closer. Just out of reach of those claws. I’m aware now of the other deathshrieks stirring around me: velvety white leapers, their long arms allowing them to climb up their cages’ bars with ease; the massively tall, massively gaunt workers at the corners making chittering sounds. Karmoko Thandiwe taught us how to classify them all, how to understand their weaknesses, their strengths.

  I ignore them, focus on Rattle.

  I know, from the karmoko’s warnings, that he commands the other deathshrieks here. Deathshrieks are pack animals, always with a chieftain to direct them. They may lack human intelligence, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t smart.

  “Why aren’t you doing anything?” I ask him as he growls softly in the darkness.

  He isn’t making any movements, isn’t reaching to attack me. It’s the same with the other deathshrieks, all of them chittering away as they watch. Why aren’t they attacking? Why aren’t they trying to fight me? It’s almost like they’re duller, slower somehow, than the ones that killed Katya—or even the ones back at Irfut. Their lack of fight prickles at me. Enrages me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I hiss, glaring at Rattle.

  Suddenly, I don’t care that I’m so close to his cage he could reach out and gut me, don’t care that the matrons who attend to the deathshrieks could discover me down here and give me a beating for my insolence. All I can think of is Katya, that look in her eyes. The fear.

  “Scream!” I rage. “Threaten me. DO SOMETHING.”

  But he does nothing.

  That clicking sound rises, he and the other deathshrieks clicking at each other, their voices building and building until—

  “Deka!” Keita’s call comes as if from far away. “Deka, we have to go, the drums are sounding.”

  I exhale. Glance down at the water bucket, not surprised to see that my eyes are still normal in the reflection. I don’t know why I was expecting otherwise.

  I empty the bucket in a nearby trough, then inhale to compose myself. “Coming,” I finally call back as I walk out of the cavern. The deathshrieks continue clicking after I’m gone.

  I emerge to find Keita waiting for me in the connecting passageway, worry in his eyes. The very sight grates on me. I don’t know why he’s pretending to care.

  “What happened?” he asks. “Are you all right? Did they shriek?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing happened. And my eyes didn’t change—at least, I didn’t see them do so in my reflection.”

  He nods, seeming to compose himself. “Well, that’s disappointing,” he murmurs.

  We walk down the passage, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until something shifts in the shadows. It’s Gazal, standing at the entrance to the next cavern, the one Matron Nasra opened the floor to two months a
go. It’s our classroom for battle strategy, the class where we learn how to conduct raids and how to fight effectively during the campaign.

  “Neophyte Deka,” she says. “You will remain after the lesson. There is something Karmoko Thandiwe wishes to discuss with you.”

  This announcement sends a cold sweat down my back. Does the karmoko want to ask me about what happened that night with Katya? I force myself to exhale away the panicked thought as I nod respectfully to Gazal. “Thank you for informing me, Honored Elder Bloodsister,” I murmur.

  Satisfied, she walks into the main cavern, Keita and I following behind her. My muscles tense, senses on high alert, as I notice Karmoko Thandiwe standing at the center, the other neophytes and their uruni already settling into the wooden desks before her. The lesson is about to begin.

  Please don’t ask me about what happened with the deathshrieks, please don’t ask me about what happened with the deathshrieks, I desperately pray as Keita and I join the others.

  Thankfully, Karmoko Thandiwe doesn’t even seem to notice me as she walks in front of the desks, a scroll in hand. She turns it toward us, displaying a picture, one that never fails to produce tremors of fear inside me. “You all know of the Gilded Ones, the alaki’s infernal ancestors,” she says.

  I nod, reluctantly taking in the monstrous golden-veined beings depicted on the scroll. There are four of them: one so white she’s glowing, the other brown with a pendulous belly and protruding breasts, the third red and scaled over with wings like a dragon, and the fourth amorphous in shape and as dark as an inkblot. The sight of them fills me with unease. To think that I’m descended from them, from beings so frightening, so nightmarish of form. I may have come to terms with being alaki, but reminders like this still unsettle me.

  I push back the thought as Karmoko Thandiwe hands the scroll to the neophyte nearest her, a short, doe-eyed Southerner named Mehrut. “Today, we will begin learning about the demonic heritage the Gilded Ones have left you and how to harness it against the deathshrieks,” she says. “Open your scrolls to section three. Let’s get started.”