by C B Samet
Reluctantly, we parted and began the walk down to the beach.
I wanted to hold onto the moment and think of nothing else, but visions of Inok bleeding to death in front of me swam before my eyes.
9
As we walked down the cliff, my weak and weary spirit was lifted when I saw vast numbers of people amassed along the shores of Marrin Beach. Soldiers had traveled from every corner of the kingdom. An army was ready to defend Marrington. There were so many tents and so many fighters; surely, we would outnumber the Malanook.
Yet, as we neared the gathering, my heart sank. These were not hardened soldiers seasoned in battle. These were the people of Marrington Kingdom. There was a camp of Ntajidians, with their tan skin and thin build. Beyond them was a conglomeration of university students—the brightest heterogeneous representation of the entire country—clumsily swinging sticks as sword practice. Another group of students was making bows and arrows. To my right were the red tents of Caballus and a corral of a thousand fine horses. Scores of spears had been gathered outside a nearby tent. Closer to the beach were miners from Taxco with their massive oxen and bison. Their wagons parked in the distance, they chose to sleep under the stars.
I saw familiar and unfamiliar faces as I walked around the camp. I recognized Coco DeFay, a woman with whom I had shared several college courses. Tall and graceful, her long blonde hair was pulled up away from her hardened face. She was sitting on a blanket sharpening arrowheads.
After nodding briefly at me, she resumed the ardent focus on her work. I nodded back, noting the severe jawline and strain in her eyes. This warrior version of her was so different from the college student I had known. I wondered if Coco had lost friends or family members.
Looking more carefully at all of the concentrating faces surrounding me, I realized that there was loss and devastation in everyone’s expression. But there was also resolute determination. They were not downtrodden and defeated but ready to fight. Would one untrained civilian defending her home and avenging her loved ones fight more bravely than one of Malos’s conscripted soulless beasts?
Laos approached with a welcoming smile.
I could not return it. I crossed hands with Laos.
“There are a lot of people gathered to fight,” I said, but I was truly thinking, There are a lot of people gathered to die.
“They are ready to defend the kingdom. They are ready to be led by a Champion,” he said, expectantly.
I looked up at him. “Yes, of course. I have everything we need.”
Baird approached and laid a heavy hand upon my shoulder. “Soon, Laos. Abigail needs rest first.”
“Baird Potts!” Laos exclaimed with delight.
He walked past me and the two men embraced as old friends.
“It is good to see you, Laos,” said Baird.
“We’ll get everyone settled in and rest tonight. The Ballik are a half-day’s journey behind you. The battle will take place in two days,” Laos explained.
“Abigail will summon the Avant Champion tomorrow night,” Baird added.
Summon? There was summoning involved? Somehow that, too, was my responsibility?
I wanted to cry, I surrender! No more gathering artifacts and plans to raise the Avant Champion. No more plans for war. I didn’t want to see anyone else die. I felt defeated already, especially after watching the life seep from Inok.
I bit my lip to keep from protesting, but could do little to hide my scowl. I left the two of them to converse.
I found the Queen’s carriage and made my way through a crowd of citizens flocking around to see her. She emerged regal and dressed in a white gown with gold trim. I wondered where she had gotten such a dainty outfit out here at the beach. The lace and embroidery was reminiscent of the Ntajidian bourgeoisie. She spread her arms in greetings to everyone. There were gasps and oohs from an ecstatic group to see her alive and well. People had brought baskets of food, clothing and spirits to set before her. Even I was relieved to see not the withered old woman looking defeated but Her Majesty, as majestic and steadfast as ever.
She accepted the gifts with gratitude and grace. It became quite exhausting to watch. I thought that if it had been me, I would have swatted everyone away, exclaiming, “What’s the matter with you? I just traipsed three-quarters of the circumference of the kingdom and you want me to put on a show for you?” Perhaps that was one of the many good reasons I was in my station and she was in hers. She could give the people what they needed—an unflappable, unwavering and iconic leader. I could give them sarcasm, incredulity and fear. Much too much fear and reservation.
