by K. L. Gee
The current swept them down, spinning them constantly through the water. Hakon kicked his legs free of the tiger’s claws, ripping out chunks of his legs. He bit back the pain and swam, trying to push the dagger up against the weight of the tiger.
The water helped make him lightweight. He pulled with his dagger, and pushed with his legs. Finally, the dagger found the heart, and the tiger’s jaw went limp.
Hakon kicked until he reached the surface. Once he spotted land, he zipped himself and the tiger to the shore. He dropped the lifeless and majestic beast at his feet. He spared two breaths to look at his wounds. They were deep but not critical. He didn’t have time to linger. The blood would attract other predators. He could already hear vultures circling above. They must be zippers if they got here that fast. It wouldn’t be long before they came down. He looked at the sun and where he was at the river, judging how far away he was from home.
A low howl echoed in the distance. Wolves hunting before sunrise.
Hakon sighed and looked down at the tiger, wondering if it was worth it to lug him all the way back. I’ll have missed Skeet’s raid by now, he thought. He could leave the carcass for the wolves, but any meat and new fur were good for the tribe. He hoisted the tiger over his left shoulder, keeping his dagger hand free.
You made us like this, people of Atmen, Hakon thought. Beasts hunted by beasts.
CHAPTER TWO
The City of Atmen
Princess Kara sat in front of her mirror, focusing on the tattoo of a single jewel that appeared to hang from the crown of her forehead. It was still fresh. It had only been days since she became the public princess of the Air Kingdom—the day of her betrothal. That’s when the jewel of betrothal and marriage had been added to the weaving silver and red tattoo that she had had since birth. She sighed. She hated the fresh tattoo—not just because it looked like a glowing pimple (although that was irritating) but because of the permanency of it. She was no longer a secret, she could never deny who she was, and she was now… that horrid word… engaged.
She knew it wasn’t personal. None of it was. Her father, King Arden, was making an alliance with another father, another king, somewhere bird zips away from here. She had known this would always happen. The news didn’t come as a shock, but the ending had. With her reveal had come a type of death. No longer did she play some lesser courtier in the palace or dress in commoners’ clothing. No longer did her father come and teach her secretly how to fight. No more would she be the secret princess, left to her own devices.
Stop these thoughts, she scolded herself. The past was past. And Master knew that this kingdom needed to stop focusing on the past.
So Kara ignored the gem and turned to her handmaid, Sarita. Sarita had bright blue eyes—characteristic of her kind, the Su, the water people. Her hands were also webbed near the knuckles, and Kara imagined her toes were the same. Sarita had been Kara’s nurse before she was her handmaiden. Though Sarita was at least ten years older than Kara, she was in some ways the closest thing she had to a friend. Almost. She had always maintained her role as servant, no matter how little Kara acted like a princess.
“Why don’t the Su tattoo their ranks, Sarita?”
“We don’t have ranks like the Alem, Your Highness,” Sarita said, grabbing a comb to brush Kara’s hair.
“But some Su have servants.” Kara grabbed the brush and began combing her own hair. “How can you tell each other apart?”
Sarita smiled and grabbed a ribbon and some hair clasps. “Most of us are servants, princess. We know our place without a tattoo to tell us.”
“But surely some of you are higher than others. Even as servants of the Alem.” Kara relented and let Sarita tie the ribbon in her hair. “For example, a handmaid of a princess is probably higher esteemed then say… a handmaid for a duchess?”
Sarita shook her head. “We don’t think that way. All of us are simply content to serve the Alem in any capacity.” She finished with Kara’s hair and attached a small lacing of pearls atop her head, like a crown that mirrored the tattoo on her forehead. “Shall I fetch your dress for the banquet?”
Kara frowned. The Su were a curious race. “Yes.”
