“Continue.” Wahala whispered, shocked at the news.
“He allows the fear of himself to hang over the people to prevent disobedience or rebellion. But many question why we are still here in Kazma. They whisper of vulnerability. Of doom. Some have run home without plan. The ones who haven’t been caught and executed will surely die at the hands of the dead. They need groups and maps to survive. Others now say Lenova, not the Kingdom of Rot, is the land of death.”
Time was running out. Soon her people would be nothing more than an echo of what they once were. There was no choice but to attempt the dangerous plan.
“Salastine, do you still have the books I brought from the temple?”
“Yes Queen. I’ve hidden them in the remnants of a safe, deep within a Kazman house.”
Wahala closed her eyes. “Bring them to me. We’ll meet again soon. I’ll send Berula as our means of communication.”
“When Queen?”
“Soon. But don’t grow inpatient. We’ll have our revenge. We’ll rip the cult back from Mal’Bal’s cold dead fingers.”
“How?” Salastine whispered. “His golden body, his Star-Child suit, his necromancy… how can we kill one who can’t be hurt?”
Wahala smiled into the dark of the tent, her eyes closed and full of visions of a bright future. Her dark plan swirled and crept like a snake beneath black rocks. Berula leaned in, curious as well. Wahala was alright with telling them. They had as much reason to want Mal’Bal dead. They could be trusted. She sighed and words flowed out like spoiled honey. A weakness—she’d thought of a weakness to the Lich.
“We shall poison him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:
Development
—Between wild beasts, monsters, raiders, slavers, and disease, many children of Lenova are left homeless. While many are adopted or cared for in orphanages, others die by the various dangers of the land or end up in the Crust, forced to work to the bitter end.—
-Excerpt from Statistical Population Counts, published by House Royal
A Star-Child glanced at Finn from the corner of his eye and Finn clenched his fists. He focused on his meal of oat paste. Across from him, Leeya ate without emotion, ignoring all else. Having lunch outdoors—in Finn’s opinion—had been a bad idea.
“They judge us all day and night.” Finn huffed, taking a big spoonful and swallowing it faster than he intended. The sooner he finished the meal, the sooner he could get away from the demeaning stares of others.
“Let them.” Leeya replied in a monotone. Immediately she shut down again, no longer talking. Finn knew she was hurting. Even stoic Leeya had emotions buried deep within her. To Finn, her quiet was a call for help, a silent plea stating something was wrong.
“Perhaps she hides her weakness behind her pretty looks.”
The voice came from behind them, sudden and unexpected. Finn turned to see Altin approach with the two other Star-Children he’d been so fond of hanging around with. The two brutes were like the miners in the Crust: strong, but too dumb to control their mouths. Even now with Leeya awake, Altin hadn’t returned to their side. Instead he chose to stick with those that had no respect or civility.
“Why does she frown? Is the oatmeal not to her standards?” one of the Star-Children mocked.
“Altin, does she not hail from Kazma? Let me guess: Upper-District? No wonder she doesn’t talk to us. We’re far beneath her grace!”
“Perhaps.” Altin spoke, eyes down.
Leeya didn’t respond, but continued to eat her meal. Finn though, shot up from his seat, rage flowing through his head.
“You made him angry!” one Star-Child laughed with a snort, his flat upturned nose making him look like a mole. He was the one who had chased Finn away with his bag of invisible projectiles.
“What’s he doing? Protecting the girl?” the other Star-Child mocked, a tall individual who could’ve passed for a scarecrow. “Well Altin, your friend looks like he wants to fight!” Behind them, others paused their meals. They sat back in front of their cabins and stared with looks of amusement.
“He’s not my friend.” Altin snapped, spitting out the words.
Scarecrow poked Finn in the chest. “You haven’t been doing a good job of protecting her. Have you seen her city? Looks like you let her down. Get it? It all came down?” He sniggered and mole-face laughed. Altin shifted and clenched his muscles.
