by Moose Tyler
She made good heartbeats and was soon approaching the first gap. Swinging vines invaded the path. She took deep breaths as she ran and looked for the rings on the branch. They had been painted to help training warriors better gauge the jump. When her foot hit the fourth ring, she leapt and grabbed a thick vine. She held her breath. Falling was the worst part. It felt like she was choking on her own stomach. Despite the initial discomfort, there were few more exhilarating moments than when the vine snapped her back up. She whooped a small war cry as she soared across the clearing and landed on the branch on the other side. She let go of the vine, but a piercing screech stopped her in her tracks. The bow was off her back and, in two heartbeats, armed. She felt a gust of wind across her face before a large bird flew up from the branches below. It was a youngling, but the flapping of the wings was powerful enough to blow Amaria’s braids back. She fired. The bird moved to the left, and the arrow whizzed by.
Amaria fired again. The arrow scraped the bird’s wing, and it screeched loudly. She darted into the trees. The little beast could follow her, but that wasn’t the worry. Amaria couldn’t afford the heartbeats, or arrows, to fight off a larger threat. Though divine blood ran through her veins, a mother bird protecting her young was nothing to mess around with.
She hustled as fast as her arms and legs would allow, all the while keeping her bow at the ready. She was confident that she was in the clear but didn’t want to risk a surprise attack from above or below. She heard the bird screech a few more times in the distance, but as best as she could tell, it had returned to its nest. Convinced that her yelp had attracted the attention, she retired the bow and scolded herself. Did your boat arrive yesterday? It was foolish to be so careless that far north.
She swung across the next three gaps in silence. As she swooped across the fourth, she saw a patrol in the clearing to her right. When she landed on the platform, she traversed to the southern side of the path and kept low in the branches as she scurried along.
“Come on, Suckling!” Amaria heard someone yell.
She stiffened. The voice was so close, that she thought it was talking to her. She looked around, but she was alone on the branch. She parted the leaves, peeked out, and saw three riders circling the farthest edge of the clearing. Penelope rode behind them. Even from that distance, the red hair fanning out from her head was unmistakable.
Three other warriors sat on horseback close to Amaria with their backs to the trees.
The one on the left shouted. “We don’t have all day!”
“Why they plucked this one from the sea is beyond me,” said the one on the right.
“We can’t wait,” the middle one snapped. “Meet us at the checkpoint,” she yelled, jabbing her heels into the horse’s rib. “Hi-yah!” The horse lunged into a gallop.
The other two followed. One of the riders sounded like Brithia, but Amaria couldn’t be sure. Whoever they were, she didn’t like them talking bad about Penelope. She heard horses approaching from the right. Delphi was riding one, but Amaria didn’t get a look at the others. Penelope came last. They stopped where the previous warriors had been.
“Don’t let Shana get to you,” said Delphi. “You’re doing far better on a horse than she would on a sliver, I assure you.”
Penelope patted the horse’s neck. “Yes, ma’am. Forgive me for delaying the patrol. I’m still recovering from the Stalks.”
“Had I been there when Micah told you to search the area,” said Delphi. She shook her head. “No one but the enemy should step foot in there.”
The Stalks were patches of cane fields that made up the northern edge of Middle Divide. The cane was repurposed into staffs, fighting sticks, and a whole cartload of other things. It took several whacks of the blade to cut down, but it wasn’t as strong as the red cane that grew north of Fertile Grounds. That was the one they used on citizens who broke queen’s law.
The cane that grew in the Stalks was a bright, blinding green. There were so many in the fields it was easy to get lost, turned around, confused, and eventually so disoriented you became crippled by your own senses. In times of war, if the enemy stormed Themiscia from the southern shore and made it to the Beltline, they would be lured into the Stalks where archers would open fire, and arrows would fall like a downpour in the rain season. Those who escaped out the sides were easy prey.
“Come on,” said Delphi, “let’s get to the checkpoint so we can head back to camp for a hot plate. I’m starving.” She kicked the horse’s ribs, and it trotted out of sight.
The others followed. Penelope turned and looked at the trees. Amaria ducked down. A few heartbeats passed before she heard the horse clomp away. She checked to make sure the patrol had moved on and waited a few more heartbeats before continuing. She’d retrieve the scroll at the middle checkpoint on the return. She wasn’t going to do it while the patrol was there. Don’t mind me. Just came to get a scroll.
When she came to Middle Divide, she dropped out of the trees and ran through the break in the Stalks. To her left, beyond the patch of cane, was the checkpoint. Beyond the canes, to her right, were six more patches of the Stalks. She ran as fast as she could through the break and raced up the tree on the other side. As she scurried away, she heard the midday horns blow.
“Great Mother!”
The pause at Middle Divide had cost her heartbeats. Though she was famished, she would have to wait until she reached the northeastern checkpoint before emptying her satchel and restoring her energy.
Most of the forbidden path in the northeast ran through the trees. Despite the arm fatigue, she was pleased to be in this leg of the journey because she could see the arena. From this distance, it looked like a parchment model, but soon its white walls, packed with cheering spectators, would tower over her. She continued trekking east. The Games are less than a full moon away. The thought exhilarated and terrified her. She was nowhere close to being ready.
