by Namina Forna
As I ride toward her, however, a puddle of dark blue catches my eye. I turn to it and the ground tilts sideways. It’s Britta, impaled on a spear. My entire world narrows to the dark blue blood spilling from her gut, staining the sand with horrific color. It’s as if I’m moving through sludge, as if it’s streaming into my nose and stopping my breath. I don’t even feel my feet as I stagger off Ixa.
Deka? Ixa asks, trailing after me. He wants to know if I’m all right, but I can’t reply, can’t even think.
All I see is Britta lying there, that horrible blue blood pouring from her side. When I near, she looks up at me, her face pale with sweat, and bravely struggles to smile.
“Turns out…it was always me belly,” she wheezes.
I can barely stand now. “Britta…,” I whisper. “Don’t speak. You don’t have to—” I suddenly can’t breathe anymore, my helmet’s strap is choking me.
I throw it aside, gasping.
“Deka!” Gazal’s voice seems so far away. “What are you doing? We have a duty to fulfill!”
When I don’t answer, she clasps my shoulders and forces me to look at her. “Deka!”
“I can’t leave her!” I gasp, tears flooding my eyes. “I can’t leave Britta.”
Something almost like pity flickers over Gazal’s eyes, but she ruthlessly suppresses it. “This happened in the pursuit of her duty. It should be her honor to die for Otera.”
Die. The word explodes through me with the force of a thousand suns. Britta is dying. She’s dying here, where the buzzards will make a feast of her, and the army will trample over her remains. She’s dying here, where no one she loves will be able to find her, to mourn her.
I can’t let that happen. I can’t let Britta die. There’s no one I love more than her, no one who loves me as deeply as she does. I wrench myself from Gazal and turn back to her. “You have to live,” I gasp, power surging inside me. It’s like a wave, washing over my body, vibrating from my skin.
“Deka…,” Britta says weakly, her eyes wide. “Your face.” She reaches up to my now-uncovered face, but I catch her hands in mine, deliberately pull off her helmet, so she can’t ignore my voice.
I don’t know if this is going to work or not, but I tamp down my doubts, forcing myself to believe. Forcing myself to put every bit of power into this. Britta has to survive. Without her, I am nothing. When I speak, my voice doesn’t even sound human anymore. All my pain and fury have combined into what seems like a thousand resonant voices.
“You will not die, Britta,” I command, forcing my will into her, threading my energy around her like a living web. She’s fading away, the light in her dimming, so I use even more energy, shooting it out of me and into her.
“You will wait for a healer, and you will survive this. You will not die!”
Britta’s eyes glaze over. “I will…not die…,” she echoes, closing them. I look down at her side, and the tightness inside me loosens. Her bleeding has slowed, just as I willed.
“What is this, Deka?” Gazal’s voice seems almost frightened behind me.
I turn and she takes a step back, gasping. “Deka, your face…,” she gasps. “Your—”
“Guard her,” I command, enforcing my words with a thread of energy. “Ensure that she sees a healer.”
Gazal nods, her eyes glazing over. Unlike the others, she never did wear the golden circlet I gave her as a gift.
“Yes,” she says dully, “I will guard her.”
I wait until she plants herself beside Britta, shield up against any arrows.
Belcalis has finally freed herself from her horse. She gasps the minute I turn to her, jerking back. “Deka, your face…”
Then she sees Britta.
“Britta!” she gasps, running to her. “Britta, no!” Tears are running down her face now.
“She will survive,” I tell her, forcing myself to believe my words. “She has to. She has to….I’ve commanded it.”
Something in my words must have convinced her, because she slowly nods, drying her tears.
I walk over to Ixa, then point Belcalis toward Gazal’s horse. “Come,” I say, power still surging from me. “Let’s end this.”
She nods, mounts Gazal’s horse, and nods at me grimly, her face still pale.
“Kill them all, Deka,” she whispers. “Kill every last one of those bastards.”
