1

There are four of them.

Corpses. Each one female and young—around my age, if that.

They’re mounted on stakes at the mouth of the jungle, the evening shadows spreading inky tendrils over their ash-colored skin and bulging, distended stomachs. They almost look like dolls . . . except dolls don’t have black masks hiding their faces like funeral cowls, and they certainly don’t smell putrid, like animal carcasses left too long in the sun. The stench of rot wafts past, and my stomach lurches. I don’t like the odor of meat even under normal circumstances, but this—the stink of those bodies displayed among the tangle of roots and ferns . . . Sweat turns my palms slick, and a subtle tremor begins in my muscles. I focus on the necklace hidden under my armor, my touchstone in times like this. The mothers gave it to me some months ago to replace the one I inherited from my birth mother, Umu.

When I tug on it mentally, a replying vibration travels through me—an acknowledgment from the mothers: they’re here with me. No matter how difficult things become, the goddesses are always there, silently supporting me.

“Think we should risk takin’ them down, Deka?” Britta’s voice sounds oddly composed as it pushes against my whirling thoughts.

Just last year, she would have been in tears. She was the typical Northern farm girl then—blond, rosy-cheeked, and plump. Now, her muscles are as formidable as her curves, her skin is golden from the desert sun, and her heart is hardened against such sights. Her entire posture bristles with rage, but she remains quiet as she stares at the bodies.

I do the same, all the while steadfastly ignoring the strange heartbeat pounding in the underbrush just a few lengths from me. The person it belongs to has been there for some time now, but they’re so loud, and are making so much clamor, it’s obvious they’re not one of the jatu—the former emperor’s guards, and our sworn enemies—or any other threat, for that matter.

Perhaps they’re related to one of the corpses. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve encountered a grieving family member at a site like this. There are many such displays all across Otera now, warnings to women: step one foot out of line and this is what will happen to you. Each one is a bitter reminder that the longer we take to eliminate the priests and the jatu the more the women of Otera suffer and the more our friends back in Hemaira—

I dismiss the thought by regarding the corpses’ distended abdomens. “No,” I finally reply. “They’re too far gone.” Usually, we take any female corpses we come across down from the stakes, but these girls’ bellies are swollen by the heat, which means they’re likely to explode if we touch them.

I turn to my other companions—Belcalis, Asha, Adwapa, and Katya. They are nearly indistinguishable among the towering tree trunks because of their leathery black armor, which we all wear during raids, as do the gryphs—the winged, striped desert cats we use as mounts. The sight is so familiar, I halfway expect Keita and the other uruni, our partners and brothers in arms, to stroll out of the jungle and join the group. They’re off in Hemaira, however, aiding our siege on the capital’s gates, which still haven’t fallen after six months of relentless attack.

“We continue on foot,” I say. “There’ll be traps now.”

Change, Ixa, I add mentally, speaking to my shape-shifting companion.

Deka, he agrees from underneath me, already...