Chapter 30
The sudden emergence of wind, combined with the excess of kindling in the summer house, ensures that the mansion burns brightly and swiftly. My friends and I remain on the alert, waiting for either Melanis and her followers to attack at the goddesses’ behest, or a group of Forsworn deathshrieks, loyal to the Idugu, to arrive. But as the last vestiges of the sun go down and the first glimmers of moonlight spill over the estate, no pursuers arrive, only Keita, his entire body bathed in flames now, although his armor still holds. Those Maiwurians truly know what they’re about when they design armor. He slowly rejoins us, and together we watch the palace burn to the ground, nary the slightest hint of smoke despite the intensity of the fire.
It’s as if the enchantment still holds firm: there are flames, there’s wind and heat, but no smoke rises, only a sweet, flowery scent that wraps itself around the compound.
“It’s fitting,” Keita says once the conflagration finally reduces the place to ash, its orange hues brilliant against the darkness. “Mother loved the smell of flowers. She loved the smell of these trees.”
He points to the fruit orchard, which remains standing, a silent sentinel. The flames didn’t touch it at all, as if it was still protected, still cloaked in the invisible bubble my kelai constructed around the estate.
“And now, they’ll watch over your family’s spirits for eternity,” Belcalis says solemnly, patting Keita’s shoulder. “Take comfort in that.”
Keita nods, tears glistening in his eyes as he accepts this gesture. “I will. Just as I’ll take comfort in knowing that they’re here, together in this place, this paradise.” He turns pointedly to me as he says that, squeezes our connected hands a bit tighter.
Li steps forward. “I know it must be small consolation, given everything that happened here, but at least you have that—the knowledge that they’ll be together always in this reverie that was created just for them. Hold on to it. Cherish it. It’s a rare thing in times like ours.”
These thoughtful words seem so out of character for Li, of all people, I gape.
“What?” he says defensively when he sees my expression. “I can be sensitive.”
“So can a blood-sucking parasite,” Adwapa says.
“Hey!” Britta protests. “Li is more sensitive than a parasite…I think.” When Li pouts at this half compliment, she ruffles his hair.
As Adwapa shrugs doubtfully at Britta, Belcalis turns to the rest of us. “I hesitate to say this, given the occasion, but we need to get going. We need to return to Ilarong and regroup. Find a way to steal back Deka’s kelai before Okot tries to snatch her away again.”
“I actually have an idea for that,” I say, thinking about all the feelings that flooded into me when I was in that room, in the presence of that box. “I’ll just summon a door back, yes?” I add, glancing at Keita, who’s still watching the embers of the building.
I don’t want to rush him if he still needs time.
When he nods, I swiftly begin to sink into the combat state, not even needing to connect to the Greater Divinity now. There’s enough of my kelai here, enough of its remnants, that I just need to draw them into me, use them to bend open the edges of space. As I begin to do that, however, I suddenly feel something—a subtle tingle shivering up my spine.
A presence.
I whirl, trying to find its source, until Britta gasps. She points, delighted. “Look, it’s an indolo!”
I turn in the direction of her finger.
There, just at the edge of the orchard, are two glowing green feline forms. An indolo—what appear to be two small catlike creatures connected by a golden tether. Their golden horns and the profusion of vines that seem to float around them as if by magic glow in the darkness.
Britta tiptoes closer to the indolo to get a better look. “I’ve never seen one before. Look how beautiful it is!”
To my surprise, the creature doesn’t move. It doesn’t even lift a paw as Britta, Ixa, and I inch nearer until finally, we’re face-to-face with it. That’s when I notice its eyes.
Usually, indolo eyes are a shimmering golden hue that matches the glow surrounding their bodies. This indolo’s, however, are black, all four of them a shade of liquid obsidian that seems to peer deep into my soul. I blink, startled out of my daze. There’s an intelligence to these eyes, an intellect that feels so familiar, I suddenly have the thought that I’ve seen this indolo—or, rather, the person that’s inside this indolo—countless times before.
