The Gilded Ones

by Namina Forna

  I shrug, giving her a smug smile. “You asked for the karmoko to speak, and now the karmoko has spoken. Let’s get to our lesson, shall we?”

  * * *

  White Hands is so enamored with her new idea about creating a martial art for me, she has no time to actually teach us during the lesson. “Have at it with swords, no holds barred,” she instructs when Belcalis and Gazal arrive, then she nestles into her carpet and spends the next hour scribbling notes in her scroll.

  I think she’s coming up with the movements I will use to harness my power, but I know better than to ask. I’ve seen her like this before, when she’s in the heat of training, excitement pulsing through her. Battle—the pursuit of it—is what drives her. She’s just like Karmoko Huon in that regard. While Britta, Belcalis, Gazal, and I do as she commands, hacking and slashing each other with all our strength, she continues at her scribbling.

  Wounds open, blood pours. White Hands notices nothing except the scroll in front of her. The moment the hour is over, she rushes away, eager to plan her new lessons. I’m grateful for her distraction. That means I can spend more time with Ixa.

  Ixa, I call, using my thoughts to speak to him. He’s been scurrying after me in cat form all day, so I’m surprised when a small bird with blue feathers, horns, and black eyes flies over toward us.

  Britta frowns at it. “That’s not—”

  Ixa obligingly changes into his feline form.

  I walk over to him, awed. “What are you?” I whisper, stroking him.

  De…ka, he replies.

  “Deka,” Belcalis says, a thoughtful look on her face. “How exactly do you plan to take care of him?”

  I turn to her. “Take care of him?” I echo.

  “Well, he doesn’t seem like the type to eat cooked food. And from the way he follows you, it looks like he’s used to having a caretaker. So how are you going to feed him?”

  I pause. I hadn’t thought of that.

  As I frown, considering the answer, a splash draws my attention to the pond. Ixa is swimming out of it in his drakos form, a fish wriggling in his jaws. He snaps down half of it, then offers the rest to me.

  I nudge it back. You can have it, I say.

  De…ka? Ixa asks, uncertain.

  Eat, I tell him.

  He obeys, gulping down the other half of the fish.

  “Well, that takes care of that,” Britta says, and sighs.

  But now there’s a horrified expression on Belcalis’s face. “It can’t change into human form, can it?”

  I whirl to Ixa. Can you?

  De…ka? Ixa seems confused by the notion. He starts nuzzling at my feet.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, sitting down so Ixa can get comfortable on my lap. I pet him and he rumbles, licking the blood crusting my shoulder.

  Don’t do that in front of them, I tell him.

  He immediately stops, cocking his head up at me.

  Belcalis’s eyes narrow. “You’re talking to it, aren’t you,” she says—a statement, not a question.

  “Him,” I correct her. “And yes, I hear his voice in my head…and I talk back the same way.”

  Britta gasps. “Ye said none of that to White Hands, Deka!”

  “Because I didn’t want to give her any information that might turn her against Ixa! You wanted to know why I thought he was safe. This is why. I can hear him…although he barely speaks, really. I think he’s a baby.” I look up at her. “You won’t tell White Hands, will you?”

  Britta rolls her eyes, then puffs out a breath. “No, I’ll let ye and her sort it out.”

  “Thanks, Britta,” I say, smiling.

  She sighs. “I know ye think I’m being silly, but I’m worried about ye, Deka. Ye keep changing an’ not in normal ways. I’m afraid for ye.” There’s a note in her voice, a plea that forces me to my feet.

  “I’m all right, Britta, really,” I say, walking over and embracing her. “Everything is all right.”

  She groans. “Just make sure that’s true.”

  It’s my turn to nod.

  I glance over to Belcalis. “You said he’s used to having a caretaker. Do you think he thinks I’m his mother?” I ask.

  Belcalis shrugs, kneeling down, then reaches out to him. Ixa lets out a welcoming chirp, and she begins petting him. “He’s so soft,” she murmurs. “And he doesn’t seem unfriendly. White Hands did say you could keep him?” she asks, glancing between me and Britta.