“Abigail,” she called to me when the crowd had thinned.
I bowed my head slightly.
“You’re a very brave woman,” she began.
I stood silently, recalling how, not so long ago, she had referred to me, condescendingly, as a girl.
“We will succeed because of what you have done and what you will do.” Her voice sounded sad, almost as though this was good-bye.
I frowned, not making eye contact. “I did what anyone would do.”
She shook her head subtly. “Many lesser persons would have given up long ago.”
Guiltily, I recalled my desire to do just that only a half hour ago. I turned to leave, saying, “I won’t give up.”
“I know,” she replied. “Rest now.”
I left.
After feeding and watering our horses, I borrowed Joshua’s A Tale of Champions book again. I ran my fingers over the worn letters of the engraved cover. There was only the title and an indentation where the author’s name used to be.
I took time to read about each of the Champions. Marc Stallik, or Stallik the Brave, the Champion almost five thousand years ago from Ballik, was quick with a bow. He was also muscular and scantily clad according to the sketches. Malos had conquered and enslaved half of Bellos before Stallik arrived by ship. He challenged Malos before the battle was to take place. He fought Malos in close hand-to-hand com- bat. Bloodied and beaten, he lashed out with an elephant tusk, driving it up into Malos’s jaw. With the thrust, the fiend exploded in a burst of black dust and evil was banished back into its volcanic resting place.
The next attack, roughly a thousand years later, took place on Crithos. Malos attacked from the sea, viciously leveling the city of Waterton. Mary Quigley, or Quigley the Audacious, lost her twin sister to Malos. Tall and elegant, with a nose nearly as sharp as her spear, Mary had been a dancer before she rose to challenge the manifestation of evil. She apparently possessed the Fire Stone, a Che stone that, as its name implied, bestowed the ability of its owner to create and control fire. She incinerated a hundred Slashers and Swallowers on the battlefield as she advanced upon Malos. In close combat, her elegance and prowess as a dancer enabled her to out- maneuver Malos and slay him with her spear through his heart. Well, it was through his chest. I thought it fairly safe to assume he had no actual heart nor organs with any true substance. Though I recalled the sight of him eating at the table surrounded by the Taxco silver. That would have required at least digestive organs presumably.
Ipso the Fearless, with a monstrosity of a beard, looked as though he wore a permanent scowl. He had been a miner from Taxco and brought his five-hundred-kilogram bucking ox, Baby, to the battlefield strapped with silver armor. She alone was reported to have killed over three hundred Malanook. I thought of the ox that pulverized the Slasher and saved my life. Baby.
I think I shall call her Baby in honor of Ipso’s ox.
His axe to Malos’ skull had been the fatal blow.
Candice Ntaca, or Ntaca the Courageous, from Ntajid, had been a short, dark-skinned warrior, highly ranked in their caste system even before becoming a Champion. She was stocky and muscular. Her thick thighs alone looked as though they could kick her boot through the hide of a Slasher. She defeated Malos with her sais, weapons as short and stocky as herself. I wondered at how she succeeded, as she would have to have been very close to him to sink one of those
through his bulbous body. Maybe she had thrown it from a distance. I preferred that image to her being within inches of his putrid rusty nails and sulfur smell.
Julius Clark, or Clark the Daring, seemed more appropriately dressed for battle with full metal armor, shield and a long sword. He had possessed the Energy Stone, which gifted its bearer with the ability to focus kinetic energy. Waves of energy pulsed forth from Julius, knocking down attackers before they were close enough to slash or swallow. He stirred up enough force to create tornado force winds in the sky and destroy every Scouter above the battlefield. I wondered if such energy was useful against Malos since a gust might do nothing more than float him backward. Perhaps, I reasoned, he could use the energy to hurl objects at him. In any case, he got close enough to decapitate Malos, but not before he lost a leg in the battle. I tried to imagine how one could lose a leg, defeat an enemy and survive to tell the tale.
