by Namina Forna
Britta walks over to me, seeming dazed as she regards the statues. “Are they supposed to be—”
“The Gilded Ones…,” Belcalis says, finishing Britta’s question.
There’s no question about it when those veins are so unmistakable, as are the other things: the pregnant belly of the Westerner, the Southerner’s darkness, the pale glow of the Northerner, the scaled armor of the Easterner, wings protruding from it.
“They don’t look like demons at all,” Britta says, shocked. “They look like—”
“Gods,” I whisper, thinking of all the statues of Oyomo I’ve seen, glowering down at us from the corners of temples. “They look like gods.”
“Who would worship demons as gods?” Belcalis asks.
“Desperate people,” Adwapa replies quietly. “People who don’t want their families devoured, their children slaughtered. People who want their children to be gods.”
“I don’t understand.” Britta’s forehead scrunches as she turns to Adwapa. “What do you mean by that?”
Adwapa shrugs. “Ever wonder how exactly our kind came to be?”
“The goddesses birthed our ancestors—I already know that,” Britta huffs.
“Yes, but how did they birth us? If we’re mixed with both human and demon, where did the human part come from?”
I gasp, finally understanding what Adwapa is trying to say. “Whoever built this, whoever worshipped the Gilded Ones—they’re the ones the Gilded Ones mated with. Our human ancestors.”
“Exactly,” Adwapa nods.
“But this temple is clean—cared for,” Britta says. “Whoever did this, they’re still around. Do you think they’re still around, the worshippers?”
“You mean blasphemers,” Belcalis corrects her. “That’s what the priests will say, won’t they?”
I don’t pay any more attention to them, my thoughts suddenly whispering to me again. The knowing is calling me toward something else: the pond in the middle of the cave. Like the goddesses’ feet, it’s been surrounded by candles and flowers. A strange blue light shimmers inside it, shifting and changing every few seconds.
Something is inside it….
My entire body tingling now, I walk slowly toward the creature in the pond, careful not to make any sudden movements. It’s almost as if the knowing is guiding me, the subconscious White Hands told me of whispering distant instructions in my ear.
“Deka, what are ye doing?” Britta’s voice seems so far away.
I ignore it as I look down at the pond, which is much deeper than I’d realized. In fact, it’s not so much a pond as it is the tip of a deep underground lake. Strangely, I can see clearly to the bottom, and something is swimming there—something reptilian, slithering over a series of large, shimmering, boulderlike objects, each one almost golden in color.
My breath catches in my throat, and I watch as the creature spirals toward the surface, a shifting, changing animal, almost serpentine in form. It stops just under the surface of the water—watching me. Dimly, I make out two intelligent black eyes, a short, almost feline snout, and what look like membranous ears, fanning against the water. It looks like a drakos, one of those aquatic dragons that can go from land to air, but I know that’s not what it is. This creature is something no one has seen before—I’m certain of it.
It stares at me as intently as I stare at it. It seems to want something from me.
The answer comes to mind almost instinctively, a rumbled command from the dark ocean.
Reach down….
I immediately obey, reaching down into the water and gasping when a cold far more piercing than I’ve ever felt before freezes my blood. As I look down, the creature opens its mouth, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
It bites into my arm, digging in until gold begins to dot the surface of the water.
“Deka!” Britta gasps, running over, but I’m already lifting my arm out, the creature still attached to it.
It seems to be shrinking now, taking on an almost feline appearance as its blue scales become fur and its ears shrink into velvety smooth triangles. Within moments, it has unwrapped from my arm and is scrambling up so it can curl itself around my neck. It’s transformed into what looks like a large bluish kitten, except it has nubby white horns on its forehead and those intelligent black eyes, which look up at me so solemnly, I can’t help but nuzzle its cheeks.
It feels velvety to the touch, but I can still feel the scales under the fur.
Mine…The knowledge surges up from the depths of my mind, the dark ocean whispering secrets, knowledge I don’t yet understand.
Even then, I know it’s real, know that it’s the truth. White Hands told me to trust this voice, trust the power hidden inside me, and I do, which is why I know that whatever this creature is, it has nothing to do with the deathshrieks or the humans outside, nothing to do with anything we’ve encountered this past day. It was here long before them and will likely be here long after, as will whatever it is that it was guarding in that lake, those large, shimmering boulders.
Mine. The knowledge vibrates under my skin.
I scratch the creature under its chin, smiling when it chirps at me—almost like a cat. “Do you want to go home with me?” I ask, smiling when it chirps again, an agreement this time.
“Deka,” Britta repeats, her voice finally breaking through my daze. She points at the creature. “Wha is that?”
I turn to her and Belcalis, who now both have their weapons drawn suspiciously.
Alarmed, I press the creature close to my chest. “This is Ixa,” I say, the knowledge flowing into my head. “He’s mine.”
* * *
“Don’t tell anybody about the temple down there,” I whisper to the others as we reunite with the rest of the raiding party. By now, Ixa is securely hidden in my armor, just above my heart.
