Skelkra stood, his hand brushing mine as he did, and my body betrayed my head by reacting with interest. I cursed myself internally.
‘When do we fight?’ Skelkra asked.
‘Five days’ time. Long enough for Klawdia’s injuries to improve.’ Father shifted his eyes to the side, keeping something unspoken.
‘Why wait so long, Father?’
A confused expression formed on his face before glancing at the other leaders. A silent exchange passed between them, and they nodded.
‘We’ve sent out scouts to look for the bodies of those murdered. They will return in three days. If they cannot ascertain the elders’ cause of death, you’ll fight each other. If they discover evidence that one of you has lied, the other will be banished. Forever.’
I swallowed. They would find the Watchers’ bodies and see the embedded stakes. They would know Skelkra had lied. Skelkra would leave Ruxdor; that part I was happy about. My heart raced, and I grinned at my Wolf enemy. When concern replaced his smug, arrogant smirk, I almost cheered. They were going to catch him out.
That night, lying on my bed in my hut, I stared up at the roof. My leg itched wildly. I tossed and turned, trying to ignore the sensation. When pain joined the itching, I wanted the maggots out. Eventually they quietened, and the lessened discomfort distracted me from my thoughts, but also allowed me to sleep. I drifted off into nightmares.
Father stayed away for the next three days. Jeykal didn’t visit, either, but I was certain his family kept him from me. The only company I had was Corilksa and the two guards. The men were Bear warriors and far less hostile than the Lions or Wolves. I was happy to see Gevilka when she visited me that afternoon.
‘Good, good. Dead flesh is gone. No more pungent smell. Any pain?’ she asked with withered lips.
‘A little. Can you take them out?’
She pulled down my pants and inspected my leg. ‘Uhuh, yes, they are ready.’ She scrubbed her hands with soap and water, and dug the maggots out with her long fingernails. She placed the fat grubs in a container. My gaze went to the crotch of my pants as I checked for more blood since a few days ago, while Jeykal and I journeyed back to Vilseek, I’d bled a little. My pants were clean and I was satisfied. The last thing I needed was for my body to show weakness. It had to be strong. I had to be strong.
‘There is much on your mind.’ She pinched my skin between her fingernails, and I breathed in sharply. She paused to appraise my level of discomfort before continuing to remove the maggots.
Something about her glance made me want to speak. ‘I wish I could see the future. So I would know how to act.’
She chuckled. ‘The future is made, not discovered. Consider your choices carefully, and you will know what happens.’
I mused over that before continuing. ‘Will I be able to fight?’ I lifted my arm, indicating I was most worried about the bone.
Gevilka scrunched her face. ‘No. But if you do, I will give you something for the pain.’ She stood and handed me a vial of dragonclaw. ‘Two drops at most. It’ll slow the mind, and the heart, so measure it first!’
She handed me two other concoctions. The lids were loose, and I could smell the sour brews. One of them was a greenish-yellow colour, sort of like cow cud mixed with urine. My stomach churned, and I put the vial down. But my stomach continued fret, and I hobbled over to a nearby bucket and vomited. I wiped my mouth and peered up at the old lady as she tipped her head to regard me.
‘Are you sick?’
‘Weak stomach,’ I said, collapsing on the ground.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you telling me a falsehood?’
I frowned. ‘What do you—’
‘About killing the Watchers,’ she corrected.
I stared at her in astonishment, but I supposed it was a fair question. I screwed my nose up at the rancid liquid in the bucket. Everything I’d eaten that day was in there. I clutched my irritable stomach. ‘No. What I’ve said is the truth. It is Skelkra who lies.’
‘Sad. Pathetic.’ She shook her head. ‘He deserves to win. Look at you, there’s no fight in you. You’ve never had to fight for anything. In snowtimes, you’re fed before others, and you’re the warmest, most comfortable, and best dressed. In greentimes, you get first choice of lambs. Skelkra is a warrior. You are a dog panting at its master’s feet.’
Forgetting my stomach, I stood, clenching my fists. I loomed over the small woman, feeling powerful. She stared up at me defiantly.
