The Gilded Ones

by Namina Forna

  “They locked me in a cage, under the lake! They thought I would die, but I didn’t. I just kept drowning. I just kept drowning!” Tears are pouring down her face, and her whole body shudders. “Over and over and over and—”

  White Hands grabs her up. “Who are they?” she asks.

  “My family,” Gazal sobs.

  White Hands shakes her head. “Your bloodsisters are your family. Who are they?”

  “The House of Agarwal,” Gazal answers, confused. Tears are still pouring from her eyes.

  White Hands grips her by the hair, pulls her along. “I said—WHO ARE THEY?”

  I can no longer watch. “White Hands, please stop,” I say, hurrying over. “You don’t have to frighten her!”

  White Hands turns to me, her eyes deadly calm. “Interrupt me, Deka—any of you interrupt—and I will deliver you pain such as you have never before imagined.”

  We all step back, horrified.

  White Hands continues pulling Gazal by her hair, not even budging when Gazal fights so hard, her feet dig into the lake’s muddy banks. She pushes Gazal down until her head is nearly to the water.

  “WHO ARE THEY?” she roars.

  “NO ONE!” Gazal wails, finally understanding. “They are no one, please, Karmoko! They are nothing to me anymore.”

  This answer satisfies White Hands. She releases Gazal’s hair, then walks back over and selects a sword. She looks down at it, her eyes considering the blade. “If you’d had a sword in those days, no one would have been able to do that to you.”

  She walks over, flings the sword at Gazal’s feet. “You have one now. What will you do?”

  Trembling, Gazal picks up the sword, looks from White Hands back to it. White Hands picks up the rest of the weapons and hands them to us, giving Britta the war hammer last.

  Finally, she turns back to Gazal and nods. “You can come at me, but that will be a very short venture. Or you can choose.” She waves to us. “Choose an opponent.”

  I know, almost instinctively, whom Gazal is going to choose.

  “Her,” she whispers, her voice going cold as she points at me. “I choose her.”

  White Hands claps, delighted. “Excellent choice, novice! Deka is the perfect opponent for you.”

  Gazal approaches, murder in her eyes, and something stills in me—a subtle shifting as my senses sharpen. I take a step back, take a deep breath, and tighten my grasp on my sword. Gazal’s out for blood—I can tell just by looking. Nevertheless, I’m ready for her. As Karmoko Huon always says, “First rule of combat: be prepared to engage at all times.”

  I widen my stance as White Hands nods to Gazal. “Have at her,” she says.

  Gazal rushes me so fast, I move only seconds before her sword slices where my neck would have been. Surprise rips a gasp from my throat. She’s not just out for my blood, she’s out for my head, the easiest way to kill an alaki. But I’m prepared to die in combat, just as Karmoko Huon taught me. And, more to the point, I already know that beheading is not my final death. I use this reminder to breathe, to focus on tracking Gazal as she attacks me again, her assaults lightning fast. In her combat state, Gazal is like wind—the fastest alaki in the Warthu Bera, now that Katya is gone.

  That means I have to be smarter, or if I’m not careful, this lesson will end with her taking my head.

  “Watch out, Deka!” Britta calls.

  I whirl, following this cry to find Gazal already at my back. I have mere seconds to jerk away before she can thrust her sword through my stomach. I dodge, but I’m still not fast enough. The sword slices into my forearm, and I wince, clenching my teeth against the white-sweet pain. Gold springs up, stinging the wound. I ignore it. I’ve felt worse pain than this, experienced many worse things. This is only a scratch, I tell myself.

  White Hands laughs, raising her cup in a toast to me. “Conquer or die, Deka. Either way, you learn your lesson.”

  Lesson…The word reverberates through my body, a reminder that I’ve had many other such lessons in the past month. Lessons aimed at teaching me survival—no, victory—against all odds.

  Conquer or die…

  I’m not dying again. Not today, anyway.