I sink to my knees, kneeling so I’m face to face with the goddess who has always been my firmest ally. “Anok,” I say reverently. I can see her now, peering at me through those eyes. “It is you, isn’t it?”
Both heads of the indolo nod.
“Anok?” Britta repeats, startled. “It’s her? Does that mean the others are coming?” She glances around, uneasy, and she’s not the only one.
Beside her, Ixa is bristling, every muscle in his body tensing as he growls. Dark one here. Dark one watching.
I pet his brow to calm him. “It’s all right, Ixa.”
I look back at the indolo and there she is, the dark goddess, staring back at me. I can feel her vast intelligence, feel the kindness, which I had feared was being corrupted by the others. It’s still there, still deep inside this goddess who defied her own sisters—her own kin—to save the lives of myself and the others.
“Can you speak?” I ask.
The indolo shakes its heads.
“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.” I sigh.
But as I kneel there, simmering in my disappointment, the indolo suddenly steps forward and presses both of its heads against mine. Just like that, I’m in the absolute darkness of night, Anok floating in front of me, a shadow within shadows.
She smiles, stars glimmering in her teeth. “Hello, Deka. It has been some time.”
“Just over three months,” I say. “But I know time moves differently for you.”
“When it comes to you, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Time is a constant with you. You are my constant. At least this version of you.”
“What about the other one?” I ask, thinking of the Singular, the god I was before I fell and became this thing that’s not quite alaki, not quite human, and not quite a god.
“Before, you were my sibling, a deep and true part of me. And then you became my enemy. Then my desperate hope. But all those yous are different from this you, and yet still the same.”
She floats closer, tiny nebulas flowing in the coils of her hair. “You seem changed. You have met our siblings in Maiwuri?”
I laugh bitterly. “Yes. And I’ve been exposed to the concept of the Greater Divinity.”
“Not a concept. All,” Anok insists. “The Greater Divinity is all.”
“Or perhaps it’s another god I need to prepare myself for,” I reply, voicing my doubts. “But then, there’s always another god, always another something. Always, always, always….” Frustration rushes out of me, a swift and endless river.
I hadn’t allowed myself to feel the loss of my kelai, the anguish at being so close to retrieving it. Now that I am, I’m a mass of anger and frustration.
“Deka….” Anok’s voice is calming, the foundation that forces the river of frustration to slow, to remain within its boundaries instead of spilling over everything. She puts a hand wreathed with the light of a thousand constellations on my shoulder. “There is no other god, no greater god, than ourselves. Every single one of us. Everything is one. As it has always been.”
I glance up at her, confused. Something in her words reminds me of Myter, of the conversations we had in the pathways. “You speak in riddles,” I say.
Anok rests her head against mine. “I love you so. I never had a chance to tell you that. To tell my beloved children—Fatu especially—how deeply I love you. How perfect you are, each and every one of you.
“To me, you are everything. You always have been. All of you, even Melanis and her brood, lost as they are to their hatred now. That is what I came here to tell you.”
Anok pulls back and looks at me. There’s a universe in her eyes. A universe of love and belonging. And regret. There’s so much regret in Anok’s eyes. It reminds me of Okot, of what he said to me as he left me in the vale: I truly wish we could have been allies.
But it makes sense that the pair remind me of each other. Once upon a time, they were one.
“You must go now—swiftly, Deka. My sisters know that you’re here, and they’ve sent Melanis for you, imbued her with all the power they can. If she meets you here, she will undoubtedly take you, and then all will be lost.”
I nod. “Thank you for the warning, I will leave now.”
But Anok is already fading, light growing where her darkness once was. She smiles at me. “Know that it has truly been my pleasure to know you. I will see you again in the Great Circle,” she finishes.
And then she’s gone.
I gasp, surfacing, to find myself surrounded by my friends. The indolo is nowhere to be seen. “Where is Anok? The indolo, where is it?”
