Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1)

by Patrick Hodges

  “Has your mother let you touch the Stone yet?”

  “Not yet.” Nyla frowned, glancing across the room to where her mother sat with Runa. “It's so unfair. She was my age when Grandmother let her touch it for the first time. But, of course, no matter how many times I ask her, she says I'm 'not ready'. She says I 'lack control.' ” She turned to face Sarja. “Seriously? I mean, I pass all her stupid tests, and I 'lack control'?”

  Sarja raised her hands defensively. “Hey, I'm on your side, remember?”

  “It just makes me mad, Sarja.” Nyla's face relaxed a little, her eyes downcast. “I mean, it's not my fault Grandmother made everyone stop having kids after I was born. Do you know what it's like to spend your whole life being the youngest member of the tribe? Everyone treats me like a blagging baby.”

  Sarja replied with her most apologetic look.

  Nyla noticed that Sarja, just over a year older and two inches taller than her, had put a lot of muscle onto her slender frame since her mother Runa increased her physical regimen. She had not yet matured enough to join the hunt like Vaxi, but both of them knew that time was rapidly approaching. Nyla hated thinking about that day; the day her best friend would be out in the wild and she'd be stuck inside her mother's study poring over dusty scrolls or practicing her boring Wielding exercises.

  She turned to Vaxi, who hadn't reacted at all to her magnificent feat. Vaxi's eyes were vacant, as if she was lost in her own thoughts.

  Sarja noticed it too. “You okay, Vax?”

  She snapped out of her daze and turned to face them. “Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “What's wrong?” asked Nyla.

  “I don't want to talk about it.” She took a nervous gulp of her water.

  “Come on, Vax, we're your friends,” Sarja said. “We won't tell anyone, promise.”

  She sighed heavily, considering their words. Finally, she said, “Have you ever thought about Sojourning?”

  Nyla scrunched her face up. “What, finding some stupid man to put a baby inside me? No thank you.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” Sarja said. “Mother explained to me what's involved in, um, mating. It sounds disgusting.”

  Vaxi turned away with a scoff. “You girls are just kids. You don't understand.”

  “Hey, you're only four years older than me,” Nyla said, scowling.

  “And only three years older than me,” Sarja added. “Don't get me wrong, I understand why the Sojourns are necessary. Doesn't mean I'm in a hurry to go on one.”

  Vaxi didn't respond, instead turning away to stare out the window.

  Something seemed to occur to Sarja, who leaned forward. In a low voice, she asked, “Vaxi, are you … lonely?”

  Vaxi met her gaze again. “What?”

  “It's not a big deal,” Nyla said, catching on. “I'm sure there's someone in the tribe who would love to be your companion. Maybe all you need to do is ask.”

  “Yeah,” said Sarja. “A few days ago I overheard Gruta tell Jara she likes you.”

  Vaxi's face turned red. “Never mind. I have to go.” She stood up.

  Nyla looked at Vaxi's meal, which she'd barely touched. “You're not going to finish?”

  “You have it.” Without another word, Vaxi strode to the door, retrieved her own bow and quiver from the floor, and walked out.

  The two girls stared after her for a few moments. “What's with her?” Nyla asked.

  “No idea,” Sarja said. “Hey, how much time before you have to go to your Wielding lesson?”

  “Not sure. Maybe an hour.” Her eyes widened. “Wanna go have some fun? At the overhang?”

  “You mean –”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Yeah!” Sarja drained her water, shoved the last piece of fruit in her mouth, and together the two of them ran from the dining area.

  * * *

  The northern overhang was Nyla and Sarja's favorite vantage point: a small ledge of rock jutting out from the side of the plateau, overlooking a large sectioned-off field in which numerous crops grew. Several women tilled the soil, and others watered the budding plants of various fruits and vegetables. Off to the left lay a similar field where a large patch of holm-grass, the Ixtrayu's main source of grain, grew. Through the plateau, the River Ix wound its way down to the forests that lay beyond the farmland.

  Lying on their stomachs, the two girls looked down upon a large number of Ixtrayu women going about their daily routine.

