The sage nodded slowly. “I imagine so...”
“Do you think I’m a coward for letting this happen? For not wanting to be there to see it?”
“The very opposite, Colibrí.” He waved a hand unhappily. “Come. Let us go test your hypothesis, but I refuse to go without help.” He raised a finger to halt her protests, then gestured at her naked body. “Dress in your war garb while I go fetch a few warriors I trust.”
She paused, hesitant, but then relented; he meant well and was concerned for her wellbeing. It was also just a wise decision. One normally out of her own reach, but if Sanemoro could convince other warriors to join them, then she’d be foolish to reject them.
“Very well,” she said.
Sanemoro bowed, took his baskets, and left.
Colibrí spent the time picking through the treats he had brought her again and drinking a little chicha. She saved the more luxurious drinks, each a tiny gourd or bottle, for later; maybe to share with Narune. They could drink until they were water-minded enough that it washed away all their worries.
She smiled at herself. You’re terrible.
Colibrí was in full garb when Sanemoro returned with three warriors, though she hoped she wouldn’t need to fight today. She had mended her precious poncho as best she could and had fumed over losing her favorite spear, but they were small troubles when compared to all the others.
The warriors Sanemoro brought her were bloodied veterans, but young ones. Two looked at her with wary curiosity—or rather, at her ears and tail—while the third took in everything with deep indifference. Sanemoro introduced them cheerfully: The first two were brother and sister, Ade and Chinwe. The third, a heavyset young woman with broad shoulders and thick thighs, was Meztli.
They exchanged greetings and Colibrí found them respectful. They even deferred to her as acting pathfinder, because of her greater experience, without challenge. She was impressed, and it must have shown because Sanemoro waggled his eyebrows from behind them. He’d been gone quite a while, so she imagined it hadn’t been as easy a task as he made it sound. Colibrí wondered what it had cost Sanemoro, but then decided that it didn’t matter. She would thank him later in her own way.
They made for the forest and took to the living pathways, moving up to the middle layers. There were many more root-roads here; the lowest gnarled branches of the tree-lords were as much a part of the central and upper roads as their roots so they simply shared the name.
The forest floor, however, was littered with dead ends and predatory or parasitic plants while the highest layers were dangerously close to the canopy. Up there, the great interwoven branches marked the dominion of many of the forest’s greatest and largest predators, most of which had the advantage of being winged. The ravenous, humanoid chupacabras were among them, but also more bizarre creatures like oubao—colossal, omnivorous plant-beasts that sort of looked like turtles, but were deceptively quick and clever.
The majority of the archipelago thrived in the central layers and that included the Islandborn.
Colibrí’s fellow warriors maintained good discipline as they traveled, and after a while Colibrí relaxed a little and allowed herself to feel some comfort at having others at her shoulders once more. She’d forgotten what it felt like to share the burden of war. It didn’t make them friends, but it did make them comrades, and in some ways that was an even deeper bond.
They prowled for a while in silence. Colibrí was thankful for that, because she didn’t really know what she was doing. Every other time she had just patrolled like the sentinels did and had stumbled onto corruption. She was hoping it would happen again.
She tried to open herself in whatever way she could think of, wondering if perhaps it had something to do with her Halfborn blood or senses. So she loosened her warrior discipline and let herself be drawn by her instincts for several notches, all while ignoring the constant twisting of her gut.
The forest eventually darkened and this time she wouldn’t make the mistake of dwelling within it too long, and readied to leave. The day felt like a failure, but thankfully neither Sanemoro or the other warriors seemed to share that assessment. Sanemoro smiled stupidly all around them as if on a stroll and the warriors all held on to their overly sharp warrior discipline. It was a good habit, but it wasn’t wise to maintain all the time; you tired too quickly.
It took a great deal of experience to find a balance between tensed awareness and relaxed observation, however, so she let the young warriors be.
Eventually, she was forced to call an end and began to lead them back to the forest’s edge. Colibrí knew she should be pleased. It wasn’t as if she wanted to find corruption, and they could keep trying until they were sure it wasn’t luck, or discovered what it was that guided—
Colibrí froze and her heart began to race.
What…? Panic blossomed within her chest, but then she caged it and took calming breaths. She whirled and found that the others were gone, then turned to examine her surroundings once more to confirm her fears.
The forest had shifted into the unfamiliar. In fact, the root-roads were all swirling downward like the sides of a whirlpool.
She waited for the feel of Flow in the air and an arrow to slam into her flesh, but nothing happened… Actually, Colibrí did feel something. The Flows of Creation were like storm-gorged rivers, and they pressed so strongly against her skin and spirit that it felt like she was standing beneath a phantom waterfall. The swirling screams she so often heard rode the Flows cheerfully, so thunderous and vivid that she could barely focus. Her head felt like someone was thudding a rock against it.
She slammed the butt of her spear against the ground, considered her options, and found them to be few. Biting her lip, tail wrapped around a thigh, she began moving down the root-road toward where they joined—and then halted at the very lip where she could see down into the center.
No. She dropped her spear in horror.
