Chapter 8
The pathways are thick with fog, and yet I see them perfectly: they appear as a black road, rainbow lights sparkling brilliantly inside its stones. There’s a forest in the distance or, rather, the suggestion of one. The fog wreathes around the silhouettes of trees, which, like the road, sparkle with the light of a thousand rainbows—as does the fog itself. It’s the oddest thing: even though it’s dark here, everything is bright with light and color. This space itself is a contradiction. And that isn’t even what I find strangest about the pathways: Except for the fog, everything seems to be made of strands of hair. Bala’s hair. I peer more closely at a strand in one of the stones, but doing so hurts my head. The more I stare, the more those rainbow lights glitter and swirl. I reach out to hold tighter to Ixa and Keita, only to find they’re no longer there.
They’re both silhouettes in the distance, each standing on his own stone road, each one wreathed in fog. Alarm surges through me. “Keita? Ixa?” I call out.
“They walk their own paths.” When I turn, Myter is walking beside me. Or, rather, she’s standing and the path under her is moving. It’s clear she’s a part of it, as much a creature of this realm as the stones and the trees. “Every individual must take their own path the first time they walk the pathways,” she says. “Even you, Angoro Deka.”
Her tone rankles me. “Bring me back my friends!” I demand, angered.
“Why? Do you no longer know how to walk alone?” She seems genuinely curious, so I stop, breathe, remind myself:
Not everything is a threat, even things that sometimes seem like it.
“I know how to walk alone,” I finally reply.
“I had begun to wonder,” Myter says. She glances at me, those brilliant green eyes unblinking from behind her armor. “There are those persons who cling to companionship even to their last, binding their loved ones to them with desperation and all the force of the strongest manacles. Those, I find, tend to be the most insidious of villains, trapping their victims in chains they call love.”
At this not-so-subtle accusation, my hackles rise. Every muscle tenses. “I’m not like that,” I grind out. “I’m not like the Gilded Ones.”
“That’s good to know,” Myter says, removing her helmet.
And all my other thoughts fall away.
Myter is massive. I had expected this, given the size of her armor, but expecting and experiencing are vastly different things. Her feline-green eyes are three times the size of mine, and the rest of her features are similarly immense, though at the same time relatively delicate and humanlike. Her skin is a gold-dusted brown, her nose an upturned button, and her eyes tilt up at the sides. While her curly hair is nearly as black as Belcalis’s, each curl that bounces against her cheeks is the size of a priest’s wristlet. Each of her hands is as big as my face, and her legs are almost as tall as my entire body.
“What are you?” I manage to ask past my slackened jaw.
“I am a godsworn, as I said before.”
“A godsworn?”
The look Myter gives me is one of pure disdain. I was so in awe of her, I forgot she could be like this, snotty and condescending. “You do not know what a godsworn is?”
I shrug. “I don’t know why you assume I would.”
This reply seems to shock Myter. She glances pointedly to her left, where Lamin is suddenly visible, his path running parallel to mine. All my friends are visible now, all of them staring in wonder at Myter—all except for Lamin. He just gazes at her, and she back at him, silent messages seeming to fly between their eyes.
I frown, glancing from one to the other.
It’s as if Myter knows Lamin. Or, rather, that she expects something from him. Except that can’t be possible, because Lamin rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s only ever to our group. Even if it weren’t for that, he’s certainly never been to the Unknown Lands, much less met a creature like Myter, whatever she is.
I turn to him. “Lamin?”
To my surprise, my friend glances away.
“Lamin, what’s happening?”
When he doesn’t answer, Myter turns back to me with an annoyed sigh. “Every time I think this day surely cannot grow any worse, it does,” she says, almost as if she’s speaking to herself. Then she nods. “All right, pay close attention, Deka. A godsworn is a mortal who bonds themself to a god—”
“In sacrifice?” Belcalis asks suspiciously.
“—in partnership, to ensure that the deities understand those in their care. The godsworn act as intermediaries, allowing their chosen gods to experience the breadth and brevity of mortality through them, while they, in return, can spend time in contemplation of the Greater Divinity.”
Belcalis’s upper lip curls into a sneer. “So they’re the only path to understanding the gods. Wonder where I’ve heard that before.”
