I pocket the tooth. It’s a nice token. Maybe it will bring me good luck.
But my face turns down in disappointment as I stare down at my ruined meat. I open the trap, pull the small beast from it, and cock back my arm to chuck it into a tangle of ferns, but stop.
An idea for a better use of the ruined valder hits me. I tie it to my pack, move and reset the trap, then head to the god’s lair for another day of observation.
* * *
FROM UP IN MY usual perch, I watch the god’s lair. I’ve already relocated the valder I brought with me. At first, I worried the dead beast wouldn’t be able to cross Peruxolo’s barrier, but after I cast the throw, it sailed right through without meeting any resistance, landing just inside the dark opening in the mountain.
Peruxolo must not have heard the impact, because he hasn’t come to investigate. I hope he’s somewhere deep in his lair and well occupied.
What does a god do all day?
Count his gems?
No, wait, he never even took the gems from the Payment inside with him.
Maybe he relishes the pain and suffering he causes by robbing mortals of their necessities? That sounds far more likely.
I wonder if he feeds off our pain. If that is what strengthens his powers, I’ve no hope of lessening it.
In all my warrior training, patience was not something I excelled at. I tap my fingers along the bark, crack my neck from side to side, attempt to swallow the yawn that surfaces.
Maybe the ziken don’t venture out this way? Maybe they’ve learned to steer clear of the god’s lair. I doubt he tolerates any beasts in his wood.
As soon as the thought hits, my patience is rewarded.
A ziken has its nose tipped up, sniffing at the air. It follows the path I took earlier, right up to the god’s invisible barrier.
I hold my breath as the beast … steps right over it.
When the valder crossed the barrier, I thought perhaps dead flesh wasn’t a danger, and so the god had no such restrictions for it. But the ziken, a predator, steps right up to the mountain and even steps into the gap to retrieve the meat I’ve thrown inside.
My surprise is overridden by frustration. What does the barrier protect him against? If a dangerous beast can get through, but I can’t, then what does that mean?
The only things that haven’t managed to cross over are me and my ax.
Does the barrier solely protect against humans and their weapons, then?
I stare down at my body, glance from it to my ax.
Wait a moment.
I let myself down from the tree and stalk toward the barrier. I pause at the tree line when I remember the ziken is still inside. With my new idea pounding within my head, I wait for the beast to finish its meal and run off. I can’t very well do battle with it when Peruxolo could overhear at any moment.
When it’s safe, I take careful steps toward the god’s lair. I watch my feet to ensure I don’t overturn rocks or give any hint that I’m here. It’s overkill, I’m sure. If he didn’t hear the ziken chomping outside his threshold, he won’t hear me. But I can’t help it. I have no doubt that if he catches me, he will kill me. Mercy is not a concept Peruxolo has been known to show anyone, and he never breaks his word. I remember all too clearly what he promised if I returned to this spot.
When at last I step up to the barrier, I reach out. But this time I press my forearm flat against it and try bending my wrist in half. My fingers go over, but my arm stays firmly in place. I try the same tactic, this time with my torso, bending at the neck.
My head goes through, but not my body.
Not where I’m covered in armor.
In metal.
With two fingers, I find the seam on my forearm and slide the metal from the leather. One sheet from the top and one sheet from the bottom. Then I try pressing my arm against the barrier.
It goes through.
But I’m halted at the upper arm, where more armor rests within the seams of my clothing.
A small laugh escapes my lips. I slam a hand over my mouth, but as I look up to check the gap, I realize it’s too late.
Peruxolo is already there, watching me. Either he can sense when my metal is near, or the timing was simply not with me.
Ice seems to wash through me, starting at my head and falling to my toes. I drop my forearm guards to the ground and take a slow step back.
“You again,” he says. “Do you not remember what I told you would happen if you returned?” He takes slow steps toward me, and for every advance he makes, I mirror it with a retreat.
“I do.”
“And you came anyway. Why?”
I cannot lie. The goddess forbids it. I can’t risk her anger when I’ve already failed my trial. My options are to not answer or to answer truthfully. I have no doubt that silence will result in a speedy death. But answering—talking—it might distract him while I think of something.
“I have to kill you,” I say.
A breath of a laugh brushes out of that hood. “You’ve been watching me. And I suppose the first time we met you were—what? Looking for a weakness?”
I hate how he says everything, as if reading the thoughts right from my mind.
“Did you find one?” he asks, and he somehow manages to make the question sound condescending, as if he knows I didn’t. Or maybe he knows that he doesn’t have one. Because he is in fact unbeatable.
“I’ve only ever killed to survive,” I say. “I’ve killed animals to eat and animals that meant me harm. But I’m making an exception where you’re concerned. You’re my mattugr. I have to kill you if I want to go home.”
At my last statement, Peruxolo throws back his hood.
It’s the same face I’ve seen many times before, when I don’t think he knew I was looking. Blond locks, high cheekbones, blue eyes.
“You dare to challenge a god?”
