by Licia Troisi
Nihal tried to squeeze every detail out of him. Parsel had little more to share, but he described the place where he’d last run into Laio.
That evening, in the tent they’d assigned her, Nihal couldn’t sleep. She’d heard nothing of Laio since the night of her first trial combat. The night of Fen’s death. An eternity ago. Suddenly, she felt anxious to see him again.
The next morning, she received a response to the message she’d brought from her base. They’d be contributing an army of three hundred men to the attack. As Nihal was making ready for her return, the base commander warned her to keep up her guard. “We have notice of troops moving along the border. Stay alert.”
Nihal paid him little heed. Up until then, it had been too dull of a trip for her tastes.
While returning along the same road she’d come by, Nihal followed Parsel’s directions and turned north. The change of course left her slogging a good ways through the Inner Forest. She’d always loved the woods. The memory of her first encounter with magic was still strong in her, and she’d enjoyed being in nature ever since.
As evening fell, the weather worsened. Nihal heard the grim rumble of approaching thunder. A flash of lightning ripped the sky. It was then that she saw the outline of a small cottage in the distance. A tumbledown house with a straw roof and smoke-blackened walls, it matched Parsel’s description perfectly. Still, Nihal hadn’t imagined Laio would be living in such poor conditions. The roof had collapsed in several places, and fallen clumps of thatch lay decaying on the ground. The windowpanes, devoid of glass, glowed with a pale, sinister light. Someone must be inside.
Nihal dismounted her horse and walked cautiously toward the building. She was, after all, near the border, and she wasn’t yet certain that this was Laio’s home.
Furtively, she approached a wall and unsheathed her sword. There were several gaps between the stones of the wall, and Nihal glanced rapidly inside. She glimpsed a flash of fire and someone seated with his back to her. She could see only the head, blond and curly. Her heart skipped a beat. She made for the door and knocked.
“Who’s there?” someone shrieked from inside.
“It’s me, Nihal,” she answered, letting herself in and pulling the door shut behind her.
A boy was huddled against the wall, worn and sickly, a rusty sword trembling in his hands. Nihal recognized the innocent grey eyes and blond curls at once. His cheeks, though, which she remembered as flushed and full, had grown thin and were smudged with soot. He wore a brown cassock that had seen better days and a pair of faded pants, covered in dust. Laio stared at her for a moment in disbelief, then dropped his sword and ran to her.
Outside, the storm arrived.
They remained in the one room with a solid roof, though even there the occasional fat drop of rain dripped through to the floor. The fire crackled sharply. Nihal unpacked some of her provisions and, combining them with Laio’s, they prepared themselves a sizeable feast.
Nihal filled him in on everything she’d done in the months they’d spent apart. She spoke openly of the reckless behavior that had taken hold of her when she began training with Ido, of how she’d put her life in jeopardy just to prove her independence. With a touch of nostalgia, she went on about the days she’d spent in the company of Eluesi, the farmer, and her son, Jona—those days when she’d deluded herself into thinking she might lead a normal life, far from the battlefields.
“Good grief!” the boy let out.
Nihal smiled. “Yes. Life can be funny that way.” She bit into a piece of roasted meat. “What about you? What are you doing here?”
Laio looked down and an awkward silence filled the room. The only noises were the rumble of thunder and the creaking of wood.
“What? You swallow your tongue?” Nihal pressed him.
He remained silent for some time, then took a deep breath and spoke.
Just after missing the cut for training as a Dragon Knight, during the battle of Therorn, he’d left the Academy. He’d had enough. It was time to march home and tell his father the truth, that he wanted nothing to do with battle, that he’d decided to become a squire. But the closer the came to his father’s presence, the more he felt his courage dwindling.
