by E. S. Maya
“An Abed betting on a Serk!” Stiv shook his head in disbelief. “Has the world gone stone-mad?”
“I like you, kid,” Raven said, draping an arm over Jabbar’s shoulders. Jabbar flinched at the touch, but voiced no protest, nor did he attempt to remove it. “I’ll bet on Noth too,” Raven told the bet collector, holding out her bulging coin purse. “Two hundred.”
The fifth-year patted down his belt and work vest before taking Raven’s coins. “Big bet for a first-year,” he said.
Raven’s scarred cheek rounded into a grin. “Big muscles for a fifth year.”
“Well I’m betting on the North Camp boy,” Stiv said. He handed the bet collector a meager sum of coins. “How about you, Saf? Wulf?”
Safi shook her head. “I don’t get caught up in that betting stuff. It’s a game you’ll never win.” She looked at Wulf for approval. He nodded in quiet agreement.
Goggles walked up to the bet collector. “I’d like to bet on Noth, too.”
Spanky went over the rules: One strike to a point, three points to a win, and if any part of your body touched the ground outside of the sword ring, that was a point, too. Safi examined Noth’s opponent. The North Camp boy was certainly no weakling. He unbuttoned his work shirt to match the recruit foreman, revealing a rigid line where his muscles of his chest came together. Safi noticed the girls were particularly noisy today.
The fighters readied themselves for combat. Safi recognized the northern boy’s stance: sword arm forward, blade at an angle, right foot towards his opponent. Noth, on the other hand, stood with his feet wide apart, holding his sword in a dramatically high guard.
A sudden gale descended upon them from the tops of Cronus’ legs. Dust whipped up through the crowd and inside the sword ring. Safi shielded her mouth and squinted, along with the rest of the audience.
Noth and the North Camp boy, however, made no change in posture.
“Begin!” roared Spanky.
Noth charged forward, coming down on his opponent with an overhead swing capable of shattering stone. It had shattered stone, Safi remembered, on her first day of training, when Noth had demonstrated the pickaxe strike forbidden in the Titan mines.
But she also knew the strengths of the traditional fighting stance. The sword formed one side of a defensive triangle, ready to deflect the weightiest of blows. It also exposed your opponent to a swift counterattack. Or so she thought.
Noth’s attack continued its downward arc, battering aside the North Camp boy’s sword. There was a sharp sound as Noth’s weapon found its mark. Safi shrieked and covered her eyes, then peeked at Raven, who stared wordlessly beside her.
“Serks,” Jabbar said breathlessly. “My brothers told me they train their children for this. For violence.”
“Point, to the recruit foreman!” Spanky cheered, thrusting his finger toward Noth.
The North Camp boy fell heavily to one knee. He blinked in surprise at the blood trickling down his forehead, his nose, his chin. He wiped his sleeve across his brow and climbed onto his feet, shaking the noise of the audience from his ears.
Spanky called for the second round to begin.
The North Camp boy narrowed his eyes. He launched into a series of precise attacks, from above and beside and below; clever attacks, spinning attacks, shooting for Noth’s arms and legs—anything to score a point—and missing each time. Rather than defend, Noth kept jumping back, staying outside of his opponent’s range. Safi noticed he was faster than he looked.
“Cease your running and face me!” The North Camp boy leapt sideways cut off Noth’s escape. His blows began to connect with his opponent’s sword. He worked at the recruit foreman’s defenses, chest flexing. It didn’t take long for Noth’s heels to bump into the boundary rope.
A smile of unrestrained confidence came over Noth’s face. Wielding his sword like a pickaxe, the recruit foreman took two steps forward and swung sideways at his opponent.
Safi gasped. The North Camp boy hadn’t a choice but to defend. Anything less exposed him to grave injury. He positioned the sword to the side, one hand on the hilt, the other high on the blade, to intercept the attack.
Noth’s weapon whistled through the air. She heard the rip of splintering wood. The North Camp boy dropped to the ground. His sword landed beside him in two separate pieces.
Spanky stepped over the boundary rope and stumbled his way through the sword ring. He knelt before the North Camp boy, waiting.