“No,” Myter says firmly. “There is no one path to the Greater Divinity, no one method that is better or more just. Becoming a godsworn is just one of countless possibilities. Every creature in every realm must find their own.”
“The Greater Divinity?” I still don’t understand exactly what the term means.
“The cosmos, which we all serve,” Myter explains.
“It is the natural and divine order.” To my surprise, this soft explanation comes from Lamin, who’s now glancing back to me with that guilty expression.
What exactly is happening?
Myter’s expression is downright exasperated now. “Do you know nothing, Deka?” she snaps.
“Well, no,” I reply, unable to contain my irritation any longer. “I’ve spent the past eighteen years being deceived, leeched on, and taken advantage of by the Oteran gods. So no, I know nothing of this Greater Divinity or this natural and divine order or anything else you’ve just nattered on about.”
Myter’s mouth opens, no doubt to make another brisk reply, but then the ground suddenly rumbles, a low warning sound. Myter’s eyes flash, as if she’s seeing something far away from us. I still, immediately recognizing that look. Myter’s speaking with Bala—even now, I can feel the peacefulness I associate with him radiating through the passageway’s fog.
Once the two are done speaking, Myter swiftly turns back to me and bows, her expression chastened. “My apologies, Angoro Deka. I forgot the difficulty of your circumstances.”
“Your apology will be accepted only if you tell me more about the godsworn,” I reply stiffly.
Myter nods. “The godsworn are representatives of the gods. At times even their protectors, like the ebiki that follows you, for instance.” She points at Ixa, who dutifully chirps, and my jaw drops.
“You know what Ixa is?” I ask, flabbergasted.
The Gilded Ones told me they’d created him as a gift for me, but that was another of their lies. They didn’t make Ixa—they didn’t even know where he came from, which is why he, unlike most beings, has been able to see through them from the very first moment.
“He’s an ebiki,” Myter replies. “They’re plentiful in the capital this time of year.”
A thousand questions are circling my mind, but I force myself to remain focused. “You said he was my godsworn? How is that possible? I’m not a god.”
“Not right now,” Myter corrects, “but you were once, and, Greater Divinity willing, you will be again. Now, Ixa—that is what you called him, yes?”
I nod.
“He is your primary at the moment, I assume.”
“There can be more than one?” asks Britta, who by now is fascinated. When she turns to us, her path slides closer, as do the others’. I thought that my friends would be in that fog the entire journey, but it seems they can control their roads if they choose—just as I can control mine.
I turn back to Myter, and my path slides closer to hers.
“Countless,” Myter assures us. “Godsworn can serve as living conduits for a god’s power.”
“How?” I ask.
“The more apt question is why,” Myter corrects, her voice taking on that reverberance I’ve heard before. I can’t help but wonder if it’s actually been her or Bala who’s been speaking to me all along. “It is harmful for all involved when the gods spend too much time on the physical plane, as you’ve no doubt seen with the Oterans. Which is why they bond with godsworn. Usually, each god starts with at least four bonded, but there can be hundreds, even thousands.”
They both turn to Ixa, their beings so blended now, I can’t tell where Myter stops and Bala begins. “As Ixa, however, seems to be your only current bonded,” they rumble, “he cannot fully heal you the way you can him.”
I blink, their words sinking in. “Wait, Ixa can heal me?”
I knew he could ease my pain, but this…this could change everything. I’ve been fearing the return of the sores, but if I can figure out how to get Ixa to heal me, perhaps I’ll have more time, more strength, as I continue on my journey.
When they nod, I swiftly ascertain, “And the reason I can heal him with my blood is because he’s my godsworn?”
They incline their head once more. “Indeed. But you need at least four to heal you entirely, and I doubt you can manage that number of godsworn in your current state. Ixa can, however, take your pain, as you have seen. That is part of his function: all godsworn keep spaces inside them for their gods; each one is a living temple to their deity.”
“Which is why ye can slip into his mind!” Britta gasps. “I knew it wasn’t possession!” she says triumphantly.
“That’s not what you said last time,” Li mutters.
“Shut it, ye,” Britta hisses, elbowing him.
As I stare at Ixa, Myter gestures with her chin, her voice losing Bala’s reverberance as she says, “We’re almost there. I know you’re used to Otera, so do try to contain yourself when you gaze at the wonder that is our capital. It won’t do to seem like too much of a bumpkin.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes, but when I glance at Britta, she’s already doing it for me. “I’ll try,” I reply dryly. “I know it’ll be difficult, but I’ll try.”
