by K. L. Gee
Tadi threw his dagger in the dirt in satisfaction and bared his teeth the way a ziff would. He howled and stomped his feet. Hakon hadn’t even had the chance to pick up his knife.
Skeet shouted, “He’s quicker than you, but you are stronger, Hakon.”
Hakon jumped toward the howling boy. Tadi dodged him, as if knowing the only way he could beat Hakon was by trickery. Hakon leapt after Tadi, grabbed his arm and twisted it back, flipping the boy. He was light, and easy to throw.
Tadi recovered quickly. He used Hakon’s arm as leverage to leap and kick him hard in the back. It was enough to make Hakon stumble. Tadi was behind him now. He leapt onto Hakon’s back and pulled him into a choke, securing his grip with his claws.
He was strong for a twelve–year–old boy, but Hakon was stronger.
He grabbed the boy’s arms, twisting them away. He spun quickly, grabbing Tadi in a tight embrace in front of him, his arms bound. Knocking his knees from behind him, he threw him to the ground and held him.
The boy howled and kicked. Then, too soon and too suddenly, he cursed and relaxed.
“Tadi yields!”
Hakon stood up, immediately applying pressure to his wounds. Skeet ran into the ring with several pieces of cloth and fur. He began wrapping Hakon’s wounds. Hakon glanced at Tadi and Bavol, who were nursing their own wounds. Had it been that easy? Hakon’s victory over two of the Winds had come so quickly, he wondered why they had the reputation they did.
“Was the duel fair?” The dueling master asked the guardians and chiefs.
One by one they nodded, agreeing they saw no porting. Finally, it came to Windfather, who reluctantly nodded. “I saw no cheating.”
Tip stood up then, peering at all around him. “Fate and strength have decided then. Prince Hakon.” Hakon looked up, disturbed to be called “prince.” “You will find a way to make peace, but we will still prepare for war. Our tribe will accompany you, but you will have two to remain most faithful and loyal to you. You will take a second and a third. Who volunteers as second?”
“I do,” Skeet said immediately.
Hakon looked back. Skeet’s hands were covered in blood from Hakon’s own wounds. He gave him a look of thanks. He hadn’t even asked him to become his second when they had spoken earlier. He wondered if Skeet had been prepared to go this entire time.
“Who will be third?”
Hakon looked at the group where his tribe sat. Most of them believed in him and were his friends. They were a team—his family really. He saw several eager faces stand up and prepare to speak.
“I will.” The voice didn’t come from his tribe but behind him. Hakon turned to see Tadi standing, wearing a peculiar grin. Several cries of protest came around the ring.
Windfather stepped forward. “We have a right to have a representative from our tribe accompany Hakon, to make sure he does not betray the Terra.”
A guardian stood up. “But Tadi is just a boy. He has not even been through his Survival.”
“He is a good fighter and a great hunter. He will be invaluable to the prince.” Windfather sneered when he said prince.
Hakon glanced at Bavol, who was tending to his own wounds. What went unsaid was that because Bavol had challenged Hakon, he was not allowed to go. Tadi, however, was free to join him. The positions of second and third were volunteer positions.
Tip looked helplessly at Gage. There was nothing they could do to prevent Tadi from being his third if he volunteered. This must have been their plan all along, Hakon thought, to infiltrate the mission in case they lost. Hakon wondered if they had lost on purpose. Hakon glanced at Tadi, who couldn’t conceal his smile.
Tip turned to Skeet and Tadi. “Then Skeet will go as Hakon’s second and Tadi, son of Windfather, will accompany him as his third. Do you swear to defend your first, to defend his mission, and avenge him should he fall?”
“I do!” Skeet shouted behind him, bowing his upper body to the ground, dagger to his forehead.
“I swear,” Tadi said, staring straight at Hakon.
He didn’t bow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
From the shadows, Arden watched the guards standing outside the queen’s door. He trusted these two men. They were good fighters, some of his best. He knew they hated night guard duty and would prefer to be sleeping in the barracks right now, but he only trusted his best to guard his wife. He had a habit of spying on his soldiers, and in due course, rumors had spread that the king was always watching.
He liked these rumors, letting them fester—it made people feel they were being watched. His parents had done it with him when he was a child. They told him that not only was the eternal Master always watching, but so were his many Alem ancestors. As he grew up, he realized his parents were only motivating him to behave, but he could never shake the feeling of being watched. Such were the powerful lessons of childhood. He had known this and trained his guards accordingly.
His slaves as well.
He hoped that his slaves were terrified enough not to rebel. The Terra’s real anger was hidden out in the forest, coaxed by the environment to grow into hatred. How had the Terra survived? It was a great mystery to him and a much–discussed topic among the keepers. The Keepers of the Future said that his great ancestors, the first settlers, had thought they were scourging a land of an evil people, but perhaps the Master had a different plan. These thoughts unsettled him.
He stepped into the light. The guards didn’t move in surprise or shock—they had expected him there. Good, he thought. He walked to the door softly and knocked.
“Come in,” Sabola said.
He entered, parting the curtain that hung behind the door. Sabola had the curtains at the window open, even though it was a cold night. She didn’t have the ability to zip, but she still loved the fresh air, as if it gave her greater strength.
