But as she watched them from beneath her cowl, she saw few people even bother to glance in her direction—and of those who did, none showed any recognition at all, let alone malice.
Her mind began to wander. What did Ardess make of all this—what side of the conflict was she on? Perhaps she took Oleja’s side, or perhaps her anger left her siding with the eclipsers. What about Maloia, or Helis, or even the king himself? Where did they all fall in this rift?
Oleja followed Brashen and Wil’s feet as they turned down new streets. She could see nothing more of them in between quick glances around at the others on the street, which gave her plenty of time to learn the features of their shoes more closely than she ever wished to. But letting them take the lead, she could follow behind easily, not needing to look up in order to navigate for herself.
As she passed an alley, two hands darted out from the shadows and seized her. One hand clamped over her mouth, and the other took her by the shoulder. The suddenness caught her off guard, and the strength of the figure pulled her into the alley in an instant.
Her back struck the cold bricks of a wall. The force knocked her head against the hard surface and sent her vision spinning. Something pinned her arms beside her, and one hand remained tight over her mouth. A moment passed, and her vision came back into focus. A man stood before her—taller and older, pale, greying hair. He sneered, thin lips parting to show crooked yellow teeth. He held his free arm against her chest, pinning her there.
“Scream and I’ll gut ‘cha. You can go to the earthborn in one piece, or in many—doesn’t matter to me. Choice is yours, sweetheart.”
She brought her knee up into the soft flesh of his gut. The man seized and stooped with a dull “oof.” His grip slackened just a hair.
One swift movement and she flipped their roles, whirling and pulling him with her to throw him against the wall instead. She broke his grip over her mouth and pinned it by the wrist to the wall. In a single quick motion, she drew her knife and pressed the tip to his wrist, holding it in place with the threat of impalement. The man shook off a look of surprise as his eyes refocused on hers.
“Do not—ever—touch me again, or you will lose this hand. Only mercy stays my blade. You can leave this alley in one piece, or dragged out in many by the maws of the rats and crows. Doesn’t matter to me. And yet: the choice is mine.”
The man looked back and forth from Oleja’s face to the knife. For a moment, he seemed to be considering his options. He said nothing.
In a flash, Oleja removed her knife, but as she brought it back down to her hip, she flicked it towards his chin. A small red gash appeared there, and a single bead of blood leaked out, sliding slowly down his neck. She sheathed the knife and then hurried from the alley.
Brashen and Wil stood a few dozen paces away, looking up and down the street in panic. When their eyes fell on her, they seemed to relax.
“Where did you go?” asked Brashen.
“Just had to lace up my boot,” said Oleja, keeping her head down. Wil and Brashen exchanged a look, but neither of them questioned her further.
As they resumed their course down the street, the sounds of shouting and fighting began to grow in the air. Ahead, a large crowd gathered in the center of a square. Oleja’s pace slowed; she had no desire to walk into the midst of a mob. For a moment, she considered turning back. But Brashen and Wil did not slow, and looked undeterred by the gathering.
If the crowd had anything to do with her, she could not avoid them forever. Better she know their business than to be caught unaware.
With a steadying breath, Oleja continued ahead.
Chapter Sixteen
Cheers rose in waves from the crowd; so at least they weren’t plotting her betrayal and murder.
Wil and Brashen moved to hasten off down a side street before they reached the crowd, as walking into the middle of an enormous gathering, angry or not, certainly ranked among the least wise decisions they could make at the moment. Oleja paused, casting a sidelong glance at the people. If not planning the trade of her life for their own gain, what were they doing there?
Tall, multi-tiered benches rose up in blocks. Through the ranks of people, she caught a glimpse of two figures in the center of a great ring. Each wore armor and carried a spear as they sparred there. One wielded an odd spear with a short handle and long blade.
Helis.
Helis’s armor gleamed in the sunlight. His opponent—some other soldier, she presumed—staved off his attacks with a typical spear, their body clad in leather armor. How strange that they did not use the training pit for this fight. Perhaps these two were in some kind of quarrel, a brawl that broke out between rivals in the street, and all others gathered around to view the spectacle. But what, then, was the explanation for the tall rows of benches? They certainly weren’t set up there for casual seating. In fact, if her memory served her correctly—and it was still hazy on such matters—she thought the square looked to be the same one that housed the tent and counter and tables during the festival on Aukai’s Night. The odd structures hadn’t been there at the time, that she could remember clearly enough.
And then she saw the king, seated atop a tall chair on a stilt-raised platform. He watched the fight with intense focus.
Why did he allow the fighting to happen in the middle of the street? Didn’t he want to quell the tensions in the city? Oleja turned back to Wil and Brashen, who kept walking a short ways down the side street. She hurried to catch up.
“Hey, wait. What’s going on back there?” asked Oleja, falling in step beside them.
Brashen cast a look back at the street they’d come from. “Oh, today is the beginning of the trials. That’s the first one—beating the king or his chosen competitor in combat.”
“The trials?” asked Oleja.
“Yeah. You haven’t heard about them? They’re basically all anyone talks about at this time of year. Everyone always hopes we will finally have a champion again, a new hero to follow in Aukai’s footsteps, but it’s been hundreds of years. No one can beat them all.”