The closer we get to the end of the pathways, the dimmer the rainbow lights glow. Where once they were brilliant things, they’re now the barest suggestion of a shimmer. The power, or whatever it was, that guided us here is coming to an end. We’re almost at our destination.
The mere thought raises my anxieties.
“So, Mother is expecting me?” I ask, fingers twisting together as my worries return.
The last time I spoke to Mother was on what I assumed was her deathbed. What will she think about the person I’ve become? The things I’ve done?
“I would assume so.” Myter’s unconcerned reply is like cold water dousing all my hopes.
“You don’t know for certain?” This cold, almost accusing statement comes from Belcalis, who is now walking out of the fog toward me, as are my other friends.
Around us, the pathways are slowly disappearing, the fog and forests fading as brightness and the sound of waves crashing take their place.
The children are still absent, but that, I assume, is because they’re with Bala, in different pathways all their own.
“No.” Myter shrugs. “Bala and I are not involved in the inner workings of the pantheons. We just mind the pathways.”
“And defend them when necessary?” Belcalis adds. When Myter blinks at her, she continues bluntly: “I’ve been thinking. No Oteran has ever been to the Unknown Lands and returned that I know of. We didn’t even know they truly existed. I assume there’s a reason for that.”
“Indeed,” Myter confirms, cheerfully twirling her hammer. “Bala and I are the reason. As long as the gods of Otera remain alive, no Oteran living can cross the pathways twice. Anyone who tries runs afoul of, well, me.”
“So where does that leave us?” I ask, everything inside me tensing.
“Gods and godsworn are different,” Myter says.
“We’re not godsworn,” Britta says.
“Yet,” Myter replies meaningfully, glancing at me.
I stiffen as the suggestion rings in my mind. Could it be possible? If I regain my kelai and become a true god, could Britta and the others truly become my godsworn? More to the point, would they want that—to become my glorified helpers? My living temples?
I consider my relationship with Ixa, the way I can enter his mind so easily, and shudder. I don’t think I could ever wish that for my friends. For Britta. For Keita.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s a much more important question at hand.
“If Mother is here, does that mean my kelai is here too?” I ask. I don’t sense anything to that effect, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.
“I know nothing of it,” Myter says impatiently. “And, more to the point, why are you bothering me with such questions? You have the godsworn of Sarla with you, a living avatar of the god of wisdom. Why don’t you ask him?”
I frown. The godsworn of Sarla? What is she going on about?
As I peer across the darkness that marks the last of the pathway, a heavy sigh answers my question. I turn to find Lamin stepping forward, his hands grasping at something under his chin. As I watch, confused, he pulls what looks to be a thin, almost gelatinous membrane off his face, and just like that, the person I thought was Lamin is no more. In his place is a pale, inhumanly shimmering creature with all the same features as Lamin, except his loosely curled hair now glistens white, as do his eyes, which have barely more than a pupil in the center of them instead of the warm brown I’m so used to.
“What in the name of Infinity is this?” Li asks, jerking back as Lamin turns to us all hesitantly, his hands fidgeting the way they do on the rare occasion when he’s nervous.
Suddenly my ears are ringing. It’s all I can do to keep standing. I never suspected, never once. Two years in close companionship with him and this person—this creature standing in front of us—is the true Lamin. And I never once suspected. Never even dreamt it.
I’m at such a loss now, I just stand there, my thoughts racing.
Thankfully, I’m not the only one standing here, near the pathways’ exit. Keita is here as well, and he knows just what to do. He walks closer to his friend, his face carefully blank even as his fists are clenched as tightly as I’ve ever seen them. “Explanations. Now,” he demands.
Lamin sighs again, his unnervingly white eyes brimming with remorse. “I know this looks bad, but I want to say first that I am not now, nor have I ever been, your enemy.”
“And just saying that makes it true,” Belcalis grits out, hands on her daggers. She’s infuriated as well, as is the rest of the group.
Lamin grimaces when he notices. “I had no choice but to keep the truth from you all. It was my pact. I was sent to Otera by Sarla.”
“For what reason?” Keita demands, his eyes hooded now.