Before Finn could scream at them, a blur hit the tall Star-Child. Leeya. Everyone jumped in surprise. Scarecrow flew back and crashed into the ground, his head bouncing against a rock. He gasped in shock but had no time for anything else. Leeya was on top of him, raining furious blows too quick to be dodged or blocked. Her cupped hands clapped his ears then smashed against his nose, breaking it. Leeya’s face was a stone: her eyes mere pinpricks.
She closed her fist and punched the man in the throat. He convulsed and let out a croak, trying to roll over. Yet Leeya, with expert skill, pinned his body with her knees, preventing him from escape. Mole-Face shouted in anger and rushed her. Finn jumped him, his weight pushing them both down. Landing on the Star-Child’s back, he didn’t waste time. His blows were desperate and badly aimed. Although targeting the back of the head, plenty of his punches grazed neck or struck shoulder muscle.
Finn was tackled from the side and sprawled to the dirt, his chin scraping against a pebble. He was rolled over and hammered square in the jaw, the blow so hard Finn’s teeth clacked together and his skull reverberated. Another blow landed against his cheek, then jaw again. It was Altin, his face a mask of anger. Finn tried to copy Leeya’s move, aiming to punch Altin’s throat. Altin ducked and Finn missed, sending a knuckle into Altin’s left eye. Altin howled and reared back, grabbing at his face. Finn sat up and backed away, grimacing in pain and holding his own wounds. Then Leeya was there, her bracer activated into a protective metal plate, sliding along her body in blurred speed. Little pings rang out from the metal, yet Finn didn’t see anything hitting them. Mole-Face was using his bag of invisible projectiles. Leeya uppercut Altin and as the boy tipped backward, she guided him down with a sharp stomp of her boot, leaving an imprint on his forehead.
She spun about—ducking in an arc—and sprinted for Mole-Face. The Star-Child backpedaled, sweat on his brow. He let out quick whistle bursts, his bag wiggling as unseen objects shot out. As she drew near, he threw out a right hook to clip her across the face. Leeya caught his wrist, spun under it so she was at his side, and used her free hand as a bludgeon, smashing his elbow and bending it the wrong way. He stopped whistling and shrieked along to the crack of bone, looking on in horror at the white protruding from his skin. As quickly as the fight started, it ended, leaving Finn and Leeya standing in the middle of a dirt-scuffed patch with three groaning forms.
Finn stared at the beautiful girl in awe. Behind her still face was a storm of conflict. To show emotion would break the code that made her a member of Kazma, yet just the same, not showing emotion meant a lack of caring for what’d happened to her home. Perhaps in her mind, either choice was a dishonor. Finn recalled how she’d told him in a flat voice of the permanent damage caused by her run-in with Mal’Bal. Infertility. Why had she told him? Why had she spoken of it without any emotion? A silent cry for help. Leeya was cracking at the seams.
Altin rolled onto his side and spit out a glob of blood. The other two Star-Children were both unconscious. The spectators from the other eating tables approached with caution, giving Leeya plenty of space. Many had looks of respect and others, of fear.
“Untamed.” someone whispered.
A voice shouted for Petreamus, the Star-Child healer. The crowd gathered around the fallen forms and stared, none bending to help. Finn approached Leeya with a slow step. “We might both get kicked out for this.”
The female Star-Child from the arena—Antina—passed by. “I doubt it,” she spoke, overhearing them, “there’s been worse fights in Jakitta.”
She narrowed her eyes at Leeya. Up close, Finn notic
ed her skin seemed to swirl with translucent shadows as if she’d been created from clouds. He had a feeling she wasn’t entirely human. Finn had heard of other races existing in Lenova. He thought he’d even seen some in Kazma. The Star-Child continued talking. “You brawl well for a female. Most women here are more accustomed to washing clothes than snapping bones. Where’d you learn to fight?”
“Where did you?” Leeya asked back, turning the question around. Her eyes were still narrowed in battle fury and Finn worried she might lash out at Antina.
Antina, talking as if to someone calm and collected, shrugged. “My family was poor. My sisters wooed men for money. I chose to fight them for money. You have good skill. I wonder how you would do against a seasoned opponent.”
