by Troy Clem
After the King finished the inspections, the Royal Guard made a path, again, for him and his wife through the crowd. The King's Guard escorted them to their private viewing box at the top of the tallest structure.
Royal Guard soldiers walked each contestant around inside the rectangular battlefield, and positioned them somewhat evenly around the edge before facing them toward the center. Tess had a great view of Pasqual: he was only about fifty feet away. The blind contestants had been set, and every spectator waited in silent, anxious, building anticipation. Emmen furiously wrote down the location of each fighter on his scroll, splashing ink from the inkwell as he dipped the wooden pen in and out between scribbles.
King Rev signaled the trumpeters and the three men blew their horns. It blasted from what seemed like every direction, and so loudly that nearly everyone in the stands jumped in their seats. “Very strange echo,” Emmen commented, jotting away. “Must be bouncing off these mountain walls.”
Tess didn’t care. The contest had begun and the fighters started to move. Most took it slow, cautiously feeling out each step—but Nickson was sprinting at Pasqual with his sword and shield to his side. Tess knew where each of the fighters were, but how could Nickson be so certain? Pasqual was, like the others, taking small, deliberate steps toward the middle of the battlefield with his sword and shield up defensively. Pasqual had only moved about ten feet toward the center of the arena by the time Nickson leapt at him.
Nickson’s sword hit Pasqual’s shield, and Pasqual reacted to the collision by deflecting Nickson to the left with his shield and slicing back with his sword. Nickson did a backward somersault to avoid the strike, and the crowd cheered uproariously. Tess was not amused.
“Too flashy,” said Emmen. “Waste of energy.” Tess liked Emmen.
Pasqual sliced back and forth toward the sound of Nickson’s feet shuffling—something Tess had practiced with him. His strikes were lumbering, and Nickson was agile. Pasqual nearly hit Nickson a dozen times; if any of those blows had landed, Nickson would have been destroyed. But none connected, not even glancing blows. Pasqual was tiring: his shoulders were hunching forward, and he was losing his form. He swung his sword around slowly, and Nickson took the opportunity to sweep the behemoth’s legs out from under him, knocking Pasqual to the ground.
Pasqual quickly got to his knees, but before he could completely stand, Nickson dropped the hilt of his sword in a gap between the giant’s shroud and armor, hitting Pasqual's bare neck. With that one swift blow, Pasqual dropped flat to the ground face-down and stopped moving.
The crowd took a collective breath. For Tess, an eternity was passing. “Roll, Squally!” she shouted.
Nickson circled around and kicked Pasqual, but the giant didn’t move. He poked at Pasqual’s armor with his sword until he discovered a soft spot—on the leg where two plates of armor came together—and stabbed his sword into Pasqual’s calf. There was no reaction from Pasqual. Nickson raised his arms in victory and the trumpets blared. Again, the sounds echoed off the mountain, causing more jumps in the crowd from the sheer volume of the horn’s blast.
“What does that mean, Emmen?” asked Tess, her face draining of color.
Emmen opened his mouth but only silence came at first. “Well…” he fumbled.
“Tell me!” Tess said, panicked. “It means ‘e’s dead, right?”
“It's a signal for the medics to pull him from the field,” said Emmen. “It means nothing more. They will pull him off the battlefield and check him over.”
Tess looked at Pasqual, motionless on the ground, and waited a few agonizing seconds for the medics to rush out. “Why aren’t they comin’?” she demanded, voice breaking.
“They’ll run out when it’s safe,” Emmen replied.
“The action’s on the other side of the battlefield,” said Tess. “Why aren’t they comin’?” Emmen didn’t know what to say.
Nickson ran toward the other side of the battlefield where the other contestants had finally started to clash. Swords hit shields and other swords, but the blows were mostly glancing and did little to their targets. Nickson sprinted to his next victim as if he could see exactly where he was. Emmen referred back to his paper to figure out who Nickson was running toward. “I believe that’s Loq, a farmer’s son from Outer Rigol… or wait, maybe… it is List? He wouldn’t talk to me yesterday so I don’t know much about him.” Emmen was trying his best to distract Tess.