  “She said she’d try to learn more about him, which means he’s here to stay.” I lift Ixa up, kiss his fat little cheeks. “Yes, you are, aren’t you, Ixa?”

  Ixa chirps, rubs his face against mine.

  Britta groans. “Just don’t let it sleep on my bed.”

  “Him,” I correct.

  * * *

  “But what is it?”

  This is the first question Keita asks once I explain to him the situation with Ixa. As usual, we’re sitting under our nystria tree, enjoying what little time we have between now and dinner. Ixa stalks through the branches above us, pouncing on the leaves like they’re tiny animals. Keita watches him, a frown on his face.

  “A shapeshifter of some sort, I told you,” I repeat.

  “And if you found it near the deathshriek nest, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrug. “Because you would have told me to get rid of him,” I say, looking up at Ixa. Warmth spreads through me when he chirps suspiciously at a leaf. Or perhaps it’s because of how close I am to Keita.

  We’re seated side by side now, our bodies touching from arm to feet. If I wanted, I could reach out and lean my head on his shoulder, ruffle his closely shorn hair, and look into his eyes. But of course I do nothing of the sort. Even though I feel bolder with him when we’re here, under our tree, I’m still not that bold.

  He nods. “You’re right, I would have said that.” He turns his head toward me. “You have to be careful, Deka, that thing is—”

  “—a child, an innocent child, all alone in the world?”

  “An oddity. Something most of us have never seen before. You have to be careful of oddities, Deka. Sometimes, they can be dangerous things. Sometimes, their mere existence makes them dangerous.” The way he looks at me sideways makes me know he’s not just talking about Ixa.

  I sigh, looking up at my new pet. “I’ll keep him hidden,” I finally say, knowing I’m not just talking about Ixa.

  “See that you do.” Then he turns to me, a hesitant expression on his face. “Deka, about your karmoko…the Lady of the Equus.”

  I frown. “What about her?”

  “I asked my commanders if they knew of her, and as it turns out, she’s quite…notorious. There are whispers that she’s in charge of the emperor’s special assignments.” He takes a breath, looks down at me. “She breeds monsters for him, Deka.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Monsters?”

  Every question I’ve ever had comes rushing back.

  Monsters…

  The word plays a sickening refrain in my head all night, forcing me to realize I’ve been too complacent these past few months. White Hands promised me the answers I sought, but what if she’s the source of all my questions? The way she appeared so mysteriously at Irfut, rescuing me from my months of torture. The way she seems to know all sorts of things about me. Am I one of the monsters she made for the emperor? Is Ixa? It was all too convenient, his presence in that pond.

  And what about me? Mother was pregnant a month before she met Father. Did White Hands have a hand in creating me—some sort of alaki breeding project? If I accept that she made Ixa, then it’s possible she made me, possible I’m some sort of shapeshifter as well. That could be why my eyes sometimes change, why I look like Father, even though there’s no way he’s my true sire. But if that’s the case, why allow him to raise me? Why allow me to
live in Irfut as long as I did?

  Round and round my thoughts go until strange footsteps enter the room. I bolt upright, then almost as quickly calm. It’s Gazal. She’s approaching my bed, a set of new robes in her hand. She must have been sent by White Hands. I choke back a bitter laugh at the irony. Think of the infernal, and it’ll appear to you—there’s a good reason for that saying.

  I search around for Ixa, but thankfully, he’s nowhere to be found. He must be hunting, as he often does during the night.

  “The Lady of the Equus requests your presence,” Gazal says, throwing the robes at me. “Rise. Now.”

  Beside me, Britta stirs, her eyes widening when she notices Gazal. “Wha’s happening?” she asks worriedly.

  “Everything’s fine,” I say, reassuring her. “White Hands is asking for me.”

