by E. S. Maya
“Titan’s ass,” Raven said, grabbing Safi’s wrist and pulling herself to her feet. “Well, don’t just stand there.” She nodded towards the cleaning room. “Fetch our swords.”
They stood facing one another in the center of the room, their only audience the hundred-and-some empty bunks that lined the barracks walls. Safi wondered if Raven had gone stone-silly, if this was another of her wild delusions, like fleeing Camp Cronus after robbing the Warden’s manor of its golden trinkets, or disguising herself as an enforcer by riding on Safi’s shoulders.
The Anderan girl did not offer words. Instead she advanced with a flurry of whistling blows. Safi accepted them graciously with her own broom-sword, blocking and jerking and stepping swiftly backwards.
From behind the assault, Safi noticed her bunkmate smiling.
Raven wasn’t holding back.
Safi returned a smile of her own. Neither was she.
She said, “How do you expect me to defeat a fifth-year boy—” and leaned back slightly, dodging a sweeping blow that brushed the bangs from her forehead “—and of all them, Noth?” Then she kicked off the floor, springing forward with a shower of attacks.
Raven bared her teeth, ducking and sidestepping Safi’s strikes and swipes. She slipped around a bunk and, sword clattering against its posts, Safi charged after. Four months ago, Raven would have teased her during such an attack. This was not four months ago. From the look on the girl’s face, it was taking all of her focus to mount a defense.
Raven parried once, twice, then turned the tide of battle, battering Safi backwards to the center of the room. There the girls paused, hands on their knees, breathing heavy.
Safi met Raven’s eyes. The Anderan was no longer smiling.
Raven drew a breath, and held it. She flicked her right arm forward, broom-sword blurring beyond sight. Safi threw up her guard in an instant, heard the snapping of wood against wood mere inches from her face. She gasped, and before she could finish her breath, a second attack came, and a third. She clenched her jaw, throwing her guard around, desperate, but somehow precise. Raven wasn’t just fast. There was an elegance, a rhythm to her swordplay. Together, their movements became music.
The drumbeat slowed, then ceased, leaving Raven’s cheeks dripping with sweat. Panting for air, Safi looked down and found her fingers stiff around her broom handle. Remarkably, not a single blow had broken through her guard.
But Raven was far from finished. “How did you ever expect to become a miner,” she said, renewing her attack, “in a place like Camp Cronus!”
Safi watched Raven’s center of mass as her broom-sword whirled in. Nearing her limits, the half-Abedi girl found her arm moving with a mind of its own, leaping to deflect every blow the city girl threw at her.
“It just happened!” she answered, whipping her broom-sword sideways at a hole in Raven’s defense.
Raven cried out in pain. Her broom clattered to the floor as her hand flew to her elbow. “Nice shot,” she croaked.
Safi lowered the tip of her broomstick and rushed to Raven’s side. “Titans,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Please.” Raven hooked her toes beneath her broom-sword and kicked. It flew up to eye level, and she snatched it out of the air. “Don’t get all cocky from a lucky shot.”
“Lucky?” Safi coughed out her best Raven-cackle. She decided it was her turn to begin the dance. Gripping her broom-sword, the miner closed in on the cook with repeated heavy blows. Raven staggered backwards, meeting the attacks with ease, but crying out from the sheer force.
Raven backed into a bunk chest and tripped, landing in a seated position. Beaming at the opportunity, Safi raised her broom-sword high over her head. She brought it down with a tremendous, stone-shattering swing. Raven threw up her guard and screamed. The impact sent her broomstick flying out from her hands. Smiling triumphantly, Safi drew her back her broom to deliver the finishing blow.
But Raven had propped her soles against the front of the bunk chest. She launched herself hurtling forward. Safi caught her shoulder in the stomach and screamed. Then she lost her footing, though her hand still clung to her broomstick, waving it desperately through the air. Raven ducked the attacks, darting forward and reaching low to snatch her broom off the floor.
Safi landed hard on her back. Despite the pain, she moved immediately to stand—and met the tip of Raven’s broom-sword, inches away from her throat. With a groan, she slumped bonelessly to the floor. The chill of the barracks floorboards was a kiss of sweet relief.
“Well then,” Raven said, chest puffing. She shook her head like a dog, sending sweat flying.