The North Camp boy pushed himself up from the prone position. His left shirt sleeve was torn. Looking at Spanky, he waved his remaining good arm and shook his head. “I give.”
“Then the recruit foreman wins!” Spanky leapt in the air, clapping both hands over his head. A moment later, the whole crowd was cheering with him.
Mouth agape, Safi looked to her friends and found similar expressions.
Raven’s surprise lasted as long as it took for the bet collector to make his rounds. She collected her winnings in two greedy fists, along with Jabbar and Goggles, much to Stiv’s red-faced disappointment.
Safi sidled up to Wulf and mimicked his stance, eyes stern and thumbs pocketed. Together they watched as one of the fifth-years tossed a rag to Noth, who wiped from his face and neck a layer of sweat-soaked dust. Beaming from his victory, he marched to the edge of the sword ring, standing tall before Wulf and Safi.
“Care for a spar?” Noth asked, raising his arms for a stretch. All around them, the boys of the crowd went silent, waiting for Wulf’s response. Safi glared at the recruit foreman’s face. Then his muscles. Alternating.
At first, Wulf showed no reaction. Then he gave Noth a dashing smile. He raised his voice so that the crowd could hear him. “You fought well,” he said, “but I wouldn’t fight a weary opponent.”
“Weary?” Noth laughed, not only at Wulf, but all of the recruits in attendance. “I could fight every man and boy in this crowd without getting tired.”
Wulf laughed too, but his was an unnatural, mocking laugh. He gestured to the sword ring where a pair of broken wooden planks lay flat on the ground. “And how do you propose we fight with a single sword?”
Though subdued, the boys of the crowd rustled with laughter.
Noth was no longer laughing. He stepped over the boundary rope, advancing upon Wulf until their chests were inches apart. “You aren’t scared, are you?” He leaned into Wulf’s ear, though his voice was loud and clear. “Typical of an Anderan dog like you.”
Safi felt herself shiver, but Wulf dipped his chin and smiled. He straightened his work shirt and matched the fifth-year’s volume. “Lay a finger on me and I’ll have you thrown in the stockades. Titans knows we’ve got enough witnesses.”
Noth stepped back with a grin. He began fastening the buttons of his work shirt. “I won’t hurt you, pup. That I can promise.”
Safi felt a tug at her finger.
“Let’s get out of here,” Raven said. “Boys will be weighing their stones all day. Don’t mean we have to sit and listen.”
Safi nodded, and the two of them turned to leave, though her mind raced all the while. She pictured herself facing the recruit foreman, standing before the Serk and protecting her friend. The thought left her hot with embarrassment.
How could a girl like her protect a boy like Wulf?
So Safi allowed Raven to lead her out of the crowd, deciding it was best to trust Wulf to handle his own problems, as she had to handle hers. Deep inside, however, she yearned to return to his side. To shield him from the harm she knew would one day come.
44
Goggles
Goggles awoke in a panic, for the world had turned blurry and dark. Reaching wildly, he swam through his sweat-damp bed sheets before feeling his way up, to the splintered wood of his bunk chest, and the cold metal frame of his eyeglasses.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
The boys of the first-year barracks were snoring louder than a horse-drawn millstone, so it took Goggles a moment to notice the pres
sure between his legs. He put on his eyeglasses and crawled out of bed, treading lightly on the rickety floorboards.
“Wulf,” he whispered, as he came to the bunk bed closest to the door. “Wuuulf.”
Wulf flinched awake in the bottom bunk, rubbing his eyes. “Gogs?” he croaked. "Can’t it wait till morning?”
Goggles squeezed his thighs together. “I really have to go.”
With a groan, Wulf reached a hand under his pillow. It came out holding a thick iron key. “Here, take it,” he said, thrusting the key into Goggles’ hands. Then he rolled onto his side to rejoin the snores of the room.
Outside, Goggles used his fingers to ease the barracks doors shut. He treaded the shadowy campgrounds, hands tucked between his legs, wincing from the tiny stones that pinched at his bare feet. He considered making a run for it, but the lanterns of the road were afar, and the darkness made his heart race.
