“Home,” her chief regent echoed. “Where we are wanted.”
Chastien fought to keep her visage neutral, because. . . this chief regent? Well, she certainly didn’t want him.
“You believe our alliance is not valued?” a field general questioned.
“If our positions were reversed,” the chief regent replied. “They would look the other way while the witch obliterated us.”
“They would abandon us,” Thannix said, standing and slapping his side. “We know this for a fact.”
“Fact?” Chastien’s jaw muscles clenched. “How is this fact?”
“If you’d read between the lines of our ambassador’s report from the front.” Thannix rocked on his heels, replying in the condescending tone of an adult correcting an ignorant child. “That is abundantly clear.”
“I believe the ambassador’s precise words are these. . .” Chastien had read that report so many times it was all but branded on her eyelids. “Our allies have not only lost faith in our ability to aid them, but in our very will to do so. Our delay is construed as reneging on our sworn alliance. If we do not act quickly, we may as well return home.” She took a step forward. “Where, Governor, is this fact you speak of?”
Her trusted allies recognized the flare of her nostrils, the vehemence with which she spat out distasteful words. If the governor didn’t back down, he would learn firsthand that she could not be dismissed as a mere figurehead with a pretty face. They made no move to intervene, however; merely cocked their eyes to one another expectantly.
“To one trained in the art of diplomacy, my dear girl, the ambassador’s words are abundantly clear.”
Something in Chastien—a pride that was weary of being belittled over her age, size, and gender—snapped. She rattled out her glittering sword and advanced in attack position.
“I am your queen, Governor! I will not be talked to like a child as though I were anything but!” Chastien shook her sword an inch from Thannix’s neck, shocking him to silence. She whirled and paced before her advisors, her long light hair flicking behind her at every turn. “Alliance! That’s the word I hear. Even if they would leave us to die, we have made a promise. I will not be the one to break our word! Our allies have lost faith in us? Think we’ve lost our will? I won’t have that said about me. Or my people. I don’t believe for a second our army has lost its will. We’re better than that!”
Her key leaders, in a few short months, had come to admire her resolve and inner strength. They would follow her even into the most hopeless of battles.
“Alert your men. We’re leaving immediately.” Chastien’s eyes burned with a cat-like defiance. “By sundown tomorrow we leave no doubt about the ability, the will, and the integrity of an alliance with the Bandu people.”
And with those words, the young, eyelash-fluttering, pampered princess was transformed in history and legend into one of the fiercest and most admired leaders the west had known.
XXXV - The Wild Woods
For two long days, they’d fought their way through thick, thistly undergrowth and escalating tensions. After a heated argument that morning over something so trivial Alixa could make no sense of either’s grievances, Emmie and Renn were barely speaking to one another. Which was fine by Alixa. She’d been restless and irritable since they’d broken camp. Her senses were prickling with something. Something she couldn’t discern. And that galled her even more than listening to two teenagers bickering. When Emmie questioned her about her obvious agitation, she was evasive.
“Probably indigestion from listening to you snipe at each other, Sheep.” Alixa quickly strode away. “We’ll hit the Pass soon.”
Emmie didn’t buy that, but Alixa gave her no more. Early afternoon, weaving their way through stands of dense aspen, Alixa finally intuited the source of her dis-ease. She swore under her breath, ran a hand though her hair, then quickly composed herself. She nonchalantly slowed to let Renn take the lead position. Moderating her pace enough to allow Emmie to pass her as well felt like a maddening crawl. As she faded back behind them, she whispered to them both to draw their hoods up. Stick together. Act natural.
Never a comforting phrase.
“Alixa?” Emmie asked after several minutes of anxious walking. She turned, scanning the forest behind her. Nobody. Emmie—not looking particularly natural—scurried to Renn and grasped his cloak. “She’s gone.”
“Alixa!” Renn called. They waited, surveying the woods in silence, before Renn steered Emmie forward. “She said keep moving. That’s what we’ll do.”
Every rustle in the trees—birds, squirrels, wind—spooked them. Then Emmie’s eyes caught a flash of black. She grasped Renn by the cloak and pointed with her chin. Renn followed her gaze and his steps faltered as well. A cloaked figure slipped into the brush, then reemerged directly in their path.