  “You sure about this?” Sarja asked, suddenly doubtful. “The last time we tried something like this, you didn't exactly have your abilities under control.”

  “Pfft. That was months ago. I've learned a lot since then. You'll be impressed.” Seeing her friend's skepticism, Nyla added, “Come on, huntress, show some spine. It'll be fun. So who should we prank?”

  “How about Yarji?” Sarja pointed at a young, fair-haired woman on the other side of the river. She was using her hands to direct a long ribbon of water directly from the stream to hover over a lengthy row of nearly-ripe riverfruit that clung to vines abutting the water's edge. As they watched, Yarji clapped her hands and the stream of water shattered into a fine mist, raining down upon the fruit. She then moved farther downstream to tend to the next waiting vine.

  “No, not her. She's really nice. How about her?” Nyla gestured in the other direction, indicating a much older woman, Trula, who was directing her equally ancient chava, Gim, to plow a recently-cleared area of land designated for the harvesting of holm grain. In his prime, Gim was a magnificent animal, like most chavas were: hooved creatures with strong, powerful legs that could propel their thick, muscular bodies to tremendous speeds, and long, angular heads that ended in mouths full of squared-off teeth. Trula was one of the few Ixtrayu with the ability to communicate with animals. She bonded with Gim many years before Nyla was even born, and now both of them relegated themselves to their current roles as farmer and plow-puller.

  “Tempting, but we'd better not,” Sarja replied. “A good scare might stop her heart, or she could fall down and break a hip or something.”

  “Good point.”

  Just then, another figure came into view, waddling down the path that led from the forest, along the river and into the village. She was in her sixties, heavyset, with her graying hair knotted into a braid pulled up into a rather ugly bun. She walked with a pronounced limp, offset by the thick walking stick she carried in her right hand. Her gait retained a full measure of authority, as did the haughty scowl permanently etched into her face.

  Nyla's mouth curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, yeah.”

  Sarja crouched down even further, as if afraid the big woman's eyes would somehow lock onto their location. “Are you crazy?” she blustered. “That's Councilor Susarra!”

  “So?”

  “You can't prank a Councilor!”

  Nyla scowled at her friend. “Why not? She deserves it!” She crawled forward a few more inches. Susarra appeared to be scolding Yarji as she passed by the poor woman. “She always takes the best pieces of kova meat at every meal and she gets the ripest fruit. And besides that, all she does is yell at people, including Vaxi and my mother, who's the blagging Protectress!”

  “I know, Ny,” Sarja said, sliding forward on her stomach until her head was next to Nyla's. “I feel so sorry for Vaxi sometimes. Can you imagine having to live with her?”

  Nyla shuddered. “So it's settled, then.”

  “It's just … do you know how much trouble we'll get in if we get caught? The last time we tried to pull something like this, my mother made me spend a month cleaning out the chava stables.” Her nose wrinkled at the memory.

  “Relax, Sar.” Nyla fixated her stare on the corpulent Councilor. “She'll never know it was us.”

  Sarja exhaled. “Um, I hate to disagree with you, but there is no 'us' here. This is all you.” With that, she slithered backward until her feet made contact with the cliff wall. Then, pulling herself into a low crouch, she prepared to make the
climb back down to ground level.

  “You're not leaving me here, are you?” Nyla asked.

  “Yes, I am. Have you smelled chava dung? It's the worst-smelling thing on Elystra! I am not going back to that!”

  Nyla rolled her eyes. “Fine, go. You want to miss the fun, be my guest.”

  Sarja remained silent for a few moments, considering. Finally, she crawled forward again, rejoining Nyla on the overlook. “You'd better be sure about this.”

  “Just be quiet and let me concentrate,” Nyla said. Her eyelids half-closed, she began making slight circular movements with her hands.

  Sarja turned to face forward just as Susarra resumed her trek back to the village. The Councilor was near enough that they could hear her heavy footsteps as well as the soft thump of her walking stick on the dirt path.

  Abruptly, Susarra halted her forward progress, reeling in surprise as if she'd been pushed backward by a wall of wind. Her scowl disappeared, replaced by a confused grimace. She turned her head left and right, but her sister Ixtrayu were going about their daily business. None had reacted to whatever freak squall she'd just experienced. Shaking it off, she continued walking.

