Seablood

by Cameron Bolling

  If she wanted to honor his memory, she couldn’t give up on Ahwan. Pahlo wanted to get aid in freeing their people, and he would’ve seen the city as a blessing, a great force they could tap in their quest whether the king sided with them or not. Oleja had Wil, and Brashen, and Cyrah. The three of them wouldn’t just give up—they were her friends; they cared about her and wanted this plan to succeed. They’d want her to try a new route, to get help in a different way.

  Pahlo would want her to find a new way.

  She still had options in Ahwan—backup plans half-formed and left on the sidelines. Calling on them now could get her the army she needed, and if they didn’t—if every other option failed—then she would return to her original plan. Only then would she go alone.

  But one other even more pressing situation loomed. And once again, it took the form of stairs.

  A long walk spanned the distance between where she now sat in the grass and her room. Hundreds of stairs to descend back down the mountain, pathways through the woods and then through the outskirts of the city, and then thousands more back up to her room. To make the journey, she had only a broken prosthetic, a pair of crutches, and an enthusiastic coyote who could offer encouragement in the best scenario, and a single-use cushion in the worst.

  No one she trusted knew her whereabouts—she had said nothing to Maloia, and Wil, Brashen, and Cyrah had no reason to come looking for her, at least not for a while until her absence became suspicious. She could send Tor off to find someone perhaps, but the likelihood that he understood and did what she wanted seemed less than probable. More likely he would return with a freshly killed rabbit, and though that might keep her stomach satisfied, it certainly offered no solution to the issue of being stranded.

  Oleja’s eyes fell ruefully on the cluster of buildings nestled in the crook of the two hills, the small village-like outpost of the city that she passed on her way up to the palace. Trees created a thin veil around the structures, shrouding the coming and going of the inhabitants from sight, but she knew they were there, just as she had seen them when she walked past a few hours prior. They would hear a loud enough sound—yelling kept on for many minutes, coupled with a coyote’s howl perhaps. Or even rocks thrown about, slammed against the stony sides of the mountain. Or she could crawl there, though even the worn stones of the cobble paths promised to leave bruises all up and down her knees and shin.

  But neither option brought any honor with it. Cry out for help or go crawling up to the nearest passerby—perhaps the two weakest options imaginable.

  Going back up to the palace took the prize for the worst option overall, however. She would have to face the guards—or Helis—and ask for assistance getting back to her room, groveling at their feet as she begged for aid. No, even pitching herself the wrong way off the mountain seemed preferable.

  Nothing around looked to be of the promising prosthetic-building sort either—no downed branches or other wood, nothing but rocks and pockets of sand or gravel, broken up by coarse, dry grass. Maybe if she had her bag—

  “Hey! Are you okay?”

  Oleja froze at the sound of the voice, and then immediately righted herself, trying to make her position there on the ground look as natural and non-helpless as possible.

  A girl of around Oleja’s age approached from the direction of the buildings, and if Oleja had been embarrassed before, she may as well have been burnt to a crisp from the inside out upon seeing the girl. She was a fat girl with dark skin, a darker and cooler shade than Oleja’s own, which stood out in contrast with a loose dress of white and pale, sunny yellow. Frizzy brown curls poked out from her head in all directions like rays of sunlight, bouncing as she hurried over, her bare feet dancing effortlessly across the uneven ground.

  Oleja struggled to quell the heat in her face, but all too quickly—and yet, somehow, not quickly enough—the girl reached her, lowering herself to one knee in the patchy grass just before her.

  “I’m…” started Oleja. Whether the words got lost in her own overconfidence or in the way the light caught in the other girl’s curls, she didn’t know, only that she suddenly had none left on her tongue.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Oleja.”

  The girl’s face lit up, and it sent Oleja’s stomach spinning. “That’s such a pretty name! It’s nice to meet you, Oleja—my name is Ardess. You look like you could use a hand.”

  Oleja swallowed her pride. “A foot would serve me better, actually.”

  Ardess looked taken aback for a moment, but then she laughed, and the sound rolled across the hill like a stream, cool and clear and refreshing.

  “Where do you need to get to?” asked Ardess after her laughter petered out.

  “I have a room in the medical ward on the south cliffs. I could walk there, normally, but…” Oleja’s eyes went to where her prosthetic lay on the ground, broken nearly in two. Ardess followed her gaze.

  “Yes, that doesn’t look very efficient. Stay here, I’ll be right back,” she said, and then, gathering up her dress, she ran off back towards the buildings.

  “I have little choice,” Oleja said after her, more to herself than anything, but then regretted it immediately. Had Ardess heard? Did it sound harsh rather than sarcastic? Should she offer an apology or clarify her meaning?

  She released a tension in her shoulders that she hadn’t realized she held. Many long minutes went by as she sat there in the grass, waiting alone with Tor at her side, though he seemed more occupied with the sun shining down on him than with the present situation. Soon, a shape emerged from the trees—a horse, like those that drew the raiders’ wagon, pulling a cart behind it. Atop the cart sat a man, and in the back rode Ardess, pointing towards where Oleja sat.