“For as far back as I know, the men in my family have been knights. All of them, do you understand? And all of them brave. My father had my future as a hero planned out before I was even born. How could I tell him that I’d failed at the very first and easiest stage, the trial—that I hadn’t even fought? That I’m no good with a sword, that I have no interest in hearing about soldiers or about death? It felt like he was already right there in front of me, scolding me. He’d never have accepted my decision.” Laio glanced timidly at Nihal. “I was afraid of him. I was worried that, with the weight he pulls in the Order, he’d have forced Raven to let me back into the Academy.”
He told how, midway to his father’s house, he’d changed course. He didn’t know where to go, or how he’d make his living. When the bit of money he had for the journey home was all spent, he tried earning his keep as a minstrel.
“I’m a pretty good singer, you know? I know a ton of stories and songs. And, who knows, maybe I’m good at softening people’s hearts in some way. In any case, I was making pretty good money.”
Nihal looked him up and down. No, he had certainly not been making good money. He was as thin and worn as a beggar.
In the end, Laio confessed, he’d chosen to take refuge in the forest. He thought he’d live a vagrant’s life, in close contact with nature, far from the warring of men. He got by picking wild fruit and digging up edible roots. Every now and then he’d fish, but with little success.
“I did have some luck a few times, though. The fish were pretty small, but they were tasty,” he said with a shy smile.
At first, he’d slept out in the open, beneath the trees, but he quickly realized that he’d need to find better shelter. So he’d set out in search of a hunter’s hut, a cavern, or an abandoned hideout. Instead, he’d found this small cottage.
“It’s safe here. No one will ever come looking for me. Plus, I have my sword,” he added. “When I finally get sick of eating roots, I’ll put my Academy training to use and go hunting.”
“You don’t hunt with a sword,” Nihal pointed out.
Laio blushed. “Well maybe one of these days I’ll find a bow. The war’s not that far off.”
Nihal shook her head. “And for now, what will you do?”
“I’ll stay here a little longer, I think.” Laio could barely muster the courage to look her in the eye. “I’ve grown up a lot these last few months, you know. I’ve seen a few things. I know I can make it on my own,” he concluded, hardly convinced.
“So that’s your highest ambition?” Nihal prodded him. “To hole up in the woods for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered.
“Have you looked at yourself?” Nihal urged. “You’re thin, tired, dirty—is this the life you dreamed of?”
Laio’s eyes filled with tears. “No, it isn’t. No.”
“Running away accomplishes nothing, Laio,” Nihal said quietly. “Your problems will follow you to the edge of the earth.”
Silence filled the room. Outside, the storm had calmed. No more booming thunder, only the rain, beating steadily on the walls and on the roof.
Nihal looked into the fire. “Why don’t you come with me?” she asked.
Laio turned to her, incredulous. “With you?”
“Yes. The base is a great place to be. Anyway, didn’t you say you wanted to be a squire? You could learn the trade, make yourself useful.”
Laio shook his head.
“It wouldn’t be for forever,” Nihal went on. “Just time enough for you to get your bearings again, to figure out what you want. Besides, don’t you want to spend some time with me? The way we used to?
Laio smiled. “Let me think about it.”
Stretched out on a makeshift straw mattress, Nihal woke wit
h a start. She threw off the cloak blanketing her and reached for her sword. It was still raining. Mixed with the sound of raindrops splashing on walls, she could hear footsteps squishing through the mud. It seemed as though someone were stalking about the house. Nihal remained still, her senses alert, trying to assess how many of them there were. She stood silently, ran to her friend, and shook him awake.
“What time is it?” Laio grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.
Nihal gestured for him to lower his voice. “Grab your sword and get behind me,” she whispered.
He roused himself immediately. “What’s going on?”
“We’re under attack. We’re surrounded,” Nihal said under her breath. She crept up to the door and listened. “As soon as the coast is clear, we run. Got it?”
Laio nodded.
The footsteps were even closer now. Two of them, just outside the house. And at least fifteen others, Nihal sensed, though she couldn’t make out their exact positions.. There are tons of them. Too many.
Just then, the door crashed in.