Sarita bowed and exited into the adjacent bedroom. The bow irritated Kara. So did the pearls. Sarita had always treated her like a princess, but her servant’s actions felt even more formal now. Kara found herself wishing that her parents had made sure to keep up the pomp even while she was hidden. Then again, she wished she had never had to be a secret in the first place. She wished… well, she wished what everyone wished: that her brother hadn’t been kidnapped and killed by the Terra.
The entire story never made sense to her. That’s what it was to her—a story. Every child in Atmen and the surrounding villages was taught the same stories. Her father’s grandfather had driven the Terra far into the east, deep into the Desolate Forest, where there was no chance of survival. Then, a hundred years later, they reappeared… not to assassinate the king but to steal his only child. It seemed so cruel and twisted. What did it gain the Terra but years of war and slavery? Instinctively, she remembered a lesson drilled into her by the keepers. There is little sense in the Terra’s mind. They are animals and are driven by instinct, not reason.
Kara pushed these dark thoughts out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about the Terra. She didn’t want to think about her ghost brother. No matter how she wished it, he wasn’t there. And that meant the kingdom’s fate rested solely on Kara’s shoulders.
Kara sighed. She was always pushing unwanted thoughts out of her mind.
“Here you are, Highness.” Kara turned around to see Sarita carrying a cream gown lined with silver. “It will bring out your eyes,” Sarita said politely. She helped Kara step out of her layman clothes and into the dress. Before Sarita put the dress over her head, Kara made sure to slip a dagger into a small hidden pocket in her petticoat. “Is that really necessary?” Sarita asked.
“A habit. My father’s lessons burn deep,” Kara said, making sure she could still access the knife through a small seam at her waist. “After all, we are at war.”
“I think you’re confused about who your enemies are. Prince Sesto wishes to marry you, not kill you,” Sarita scolded. She tied up Kara’s dress and reached for her cape.
“How do you know? He hasn’t met me yet.” Kara eyed Sarita’s reflection in the mirror and caught her stifling a laugh. It cheered Kara up.
Sarita guided Kara to the door. “Careful not to trip,” she said, handing Kara her cape. Kara sighed and tried to pretend she felt comfortable in the stuffy gown. Her forehead itched from the fresh tattoo.
“I miss trousers,” she mumbled and stepped into the hallway. “And cuff sleeves.” Kara looked up and down the royal hallways. The main citadel was still so unfamiliar to her with its portraits and finery. She was used to taking the secret passageways the servants used. “And I miss the servants’ hallways,” she added. Sarita shushed her. Kara looked down the hallway, this time for Azure. A tall, slim guard with pale blue eyes the color of the sky was already walking toward her.
“Your Highness.”
“Azure Neel.” She couldn’t help but smile at the Su boy. Azure was one of the youngest guards but still a few years her senior. The Neel family had long served the king, ever since the Ally Days, when the Su people aligned with the Alem against the Terra. Because of their loyalty, all the Su had been honored with the reward of becoming servants to the Alem. The Neel family, the most loyal among the Su, had been entrusted for generations as guards and servants throughout the palace.
Kara couldn’t help but like Azure. He was her friend in the days of her secrecy. Although her mother had tried to keep up pretenses, the king had still insisted that Kara practice her sparring, and he only trusted the water guards to keep it secret, since they had no connection to Alem royalty. Although those in the palace had known of her existence, and rumors always circulated, only few knew she could fight. Azure had been one. In fac
t, he had always seemed to seek out an opportunity to duel with her.
Azure did not smile back at Kara’s greeting but turned formally away from her, assuming the stance of an escort. She had always thought of Azure as a dear friend. She frowned—maybe she had imagined their friendship. A frightening thought entered her mind: perhaps she didn’t really know him? She laughed at herself for such ridiculous thoughts. He was just performing his place, and she should perform hers.
She sighed audibly and walked down the great halls, accompanied on either side by her Su companions. It was always cold in the hallways—even in the summer. Since it was still winter in Atmen, the citadel, which was built into the Glacier Mountains, was frigidly cold. She hoped winter would pass soon and the seasons would change. She had heard that the snow had turned to rain in the Great Plains already, and in the villages below the crest. She hoped this meant spring would be coming to Atmen soon.