“Lost, are we? Alone in the woods?” The man’s voice was harsh and grating. He lowered his hood, revealing black specks of pupils, sallow skin, and a wispy beard. They’d only ever met one Aegorite; they knew they’d met their second. He pointed his sword at Renn. “Leave the girl or we do this the hard way. The witch, see, she’s wanting little wheat-headed girls.”
Renn pulled Emmie behind him. Feebly raised his sword.
“Fancy ourselves a hero, do we?” The man chuckled, deftly balancing his own sword in his hand. “All the better for—”
From high in the trees, back and to their right, an arrow swished past them and buried itself in the man’s open mouth. He stumbled backwards. An immediate second arrow caught him in the chest. He buckled and collapsed.
Alixa lithely slid out of a nearby tree, bow in hand. Without a word, she wrenched the two arrows from the man’s body. She pulled three bloody throwing stars out of her side pouch and, holding them between her left knuckles, slashed the dead man across the face, throat, and chest.
“Move. Now. Already killed his partner. But. . .” She held up the three soaked stars, blood running down her hand and wrist. “I’ve splayed enough blood around to attract any scavenger or predator for miles. We don’t need to hang about and thank whatever’s coming to eat them. But if someone happens upon their bones?” She shrugged dismissively with the ghost of a smile. “Bears are awfully hungry this time of year, no?”
Emmie and Renn stared at her, speechless. The brief chilling display laid bare the mettle of their guide. What they saw was both comforting (her keen awareness missed nothing; neither did her arrows) and disturbing (she shrugged off killing as though it had been target practice at a scarecrow). Taking in their startled expressions, it dawned on Alixa that what had become second nature for her looked savage and brutal to two Vale kids. A long-dormant seed of worry about what she’d become took root. She shoved it back down into her subconscious.
“There’s nobody else here, I guarantee you.” Alixa spread her arms. “But the sooner we get to the Pass, the better. Oh, and we’re starting basic sword-fighting lessons.” Alixa tutted disapprovingly as she strode forward. “Maybe bows and stars too.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Renn said, still staring at the dead man.
“I’m sure I haven’t told you enough, Lixa,” Emmie added warily, “how glad I am you’re with us.”
Through days of tough hiking, unhappy silence, and cold, fireless nights, none of them could not put the details of the incident behind them. Most specifically, for Emmie, that some ‘witch’ wanted her. Alixa brusquely waved off any questions regarding this, replying only that they’d be safe in Lamberden Pass. That by all accounts the superstitious Aegorites avoided it assiduously. And Alixa wished to be left alone. Renn, meanwhile, repeatedly tried to engage Emmie in meaningful conversation. She deflected all attempts. The longer she avoided him, the lower his spirits sank.
A few monotonous days later, Alixa laid some pigeon flanks across a paltry fire. Renn and his growling stomach were assigned to tend to them, as it was Emmie’s turn to endure one of Alixa’s progressively nastier fighting �
�lessons.’
Blades drawn, the two sparred. This essentially amounted to Emmie ducking and covering as Alixa bore down on her, then absorbing Alixa’s wrath at Emmie’s lack of sword fighting abilities. During a break, sucking her stinging knuckles, Emmie couldn’t resist asking again. “That man wanted me, to hand over to some witch.”
Alixa ignored her for the hundredth time, choosing instead to relish Renn’s chagrinned expression as she popped their final handful of blueberries in her mouth.
“I’m serious,” Emmie pushed. “What do you know about this witch?”
“Don’t you have witches or wizards in the Vale?” Alixa pulled her sword again, motioning Emmie up with her head. “Could mean anything.”
“He didn’t say a witch. It was specific: the witch.” Renn rotated the pigeons and kept talking—hoping his support would warm Emmie back open. “Only one I’ve ever heard of being referred to as the—”
“Drop it, goat-boy.” Alixa’s eyes burned. “Sheep: sword up.”
Emmie ignored the order, further feeding Alixa’s fury.
“There’s the old legends of the Archons, down south.” Emmie turned to Renn, not caring at all for ‘sword up.’ “But, yeah, you’re right. The witch could only mean—”
“Drop it, Sheep. I mean it.”