The last checkpoint was a bunker on the side of Jagged Ridge, a treacherous ledge where carving stones came from just northeast of the sages’ temple. Amaria looked at the sanctuary as she swung past. She wondered if Telsa had finished recounting her prophecy for the historical scrolls. Amaria didn’t know how long a recounting took.
She dropped out of the trees and onto the lip of Jagged Ridge. The rocks cut her bare feet. She winced. “Ah, yes,” she said, hobbling along. “Better than a massage. Who needs Madame Shaw’s?” She gritted her teeth and moved cautiously.
The rocks in front of the bunker were smooth, and she hustled inside. She looked behind her and saw bloody footprints. She looked at the bottoms of her feet. The gashes weren’t too bad, just some broken skin in places. She walked deeper into the checkpoint. The sand felt like sea salt in a fresh wound, but at least she was on soft ground.
The scroll was in the same place it had been in the northwest, on the table next to a wick burning inside a water pail. Amaria removed her bow and emptied her satchel. She couldn’t go another heartbeat without food.
She crammed the fruit in her mouth and looked around. Repelling ropes with metal hooks tied to the ends were looped around wooden pegs driven into the crevices. Climbing axes and hand torches were in the barrels and boxes at the back.
It took her sixty-eight heartbeats to finish her meal. She drank half of the water pouch, and double-checked that she had both scrolls before slinging the satchel over her shoulder and returning the bow to her back. She blew out the wick and left the bunker.
Outside on the ledge, she examined her feet. They weren’t bleeding as much, but a skid down the rocks to the trees below would change that. She went inside, removed a repelling rope, and returned to the ledge. She gauged the distance and uncoiled it. Grabbing the loose end with one hand and the hook with the other, she whirled the rope in a circle for a few heartbeats before hurling it towards the trees. The metal bounced off the bark. She rolled in the line and tried again.
She extended her legs and rammed into the tree causing her to lose her grip. She clutched the branch and glommed on to it as her legs swung back and forth. She steadied her breath before pulling herself up. She dislodged the hook, removed her bow, and inspected it for cracks.
“All in Her name,” she said as she strapped the unharmed weapon on her back. She flung the hook towards the bunker. It ricocheted to the left. Close enough. She double-checked that the two scrolls were still in her satchel before beginning the return.
She was like wind through the trees. She closed her eyes. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she settled into a steady rhythm. She felt the Great Mother’s presence as she raced west at a good clip, and she didn’t slow her pace until she reached Middle Divide. She slipped out of the trees, dashed around the Stalks, jogged to the checkpoint, and listened for sounds of a patrol.
Middle Divide was one of the most-used stations in the north during peace. It was a stone house and had two barns that butted against the Great Ravine to store barrels of reserve arrows. The reserves weren’t the best quality, but they were suitable enough for the archers that would be posted in the trees around the Stalks during war.
She listened for two heartbeats before pushing open the door and rushing inside. There was plenty of natural light from the open slits in the walls. Inside, she saw a wick on a stand in a water pail, but the flame was not lit and there was no scroll. She looked under the table and around the room but didn’t see it anywhere. Her heart pounded in her chest as she triple-checked.
She scoured the barrels, boxes, and shelves. “Great Mother!”
She looked around again, though she knew she had been thorough on the first three sweeps. She looked at the table. Wanje wouldn’t have asked her to fetch a scroll and not leave one to fetch. Amaria was certain that she had fallen prey to an older warrior’s prank. Oh, you little Heras. She suspected that either Shana or Micah had taken the scroll or hid it somewhere.
She walked to the door, scanning the ground, ceiling, and walls as she went. She opened the door, and a beam of light washed into the room. She turned around. Specks of dust floated in the air. Someone needs to give this a good dusting, she thought. She looked at the slit in the wall next to her and saw a broken arrow on the sill, pointing west. She leaned closer. In the dust, Stalks II was etched. Amaria looked out the window. She punched the wall and cursed before leaving the checkpoint. She walked towards the cane and took a deep breath. Her scroll was in the second patch, somewhere to the west. Finding it would be a long shot. Finding it by last light would take divine intervention.
The trick to navigating the Stalks was to maze through the cane with your eyes closed until you popped out on the other side. The first time Amaria was sent into a patch she had gotten so dizzy she collapsed and became virtually immobile until Desh ended the lesson and guided her out.
She hurried around the first group of stalks in front of the checkpoint. When she came to the break, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and entered the second patch from the west side. She took a few steps and opened her eyes. In a heartbeat, her vision blurred, and the volume of the sounds around her fluctuated in her ears. The effect felt much like how it felt after getting dusted.
Several times during Warrior Training, Desh had blown dust in Amaria’s face. She wasn’t sure what it was, but once she had breathed it in, she saw things that crippled her ability to think and move. She hated it. She had heard that some warriors dusted themselves while on leave in solitude to be closer to the Great Mother, and Ursula had said the same about citizens, only in smaller doses. Whether using a little or a lot, Amaria couldn’t imagine why anyone would voluntarily do that to themselves.