  I look at Gazal, her body seemingly overtaken by the wildness shimmering in her eyes. There’ll be no reasoning with her. No talking. Gazal needs to purge her pain, and I’m the one she’s selected to help her do so. The only honorable thing I can do is fight. Win.

  Conquer.

  I lift my sword. “Attempt me,” I say.

  Gazal does so with a scream. When she lunges, however, I whirl to the side and slam the pommel of my sword into her skull. She only barely manages to grab my sleeve before she slumps down, unconscious. It’ll be at least an hour before she wakes up, judging from the size of the knot on her head.

  White Hands walks over, clapping. “Splendid, splendid! Such quick thinking, Deka.” I slump, my entire body shaking now. “Simply masterful. I knew I made the right choice.”

  “Choice?” This question comes from Belcalis. She’s spent the entire battle in quiet contemplation, as is her habit. “Why her? Why us, of all the girls in the Warthu Bera, Karmoko?” she asks.

  White Hands shrugs. “You have rage—deep wells of it,” she replies. Then she points at a still-unconscious Gazal. “That one has pain—an entire lake’s worth, as you just saw.” It’s Britta’s turn now, and White Hands’s finger points toward her. “That one is strong, loyal, and will do what must be done.” As Britta blinks in surprise, White Hands turns to me. “And that one,” she says. “That one is unnatural.”

  There it is again, that hated word. Unnatural. But I don’t feel the shame and nausea I used to. Now that I know my ability has value, my main reaction is curiosity. White Hands knows where my ability came from. I’d already guessed this back in Irfut, but now I know it for a fact. That’s why she’s using that word to describe me. It’s not a condemnation, but a truth.

  “What do you mean, unnatural?” I ask. “What exactly am I? Am I even alaki?” This last question rushes out of me—a fear I’ve kept so deeply hidden, I’ve never even acknowledged it until now.

  An amused smile curls White Hands’s lips. “Are you even alaki?” She laughs. “What a silly question to ask, Deka. Of course you are. You’re the most valuable alaki in all of the Warthu Bera.” I frown at her, confused by this declaration, and she takes a step closer, peers down at me. “Of all the girls here, only you have the ability to command deathshrieks.”

  Even though I already knew this, the confirmation still comes as a shock. As do other realizations. If White Hands knows about my ability, then she was probably aware of what I was as far back as Irfut, might have been searching for me then. Which means she knew about me—knew what I was. Does this mean there are other girls like me? I’d dismissed the possibility, but now I’m not so sure. All I know is that White Hands has the answers I seek.

  “Are you the benefactor?” I blurt out.

  All day I’ve been thinking about it, the mysterious benefactor Karmoko Thandiwe said helped Mother escape. I thought it was one of the karmokos at the Warthu Bera during that time, or perhaps even a jatu or an official, but what if it was White Hands? She’s a noble—she has money, power, the ability to transport people wherever she likes.

  “Are you the one who helped my mother escape the Warthu Bera?”

  White Hands just blinks. “Your mother was in the Warthu Bera? Fascinating…”

  She says it in that noncommittal way of hers, so I can’t tell whether she’s lying or not. All I know is that she knows more than she’s telling.

  “What do you know about me? About what I am?” I plead.

  She shrugs. “I know that using your power exhausts you. That you become vulnerable after using it. I know that you are valuable to us. To this fight.”

  Blood drums in
my ears. Valuable to us? The way she says those words, looks so meaningfully at me—I know exactly what she’s thinking. She intends to use my ability during the campaign. She intends to expose it for everyone to see. My muscles clench into knots; my breath comes in spurts. A primal wail begins building somewhere deep inside me, but White Hands clicks her claws, forcing my mind back to the present.

  “I know you have questions, Deka,” she says, “and I will answer them all before the campaign is over. But for now, know that I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

  Just like that, the wail dissipates, and I can breathe again. If there’s one thing I know about White Hands, it’s that she’s a woman of her word, even though her intentions are always murky.