The recruits and the other alaki have searched the cave thoroughly and found no sign of further deathshrieks. They don’t seem to have noticed the path we took down into that other portion, and I have the feeling they won’t if we don’t point it out. Even now, the knowing still rumbles within me, guiding me, though I don’t know how or why.
“Why?” Britta wants to know.
“I don’t know, I just think it’s—”
“Sacred,” Belcalis finishes. “That place is sacred, and we should leave it untouched.”
As I nod, relieved that someone else felt what I did, Adwapa snorts. “You two are fools, and your feelings are both stupid and dangerous—as is that thing you’re carrying, Deka, but we’ll talk about that later. For now, I don’t want to be the demon who shows a group of jatu a temple dedicated to her demon ancestors, and I certainly don’t want to be the demon who shows the jatu some new, strange creature. That will not end well for any of us, understood?”
We all nod, quickly seeing her point.
“Let’s talk about this when we get home,” Britta says, her eyes on the spot in my armor where Ixa is hidden.
As we ride back to the Warthu Bera, I keep tapping it to make sure Ixa is there, only stopping when he shifts around, rumbling just loudly enough so I can hear. It’s a sound that fills me with a strange sort of relief. Ixa is mine, and I will protect him no matter what, keep him no matter what. He seems to feel the same, because as we enter Hemaira, I hear a sound in my head—one that’s very low and very distant but clear nonetheless.
It’s Ixa’s voice, childlike and innocent as it says, De…ka…
When I wake early the next morning, it’s to the sight of my friends creeping toward my bed, weapons in hand. Ixa is sleeping on my chest, but he bolts up the moment I do and hisses a low, frightening sound that raises the hairs on my arms.
“That’s enough, Ixa,” I whisper to him, uneasy. He quickly stops hissing.
But then the girls raise their weapons.
Ixa jumps to the
floor, his muscles shifting and changing. Within seconds, he’s back to his true form, looking for all the world like that water drakos, scales gleaming, powerful muscles working under them as he grows to monstrous size. A low rumble gathers in his throat, vibrating through my body.
“What in the name of Oyomo!” Belcalis gasps, raising her sword.
“I told you that thing is unnatural!” Adwapa points, horrified. “Fecking unnatural!”
Ixa rumbles again, and I hold out my hands, trying to calm both sides.
“Shhh, Ixa,” I say, reaching out to him. Relief washes over me when he nuzzles my palm with his gigantic nose. For such a threatening-looking creature, he’s very gentle. Almost like a child…
De…ka? he whispers, unsure. His voice is even clearer now, a loud whisper in my head.
“That’s right, that’s right,” I say soothingly, my heart beating fast. “It’s me, Deka.” Change back? I ask with my thoughts. Please, Ixa?
De…ka. Ixa shrinks, and within moments, he’s back to kitten size and jumping back on the bed.
“Did ye see that?” Britta gasps, flabbergasted. “It just changed—just like that. Why did it change?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Did ye have anything to do with it?”
“Ixa’s a he, not an it,” I humph, ignoring her question. “And what exactly are the four of you up to?”
Britta points toward Ixa, who has now made his way to my pillow and is snuggling down. “We’re here about that. Wha exactly is that?”
I look at him, then shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure what he is.”
“You do get that it’s not normal, right?” Asha says. By now, her sister has told her all about the raid and what we found there—excluding the part about my abilities, of course.
“He,” I correct, rolling my eyes. “And really, Asha? People say we’re not normal, and yet here we are, having arguments over a kitten.”
“It’s a creature ye found in a temple dedicated to demons that not only changes form but also fed on yer blood,” Britta says. “I saw it bite you in the temple.”
“What if it wants to murder us in our beds?” Adwapa adds. “Ever think of that?”
I roll my eyes again. “Oh, for Oyomo’s sake, whatever Ixa is, he isn’t a monster—even I know that much. He’s just some type of shapeshifter that whoever lived at that temple was raising.” That much I know to be true. “Besides, the combat state told me to keep him.”
Britta’s eyebrows rise. “The combat state told you? Ye understand it’s a state of being, right? Something we use to access our abilities.”
“Well, I’m using a deeper form of it,” I mutter, annoyance rising. I can’t blame the others for not knowing more about it. White Hands refuses to teach them, saying it would be a wasted effort, since they don’t have the abilities I do. “And when I’m using it, White Hands says I see things clearer than I normally do. This is one of those things. Ixa means us no harm.”
De…ka…, Ixa agrees.
“Yer mad,” Britta says. “Ye know that, right?”
I sigh, getting back into bed and pulling the covers around me. I’m not arguing any longer. “How about this: I’ll talk to White Hands about Ixa tomorrow. If she tells me to get rid of him, I’ll consider it.”
“Fine,” Britta huffs. “But I want to be right there, watching ye tell her.”
“Fine,” I reply.
I wait until I hear their footsteps receding before I glance at Ixa. Just don’t prove them right, all right? I whisper silently.
De…ka…is his reply.
He snuggles up beside me, and together, we fall asleep.
* * *
White Hands is sprawled on her usual carpet, a jug of palm wine in hand, when I arrive at the lake to take lessons the next evening. Assorted dried fruits and a plate of cheeses keep her company. White Hands loves her indulgences—that much will never change. I’m the first to arrive, so she pats the space beside her.