A minute later he arrived upon the latrine, a small rectangular structure that stuck out from the ground like a thumb. Then he was swinging open the door and throwing himself inside, slamming it shut behind him. He pulled down his undergarments and squatted low, positioning his trembling buttocks just inches from the hole in the seat. The smell made his stomach churn. Whoever Wulf had put on latrine duty had long forgotten to clean it.
Goggles shut his eyes and leaned back against the latrine wall, allowing nature to take its course. Due to his unusual malady, there were so few pleasures he could fully partake in. Here was one that could not be denied to him.
Then, from somewhere in the night came a series of faint, throbbing hums. Goggles kept still, listening as the sounds crept closer. Soon they were behind him, beside him, and in front, and quite possibly, he considered, inside his very head.
When he believed they could come no closer, the sounds began taking shape. Voices. Goggles breathed slowly, trying to make out the words.
“…saw him step inside…”
“…glasses kid from that first-year team…”
“…still your Goddamn tongues!”
The voices stopped. Goggles drew up his undergarments. He raised a hand to adjust his eyeglasses, fighting the urge to clean them. To try and wipe the darkness away.
Then came the sound of leather soles on dust. Goggles reached for the latrine door, to try and pin it shut. But there wasn’t a handle on the inside. He stood up slowly, feet on both sides of the squatting hole, and crossed his arms over his chest, fingers tucked into armpits.
Then came the sound of snickering laughter. Bang went the latrine door. Goggles yelped and jumped like a cat. He realized he was cold and sweating, though his undergarments swelled with heat.
Then came the sound of scratching on the door’s wooden face. Goggles fixed his eyeglasses once more. He felt around for any sort of weapon, but he hadn’t even brought his work boots.
“Open up,” cooed a deep, grumbling voice.
“Leave me alone,” Goggles said. He readied his fist at chin-height before dropping it to his side. He had never been in a fight before. “I’ll call for help,” he warned them.
There was another round of snickering, but silence came abruptly. The door flew open, and Goggles threw a fist at the dark. Then there were many hands upon him—taking hold of his wrists, his shoulders, his face…
He never had the chance to scream.
45
A Friendly Wager
On the morning she found the Fivers’ Camp littered with yellow leaves, Safi squealed with delight. She stuck her head out the nearest window and pulled a deep breath, feeling the chill of autumn inside her. Just the sort of weather a girl like her was used to.
The change in temperature, however, did little to ease the tension between Wulf and Recruit Foreman Noth. Now the first-year tunnel snaked deep into the Titan’s lower leg, and when Wulf went to deliver their full tubs of Titan rubble, Safi felt sick to her stomach with worry. He had assured them he had no intention of fighting the older boy, at least not willingly. That did little to ease her fears. She knew better than anyone how dangerous the Serk could be.
Fortunately, now that their team averaged a daily yield of six carts, Noth had little power to get them in trouble.
Despite their improved work, not a Siegestone was found. Not by Safi and her team, nor any of the miners in Camp Cronus. At the end of each shift, she found herself eager for her sparring sessions with Raven. They fought hard, and often Raven won, but the training put Safi at ease. Anything to take her mind off the hopeless task of earning her freedom.
One day, in mid-autumn, after lunch was eaten, and the first-year miners had built up their afternoon sweat, Wulf paused his mining and lowered his pickaxe. Safi lowered her pickaxe too, along with Jabbar and Stiv, for rarely did their team captain stop work. Not without good reason.
The four remained still in the tunnel while Goggles kept his digging tool swinging.
Safi frowned. There were times when the boy seemed oblivious to his surroundings and scantly aware of others. For his misgivings, he worked hard, obeyed orders, and answered anything asked of him. Today he mined pickaxe in hand, helmet over his head, neckerchief covering his nose and mouth. But there was something unusual about the big-eared boy. She couldn’t quite place it.
Wulf’s chest rose and sank with each breath. “Goggles, where are your glasses?”
Goggles paused mid-swing. He let his pickaxe drop to his side. His eyes were caked in dust, squinting vaguely in Wulf’s direction. “I don’t have them anymore.”
“Did you forget them in the barracks?” asked Wulf, a little too forcefully for Safi’s comfort.
