Page 98 of The Merciless Ones
I shrug again. “I don’t know. I still don’t understand much about them. But what I do know is why the gods are battling for power. The mothers starved the Idugu of it when they banished them beyond the veil, so the Idugu in turn created Oyomo to feed on worship, only because that wasn’t their true name, they didn’t gain as much power as they needed.”
I glance at the others, trying to impress on them the importance of what I’m about to say. “To the gods, true names are everything. You can even command them if you know their names.”
“Do the Idugu know the Gilded Ones’ true names?” This question comes from Belcalis.
I shake my head. “No, neither side knows the other’s.”
“But ye can see their memories,” Britta says eagerly. “Ye could find their names.”
I shake my head. “Even if I could, their names aren’t words. They’re colours, emotions – clouds, even. A human can’t even hope to speak them.”
“But ye aren’t human, Deka,” Britta says, frowning. “An ye aren’t alaki either, even though we like to pretend ye are.”
“You’re closer to them than you are to us,” Belcalis adds. “You made the jatu immortal, for Infinity’s sake. What else are you capable of?”
Killing the gods… The thought sends a shiver of fear through me.
“I think the more important question is, where do we go from here?” Lamin asks quietly.
“We’re less than a day away from Abeya now. We have to have a plan,” Kweku adds.
I think about it. “Before I left, Anok made sure I knew about the ichor in the ansetha necklace so I could see her memories. I think she wanted me to see all this, wanted me to go on this journey. It’s the same with Okot, Anok’s male counterpart – he’s the one whose memories I saw. Despite his anger, he also wanted me to understand where he was coming from.
“I can’t help but wonder if that’s because both want a compromise. A reconciliation. Perhaps that’s the only thing we can do, help both sides come together again.”
“Or help one side kill the other.” Keita’s words are like a spear through the heart – a reminder of what White Hands said: When gods dance, humanity trembles. And if the Gilded Ones and the Idugu cannot resolve their differences, they’ll dance so much, they might destroy all of Otera in their fury.
“That may very well be,” I finally say, the words sending a wave of horror over my body, “but what I know is that the mothers likely already know everything we’ve discovered. They might be watching us even now.” I’ve seen them peer into the distance to see what others are doing. It takes massive amounts of their power, which is why they don’t do it often, but they will if they’re worried enough. “I say we go speak to them, try to find a solution.”
“An’ ye think they’ll listen?”
I shrug, unable to answer Britta. Who knows what the mothers will do.
We know their secrets now, know they’re not as powerful as they claim. No one likes to be exposed like that – especially not the gods. Especially not when I’m no longer wearing the ansetha necklace they used to control me. It’s still hidden in a pack under my robes, but I can’t get myself to put it on. Can’t bring myself to wear it proudly around my neck as I once did.
After everything I’ve learned, I will never give the mothers control over me again. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll never live in peace with them again. I might even be able to remain at their side, if they’re still intent on building a better Otera, that is. But if they’re not…
The next few hours will tell me what my path will be, either way. I just hope my friends and I can survive.
I glance at them as I rise, no longer wanting to continue this conversation. “I’m going to go try and practise opening doors,” I announce.
Who knows, I might even succeed in opening one before we reach the mothers tomorrow.
The N’Oyo Mountains come into view the next afternoon, their forested peaks rising in the distance, the Temple of the Gilded Ones a minuscule speck of gold at their centre. I see it from my perch behind Ixa’s head, but for the first time since the day I was taken there in pieces nearly half a year ago, the sight does not fill my heart with joy. Instead, I’m filled with doubts and worry. What are the Idugu doing? Are they already storming Abeya’s temples? And what about the mothers – how will they react when I stand in front of them once again? Will they shun me? Welcome me? Promise to do better? A tiny thread of hope shimmers through my mind, and I pull out the ansetha necklace, its bulk cold and heavy as always in my hand. The chill of its power is subtle as it steals into me. Nevertheless, I can already feel my thoughts becoming laboured, my body doing the same. Its presence is a reminder: my hopes for the mothers are those of a child aching to be reassured by her parents. This is the reality.
Britta glances at it, unnerved. “Why are ye playin’ with that thing?”
I look down at it. “I keep thinking, why would the mothers lie? If I truly am the angoro, the god killer, wouldn’t they want to tell me the truth – at least part of it – so they could use me against the Idugu? I mean, I loved them, would have done anything for them, so why?”
Belcalis follows this question with one of her own. “Have you ever wondered why Melanis is the only alaki, aside from us, to have her gifts back?”
“No.” I shrug. “They’re all going to get them back eventually.” At least, that’s what the mothers told me.
“But why is Melanis the first?” she says pointedly. “Why not White Hands, for instance? She is the oldest alaki.”
“An’ the most powerful,” Britta adds thoughtfully.
So powerful, in fact, her divine gift could once level cities to the ground, although I’m still not quite sure what her gift actually is. The Firstborn only ever speak of it in awed whispers, as if divulging its true nature would invite calamity.