His wife’s powers lay elsewhere. She was descended from a line of prophets, the Keepers of the Future. Publicly he denounced it and even made his wife believe he thought it was all rubbish. But even he couldn’t be blind to the strange way she saw things. Little things, things that the king wanted to explain away simply as a mother’s tender deference but somehow came true.
Keepers of the Future were masterful storytellers, while the Keepers of the Present tended to be dull administrators. They were what truthsingers were, but instead of interpreting the past, they made up the future. They were living imaginariums, and not much of what they said was true. Only a few here and there touched on something really prophetic. In mythology, it was said they had the ability to zip through time the way a porter zips through air.
But these were all just legends told in the night. Same with the fire zippers… stories died out long ago.
Still, the king thought, they had said the same of the Terra.
“Poor Kara,” Sabola said, breaking the silence.
Arden nodded and sat in a chair across from his wife. He felt terrible about handing his daughter off to some slop for a political alliance. “He looks like a dunce. He hardly said a word the entire feast. I actually had the thought that Kara would make a better prince and Sesto a better princess. He hardly said a word, and she looked absolutely miserable keeping quiet all night.”
Sabola smiled warmly. “I told her to make it a game.”
One that ultimately didn’t work, Arden thought. “Well, it says a great deal about King Darr that he would give Kara his sixth son and not his second or third, who still remain unmarried.”
“He has many sons.”
“Nine. He spent a great deal talking about them tonight. Even though he knows how it wounds me.”
“He’s a weasel of a man,” Sabola said, standing and going to the window.
“Who has conquered most of the coastline and has the strongest army second to ours. I thought it was because he was a brilliant warlord, but I see the reason now. He conscripts any male who can port.”
“We might have to do that soon,” his wife said sadly, looking out t
he window into the thick fog gathered around the citadel. Light from the village below flickered through, like fireflies dancing in the mists.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Sabola nodded, closing the curtains and checking the doors. She sat beside the king and came very close to his ear.
“It’s a boy, Arden.”
The king stood up, looking at her. “You want it to be.”
“No, it is. And this means many things for us. When the child is born, I don’t think it should be a secret. You will have an heir.”
“But King Darr and the other royalty…”
“They know this was always a possibility, just as it was likely that Kara would have a child before you died.”
“If it is a boy, this means we won’t have to marry her to that dolt.”
“Yes. But they should stay engaged.”
“Of course.” For a moment, the king allowed himself to hope his child would be a boy. The queen had never been wrong in this thing. She had lost three children after Kara, however. Some in the womb and some after birth. There was a chance she might lose this one as well. “Is it true, Sabola?”
Sabola nodded. “And I know you don’t believe me, but Hakon lives, Arden…” she started, but the king held up his hand.
“Please don’t speak his name.”
“He’s alive. And you need to at least think about the possibility of what may occur if he returns,” his wife said, her eyes fierce. She was a masterful queen. If only histories were written of women. He was sure that she would outshine any female ruler that their histories had sung of. How much he wanted to believe her.
“I think you are acting and thinking as a grieved mother, not as a rational human being.”
“No, you are made irrational by grief. I have been watching and waiting and believing, while you have been too blinded by your own loss and the potential loss of your kingdom. You must see how things are.”
“Says the dreamer!” the king said. “You cannot say this to me when it is you who idly dream of things that are not and cannot be.”
“What will you do if your own son leads a Terra army against you? Will you kill your own son?”
The king looked at her in wonder. He wanted to rage, but the sting of her words hurt too close.
She continued, “If he lives. If. He will be one of them. One of our enemy…”
The king nodded. He didn’t want her flustered, especially while she was with child. He spoke to appease her. “If he lives, he will be welcomed home, and it won’t be long before he sees the hypocrisy of those that raised him. If he is our son, he will see that.”
The queen watched him. “You still don’t believe me, but promise me you will hold true to that.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him close. “Promise you will receive him, forgive him, and teach him.”
Didn’t she see that her delusions only drove him deeper into grief? How could he promise to receive the dead? Nevertheless, he said, “I promise.”
His queen finally sat, satisfied.
King Arden sighed. “And now I must deal with our daughter.”
The queen looked up at him, questioning. What beautiful regality her jaw line had.
“She directly disobeyed my orders and zipped conspicuously across the citadel. I’m just grateful no one but servants saw her.”
Sabola frowned. “That girl needs to learn quickly what is appropriate and what is not.”
King Arden took off his sword, resting it against the chair. “It’s partly our fault, but I do not regret teaching her to fight. I’m thinking of punishing her guard—the one she likes.”
“Surely you’ll punish her.”
Arden shook his head. “No, I can’t run the risk of embarrassing her before King Darr or Prince Sesto. Besides, she must learn that her uncontrolled actions affect others.”
The queen nodded. She recognized it must be done. King Arden picked up his sword and kissed his wife on the forehead. “Sleep well, Sabola. May the Master free you from dreams tonight.”
“And may the Master grant you any at all!”
The king laughed and left his wife, assured of her safety. He still had much to do before the night was over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Whip him with six good thrashes; then tie him up in the dungeon,” King Arden said.