Laio cried out in surprise. Nihal was on her guard. The first intruder, bulky, big as a mountain, and armed with a short dagger, was hardly through the door when she stabbed him and sent him to the floor. A moment later, a horrifying, sinewy man, completely bald, came in brandishing an axe. There were others behind him. She could hear their wild grunting. Fammin.
“It’s all over, little girl,” the man with the axe growled.
Nihal jumped forward and shoved him violently. “Run!” she yelled to Laio.
The man fell, then rose again quickly, cursing. But Nihal was too fast. She sliced off his hand in one motion and left him howling in the doorway of the crumbling cottage.
Laio had already made it to Nihal’s horse and climbed into the saddle. She quickly joined him and they took off at a gallop. But keeping up such breakneck pace was no easy task. Rain had made a mush of the ground, and in the dark, it was impossible to see where they were going.
A sharp whistling cut through the sheet of rain.
“They have bows!” Nihal shouted.
Laio prodded the horse, but it only stumbled forward. An arrow caught it in the hoof, and Laio and Nihal crashed to the muddy earth.
Nihal shot right back to her feet, but Laio was still moaning on the ground. The thudding footsteps of their enemies came on more rapidly, more insistently.
“Get up!” Nihal yelled.
“I can’t. My foot …”
Nihal tugged him up forcefully and dragged him through the woods, directionless. She slipped and slid and the thick rain blinded her. There was whistling again at their backs and then a torrent of arrows. Nihal felt a sharp stinging in her left shoulder and stopped short.
Laio was gasping for air, grimacing with pain. “You’ve been hit.”
The arrow had skimmed her, lacerating her skin. Blood ran from her shoulder. Nihal began to trudge forward again, pulling Laio by an arm. “It’s nothing. Keep moving.”
The forest seemed impenetrable, the Fammin ever closer at their heels.
Nihal plowed on through the bushes, branches lashing her skin, racking her brain for a solution. What should I do, now? What? Her arm was in terrible pain and Laio was in no condition to fight, but to continue fleeing without direction, with their backs to their enemies, could only mean disaster. By now they could hear their enemies panting behind them. What should I do?
“They’re over here!” came the shout of a savage voice.
A throng of Fammin emerged suddenly from the woods and crashed around them like an avalanche.
Nihal fell forward, dragging Laio with her. She turned on her back, gripped her sword and pushed herself up by the elbow. I don’t want to die! She slipped, groped, fell again in the mud. I do not want to die! With rain lashing her face, she could see the Fammin’s deformed snouts descend upon her, their long, inhuman arms curled to attack, their axes raised and ready to maul. Lightning glanced off their fangs.
Nihal closed her eyes. I don’t want to die. Not yet!
“No!” Laio shouted between his hiccupping sobs.
Her eyelids sealed, Nihal sensed a wild flash of light. The handle of her sword turned boiling hot. She opened her eyes. A silver force field surrounded her and Laio.
The Fammin bashed their weapons up against it and the force field began to vibrate, rumbling intensely.
“Nihal,” Laio groaned.
The Fammin continued delivering blows, snorting with anger, but the transparent shield was impenetrable.
The vibrations grew louder and louder. Below them, the earth quaked and trembled and the rumble became deafening, intolerable. Nihal and Laio covered their ears. The force field exploded.
At impact, a wave rippled outward with the force of a hurricane, carrying the Fammin with it. The monsters were thrown back several yards. Some were slammed against tree trunks and collapsed horrendously to the earth, their limbs contorted, their skulls smashed. Others disappeared into the black of the forest, overpowered by the thrust of air.
The forest was silent again. The rain thinned and tiny droplets formed on the leaves and bushes. Laio was pale, breathing heavily. “Nihal, what happened?”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I have no idea.”
4
Storm
The ship made for open sea. The coast disappeared from the horizon. By now, Sennar knew, the die was cast. There was no turning back.