  Hooves on stone cast echoing calls across the hillside, louder and louder as the cart grew nearer, drawing with it the sharp smell of animal. Moments later the horse came to a stop on the path to Oleja’s left, just before it reached the first of the stairs, a feature which posed an even greater obstacle to the wheels of the vehicle than to Oleja.

  Ardess hopped down and hurried over to Oleja. “Oleja, this is Harusi and his horse Freyel. They will bring you back to your room by the road along the ridge that winds back behind the palace and around the valley. I paid your fare, don’t worry.” She reached out a hand to help Oleja up.

  Oleja gave her a grateful smile and took her hand. Her skin was soft, softer even than the smile on her lips. With Ardess’s help, Oleja hoisted herself into a standing position, then slid her crutches onto her arms and used them to steady herself. With Ardess on one side of her and Tor on the other, she crossed the short distance to the cart and hopped up to sit on the back. Tor jumped up into the cart bed beside her.

  “Here,” said Ardess, stooping to grab Oleja’s busted prosthetic and handing it to her. Oleja took it and laid it behind her in the cart.

  “Thank you, and thanks for the help,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Ardess with a slight curtsy and a shy smile. “I hope you are able to fix your prosthetic.”

  “I can,” said Oleja, returning her confident grin to its home on her face. The cart began to move as the driver—Harusi—flicked the horse’s reins, steering it around and back down the path towards the road through the cluster of buildings.

  “Good luck!” said Ardess, waving as the cart pulled away and the gap between the two of them widened. Oleja returned the wave, but then she shifted her gaze, turning her eyes upwards to look at the palace, perched atop the hill. She watched it until the cart turned and it disappeared from sight.

  Chapter Six

  Patrons bustled through the tavern, the crowd growing as the breakfast rush filled the hazy room. Oleja sat at a table in the corner by a window through which the golden light of sunrise poured in. Maloia sat across from her, her attention cast down to a mug of a strong black liquid she called “coffee.” Tor lay on the floor beneath the table, curled up, eyes closed, yet Oleja knew his senses remained eve
r alert for the slightest suggestion of food sent his way.

  Greetings filled the air, called from one table to another or following newcomers in through the door when they entered. People squeezed between tables crammed too close together and rimmed with stools and benches. Cheer and energy flowed in abundance despite how many in the room still shook the fading mists of sleep from their eyes and minds. Aromas of hot food cooking in the back brought a jolt of wakefulness, and each platter carried out by the barkeep filled the room anew with the smells of meat and eggs and biscuits fresh from the stove.

  On one such round of the barkeep, he paused at their table to unload two plates, one piled with more than twice as much food as the other at Oleja’s request.

  “Ms. Wynshourr,” said the barkeep, placing the smaller plate in front of Maloia. “And you’re a new face,” he added, turning to Oleja as he set her plate down too.

  “Oleja Raseari,” she said, straightening in her chair.

  The barkeep wiped his free hand on a grease-stained apron and offered a firm handshake. “Tarao Hucklin, at your service. Though you are hardly likely to need any—you’re in good company with that one.” He inclined his head at Maloia, and then after shooting a wink in her direction, he vanished back into the kitchen for another round of meals.

  A sizzling plate of food sat before Oleja; a mountain of sausages and eggs and three warm biscuits. Though she had been in Ahwan for several weeks, the novelty of good, hearty, hot food had not yet worn off. Back in her village they ate warm soups and the like, but most other meals were eaten cold—rations divvied up to eat down in the mines, or hard bread and raw vegetables to snack on in the mornings. Even when she traveled with the raiders and alone out in the wild, they ate animals cooked over a fire and whatever other easy-to-transport foods they carried with them. Eggs were new to her, as were baked goods like biscuits or the sickeningly sweet pastries she had tried but hadn’t yet developed a taste for. Maloia assured her she’d appreciate the joys of sugar in time when it was no longer so foreign to her tongue.

  “So, you went and talked to the king,” said Maloia after swallowing a bite of food. “Why?”

  Oleja fidgeted with her utensils as she looked down at her meal. After making it back to her room the afternoon before, keeping her whereabouts a secret from Maloia made itself quite nearly impossible. Something about returning with a broken prosthetic in the back of a cart hailing from the opposite end of the city made any false story look improbable, and Maloia had a way of getting the information she wanted besides. Oleja told her the truth, but having more pressing matters in the form of her broken prosthetic, she refused to explain herself further at the time. But no reason to lie came to her now, so she readied the true explanation in full.

  “I escaped from the slave camp in Itsoh before I arrived here. I have to go back and free the rest of the people imprisoned there, and so I wanted the king to lend me his forces so that I could end Itsoh’s reign of terror over these lands. He refused.”

  Maloia let out a long breath. Oleja expected any number of responses to follow: “Why haven’t you told me this?” or “What made you think that was a good idea?” But Maloia’s true words came as a surprise.

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  Oleja looked up. A curious glint hung in Maloia’s eye.

  “What?”

