Page 20 of The Merciless Ones
He’s hiding something.
“Tell me,” I demand, my gaze boring into his.
He sighs. “I’ve been having these dreams…well, nightmares, really…”
“What nightmares?” I ask, my eyes narrowing further.
Keita has lived with the reality of battle for most of his eighteen years. Nightmares are a consequence of what we do, all the lives we take. A mere nightmare wouldn’t torture him so deeply.
He looks up at me, raw pain in his eyes. “I’m burning alive, Deka…except the fire…it doesn’t consume me. It’s a part of me, coming from the inside. Burning everything around me.” He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s guilt. I betrayed everything I ever believed in. Perhaps there’s a part of me that regrets doing that. But the thing is, every time I have that dream, I feel… powerful.” His eyes slide away from mine. “And that’s what really frightens me. Because that fire, I know it’s like rage and it’ll burn everything, given the chance.”
“Oh, Keita,” I whisper, tightening my arms around him.
To think he’s been so tortured all this while… How could I not have known? How could I not have understood how deeply deserting the jatu affected him? All across Otera now, there are wanted notices – not just for me and White Hands and all my friends but for Keita and the rest of our uruni as well. They turned their backs on the jatu, helped tear down the empire. Most of their friends and families despise them. The villages of their birth burn effigies.
You don’t just reject everything you’ve ever known, every relationship you’ve ever had, and walk away unscathed. Especially not if you’re a boy.
We alaki, we never had a chance, but the boys, they are the beloved sons of Otera. By the popular opinion, they should be grateful for their existence, even though being male means having any emotion, any softness bullied and beaten out of you. Warmth, comfort, feelings – these are all the things denied the men of Otera, and worse, the men are forced to be grateful for it, to be thankful they are men.
But when the uruni reject their status, when they choose to go with their alaki sisters, they send a message: “There is a different way.” And this is what strikes fear into the hearts of the jatu. Because when boys rebel, ordinary Oterans begin asking themselves questions and then begin finding answers they never even considered.
That’s why the jatu fear and hate the uruni even more than they hate us. Keita knows this, feels all this hatred viscerally. But I’ve been so busy being the Nuru these past few months, I haven’t even noticed.
I look into his eyes, trying to convey all my love, my concern. Trying to hide my guilt at not being there for him the way he was for me. “You did the right thing; you know that, Keita. If you had remained with the jatu, you would still be killing us despite knowing the truth of what we are. You’d be down there with the rest of them.” I point to the foot of the mountain, past the hidden river of glass, where faraway jatu encampments light up the night. “Our sworn enemy.”
He nods. “I know. I only wish my mind felt the same.”
“Give it time,” I whisper. “Time always helps. And talk. I have a very willing ear.” I wink at him, and he smiles ruefully.
“I suppose you’re right. I should talk more. But after I get some sleep.”
“Of course,” I say.
He leans against me, and I tuck his head into my shoulder, then make slow, soothing circles across his back. Just a year ago, I couldn’t imagine being in close circumstances like this with him. He was the boy I despised, the one who seemed to look down on me at every turn. Now, he is my lover and my ally, one of my greatest friends.
Soon enough, his breathing steadies, and soft snores rumble into the air. I tuck the blanket around him and settle in as well. This is as good a place to sleep as any. And goddesses know we both need it.
The morning of the mission to capture Elder Kadiri dawns with a flurry of activity: harried seamstresses perfecting my group’s disguises, mask-makers fitting our merrily coloured travelling masks, cartwrights making last-minute adjustments to the wooden wagons we’ll be riding in. Even though we’ll be travelling as a convoy, we’re all riding individual wagons with our uruni – Keita and I in one, Belcalis and Acalan in another, Asha and Lamin, Adwapa and Kweku, and Britta and Li all in theirs. We’re supposed to be a collection of happy newlyweds from a bustling trading city who have banded together for safety, what with all the dastardly deathshrieks and alaki lurking about, waiting to end our lives and steal our souls. As the only one of us actually from the Eastern provinces, Li will serve as our leader and our guide.
Poor Katya has been nervous all morning. She, Nimita and four other deathshrieks will travel with us as a shadow team, but they’ll split off into the forest once we arrive at Zhúshan, the city where Elder Kadiri is currently resting. This evening marks the beginning of the Festival of the Half Light, that sacred period celebrating Oyomo’s descent from the skies and the rising of the winter cold. It used to be my favourite holiday during childhood. For the five days of the festival, no one can travel, so as not to disturb Oyomo’s journey. Everyone in Otera has to remain in place, gathering around bonfires, eating, drinking. It’s the perfect time to capture Elder Kadiri, hence the reason White Hands chose it.
As I stand in the training field, staring at that jatu breastplate one last time and inhaling for strength when the symbol vibrates the way it usually does, a tremor ripples the air, causing all the tiny hairs on my arms to rise. I immediately genuflect, gratified when I’m able to do so without any of my limbs wobbling. I’ve been steadily building my resistance to the jatu symbol these past two weeks.
“Mother Anok,” I say, turning and bowing my head respectfully. She’s suddenly standing behind me, an immovable darkness gathering all the shadows into her. She’s human-sized for once, although she’s barely more than a hazy outline in the early morning sunlight.
No one else seems to notice her except for Ixa, who bristles, annoyed. He’s always annoyed when the mothers are around, a consequence of what happened to him in the Chamber of the Goddesses with the arrows. He growls as he skulks into the bushes behind me, tail held high like an outraged flag. Around us, the others continue checking their weapons as if nothing’s happening. They don’t even seem to notice me. In fact, it’s as if I suddenly don’t exist at all.
I glance up at Anok. “Is something the matter, Divine Mother?” I ask, concerned.
The Gilded Ones rarely leave their chamber, and they certainly never do so without each other. Why is Anok here, by herself?
“Not particularly.” The goddess glides forward. “I came to see you off, my daughter. To speak to you one last time before you go.”
Her words send prickles of alarm through me. I’ve been on hundreds of missions now – none as important as this one, to be sure – but Anok has never come personally to tell me goodbye before. Why is she acting as if she might never see me again?
I frown at her. “Divine Mother, I—”
“Shhh, Deka.” Anok cups my face, lifting my eyes to meet hers. And all my thoughts go tumbling sideways.