They passed by the corridor that led upward to the Keepers’ School and the Temple to the Master. Kara paused and leaned into the corridor, hoping to spy on a keeper or two. They were a curious group of men and women—the only ones who existed outside the hierarchy of birth and order. Any Alem could become a keeper, whether they were the son of a duke or the daughter of a prostitute. It would be the Keepers of the Past that were teaching in the school now—the Keepers of the Past concerned themselves with genealogy, birth order, the history of the Alem, and all the records of the past.
“Your Highness, they’ll want privacy,” Sarita said.
“Shh,” Kara said. She thought she heard something. She leaned a little farther into the corridor and heard a keeper’s booming voice.
“There are three types of keepers. Keepers of the Past. Keepers of the Present. And the very rare Keepers of the Future. They stand apart, serving the Master as they record all things that take place among the special and sacred Alem.”
Kara smiled, remembering the lesson fondly. She wanted to go up to see the Keepers of the Future—her personal favorite. They were such interesting, loony old people. The other keepers often dismissed their stories because they told stories outside of Alem, or even Terra, history. They often made false predictions about the future. One of their favorite stories of the future to mutter about, and one that Kara loved to hear, was the legend of a man who would be given two gifts of porting from the Master and would unite all power. Whatever that meant. This story defied so much of the Alem’s exceptionalism that it was disregarded by most, but Kara loved the whispers of it. She felt a kinship to its forbidden and secretive nature.
She listened some more, hoping the Keepers of the Future might hint at the story of the legend as they recited the familiar lesson of privilege. Unfortunately, they stayed true to the normal story of privilege and blessing. The keeper continued his lecture, “We Alem are blessed and special because we have the gift to port using air. The Master has granted us this advantage, this most abundant source of energy, because we are superior above all other races.
Kara yawned, bored suddenly. Who cared about such gifts if you could never use them? She thought wistfully about the dagger against her leg, and she was struck with the urge to fight. She ignored the urge and bowed out of the corridor, where Sarita and Azure waited. If they were impatient, they didn’t show it. They continued walking to the queen’s corridors.
“So, Azure. Sarita tells me the Su do not wear tattoos like the Alem. That the Su have no ranking. Is this true?”
Azure coughed, looking briefly uncomfortable, and glanced toward Sarita. “We are ever grateful to serve the Alem. It does not matter in what capacity.”
Kara noticed he evaded the question, but the subject of tattoos made her suddenly think of the Terra. “The keepers say the Terra wear barbaric tattoos along their arms and hands, showing off how many men they have killed. I saw it on a slave once.” Kara shuddered, thinking about the dark purple scars she saw on the slave in the yards and what they must have meant. “Do the Su have any tattoos at all?” Kara hoped Azure would answer like a normal person, instead of the servant he was performing.
“We are not killers, Princess, unless we are made soldiers by the king. We do not keep track of who we kill,” Azure said simply.
“That’s not really what I asked.” Why wouldn’t he talk to her like a friend? “I know the Su aren’t beasts like the Terra. I just wanted to know if you have tattoos.”
“We have our own customs,” Sarita said. “Just as any other race.”
Kara didn’t want to let it go. She goaded Azure one more time. “Sarita said that a handmaid working for a duchess is just as important as one working for a princess. I bet being a member of the Neel family is something special…”
“It is a great honor,” Azure said.
Kara shivered. Her old friends were treating her as coldly as the corridors.
They were at the queen’s quarters, and Azure bowed and stood outside the door. Sarita pulled away the curtains that were hung over the door to keep in the heat. She knocked softly on the large oak door.
“Come in.”
CHAPTER THREE
Only the sound of Skeet’s chewing broke the quiet dawn. The village is small, he observed as he spat out another chunk of dandelion roots. There were only two rows of houses, a tower, and the unmistakable broken loop of slave huts. Stretched behind the huts were the farms, gardens, and roads that went west to the Citadel of Atmen. The morning mist was just starting to gather around the village.
