Page 38 of The Merciless Ones
And that’s the last thing I say before everything disappears.
The temple that appears in front of us is as light as our previous location was dark. It sits high at the top of a hill overlooking the magnificent city I recognize within seconds: Hemaira, its rivers and lakes gleaming under the early afternoon light. I barely have time to blink at the sight of its lush green hills and islands before the door is whirling again, landing us into the middle of the temple’s Hall of Prayer. Panic drums in my chest as I recognize the beautiful golden relics, the towering walls made of n’gor, the hardest, most precious rock in Otera. They’re all pictured in the Infinite Wisdoms, as is the rest of the temple. In fact, entire sections of the scrolls are dedicated to this, the holiest and most sacred site in Otera. This is the Grand Temple of Hemaira, home of the Oteran high priests and one of the most revered places in Otera.
As well as the most dangerous. This is where Idugu is.
Even now, I can feel him, an ominous presence slithering ever closer.
“No, no, no!” a voice moans beside me: Acalan. The normally composed uruni seems terrified as he holds his head in his hands.
“We can’t be here! We can’t—”
Adwapa props him up, trying to aid his breathing. “Breathe, Acalan, breathe!”
But he’s not the only one panicking. Everyone around me seems distraught, their eyes wide with horror as they take in their surroundings, which are already wavering again. The air is moving once more, whooshing so fast, nausea churns in my stomach.
Britta grips my hand tight. “Deka, wha’s happening?”
“I think the door is moving again!”
The hall around us is already melting away, another golden room appearing in its wake. But that one swiftly disappears too, as does the next. It’s almost as if Idugu is just pushing us from one place to another, as if he has only enough power for small bursts. I tense as the door settles once more, this time taking us to a room where carvings line every inch of the bright blue walls. In one carving, four pairs of warriors are locked in combat, all connected by shimmering golden threads as they hold swords to each other’s throats. They look almost like indolo, those four bodies connected as one, and yet two of the warriors have wings almost like Melanis’s. There are small inscriptions below them, but so many kaduths are painted around each, I can’t fight far enough past the pounding in my head to take them in. I close my eyes, trying to regain my footing, until a panicked gasp forces me to swiftly open them again.
“Deka,” Keita whispers, hoarse. “They’ve surrounded us.”
I whirl to find at least fifty deathshrieks pointing spears at us, their purple skin gleaming ominously under the thin light now filtering in from the glass ceiling. When I see the firepit that lies in the middle of the chamber, I inhale a quick breath. The door has taken us to the inner sanctum of the Grand Temple. Worse, it still hasn’t closed. I can feel it even now, shimmering at the edges of my consciousness. Either Idugu doesn’t have enough power to close it or there’s one final destination to which he wishes to take us.
As I stand there, dread roping my muscles, Elder Kadiri walks out from behind the line of deathshrieks, his hands outstretched in welcome. “Welcome, Nuru Deka,” he says, that awful, placid smile on his face. “Idugu bids you welcome, honoured is His name.”
“Honoured is His name.” This echo comes from the priests slithering around the edges of the inner sanctum, their smaller, heavily robed bodies nearly blocked out by the massive deathshrieks, who are, as always, unmoving. Are they even alive? Do they think? Have consciousness?
Ixa snarls at them, agitated. Deka? he asks, his eyes glancing pointedly up at the glass ceiling, but the moment he does so, Elder Kadiri notices.
He nods at the deathshrieks, who immediately cross their spears, forming a barrier. They have no intention of letting us go. If we’re going to leave, we’ll have to fight our way out.
“Prepare for combat!” I shout, lifting my atikas.
My friends do as they’re told, all of them huddling back-toback with me so that we face our attackers. There are so many of them. I try to calculate numbers, possible scenarios, but my mind sputters, overwhelmed by the sheer desperation of our situation. We’re caged by deathshrieks I cannot command, since I can’t use my voice with the kaduths here, and even worse, there’s the oily presence of Idugu swirling around us, blocking me from contacting the mothers. I touch the ansetha necklace again, trying desperately to tug at the invisible bond that connects us, but nothing tugs back. I try once more, horror peaking when I find there’s still no answer. Tears of frustration prick at my eyes. We’re alone here, my friends and I, all of us rudderless without the invisible hand of the mothers to guide us.
If only we could go elsewhere. Irfut, even. I’d take that pit of atrocities any day over—
The air suddenly begins moving again, and within seconds, cobblestones appear, as does a quiet village square, which gleams under the light of the silver moon. My mouth falls open when I recognize that familiar bakery, those familiar stables. Only the guard dozing against a nearby wall is unfamiliar.
When I gasp, he jerks awake. Terror widens his eyes as he spots our group.
“Deathshrieks!” he shouts. “Alaki and deathshrieks and” – he takes one look at Ixa and his eyes bulge – “monsters in the main square! Sound the alarms!”
A horn blares in the distance, drumbeats echoing from the walls now surrounding the village. The walls that weren’t there just a year ago, all of them now teeming with jatu, who again are wearing the kaduth.
“No, no, no!” I gasp, panic rising. “How are we here?”
I huddle against my friends, each one as confused and panicked as I am. My thoughts are whirling even faster now. Why are we here? Is this Idugu’s game? Unbalancing me by sending me to the most horrific places I can imagine? Why didn’t he just send us to the middle of Hemaira, where all his forces are? Even as I think this, colossal walls shimmer into view – the walls of Hemaira, rising above us, only we’re not anywhere near the numerous garrisons or dungeons that abut them. No, we’re somehow a distance from them, in the shadows of what looks to be…a tower?
As the door stabilizes once more, I glance around, bewildered. The curlicued walls of a small, decorative tower surround me, providing shade from the sudden unrelenting heat of the afternoon sun. A cool breeze wafts through the columns that open out to a residence’s rooftop, a long, flat space surrounded by decorative towers that enclose a tiny but lush garden. Voices rise up from below, the familiar hubbub of merchants haggling in heavily accented Hemairan, and I glance down to see the brightly coloured cloth stalls of a river market. How – why are we here? One of Hemaira’s many waterways flows underneath us, the crowds of men on its rickety market boats buying burlap bags full of bright red pepper, sprigs of green magulan leaves, bundles of medicinal naduri twigs and so on. Their heads are all uncovered, which means there’s not a single woman among them, but even despite their absence, I recognize this market. My eyes narrow: I recognize this view. It’s the same one I saw so many times as my friends and I rode out the gates of the—
I gasp, shock dousing me when I look up to see distinctive bright red walls crowning the hills in the distance.
Adwapa gasps, taking a step forwards. “Is that—”
“The Warthu Bera. It’s right there,” I say, pointing. Right within reach.