As I reached toward the rod, a cool surge of power seeped from it, beckoning me to choose it. The strength between my heart and the weapon was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Silas’s sword was powerful. But this force was beyond the power of his sword.
With my hand only inches from grasping the black rod, the faintest voice spoke in my mind.
You are more powerful than you believe.
Eman’s crisp, soothing voice was nothing like the slick, slithering voice that had invaded my thoughts. Though I was still peeved at his silence about my parents, if Eman was speaking to me now, this weapon was the right one to choose.
Reaching out, I fully grasped the rod. A chilling wave of energy flowed through my veins as orange light poured from my palm around the rod. The ground quaked as I grasped the weapon with both hands, trying to absorb the power. The energy within me locked into place, awakening a new strength. Panting, I gripped the rod and stood. I had finally found my alme.
Gasps and stunned silence filled the battle arena. It wasn't until I stepped into Ira’s Vindicae that I realized what they saw. A long, blue tunic trimmed with golden leaves and brown leggings replaced my former Barracks clothing. Brown leather armor laid over the tunic, covering my chest, shoulders, and back. Matching brown leather gloves wrapped around my hands, my skin beneath writhing with power ready to be unleashed.
I grasped my alme tight, watching the mark of the Mender burn itself into it. The circle with the slash through it matched the mark on my chest, branding this alme as my own. My heart and the power of the rod beat as one, the rod’s cool texture calming the fire burning inside me. I strode confidently toward the center of the circle, finally complete. Sirhc watched with wide eyes, the red draining from them.
Romen stalked toward me, and I squared my shoulders in defiance.
“That was quite a show,” his deep voice said.
Ignoring his remark, I asked, “Why did you use my jewels to choose me?”
He glanced at the anticipating crowd, then back to me. Before I could react, he unsheathed one of the swords from his back, grabbed my free palm, and dragged the blade across it, slicing through my new leather glove.
I cried out and yanked my hand away. “What are you doing?”
Clutching my hand, I watched him do the same to his palm. Quickly, he grabbed my hand again and pressed his bloody palm on mine.
“What are you doing?” I asked again, panicked at the level of power surging between our hands.
I tried to wrench away, but he held our hands firm. Orange and golden light swirled between our palms, twisting around one another until they were perfectly entwined. Finally, he released them. I spun away and examined my hand. Rubbing my fingers against my palm, I saw that the cut was no longer there, and my glove had been repaired.
“What did you do?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“A blood oath,” he said nonchalantly, wiping his blade on his pant leg. “You are bound to my cause. And I am bound to yours.”
“If you’re done trying to woo the lady,” the bearded Magister bellowed, arousing snickers and hoots from the crowd, “I would like to kill her now.” He lifted his flail and charged.
“Wait!” Sirhc cried, his irises fully drained of the bloodlust. With his arms outstretched, he tried to stop the sprinting Magister. “Bocaj, wait! She’s—"
Before he could finish, Ira’s Vindicae launched Romen and Sirhc out of the circle, leaving me with a deadly Magister, completely alone.
Chapter 30
I surveyed the awestruck faces of the gambling men. There were no cheers. No screams. No longer was the crowd disgusted but completely transfixed on what was happening in the deathly white circle.
Taking a step back, my foot hit the barrier, and my mind flashed back to the Third Choice. Only one warrior survived. But when I had fought Schism, we both exited the circle. So, there had to be a way for both Bocaj and me to leave Ira’s Vindicae alive.
A bellowing battle cry and the whooshing of the flail interrupted my thoughts. I scrambled out of the way just in time. Bocaj’s weapon lodged into the ground, cracking the dirt where I had just stood.
“Come now,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I’ll only hurt you a little.” He flung the flail back with a roar, launching its spiked end at me.
Crouching to the ground, I rolled out of the way, gripping the rod with both hands. This was my alme. Everything in me connected with it. But I had no idea how to use it.
Barely escaping the flail again, I retreated to the edge of the circle. Bocaj snarled at me, his mocking arrogance gone. No longer were his irises glazed with red but shrouded in black, like Silas's had been the night before. The sweat dripping down my back turned cold. If I didn’t defeat the Magister soon, I'd be fighting something much worse.