  “Not bad,” Sarja said, her eyes glinting in admiration.

  “Oh, I'm just getting started,” Nyla said impishly. She moved her hands again.

  A thin ribbon of water, much smaller than the one Yarji just created, rose from the stream right behind Susarra. It formed itself into a small fist-sized ball and floated through the air, hovering over the unsuspecting Councilor's head. Nyla waggled her fingers, and the water-ball dropped to the ground. However, her aim was slightly off, and it smacked the ground right behind Susarra, who whirled around at the sudden splat.

  As they watched, Susarra backtracked to accuse a befuddled Yarji of playing a practical joke on her. Whether the rotund woman believed Yarji's denial or not, Nyla couldn't tell, but Susarra resumed walking again, her stick pounding the dirt with each step.

  “Oh, she's really ticked off now,” Sarja whispered. Susarra was now closer than ever. “Let's go before she passes by us.”

  “No, I've got one more thing to try.” Nyla waggled her fingers, focusing once again on Susarra.

  Down below, the upper tip of Susarra's walking stick began to smoke. A few seconds later, it burst into flame. Feeling a sudden wave of heat, Susarra shrieked in alarm and, not even realizing in her panic that she was near a body of water, began to beat it against the ground to put out the fire.

  Nyla and Sarja both laughed into their hands, watching the old Councilor hop around as she beat her stick upon the ground.

  Their celebration was cut short when Sarja let out a high-pitched squeal. She clambered to her feet, swatting at something on her leg. It was a rock spider, black and yellow in color with eight hairy, sticky appendages. Its bite, while not poisonous, caused a dreadful rash.

  As Sarja swatted at the offending arachnid, she bumped violently against Nyla, who was still attempting to control the fire tormenting Susarra. Nyla squealed in surprise. Her concentration fractured, her elemental abilities spiraled out of control.

  The fire at the tip of Susarra's walking stick immediately tripled in size and intensity as another wall of hot air appeared, forcing her off the dirt path. Flailing her arms to try to regain her balance, she toppled backwards into the shallow stream, a shrill shriek escaping her lips before the water enveloped her.

  The fire, meanwhile, had other ideas. The same wall of hot air blew the fire in the opposite direction, striking a line of juva-berry bushes that had yet to be watered. Within seconds, the entire vine was ablaze.

  Having batted the spider off her leg, Sarja turned back to survey the chaotic scene below. The flames consuming the bushes were bending, as if trying to reach the next vine over. Nyla, fighting for control, finally calmed the wind that was causing the flames to dance and stretch, thus assuring that the fire wouldn't spread.

  A few Ixtrayu, overhearing Susarra's screams, made their way down from the village to see what was causing the commotion.

  The two girls shared one more glance before Sarja moved to the down-slope of the overhang. With one final look at her co-conspirator, she said, “I was never here.” Then she was gone.

  “Oh, blag,” Nyla muttered to herself. She was in for it now. Her only hope was to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. She was about to follow Sarja down the rock-face when she saw Kelia run past the overhang. Nyla quickly resumed her hiding place.

  Peeking over the ledge, she watched as her mother, having reached the flaming vines, stretched her arms out, palms forward. A large quantity of water lifted from the stream and poured over the burning, blackening foliage. Kelia continued this process until the fire was completely out.

  The crisis over, Nyla once again prepared to make her descent. This only took a few seconds, and she hit the ground with an ankle-jarring jolt.

  All of a sudden, her forward momentum stopped. It felt as if a giant invisible hand had wrapped itself around her body, dragging her backwards. Her arms windmilled as her feet lifted off the ground, and she was so disoriented she couldn't even cry out.

  After a short but nauseating journey, her momentum stopped. The invisible hand turned her around to face her mother, whose arms were still extended, keeping Nyla's body hovering several feet off the ground. Behind Kelia stood a sopping-wet Susarra, spluttering with rage.