“The indolo?” Britta looks at me, seemingly confused. But that’s a distant second to the panic simmering in her eyes. “What happened, Deka? Just as we were planning to leave, ye fell asleep.”
“We’ve been trying to wake you,” Keita says, embracing me with relief. Then he pulls back. “Are the sores returning? Is the armor failing?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not it. I was just talking to Anok and—” A distant shriek interrupts my words, a horrifying reminder. “The goddesses know we’re here. We have to go!” I say, already summoning a door.
It opens within moments, and just in time. Melanis and her hunters glow in the darkness, their bodies filled with divine energy, as they approach.
“Deka!” Melanis shrieks when she sees me, but I just smirk at her.
“If only they’d taught you to use all that power to create doors,” I say.
And then I slip through mine, spiriting myself and my friends safely from her grasp.
White Hands and Sayuri are sitting on one of Ilarong’s many peaks when we return, White Hands smoking a sweet-smelling pipe, multiple horns of palm wine spread out between the two. It’s a scene of such sibling domesticity, you’d almost forget that the two have been bitter enemies for centuries. A more twisted relationship I cannot imagine, but that, I suppose, is the nature of family.
I sigh as I make my way over, tensing for the conversation I’m about to have with the pair. Both likely know by now that I didn’t achieve my goals. Between Sayuri’s spies and all the aviax flying about the city, it’s likely that someone has already relayed a shortened version of my failure to the sisters. Which may explain why they’ve laid out such a spread. White Hands may enjoy her indulgences, but those are a great many horns of palm wine, even for her. And given that Sayuri doesn’t drink, as deathshrieks only ever ingest meat and water, I think it’s safe to say that White Hands has prepared herself for a night of excess.
I settle onto their mat without fanfare. “I have returned,” I say by way of greeting, plopping myself down beside White Hands.
“Omoléh?” My former mentor offers me a tiny glass of clear liquid. “The aviax call it the breath of fire. Proper tipplers, those bird folk. Who knew.”
“My thanks, but no,” I say wryly, shaking my head. “I know better than to drink with you.” I know better than to drink at all, only I don’t say that, given White Hands’s obvious enjoyment of the stuff. One of the many things she has taught me—in addition to how to lie with a straight face and take a death with honor—is not to voice my displeasure at the things other people enjoy. Instead I continue: “Besides, I’ve had more than enough of fire today.”
“Your loss.” White Hands takes a swig, then pounds her chest when the liquor goes down harshly. “It is like fire!” she exclaims, delighted.
She’s in a rare mood, that much is clear.
This scene reminds me so much of the time I first saw her at the Warthu Bera that I feel almost nostalgic. The only things missing now are Braima and Masaima, but the equus are probably in one of Ilarong’s many stables, overseeing preparations for the coming battles. Those two may seem like harmless, pretty fribbles, but they can be surprisingly intimidating commanders.
White Hands turns back to me. “I presume you were not able to retrieve your kelai.”
“The jatu beat us there by about an hour,” I say. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
White Hands nods. “Sayuri’s spies, are, once again, excellent at their craft,” she says with no small amount of disappointment. Although, strangely, that disappointment doesn’t seem directed toward me.
“You’re not surprised I couldn’t retrieve it,” I say, swiftly understanding.
“They had about a day’s head start over you and were on the ground quicker, not to mention they were probably empowered by the Idugu, who sent them there by door. The chances you’d catch up to them were slim.”
I frown. “So why did you—”
“—agree to send you there?” She shrugs. “I had a dream.”
Anok.
The hand of the dark goddess is all over this. But why did she want me to go in the first place if she knew that my kelai wouldn’t be there? And why did she come only at the very end to warn me?
There’s much to unravel there, but I return my attention to White Hands as she asks, “Well? How was it? What did it feel like?”
I don’t have to inquire further to know that she means my kelai.
