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After all, I have a special task. While everyone else will be focused on fighting the armies of the gods, striking as deeply and ferociously as they can against our divine oppressors, I will be sneaking into Oyomo’s Eye, using the battle as a distraction to keep the gods occupied while I steal my kelai from under their noses. It’s the scheme that White Hands, Sayuri, Karmoko Thandiwe, and I came up with as we planned well into the night.
I return my attention to the plain, where the troops are now organizing themselves in formation. White Hands is already down there. I can see her now, Braima and Masaima beside her, as is General Prix, the brilliantly feathered high general of the aviax. Today, White Hands is wearing golden infernal armor instead of her usual white. It’s a pointed statement. White Hands is not only an alaki, she is the first of the Firstborn, daughter of both the Gilded Ones and the Idugu. She may have once been spymaster to the emperors of Otera, but she has always bled gold, always empathized with the plight of those people and creatures who have been told they were less than, that they were abominations.
Even though she stands against the goddesses now, that much will never change.
She puts a horn from the scaly, bull-like toros to her mouth to amplify her voice. “Aviax of Ilarong and all other mountain realms,” she says, acknowledging the masses of aviax still flying in, their silver armor glittering against the early morning sky. “Equus, alaki, deathshrieks, jatu, humans—all our allies from far and wide! Today is finally the day we strike back against the gods!
“Countless centuries we have been oppressed by them, told we were lesser, inferior—bestial. We did not have the correct blood, the correct appearance, or whatever arbitrary quality it was they required. We were not true Oterans but a disgrace to the One Kingdom, a blight upon the realm. Today, however, we show them the truth: we are Oterans. We are every bit as valuable as the ones they call their chosen. No matter what their priests tell us, no matter what the gods declare, this is our empire as well.”
I turn when a creak sounds, the door to the balcony opening behind me, revealing Britta in her signature golden infernal armor, which blends almost perfectly with the golden war mask she’s donned. As is her preference, the gold in her helmet is mixed with traces of mine in case I use my voice and she needs protection from it, while the metal around her belly is doubly reinforced, to prevent a recurrence of what happened the last time she was on a battlefield with an army this large.
“Takes ye back, doesn’t it?” she says as she makes her way to me. She nods down at White Hands, who is continuing her speech on the battlefield.
“All the way back to that very first battle,” I agree. Then I sigh. “Strange to imagine that things are even more dire now than they were then.”
“Things are always more dire,” Britta says with a weary nod. “That’s why we have each other.” She extends her hand. “Me an’ ye?”
“You and me,” I reply, taking it.
“Until the end of time.”
I smile, looking down at our clasped fingers. The gesture is so similar to ours on that very first day we entered the Warthu Bera, and yet we are so different now. Back then, we were frightened children. Now we are warriors.
I nudge her jokingly. “Until the end of time, are you certain of that?” I ask. “Because here I thought for certain you’d thrown me over for Li.”
“An’ wha about Keita?” Britta sniffs. “He’s always just there. Even when we thought ye were about to get your kelai in Gar Fatu, he was there.”
Even though she’s trying to joke, I can hear the vein of hurt under her voice, so I nudge her again. “Well, Keita’s a man,” I say. “And while men may come and go, both of us…”
“We’re forever,” Britta says, finishing the promise we both began saying to each other when we were neophytes.
“Family,” I conclude. “We’re always family.”
“Does that include me?” When I turn, Belcalis is standing there, a strange expression in her eyes. Uncertainty.
It’s so unexpected coming from her, of all people, I almost don’t reply. Then I nod, my smile growing. “Of course it does.” I extend my other hand. “It’s always been us three,” I say, enfolding her in my embrace when she softens against me.
She nods. “It’s just, you two are always so close, and I—” Again, there is that uncertainty, that doubt.
Today truly must be monumental if Belcalis is suffering an attack of nerves.
Britta grins at her. “Ye are who ye are, we’ve always known this. An’ we’ve always loved ye because of it.”
I nod my agreement. “You balance us.”
Britta points at herself, then Belcalis, then me. “Strength, mind, heart. Together, we make the perfect person.”
“Together, we might just survive this,” I add.
“After all, we’ve survived so many things before…mostly,” Britta says, a musing expression now taking hold. “Deka has been killed more times than I can count.”
“Hey!” I say. “I’ve only been killed eleven, maybe twelve times….” When Britta removes her hand from mine to start doubtfully counting on her fingers, I pull it back into my grasp. “And besides,” I say optimistically, “mostly is good enough. Mostly will get us where we need to go.”
“Now, what’s all this? A love circle?” We all turn when the door opens again, letting in Adwapa, who has Mehrut and Asha by her side. “Don’t you know we have a war to get to?”
“A war? What war?” Li pokes his head through the door, the other boys doing the same behind him. “Here I thought we were just wearing these for show.” He saunters onto the balcony so we can take a look at his armor, which, like all the other boys’, is made from pure gold.
Even more striking, it’s been specially molded in the style particular to his region of the Far Eastern provinces.