“I intend to,” I reply.
The mist grows thicker as we continue onward, and the spears fly faster and more frequently. Ixa is attuned to their sound now and digs into the sand the minute he hears their signature whistling, allowing Belcalis and me to raise our shields before they can hit.
“There.” Belcalis points at the hills after another storm of spears ends. “They’re all there.”
“YAH!” I urge Ixa onward. We’ve almost reached it.
When we burst though the mist, I see what Belcalis is pointing to—the rows and rows of deathshrieks lining the edge of the hills, catapults in their midst.
Belcalis stops, shocked. “Catapults,” she gasps. “Where did they get catapults?”
It seems the deathshrieks’ use of war machinery grows more advanced every time we see them. First it was slingshots and cochleans, now this. I don’t dwell on the thought. I’m already lifting my hands, my body shaking with the force of the energy rolling from it. If I could see my reflection while using the combat state, I’m sure I would be glowing as bright as a star now. Even the sand under my feet rumbles and shakes. When they notice it, the deathshrieks rumble and click to each other, panic rippling through their ranks. I slap my hands down, sending waves of power through their bodies.
“LOWER YOUR WEAPONS,” I command. “KNEEL!”
They slowly obey, each one getting on its knees as its eyes glaze to my command.
“Signal the army,” I say to Belcalis.
She nods, then lights the firecracker she has brought for the occasion. It explodes in a colorful display of reds, and within moments, distant drumbeats reply to its signal. The army is on the move.
Once she’s done, Belcalis looks at the kneeling deathshrieks and frowns. “Where are the rest of them? I thought they were in the thousands. This looks like only a few nests’ worth.”
“There’s more of them,” I say. I can feel them out there, thousands of heartbeats pounding somewhere behind the mountains, waiting for us. They’re not my concern—yet. These are. They’re the ones that hurt Britta, that may have caused her death by now, for all I know. I try not to think this horrific thought as I approach them, noting the terror rising from their skins, a shimmery gray color only I can see using the combat state.
My eyes quickly find the deathshriek in the middle, the one with all the quills. The chieftain. When I walk toward him, the sand shakes under my feet, a much deeper vibration than even my energy can cause. The army is nearing, and just in time. My limbs are sagging from the force of emitting so much energy. My collapse won’t be long in coming now. But before it happens, I will have my due—for Britta’s sake.
“Deka,” Belcalis says, turning in the direction of the rumbling. “Put your helmet on. The army is near. They must not see your face.”
I do as she cautions and walk over to the deathshriek leader. “Lift your head,” I command. My words rumble through its body, squeezing its heart. It immediately complies. Once it does so, I add another command. “Speak but remain kneeling.”
The deathshriek leader’s expression as it looks up at me is a surprising mix of anger and disgust. When its voice emerges, it sounds gravelly but distinct. “Nuru…,” it rasps.
I frown. There it is, that word again. That title. What does it mean?
“You betrayed…us….”
The unexpected words cut through my daze. I blink down at the deathshriek, shocked. “Betrayed you?” I ask.
The deathshrie
k hisses. “You…betrayed us…for the…humans…Nuru….We…will…never forgive you…this….Never.”
Exhaustion slams into me.
Then everything goes black.
* * *
When I wake, it’s dark and I’m lying inside a lush red tent. “The hero of the hour,” a voice cheers. “You’re awake.” I turn to find Emperor Gezo sitting beside me, Keita, Asha, Adwapa, Gazal, and Belcalis kneeling by his side. His face is covered by a mask today—a benevolent sun, shining down on his subjects.
I scramble to get up, but the emperor shakes his head. “No need to rise. You have already served Otera well this day. You may make use of this tent for as long as you need.”
I take in the luxurious fabrics, the gold accents. This is one of his private tents. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I whisper, dazed. “Thank you.”
Then I remember…
“Britta!” I gasp, horrified.
