Page 47 of The Merciless Ones
“Speak,” he commands harshly.
Father’s entire being seems to collapse into itself. He seems so small now, so frail… I’ve never seen him this way, not even when he was suffering the depths of the red pox.
He turns to the crowd, clears his throat, his voice painfully small as it emerges through the horn. “Evening greetings, followers of Oyomo.”
There’s no answer except for scattered sounds of disapproval. Tension is growing in the crowd. Anger. Everyone is frightened, uncertain, and here stands Father, the supposed reason they’ve all been dragged from their homes. A convenient scapegoat.
Father seems to know this, because he glances around warily. “I do not have the right to address you. I am a sinner in your eyes, in the eyes of Oyomo.” He falls to his knees. “I am the most monstrous sinner of all! Forgive me, forgive me!” He bows to the crowd, forehead hitting the dirt with each movement, but this concession only serves to incite their rage.
“Traitor!” someone shouts, a clod of dirt flying Father’s way.
It splatters his robes, leaving a bright red stain on the ragged cloth.
“Father of demons!” another calls, and that’s all it takes for the floodgates to open, more dirt flying, sharp little stones – anything the crowd can get their hands on, really.
With each hit, Father bows more and more, as if his prostrations will appease the crowd, appease whatever guilt he has festering inside him.
When people begin throwing dung at him, the jatu finally step forward, sternly call for silence. “That’s enough!” the loudest one shouts.
It takes a while for the crowd to quiet. They’re in a frenzied state now, their anger heightened, their thirst for violence whetted. And it’s all concentrated on Father, who’s still cowering and bowing. I watch the entire while, my muscles frozen even as my thoughts whirl frantically.
How did Father get here?
He was supposed to be safe in Irfut, secure in the knowledge that I, his alaki daughter, his own personal shame, was dead. He was never supposed to connect me to the Nuru rebelling against Hemaira on behalf of the goddesses, never supposed to recognize what I had become. Deka is a common enough name in the Southern provinces, and more important, my features have changed over the past year: my skin is darker, my once loose curls are tightly coiled now, and my eyes are black instead of the grey I was born with. Add to that the fact that all the posters only barely resemble me, and he was never supposed to put two and two together. And he was most certainly never supposed to be here, a captive of Elder Kadiri.
Not once, in all my fevered imaginings, did I imagine this.
Elder Kadiri glances around the square. “Deka, if you hear me, and I’m certain you do, we’ll be executing your father tonight.”
The words stab through me, but I don’t move.
Deka all right? Ixa asks, concerned.
Yes, I reply, but it’s all I can do to breathe as Elder Kadiri continues, that awful pious smile on his face: “Will you let him die, Deka, or are you an honourable daughter? Are you a daughter who will give her life to save her father’s?”
“No!” To my shock, it’s Father who blurts out this refusal. “No, Deka, you’ve already died once because of me! Do not risk yourself again!” He’s standing now, shouting so loudly, everyone can hear him.
Elder Kadiri’s blue-skinned face turns a furious purple, his mask of calmness replaced by anger and disbelief. “You would dare?” he hisses. “You would dare go against the will of Idugu – your god?” He gestures for the two jatu next to Father to restrain him.
But Father’s beyond listening to him now. “Deka, if you hear me, I have something important to tell you! Your mother, she’s alive. She’s—”
One of the jatu backhands him onto the ground just as I gasp back into my body, startling a panicked Keita. “Deka, what’s happening?” he asks, his eyes wild as he embraces me. “You were elsewhere again, and I couldn’t reach you – I couldn’t—”
“My mother, Keita. Father said she’s alive!”
“What?” Keita frowns, seeming confused. “What are you talking about, Deka? Your mother’s dead. You told me so yourself.”
“But she’s alive, Father said so.”
“And you believe him? The man who beheaded you himself?” Somehow, Keita has gone straight past confusion about the situation to incredulity about Father, but I don’t have time to explain what’s happening. If I don’t hurry, the jatu will take Father away and then I’ll never find out what he was trying to tell me about Mother.
“I have to go,” I say, rising. “I have to rescue Father!”
“Deka, wait, what are you—”
But I’m already jumping out from under the basket, running full speed ahead towards the end of the alley. Ixa, come! I say. Let’s get Father.
To my relief, my companion immediately flaps down, already transforming into his true form, although he keeps the wings as he does so. Footsteps sound behind us as I hop onto him, and I whirl to find Britta approaching, confusion in her eyes.