Kal Plonk the Reckless had been half Hunju barbarian from the lands south of Optato. He wielded a sharply spiked morning star, which he buried in Malos several inches below the abdomen. Again, I suspected there were no real organs there, but there must have been something of his life force, since the blow was lethal. I imagined the Hunju emitting a feral roar of satisfaction as he slayed Malos.
I closed the book, smelling its musty scent again with a slight hint of cider. Perhaps Baird had spilt his drink on it sometime in the years of his ownership. I imagined his intense blue eyes focused on the pages, absorbing every detail. He reached for his cup of cider distractedly then—Mother Moon!—he splashed some onto the pages. “Baird, you clumsy oaf,” he scolded himself.
Smiling at the imagined incident, I ran my hands over the thick leather binder and then snapped the clasp back in place. I admit it was morbid, but I felt a little surge of excitement knowing how many had succeeded slaying Malos before this seventh Champion to come. I sensed this one surely would as well.
I joined Joshua around a campfire. I recognized some of the men from shullby games and more of the women with whom I had shared classes. They cheerfully passed around moon juice.
I politely declined.
“What’s the count?” I whispered to Joshua when the others were distractedly talking about some professor’s quirk of falling asleep during university ceremonies.
“Eight hundred students and faculty, four thousand Caballus, two hundred miners, a few dozen castle guards and servants who escaped, two thousand Ntajidians, and three thousand Ballik on their way.”
Ten thousand.
“How many Malanook are estimated to exist?” I asked.
“Abbey,” he began, “we can win this.”
“How many?” I demanded.
“Fifty thousand.”
My stomach twisted. “So outnumbered,” I sighed. “How many could the Champion kill? But he’d have to focus on Malos,” I added, thinking aloud. “He must cut the head off the beast,” I whispered.
“The Champion?”
I nodded. I picked up a stick and poked at the fire’s embers.
“That seems like a good plan, provided that Malos joins the battlefield.”
I thought about my earliest dreams and his sheer delight at the body count rising around him. “He will be there,” I assured him.
“Abbey, you’re sure the Champion is male?” Joshua asked.
It was an odd question. Throwing the stick into the fire, I looked up at him. “I don’t care what it is as long as it wins,” I explained emphatically.
Joshua nodded solemnly, then took my hand and led me away from the university crowd. Finding a quiet spot near Phobus and Unis, he spread out a thick blanket. We lay out under the stars with the ominous feeling this might be our last night together. I had found my usual comfortable spot on his shoulder. The moons were nearly full.
“Abbey, I’ve wanted to say something for a while, and I’ve given up waiting for the opportune moment,” he sighed, “which it seems is not going to present itself.”
I could feel his heart beating fast against the side of my face.
“I love you. I want to spend my life by your side.” He paused, pulling a silver ring out of his pocket. “I’m going to give this to you, and I want you to wear it. It’s a little something I picked up for you. I don’t want you to give me an answer tonight because I don’t want you to feel like I’m only asking on the eve before battle.” He paused. “I hadn’t seen you in so long after you started work at the castle. As the months passed, I realized how much affection I had for you, but it wasn’t as though I could just show up at the front gate and ask to see one of the Queen’s servants.
“When you showed up at my door, looking beautiful and disheveled, I wanted to hold you in my arms and pour my love onto you. When you hugged me, I dared think you had feelings for me, too. The next day, when you saw me in Taxco, I was picking up the ring. All of this time together has made me even more sure of my feelings.”
I think I was more touched by his nervousness and fluttering heart than his words.
“Joshua, I love you, too. I couldn’t have done any of these last days without you, and I don’t want to spend another day without you.” I lifted my hand off his chest and let him slide the ring onto my finger.
I looked at the ring. It was wide and smooth with two stars engraved in it. I looked up at Joshua. He leaned down, and I met him halfway for a sweet, succulent kiss that left me breathless.
We lay quietly together until a restless sleep came.