I sucked in a breath before my gaze darted over Bocaj’s head. Claire, Silas, and James were huddled together on the ledge. Their eyes were wide with fear, their faces white as snow.
I shouldn’t have snapped at Silas. I may never see him again. Or James and Claire.
It was at that moment I realized what I needed to focus on. Not on my fear of death or my anger and pride of being underestimated, but my love for those I cared about. Just like in Ophidian's Realm, when I switched my focus from my hate and anger of Schism to my love and care for those who had been abused by him, I had the upper hand.
My heart infused with energizing power, and I guided it into the rod. Instantly, the metal glowed, transforming from its black color to a solid white. My mouth fell open as two blades extended from the ends, shining bright orange.
Every part of my body infused with power, vibrating with adrenaline. I bowed my head and laughed. Ophidian thought he had already won, that I was a nuisance and would soon meet my end. But he was wrong. I had found my alme and was ready to use it to defeat him.
Allowing my newfound power to surge through my being, I readied my stance toward the Magister before me. He was no longer the man Eman chose to follow his ways. He had been possessed by the Beast, stolen from his true path, and I intended to free him.
Bocaj barreled toward me, twirling the flail above his head. Planting my feet, I swung my alme, slicing his stomach. Blood trickled from the wound as Bocaj’s animalistic roar filled the circle. He quickly recovered and lunged at me. I attempted to roll out of the way again, but the flail's sharp ends pierced my side. I let out a cry and fell into the grime. The pain intensified as Bocaj extracted the flail. I covered my wounds with my hand, wincing as my fingers brushed the large gashes and broken skin. Fresh blood seeped from the cuts, staining my beautiful tunic.
Straining, I heaved my weight onto my alme and stood. Blood dripped from my side and onto the dirt. The droplets mixed with Bocaj’s blood before flowing into the white circle around us. Our barrier shifted from white to crimson, as if Ira’s Vindicae was feeding off the life we were losing.
My limbs trembled, and my vision spun, but I fought through my exhaustion. The cool power of my alme rejuvenated my strength and quenched the throbbing wound on my side.
Straightening, I scanned the circle before I located my target. The Magister twirled his flail in the air, a malicious smirk on his lips as he waited for me to attack. Holding my alme in front of me, I charged at Bocaj. The Magister swung his flail back, ready to impale me again, but I dodged, striking him on the head before pulling back and stabbing his shoulder. The Magister roared again, but, this time, stayed in his place. I retreated as far as the circle would allow me, panting as I watched him closely. The brute of a man stood, his arms twitching at his sides. Was the real Bocaj trying to fight the monster that had overtaken him, as well?
Rolling the rod between my palms, I allowed all the power, love, and injustice in my heart to pour into my alme. My powerful pulse vibrated in my hands as the two became one. The orange flames coating the two blades on the ends intensified, ready to consume everything in their path.
My arms quaked with power as I sprinted
at Bocaj, spinning the rod in the air, before lunging to pierce his right bicep. He screamed again, trying to move, but another force caused him to resist. I moved faster, hoping the other Bocaj, the real Bocaj, could fight the darkness consuming him a little longer.
Reacting on instinct, I stabbed my alme into the ground, using it as a force to swing around and kick him where I had first cut his stomach. My body whipped around the rod before I landed, detaching my alme from the dirt. Bocaj fell to his knees, his hands grasping at the flail that had fallen from his grip. With the alme as my guide, I rushed at him once more, using the speared end to slice his stomach again and create an X. The monster within roared, then snatched the flail and threw it with full force in my direction.
I slid to the ground, barely escaping the flail flying too close past my head. Catching my breath, I glanced up to find Bocaj’s irises shifting from black to light blue. I scrambled over to where the flail had landed and grabbed it.
