The Gilded Ones

by Namina Forna

  “Good to know,” I say, smirking right back at him.

  I kick toward his legs.

  In the blink of an eye, the emperor moves behind me, so fast that his body seems to materialize out of thin air. I whip away just as he punches down. The floor crumbles under his fist. He looks at me, surprised, then is gone again, but I’m already reaching for my dagger.

  I thrust it backward just as he appears behind me, grinning when it penetrates armor, then flesh. Jatu armor never was as resilient as the infernal armor.

  “You little whore!” he gasps, clutching his side. Blood is dripping from it—the very same blood now staining my dagger.

  I smile at him. “I learned well at the Warthu Bera. Karmoko Huon, particularly, taught me how to pretend to be weaker and more pathetic than I actually am.”

  The emperor tries to zip away again, but I slam him into the wall. His turn now. His head cracks against it—hard, but not hard enough to kill him. When I let go, he disappears again.

  I grin when he appears behind me. So predictable…“In battle strategy, Karmoko Thandiwe taught me how to read, then anticipate, an enemy’s movements,” I say, effortlessly smashing him into the ground.

  The emperor gapes past teeth reddened by blood. “How did you—”

  “And Karmoko Calderis taught me the most important lesson of all,” I interrupt, whispering in his ear. “How to discern my own infernal armor when it’s disguised as some other object,” I say, ripping off his crown.

  Terror blazes in his eyes, and he backs away from me, horrified. “No, you couldn’t have—”

  I laugh, bitterly amused. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you were wearing a crown made out of my own blood? Thank you for that. It made me realize something important.”

  The emperor disappears again, but I’m not worried. “Stop,” I command when he reappears behind me. Then I press my hands down, pushing energy with it.

  Metal clatters to the floor—the sound of armor meeting stone. I turn to find the emperor already kneeling, fear and hatred in his eyes.

  “You know,” I murmur, “I don’t actually need to use my gift to command others anymore. They do as I say.” I place my sword to his neck, then turn to the combatants in the middle of the chamber. “Jatu!” I shout. “Put down your weapons or the emperor dies. NOW!”

  My command reverberates through the chamber. The moment the jatu see the emperor on his knees, my sword to his throat, they stop fighting, in shock.

  I prod the emperor with the tip of my sword, and his eyes almost bulge with rage. “Stop this now,” he hisses. “Stop this, you unnatural bitch!”

  “Unnatural? Bitch?” I scoff. “These words used to shock me, to hurt me, but no longer, thanks to you and your kind.” I prod him again. “Command the jatu to drop their weapons and kneel. I would do it myself, but it would affect the deathshrieks too.”

  The emperor turns mutinously away from me.

  “I said command them!” I roar.

  “Drop your weapons! Kneel!” he shouts immediately.

  Slowly but surely, the jatu do as they’re told. The alaki and deathshrieks immediately secure their weapons, ensuring that they can no longer fight back. Within moments, they’ve been stripped of all their armor and weaponry.

  “Well, I see you have this all in hand,” a familiar voice says.

  I look up to find White Hands standing at the entrance of the chamber, the equus twins and Belcalis at her side. “White Hands! Belcalis!” I gasp, relieved. “You’re all right!”

  “Of course we are.” White Hands turns to her equus. “Secure the emperor.”

  “With pleasure,” Braima and Masaima reply.

  They walk over to the emperor and grab him, snickering when he remains stuck in that kneeling posture, just as I commanded. Perhaps my voice is even more effective on the true jatu than it is on alaki and deathshrieks.

  “Come along now, naughty jatu,” they taunt as they take him away.

  The moment they have him in hand, I run to Ixa. He’s still stuck to the wall, his wounds dripping blood onto the ground.

  Deka, he says, nuzzling me weakly when I rip out the arrows holding him in place. They move easily under my fingers, responding to the divinity that flows in my veins.

  “I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry, Ixa,” I gasp, petting him.