“To ensure that Deka was led down the path to discovery about the treachery of the Oteran gods.”
When he turns pointedly toward me, the last two years flash past, memories of all the time I’ve spent with him. The friendship the others and I cultivated with him. The friendship that, it’s now apparent, was based on lies. Every time I was with Keita and the other uruni, Lamin was there—always quiet, always watchful, perfectly unobtrusive. I just assumed, as did everyone else, that it was his nature. But now I know otherwise.
“So you were manipulating me?” I can’t hide the hurt that forces its way into my voice. “All this time, you were manipulating me?”
Lamin hurriedly shakes his head. “I could not speak, could not even write, about my true purpose. It was forbidden, so I remained silent until I was finally able to do otherwise.”
“Ensuring Deka learned the treachery of the Oteran gods? And what of your treachery?” Keita has a dark, foreboding look in his eye as he asks this question—that same quiet look he gets when he’s deciding whether or not to end someone’s life. Even now, embers are stirring in those golden depths, his gift rising up to meet his call.
Lamin must see it, because he hurriedly answers: “I never betrayed anyone! Mostly, I served as a witness, allowing the gods to see what was happening in Otera, especially where Deka and you all were concerned.” By now, his voice has lowered to a mumble.
“So they were spying on us through your eyes,” Belcalis clarifies.
“Yes.” Lamin nods miserably.
“All of us, not just Deka,” Belcalis clarifies again.
Another nod.
“Why?”
“The assumption was that, as Deka’s closest companions, you would be the first to exhibit any gifts once she began growing in power. That was how they would know she was ready for the truth.”
“But they didn’t just ask you to watch,” Belcalis continues, a disgusted expression on her face. “You insinuated yourself into our group.”
“Pretended you were our friend.” There’s a look I’ve never seen before in Li’s eyes as he says this, a quiet fury as he asks, “How precisely did you manage that?”
It’s the exact question I have as well. Our uruni were chosen at random. The luck of the draw. And yet Lamin ended up in our group. And, now that I think about it, I wasn’t even friends with the twins when he was bonded to Asha. I disliked Asha and Adwapa when I first met them, and they felt the same toward me, it seemed. But they were White Hands’s spies, sent to watch over and protect me, which was how they and I were placed in that wagon together….
My eyes widen as I realize: someone must have known who they were, known they would eventually be placed near me, which was why Lamin was assigned as Asha’s uruni.
Someone knew they were spies and placed another spy close to them.
The realization has my thoughts twisting on themselves.
All this time, I’d found it strange that Lamin chose to come here with us rather than remain with Adwapa and Asha while they traveled with White Hands. But he’s always managed to remain close to me. Quietly, unobtrusively…My thoughts begin flying again as I continue examining every interaction I’ve ever had with him—every raid, every mission.
“How?” I ask, echoing Li’s question, even though I now have a suspicion. “How did you manage it?”
“With the help of other godsworn loyal to the Maiwurian gods,” Lamin says.
“So there were others?” Britta sounds shocked.
“All over Otera,” Lamin confirms. “As there have been since time immemorial.”
“Others like who?”
Lamin lowers his head. “I cannot say.”
“Cannot or will not?” Keita wants to know.
Lamin doesn’t answer. So I try a different approach. “Why now? After all that time spent with us, why are you speaking of this only now?”
“Because this is the only time he can speak.” This interjection comes from Myter, who places a commiserating hand on Lamin’s shoulder. “Except for myself and a few others who always remain with their god, the godsworn who leave Maiwuri are placed under covenants.”
“Covenants?” I frown.
“They prevent you from speaking or writing or even hinting about the things that you should not.”
Lamin nods. “I could not speak the truth of my origins or my mission, no matter how much I longed to do so.”
“Reason number two thousand eight hundred I don’t have dealings with the gods,” Belcalis mutters. “Present company excluded.” She nods at me.
I nod back before I turn to Lamin. “Then why now?” I ask. “What’s different?”
“Now,” he says, walking forward, where the pathways are wending their way toward a bright white light, “I am back in Maiwuri. The covenant doesn’t apply here,” he continues, as if relieved. “Which means I can show you the truth of the world in which Otera resides. Of Kamabai.”
He gestures and I step past him through the light, into paradise.