Page 66 of The Merciless Ones

I sigh. “It was the deep combat state. The first time I used it, I saw you. All of you.”

White Hands nods, turns towards the water. She’s almost conversational now as she says, “You know what the strange thing about the mothers is? They say they value all their children, but the ones seemingly born male, they value less. And Idugu, if he truly is a god, seems to favour only the males. It is as if, to the deities, the flesh you were born in is all that matters,” she muses.

“But you are female,” I quickly say. “You’ve always been female.”

“You know that. But among our sisters, there are some who doubt.”

“Melanis,” I say. Now I realize why she and White Hands ignore each other, why they treat each other with such bitterness.

“Melanis,” White Hands acknowledges.

I frown. “Does anyone else know?”

“Only the other war queens. But Amataga is lost, and Sayuri no longer counts herself among our number. So in all the world, only you, the mothers, and Melanis know.”

“And I will keep it between us,” I say.

“My thanks,” White Hands replies. Then she nods. “While you are here in Hemaira, Deka, you must use your gifts, discover everything you can about what happened in the past.”

Suddenly, I remember the Grand Temple, all those carvings on the walls – a chronology of Otera. My eyes widen. Perhaps there’s something there that will clarify what I saw when I entered Anok’s memories. I have to get back there as soon as I can.

I return my attention to White Hands as she continues: “Speak to Idugu if you must. He might try to deceive you – be prepared for that. And when you are done, report back to me.”

But not the mothers… The implication slithers between us, lethal in its silence.

“One last thing, Deka: be sure to put names to things.” As I frown at her, confused, she explains: “Names are what give things power. Even gods.” She walks closer. “For instance, if I call you a god, then you are one. Never forget that.”

I swallow, unnerved even by the implication of it. “I’ll try, Karmoko.”

White Hands nods. “I will return now. As you know, using my gauntlets requires energy. We’ll speak again, Deka. Keep alive until we do.”

“I’ll try not to die,” I say, my thoughts still whirling. “You do the same.”

“Indeed,” White Hands says.

Then she’s gone. And I’m left standing there, considering everything that was said.

The journey to the Warthu Bera takes far longer than I would have liked, mainly because I spend most of the time thinking of my conversation with White Hands – of all the things she confessed to me. What was the calamity that happened all those centuries ago, exactly? Is it what I saw in Anok’s memories? More to the point, have the Gilded Ones truly forgotten it, as all the Firstborn have – or are they just pretending to, just as, perhaps, they’re pretending to be our benefactors? Even worse than this are White Hands’s words, her implications. If I call you a god, then you are one. The thought sends shudders down my spine. I haven’t told any of my friends about that part of our conversation, nor do I intend to. The idea of divinity is just too big, too awful, to absorb. All the gods I’ve seen thus far are flawed, distant beings, vastly remote from the people who worship them. Even the mothers sometimes seem alien, like creatures I can never truly comprehend. And they constantly demand worship, constantly demand prayers to feed their power. I have no desire to be a god, to even entertain the thought. So I remain silent as we continue on our journey, which – much to my dismay – takes place overland this time, as the jatu have been trawling up and down Hemaira’s rivers and lakes for the last three days, searching for any sign of us.

Thankfully, we have Lady Kamanda’s personal fleet of carriages and are using them now to traverse the city’s crowded streets and bridges instead. It’s a bold gambit, to be sure: the Warthu Bera is at the other end of the city, and using the roads extends our journey to two days rather than just one, not to mention the fact that the brightly plumaged zerizards that pull our carriages keep preening when passers-by stop and gape. Still, it’s much lower risk than using one of Lady Kamanda’s boats.

“No one would ever expect that one of the wealthiest families in the city is transporting fugitives,” Lady Kamanda whispers smugly into my ear as we’re waved past a jatu checkpoint near Oyomo’s Tears, the colossal waterfall at the very edge of the city.

I nod, returning my attention to Belcalis and Britta, who are sitting on the opposite seat of our carriage, their bodies covered by the same elaborate robes and masks as mine. We’re pretending to be the personal attendants of Lord and Lady Kamanda, who, like most nobles of their stature, require a considerable entourage as they travel. Keita and the other uruni share the largest carriage with Lord Kamanda, while Katya and Rian occupy another, as does Nimita. Karmoko Thandiwe is riding a horse at the front of the convoy, disguised as one of the Kamandas’ personal guard.

“All right, you two,” I say to them, once we’re well past the checkpoint. “Close your eyes.” When they comply, I continue the lesson I’ve been giving them on harnessing their abilities. “Imagine there is a river of white light coursing through your body,” I instruct. “Find the strongest current, and pluck at it.”

I’m not especially surprised when Belcalis, despite being unable to use the deep combat state to peer into herself, immediately does exactly what she’s told. She’s developed rigid control over herself these past few months, and it makes sense that control would extend to her combat state as well. I watch, fascinated, as she mentally reaches inside herself and pulls the thin strand of energy from the rest, its edges shimmering an even brighter white than the rest of the energy flowing inside her. Her every movement is calm, controlled, precise – unlike Britta’s.

Horror rises inside me when I see the energy surging up her body, all of it headed towards the tiny pebble she has enclosed in her fist. “No, Britta, not so much!” I gasp, but even before the words have left my mouth, the energy has shot out of her, exploding the pebble.

I have only seconds to cover Lady Kamanda’s and Ixa’s bodies with mine before the carriage’s entire interior is peppered by little shards. By the time I move off them, little pinpricks of gold are welling from the shards in my back, and Britta is slumped in her seat, unconscious.

I give a quick once-over to the lady to ensure that she’s all right before I rush to my friend. “Britta! Britta!” I call, shaking her, but there’s no answer.

She’s out cold, most of the energy drained from her. It’ll be some minutes before she wakes. Which is likely for the best, since Lady Kamanda now seems very faint.

“Well,” she says. “That was…unexpected…”