Kara couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing. Azure had been right. Up until now, her father had always seen it fit to punish her himself. She had many a bruise on her own arms from his discipline. Kara wasn’t bitter about it. She had always deserved it, just as she deserved to be the one punished now.
“It’s my fault, Father! Azure was the one who brought me back!” she pleaded again. She was wearing only her nightgown. Her father had torn her out of bed at daybreak. How was this supposed to be a lesson? It only reconfirmed her distaste for that other side of her father—the tyrant king.
That king looked at her now with a slight frown on his face. He had no pity. He turned to Azure. “I hope you understand, Azure, that I appreciate what you have done for my daughter, but she must learn her lesson.”
Azure nodded, not looking at Kara or King Arden. Two other guards held him, and a third pulled out a thick whip with knots. “Take off his shirt—I don’t want to ruin his uniform,” her father said. Kara turned to him, again pleading.
“I don’t understand why you don’t whip me and confine me to my room. This is cruel, and I don’t understand why this is a custom!” Kara said.
“You will be quiet. I want you to know that your actions as a princess of Atmen, and royalty of the most high Air Kingdom, affect other people.” The king turned to her as Azure obediently took off his shirt, showing the tan skin rippled with small, pale streaks—another indication of a water person. Kara also saw, for the first time, at the base of his neck, a white and blue tattoo that looked like interweaving waves. So the Su do wear tattoos, she thought. She wished she hadn’t discovered Azure’s secret in this way. His webbed hands trembled, despite the courage he showed in his face. Other than his tattoo, he had no scars on his perfect skin.
Her father continued, “You are no longer a free girl, roaming about like a wild child. You are betrothed! You might be a queen one day, Kara. And you will learn to obey.”
Kara nodded, tears welling up on her face. They pulled back the whip, and she averted her eyes. The king grabbed her face. “No, you will watch.” He held her chin as she watched Azure take the first blow. A sob wretched from her throat—this was awful. Awful. “Still your emotions, Kara. Each cry and he will get another blow.”
The rage that welled up in Kara’s heart burned her tears. She wanted to rip the whip away and swing it at the king. She soothed her shame with the boiling hot anger inside of her. Azure didn’t make a sound as they finished the six whips. Small pools of blood were dripping off his torn flesh.
“Now send him to the dungeon. Wait until nightfall, and then send the surgeon to heal the wounds. First let the wounds fester,” King Arden said. Azure didn’t look at Kara as they dragged him out. She watched, as instructed, to see his back—deep welts spread across his smooth skin. She gave a cold hard stare at her father, who stood, a sad expression on his face. He looked at Kara. “I hope you understand,” he said.
“What should I do today, Your Majesty?” Kara asked, not hiding the bitterness in her voice.
“You will resume your studies, entertain the prince at lunch, and tend to your mother,” the king said, adding, “You will be where you ought to be and no where else.”
He left, flapping the curtains behind him. Kara sighed and let herself cry. Sarita was gathering some rags to clean up the small drops of blood that had fallen to the floor.
“They were gentle on him,” she said, calmly mopping up the blood.
“Gentle!” Kara said, letting her rage unleash at Sarita.
“That’s the risk we water–eyed take in serving your kind.”
That humbled Kara. “Does it bother you?�
�� she asked.
“Of course it bothers me,” Sarita responded, “but what can I do about it, Princess? It’s the way things are.”
“I think it’s awful. I should have been whipped instead. Or at least sent to the dungeon.”
Sarita nodded. “Wouldn’t have been as powerful a lesson though, would it?” she said. She picked up the towels and started to carry them out the room.
“Sarita…” Kara hesitated. “Can you tell me a story?”
Sarita looked fondly on Kara, smiling sadly. “Return to your room while I clean this up. I’ll be there in a moment.”
It wasn’t long after Kara was settled into her bed that Sarita returned. The Su handmaid moved to the window, letting it open a bit to allow fresh air inside. Kara curled up inside the covers while Sarita lit a fire. Once the room was refreshed and the fire blazing, Sarita closed the window again but kept the curtains open.
“Long ago,” she started, “there was a newt that sat underneath a waterfall. She had lived there her entire life, and she often wondered what was outside the waterfall, what was beyond the rock? So one day, she built up the courage to let go. And she was swept away.”
“That’s a sad story,” Kara said, disappointed.
“It isn’t over,” Sarita said. “She was swept away to a far away place. She found herself in the company of a strange people, but she got along well enough. She learned their ways, their language, and what they believed. They let her stay, thinking her strange but harmless.
“Then, one day, a strong gust of wind picked up the little newt and blew her upward. She found herself being carried high, like she had when she was swept away in the current. She landed amidst a strange land and a strange people. They were suspicious of her, but she learned their ways, their language, and what they believed. They let her stay, thinking her strange but harmless. Until…”
Kara laughed. “Let me guess. Something picked her up and took her somewhere else.”
“Yes.” Sarita smiled. “So the newt saw the entire world, adapting to each new strange place and people. She often missed her waterfall, but she saw and understood more than any of the people she had left behind, for she had allowed herself to adapt to strange places.”