Enraged by my theft, Bocaj turned toward me, eyes black as night while the monster regained power. Bocaj raced toward me, snarling. My heart roared with my alme's power, directing me to the next and final step of this fight. Waiting until he was inches from my reach, I reared back, swinging the flail as hard as I could, before lodging the spiked ball into Bocaj’s bleeding chest. Time within the circle froze. Bocaj slowly looked down at his own weapon protruding from his body.
I swallowed hard, beads of sweat rolling down my temples. My entire body tensed. Had I just killed a Magister?
But then, the unexpected happened.
A relieved smile formed on Bocaj’s lips as his eyes transformed to their original blue. He fell to his knees and said, “Thank you, Bellata,” before falling to his back, motionless.
The flaming spears retracted into the white rod before my alme returned to its normal charcoal color. My heart rammed against my rib cage as I ran to the Magister’s side. The red ring around Ira’s Vindicae faded to white, then disappeared completely. Footsteps rushed in all directions as the men gathered around us.
“Move. Now,” a deep voice said, and the men shuffled away.
The thief, Romen, crouched beside me while Sirhc, now gowned in a light-blue cloak lined with white leaves, knelt next to Bocaj. I watched as the Magister extracted the flail from Bocaj’s stomach, expecting blood to gush out. Instead, the blood retreated into his body. The wounds I had inflicted disappeared as his skin knitted together.
Sirhc glanced up at me with a gentle smile. “You are a fierce warrior, Bellata. No one has ever taken down Bocaj.”
I blinked at him, surprised.
Sirhc laughed. “You didn’t kill him, Bellata. We, Magisters—especially brutes like Bocaj—can’t be killed by our own alme. He’ll wake in a few moments, with his pride hurt, no doubt.” He scratched his temple. “Given that you struck him with his weapon, I thought you knew.”
I shook my head quickly. I had no idea what I was doing. My alme had guided my attacks; I had only followed.
“Well,” he said, standing from his crouched position with a light chuckle. “That was lucky.” He turned to Romen. “Your stakes, great thief.”
“End this competition, Sirhc,” Romen said. “There are darker things ahead that need to be defeated.”
Nodding, Sirhc turned to face the crowd of men who were now confused as to what was happening. Murmurs bounced between them.
“My friends,” Sirhc announced, opening his arms wide. The crowd went silent. “We have led you astray in what we have allowed to happen between our Lands these past years.”
All the men turned to one another, then back to Sirhc, their eyes wide, anticipating his next words.
“We have been deceived and possessed by another force. An evil but powerful force. Though Ratcha and Obesque have not seen eye to eye for years, we’ve been at peace before and will be at peace again. Go back to your homes and rest while you can. A different war is on the horizon.”
The men were silent, apart from a few disgruntled groans before the cheers started. Another wide grin came to Sirhc’s face as the men patted one another on the back and shook hands while they filed out of the battle arena.
“Bellata,” Sirhc said, kneeling before me. “You have done a great service for the Land of Ratcha, and for that, I owe you my life. It was eight years ago when bloodlust and rage ravaged our Lands. Sadly, the rage spread to Obesque, consuming not only Bocaj but myself, as well.” He motioned to Bocaj, still on the ground. “I’m surprised we’re still alive. But when I saw the bright light coming from you, it seemed as if Eman was speaking to me, telling me of the evil that was consuming my mind, heart, and people.” He bowed his head, his ebony braids spilling around his shoulders. “I’m ashamed for having not fulfilled the duty Eman has given me.”
I placed a hand on Sirhc's shoulder. “Eman knew of the evil you faced. That's why he sent me. He requires your aid in defeating the darkness.”
Sirhc lifted his head. “And I will aid him until my death.” Turning his palms to the sky, he waited as a large, metal rod with spikes protruding from the top laid in his hands. I reached out and held fast to the alme as he vowed, “I, Sirhc Prolod, Magister of Ratcha, swear on my alme to fight with you until there is no life left within me.”
Sirhc’s light, blissful power pranced around my heart, the iuram binding us together, and I released the weapon. Another Magister’s power locked into place.
“Bellata,” a bellowing voice said. Bocaj stood behind Sirhc with his spiked flail in his hand. Though he was still huge, he performed a graceful bow, making him slightly less intimidating.