“Your friend is right there.” The emperor points across the tent, where Britta lies, bandaged. “She will survive, but it was a close call. Thanks to this one”—he points to Gazal, who is kneeling, motionless, by his side—“she was able to get to a healer in time.”
My entire body sags. “Thank you,” I whisper again. “Thank you….”
The emperor nods. “Anything for you, Deka of Irfut. You saved us this day, and I imagine you will continue to do so in the days to come.” He pats my shoulder. “Rest now. We ride out again tomorrow.”
I bow again. “My deepest thanks, Your Majesty.”
The emperor smiles, then he gestures to Keita. “Come, let us give them their privacy.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Keita sends me a worried glance as he leaves.
Once they’re gone, I turn to Belcalis. “Help me up,” I rasp. I’m still so tired, I can barely move my limbs on my own.
As Belcalis walks over, Adwapa peers out of the tent to ensure that we’re truly alone. “What in infinity happened out there?” she asks, turning to us.
Gazal, for her part, remains where she is, head down, hands on her lap.
Belcalis shrugs. “You’ll have to ask Deka,” she says as she helps me over to Britta.
She’s lying on a bed, and her skin is so very pale. Even then, I’m thankful. That horrific blue color has receded. “Is she truly all right?” I ask, clutching my chest. My heart is beating so desperately now, I’m scared it’s going to jump out from behind my ribs.
“She’ll survive,” Belcalis says. “You made sure of that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Adwapa has closed the tent flap and rushed to the bedside. “What happened out there?”
“What happened is that Deka changed—her entire face, it just changed,” Belcalis explains. “She looked like…She looked not human. Your face, Deka,” she continues. “It looked like a deathshriek’s—but not. It was beautiful, yet terrifying….And when you spoke—if I hadn’t had the helmet you gave me, I would have lost my wits the way Gazal did.”
She nods at the novice. Gazal still hasn’t moved, although her hands twitch in her lap when her name is mentioned. She looks eerie, sitting there so silently.
“She hasn’t spoken since she brought Britta,” Asha whispers. “She just insisted that Britta get a healer, and then she became like that. I lied to the emperor and told him she was battle shocked, which is why she wasn’t moving.”
Adwapa turns to me. “What in Oyomo’s name did you do to her?”
I don’t know, I want to tell her, but that would be a lie. I do know. I pushed all my power, all my will, into Gazal. That’s what made her this way.
“Gazal?” I call.
When she hears my voice, she slowly looks up. Her eyes are glazed, distant. “Yes?” she replies.
“Are you awake?” I ask. When she doesn’t answer, a small thread of panic slithers through me. “Wake up, Gazal,” I urge.
The glazed look in Gazal’s eyes fades. She glances around, confused. “Where am I? What happened?” she asks.
“I think—” I begin, but Belcalis pushes past me.
“You’re in one of the emperor’s tents,” she says. “You brought Britta back, but something must have hit your head.”
Gazal nods, holds her head as if searching for a lump. “Have I reported back?” she asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “But the mission was a success. You did well.”
Gazal nods. “That’s good,” she says absently, walking out. That perplexed expression is still on her face.
“What was that?” Asha asks, frowning. “What happened to her?”
“It was Deka’s voice,” Belcalis explains. “It’s growing more powerful, and the way she looks now when she uses it…” She looks at me, a worried look on her face.
“What are you, Deka?” she whispers. “What are you?”
* * *
It’s late in the evening by the time Asha leaves, off to tell our uruni what is happening. Once she does, Belcalis and Adwapa push their pallets beside Britta’s. I’m relieved they’re staying behind. Images from this afternoon have begun flashing through my mind, confounding and frightening me all at once.
“Belcalis, Adwapa…,” I whisper. “Can I speak to you?”
“Yes?” Both of them rise, walk over.
“I remember what happened now,” I say as they sit beside me.
“I wasn’t aware that you forgot,” Adwapa snorts.