Oleja stopped in her tracks. Her heart rate picked up.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Brashen looked to Wil and then back to Oleja. “How have you not heard about it?”
“I don’t know, but I haven’t,” said Oleja, crossing her arms. “But you really didn’t think—in all our time talking about ways I can win over the people of Ahwan—that you should have mentioned the fated hero trials?”
“They’re impossible,” said Wil. “Well, most of them aren’t. Just the last one. Plenty of people have completed all but the last one.”
Brashen nodded. “It’s not worth it, Oleja. Besides, you have to keep out of sight.”
A new roar erupted from the crowd. Their cries filled the air. Oleja started back for the street corner.
“Wait—Oleja, come back!” Brashen hissed. He kept his voice low when he spoke her name, but that hardly seemed to matter. The sounds of the crowd filled the air and bested any feebler noises.
“I just want to see,” said Oleja, and kept on her course. Wil and Brashen hurried to keep up.
At the street corner, she peered through the crowd again. Helis’s opponent lay on the ground, and Helis raised his weapon high above his head in triumph.
Oleja watched in awe—not of Helis, but of the event. Maybe it was no mistake that fate drew her to Ahwan after all. She could be the hero—not just of her people, but of Ahwan too. And the first step towards that was to beat Helis in a fight.
Helis Sniveer versus Oleja Raseari, skyborn, hero of her people and hero of Ahwan. Destroyer of Itsoh. Yes, she could do it. She could win. Because she was a hero.
“Are there any other challengers who wish to enter the trials?” bellowed Helis, his voice booming off the walls of the buildings all around. The crowd fell to a murmur, their heads roving left and right as they searched for any who approached the ring.
“Take this,” said Oleja, thro
wing her bag strap over her head and dropping it at Wil’s feet without pausing to wait for him to take it. Then she took off.
“Oleja!” called Brashen behind her, but she already raced at full speed towards the crowd. Her time had come. The sky chose her for a reason, and it was time to prove it.
So many faces filled the crowd—was Ardess’s among them? There were far too many to tell.
Breaking into the center of the ring, all eyes fell on her. Her heart soared. Her muscles tensed. She threw back her hood.
“I will challenge you!” she called across the ring to Helis.
“It’s that girl the earthborn are after!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“She can’t enter the trials!”
“Get her!”
Calls rang out on all sides. Oleja did not turn to face them—she’d fight every last person in the square if she had to.
“Stop!” came the voice of the king, ringing out above them all. He stood before his chair, arms raised in a halting motion. The shouts of the crowd sputtered out. “The girl before you now has declared her entry into the Seablood Trials, a proceeding sacred to our people. That tradition is not to be broken.” Voices passed through the crowd, but no one questioned the king’s command. He retook his seat, and the rest of the audience settled back in as well. Helis waved her forward.
“Don your armor and select your weapon,” he said, gesturing to a rack of equipment beneath the king’s platform. Oleja shed her cloak and strapped on a suit of armor quickly, then took up a spear from the bunch. After a deep breath, she turned to face Helis. Annoyance, though veiled beneath a thin layer of professionalism, colored his expression.
“You have entered the Seablood Trials,” he said, his voice sounding almost disinterested. “Five trials lie before you now. The first is to best the king of Ahwan in combat. As his selected champion, I take his place in this fight with you now. If you best me…” Helis paused for a split second to offer up a sneer. Oleja shot one back. “You will progress to the trials of the sky, the earth, and the sea. You must collect snow from the tallest peak, iron from the desert hills, and the sacred element of our city, seablood. Should you return to Ahwan bearing the fruits of all three trials, only then will you advance to the final trial and attempt to free the vault of Aukai. Only after completing all five trials will you be recognized as the champion. Do you accept these terms?”
“I do.” The crowd cheered; Oleja tightened her grip on her spear. This was it.
“Then your trials now commence!” said Helis. And then he lunged.
Oleja sidestepped his first attack easily. Sweat dripped on his brow, and his movements seemed more sluggish than when she’d seen him fighting at the training pit. Had he been at this all day? It seemed so.
Better odds for her.
She swung her spear as he stepped past her, aiming for his side, but his movements were still impossibly quick. He caught her blade with his, sending the strike left of its mark. He whirled in an instant, swinging again, but Oleja dodged backwards, jumping out of his reach. Sure, he and his friends may mock her fighting style later, calling her barbaric and unskilled as before, but none of that would matter after she won.
She just had to win. Form and fighting style didn’t matter—she just had to win.
Helis pressed forwards and jabbed at her legs. Oleja blocked the strike with her spear and then brought her boot down hard on the blade of his weapon, pinning it to the ground.
“You want to lose that one too?” asked Helis through gritted teeth.
“I’d sooner see us match.” She swung the butt of her spear up, aimed for a swift strike to his temple.
Helis ducked at the last second. Oleja’s spear shaft brushed the top of his helmet, its scalp crowned with an orange plume like the guards outside the palace doors. The feathers danced as the wooden shaft passed through them.