“Have a seat, Deka,” she says.
“Yes, Karmoko,” I reply, kneeling to her in the traditional greeting before I reluctantly sit beside her, my muscles clenched tight
I know I have to tell her about Ixa, but I’m not sure what to say. Besides, Britta isn’t here yet, and I promised I’d wait until she arrived to talk to White Hands about him.
“I’m told your first raid was a success,” she murmurs, pouring a goblet of palm wine and handing it to me.
I shake my head, declining it. “Yes, Karmoko, we defeated all the deathshrieks nesting in the cave.”
“Wonderful,” she says, that ever-present amused look in her eyes. She takes a swig of the wine. “And did you learn anything about your gift in the process?”
I immediately think about the way the knowing flowed inside me while I was in the cave, the way the deep combat state took over almost as soon as my blood tingled a warning. I didn’t have to meditate, didn’t have to force myself into it, it just came when I needed it and then left when I didn’t.
“I think I’m starting to understand how it works,” I finally reply.
“And how does it work?”
“The combat state is connected to my blood. If my blood rushes, it stimulates the combat state. That’s why I had to run or be panicked before in order to experience the combat state. And I now know how the voice works too. I think it affects the deathshrieks’ bodies.” I remember now the way I started sensing deathshriek heartbeats before I saw them—making them slow every time I gave a command. “Power rushes out of me, and that’s what causes their bodies to react—to slow. That’s why they do whatever I want them to,” I finish.
Something about my words causes White Hands’s brow to furrow. “So you don’t actually have to speak…” It’s almost like she’s understanding this for the very first time.
I’d always thought she knew everything about my ability, but that’s clearly not the case, because she gasps and turns to me. A strange, excited look shines in her eyes. “What if, instead of concentrating on using your voice, we concentrated on directing your power, channeling it?”
“How?” I ask, intrigued.
“Targeted movements. A dance, as it were.” White Hands taps her lip, deep in thought now. “Yes…I think we must come up with a martial art especially for you.”
A martial art especially for me? I can barely fathom it, but of course White Hands would think of such a thing.
All okai are well versed in the martial arts. They even have their own specific style of fighting. Karmoko Huon demonstrated it once, but it’s useless for alaki, since it requires a delicacy we no longer have. There is too much brute force behind our movements.
I watch White Hands as she continues speaking, that excitement growing in her eyes. “I had considered it when I first started teaching you, but now I know it’s necessary. We start tomorrow—no time to waste. The campaign will be here soon, and I want you to be ready in the event you are needed.”
In the event I am needed? I muffle a laugh at her wording. More like the eventuality. I know White Hands intends to use me during the campaign, a pet weapon she will present with great fanfare to the emperor. That’s why she keeps pushing me harder, keeps reminding me how much more difficult the campaign will be than anything I’ve experienced thus far.
If she can make me the perfect weapon, she can gain greater status in the emperor’s eyes. I’m starting to understand how she thinks.
Still, I’m relieved when Britta’s familiar figure appears on the horizon. Just because I’m prepared for the eventuality of battle doesn’t mean I want to think about it. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you, Karmoko,” I say.
“Yes?”
“I found something inside the cave where the deathshrieks were.”
“Oh, you mean your new pet?” White Hands murmurs.
I glare at Britta,
who’s just now arriving. “You already told her?”
Britta’s face flushes with guilt. “I had to, Deka. It’s my duty to protect ye!”
I stand up, furious. “Protect me? I told you not to—”
“Well, it’s not a cat, that’s for certain,” White Hands interrupts, thoughtfully tapping her lips. “Although…it could be mistaken for one, from a distance….” She turns to me. “What do you think it is, precisely?”
I blink, momentarily distracted from my anger. “Some sort of shapeshifter,” I reply. “Mother told me such creatures roamed the South.”
White Hands shrugs. “Far be it from me to question what your mother knew to be true,” she says.
“You think he’s a danger,” I say, my eyes narrowing.
“I think that you need to find out exactly what your pet is before you continue cradling it to your bosom and feeding it your blood.”
I whirl again toward Britta. “You told her that too!”
I’ve been allowing Ixa to take occasional sips of my blood since I brought him from the pond. He seems to like it, so there doesn’t seem to be much harm in doing so. Still, I can’t believe Britta betrayed me like this.
Her mutinous expression tells me she doesn’t see it that way. “I had to!” she hisses. “Ye weren’t acting rationally.”
“I am perfectly rational! I was halfway into the combat state when I found him, and I would have noticed if there was something evil about him! Besides—”
“Here’s what I think,” White Hands interrupts.
When I reluctantly turn to her, she continues: “You do seem to be very perceptive while in the combat state, so I would err on the side of listening to it. If it tells you your pet is safe, then it is safe. For now…”
She nods, making a decision. “I’ll allow you to keep it as I make inquiries. Just make sure to let me know what happens when you feed it more cursed gold. Any reactions or changes may give us a clue as to its origins.”
Britta’s mouth turns down. “I don’t like this,” she sniffs. “I don’t like it at all.”