  “Don’t let her make ye do anything strange so early,” she warns before turning over with a yawn. “Last week, she had us sparring in the lake in full armor. Nearly drowned a couple of times…” The rest of her words are muffled by her pillow.

  “I won’t,” I promise as I put on my robes.

  Darkness is still surrounding the Warthu Bera when Gazal and I walk outside, a velvet cloak I can almost reach out and touch. The torches are still burning, and the lights of Hemaira flicker dimly in the distance. Exactly how early is it? I know better than to ask Gazal this question. She’s a surly shadow leading me to our destination, one of the more remote buildings at the edge of the Warthu Bera’s hill.

  White Hands is waiting inside when we enter, a plain torch in her hand. The darkness seems to gather sinisterly around her. I try not to show my unease.

  “Morning greetings, Karmoko.” Gazal and I bow.

  “Morning greetings,” White Hands replies. Then she nods to Gazal. “My thanks, novice,” she says. “You may continue to the next task.”

  Gazal bows again and exits, slipping away as quietly as she came. Now it’s just White Hands and me. She glances over. “I can feel your thoughts scurrying,” she says. “Out with it, Deka.”

  I nod. “I heard something…distressing, Karmoko.”

  “Yes?”

  “I heard that you breed monsters for the emperor.”

  White Hands humphs. “And now you think you may be a monster. That I somehow bred you.”

  I don’t bother to deny it. White Hands rolls her eyes.

  “The funny thing about you, Deka, is that your thoughts are always spinning. You think and think and run your mind in fine little circles, and yet you never quite grasp the truth of the matter. I told you I would give you all the answers before the campaign was over, and I will. I will tell you everything you need to know when the time is right. For now, here is what you need to know: There are several types of monsters in this world. You are not one.”

  I look in her eyes. They’re firm, full of conviction. She’s saying the truth. But I have one last question. “You do breed them, however. Monsters.”

  Her replying smile is thin. “I do what needs to be done. Now, then.” She turns from me, gestures around the room, which is covered in large bronze mirrors, one for each wall.

  It’s obvious our conversation is at an end. I push my worries aside. Spend too much time ruminating in battle and you get killed.

  “You must be wondering what all this is,” White Hands says, nodding at the mirrors.

  “Yes, Karmoko.”

  “You see, I have a theory, Deka. I think that every time you use the voice, you do so using all your energy. That’s what causes the exhaustion. If we can get you using smaller amounts, you can control it more. Therefore, I have formulated a series of moving meditations that will allow you to control your energy while in the combat state.

  “Hopefully, you will soon be able to direct your energy so effectively, you’ll no longer have to succumb to exhaustion when you use your voice. By the time the campaign comes, you’ll be able to use your ability without a hint of fatigue.”

  Revulsion suffuses me at the thought, but I keep my face still. No matter the dread that wells up when I think of killing another wild deathshriek in cold blood, it’s my duty to keep Otera safe. My mind flashes to Katya, that surprise in her eyes when the deathshriek ripped out her spine, then to all those villagers lying in the snow.

  I have a duty to fulfill. I won’t be put off by my own squeamishness.

  “Let’s begin with the first move: centering the energy in your body,” White Hands says. “Spread your legs apart, hands up. Now inhale deeply.”

  She demonstrates and I mimic her moves.

  “Close your eyes and visualize the ocean you see in your subconscious.”

  I obey, closing my eyes and imagining the dark ocean. Perhaps it’s the stillness of the night, the quiet of the chamber around us, but I feel it almost immediately, lapping at the edges of my mind.

  “Move through the golden door. Beyond it lies the source of your energy, your power. Visualize it as a white light flowing through your body.”

  I nod quietly, sinking deeper and deeper into my mind. When the golden door looms, I swim through it, just as she instructed, then watch, amazed, as a sea of white rushes over me. My energy, glowing like a distant star. Now I know why people shimmer when I see them in the combat state. It’s their energy I’m seeing, the power near their hearts glowing brightest of all.