  “What are you going to do now? What’s your new plan?” asked Maloia. “I know you have one. You’re not one to quit.”

  Oleja put down her fork and knife. “I have to convince the people to follow me on my own, so somehow I have to win them over. For starters, I need to get into the city more. Working in my room doesn’t help me show them who I am and what I can do. I will have to assimilate with the culture here.”

  Maloia nodded. “A good place to start, certainly.”

  “From there I need to show them I’m worth following,” said Oleja, continuing. “I can tell my story and show my strengths in building things and fighting. If I can manage to put together something useful that the people like, and show my skill while training with the soldiers, they will begin to see my quality. They’ll follow me and not the king.”

  “That’s…” Maloia pursed her lips. “That’s not exactly how it works. But forging connections and close bonds with the people of the city can only benefit you nonetheless.”

  “We will see,” said Oleja, shrugging off Maloia’s doubts. She didn’t have time to question herself.

  Oleja took up her knife again and cut a piece off the end of one of her sausages. Taking the burning piece carefully in her hand, she held it out under the table. It disappeared in an instant.

  “Before all of that, though, I need a new prosthetic—one made in the proper facilities, using better materials,” said Oleja. She turned in her chair and shifted her leg out from beneath the table to get a better look at it. Metal plates the size of two fingers held side-by-side ran up and down the length of the crack on both sides like stitching, bolted into both halves of the wood to hold it together. It was neither a clean nor permanent fix, but it had her up and walking for the time being, which was the most important part. She would replace the whole device soon.

  A light came across Maloia’s face. “There is a forge across the city that is well-renowned for its craftsmanship. It arms many of the city’s soldiers, and even the king’s personal guards. I can take you there after we are finished with our meal.”

  “As long as it has a hearth and some metal lying around, it will suffice. But I will not deny quality if it is offered.”

  “You may be able to find employment there as well. Your time in the temporary medical housing offered by the city is just about up, and you will have to support yourself financially. Finding a job in the forge seems like good work for you.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Oleja. Oftentimes Maloia got to speaking of things in the city that soared far over her head.

  With a wave of her hand, Maloia dismissed the thought. “Never mind, I will explain it all later. All I mean to say is that I will help you move into somewhere down in the city. The forge is on the outskirts—tucked away in the forest out in the North Run. Perhaps we can find you a place to live nearby so that your travel between the two is easy, especially while you continue to heal and practice on your prosthetic.”

  “I’m fine,” said Oleja with a note of annoyance. “I walked all the way to the palace yesterday, remember?”

  “And you came riding home in a cart with your prosthetic broken; I do recall.”

  Oleja raised an eyebrow. Maloia returned the gesture. A moment passed, and then they both cracked a grin.

  “Finish up your breakfast now—you won’t be rallying any armies if you end up starved from talking through all of your meals. When you’re done, I’ll show you to the forge, and we will have you one step closer to leading your charge against Itsoh.” Maloia paused as Oleja took a huge bite. “You know, where it lies in the west,” she added with a smirk.

  Chewing her food, Oleja only rolled her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  The route to the forge led them into the forest and up an incline as they entered the North Run. The great mountain walls of the valley closed in, the peaks closer together here than in the largest part of the valley where the heart of the city resided.

  Here, the terrain drew an even keener resemblance to the canyon, though still the walls rose higher and slanted outwards more. The shape allowed for a greater view of the sky, with the cliffs standing on either side of Oleja now like two guards keeping her safe below rather than two towering walls meant to make her feel small and trapped. And more importantly, in Ahwan she remained free to leave whenever she chose to.

  She walked along the gravel path using her crutches for support. She got better at balancing every day and could now walk for great stretches without needing the aids for balance—yet over the uneven and shifting ground of gravel underfoot, and with her prosthetic weakened as it was, she felt it wise to keep the c
rutches close.

  Tor and Maloia walked alongside her. Maloia had just finished an explanation of “money” and how it worked in Ahwan—not her first such explanation, but by this point Oleja started to understand the ideas. Not why the people of Ahwan adhered to them, certainly, but how they worked at least.

  The roar of a river somewhere beyond the trees filled the air. It ran down the hill and into the heart of the city where it joined with another river to wind lazily through the valley, providing fresh water for the people. But up the hill, amongst the trees, it ran wild and untamed, rushing over rocks and carving through the stone of the mountains.

  Cresting another section of the incline, Oleja found herself on the river’s edge, looking out across a small idle pool. Off to the side, at the point where the water turned from the gently lapping waves of the pool to the rushing river, sat a squat building of stone with a large wooden door and few windows. Smoke rose from multiple chimneys jutting up from the roof like fingers reaching skyward. One wall of the building bordered so close to the river that the water crashed against the bricks, and fixed to that wall hung multiple enormous wheels of wood and metal. They dipped low into the rapids, spinning as the water slammed against ridges fixed to the rim. Narrow bridges crossed over the uneven ground to the building, holding aloft troughs through which water ran into the walls through grates. Sounding in rhythm with the spinning wheels, the sharp, muffled sounds of hammers on metal echoed from within the building.