Page 32 of The Merciless Ones
I’ve never heard that name either.
The man clasps Li’s shoulder, grins. “Where have ye been, my friend? The Lady of the Heart, a priestess. Can ye fathom it? A female priest! Well, if she helps against those cursed Gilded Ones and their followers, I’ll accept anything.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Li manages, though his nose is wrinkling. The odour of mead and sweat is even stronger now that the man is standing so close.
“Make sure ye come along,” the man says, walking away with his comrades. “She’ll be speaking presently.”
Once he’s gone out of hearing range, I whirl to the others. “A priestess? White Hands told us nothing of this.”
“Neither did the scouts,” Britta murmurs. “Wonder wha’ they were doin’ all this time, that they missed this.”
I nod my agreement. It’s not usual for the scouts to miss so many details.
I’m about to say as much when Keita sighs. “This must be a new development,” he says. “The jatu commanders can be secretive, and this… I mean, I’ve never heard of a female priestess of Oyomo.”
“None of us have,” I say. In all the years I’ve lived in Otera, I’ve never once heard of a priestess dedicated to Oyomo. Temple maidens, certainly, but priestesses, no.
“That’s because there aren’t any,” Melanis says, her eyes deadly certain for a woman who hasn’t seen the world in a thousand years.
But then, I remind myself, she wasn’t completely isolated. Her every waking moment, she was surrounded by the priests, many of whom were sure to be talkative.
I return my attention to her as she continues, “At least, not in truth. This must be a consideration for the human women, a glittering object to distract them. How easily they’ll give up their freedoms if they think they can gain the same status as men.”
My eyebrows furrow as I turn to her. “What are you saying?”
“If I understand the current situation correctly,” Melanis replies, “it is the women of Otera who are being dragged from their homes and executed for being wayward. While the men gallivant to battle, it is the women who deal with the aftermath. The horror. They must be terrified. But now, here, there is a priestess; a position that would not have been thinkable before this. A position of power, influence, which you can only win if you’re worthy. Only if you serve.
“This is another distraction,” she explains. “Another impossible aspiration to distract women from the misery of their lives. To make them dream, if only for a glittering moment, that they can be more. Clever. Insidious, but clever.”
Horror washes over me – as does a realization: if this is a distraction, it’s one we can use to our advantage. While the priestess is speaking, we can get closer to that platform, see exactly how they’ve secured those girls there. Perhaps we can even take them at the same time we take Elder Kadiri. It can’t hurt to try.
I turn to the others. “Let’s get going,” I say brightly. “We have a priestess to observe.”
It’s a strange thing, walking through the crowd, hand securely clasped in Keita’s. Any other time, this would be the fulfilment of one of my happiest dreams: Keita and I in the matching robes of newly-weds, so close, we’re practically glued together. The reality, however, is altogether different. My atikas are hidden under my robes, and my mind is plagued with thoughts – worries. Those girls, Idugu, the army, the priestess of Oyomo – all things I have to look into, discover more about. Thankfully, it’s late evening now, the perfect time for skulking about. Shadows have almost fully covered the field, the darkness only barely held back by the bonfires and lanterns blazing brightly in the gloom. The lanterns are made out of highly decorated paper and placed at specific intervals across the field, a guide to help Oyomo – well, Idugu – on his journey. When I was younger, I would run from one lantern to the next while Father looked on, waving desperately, in the hopes the god would see me. Now, I’m careful to keep my head bowed as I continue on, mask firmly in place. There’s danger all around me.
The closer I get to the platform, the stronger the certainty becomes, a prickling sensation travelling slowly up my back. I’d be half convinced it’s the crowd – all those scores of humans pressed so closely together, I can’t distinguish one person from the next – except that the rest of my body has also begun to tingle, blood rushing, heart pounding more and more. An unsettling, fevered feeling is slithering over me: power, lots and lots of it. It’s building slowly in the air, sending my blood into frenzies of agitation. But it’s not the usual divine energy I feel when I’m near the mothers. It almost reminds me of the n’goma, the barrier that protects Hemaira’s walls, except it’s different from that too. Darker in some way. Almost like a presence.
“Do you feel that, Deka?” Keita whispers in my ear. “That heaviness in the air?”
I nod. “Do you think it’s the angoro?” I ask. Could the arcane object actually be here after all?
“I thought it couldn’t leave Hemaira.”
I frown, realizing he’s right. “It shouldn’t be able to… Perhaps it’s the wielder?”
“They shouldn’t be able to leave Hemaira either.”
“Then what is this feeling?” I glance around, perturbed, that heaviness settling like an oily cloak on my shoulders. But no one else seems to notice it.
They’re all looking up at the platform, rapture in their eyes. I stiffen, unease coiling inside me as I notice that they all seem to be captivated, even though they weren’t mere moments ago. This, whatever’s happening, isn’t normal and it’s connected to the strange presence I feel in the air.
“Mimic them,” Keita whispers, unnerved. “It’ll be strange if we’re not acting like they are.”
I hurriedly do as he says, pretending to stare at the platform, absorbed, the way everyone else is. Keita’s right, this could be a test – a way to unmask any infiltrators from Abeya. Unlike most Oterans, my friends and I are used to divine power. We’re all in frequent contact with the mothers, so we’re likely to react differently.
Keita and I both remain as we are, staring in the same direction everyone else is, until finally, after some moments, the energy dissipates, and then the crowd moves again, doing so casually, as if everyone weren’t just caught by some strange celestial trap. My unease grows, nausea churning my gut. If that actually was the angoro, then the arcane object is much more powerful than I imagined. Much, much more powerful. So powerful, in fact, it almost felt sentient.
Almost like a god…