‘You know nothing,’ I spat.
‘Oh great future leader of the Bears, did you plunge into the river to save Lild? Did you spare food for Ketnal? Help Jeykal hunt for his bird claw? As soon as Skelkra, the master of your heart, showed you interest, your pride swelled, and you let your feelings control your mind. You are weak.’
She scooped her things into a bag and turned back to face me. My mind tripped every time I tried to invent a witty response. All that came out of my mouth was a strange blubbering noise.
‘In a fight, you must take risks. You must be ruthless.’ And with that, she left.
Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I returned to the bucket, and my knees buckled. Corilksa tried to comfort me, but I sent her away. I held the edges of the pail and threw up over and over again. There was a peaceful relief in the stillness that followed. With no fever, sore throat or chest, I couldn’t pinpoint the origin of my illness.
Father entered the hut, and I jumped to my feet, causing pain to shoot down my leg. ‘The scouts are back,’ he said, giving no sympathy to my weakened state. ‘They bring news.’
Chapter VIII
A CROWD GATHERED AROUND THE council hall. Upon entering, I noticed that the tribal leaders and elders had moved the chairs into a horseshoe shape. The doors were closed behind Father and me. Skelkra and Jeykal were already there. Father sat in a large chair at the head of the group, and I stood beside him.
The scouts moved forward to address the chieftain. ‘Sir, animals had been at the bodies. Ketnal’s form remained intact. There was a spear through his chest. The other bodies had been dragged through the snow, their limbs removed and spread around the campsite. It was difficult to tell what had killed them.’
‘You’re sure?’ Father asked.
The scouts nodded curtly. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘There is nothing left to be done!’ said Lild’s father. ‘The Wolf and the Bear will battle for leadership.’
Father’s face darkened. For a moment, his eyes met mine, and they flickered like fire reflecting off a blade. He moved his gaze to the other side of the hall and beyond. He shook his head, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder—he knocked it away. ‘Don’t,’ he said before rising and stalking from the room.
Skelkra must have sent someone back to further dismember the bodies of the Watchers. How did this happen? He must have been planning this all along.
After everyone had left, Jeykal slung his bow across and picked up his quiver, then said to me, ‘Are you prepared?’
‘To fight Skelkra? There is no preparation. I can hardly walk. I can’t even wield a blade.’
‘That’s your attitude? Come with me.’ Jeykal grasped my left wrist and dragged me outside. Guards were waiting for us. ‘You can come too, I suppose,’ he said to them, and took me beyond the city to the woodlands. ‘You have to cheat. Think, Klawdia. You must win.’
Catching an opponent off guard was a key tactic in hand-to-hand combat. My right arm, my strong arm, was useless. While my training always entailed the use of both arms, I only found accuracy with my right. I was renowned for my deadly knife throw, but in the fight against Skelkra I would only be given one knife. To throw it would be to give it up.
‘I could kick snow into his face,’ I said.
Jeykal nodded approvingly. ‘Don’t use the knife unless you can really do some damage.’
‘Jeykal, I’ve been using knives since I was a child.’
‘You are still a child,’ he said.
I threw a stic
k at him. He ducked and lunged at me, grabbing my arms in his hands.
He held me still. ‘You’ve always been a fair fighter. This time, you must take advantage any way you.’
‘I could ask them to postpone the fight until my right arm is better.’
Jeykal cocked his head. ‘They might, but I doubt it. Are you going to take dragonclaw for the pain?’
I nodded. ‘Gevilka already gave me some. As well as other unhelpful advice.’
‘Oh yeah? What did she say?’
‘That I was weak and pathetic. That I’m not a true warrior because I’ve never struggled. Do you think that’s true?’
The pitch of Jeykal’s tone heightened. ‘Of course not. Look how you handled yourself in the Bestial Passage. You beat a bear!’
Many men had died trying to kill a bear, yet I’d done it alone. Surely that counted for something.
‘What did she say about your arm?’
‘It’s not broken, but the bone is a little split. I’m not wearing the sling when I fight.’
Jeykal frowned. ‘Yes you will. Keep it tied up, or he’ll use it as a weak point.’