“Well what?” Safi said, cradling her throbbing tummy. Her armpits felt cold and wet.
“I approve of you. We’ve got two weeks to get ready.”
Safi brushed Raven’s broom-sword aside with her fingers. She climbed to her feet and fluffed out the sweat from her hair. “He’s too strong.”
“So are you,” Raven said. “But I seem to beat you easy enough.”
Safi giggled, then bent over coughing. “Noth’s a fifth-year! How’s a first-year girl supposed to beat a boy like him in a fight?”
“You forget,” Raven said, “that there are no fights in the sword ring. ‘Tis only a game, my dear, played with wooden sticks. A game of scoring and points.”
“And every game has a strategy.” Safi remembered Wulf’s advice about getting caught up in games, especially the ones she couldn’t win. “I’m not strong enough. It’s a rigged game for a girl.”
Raven grinned. “Not if we’re the ones doing the rigging.”
51
The Bold and the Blind
Safi pressed her cheek against the cold wooden floorboards, feeling around in the dark. Her work boots had a tendency to sneak away at night, to places not easily reached. Sometimes she feared they would up and leave for good.
Fingers touching leather, she smiled. These boots weren’t escaping Camp Cronus just yet. Not without her inside of them. She pulled them out from under her bunk and sat at the edge of her bed. The softened cowhide fit her feet like a second pair of socks. She tied her laces tight.
With her work shirt tucked in and her leather suspenders fastened, she planted her hands on her hips and smiled. It felt good to be back in uniform.
But there was one final ingredient. She went to the windowsill to retrieve her pickaxe. The haft felt cold and smooth in her hands. She swung it onto her shoulder, felt the familiar weight of wood and iron.
Now she was ready to start the day.
But not before fixing her bed! Safi set down her pickaxe and did just that. Neat and tidy, how Suzy had taught her. She fetched the digging tool and wiped her forehead. Now she was ready.
“Let’s get going,” whispered Raven.
Safi nodded. They met Matilda and the rest of the kitchen crew outside. The fourth-year locked up the barracks, straightened her apron, and led the girls into the morning.
It was a morning fit for yawning, and Safi obliged gladly. The air was dusty and warm, and she found it hard to believe it was autumn. Even the summers back home had been more temperate. Oh, what she’d give now, for a breath of fresh mountain air!
The thought left her shivering. She never thought she’d find herself missing the cold.
Beside her walked Suzy, freckled arms swinging. Halfway to the chow hall, the second-year reached for her hand. “You holding up okay?”
It took Safi a moment. She squeezed Suzy’s fingers and said, “I’m fine.”
“Well, you let me know if you need anything,” Suzy said, showing a warm smile.
There was real sympathy there, but Safi now understood the reality of a place like Camp Cronus. It was the reality of life; that, one way or another, people looked out for themselves. These little gestures—the touch of a hand or a smile, or the occasional folding of bed sheets—were the most a girl like Suzy could offer her.
Still, it helped to know someone cared, so she returned
a smile of her own.
In the chow hall, Safi took her place in the empty seat of an empty table and listened to the sounds of the kitchen. Within minutes the air was thick with the earthy aroma of oatmeal, and the spicy-savory scent of freshly cooked beef. She breathed through her nose and smiled. Meat. There was no better way to start the morning. Keeping her mind on food, and away from gloomier thoughts, she folded her hands on her tummy and waited for breakfast to begin.
After what seemed like ages, the chow hall doors burst open. The room filled with deep, chattering voices. The floorboards rumbled beneath Safi’s feet as the boys of the Fivers’ Camp filed in.
She took a few smells more, to muster up some courage. Then she stood from the bench and approached the rear of the queue. There she found the remaining members of Team Wulf. Their expressions were as cold and hard as stone.
“Morning,” Safi said, palm raised in greeting.
“Good morning, sister,” said Jabbar.
“Good morning,” said Goggles.
Stiv parted his lips to speak, then closed his mouth and lowered his head. Safi and the others joined him in silence.
When they arrived at the serving counter, Raven slapped an extra slice of beef on Stiv’s plate. “Why so glum, handsome?” Then she took great care filling his bowl with porridge.
Stiv’s lips quivered. He kept his gaze on his food and slid his tray down the counter.
What’s with Stivvy?” asked Raven with a frown, filling up Safi’s plate.