This is the best time for an attack, Skeet thought. Most villages did not anticipate an assault early in the morning, just hours before sunrise. They always expected one in the middle of the night. A handful of guards milled around the slave hut, but their numbers looked manageable, even easy. Skeet motioned for the other members of his pack to get to their positions. He spat out the last root and looked back, irritated.
Where is Hakon? He knew these raids made his brother uncomfortable, but it was still a part of training. A fit of rage swirled inside of Skeet, but he pushed it down. Let your rage be at the air–burners. If the raid didn’t go well, his entire pack could be captured by the Alem and become slaves. He wouldn’t let that happen. He adjusted his hood, veiling his face. He was dressed in skins and furs, with a thick hood extending up his neck and circling round his face. His feet were bare, so he could feel the earth—its familiar pulse comforted him, gave him confidence.
Skeet put a dagger in his right hand and a rock in his left. He made sure his bow and arrows were tied securely to his back. He was fighting without a spear tonight. This wasn’t a hunt. They intended to get close. He turned around and motioned to his brothers—the other men his age in their pack. A few of them had ziffs, wolves that had been domesticated long ago by the Terra people. They were more docile than their violent cousins and made good pack animals and fighters. Not everyone in the group could vanish like Skeet. Most of them could zip, and those who couldn’t had a portling, an animal companion that could zip, such as a ziff or smaller rodent.
“Link!” Skeet instructed. He turned around, his back to the air village. The two boys nearest Skeet grabbed each of his arms. The others in the pack linked to them, until they were in a tight circle. Skeet was a vanisher, which meant he could only port to somewhere he couldn’t see, a place held in his mind but outside his real vision. Skeet had memorized the spacing of where the guards stood. Fortunately it was an open field, and he wouldn’t risk vanishing his companions into a tree or wall. He concentrated, seeing the field in his mind, and then he was there, taking all ten of the boys in his pack with him. Using the power of porting took the energy of the earth, and his hand was now empty where the rock used to be. He used his free hand to pull his bow from its string at his back.
Skeet heard the shrill bark of a ziff as the pack began their attack. He didn’t look back to see the fate of the guards when he heard the sound of daggers meeting flesh. He ran toward the slave hut and kicked down the door. Several frightened faces greeted him. In the d
im light, Skeet counted at least two dozen Terra slaves, all women and children.
“Move and they’ll die.”
There was a whimper. Skeet’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw five guards, each holding a child with a knife at the throat. Skeet felt a thrill and smiled. He loved a challenge. He dug his bare feet into the earth beneath him and pulled up his bow and the arrow. The arrow struck between the eyes of the man that had spoken. In the split second after shooting his arrow, he vanished to the dark space behind the other guards, using the dirt below him as fuel to vanish. His dagger struck through the man’s back, and he was able to kick a third man aside. Their few moments of shock had given him precious time, but there were still two guards holding children.
Fortunately, some of the pack had already followed him inside the hut, and one of them was a zipper, able to port where he could see. The zipper was upon the remaining guards in a flash, jamming one in the side with a dagger and another over the head with the remainder of a rock he had used to zip.
“Go!” Skeet shouted to slaves. They ran outside, where they were greeted with a group of boys who had been designated to rescue them. They grabbed slaves and seemed to pop out of the air, dissipating in the mists, carrying a slave with them one by one into the forest and then returning just as quickly to grab another.
“Attack the beasts!” cried a voice in the distance.
Skeet spun toward the voice to see a group of villagers coming toward them. They carried a crude assortment of knives and swords. These villagers hadn’t necessarily wronged them directly, and Skeet knew that to kill them outright would bring more blood on their heads by the Master. The code didn’t call for their deaths. Then again, they had enslaved his people. The remaining pack turned to Skeet for instruction.