‘Weak point? That reminds me...’ I allowed a grin to spread across my face.
‘Oh, no. What have you done?’
‘No, I mean, Skelkra is tall, right? And he’s a man. I’ll have access to some of his weak points, if you take my meaning.’
Jeykal cringed. ‘Just don’t try that trick on me.’
‘I promise,’ I said.
When Jeykal glanced at our guards, I stuck one of my legs between his, hooked my boot on his shoe, and stepped into him, knocking him off balance. He reached for my injured arm but stopped when he realised what he was doing, and fell to the ground.
‘Seems you can’t fight dirty, either,’ I noted.
His face lightened. ‘If I thought you were serious, I’d let my inner hawgrald out to play.’
‘You mean your inner sparrow?’ I teased.
He jumped to his feet, leaped, and knocked me into the snow. I laughed hard as his limbs entangled me. I fought back, trying to get the upper hand. Eventually, I had him on his back, his legs held down by my legs, and my free hand held both of his wrists.
‘Gotcha!’ I said.
Jeykal stared up at me, his smile slowly disappearing. A hunger replaced his jesting, and his breathing stilled. His pupils expanded as his eyes softened.
I quickly fell to the ground beside him. ‘I need to train,’ I announced, eager to escape the awkward moment.
Jeykal just lay there, watching the forest canopy. His long neck drew my attention down to protruding collarbones that stopped at a taut chest. A vein pulsed under his jawline, and for the first time, I saw Jeykal the man, not Jeykal the boy. I considered my feelings for Skelkra. They were confused and ugly, contorted by his deceit yet persistent because of the moment we’d shared. I knew what it felt like to be used, and I wouldn’t do that to Jeykal.
I caught him staring at me and he crossed his arms underneath his head. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Mind what?’ I replied.
‘That you were with him. You know.’
I tilted my head. ‘And?’
‘I just wanted you to know. I don’t care that you were with him.’
‘I wouldn’t care if you minded anyway. It’s my life, and it’s my decision.’ Feeling foolish, I got up and stormed off through the woods. Our guards chuckled softly at my expense.
Jeykal didn’t follow.
I spent the afternoon throwing a knife with my left hand. Most times the blade would tip too far forward or backwards. Averaging out my throws, I concluded that only three out of five would hit its mark. Pathetic! Those odds would see me dead in a fight against Skelkra. I kept practising, but my aim only grew worse.
Each missed throw was just another reminder of my injuries. I cursed myself, I threw the blade harder and faster. Panting, I leaned over to catch my breath. Staring down at the knife, I imagined slicing my neck open and ending all my pain.
Then I shook my head at my absurdity and reckless emotions. The medicine woman had been right. I was no warrior. I collapsed to the snow, dropped the blade, and buried my face into my hand.
I was going to lose.
Then, I passed the knife into my right hand, slowly closed my hand around the handle and increased my grip until my arm ached. The pain was tolerable, so I removed my sling and straightened my elbow with a creak. The flexing movement smoothed with repetition. Holding the knife, I raised my right arm and agonising pain shot down my forearm. I flung the knife with a jerk, and the pain knocked the air from my lungs. I clutched at the splint, doubling over in the snow.
Tears streamed down my face, and I regretted the effort. When I looked up, I saw the knife embedded in the target and let out a sarcastic laugh. I rocked onto my feet and hobbled over to the tree to remove the knife.
I took five steps away from the tree, and turned to face my target. I raised my arm and cried out as I released the knife with a crack. White spots formed in my vision and I swayed to the side and landed in the snow. My brow drenched in sweat, I carefully put the sling back on and clutched at my arm, shaking. Nausea rose in my stomach and I heaved. I’d eaten nothing since Father had found me crouched over a bucket earlier. A film of wetness had gathered on my brow. Standing, I checked the target and smiled. A perfect throw.
I had a plan.
Back in the city encampment, when I entered my hut, I found Father sitting on my bed, head resting in his hands.
‘You look tired,’ I said.
He straightened. ‘If I look tired, then you look like death. Rest now, or we will lose, and your father will be ridiculed for losing the Bears’ leadership.’