Of all the books Sennar had packed, not one provided clear information about the whirlpool. His most reliable source was a general’s account of an attempt to reach the Underworld one hundred years earlier, but even that was rife with inconsistencies. Written years after the actual journey, it was a hodgepodge of reality and fantasy, making it impossible to distinguish between the two. Sennar wasn’t at all sure how they’d reach the whirlpool, nor how many miles they would have to sail to get there. They needed to head due west, that was all he knew.
The faster the ship glided over the water, the tighter Sennar’s stomach knotted in apprehension.
Meanwhile, the captain seemed to be developing a certain respect for him, and even Aires began treating him with something like friendliness. Before long, Sennar had the sympathies of everyone on board, apart from the ship’s mysterious guest.
The first few days, the guest kept a low profile. He stayed tucked away in Aires’s cabin, where she went to him as often as possible. When he began to walk about on deck, he seemed a completely different person than the beaten-up prisoner they’d brought aboard. There was something precious about him: the long brown hair, worn in a thick ponytail, the intense blue eyes, the carefully groomed beard. His facial features± harmonious, but at the same time distinctly masculine—seemed to have been designed expressly to please women, and he seemed to take particular care with his dress. He wore brilliant satin shirts with billowing sleeves and finely wrought brocade waistcoats. Wandering about from one end of the ship to the other, he’d let his long, black, silken coat flutter in the wind, his hand at rest on the chiseled handle of his sword. Now and then he’d pause and gaze profoundly at the sea, enraptured by his own allure as a pirate. Whenever he passed Sennar on deck, he’d look at him askance. In the sorcerer’s eyes, the man was a perfect idiot, though the rest of the ship treated him with deference, never once complaining about the fact that he did nothing from dawn ‘til dusk. Evenings, Rool invited him to the captain’s quarters to drink and talk late into the night.
Sennar wanted to know more about him, and Dodi gladly complied.
One stormy night, the sorcerer wracked with seasickness, Dido shared the history of the ship’s newest passenger, relishing the details.
Benares, Aires’s lover, fought for many years in the army of the Land of the Sea. Their ruler, weary of the pirates’ raids, created a special division for fighting sea-robbers.
Before enlisting, Benares had done a bit of everything: artist, thief, merchant, bootlegger. Soldiering was just anoth
er way to get himself in trouble—his only real goal. Thanks to his ability as a swordsman, the army had taken him in with open arms, turning a blind eye to his questionable past. His assignment was to escort a store of gems from the rich mineral deposits found in the mountains of The Last Promontory, transporting them by sea to the eastern lands, where the stones would be refined. He liked the ocean at once, the life of sea crossings and sword clashes with pirates. Not to mention the effect it had on women. Though he wasn’t a sailor, he had a lover at every port. For an entire year, he roamed the seas without losing a battle. Until he met his nemesis.
One morning, Rool and his men attacked Benares’s army ship. Benares battled one crewman after another, routing them easily, until he came to Aires. Astonished by her beauty, he committed the most fatal of sins: gallantry.
“I don’t draw my sword against women,” he said with a practiced tone, “only my heart.”
In response, Aires slashed his uniform to pieces with a few flicks of her sword and lunged at him mercilessly. Benares was forced to unsheathe his weapon. After a violent duel, he soon found himself face-to-face with death, the blade of her sword pinned to his throat.
Aires took a long look at him, breathing heavily with fatigue, and slid her sword back in its sheath. “You’re too handsome to kill,” she said coolly, then turned her back and reboarded her ship in a flash. Benares watched as the red sails disappeared into the distance, knowing his destiny was aboard that ship.
He left the army and joined a band of pirates. Bold and reckless as he was, he built a reputation in no time. His name was heard in the taverns where the buccaneers gathered, and his fame as a great swordsman took hold rapidly.
Aires had always loved a challenge. There were times she’d even convinced her father to attack a ship already seized by other pirates, just for the thrill of proving herself in battle. Which is exactly what happened in the case of Benares—after months of cat and mouse, they found themselves face-to-face once again, on the deck of a galleon they’d both boarded.