“Look, you obvious know something.” Renn turned to her. “You need to tell us.”
“Need to?” Alixa snarled. “Since when?”
“Not need to, so much,” Emmie re-phrased diplomatically. “Renn means. . . if you know something, it’s best for all of us, you too, to tell us. Maybe we can help.”
“Doubtful. And nobody tells me what I need to do.” At that, Alixa charged, stabbing mercilessly. She flicked Emmie’s sword out of her hand, then dumped her on her bum. Alixa threw her hands in the air. “Parry, Sheep! How many times do I have to spell out for you what parry means?”
Emmie rubbed her bleeding right hand, biting back tears and her retort that Alixa did not have a future as a schoolteacher.
“You better start trying,” Alixa yelled. “Or you’ll end up a dead sheep!”
“Like you’d even care,” Renn mumbled from his spot by the fire.
In one fluid movement, Alixa lunged towards him, twirling her longbow off her back. The knife-end of the bow stopped just short of Renn’s midsection. “How dare you. . .”
Renn put his hands up. Alixa’s eyes burned with fury and frustration and. . . he tried to think through the glints and glimmers he’d learned to read in Emmie’s emotive grey eyes. Hurt? No. Couldn’t be. “Hey, Alixa—”
She twirled the bow back over her shoulder. Shook one finger at Renn—eyes now definitely all fury—then clamped her hand into a fist and strode away. “Fight amongst yourselves then. You hardly need practice at that.”
“Wait, Lixa.” Emmie, still sprawled on the ground, pushed her hair back.
“Shut it, Sheep.” And Alixa was out of sight.
Emmie glared at Renn. “Nice job.”
Time ticked by. Neither spoke. Alixa didn’t return. Eventually, Renn pulled their long-since charred pigeon dinner off the fire. “Uh, Emmie, how do we know when these things are done?”
“I’m a fisher not a birder,” Emmie mumbled, then nervously licked her lips. “Hey?” She waited until he looked at her. He did so tentatively. Lately, all that got him back was a scowl. Not this time. “Renn, I’m scared. I think. . . do you think. . . I mean, it sounds like—”
“Seems impossible, but yeah. Alixa believes that guy was referring to the old witch-queen. I’d bet on it.”
“I wish Lixa would come back.” Emmie couldn’t stop gazing in the direction she’d departed.
But Alixa didn’t. Rather, she asked herself, what was she doing anyway? Perched high in a thick red pine, she watched the sun set, then the stars rise. She heard Emmie and Renn calling for her. She blocked out their pleading voices. She knew Bandu were being hunted like animals. She should’ve stayed in the Basin, not taken any chances. That had been the plan she had committed to. And this? Helping these two stupid, needy kids was far too dangerous. Well, she didn’t need them, and Alixa was far from stupid. She owed these two nothing. And that map? Who did she owe it to, to go chasing after that map? All she was doing was courting heartbreak and death.
That settled it. This was simply too dangerous. Alixa closed her eyes, determined to block out Renn and Emmie’s increasingly frantic voices. First morning light, she’d disappear back to the Basin.
XXXVI - The Wild Woods
Renn and Emmie lay awake most of the night, restless and unnerved by how the denseness of the woods seemed more oppressive, the darkness around them bleaker, without Alixa’s glowering presence and small arsenal of weapons at their side. The next day was spent systematically circling their campsite, calling for her, fruitlessly hoping to find her nearby. And whenever she could, Emmie sought solitude. Seemed solitude was what life held for her.
Emmie slumped behind a stump and dug her nails into her palms. If Alixa was truly gone, if it was really just the two of them. . . she had to work this out. She squeezed her eyes shut, and it all flooded back: the nausea, humiliation, shame. There had been another boy, once, who seemed taken with Emmie. And the exuberant girl seized the bait, letting her emotions run wild, only discovering much too late the barbed hooks embedded in those affections. . .
“We’ll get married one day, Emmie. I promise.”
The 13-year old blonde beamed, hopelessly smitten with the older Dungar boy. She’d dreaded this move to Bermark. However, after only a few weeks this handsome boy had taken a singular interest in her. He touched her chin, returned the smile, and left to make arrangements.