‘You’d still be a leader though,’ I said.
He punched a nearby wall. ‘The Wolves will ruin Ruxdor! They don’t know how to run this country.’
‘Neither did you until someone taught you.’ I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t trying to provoke Father; I just didn’t care if I did.
He moved towards me slowly and stopped with his face inches from mine. ‘Are you trying to anger me? You want me to injure you so you don’t have to fight. Don’t you?’
I knew any answer I gave would result in violence, so I said nothing.
He scoffed. ‘Women are not meant to lead. Your injuries are proof of your weakness.’
I brought my eyes to his and clutched the hilt of my knife in my left hand. Father or not, his words called for an argument. If I were a man, we would already be in a scrap, jabbing with elbows and fists. I repressed the desire to punch him. ‘Leave. Me. Alone,’ I said through gritted teeth.
Father grabbed my damaged arm and squeezed. I swallowed the scream that welled within me. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and my legs turned to mud, but I kept my eyes locked with his. I am not weak! When his grip loosened, my glare returned. I would not let him intimidate me. How I longed to sleep, and I considered taking too much of the dragonclaw herb. The sleep would be endless, all my worries gone. When Father let go, he showed no hint of remorse.
I sat on my bed, my right arm throbbing and aching, and my vision blurred.
Father sighed and took a seat beside me. ‘I am afraid,’ he admitted.
Not surprisingly, I produced no sympathy for him. A virtuous leader does not control by hurting the people who love him. I stared at a sketch of Mother on my wall and wondered if he’d ever hurt her. ‘I will fight the best I can,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘No. I mean, I am afraid he will kill you. You are a disappointment, but I do not want you to die. You’re all I have left of her.’ I followed his gaze to the wall and thanked the stars he’d loved Mother so much. For if he hadn’t, I might be dead. Then again, if he hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t continue to blame me for his grief.
‘I know why you hurt me, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re a coward.’ I stood up. The room moved, and I swayed a little. My stomach swelled and churned like a
n animal had nested inside of me and was now trying to get out.
Father took my bruised arm again, and I waited for him to squeeze. The muscles in his forehead twitched and he trembled. I raised my chin, daring him to hurt me again. Come on, do it!
‘I will fetch the medicine woman,’ he said, turned on his heel and left.
I blinked a couple of times and collapsed onto the bed again. The pain kept me awake. I looked over at the black vial of dragonclaw. One drop soothed most aches, four drops for severe pain.
I tipped a quarter of the bottle into my mouth.
Skelkra faced me across the Fighter’s Circle, a place used mostly for training and sparring. Vilseek citizens crowded around the outside and leaned against sturdy railings, shouting out our names in support. Thirsty, excited eyes flicked between the Wolf boy and me. They wanted blood; they wanted to know who their next chieftain would be.
My right arm hung at my side, throbbing. I gripped my dagger in my left hand. I felt a little foggy from the dragonclaw I had taken the night before, but the aches in my body were faint and bearable.
Father stepped towards us through the snowy mush. The clouds had darkened overhead. No snow fell, yet the dry wind howled. Snowfall was coming.
The chieftain shouted, ‘You must cut your opponent three times! Only cuts from a blade count as points. No deadly strikes. If one dies, neither wins, and Jeykal of the Hawgralds becomes the next ruler.’
No deadly strikes? I seethed with anger, glaring at father. Skelkra deserved to die.
My eyes slid to my friend, who watched anxiously from the side. He made a fist with his right hand and pummelled his left. He was telling me to fight strongly. To fight dirty. One part of me knew Jeykal would make a great leader, but he was also passive. If it ever came to war, he’d falter under pressure. Even so, I could help him lead, but Father had worked hard to keep his place as leader, and while we disagreed, I respected the realm he’d built.
Our country bordered Senya, and ever since the civil war that split it in two, the Queens of the north had grown strong. No one knew what they wanted, other than having the biggest army they could muster. This was a time that demanded a leader with fire in their belly. My father had that, but sometimes the flames consumed his better sense, and those around him, like me, got burnt.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 251