  She turns to Britta. “You once asked me why you were chosen. It’s for this—to protect Deka during her vulnerable periods, to keep her from being hurt during that time.”

  She points at Britta’s war hammer. “With that war hammer, Britta, you will be Deka’s protector. Her truest ally.”

  Britta looks down at the hammer, her brows knitted in a frown. “That’s why you took me,” she says slowly. “That’s why you brought us together….”

  White Hands does not bother to deny it. “As the strongest representatives of the Warthu Bera, you four will be sent on the most difficult raids. The ones where the deathshrieks are more numerous or cunning, where the terrain is more unforgiving—the ones where Deka’s voice is required.”

  She glances across our faces, her eyes finally resting on Britta. “Not only are you strong, Britta, you truly care for Deka, which is why she needs you. A protector to keep her safe. A friend to keep her sane in the horror of the coming months. Are you up to the task?”

  I turn to Britta, my questions about White Hands pushed aside by an even more important emotion: fear. What if she’s frightened of me? What if she hates me for putting her in such a dangerous situation? It’s an irrational thought, I know, but the mere specter of it is so painful, I can barely breathe.

  But then Britta hefts the hammer and smiles. “Deka and I are bloodsisters. We belong together.”

  White Hands smiles. “I am glad to hear it.” Now she turns to Belcalis. “And you, Belcalis of Hualpa, what are your thoughts?”

  Belcalis snorts. “I don’t know what all this nonsense about Deka’s value is, but I just want to survive my term so I can leave this place. If Deka can help us defeat the deathshrieks faster, I’ll protect her as well,” she says, walking over to Britta and me.

  Relief shudders through me, so sudden it almost makes my knees buckle. Belcalis doesn’t hate me either. She’s still my friend.

  White Hands smiles. “I thought you might. After all, you, more than anyone else, understand the pain Deka endured. It is the same you endured. You, more than anyone else, understands what needs to be done.”

  Suddenly now, I remember the scars on Belcalis’s back, the ones that once massed over each other, like a map. They’ve faded now, but I’ll never forget them. Never forget that she suffered just as much as I did.

  Belcalis nods curtly and White Hands continues: “In the meantime, keep Deka’s secret among this group. Only you and the karmokos know, and we would like to keep it that way for now.”

  When the others nod, giving their word, she picks up a sword, considers it. “Now then…which of you wants to attempt me?”

  “Tell me about your dreams, Deka,” White Hands says.

  It’s our fourth day of lessons at the lake. Our usual no-holds-barred combat has ended, and Britta, Belcalis, and Gazal have returned to Main Hall, but White Hands asked me to stay afterward, though she wouldn’t tell me why. White Hands is very good at not answering questions. I should know: I’ve pestered her with enough of them. All she ever tells me is that she’ll explain everything in good time, which is sometime before the campaign ends.

  I suppose I just have to be satisfied with that for now. I could ask Karmoko Thandiwe instead, but I have the feeling she won’t know even close to as much as White Hands does.

  “My dreams?” I finally echo, confusion building. What do my dreams have to do with anything?

  “You’ve been having nightmares,” she says. “Recurring dreams as well.” When she sees my shocked expression, she shrugs, smiles. “Don’t look so worried. All alaki have such dreams. The unnatural ones especially. Tell me about yours.”

  I clear my throat, embarrassed. “It always starts in the ocean—at least, it feels like an ocean,” I begin. “It’s dark, but there are these…presences there. I don’t know if they’re different or all one thing, but they call to me.”

  “What do they say?”

  “My name. They say my name, and they beckon me toward this…door. It’s golden, all shining.” I turn to her, biting my lip now. Almost afraid to speak.

  “What is it, Deka?” she prompts.

  “They use my mother’s voice,” I whisper. “When they call to me, they use Mother’s voice. But I know it’s not her. Mother’s dead. Gone.” The words surface some of that old pain, and I rub my chest to soothe it.

  White Hands nods, seems deep in thought. “The door—have you ever been through it?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  She turns to me, a strange expression on her face. “This time, when they call you, go,” she says.