Tess wasn’t watching the contest. Her eyes were fixed on Pasqual, baking in the afternoon sun—but Emmen’s words drifted through vaguely. “As long as they kill Nickson, I don’t care who they are.” Nickson and his opponent were circling each other. When one would attack, the other would dodge.
A section of crowd across the field cheered. One of the contestants was on his back dodging the slamming sword of another, relentlessly coming down over and over, each time missing by only inches. Emmen checked his paper. “Those are definitely Kagnor and Niev. Kagnor is the one on his back: you can see his crimson handkerchief coming out from his armor. Crimson is the color of the house Umml.”
Another section of the crowd cheered. “Tokkon of house Kalim has lost his sword and is using his shield to beat—”
“I don’t care, Librarian,” interrupted Tess. “I ‘ope they all kill each other.” She breathed heavily in and out in frustration. “Why ‘as no one pulled Squally off the field?”
A giant shadow spread over the battlefield, and Tess poked her head out from under the roof of their shaded seats, craning her neck to see the shadow’s origin. She squinted, briefly unable to process what she was seeing.
Thousands of arrows filled the sky, nearly blocking out the sun. As others started to see the arrows in the sky, a wave of screams and panic spread over the crowd. The first of the arrows fell to the ground, igniting into sudden flames, setting the grass and the wooden stands on fire. Tess could hear the arrows hitting the roof that covered the stands above them.
The fighters on the battlefield ran around in a panic, finding fire wherever they turned. If they could have seen, they would have found easy paths to escape the flames, but the heat further confused their dulled senses. A few of them were vainly trying to undo the bindings holding the shrouds to their suits of armor.
The spectators in the stands were trampling each other to get out—in the panic, one’s station didn’t seem to matter—but there was nowhere to go with thousands of spectators on the field blocking the way out. People were getting hit by arrows and falling to the ground, creating obstacles for others to trip or climb over. Tess and Emmen were at the front of the stands but still had nowhere to go.
Emmen opened his cloak and threw it over Tess. It was impossibly large, covering both Tess and Emmen completely like a small tent, holding a dome shape over their heads without any supportive structure. Tess’s eyes widened. “We’ll be safe under here,” said Emmen. “But not forever.”
Rage of the Sigandar
Looming over Theo was a gargantuan oak tree stretching hundreds of feet into the air. Sunlight beamed from the blue sky above, but the tree was surrounded by the walls of a fortress that continued up hundreds of feet higher into the air beyond its top. Theo turned to his right and saw Nagima next to him. She was young—his age—and looked as beautiful as she had been in his vision from the Mother. She held his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. He leaned his head against hers. She turned slightly to look up at him. They both leaned closer and kissed. “Theo,” he heard her whisper, despite her lips touching his.
Theo woke, sunlight creeping in through the cave opening. Nagima was standing over him. “Salve to your legs we must apply before leaving.” Nagima threw off Theo’s blanket just enough to expose his legs; Theo held the remainder of the blanket firmly to his lap. “What this?” she gasped.
Theo looked down and didn’t see a scratch on him. His legs were stained from the blood that had dripped from his once-open wounds, but there was no longer any other sign of the
bird bites and scratches. “You make an exceptional salve,” he said.
“Heal the salve does not,” Nagima said, still staring at Theo’s legs with wide eyes. “Only soothes. Remarkable you are.”
“The speed of my recovery must be at least partially your doing,” Theo said.
“Feel the healing while you slept?” Nagima asked. “Dream about what did you?”
“Nothing spectacular,” Theo said.
“Details must be given.”
“My mind is cloudy…”
“For a moment you must think,” Nagima insisted. “Not forget it. Any details at all.”
“Really, I can’t remember any details.”
“Your eyes you close.” Nagima put her thumb and middle finger on Theo’s eyebrows and slid them down, guiding his eyelids closed. “Blank your mind will go. Think your dream you will. First thing to your mind, you say.”
“I felt happy,” Theo said.
“Happy?”
“The happiest I have ever been. Pure joy.” Theo opened his eyes. “That’s all I’m able to remember.”