Leeya grunted, unwilling to reply. Taking it as a sign that the conversation was over, Antina smirked and disappeared down a path among the pine. Leeya deactivated her bracer and examined the bruises forming on Finn’s face from Altin’s attack. She showed no sign she cared about Antina’s comments.
“Thank you.” Her words were clipped and quiet. They startled Finn. Before he could reply, she continued. “It wasn’t enough. You’ll have to do better. You must learn to fight—not only with fists, but weapons. It’s time I train you.”
After Leeya pressed a Star-Child for information, they were told of a cabin reserved for weapons and training material. Many in the Coalition brought in a variety of armaments and Salt himself had added an assortment of gear taken from military training camps. Entering the cabin, Finn and Leeya were greeted by collections of swords, racks of spears, quivers and bows, axes and staves, full suits of armor, leather wrappings, and even a worn mace and chain with a dark crust on its handle—Finn had a suspicion of what it was. Immediately drawn to a large double-edged blade, Finn took a step forward only to be stopped by Leeya.
“No. You’re not ready for that.”
“Why not?” Finn whined. He hungered to go for a weapon.
Leeya inspected a dusty corner of the room. She rummaged along shelves piled with bulky clothing that looked as if untouched in a thousand years. She glanced at Finn and pursed her lips, gauging his height. She nodded, reaching for a set of thick leather garments. They were atrocious and marked with disturbing black smudges as if the previous wearer had left traces of mold behind. Written on a piece of cloth above the set and pinned to the shelf with a rusty nail was the title for the piece: Old Heavy.
“Oh come on!” Finn whined yet again. He swore he saw the faint echo of a smile on Leeya’s face.
She pulled the garments free and let them drop to the ground. They let out a strong thump louder than they should’ve. Upon closer examination, Finn could see that the clothing—a vest, leggings, ankle guards, and bracers—had thick rectangular lumps rising from the material, stretching the stitching as if something was sewn into the pieces.
“What’s with that?” he asked.
“You expect to clash blades and win fights, yet what happens when you come across someone who’s faster than you? Or stronger than you?”
“I’ll use my wits, I guess. Either that or die.”
Leeya shook her head. “You can’t rely on wits alone. You’re far behind most warriors. Many have trained all their lives for battle, but maybe with this we can boost your progress. Put it on.”
Finn walked forward, bent, and lifted the vest. He let out a groan. “It’s as heavy as a horse! I won’t even be able to run!” Leeya didn’t reply but waited and Finn took the hint, donning each piece with a grimace. Once fully clothed, his body sagged under the weight. It was as if someone had hidden iron bars within each leather piece. Finn knew he looked ridiculous. Leeya studied the shelved weapons, moving past the heavier ones without a second glace. No maces, clubs, double-sided war axes, or pikes.
For a while she lingered at a box of knives and Finn prayed she’d move to the other armaments. If he walked outside wearing a leather suit looking like he was a toddler in his father’s armor and while wielding a petite dagger, the Star-Children would keel over all across the camp, struck dead from laughter. Leeya continued on and Finn let out his breath. She selected a few staves, two spears of different length, some swords, and a green-tinged trident. She tossed Finn the trident and he fumbled before catching it. It was a strange piece and heavy on both ends. Immediately, Leeya pulled it away from his grasp, shaking her head. “No way. Not that.” Finn agreed.
She had him try each weapon one at a time. Some, such as one of the spears and two of the swords, she took from him before he even had the change to properly grasp them. Others though, she let him swing and thrust: test out. In the end, it came down to a spear the length of his body and a bastard sword, which could be either used with one hand or two. Leeya had him alternate between the weapons, continuously asking him to perform certain feats. Some he could do with ease such as thrust forward with the spear. Other tasks though—such as sideswiping the sword with his right hand, switching to his left for a thrust, and using both hands for a downward stroke—were too difficult to accomplish properly. She continued this way for a while with both weapons, acting as indecisive as Finn felt. He kept entering the realm of imagination, trying to picture how impressive of a warrior he could one day become.