I wonder why he bothered to throw back his hood. Seeing his face only humanizes him, makes it easy for me to confuse him for an ordinary man, gives me courage I didn’t know I had.
“I dare,” I say.
He spreads his empty hands out wide. “Very well, then. Take your best shot.”
I hesitate, not for fear this time, but because he hasn’t drawn his ax. Something about striking an unarmed opponent feels wrong.
But then I remember the face of that girl who lay unconscious in the back of the wagon train. I remember how Peruxolo put his fingers on her face, turning her this way and that, inspecting her as one might a piece of jewelry before deciding whether or not to purchase it. I remember the hungry faces of the children in my village. The dead, bleeding village leader who couldn’t scrounge up enough gems to satisfy Peruxolo’s greed.
Those memories give me the strength to charge. Ax arced over my shoulder, ready to swing, I hurl myself at Peruxolo, sprinting full speed.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t cringe, doesn’t blink as I get close and swing.
My ax connects with air, solid air, before ricocheting backward and throwing my balance off kilter. I barely manage to find my feet, to spin back around and take another swing, as if catching the god off guard might make a difference.
It doesn’t.
My ax bounces off nothing. It doesn’t even come close to striking the god.
“Pathetic,” Peruxolo says. “The mortals sent a little girl to kill me. Though, if I’m your mattugr, they didn’t expect you to succeed. They sent you to die. I won’t play executioner at your village’s behest, but I can hardly let you live after you’ve come here with the intent to kill your god.”
“You’re not my god. Rexasena is the true goddess over all the world. You are just some foul being who was granted too much power.”
“I’m done with you now,” he says, and he flicks his wrist in my direction.
I don’t think, I just move. I throw myself off to the side as soon as I see the beginnings of the same motion he used on the village leader he killed with one sweep of his hand.
A clink to my right—the sound of his power striking against the rocks beside me in a very near-miss.
“Hold still,” he commands, in a tone that still sounds almost bored.
I will do no such thing. I fling myself backward as his hand snaps from side to side unleashing … something at me. But I’m too quick, too unwilling to submit to his power.
But then my back collides with something behind me, and I dare a glance over my shoulder from my seated position.
The invisible barrier to the god’s home. I’m trapped.
“Which village sent you after me?” he asks. “I will unleash my wrath upon them.”
I don’t answer, looking around for anything that might save me.
“You’ll die here, regardless, but surely you’d like revenge on the village that sealed your fate?”
Revenge against the entire village? Because a handful of people betrayed me? I don’t think so.
Peruxolo steps closer. “Speak now. I won’t ask again.”
My right hand curls against a fist-sized rock beside me. I remember the first time I came to find the god’s lair, how I flung a rock, and it sailed right into the seam of the mountain when I myself could not enter.
I hurl the rock with as much strength as I have at Peruxolo. I watch as it sails through the air, hitting its mark with an audible crunch. Peruxolo raises a hand up to his cheek. When he lowers it, the sun glints off of red.
I made him bleed.
He stares dumbstruck at his hand for a few seconds, as though he’d forgotten what it was to bleed.
But then his eyes find me.
I realize now that the reason he lowered his hood is because he never intended to let me leave here alive. Why should he care if I see his face?
His hand darts inside his cloak, to his side. When it resurfaces, a long blade comes with it, the sun shimmering off a bright metal.
A silver dagger.
I barely process this as my gaze is still focused on the droplet of blood sliding down the god’s cheek. By the time I realize his dagger somersaults through the air toward me, it is too late.
Then I’m staring at the hilt protruding from my gut.
Wretched agony shoots through me.
Torn flesh. A pulsing, sharp, burning pain spreads from the wound. Blood darkens my shirt.
I lower a hand, my fingers trembling over the handle of the silver blade. It split right through my armor. Left side of my abdomen. Below the heart, but I know there are other important organs within the human body. Irrenia would know what to do if she were here. I don’t know if I should pull it out or—
I fall to my knees, my limbs suddenly going weak. Only then do I remember the god is still about ten feet in front of me.
“You have two choices,” Peruxolo says as my eyes meet his. “You can pull out that dagger and bleed to death. Or you can wait for the ziken to smell the wound and come to devour you. Either way, you will die a painful death, and the world won’t be disgraced by your presence any longer.”
He gives me a disgusted scowl before making the walk back to his domain.
I fall onto my back, my breathing ragged. I don’t think he punctured a lung. It’s just that every time I breathe, the dagger is jostled, and it sends a fiercer wave of pain through me.
I’d rather die from blood loss than see the ziken have at me. But just placing a finger against the dagger’s handle is—
A sharp intake of breath.
I can’t do this.
The rocks below me dig into my skin, and my back rests uncomfortably on my pack.
My pack.
Irrenia’s salve.
The muscles in my abdomen scream as I move my arms. I grunt, lower my arms back to the ground. Try again. This time a scream of pain rips from my throat as I try to unhook a strap from one of my shoulders.
My vision grows spotty. I might pass out if I try again.
And then I might never wake up.
Tears leak from the sides of my eyes.
