Page 7 of The Merciless Ones
In fact, now that I think of it, when the jatu entered this chamber, they did so because they wanted to – not because I commanded it. Still, I refuse to let these jatu, whoever they are, get the upper hand.
Even as I think this, I see the lead jatu lifting his spear.
“Break ranks!” I shout, immediately sinking into the combat state.
The world around me swiftly darkens, my instincts sharpening, my senses strengthening. By the time the spear whizzes past, everyone around me has flattened into shimmering white shadows – their purest essences. My voice may frighten most people, but this – the power to reduce every living thing around me to its purest essence; to recognize every vulnerability and strength the way others do colours – is my most terrifying ability.
I glance around, taking stock of my opponents as White Hands taught me: there, a faulty knee. An overwhelmed heart. A spear arm damaged by childhood illness. All weaknesses I can exploit.
Smiling brutally, I rush forward, slicing through arms and limbs with grim precision. Beside me, Ixa does the same, powerful jaws ripping through the jatu’s flesh and armour. But it’s not enough to make a difference. I know this within moments of attacking. Unlike the priests, these jatu are organized, trained. And they’re much stronger than we are.
When Asha goes flying, thrown by one of the nearest soldiers, I hold out my hand, try one last time to use my commands. “Stop!” I shout. But the jatu just keep coming, and those symbols just keep vibrating. I hold out my hand again. “STOP!”
“It isn’t working, Deka!” Britta shouts, slamming her war hammer onto an attacking jatu’s head. “Just get Melanis to safety!”
Growling my frustration, I abandon my attempts and rush for Melanis, but as I near the Firstborn, a horrific sight reaches my eyes: Melanis has collapsed onto the floor, an awful cracking sound rising from her body.
“Melanis!” I shout, running.
There’s a strange resonance in the air, an eerie thrumming that reverberates all around me. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but somehow, I know it’s coming from her, that it’s some sort of divine power. I’ve never felt anything like this before, all that raw energy building and growing.
I hurry closer, concerned. “Melanis, what is happen—”
An explosion of pure white smashes me into the wall.
I lie there, dazed, glass raining down from the chamber’s collapsing ceiling. What in the name of Infinity just happened? Melanis falling, that explosion… My skull is vibrating, my ears are ringing loudly. Groans filter into the air – everyone around me trying to gather themselves, to rise. I try to do so as well, but my legs quickly give way. They’re as weak as jelly now. Not that I’ll let that hold me back. I have an example to set. I am the Nuru, after all.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself up, then glance around.
That’s when I see Melanis.
The Firstborn is floating high above us, the jatu leader’s severed head dangling casually from her fingers. I barely have time to comprehend this sight before I notice something else: wings. Wings of blinding white, gold tipping each feather. They’re the source of that cracking noise I heard from Melanis earlier. The knowledge slides into me like instinct – as does another: I’ve seen those wings before – felt them before. They were the weight I felt on my back when I was in the white chamber.
Could my time there have been a memory?
I’d almost written off my experience in the white chamber as some sort of waking dream – perhaps even my memory toying with me again, but now that I’m looking at Melanis, flapping high above us, I’m almost certain it was real. Melanis’s wings have returned, a divine gift hidden just under her skin. Why can’t that dream have been another divine gift, a new blessing from the mothers?
I’m in such awe, it takes a cry from Adwapa to shake me from my daze. “Deka, move out of the way!” she shouts.
I jerk back as Melanis dives sharply down from the ceiling again.
As she reaches the ground, she flexes her feathers straight out at the very last moment, and a jatu’s head goes flying, red blood arcing through the air. I gape, shocked. Melanis’s wings are like a feathery white sword, slicing through everyone around her.
Even before I can comprehend this, Melanis is swooping across the chamber again, beheading more and more jatu with great gusts of wind. The jatu scream, call for retreat, but they’re no match for Melanis’s speed. Her entire body is a blade, ripping apart jatu before they can even move. I watch, barely noticing as Britta and the others gather beside me.
Britta is stunned as well. “Would ye look at that…”
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
I glance sharply at Adwapa, disturbed, when she wipes away a fake tear of approval as Melanis orchestrates a one-sided massacre before our eyes. Unease slithers over me. Adwapa has always had a grim sense of humour, but this is just a bridge too far.
I’m not the only one who’s uneasy. “That’s grim, Adwapa, even for you,” Belcalis tuts.
Adwapa sucks her teeth. “You think they wouldn’t cheer if it was us being massacred like this?” she asks.
It’s a valid observation, except I know her words have nothing to do with the jatu in front of us. She’s probably thinking about Mehrut again. Adwapa and the plump Southern alaki were lovers back at our training ground, the Warthu Bera – casual ones, we all thought. But Mehrut remained behind at the Warthu Bera when we went on campaign and was presumably trapped there when the jatu took the city. Ever since the jatu started throwing girls from Hemaira’s walls, Adwapa’s been having nightmares – loud, frightening ones during which she calls Mehrut’s name.
We have to break open the walls of Hemaira, have to rescue our sisters from the Warthu Bera – Mehrut especially – and the only way we can do that is if the mothers regain more of their power. Which means we have to finish the jatu in this room and get Melanis out of here.