“Interesting,” Nagima said, standing. “Weaponized Dak’s terror you have. Swollen with strength rage made you. Heal your body joy does. Emotions you are connected to like no other I have seen before.”
“I'm terrified that I can’t control it. What will I do next?”
“Kill us all you will,” said Dak, abruptly opening his eyes though he clearly must have been awake and listening for at least a moment.
“Enough, Dak,” said Nagima. “Help the boy we must.”
“Here to watch this all burn to the ground I am.”
“You’re joining us then?” Theo asked. “You will come to Ironhead?”
“I suppose so,” sighed Dak. “Until I find a better option.”
As Dak slowly got up from his makeshift bed and Nagima finished gathering supplies, Theo reflected on yesterday. He really had caused a great deal of death and destruction already, and could easily kill them all. He didn’t want to kill everyone.
“Move now,” Nagima said, heading toward the cave entrance. “Climb back up we must.”
The fog had settled high in the canyon, giving the illusion that they were walking on clouds instead of a narrow cliff edge. Not being able to see the jagged rocks below made it easier for Theo to walk confidently. Nagima had brought special climbing axes from the cave, which were intricately filed to have serrated blades. They cut into the rock like it was bread, but held the rock face tightly when weight was applied. It wasn’t much harder than climbing up a ladder: far easier than getting down in the first place. Dak stood on Nagima’s shoulders and Theo helped pull him up. Once Dak had his elbow over he could do most of the work to pull himself up onto the ledge.
Once Nagima climbed up, she took the lead and proceeded into the cover of the trees. Hundreds of dead guards and their horses still littered the forest floor, and the stench was revolting, even at a distance. There was so little time to dwell yesterday that Theo had forgotten the true volume of death he had caused. Even thinking about it in the cave just moments ago, he hadn’t remembered it properly. There had to be a hundred dead men and horses. He wanted to cry, but he was too scared to think what sorrow might do to him and everyone around him. He ran to a tree, used its trunk to balance himself, then vomited bile and foam onto the forest floor.
“Their guns we should take,” said Dak.
“No,” replied Nagima. “Threatening we do not want to be when the fortress we reach. Reason to kill us on the spot having Royal Guard branded guns would be. Bad enough is my bow. Replenished at the altar my arrows have been, if protect ourselves we must.”
“I need to get out of here as rapidly as possible,” said Theo, some color returning to his face. “I’ll ensure you both stay alive once we arrive at the fortress.”
“Promise that you cannot,” replied Dak. “Cared not who you were did these guards.”
“It'll be different,” said Theo.
Dak laughed. “Know that you do not.”
“If I must I’ll…” Theo didn't want to finish his thought.
He didn't have to. “Do this again you are thinking?” Dak asked with a sweeping gesture.
“With intention you think you could do this?” Nagima asked. Theo didn’t respond. “Not did I consider that you could. Smart we must be. Volatile you are.”
“Smart?” Dak mocked. “To the most dangerous place on the mountain we are taking the most dangerous child, smart I would not say.”
“Our best option it is,” said Nagima. “But stay away from the clan and the guard towers we must. Good paths I can take us.”
“Guard towers?” Theo asked.
“Our forest the Empire has tried to take from us. Piece by piece. Oppression has long their strongest weapon been. Wooden towers they have erected all over. Trumpet if they spot us they will. Fire their guns on us. But our forest we know better.” Nagima smiled. “Never catch us, if to me you listen. Careful to take the most secluded paths.”
“Take the spine you want?” Dak asked. “Me you cannot expect to go that way. To leave me behind has the Mother told you?”
“Make it you will,” said Nagima. “To leave you I have no plan.”
“Before I have been there,” replied Dak. “Trick me you will not. Hard are the climbs.”
“There must be a compromise?” Theo suggested. “I want Dak to join us.”
“The spine we might not have to traverse,” said Nagima. “But if sign of slightest trouble there is, divert to the spine we will, no matter the difficulty.” Theo nodded.
“Any excuse you will make,” Dak huffed. “Inevitable is the spine.”
“We all need to trust each other if we’re going to make it,” said Theo.
“Check for signs ahead I will,” Nagima said. “Proceed if safe only.” She ran up ahead.