She closed her eyes, crouched, and put her hand on the ground to stabilize. Once she had regained control of her senses, she weaved through the cane a few more steps before crouching and scanning. She was fine until she looked up. Her vision blurred again, and the sounds distorted. She snapped her eyes shut, lowered her head, and focused on her breathing. This is absurd. She needed a better plan.
Shifting strategies, she kept her eyes closed and shuffled along in hopes of locating the scroll by foot. The shuffle technique would have worked better had she been wearing sandals. Without them, she stubbed her toes and scraped the bottoms of her feet, but she plodded along with no success.
She felt a piece of cane brush against her face and another clotheslined her throat. She fell back, clutching her neck. She rolled over and opened her eyes, careful to look at the ground. She reached above her and moved her arm around until it bumped something. She clasped the object and opened her eyes. It was a thin brown rope. She tugged gently, but it was fastened to something. She had no idea there were lines running through the Stalks. The twine was not quality, more like what farmers used to separate crops, but that was irrelevant. Having something tangible to grasp did wonders for her senses. It was like a brown buoy in a sea of green. She held on, scanning the ground as she walked. She glanced to the right and gasped. The scroll was nestled between two stalks. All in Her Name.
She stepped away from the security of the line. When she had determined that she was close enough to the scroll, she peeked. It was to her right. Her vision blurred, and the sound distorted in her ears as she grasped for it. The heartbeat she felt it in her hands she pulled it close to her chest and fell to her knees. She opened her eyes, and the green around her spun wildly. She leaned forward and rested on her hands and knees. Inhale. Exhale. That’s it. Inhale. Exhale. She heard metal clash and wood clunk. She tilted her head and listened. The clank and clunk sounded again. To her left, someone shouted, “Ouch! Not so hard!”
“That’s what your shield’s for. Block it next time.”
“Quiet! Both of you,” someone else shouted.
Amaria kept low and returned to the line. She stuffed the scroll in her satchel and crept towards the conversation. The cane thinned out, and she saw figures moving in the clearing ahead of her. The rope was tied to a stake in the ground at the edge of the patch. She let go of it and shifted course, stealthily working her way towards the tree line of the forbidden path.
“Cat, it’s your turn.”
“I was just lookout,” said Cat. “Shalandra’s next.”
Amaria hustled to the break in the cane as fast she could without being detected. She leaned out. No one was there. She moved closer to the edge. Directly across from her was the tree she needed to climb to get back on course. She belly-crawled the short distance and shimmied up the base. She hopped onto the branch closest to the clearing and peeked out of the leaves.
She counted nine citizens. They had weapons and were practicing fighting. Two dueled with swords and shields, two wrestled near the cane patch, and four of them fought with staffs. One stood on the far edge, acting as lookout. What in Great Mother’s name? Amaria scooted farther out on the limb for a better view.
The girls with the swords had no clue what they were doing. One was slightly better than the other, but both were painful to watch. Among the ones with staffs, three basically stood around twirling the cane while the other practiced thrusting hers into an imaginary opponent. Amaria shook her head in horror. “Oh, Great Mother, what are they doing?”
In the distance, a patrol entered the clearing. The lookout darted along the edge of the patch. Amaria heard a bird’s caw before she disappeared into the cane.
The others scattered. Most ran into the patch, but two sprinted towards the trees. As they got closer, Amaria could see they were wearing clothes made from the fancy camo
uflage, but hoods blocked their faces. They darted underneath her, and she noticed their staffs were actually spears. She glanced up and saw the patrol break into two groups and ride in opposite directions. She looked below her, but the girls had disappeared.
“Let’s go!” Micah shouted from the field.
Amaria looked at the patrol and clenched her fists. Either Micah or Shana had thrown her scroll into the Stalks, and if it wasn’t for the message in the dust, she would have never found it. The riders came closer. Micah cantered in a circle before bringing the horse to a stop not far from Amaria’s tree. Penelope brought up the end of the caravan.
Micah jabbed her heels into the horse’s ribs. “Make me miss evening dine, Suckling, and feel my wrath!”
Amaria let her tongue slip. “Wait until you feel my wrath, snake face,” she muttered.
“Did you hear that?” Delphi asked, looking behind her.
Amaria cupped her mouth and held her breath.
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Micah. “Come on, they’ll stop serving soon. Hi-yah!”
Amaria heard a horse gallop away. A heartbeat passed before the others followed. She waited three more heartbeats and backed off the limb like a worm. She grabbed the branch above her and swung to next one. As she whisked along, she thought about the citizens she’d seen in the Stalks. Making tunics my backside. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Urs.
Her arms got weaker by the swing, but soon Amaria had reached the part of the trees where the branches were entwined thick enough to traverse by foot. It felt good to give herself a rest as she raced towards the first gap in the trees. The sun was in its descent, but she still had some heartbeats before last light. Vines dangled in front of her. When she saw the marker on the branch, she leapt, grabbed one, and swung across the clearing. She let go and hurled towards the tree, landing on the branch. The heartbeat her feet were secure, she darted towards the next gap.