One tug against his weapon and Helis failed to free it. Oleja raised her spear for another strike, poised to drive the weapon down atop his helm. There was nowhere he could dodge to.
Before she got a chance to swing, Helis surged forwards, throwing his weight against his weapon rather than pulling it back. Not expecting the sudden shift, Oleja pitched backwards. Helis’s shoulder drove hard into Oleja’s gut. She grunted and staggered back, nearly losing her footing.
“Two can play at your graceless form,” he said, and then lunged again. He whipped the shaft of his weapon around before him. The butt of it struck Oleja hard in the ribs.
She would not lose. Her people waited for her; someone had to be their hero. Someone had to save them. And it was going to be her.
With a roar of fury, Oleja swung again, thrusting her spear at Helis’s gut. One swing of his weapon batted hers aside. He used the momentum to raise his blade high.
It arced down towards Oleja. Her eyes widened. She raised her spear above her head.
Helis’s swing came down hard on Oleja’s spear; the shaft crashed against her skull but still narrowly blocked his blow. The strike sent stars shooting through her vision. They urged her on; the sky sided with her in this fight.
With one great lunge, she leapt at Helis, holding her spear out before her and slamming him hard in the chest. The force sent him careening back. Very nearly he fell to the ground, but he managed to push himself back up with one hand. It was far from a graceful maneuver, but it served him nonetheless. His eyes flicked upwards, meeting hers. He clenched his jaw and ran towards her.
Once, twice, three times he struck in quick succession, Oleja scrambling to keep up with his blows, barely blocking each one. He watched the frenzy of her movements, then drew back for just a moment. Oleja moved to readjust her grip and take her own swing, but then, just as fast as he drew back, Helis swung out again.
The flat side of his blade struck Oleja hard in the temple, her leather helmet softening the blow but doing little against the force of the swing. Her head snapped to the side, pain exploding behind her eyes and clouding her vision. The whole ring spun. She blinked and staggered back.
And then Helis had his blade behind her boot. He pushed forward, his shoulder connecting with her chest. The cobbled ground slammed hard against her back. Helis stood tall above her where she lay, his weapon raised.
“Victory to the king’s champion!” called a voice. Oleja blinked up at the sky. No.
No.
She pulled off her helmet and threw it to the ground beside her. Helis already walked away.
Rage coursed through her veins. How could she lose? What was she supposed to do if not complete these trials? She’d already thought her options exhausted, and like a beacon of hope this final chance landed in her lap. And she’d failed it, just like all of the others.
That was it—she marched for Itsoh alone. Sky be damned.
Using her spear, she heaved herself back up to stand. She hurried for the edge of the crowd in the same direction she entered from. As she walked, she drew her knife and used it to sever the leather straps that bound her armor to her body. It fell in pieces in her wake.
She kept the spear.
Outside the crowd, Brashen and Wil stood on a crate, peering over the heads of the people in front of them. When Oleja emerged, they hopped down and ran to her.
“Oleja. Oleja!” called Brashen after her, running to catch up as she stormed off down the street. “Oleja, what on earth was that? Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”
Oleja whirled and waved her spear in front of his face. “I got my weapon, didn’t I? Isn’t that why we came out here? Well, goal complete.”
And then she took off down the street, leaving the two of them in the dust.
Chapter Seventeen
The first thing she needed was a restock of tinkering supplies. Now that she had a house and the forge, she carried only the necessities in her bag, leaving all the extras behind in order to keep her load light. But now, if she was heading out on the return journey to her village, she needed to replenish her stockpile to re
main prepared for whatever came her way.
Wil and Brashen warned her not to go into the North Run, but she cared little for that warning now. If the envoy tried to seize her, she’d kill them—and she’d kill the king too if he tried to hold her accountable for it. Let Ahwan and Itsoh go to war—what care did she have for Ahwan now? If anything, the distraction of war promised her the perfect opening to strike and lead her people to freedom. Let the envoy come; she needed to visit the forge one last time, and she was prepared to fight her way there if she had to.
Up the paths she went, but the woods lay quiet around her, save for the calls of birds in the trees and chirps of insects in the brush. Almost disappointingly, she reached the forge without incident. She pushed through the doors and went inside.
Sreovel sat within, working away as always. Her eyes shifted to the door as it opened, but rather than the usual expression of passive recognition that Oleja got from the woman, something else bloomed across her features: relief.
“Oh, Oleja…” sighed Sreovel, putting aside her work at once. “I’m so glad to see that you’re okay. I didn’t hear anything after last night, and I worried something awful had happened. More awful, I mean. I stopped by your house, but you weren’t home.”
“No, I’ve been out all morning,” said Oleja, her voice flat. She went to her workbench and began picking through the materials scattering its surface. Sreovel sat in silence for several long minutes. Oleja glanced up at her.
She sat at a workbench, her hands fidgeting with some piece of an old gardening tool she worked to mend. She kept her eyes cast down. A deep blue bruise ringed her right eye. A few scabbed cuts crisscrossed her arms and a bandage wrapped her shoulder, half-covering her tattoo and surrounding scars.
Seablood Page 16