Dak got close to Theo once Nagima was out of earshot. “I’m sure there’s more she’s not telling us,” said Dak.
“You need to trust in Nagima. Like I know you have in the past.”
“She would need to do a lot to earn my trust back.”
“But—”
Nagima jogged back. “Good path I have found.” She looked Theo up and down inquisitively.
“What?” Theo asked.
“Falling off your body are your clothes,” replied Nagima.
Theo looked down at his tattered garments. “They’ve made it this far.”
Nagima looked around at the dead guards. “Your size there is bound to be.”
Theo was scrawny compared to most of the guards. His new trousers wouldn’t stay up, and the shirt could easily fit two of him—but, after tucking it into his pants and cinching it all down with a belt, the ensemble was manageable.
Nagima made them walk amongst the trees at least a few yards from any path that might be traveled. Their pace was slow over the uneven ground. They were forced to climb over rocks and tree roots, or squeeze under enormous low-hanging tree branches and between close-growing tree trunks. Dak struggled multiple times, but refused to be helped.
“Up the spine we should have gone,” Dak moaned. “Faster and easier it probably would have been.”
“Compromise I thought this was,” Nagima said. “To the spine we can always change our course.”
“For my arguing you do this to punish me,” Dak said.
“Safe I am keeping us, that is all,” Nagima replied, and forged forward quickly to avoid more conflict.
They trudged through the forest until Nagima stopped in the shade of a mountain wall. She patted the rock face with her hand. “‘Death Peak’ do ancient stories name this mountain,” Nagima started. “Safe its range keeps us. Climbing was only way through until discovered was the cut-through. Ironhead separate from Sigandar. But if go to Ironhead Onqul thinks we will… real trouble there will be. Wait there she will.”
“Obviously to Ironhead Onqul would assume we are going,” said Dak.
“Why obviously
?” Theo asked.
“Royal you are,” Dak said. “To where else would royals go?”
“I’m not really a royal,” muttered Theo.
“Close enough you are,” said Dak.
“We haven't seen any sign of them yet,” said Theo. “We go until Nagima says it’s not safe.”
“Very slow we take it from here,” Nagima said, creeping carefully. “Circular clearing there is in the grove up ahead. Sacred and powerful is that place. Stop there Onqul will have been obliged to, if come through here she has.”
When they got close to the clearing, they could see a few birds and feather cloaks, in the distance, through the trees. “She is there,” said Dak.
“Bad this is,” replied Nagima. “Fast, but quiet, we must go back.”
Theo was drawn to the Sigandar. There was an energy in the air and it was intoxicating. Theo felt all of the Sigandar’s emotions mixing together. Fear, sadness, joy, and rage wafted from the clan, and its power was potent. The closer Theo got, the more he felt the emotions take control of him. His heart was beating incredibly loud.
“Stop,” Nagima hissed, but Theo was transfixed. Dak practically leapt the few yards to reach Theo, wrapped his arm around, and held tight. Nagima was close behind and quickly put a hand over Theo’s mouth to prevent him from making any noise. Theo didn’t struggle, but he wanted to get closer.
In the clearing, the entire clan was looking at Onqul as she cut her arm deep from wrist to elbow, letting blood pour onto the ground. “In the name of the Mother, my blood to consecrate the ground I add first. Not dead is She, for her bounty and power is all around us.” She raised the dripping knife into the air. “With Hers our blood mixes, and to us more powerful than before it returns!” She screamed her war cry—a high pitched shriek that stimulated the birds into a frenzy—and she collapsed to the ground. The clan all let out their war cries in response.
Bir and his brother warriors stepped from the crowd and took the ceremonial knife from Onqul’s hand as she lay motionless in the blood-saturated dirt. “Our blood we add second,” Bir said. “Commitment to the clan it proves.” Bir cut his arm and passed the knife to his nearest brother. He cut himself and passed it on to the next brother who did the same, and once they were all finished they began to dance in a circle. They whipped their arms out, spraying their blood on the ground and onto the crowd. They let out their war cries and all collapsed at the same time. The clan let out their war cry again in response.