  I frown. “But I don’t control when the dreams—”

  A sharp pain pricks my neck. All I see is the faint smile on White Hands’s face as she says, “Remember, when they call you—go.”

  Then I’m falling.

  * * *

  Complete blackness, an ocean of warmth. It’s the same as always, the place I’ve been seeing ever since Mother died. Something stirs inside it, vast and ancient, but I’m not frightened. I’ve met it countless times before, felt its presence rolling inside me.

  “Deka…,” it calls, a rumbling in the waters.

  It sounds almost like Mother.

  But it’s not her. It’s lying to me, using Mother’s voice like that. I swim in the other direction, trying to get away from it. Then gold suddenly shimmers, a door opening behind me.

  “Deka…,” the voice comes again, pleading this time.

  It scratches a memory, a reminder of something important I’m forgetting. Something about that door. I turn, and there it is, golden and shining, growing bigger and bigger until it completely blocks my field of vision.

  Enter it, Deka…The words filter, almost eerily, into my mind. An order.

  I obey it now, swimming closer and closer to the gold until the door swallows me up and there’s nothing left but that beautiful color washing over me.

  “You can wake up now, Deka.”

  I gasp awake, obeying White Hands’s voice, only to realize I’ve only done so halfway. I’m not really awake, and I’m not really here. That’s the only explanation of why everything suddenly glows so brightly. It’s dark around me, but all the living things glow—the plants, the insects, the trees. It’s almost as if there’s a halo over everything, a shimmering, mystical light. I turn to White Hands. She’s standing beside me, a brilliant white flame in the darkness, her entire body illuminated.

  “What do you see?” she asks, her voice seeming to come from afar.

  She seems distant, so very distant. But I know she’s here. Just as I’m here. Am I truly still asleep?

  “You’re shining…,” I whisper, wonder flowing over me.

  “That’s good.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.

  White Hands walks around me. “You’ve been taught about the combat state?” she asks.

  I nod slowly, everything so weightless and calming now.

  “What you’ve experienced is only the surface of it. This, what you’re feeling and seeing now, is its purest form, a state of height
ened senses when you’re halfway between sleep and waking, halfway between this world and the next. Look at your hands,” she instructs.

  I look down, shocked to see they’re glowing just like White Hands’s body, only there are streaks on them that glow even more brightly than everything else. My veins, branching across my body, illuminating it in the night. I can see them even against the gilding.

  “When you enter the deep combat state, you can see what others can’t, feel what others can’t, become faster and stronger than is normally possible for an alaki. This is the state you will use to develop your voice. Catch.”

  A shadow whizzes toward me, and my hands automatically reach up, grasping the object. I gape at it. It’s a sword, a very sharp one. I caught it by the blade, but I’m not bleeding—not even the tiniest wound mars my skin. I stare at it, amazement growing. The cursed gold has pooled under the skin there, protecting it. I can see it working, moving even under my gilding.

  White Hands smiles. “Wonderful. You’re already controlling your blood. When you do the same with your voice, you’ll be in a much better position, I promise you. Well, then, let’s get started, shall we? We have a lot to learn. Let’s start with entering the combat state on your own.”

  * * *

  I wake up the next morning even earlier than I usually do.

  Rattle is already standing toward the front of his cage when I arrive. His eyes glimmer in the darkness, those midnight-black pupils tracking me. It feels almost as if he knew I was coming, but then, he already has someone keeping him company. White Hands is seated on a small bench in front of him, that gnarled demon half mask on her face. I blink, startled by the sight. It’s rare to see karmokos wearing the masks when men aren’t around. But Rattle is male, I suppose, although I’ve never looked at his nethers closely enough to verify.

  “Morning greetings, Karmoko,” I say with a nervous bow, but White Hands impatiently waves my greeting away.

  “Are you ready?” she asks.

  I inhale deeply, looking at Rattle. “I think so.”