“Like coming home,” I admit. “All this time, I’ve been so frightened of it, so frightened of what I’d become once I absorbed it. But now that I’ve felt it, I don’t think I’ll become—”
“—like them?” To my surprise, it’s Sayuri who finishes my sentence. Her black eyes peer into mine as she says, “Tell me, Deka, do you believe you know what is best for humanity?”
Sayuri is always intense, but this sudden expression on her face is different.
It intimidates me, so I try to think as deeply as I can before answering. Finally, I shake my head. “No,” I reply honestly. “I once thought I did, but now I’m not sure.”
Every time I’ve tried to help, I’ve just made things worse, but perhaps that’s the entire point. I keep trying to save people instead of helping them save themselves.
I shrug. “Everything that I am—the way that I see the world—it’s been colored by my experiences, and most of them are bad. So I always expect things to be bad.” I look down, sighing. “I may have what it takes to lead on the battlefield, and in dire situations. But to rule? To guide?” I look back up at Sayuri. “Even the fact that I think that’s what gods do, instead of serving…I don’t think I’m the right person for it. If I’m being honest, I’m probably the worst person for it.”
So how can I become a god?As the thought suddenly assails me, another rises: Keita thanking me for preserving his family.
He believes in me, believes I can be a just god. So why do I never believe in myself?
I look up as Sayuri’s gravelly voice speaks again. “Then that’s where you’re different from them,” she says, quiet. “That’s where you’re different from all our supposed parents. You, at least, know what you lack.”
And the gods of Otera don’t.
Because that’s the other thing I forgot in my self-doubt: the gods of Otera think they’re all-powerful, that they’re above the other beings in the empire—even the ones they birthed. I, at least, know I’m no better than anyone else. Different, yes, but not better.
It’s a humbling thought.
I nod. “You are correct, Sayuri,” I say. “I do know what I lack. Achingly so. But there’s more that happened at the summer house, more I have to tell you. Both of you.” I turn pointedly to White Hands when I say this.
“Oh?” My former mentor’s pipe freezes close to her mouth in a dramatic fashion.
“I saw Anok there. She was hiding inside an indolo.”
“As one does.” White Hands inclines her head as if this is perfectly reasonable.
“The others didn’t see,” I continue. “They thought I’d fallen asleep, except I hadn’t. I was talking to her.”
“And what did our divine mother say?” This sneered bit of sarcasm comes from Sayuri, who, as always, is no admirer of the gods.
“She said she loves you. Both of you.”
Sayuri falls silent, eyes rounding. These words, it seems, were unexpected.
As she processes them, I turn to White Hands. “She wanted you both to know that, and that you are perfect.” By now White Hands’s eyes are large, the largest I’ve ever seen them, and something like a sob emerges from her mouth.
She hurriedly looks down, but not before I see the tears shimmering in her eyes, tears I’ve never, ever before seen, not once, in all the time I’ve known her. I’ve seen so many of White Hands’s faces—smug, hateful, conniving, even sad. But I’ve never seen such sheer joy. Because she has tears in her eyes not from despair; they’re because she’s happy—blissfully so.
I can only imagine the guilt White Hands has felt over leaving Anok in that temple, knowing that she—her true mother—had been imprisoned by her own sisters, and that we eventually will have to end her life. But she’s always kept her feelings close to her chest and stayed the course, no matter how difficult it got. No matter how painful.
And now she’s finally received proof that Anok isn’t angered or saddened by her actions but that she is, in fact, proud.
As yet more tears stream down White Hands’s cheeks, I look away, knowing she would not want me to stand witness to this moment of vulnerability any more than I already have.
Instead, I focus my gaze on Sayuri, who’s now watching me intently, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. “There is one other thing,” I say quietly. “Now that I’ve been in the presence of my kelai, I have an idea of how to find it.”
“Oh?” Sayuri leans closer. “Do tell.”
“Well,” I whisper conspiratorially, “it has to do with the combat state….”