In the end Leeya had him sheathe the sword, fasten it to his waist, and grasp the spear with both hands. Instead of picking one, Leeya had chosen for him to have both. “For longer-range combat and for close-and-personal.” she spoke with a nod. Expecting to head straight out of the cabin and into the practice field, Finn was surprised when she took the weapons away from him and found their wooden equivalents instead. “If you think I’d let you use real ones right away, you’re mistaken.” she told him.
She rummaged through a stack of projectiles until she produced a quiver full of strange-looking arrows with large blunt tips. They could have passed off as fletched sticks with pebbles attached to their ends. She found herself a sturdy bow and motioned for the door.
Finn adjusted the hold on his own equipment. He detested the wooden fake weapons he’d been assigned. Made of dark solid wood, they were far heavier than the real sword and spear. Donned in “Old Heavy”, Finn stumbled and dragged himself out of the cabin, following Leeya. Sweat already collected along his back.
She led him through mist—what seemed to be a common occurrence for Jakitta—and followed a dirt path. They found a secluded spot near an outer wall, far from any curious eyes. It was a section of the small town where no one had made the effort to inhabit. Signs of skirmish still remained from back when Salt had fought the rogue Star-Children that’d ravaged the place. Finn’s eyes wandered over to a cabin where a massive vertical slash scarred one wall.
“You expect me to do all my training with this stuff?” he asked Leeya, tossing the practice weapons down and shaking his tired arms. He was already panting and his face scrunched in discomfort.
“I expect you to use them if you plan on standing any chance in a battle.” Leeya replied.
“With all this, I’m practically carrying my own weight!” Finn complained.
“I thought you made me a promise.” Leeya spoke shortly, her face as emotionless as ever. The words shut Finn up. He gave in, waiting for Leeya’s instructions. She was right: he wouldn’t break his promise; he’d defeat Mal’Bal. But the only way to even consider accomplishing such a feat would be to first know how to fight. From a lifetime of cave-diving, Finn knew he had a healthy body—although he was far from a muscular titan like many of the miners after years of wielding a heavy pickax.
Leeya pointed to two cabins on either side of them. They stood evenly between both buildings. “We need to develop your strength and stamina. Your body must become accustomed to strain and exertion. You need to become stronger if you plan on lasting a full battle. Some fights can go on for days. You’ll run back and forth between the two buildings, touch the wall, turn, and run back to the other. Touch the other, go back, and so on.”
“Until when?” Finn aske
d, already his stomach sinking, not looking forward to the exercise.
“Until I say so.” Leeya spoke, backing away and removing her bow. She tested the string-pull and nodded in satisfaction.
“What’s that for?” Finn asked.
“Motivation.” Leeya replied with a gleam in her eye.
“Wait. You mean—” Finn began.
“You better run.” was her quick reply.
Finn didn’t hesitate. He jogged to the first cabin and tapped the wooden frame of one wall. The weights in the leather yanked at him, pulling on his muscles and messing with his balance. He jogged to the other cabin, his breathing already changing. When he was halfway between the two buildings, something bounced against his exposed neck. He yelped, grabbing at the skin. It hurt! He stopped and spun to look at Leeya. Already she was restringing her bow. “Faster.” she spoke in a monotone. “And pay attention to your surroundings.”
She’d shot an arrow at him! It was a blunt practice arrow, but still! Finn resisted the urge to swear, instead running, not wanting to risk getting hit again.
The exercise was horrible. It was worse than lugging minerals from beneath the ground or a triple-shift in the mines. Never in Finn’s life had he felt as if he was using every one of his muscles at the same time. Old Heavy tugged on his skin and rubbed raw at his joints, making each step forward twice as uncomfortable. Turning at one end and coming back for another round, Finn glanced toward Leeya. She had one eye shut and held her head cocked over the bow. Her hair fell over one shoulder, glinting in the sunlight. Her pink lips were pressed tight and her lithe perfect body straightened… Whack! Finn was hit in the forehead.
SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga) Page 31
