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Just like that, the walls of Hemaira begin tumbling down.
34
For a moment, everyone is silent, watchful as the walls of Hemaira crumble, the ancient monoliths collapsing on themselves with a deep, primal groan that seems to echo up from the darkest pits of the Afterlands.
Then common sense sets in.
Curses sound as soldiers abandon their positions, humans and alaki running for cover, aviax taking to the air. Just one of the walls’ massive stones is enough to wipe out an entire unit. Except, when the stones finally land, they don’t explode against the ground as everyone expects. I watch, eyes wide with wonder, as they puff into what seems like clouds each time they make impact, cascading over the fleeing soldiers as softly as feathers over grass.
One astonished soldier blinks as his entire body is pasted white with the substance. Then he tastes it. “It’s ash!” he says, shocked. He whirls around, relieved. “It’s ash! It’s ash!”
The call echoes across the battlefield, the excited soldiers repeating the wonder and devastation that is White Hands’s gift. “She turned the walls of Hemaira to ash!”
The mood is so infectious, even my friends are affected, Britta reaching over to embrace me excitedly. “Did ye see, Deka?” she gasps. “Did ye see wha she did?”
But I don’t reply. Because now that the walls are down, I see what they were hiding. What we never noticed in all this time we’ve been watching the city. Five gigantic figures, each so enormous, their bodies seem to encompass the city itself. They stand on opposite sides of Hemaira, three of them male, two of them female. Darkness emanates from them, a monstrous cloud covering the city. No one notices them but me, not even as they stand there, entire universes swirling inside those massive bodies, armies of gold and red clashing at their feet.
Katya gapes at the battle inside the wall, her eyes round behind her war mask.
“The divine armies,” she gasps. “They’re already there. How did we not hear them?” They’re a deafening roar now, the sound of metal clanging, men, women, and deathshrieks screaming as they engage in mortal combat.
The Gilded Ones and the Idugu may be fighting, but it seems it’s their armies that are enacting the actual battle.
“The gods,” I say hoarsely. “They’re there with them. Both the Gilded Ones and the Idugu.”
“What?” Rian seems startled as he asks this question. While he didn’t go with us to Gar Fatu, he’s here now, at Katya’s side. “What do you mean, they’re there?”
I don’t answer. I can’t, because now I’m seeing something else: vale gates—hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands—forming across Hemaira’s streets. I watch as the clouds of iridescent mist grow bigger and bigger, those tendrils expanding, those dark centers opening. Strangely, they all seem similar, like they’re part of one vast, interconnected web.
But I’m the only one who can see them, that much is apparent. The others don’t seem to be reacting to them, which means this is just like it was in Gar Nasim: I’m the only one who has any sense of the danger.
Horror rises in me as I watch the vale gates open. “We have to warn White Hands!” I cry. “We have to warn the army. This will be a massacre.”
Britta grabs my hands. “Deka, slow down, wha do ye mean? Wha are ye seein’?” Her eyes search the streets as if trying to see what it is that has me so terrified.
I point at the city, the one that will very soon become a killing ground unlike any I or anyone else has ever seen before. Worse, the armies there are unaware. They think they’re fighting against each other on their gods’ behalf, but that’s not all they’re there for. “The gods are here, and they’ve brought the shadow vales. If our forces advance now, they’ll be food for both the Idugu and the Gilded Ones.”
It’s a meal that will bring them all the power they seek and more. Power enough to destroy Otera—to destroy the entire world if they wish. And White Hands and I brought it right to their door.
The horror of it rouses me from my stupor, and I jerk upright, preparing myself. As both White Hands and Gazal bring down their swords, commanding the army to go onward, I submerge into the combat state so completely, the entire army resembles an ocean of white, their souls all gathered in front of me. I can feel the Greater Divinity reaching for me, extending me its power. I embrace the feeling as I shout out the one word now swelling up inside me.
“STOP!” I command, my voice shattering the din.
I don’t care if I’m giving myself away and scuttling our well-laid plans. Our plans will come to nothing if the slaughter I anticipate happens—if everyone here is killed in the shadow vales of the gods.
“THERE IS DANGER IN HEMAIRA!” I continue shouting as every alaki and jatu, every deathshriek, immediately stops in their tracks—the children of the gods all helpless before the power of my voice. “THE CITY IS FILLED WITH SHADOW VALES! RETREAT OR YOU WILL FALL PREY TO THEM!”
That’s all I manage to say before I feel it, the emptiness rising inside of me again. Even with the ebiki armor and the Greater Divinity, this body is still on its last legs, still edging closer and closer to disaster. And what I just did has just pushed it a little more.
The moment I slump, gasping for breath, White Hands turns to Gazal, who swiftly gestures to the army, pretending it was she who spoke. Given that she’s still wearing her war mask, it’s an easy enough pretense.
But the army is not who I’m worried about fooling. The gods are still standing there, silent, invisible monoliths. I can only hope they’re so engrossed in their strange, motionless battle against each other, they don’t notice that it was me who actually spoke.
When none of them move so much as a muscle, I watch, relieved, as White Hands and Gazal take charge of the retreat. “FALL BACK!” White Hands calls, motioning to the army. “DO AS THE ANGORO COMMANDS!”
The pair backtrack, their footsteps pounding through the mounds of ash, until a lone scream rises above the din of the warring armies. It’s so filled with terror, I jerk toward it, my eyes lighting on the grand market nearest to what used to be the main gate. Half the stalls are gone now, all their precious spices and fabrics scattered across the ground. In their place instead is a strange, terrifying darkness. It covers a mass of what appear to be tiny, insect-like winged creatures, all of them swarming over a single merchant—the person who screamed loud enough to make himself heard over actual armies.
I watch, gorge rising in my throat, as the insects peel the flesh and muscle from his body, the process so fast, his scream ends almost as abruptly as it starts, an aborted, gurgling sound all the more frightening for its brevity.