Preparations for battle began early the next day. The sun was barely rising, casting a gray-blue haze across the ocean and onto our camp. The smell of hot ore and fresh cut wood filled the camp. More weapons—arrows and spears—were shaped. Swords were sharpened. Helmets and armor were forged and sized. Horses were shoed and groomed. Spikes were added to the wheels of wagons to cut down the legs of the terrestrial Malanook.
I joined the tent with the Queen and Baird Potts, as they discussed battle strategy. It seemed only fair that I have the privilege of listening, since there was a summoning ritual that had become my responsibility. I anticipated reluctance on their part, but to my surprise they welcomed my company.
They focused on a tactic to thin the enemy and penetrate the core to get the Champion to Malos. Baird had the advantage of having studied prior battles, but just as the recipe for the Champion changed every thousand years, so did the battle craft of Malos. While the specifics of his attack were unpredictable, Malos’s global strategy was clear—prisoners would not be taken and everyone must die. There would be no mercy shown and no fear. The creatures would attack relentlessly without hesitation or restraint.
Ten thousand against fifty thousand.
“Eight hundred gypsies are en route. They’ll be here in time to join the battle and take flank.”
“Gypsies?” I asked. “But they’re pacifists.”
Baird nodded. “They don’t fight others, but they know that this is a battle against our own evil. Then,” he added, turning toward me, “that leaves the summoning.”
“What do I need to do?” I asked. Suddenly, I wanted to busy myself with something, anything that would simultaneously be a distraction from thinking about war and contributory to the war effort.
Baird’s instructions for summoning the Avant Champion were very precise. I was to take all of the items I had collected, along with wood for a bonfire, to the top of the cliffs and perform a detailed ritual that would raise the Champion. There was, however, one last ingredient that Zack had not mentioned—water from the Aqua Santos.
I left the tent and gathered a few university students to help me. We found a cart and began to fill it with wood.
Coco and I tossed logs while two other men chopped and split wood.
“I heard about Paul,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, glancing briefly at her tan skin, barely covered by a sleeveless, skintight top and short shorts.
“I was very fond of him.”
I stopped and studied her fac
ial expression. “I’m sorry. Was it serious?” I asked.
She lightly shrugged a smooth shoulder. “Not as serious as I wanted, perhaps more than he wanted. He was always burdened with responsibilities and seemed to hold himself back.”
Burdens and responsibilities. That certainly was Paul.
It had not occurred to me that my hardworking, no-nonsense big brother would have had a love interest. And why shouldn’t he? That I was too self-absorbed to ask him about relationships was not a reason for him not to have had one. Coco would have been a good woman for him. She was tall, lean and beautiful. She was intelligent, too. She would have made a polished finance minister’s wife. I felt happy for him. At least for a little while he had had her companionship.
I continued filling the cart with wood.
I thought of the Queen’s scheme with Paul to get me working within the castle walls. He had known what evil was coming. Had he restrained himself to wait for this tidal wave of destruction to pass, never imagining he would be a victim of it? Or had he known some- how that he would be a victim and didn’t want to make Coco a widow? Whatever amount of future he had gleaned from Aman had probably altered what course he may have taken with Coco.
When the load was complete, I hitched the cart to Phobus. With my encouragement, he laboriously hauled all of the items to the top of the cliff. I unhitched the wood-filled cart.
“Go on, boy.” I patted him. “No sense in both of us lingering up here. You might as well go down and get some oats and water.” He left me to be alone, parting with a soft neigh. I arranged the wood to make a large fire, but left it unlit.
Then, using the Traveler’s Star, I closed my eyes and crossed to the Gunthi Sanctuary. The ground shifted beneath me. At once the sound of the ocean transformed into the sound of the river. I opened my eyes.
Zack, in his vibrant blue cloak and white hair, was waiting for me. He led me to the crisp blue water. I recognized the pool of water as the one he had taken me to the first time I was here. I looked around at the lush grass and playful birds. I was reminded that we were not only fighting for the lives of everyone in Marrington Kingdom, but also for the preservation of sanctuaries like this.