  Before Nyla could utter a word of apology, Kelia shoved her hands forward, and Nyla flew backwards again. She prepared for impact, expecting to hit hard ground, but instead, she landed in a large, muddy pool the Ixtrayu used to clean their farming implements. The water was brown and brackish, and from its smell, it was entirely possible Gim had relieved himself in it.

  Nyla emerged, her face and clothes covered in mud. It dripped from her hair and arms in a viscous, slimy mess. She sloshed her way to the edge of the pool and climbed out, her boots squelching.

  She no sooner stood upright on dry land than a huge cascade of clean water dumped itself on her, washing the noxious mud from her face and hair. As the shower ended, she looked down at her clothes, which were still stained an ugly dark brown. Her hair was matted and stuck to her face, and she looked as bedraggled as a drowned nemza cat. She glanced up again to behold Kelia, standing a few yards away and glowering at her.

  Nyla had gotten in trouble before, many times, but she'd never seen her mother look at her with such fury. Her guts tightened in shame under her mother's frown.

  It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It was meant to be a harmless prank. How could I lose control like that?

  Arantha help me.

  “Mama –” she whimpered.

  Kelia held her hand up, silencing Nyla, her unblinking gaze firmly affixed on her disobedient daughter. “Go … home … now,” she hissed, her chest heaving in barely-controlled rage.

  Lowering her eyes to avoid the furious glares from her mother, Susarra, and every Ixtrayu who left the village to investigate the commotion, Nyla began her walk of shame, muddy footprints marking her trail all the way home.

  Chapter Eleven

  T he sun was well above the horizon, and a brisk breeze blew through the city of Talcris. Elzor stood, back rigid, eyes fixed on the two-story wooden building in front of him.

  He'd slept well the night before, allowing himself the luxury of slumbering in an actual bed for the first time in many months. Such were the spoils that go to the victors.

  This morning, however, he had business to attend to.

  He ordered the castle's terrified kitchen maids to prepare for him, his sister and his commanders a king's breakfast of roast waterfowl, a loaf of chaska bread with juva-berry jam and a flagon of cider. After his meal, he washed and dressed himself in the trappings of his new station–a brand new leather jerkin that fit him perfectly, black pants, boots and a small cloak taken from King Morix's closet. Finally, he selected two of the finest merychs from the royal stables for himself and Elzaria, and he made t
he short journey from the castle to this building, which served as a school for many of the young children of Talcris.

  Elzor's reverie was broken by Langon, who approached from the side. He bowed his head, awaiting Elzor's acknowledgement.

  “Is everything prepared, Langon?”

  On Elzor's orders, the school's front and back doors had been sealed shut, and a company of Elzorath had surrounded the building the previous afternoon. His scouts reported fifteen children and several adult women were still inside, having taken shelter there to hide from the previous day's fighting.

  A crowd of terrified citizens stood and watched from a distance. Most of the able-bodied men died defending the city, so it was the women, the elderly and the children who gathered to wonder what their conqueror planned to do next.

  “It is, my liege. All exits have been sealed, and the outer walls have been painted in napal grease, per your instructions.”

  “Excellent,” Elzor said, meeting his general's gaze. “Elzaria will arrive any minute now, and then we can get on with it.”

  “Yes, my liege.” Langon gestured to two soldiers, who brought forward their burden: a large metal chest. They set it down at Elzor's feet and then resumed their post, watching the crowd for any signs of resistance or dissension.

  A series of whinnies from the direction of the castle caught Elzor's attention, and he gave a slight smile as he saw Elzaria approaching on the back of her merych, a regal-looking white mount that had likely been one of the queen's favorites. Eight feet from muzzle to tail, the four-legged beast sported a long-flowing mane, two floppy triangular ears and a mouth full of strong teeth. Bred for their endurance, merychs could travel at top speed for several hours without stopping.

  Stumbling along behind her was a filthy, disheveled Morix, whose bound hands had been lashed to the back of the saddle Elzaria now sat upon. He was panting and wheezing as he finally came to a stop, casting his eyes to the ground as if unwilling to look any of his subjects in the eye. His face and his short white beard were grimy and caked with dried blood, some his, some belonging to his dead wife.