  He has so many injuries, I don’t know what to do.

  “Why don’t you bleed for him?” White Hands suggests, approaching me. “It’ll help the healing.”

  I hurriedly do as she says, offering Ixa my arm. He latches down, and within moments, the wounds on his wings are sealing together. Relief washes over me. He’s healing, just as White Hands said he would.

  Once he’s completely healed, White Hands offers me a small golden dagger that gleams under the low light.

  “It’s time,” she says, nodding toward the goddesses.

  I nod, inhale deeply.

  It’s finally time for me to complete my task.

  * * *

  The goddesses are much larger up close than they seemed from a distance. My head reaches only as high as their toes, and a single divine finger is just large enough for me to stand on. That beings like this once roamed Otera—the idea is almost impossible for me to even take in.

  I walk over to the nearest goddess, the wise Southerner—Anok was her name. White Hands told me all about the goddesses as I healed—their histories, their personalities. Anok was always the craftiest. It makes perfect sense, considering she is White Hands’s mother.

  The knowing is whispering to me now, giving me all the information I need to complete the awakening. I stab the dagger into my palm, waiting until the gold wells there. Then, as I will for each goddess, I rub it across Anok’s feet. “Mother Anok,” I whisper. “Rise.”

  The goddess’s body trembles. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I’m hoping it’s not.

  I walk to the next goddess, the gentle Northerner, Beda. White Hands told me she was a kind soul who loved green and growing things. “Mother Beda,” I say, rubbing blood onto her robes. “Rise.”

  This time, I know I’m not imagining it when her robes flutter.

  “Mother Hui Li,” I whisper to the warlike Easterner, the most quarrelsome of the bunch, according to White Hands. “Rise.” I smooth my blood against the tips of the feathery wings grazing the floor.

  Yet another tremor.

  “Mother Etzli,” I whisper to the motherly Westerner, the one who loved and nurtured all children, alaki or otherwise, as I slick my blood over a colossal toe. “Rise.”

  When the goddess’s entire body vibrates, I step back, astounded to see that the tremor has turned into deep convulsions. Great rivers of cursed gold are streaming off the goddesses. I move back, awed, as hints of skin are revealed—brown, pink, bluish-black. My blood is doing what it was created to do: free the goddesses.

  “FREE.” The single word explodes like an earthquake through the chamber. “FINALLY, WE ARE FREE!”

  Awe unfurls inside me as, one by one, the goddesses stand, stretching for the first time in thousands of years, their bodies so massive, they nearly reach the ceiling. I have never seen a more humbling sight in all my life. I feel like an insect, an ant at the foot of giants. My heart expands, joy filling every corner of it, as I watch them move, watch their bodies come alive.

  “DAUGHTER.” The word ripples through my head, a reminder of all the times I heard those exact voices in my dreams, all of them melding with Mother’s.

  I look up, amazed to see four perfect faces staring down at me.

  “YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR TASK. YOU HAVE FREED US. HOW GRATEFUL WE ARE TO YOU.”

  Tears slide down my cheeks, an unconscious response to their voices. Euphoria, fear—all my emotions combine into a single powerful wave at the sound of the
goddesses’ voices. Now I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of my voice.

  When the goddesses take a single step toward me, I jerk back, afraid of being crushed. But they shrink as they step down, and by the time they take their next step, they’re only slightly taller than the average person.

  “Mothers,” I say, kneeling respectfully as they approach me.

  Cool hands lift my chin. They belong to Anok, who has a pleased smile on her face. “You have done so well, Deka,” she whispers, that thread of compulsion running under her voice. “I am so very proud of you, my creation.”

  “We are all proud of you,” the others echo.

  My heart swells so, I’m afraid it’s going to burst. That these goddesses, these beings, should claim me as their own—it’s almost more than I can take in.

  “What now?” I whisper, still in awe.

  “Now?” This answer comes from Etzli. Her dark eyes peer into my own. “Now our One Kingdom, Otera, is in turmoil and many are in pain.”