  I concentrate on mine, feeling it rise and tingle inside me.

  “Do you have it?” White Hands asks.

  I nod. “I think so.”

  “Good,” she says, opening a door I hadn’t noticed at the back of the room.

  Gazal and Jeneba are waiting there, at the top of a dark, ominous staircase. I don’t have to ask to know that it must lead to the caverns—the deathshrieks. I can already feel one’s presence, moving closer and closer, so familiar, it’s immediately distinguishable. Rattle.

  He’s gagged and bound, struggling against the group of novices dragging him up the stairs. When he sees me, he stops, his expression wary, the way it always is now whenever I’m near. I’m caught by how docile he seems compared to the deathshrieks I’ve encountered in the wild, how withered he is around the edges. I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, but I know something’s wrong with him and the other deathshrieks in the caverns.

  “Do you have your energy?” White Hands asks, turning back to me.

  I blink, forcing my mind to the present. “Yes.”

  I can feel it swirling inside me, a glowing ball of white.

  “Follow my movements,” she says, cupping her hand near her heart and then extending her fingers.

  Her energy streams out, a clear white ribbon she pinches slowly upward, away from her heart. As she does so, she turns toward the mirror, nodding for me to do the same. Now we’re side by side, watching each other in the mirror as she calls out instructions.

  “Pull a strand of energy from your heart to your throat. Use it to power your command. Only this small amount, nothing more,” White Hands directs, her fingers pulling that glowing ribbon all the way to her throat. It glows there, brighter than the rest of the energy swirling around her body.

  I wish she could see it, see the energy in her body, flickering as bright as a candle. But humans don’t have the cursed gold, or the ability to reach the combat state. White Hands can’t see anything but herself in that mirror.

  I push the thought away as I nod, following her movements. I can feel the power now, see it vibrating in my throat. I focus on it, turn to Rattle, steeling myself against my guilt as I give a command. “Kneel,” I say, my voice layering with power.

  When he quickly does as he’s told, sinking to his knees, White Hands claps her hands, pleased. “Wonderful work, Deka.”

  I nod, smiling thinly to mirror her expression. Just as she’d promised, I don’t feel any exhaustion—no tiredness at all. “
Thank you, Karmo—” The words die on my lips as I catch a glimpse of myself in the bronze mirror.

  My eyes are black from rim to rim—like death shining through my face. So this is what others have seen before, what they were talking about when they told me my eyes changed. It must happen only when I use my energy. No wonder I wasn’t able to glimpse it all those times I tried. I walk closer to the mirror, stare closer at them. They fit, somehow, the way they look in my face. They look like they belong.

  “You’ve never seen it before, have you—the way your eyes change…,” White Hands murmurs, moving closer.

  I shake my head, then turn back to the mirror. Once I’ve examined every inch of them, I turn back to her. “Should I continue?” I ask, glancing at Rattle.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  Encouraged, I pull another ribbon to my throat, turn toward the deathshriek. “Lift your hands.”

  He obeys again, and again I feel no exhaustion, not even the slightest hint of fatigue.

  “Lower your hands,” I command, using another ribbon.

  When there’s still no exhaustion as he obeys, I pull out the next ribbon, not paying much attention to it as I command, “Turn in a circle.”

  Exhilaration races through me when he does so, but then another feeling follows it: exhaustion, pounding me like a hammer. I look in the mirror and quickly see why. My throat is covered in masses of energy. Much, much more than I should have taken.

  Why didn’t I pay attention?

  As I collapse to the floor, my eyes closing, White Hands humphs, annoyed. “I warned you, only a strand.”

  * * *

  Learning to harness the combat state is a tiresome business. Sometimes, I keep control and use only the energy I need to command Rattle and the other deathshrieks. Other times, I miscalculate and take so much, it’s all I can do to make it through till evening. Every day now, I’m getting better and better at using my ability, and it doesn’t take long before I’m learning how to direct my energy through my veins like little rivers of power, all of them at my command.