This. All of this. Because I was deluded enough to think Torrin cared for me. Because my mother saw an opportunity to be rid of me forever.
I. Don’t. Deserve. This.
My soul has worth, and I won’t let it depart this world just yet.
Quick as I can manage, I shrug a shoulder out of one of the straps.
I gasp. My eyes roll upward.
And I’m out.
* * *
ARMS UNDERNEATH ME.
Rising off the ground.
Movement.
* * *
MURMURING. YELLING. SCREAMING.
“What happened to her?”
“She went after the god again.”
“Did she know you were following her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We have to get the dagger out. Where’s that magical cure she used on you?”
“In her pack.”
“On the count of three, I’m going to pull. You ready? One, two, three!”
My voice leaps out of my throat as fire rips through my middle.
* * *
BEFORE I EVEN REALIZE I’m awake, there’s pain—throbbing rawness in the upper left corner of my abdomen. All my limbs feel sore. And my back aches from sleeping on it for goddess knows how long.
My eyes are crusty—from dried tears, I realize—and it takes some time to open them, but when I do, I realize I’m in the tree house.
I manage to lift my neck enough to see my bare midriff. No dagger. And my skin looks whole, but underneath I see a purple bruise. I don’t dare try to sit up.
A glass window lets sparse light into the room, and I wonder where in the world the boys managed to find a window. It’s cracked with a shard missing. They’ve stuffed a wad of cloth into the opening, but the window does its job, giving me enough light to see by. A small table and two wooden chairs rest below it. Empty boots look hastily cast aside against the wall, which means—
I turn my neck in the other direction.
There are the boys.
They sleep on top of hides hastily sewn together and stuffed with feathers, their torsos and feet bare. Thank the goddess they kept their pants on. They’re sharing a blanket, and a pang of guilt spreads through me. I must be sleeping on Soren’s mattress and blankets. They’re sharing Iric’s bedding.
I try to make sense of what happened. But after getting wounded, everything is hazy. When did they cut half my shirt off? And where’s my armor?
I made Peruxolo bleed.
The memory surfaces, and I remember my discovery that his power deals with metal. Despite the pain, a bud of hope blooms within my chest.
If a god can bleed, surely he can die.
As delicately as I can manage, I probe the wound. There’s a small lump, and it’s sore to the touch. They must have administered Irrenia’s salve to me, and while it healed the surface, my injury is deep. There’s some bleeding inside.
Will it still kill me?
A deep exhale is followed by the rustling of blankets. Soren rolls over, his eyes already open. They meet mine.
“You pulled through.”
“Was there any doubt I would?” I ask.
“You lost a lot of blood when we pulled the dagger out. Took us forever to clean it up.”
“Us?” comes a new voice. “You mean me. I had to clean it up. You wouldn’t leave her side.” Iric sits up from the mattress and rubs at the back of his neck.
“How did I get here?” I ask.
“I carried you,” Soren says.
“How did you find me?” Another murky memory surfaces. I think I heard the two of them talking. “You followed me. You’ve been following me.”
“He hasn’t done any of his chores since you saved him from those ziken,” Iric says. “He follows you every day until the sun goes down.”
My neck snaps in Soren’s direction.
“Are you really going to be upset about it when I was able to save you?” he asks.
I roll my neck, pre
ferring to stare at the wall than let Soren see me attempt to compose myself. I want to be angry. I am angry. I told him specifically to leave me alone. But mostly I’m angry that I didn’t notice him tailing me.
Instead, I control my initial irritation. “Can you help me stand?” I ask, hating how I have to rely on them for help.
“You’re better off resting until your wound fully heals,” Soren says.
“And how, pray tell, am I to perform basic bodily functions if I remain resting until my wound fully heals?”
He looks away from me, and I imagine him mentally rebuking himself.
Soren stands, and I get a full view of his muscled torso.
I cannot tell a lie.
He is impressive.
All warriors are well built, but with his sapphire eyes, long jawline, and unruly hair, most girls probably wouldn’t be able to look away from him.
But me?
I stare at my toes until Soren pulls on his boots and shirt and stands before me. He reaches both hands down to me, and I hold up my own hands to meet him.
His calluses cover my calluses. They’re in the exact same places as mine from so much ax-wielding. But I can’t help but think of how similar they feel to the only other boy who has ever held my hand.
Soren hauls me up to my feet in one smooth motion. He doesn’t let go of me right away, like he wants to make sure I’m steady first, but I yank my hands free.
His eyes widen marginally at my reaction, but he seems to shrug it off in the next instant.
“We’ll lower you down the same way we got you and Soren up the tree,” Iric offers. He opens the door in the floor and ties a loop at the end of the rope hanging from the pulley already positioned there.
I look from one boy to the next. “Thank you,” but I don’t really feel the words. I’m too concerned about what is about to happen, how there will be nothing between me and a fifteen-foot drop except two almost strangers.
If they’d wanted to hurt you, they would have done it when you were unconscious, I assure myself. It doesn’t make the discomfort go away.
Warrior of the Wild Page 11