“No,” answered Goggles.
You didn’t leave them on your tray during chow, did you?” asked Stiv.
“It’s not that, either,” Goggles said.
Jabbar folded his arms and scowled. “Then be out with it! Where are they?”
“The fifth-year boys took them.”
“They did what?” Stiv moved close to Goggles, resting a brotherly hand on his back. “Which fifth-year boys took them? Was it Noth?”
Goggles shook his head. “It wasn’t Recruit Foreman Noth,” he said. “I think it was his mining team.”
In a sudden rage, Jabbar hurled his pickaxe at the drift wall. “Why wouldn’t you tell us such a thing!”
“I don’t know,” Goggles said, voice beginning to stutter. The sound nearly broke Safi’s heart. She hadn’t heard the boy stutter in months.
“We don’t know what happened,” she argued, gripping the haft of her pickaxe. “So everyone just—calm down.” Then she looked towards Wulf, for his reassuring nod of approval.
Wulf lowered his chin to his chest, bangs draping over his eyes. Safi at first thought he was calm. Then she noticed his fast-breathing chest. He set his pickaxe upside down on the floor, tapping his fingers on the butt of its handle. Then he threw it over his shoulder and swung it sideways with force. Cracks bloomed on the drift wall, and out came a thick cloud of dust.
Several of the other teams paused their work, watching the growing tension that seemed a trademark of Team Wulf.
Safi pulled her handkerchief tight, coughing. “Titans! What in the Nine stones is the matter with you!”
“Glasses don’t come cheap in Camp Cronus,” Wulf said. “And a boy with bad eyes ain’t worth much in the Titan mines. Not when it comes to finding Siegestones.”
Stiv swatted half-heartedly at the cloud of dust. “So what do we do now?”
“We pay a visit to the recruit foreman.” Wulf took turns meeting each of their eyes. “All five of us.”
Safi opened her mouth to protest, but Wulf was marching down the passageway with the boys tight on his heels. “This is a bad idea,” she called after, jogging to catch up.
“Do we have a plan?” asked Jabbar, stepping fast to match Wulf’s long strides.
“Of course we have a plan,” Wulf said. A minecart squealed from around the bend, and the five of them paused, hugging the walls to allow pass
age.
Team Wulf’s march continued.
“Then you better share it before we get there,” Stiv said. “’Cause I don’t like the idea of brawling in the Pit over the edge of an open shaft. I’ve got an old lady back home, y’know.”
“No you don’t,” Safi snapped. “This isn’t any time for foolery.” She nodded to Wulf. “But Stiv does have a point. Please.”
Wulf slowed to a halt in the last tunnel before the adit. “It’s simple,” he said, “We give Noth what he wants. We’re not going out there to crack any fifth-year heads.”
Stiv glanced at Wulf’s shoulder. “Then why did you bring that?”
Wulf looked at his pickaxe, startled. It took him a moment to answer, “Just in case.”
Safi remembered how Noth had held her over the dumping shaft. How he’d toyed with her life, like it worth less than a pile of Titan rubble. Less than his desire to maintain power within the camp hierarchy. And because she knew how dangerous the recruit foreman could be, she reached for Wulf’s pickaxe, lifted it off his shoulder, and stood it against the drift wall. “No,” she said, patting the tool’s crescent head. “We leave this here.” She could not, would not risk losing him. Or any of her friends.
Wulf stared long and hard at Safi. He dipped his chin and sighed. “You’re right.”
“What is it exactly that Noth wants?” asked Jabbar.
“It’s me,” Wulf said. “He wants to have a sword fight. To prove to the boys he’s stronger.”
“He’d clobber you!” Stiv groaned. “No offense, you have seen him fight.” Even Goggles agreed with a nod.
Wulf grinned. It wasn’t his usual smile that revealed kindness or knowing thoughts. Here was a dangerous smile, a challenging one. A smile Safi had seen across Raven’s lips on many occasions. It occurred to her then that Wulf, too, was a child of the Andera. Raven had said that everyone who grew up in Serren learned how to fight. If Wulf had spent all his youth the city, surely he was no exception.