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His eyes widen. “You? No,” he says, shaking his head vigorously. “Not you. Never you.”
“Why? I thought you said no deathshrieks.”
Keita blinks, as if gathering his thoughts. “You wouldn’t startle me the way the others would,” he finally responds.
“A bright red deathshriek wouldn’t startle you?”
Keita shrugs. “You’re the only bright red deathshriek there is. Besides, you’re brown now?”
“Forest-colored,” Katya corrects. Then she nods. “All right,” she says, still signing in battle language. “Because I fully intend to go with you.” She turns to me. “I won’t let you go to what may be your last day as a…well, whatever it is you are, without saying goodbye.”
“I’ll remain here, thank you,” Rian says, “but if you hurt her, I will stab you,” he warns, signing in battle language as well.
It’s only been a little over a month since he reunited with Katya, and he’s already almost fluent. Determination is a frightening thing, especially in a lover.
A snort sounds from beside him. “With wha knife?” Britta asks.
“I can find one,” Rian mutters, the distinctive white streak in his hair flopping as he nods.
We all just smile. Rian is about as likely to stab someone as he is to grow wings and fly away. In a group full of warriors, he’s the only one who’s never truly held a dagger or a sword, and yet we love him still.
The atmosphere now ever-so-slightly eased, I turn back to Keita. “I will ensure that the other deathshrieks keep their distance,” I promise. “But only if you promise that after we find my kelai, we’ll stop and pay our respects to the resting place of your parents.”
“And then we say a true goodbye.” Keita’s voice is so low when he says this, I almost don’t hear him.
Or perhaps it’s that I don’t want to.
I turn and nod quietly, tears pricking at my eyes again. “And then we say a true goodbye.”
* * *
A small group has gathered when my friends and I make our way to the stables some minutes later to receive our last briefing from White Hands and Sayuri. At the front stands Karmoko Thandiwe, who, just a few months ago, explained to us that she was in fact a they. Their lover, Lady Kamanda, is, as always, by their side. Both are opulently dressed in cloaks of iridescent feathers—gifts, no doubt, from the aviax, a pair of whom flitter in the background, chasing two little boys who bear a striking resemblance to Lady Kamanda: her first pair of twins. The noble is what Mother used to call a miracle of fertility. In fact, when I first met her, her heavily pregnant belly preceded her like the bow of a ship. I blink as I continue watching her and my former teacher, who seems to be carrying something under that splendid cloak, something that wriggles.
When I hear a distinctive gurgling coming from it, my eyes widen. “Is that a baby?” I gasp, excitement rising.
I love babies. Not having them, mind you—which was the fate Elder Durkas and all the other elders in Irfut and beyond wanted for me and every other Oteran woman. Playing with them, however, is another matter entirely.
As I rush over, excited, I nearly miss the correction that comes my way. “Babies,” Lord Kamanda—who has been waiting behind his former wife and her lover—says, whirring forward. “Babies, plural.” He nods at Lady Kamanda, who is now triumphantly unwrapping her cloak, presenting her own wriggling bundle, a round little ball of a baby who seems mostly made of big brown eyes and chubby little hands and feet.
It looks identical to the baby under Karmoko Thandiwe’s cloak when they present it as well. “Girls,” they say smugly. “More twins, just like that alaki in the camp said.”
A month ago, an alaki in the war camp outside Hemaira’s walls predicted that Lady Kamanda would bear twin girls. It seems she was very much correct.
A happy warmth suffuses me as the twin in Karmoko Thandiwe’s arms gurgles again. It dissipates some of the panic and fear that’s dogged my every step here. The fear of whether Okot has already taken back my kelai, or whether it was never in Gar Fatu in the first place and we’re just going on a fool’s errand, one that will hurt the group much more than it helps, given Keita’s continuing distress.
To push back these thoughts, I stroke the baby’s soft little hand, glorying when her smile breaks wider. “She’s so beautiful,” I say, glancing up at the karmoko, who has a proud expression on their face, their brown eyes beaming with contentment.
“Isn’t she?” they agree smugly. They may not have birthed the twins, but it’s clear they’re still every bit a parent. My intuition is further confirmed when their face suddenly twists into a worried frown. “Assuming she’s a she, that is. You never know with these things.” An apt observation, given that Karmoko Thandiwe didn’t reveal their identity as a yandau to us until recently.
“No,” I agree. “You don’t.” I glance up at them again, smiling when I see the contentment in their eyes. “It’s good to see you, Karmoko,” I say.
“And you as well, Deka,” they return. “Although I wish we were reuniting under better circumstances.” They glance pointedly behind me, where a group of aviax are just finishing preparing our gryphs for the journey.
I force away the pang in my chest with a smile. “It does seem to be a pattern for us, does it not, always meeting with each other in dire circumstances.”
“Such is life,” they say with a sigh.
They tut down at me. “Becoming a god…You never did make things easy, did you, Deka?”