A great serpent lay in the darkness, so massive and long that she couldn’t see its tail beyond the tangle of roots; Colibrí judged it would be able to wrap itself easily around even a tree-lord, and Colibrí herself was only a little shorter than one of its green-gold eyes.
It was so beautiful, like a spiny bush viper in shades of red, pink, and gold, but it was more than just a serpent. A great obsidian horn protruded from its forehead. Equally black feathers formed wings that sprang out from behind its head and spanned so far that the wings had to curve and fold in ways beyond the ability of a bird.
It had to be the Guardian—the great creature couldn’t be anything else. She was exactly as the stormdancers and spiritseers described her.
The Guardian was on her back, devoid of breath or motion or any of the signs of life. Her large, amber eye stared at the forest’s canopy.
No, Colibrí said again, utter dread filling her. No no no. Colibrí ran, headless of warrior discipline, everything else forgotten; her troubles were laughable anyway before the nightmare ahead.
What else could possibly matter if the Guardian were dead?
So she ran. Tripping and skidding and almost falling down to her death more than once until she was at the great serpent’s side. Tears were already falling down her cheeks and Colibrí struggled with how to even begin comprehending what she saw.
“How could this have happened…?” Colibrí cried as she drew nearer. Her hands reached for the serpent, but she felt unworthy of touching their champion, first among all warriors. So instead she clasped her hands together and fell to her knees just before one of the Guardian’s great eyes.
The eye moved ever slightly to focus on her.
Chapter 10
Narune and Ixchel stood among the other youths, bruised, tired, and all too aware of those they had lost, but they were Islandborn and those losses only fed the determination in their hearts. They all waited, straight-backed, their faces solemn.
Tessouat nodded at them, a small, proud smile on his lips, and then he glanced across the spec
tators.
It was the largest crowd yet; nearly all of Kayuya Village was packed into every bit of available space. There were probably even spectators from the safeholds and villages scattered across the archipelago, as well as spiritseers from the smaller shrines.
“We arrive at the end of the Ritual. Let us judge the Duels for those left to stand in them!” Tessouat shouted, and all the gathered people gave one strong, deafening cry, then fell into rippling waves of cheering.
Narune watched the spiritseer bend respectfully toward the spectators, and then at Cacica Yabisi, who again sat in her private section of the viewing platforms.
Narune eyed her too, warily. All he had to do now was make it through the Duels. That didn’t necessarily mean winning—even defeated youths could be deemed worthy if they had shown excellent warrior lore and had fought with enough courage, but that would mean leaving his fate in the hands of the Circle. Emerging victorious, on the other hand, would unquestionably prove his worthiness.
He knew what he needed to do.
Cacica Yabisi caught him looking and held his gaze with her penetrating eyes. She smiled.
Narune frowned and looked away.
Ixchel elbowed him as the spiritseers began to divide them into groups. “Look, Kisari’s waving at us.” She pointed near the cacica’s section of the viewing platforms.
There were seats set below for the elders who ruled safeholds and villages in Cacica Yabisi’s name, as well as any guests. Warmaster Jhul and Kisari’s mother Ayo sat there, but few of the others were present. A short distance away, near the innermost part of the Proving Grounds, was Kisari, and she was waving at them with a proud smile just as Ixchel said.
They waved back at her, and Narune felt a little better. His mother hadn’t been able to come, but in an odd way he found that even more comforting. He didn’t want her to see whatever the cacica did, and wanted her to feel obligated to step in even less. Kisari and Ixchel would be enough to tell the best parts of his story.
A story always swelled in worth when told by someone else. That was part of the charm.
Narune was, however, surprised to see Ixchel’s two fathers. She complained about them—a lot—and they had come to retrieve her from Kisari and him a few times, but Narune hadn’t ever spoken to them. Ixchel made her fathers sound strict and uncaring, which probably meant they were the opposite. In some ways, he could understand their reluctance to watch her become a warrior or spiritseer.
War was a dangerous life, and Ixchel had told him that her fathers were both already successful wardens. One was a maker of knives, spears, and other weapons and tools that were designed for and customized to the needs of each recipient. The other was a skilled mender that specialized in warding powders and medicinal forest lore. It made sense that they would prefer to pass on one of their crafts to her.
“They’re probably hoping I fail,” Ixchel said when she followed his gaze. “So they can gloat and use the Ritual as yet another excuse to turn me away.”
Narune gave her a patient smile. “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”
She huffed and dismissed his comment with a wave. Narune let her be and turned back to the spiritseers to wait their turn. They didn’t have to wait for long, and eventually both of them were given marked tokens of wood. They compared them, and Ixchel was a little too disappointed to find them different.
“You would’ve been an easy victory!” she nipped. “I suppose I’ll have to put in some effort now.”
“Oi!” Narune shot back.
Being Halfborn made him stronger than her, but Narune admitted that Ixchel was more skilled. Her ability to adapt quickly was envious and sparring against him every day had only let her grow accustomed to fighting against raw strength.
