by Namina Forna
I turn to her. “Are you sure none of the recruits saw me change? Heard me?” My eyes flit to Keita, tightening the straps on his saddle. Please, no. Please…I couldn’t bear it if he turned away from me, if he suddenly hated me the way Ionas did when he realized I was different from everyone else.
Britta shakes her head, sending a wave of relief over me. “It was too dark for them to see you.”
“We only saw wha happened ’cause our night vision is better,” Britta says. Then she adds, “I think ye should talk to White Hands. Whatever this is, we need to take care of it afore anyone else knows.” She follows my gaze to Keita. “Anyone,” she repeats.
I nod.
* * *
As it turns out, I don’t have to wait for a meeting with White Hands, because she summons me to the Warthu Bera’s roof the moment I return. When Isattu, the assistant for our common bedchamber, deposits me there, White Hands is lounging on a bed of pillows, smoking that ever-present water pipe. The Hemairan night gathers around us, warm and sweetly scented, but all I can feel right now is my panic and fear. I know that White Hands probably called me here to talk about what happened with Ixa, but I have more pressing concerns.
White Hands doesn’t seem to notice my anxiety as she takes another puff of her pipe. “I hear,” she says, “that you’ve been experiencing some worrisome changes lately.”
I stare at her, startled. How did she know?
Then I remember—White Hands commands the Warthu Bera, and that includes all the matrons and assistants here. I shouldn’t be surprised if she has Isattu spying for her when we go on raids, if all the assistants are spying for her. “The assistants are your spies,” I say, suddenly realizing why they’re so deferential whenever they see her.
“The matrons too,” she sniffs. “I try to surround myself with the best.”
Her smugness only heightens my panic. If she knows what’s happening, how can she be so calm? I can barely stand still, I’m so agitated. I clench and unclench my hands to keep myself from picking at my nails.
“Is it the lessons?” I ask, pulling Ixa from my neck into my arms as I walk closer. “Is that what’s changing me?”
White Hands nods, a languid incline of the head. “It might be.”
“Might be? I need a better explanation than that. Tell me why this is happening! You promised you would!”
White Hands doesn’t reply, only rises and beckons for me to follow her to the edge of the roof. Below us, the city of Hemaira is spread out like a dark ocean dotted with dimly flickering lights.
She gestures to it.
“Tell me, what do you see before you?”
“Hemaira,” I reply. What does this have to do with anything?
“And what fills Hemaira?” Now White Hands glances at me, as if there’s something she wants to gauge.
“People,” I reply. Where is she going with this?
“And beyond Hemaira? What fills the wilderness?”
“Deathshrieks,” I say, quickly adding, “our enemies.”
For a moment, a strange expression flashes over her face, but then she’s back to that amused smile. “I see,” she says.
“What does that have to do with what’s happening to me?” I ask impatiently.
“Everything….And nothing.”
Her answer infuriates me. “I don’t have time for circular replies,” I grit out. “I’m changing, Karmoko. You said I wasn’t a monster, but am I some sort of deathshriek half-breed?” The words wrench out of me, a newly sprouted fear I almost can’t bear to voice.
“A what?” White Hands barks out a laugh. “No, you are certainly not that.”
“Then what am I? Explain why I keep having all these changes!”
“Because you keep using your power. Every time you use it, it grows, changes things around you.”
Now a thought occurs to me—one that fills me with terror. “And my friends? Will I affect them? Will they start changing too?” I whisper.
White Hands shakes her head. “That won’t happen. You’re the only one with the voice. You’re the only one with the ability.” White Hands turns back toward the city. “And besides, there’s nothing you can do to stop it—not at this time, anyway.”
She seems so certain, I have a sudden realization. “You’ve witnessed this before, haven’t you?” I gasp. “There are more girls like me! That’s how you came up with the lessons, learning how to master the combat state!” I can imagine it now, an entire army of girls with the ability to control deathshrieks. I walk closer to her, pleading: “Who are they? Where are they?”
When White Hands finally glances at me, her expression is firm. “That should not be your concern at the moment. For now, listen to my words. Use your power only in the dark, when the jatu can’t see you, and wear full armor. And try to surround yourself with your friends whenever you use it. Should a jatu catch a glimpse of your change, laugh it off and suggest that his eyes are playing tricks on him. Never forget: the same gift they praise you for now, they will kill you for later.”
Her words are so similar to Belcalis’s, my insides turn cold. I always knew there was more to White Hands than met the eye, more to the plans she has for me, but this is beyond what I ever imagined.
“But you brought me here,” I whisper, fear rising. “You’re the one who gave me this purpose.”
She nods. “And I intend for you to survive long enough to fulfill it, which is why you must understand—truly—how fickle your position is. The jatu, my cousin the emperor, and his courtiers—they’ll all love you now, when there are deathshrieks to conquer. The moment that changes, they’ll remember that you’re a woman. That you’re unnatural…That is how they are. That is always how such men are.”
“Tell me how I stop this,” I beg. I don’t want to be part of this, whatever it is White Hands is plotting. I just want to survive. Glory, honor—those are for other people. “Tell me how I make it go away.”