  “We will help them,” Hui Li says. “We will rebuild the One Kingdom to what once it was: a place where all can exist in harmony, in peace….We will ensure that it thrives once more.”

  “And you will help us, Deka,” Beda says. “You will help us rebuild this world.”

  “It will be my honor,” I say, bowing.

  * * *

  Later, as the goddesses reunite with their children—the alaki, the deathshrieks, and even the jatu—I look at all the people here in the temple celebrating their return. There’s Adwapa, happy tears flowing from her remaining eye—she lost the other one during the battle, but I have no doubt it’ll grow back soon enough. Beside her is Asha, who is also injured, although it’s only a gash on her cheek. She’s beaming from ear to ear.

  Her smile grows when she and Adwapa spot the group of midnight-dark warriors now entering the temple. Just as Adwapa predicted, the Nibari have made the journey up the mountain. They have come to see their gods. They quickly join others in circling the goddesses, but White Hands keeps them firmly at bay.

  She’s already back to being the Gilded Ones’ general. I grin when I see how happy she looks. I’ve never seen White Hands smile so genuinely before.

  Belcalis is standing in the corner, watching everything with an almost stunned expression. She looks up when I walk over. “I can’t believe this, Deka,” she says, her voice trembling with awe. “I still can’t believe all this.”

  “I can,” I say to her. “The world is changing now. We’re going to make it change—make it better. We’re going to make sure that what happened to us never happens to anyone else.”

  She nods. Then she gestures at someone behind me. Britta, standing there with tears in her eyes.

  “Britta!” I gasp, hugging her.

  “Oh, Deka,” she cries. “Ye saved me. Made that deathshriek help me.”

  She nods at Katya, who is surrounded by other deathshrieks.

  “Ye know, it looks strangely familiar,” she muses. “I mean she. She looks strangely familiar.”

  I laugh. “She does, doesn’t she?” There’s so much I have to tell Britta, so much she needs to know.

  She holds out her hand to me. “Sisters?” she whispers.

  I squeeze it. “Sisters forever,” I agree.

  She smiles and points with her chin. “I think there’s someone waiting for you.”

  I turn to find Keita at the edge of the room, holding his injured arm. To my relief, the other uruni are with him—Li, Acalan, Kweku, they’re all there. They grin when I walk over.

  “I guess we survived,” Li says happily.

  I nod, my eyes flitting to Keita. “I guess so.”

  “What happens now?” This quiet question comes from Acalan. More than anyone, he’ll have trouble adjusting to this new change in circumstances.

  But he’ll adjust. All of the recruits will.

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully, “but I expect we will move forward together.”

  “Thank you for protecting us,” he says.

  “If you hadn’t told the deathshrieks not to hurt us, I don’t know what would have happened,” Kweku adds.

  I nod and say, “You are our uruni. No matter what happens, we will always be partners.” My eyes fall on Keita, who’s still staring at me.

  Kweku nods, nudges the others away. “C’mon, then. Let’s give them their privacy.”

  Now I’m looking up into Keita’s eyes. “Keita, I—”

  He kisses me so suddenly, I have to hold on to him to ground myself. I’m overcome by the warmth, the bliss, of our mouths moving in perfect harmony. When we separate, I take a ragged breath. Keita is looking down at me, his eyes fathomless again.

  I can’t imagine what he must be thinking.

  “I know this will be difficult for you,” I say quickly, unnerved. “You’ve hated deathshrieks for so long, and now—”

  “And now I know why they are the way they are, how they were forced to become monsters by their own mothers….I also know that the emperor abandoned my parents to die. He could have warned them of the danger any time—told them that this was a sacred place—but he did not.”

  I rest my hand on his cheek. “Oh, Keita, I’m so—”

  But he puts his head against mine, cutting me off. “I’m just happy I have answers.” Then he smiles. “You know, I also learned one important thing these past few days,” he whispers. “I am your uruni. No matter what happens, no matter what comes, I will move through this world with you. I will remain by your side, if you want….”