Ixchel would do well. She was his sharpening-stone as much as he was hers, but Narune couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride in his friend.
I don’t plan on doing poorly myself either, though, he thought with relish. This was the very first step toward his dreams, and it was perfect. There were many people watching, and soon they’d see that he was just like any other warrior.
After everyone received a token, they were ushered to the edges of the circle to wait their turn. Spiritseers stood spaced around the Proving Grounds in case they had to intervene.
Tessouat stood at the center and recited the familiar rules: the participants would face each other with blunted spears. Defeating their opponent, either through surrender, incapacitation, or by forcing them out of the circle, was the goal, but not the point.
Instead, the Spiritseer Circle would watch how they fought. False-victories, such as wounds that would have been lethal, and personal display, such as clever strategies and raw skill or strength, were worth more in their eyes.
Tessouat raised a wooden tile with the symbol and the two Islandborn bearing the tokens came and handed them to him. The youths were given spears, then set on opposite sides of the Proving Grounds. A moment later, silence fell and Tessouat shouted for the match to begin.
Narune watched the first set of fights with unreserved excitement and so did everyone else. They alternated between cheers and gasps as the matches went on, and Narune was left impressed. He didn’t know any of the other youths, and they had made their intent to keep it that way clear. Despite that, Narune felt pride and respect for them because they honored the way of warriors.
Eventually, Ixchel went to take her turn. She fought as well as she always did. Her opponent, however, was just as fierce and looked about twice as stubborn, which was saying something. Neither of them seemed the kind to surrender or allow themselves to be shoved.
The match drew out long enough that it would probably end up being the longest of the day by far.
Ixchel found victory in the end, but what was important was the beautiful display with which she reached it. Even Narune, who fought her regularly, was left in awe when she saw an opening and pounced hard, with confidence. She parried, swept out her weapon, and then turned her spear for the kill before her opponent even finished falling. He was dead a hundred times over already, but Ixchel then gracefully leaped onto her opponent and forced him back down as he tried to rise. Her spear prodded him roughly whenever he moved, until he eventually surrendered.
The youth should have been angry, but her grin and playful salute was infectious. She reached down to pull him up, then clapped him on the shoulder as if the duel wasn’t anything, allowing him to share in the glory.
Narune cheered with the others, his own grin wide, and knew, without a doubt, that Ixchel would be adopted. In fact, more than a few spiritseers stared thoughtfully at her already.
Ixchel’s lips moved and her opponent laughed. They left together, then Ixchel returned breathlessly to his side. Bruised and bleeding a little, but she vibrated with excitement and pulled him into a fierce embrace.
“You did well,” Narune said with a laugh, tail sweeping side to side.
“Better than well! Did you see the way the spiritseers looked at me? I might have to choose from among them instead.”
They watched a few more matches together, then it was Narune’s turn at last. Ixchel slapped him hard on his bare back. “Don’t worry, you’ll leave them speechless. I trained you well.”
Narune rolled his eyes and made his way into the Proving Grounds. It was past midday now, and the air was the sticky kind of hot, but thankfully he didn’t have to worry about a sunshower or storm making things worse. A sage handed him his blunted spear with a frown.
Narune’s heart beat like a war drum. His hands shook, but that wasn’t as embarrassing as his tail, which beat in rhythm with his heart and made him feel self-conscious.
Tessouat nodded at him, then turned to his opponent as the youth approached. They passed their tokens to the elder spiritseer. “Kayuya Narune,” Tessouat said, gesturing at him with his hand, then at the other youth with the other. “Kayuya Ikenna.”
They were both from Kayuya Village, and each village was
named after the tribe that had founded them. When speaking formally, it was proper to address the entire tribe first and the individual second.
Ikenna, a heavyset warrior almost twice Narune’s size, regarded him with open disgust. Narune stared back at the boy and sheepishly smiled.
The crowd didn’t cheer. Instead, they broke out into a tsunami of muttering and conversation. They’d seen him over the last two days, and there had been many rumors about why he had been allowed to participate, but Narune supposed none of them had expected the Circle to actually let him fight.
Cacica Yabisi rose gracefully and bent at the waist as if she had been called on to answer a question. “Fellow Islandborn, your confusion is understandable. Yes, before us, a Halfborn competes with my permission.” She raised her arms into the air. Her hair was long and straight, decorated with nutshells set with pearls and waterstone. Her headdress was flawless and ornate, feathers from countless predators arranged into a single beautiful whole.
Silence followed her words. Narune turned to frown up at her. Please, just let me prove myself.
“I have not forgotten the old oaths to never again allow those with malformed spirits and the blood of traitors to exist,” Cacica Yabisi continued with an almost languid slowness. “Or the cost we paid to learn this lesson. But the first Halfborn to appear since those stormy days held promises from Cacica Anacaona. Honor forbade me from doing more than exiling this Halfborn,” She shrugged. “Now there are two more.
“One I was content to leave out of sight and mind, yet he now seeks to become a spiritseer, as Halfborn of old often did! And the other is shielded by my own warmaster, who waves aside my warnings at every turn!”
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