“You can’t.” White Hands’s eyes are deadly serious, no trace of amusement in them now. “You will continue training, you will harness your power, develop it until it becomes so strong, no one can stand in your way. In our way.”
“White Hands…,” I say, horrified. I know now she’s not talking about the alaki regiment, or even the army. She’s talking about something else, something far more deadly. Rebellion…That’s what she means when she talks about gathering power so she can be stronger than the men who command her. Including the emperor of Otera himself.
This is all a game to her—the realization sticks in my throat. This is one of those deadly games the rich, the powerful, play. And I’m just a pawn she brought to serve her. Just like all the assistants and matrons scurrying around the Warthu Bera.
“White Hands, I—”
She places a gauntleted finger to my lips, cutting me off. Her eyes gleam with an expression I can’t even fathom now. She leans closer. “There are no others like you, Deka. You should know that. There never have been, and there never will be.”
As I gape, her words settling under my skin, she continues her warning. “Hide your changes from the jatu. Keep yourself safe, Deka. And always keep your pet with you.”
I look down at Ixa, horror rising inside me. Has he always been part of her plan as well? All my suspicions about how I found him—perhaps they really are true. He blinks, not understanding what’s happening.
“I have explained to the other karmokos and the jatu that he is a new type of creature I have been breeding in secret. That should keep them satisfied for now. I am the procurer of monsters, after all. You see, you were wrong in that regard, Deka. I don’t breed monsters for the emperor, I find them. Find the creatures this empire deems impure, undesirable, dangerous…”
Dread swells inside me. “What is Ixa?” I know she knows. She knows everything. Hides everything.
“He’s a shapeshifter,” White Hands says. “That’s all you need to know at present.”
My thoughts whirl, each one more frightening than the next. What she said about the jatu, Ixa…“Why are you being so secretive?” I plead. “Why won’t you answer my questions?”
“Because you won’t understand the answers—not at this moment, not as you are. All you need to know is that you’re not unnatural, or whatever other horrific supposition you’ll now have running through your mind. Neither is your pet, for that matter. You need to remain with each other and keep from attracting any attention long enough to get through the campaign. We’re almost there, almost to the finish. You just have to survive till then, till our empire is free from those monsters. Then I will tell you everything, make you see what all this was for. Do you understand?”
I nod, at a loss for how else to respond. “I understand,” I say, despair rising inside me. Just as I was beginning to think I could trust White Hands. Now I see that she’s just like all the others—worse, even. A spider on a web, dangling threads that I have no idea how to connect. Ixa, the lessons on the combat state, my gift—all things she’s nurtured to suit a rebellion.
But whose? And why?
Till our empire is free from those monsters…What was she referring to with those words? Was it the deathshrieks…or the men who send us out to battle them? I quickly drive the thought to the depths of my mind, terrified by the implications.
I’m just a soldier, I remind myself. Such things are above me.
White Hands nods, then turns back toward the city. “What a lovely view,” she says.
I can see I’ve been dismissed.
I walk away trembling, still no idea what just happened. I do know one thing: I have to be wary of what White Hands plans, or I might fall afoul of something even more dangerous than deathshrieks.
The Oteran empire itself.
“I call it the infernal armor,” Karmoko Calderis declares, lifting a golden helmet.
It’s early morning, and we’re standing before the statue of Emperor Gezo, watching her make this triumphant announcement, the culmination of months of grueling labor on her part. She’s been working day and night ever since the novices arrived last year, refining the method for making armor out of cursed gold. Finally, her efforts have borne fruit: suits of armor impervious to deathshriek claws, comfortably cool under the sun’s hottest rays, and lightweight enough for running.
“We’ve revolutionized the process,” Karmoko Calderis crows.
“Oh, she’s revolutionized something, all right,” Asha snickers under her breath. She has just come back from a raid and is still filthy with the mud from her journey. Even so, she’s exuberant. Her team filled their quota. Yes, three of the girls are still in the gilded sleep, and yes, one of them has lost an eye, but no one is being flayed this morning—an enormous victory, given how much harder the raids have gotten these past few weeks.
It’s almost as if the deathshrieks sense that we’re about to attack their primal nest, so they’ve launched an all-out assault. They want to kill as many of us as they can, just as we want to kill as many of them as we can. If it’s this bad now, I can’t imagine how much worse the campaign will be when there are hundreds of thousands of them on the battlefield.
“She’s allll revolutionary,” Asha continues, snickering.
“Quiet, ye,” Britta hisses.
I turn my attention back to Karmoko Calderis as she gives instruction on how to receive our suits of armor. I need to pay close attention. Ever since I spoke with White Hands the night she told me all those awful things, I’ve been determined to get armor that covers me more fully. The makeshift helmets we’ve been using recently only barely cover our heads, and the ones we ride out through the city with are much too bulky to use during a raid.
I want armor that covers my entire face and the rest of my body as well. I don’t know if the leathering the others spoke of will happen again, but if it does, I want to make sure no one sees—especially not Keita. Just the thought of him witnessing the sight sends dread coursing through me. I don’t ever want him to see me like that, so monstrous in form.