  I have to catch my breath, I’m suddenly so weak.

  He steps back so I can see his eyes. There’s a hesitation in them now. He’s asking me. This is a question—one he’s too uncertain of to ask directly. I wrap my arms around him, relieved when he returns the embrace.

  “Always. I will always be your partner…if you want,” I say, returning his unspoken question.

  He looks down at me intensely. “Then no matter what comes, we’ll face it together?”

  “Together,” I agree, embracing him more tightly.

  Keita nods, smiles. It’s the most open expression I’ve ever seen on his face.

  As I smile back, I realize something beautiful: this whole time, I’ve been searching for love, for family, but it’s been here, right in my grasp. No matter what happens in this new world, I have Keita now, and Britta, and Belcalis, and Asha, and Adwapa.

  We’ll confront any problems that rise together—side by side and hand in hand—and that’s all you can ever ask for, isn’t it?

  The next few days are filled with hard work. We have to corral the remainder of the emperor’s army, explain to them the true history of Otera, and cement them to our cause. Anyone who doesn’t want to fight is sent home. There’s no room for unwilling soldiers in the army of the impure, as we’ve taken to calling ourselves. Most of the men decide to go, but the majority of the alaki remain. This is their new life, and they finally have a cause they can believe in.

  To my surprise, most recruits from the alaki training grounds elect to remain as well. All those months spent fighting side by side with alaki bonded them to their partners in a way the priests and commanders could have never foreseen. They are truly our brothers now. Keita, in particular, has become so well trusted by the goddesses, he often joins me in guarding them. He is a noted favorite of Anok’s, but then, she is White Hands’s mother, which means she is his thousand-times-removed great-grandmother. The only time Keita ever leaves my side is to go to hers.

  We haven’t spoken words of love since the day I freed the goddesses, but I feel it in his every look, his every touch. Just as I feel Britta’s. She’s always right beside me, my guardian and protector. My compass, guiding me whenever I am unsure.

  Once, long ago, I wondered what it was to be loved so
deeply, I could take that devotion to the Afterlands and back. Now I have my answer, and it is sweeter than anything I have ever known. It is a balm in these turbulent times.

  There are a lot more true jatu hidden in Otera than the Emperor let on. They have fled to all corners of Otera, where they have begun shoring up a resistance. They will not accept defeat without a fight, and neither will the high priests or elders of all the towns and villages. The men of Otera see our army as a threat, and they will do anything to crush us before we become too powerful. Every day, White Hands, the other Firstborn, and I formulate strategies, battle plans with the goddesses.

  The emperors of Otera made a crucial mistake in dealing with our kind. They taught us alaki to suffer, but they also taught us to survive—to conquer. And we will use those lessons. It’s time to take up our swords once more.

  Otera may be vast, but we intend to take back every last inch. It’s time to reclaim the One Kingdom and make it ours again.

  First of all, I’d like to say an immense and never-ending thanks to my agent, Alice Sutherland-Hawes, who took a chance on me and on this book. Alice, thank you so much for championing The Gilded Ones after so many people said no for so many years, and thank you for being my greatest champion through this very turbulent year. You are quite literally the very best of agents.

  To my editors, Kelsey Horton and Becky Walker: man, have we been through the trenches together. Rewrite after rewrite, you guys kept with me, and now this book is even more beautiful than I could have imagined. Thank you, thank you from the very bottom of my heart and soul for pushing me farther and making the difficult calls. Thank you for giving me that little extra time whenever I needed it, and being understanding when I couldn’t be present. You took a diamond in the rough and polished it to its highest potential.

  To my friend PJ Switzer: you’ve read this book so many times, I’m sure your eyes blur every time you see it. Thank you for being my sounding board, the person I can reach out to any time of the day to talk story with. Thank you for helping me go to the deep, painful places I never wanted to go so I could craft the emotions and nuance in this book.