Kneeling next to Sirhc, Bocaj’s loud laugh echoed against the walls of the vacant arena. “If all women fought like you, I would have been happily married a long time ago.” A few men that were still left in the arena laughed along with him, and I couldn’t help but grin.
“Because we are near the gates of the Beast, our Lands have been heavily exposed to the wrath of his evil,” Bocaj explained, glowering at the weapon in his hands. “Though I don’t know the state of the Lands to the north, I fear they have been under his darkness years longer than any of the southern Lands.” He bowed his head as Sirhc did. “I, as well, am ashamed of not fulfilling what Eman intended for me to do.”
Before I could respond, he lifted his flail. “Even if I didn’t want to, I already agreed to give you my weapon if you defeated me.” Another wide grin broke through his dark facial hair. “Although I hate to admit it, you are a fearless warrior, Bellata. I would follow you into battle any day.”
Holding out his flail, he vowed, “I, Bocaj Samor, Magister of Obesque, swear on my alme to fight with you until there is no life left within me.”
As I wrapped my fingers around the weapon, Bocaj’s heavy, thundering energy shook me to the core. His power soared through my veins before braiding around my heart. Half of the Twelve Magisters had agreed to fight against Ophidian. I only needed six more.
“Addie!”
The crowd parted to allow Silas, Claire, and James through. Running toward me, Claire and James enveloped me in their arms.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” Claire said as she held me tight.
“Careful,” I cried.
Claire jerked back and immediately saw the oozing cut on my side.
Opening her satchel, she murmured, “I shouldn’t even help you anymore, but I know you wouldn’t survive without me.”
I grinned and turned so she could bandage the wound. I expected the cool salve to chill my skin when Claire gasped, dropping her bottle to the ground.
“What?” I asked, twisting to look at my side. The wound was gone, all traces of blood vanishing from my tunic.
“An alme heals its holder,” James explained, planting a kiss on my forehead.
I ran my finger across my side. Nothing was there but soft fibers of fabric. So, that’s why Silas left battles unscathed. The gashes had stopped hurting almost immediately after I received the wound earlier. And my tunic had been
repaired, as well. I studied the black rod. An alme was pretty useful.
“I’m so proud of you, Addie,” James exclaimed, handing me my satchel. “You found your alme.” Placing a hand on his chin, he shook his head. “Although, I think I’ll spare your nana the details on how you found it.”
“Dimitte!” Bocaj bellowed, wrapping his arms around James and pulling him up for a hug. “Glad you’re back!”
“Me, too,” James said weakly.
"How did you do that?" Claire asked, examining my side before poking me in the ribs. I slapped her hand away, but she poked again. "And this warrior armor. I haven't seen anything like it." She prodded the leather surrounding my arms.
"I'm not sure—"
"It was amazing!" she cut me off, throwing her arms in the air. "If you would've fought like that in Ophidian's realm, you wouldn't have been nearly as hurt as you were. I would've saved more of my supplies, too. And, my siti stick was your alme!” She scratched her temple. “That probably would’ve helped you out more, too.”
I snorted, suppressing a laugh. "Thanks, Claire."
Silas stood far away from the rest of us, his eyes downcast.
“You’ve proven yourself, Bellata,” the thief said, pulling my attention away from Silas.
“Who are you, and why did you make her do that?” Silas called out from where he stood.
Roman lifted a brow. “That was nothing compared to the battle that is to come. She was to prove herself a warrior, and she did.”
“Prove herself to who?” Silas growled, taking a solitary step forward.
Romen’s lips formed a grin, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth. “Me.”
Silas growled as he unsheathed his sword. Romen held up a hand. “Don’t try to start a fight with me, boy. You’ll lose.”
“Wait,” I said, stepping between them. “I was unwillingly bound to your cause, which I assume was ending the competition between Obesque and Ratcha. Am I right?” The thief nodded. “And you’re bound to my cause, which is defeating Ophidian.” He nodded again. “If we’re to work with one another, we need to know we can trust one another.”
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