When Karmoko Calderis opens the forge the next morning, Britta, Belcalis, Asha, and Adwapa and I are all standing there, waiting. Months of bloody combat and raids have wiped away my fear of bleeding, so I’m first in line. Besides, the karmoko did tell us each suit could be personalized, and I’m looking forward to seeing what designs she has on offer.
The karmoko’s face splits into a toothy grin when she sees me, Ixa curled around my neck. “Ah, Deka, you’re perfectly on time,” she says gleefully, rubbing her palms together. “Come in.” As I walk in, she stops and glances pointedly at Ixa. “You may leave the creature outside. Can’t have fur disturbing the process.”
Ixa blinks confused black eyes at me. De…ka?
He seems to be understanding what other people are saying more and more lately, although he’s still unable to say anything more than my name. I wonder if he ever will. I would ask White Hands about it, but I’m too wary of the way she manipulates everything around her.
Yes, I say to Ixa. You have to leave.
Sniffing his annoyance, he does as he’s told and stalks outside. I enter the forge, eyes widening when I see the changes that have been made in the past few months. Looping metal pipes have been attached to the ceiling, and they all end in gigantic vats suspended over a fire that is stoked to a constant blaze by sweating assistants.
Karmoko Calderis points gleefully to the large wooden chair in the middle of the forge. “Why don’t you have a seat. Let’s get started, shall we?” She holds up a blade.
I take a breath, look at its gleaming edge. “I’m ready,” I say, sitting down in the chair.
I have a suit of armor to make.
* * *
It’s a hot day for the cold season. Britta, Belcalis, Adwapa and I are perched on a bluff above the rock outcropping where deathshrieks have made a nest. They’ve been menacing a village called Yoko, on the outskirts of Hemaira, and its elders personally requested the Death Strikers, gave us a map to the source of their woes. That’s why I’m here, sweat trickling down my back, leather armor chafing at my skin. I’m part of the advance team, my ability to track deathshrieks by instinct a tremendous asset in rocky, difficult terrain like this.
Below me, the deathshrieks huddle in a group around a protrusion of white rocks. They’ve spread only a small amount of mist, so they’re easily visible despite their distance from our hiding place. Normally, the scouts would watch them in preparation for our advance, but at my suggestion, my friends and I have started doing so instead. It’s important that we’re familiar with our enemies in order to deal with them effectively. At least, that’s what Karmoko Thandiwe always says.
Captain Kelechi agrees, which is why he, the recruits, and the other alaki are back at the camp, making the last preparations while we three watch the deathshrieks. I didn’t, of course, tell him my true reason for insisting we do so: deathshrieks have become increasingly fascinating to me. Ever since that day at the marsh, when they wore those cochleans to keep my voice from overpowering their will, I’ve been doing everything I can to watch them—to study them. And what I’m learning has made me very concerned.
The karmokos and the jatu keep telling us that deathshrieks are mindless beasts with very little intelligence, and yet they’ve always seemed almost human to my eyes. They even appear to have a language. It took me some time to identify it as such, but there they are in a circle, rumbling and clicking to each other. Take away their terrifying appearance and they could be a contingent of alaki and recruits preparing for a raid. In fact, I’m certain that’s what they’re doing: preparing to menace Yoko again, to slaughter more people and steal more girls away.
The elders sobbed as they told us about this when we arrived, sobbed as they told
us how the deathshrieks rounded up all the twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls and took them away while their family members lay dying on the ground, body parts scattered around them. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that whatever girls they took are probably lost for good.
We can never find the girls the deathshrieks take, not even their remains. The corpse piles in deathshriek nests are always filled with adults, all of them men—there’s never any hint of women or girls. Every time I wonder about this, a memory of that little girl I saw from the first raid flashes in my mind. I always wonder what happened to her—is she still alive, or was she eaten by the deathshrieks…or worse? The thought unsettles me, so I turn to Ixa, perched in feline form on a nearby tree. Signal the recruits, I say to him.
He nods, sprouting wings from his back as he takes off. It’s a favored trick of his—one I’m very grateful for. It’s made him useful to the group, and Captain Kelechi always appreciates usefulness. I’ve even had a golden helmet made from my blood for his drakos form, which he flaunts proudly at every opportunity.
“I can never get used to that,” Adwapa whispers beside me. “Gives me the shivers, it does.”
We’re far enough away that sound won’t carry, but we’re always careful to remain quiet all the same.
“Get used to wha?” Britta asks.
She’s on the other side of me, Ixa’s helmet perched on her head. He can’t wear it when he’s not in battle form, so she’s been slinging it around like a toy. Britta can be very childlike sometimes.
“She means Ixa changing form,” I explain.
Britta whips to me, her eyebrows knitted in a frown. “Say that again,” she demands.
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Say what?”
Britta takes off the helmet, looks down at it. “That’s odd,” she says.
“What’s odd?” This back-and-forth is very confusing.