“There is one thing I did…,” I begin. I turn to them, hesitant. “If I tell you two something, can you confine it to us? Can you promise never to tell anyone else—not even the other bloodsisters?”
“Of course.” Adwapa nods.
Belcalis nods. “I would never betray your confidence, Deka. You know this.”
“I know,” I say, looking down. “But this…this might be dangerous,” I add, giving her the same warning Keita once gave me. “It might get you—it might get us…”
“Killed?” Adwapa laughs. “We were dead the minute our blood ran gold, I’ve always known that. I thought you did too.”
“We who are dead salute you,” I agree, nodding.
“Isn’t that the truth.” Adwapa shrugs. “Now what did you want to tell us?”
I glance up at her. “What if…what if I heard the deathshrieks speak?”
Both still.
“You don’t mean all the clicking and rumbling, do you?” Belcalis asks quietly.
I shake my head. “No, not the clicking.”
“So you understand them?” This question comes from Adwapa. For some reason, she doesn’t seem shocked.
I nod.
“For how long?” she asks.
“Ever since that last temple. The one where I went into a daze.”
She nods, thinking.
“What are they saying?” Belcalis asks. When I don’t reply, she sighs. “It must be very worrisome if you’re having difficulty saying it.”
“Betrayer,” I rasp. “They’re calling me a betrayer.”
“Are you?” Adwapa asks quietly. “Are you some sort of deathshriek, Deka?”
The question strikes deep to the core of me, tears of fear and confusion blistering my eyes. When I shake my head, unable—unwilling—to answer, Belcalis sighs beside her. “Well, you need to find out, Deka, and quickly, before the jatu do so first and end your life.”
What am I?
The question circles my mind, as it has for the past ten months. Am I truly a deathshriek half-breed, or am I something more? No matter which way I look at it, the power I used on Britta defies all logic, moves well beyond everything I ever thought I knew. The only thing I know now is that White Hands has the answers—if only she would give them to me.
Thankfully, she’s not the only person I can ask.
In the distance, mist swirls around frighteni
ng black monoliths with glittering white peaks. The N’Oyo Mountains—Otera’s largest salt mines until Keita’s family was massacred there. The deathshrieks’ primal nesting grounds are hidden somewhere in those peaks, and they have the answers I seek. I just have to get them before anyone else notices. Before the jatu do first and end your life…
“Are you prepared, Deka?” This question comes from the emperor, who’s riding on the mammut above me.
It’s been completely outfitted with infernal armor, and even the tent atop it is protected by a roof of solid cursed gold. I always suspected that Karmoko Calderis took lots more gold than she actually needed for our infernal armor. Now I know why.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say, glancing at the platform carrying a gigantic toros horn the troops have built overnight. “I’m prepared.”
“Good,” he says. “Onward.”
As the army complies, I feel the heat of another’s gaze on my shoulders. When I turn, White Hands is watching me, her brow furrowed into a frown. I wonder what she’s thinking, if she suspects what happened.
“You all right, Deka?” Keita asks, his eyes worried. We haven’t had time to talk in private since yesterday, so I haven’t had the time to tell him I spoke to deathshrieks again, haven’t even been sure I should tell him. I remember how insistent he was the last time we spoke that I should never do it again.
I nod. “All recovered,” I say, trying not to worry him further.
“You certain about that?” He seems doubtful.
I turn to him. “Why do you ask?”
“You haven’t been the same since yesterday,” he says. “What happened out there?”
“Nothing,” I say, looking down. When he gives me a doubtful look, I add, “Well, not nothing….It’s Britta, I’m worried about her.”
He reaches over, squeezes my hand. “She’ll be fine. If humans can heal from near fatal wounds, surely alaki can as well.”
I nod, smile wanly. “Thanks for that, Keita. I just have to keep that in—”
A fireball explodes into the toros horn platform. As the horses pulling it gallop away, neighing, I jerk up to find yet more fireballs blazing toward us—flaming arrows, lighting up the sky.