His family would arrange their marriage, he assured her. In reality, no advocate would initiate a betrothal for a 13-year old. And no Dungar advocate would do so with a Bandu girl, at that. But this was an unknown world for Emmie. He said they were getting married? Well, then they surely were. So unexpected and exciting! She’d made a best friend already, too, who always wanted to know every detail of what Emmie was thinking and feeling. Having pined for a real friend her whole life, Emmie was all too eager to pour out every single emotion. With the heady news of a pending engagement setting her emotions aflame, Emmie bounded off to find her friend.
She wove through the side streets of Bermark, then into the bustling market. Hearing her boyfriend’s voice across the square when he said he’d been going home, pulled Emmie up short. She’d know his deep tones anywhere. But. . . Emmie bit her lip. He was talking about her. Saying lewd and hurtful things. And everyone was laughing. She peered out from the market stall she’d concealed herself behind. It was his entire circle of friends—her friends, she thought. Her best friend was there too. Emmie listened, breathless, as he shared secrets she had confided in him; each confidential confession greeted with another round of mocking laughter. Emmie sobbed, her heart breaking, and twelve sets of gloating eyes turned her way.
“Oh, well.” Her boyfriend shrugged, an unfamiliarly cruel expression on his face. “No game lasts forever. Shame. But it’s been fun, Stone-eyes.”
More jeering laughter. Emmie stared numbly, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“Filthy wheat-head, you think anyone would marry you?” He began walking towards her. “Nobody, ever, could want you. That’s disgusting. You’re nothing but a piece of worthless northern trash.”
She ran, all of them calling after her, feeling as though a piece of her shattered with each step. For the first time, she had nowhere to turn. How could she tell Dad his daughter was repulsive? The mere notion that anybody could love her, disgusting? It seemed every time she ventured down the street, she saw one of them. She endured their mocking, jeering, kissy-gagging taunts again and again. Until she was forced to own it as the truth of who she was.
She moved on, eventually. Rediscovered some joy and laughed again. But any hint of romantic love felt toxic, inextricably bound up with betrayal and humiliation. Emmie si
mply wasn’t equipped to know how to pull them apart.
She lay in the grass, down the hill from their pathetic campsite, staring blankly into the sky. So much for working anything out.
“Emmie?” Renn called. “I managed to bag some lunch. Not good as Alixa, but. . .”
She slowly pulled herself up, dragged herself towards their camp.
“You want to talk?” Renn shifted from one foot to the other. “I mean, whatever I did, I—”
“No. I just have to. . .” She feared if she let him keep talking, she would hear the echoes of that other voice overtaking his. That hateful, mocking ‘love.’
“You okay?” His eyes searched for hers. She kept hers locked on her boots.
“Maybe later. Sometime. . . later.”
They ate lunch in silence. Spent the afternoon in wordless vigil for Alixa to return. Shortly after dinner—which, without Alixa to hunt, was rather meager—they had to face reality.
“She’s not coming back.” Renn finally said it.
Emmie winced.
“So much for a lot to like about that woman.”
“Fine, so I was wrong! You need to rub it in?” Emmie threw her bag. Renn started to gesture, to open his mouth, but Emmie shut down his upcoming unkind reply with one of her own. “You want to leave, too? Go right ahead. I won’t stop you.”
“Maybe I will.” Renn rose and paced away. “It’s not like you want me around anyway.”
They sniped at each for the balance of the day, slowly reducing Emmie to tears. By evening, all she could do was huddle on the far side of their campsite, shaking with sobs. Renn knew he should stuff his anger, apologize, make the first move, but he couldn’t force himself to do it. He wrapped himself in his blanket and cloak and went to sleep, as far away from Emmie as possible.
Miles to the west, Alixa glowered at the sky as she powered along. She was keeping her brain shut off. She had to. They were too dangerous, these kids, and that was that. They were slow, besides. Without them, she was making excellent time. Another advantage of working alone. She breathed in the cool evening air. Even that tasted sweeter without their constant bickering, or flirting, or the Sheep’s incessant jabbering.
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