“He’s not taking Wulf’s injury well,” Jabbar answered for her. “None of the first-years are.”
Raven shook her head. “Oh, Wulfy.” She slapped an extra slice of meat on Jabbar’s plate, too. “Of all the first-years to get done in.”
“You Anderan kids are trouble,” Safi said, holding out her bowl in both hands. “City life must do bad things to your heads. All that noise, all that mess, all those people. That’s no way to grow up.”
Raven lifted the steaming ladle out from its huge metal pot, filling Safi’s bowl. “Maybe you’re right. Here in camp, the stuff you learn on the streets just doesn’t work how it’s supposed to.” She filled Goggles’s bowl next. “I guess Wulf was a city kid, after all.”
Safi smiled. “He’d be happy to hear that.”
Raven grinned. “I’ll tell him the next time I see him at breakfast.”
Safi set her bowl on her tray, giggling. “I sure hope so.”
“Team Wulf!” called Clayworth from the back of the line. “You going to spend breakfast talking about food, or are you going to eat it?”
Safi, Jabbar, and Goggles carried their trays to the end of the first-year boys’ table. They found Stiv sitting alone. The three of them joined him and dug into their meals. All the while the boy of Berrider kept his hands still on the tabletop, staring down at his full tray of food.
“I’m sorry,” Stiv finally said.
Safi paused her spoon. She wasn’t certain if Stiv was speaking to her, to the whole team, or just to his breakfast. When she tried to find out, he stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of food. She waited for him to swallow, and tried asking again, but the boy ate relentlessly, smearing his face with beef and porridge.
She gave Jabbar an eyebrow, but the boy simply shrugged. At least Stiv was eating now, she supposed.
Spooning absently at her porridge, Safi allowed her eyes to wander about the room. The rest of the first-year miners ate with their heads bent low, sharing hardly a whisper between them. Most of the older boys, however, seemed to be in good spirits. At the head of the chow hall’s fifth table, Noth sat reclined in his large wooden seat, wielding his spoon like a knife. The nearby fifth-years exchanged easy words and easy laughter, and the occasional slap on the back, though none dared to touch the recruit foreman.
Safi pictured herself sneaking up behind him, pickaxe in hand, aiming right for his big thick head. See how much he’ll smile then. She wondered how she might get away with it. Perhaps if she came up all careful-like…
But her anger emptied as fast as it filled her, and her body felt loose with sadness. More than she wanted revenge, she wanted her friend. She wanted Wulf back.
“How’d work go yesterday?” she asked.
Jabbar dipped his spoon in his porridge. “We didn’t make quota, but we almost got four carts.” He stirred the steaming bowl. “We should make it with you there today, Safiyas.”
Safi cut a piece of beef with her spoon, then scooped it up with some porridge. Goggles watched her and did the same. She took a deep breath and said, “Any news on Wulf?”
Stiv snorted and coughed, spitting porridge all over the tabletop. “They took him to the infirmary in the Main Camp,” he croaked, taking a long swig of milk, then wiping his lips with the back of his fist. “Haven’t heard much else. Haven’t had a chance to get over there yet.”
“We’ll visit him after shift,” proposed Jabbar, but it wasn’t Stiv or Goggles the Abedi boy eyed for approval. He was looking at Safi. “Agreed?”
Safi smacked her stinging hot lips, surprised that it came down to her. She wondered what Wulf would do in her place, had their situations been reversed. “I’m busy after work,” she said quietly. There was no way she could miss sword practice with Raven. Not with her fight with Noth less than two weeks away.
Stiv banged his fists on the tabletop, sending porridge bowls rattling. Even Goggles jumped in surprise. “What could be more important than visiting your injured friend?”
Safi stilled her bowl with her hands. She checked left and right, then lowered her head and whispered, “I can’t tell you boys yet, but it’s important.” She counted the wrinkles on Stiv’s forehead. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
Jabbar bit into a hunk of beef and frowned. “And why should we do that?”
“Can’t say I’ve given you a reason not to,” Safi said. “Right, Goggles?”
Goggles chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “Right,” he said.
“You’re a strange girl, Blondie.” Stiv raised a spoonful of food to his mouth, but stopped short. “Perhaps the strangest I’ve ever met.” Safi rolled her eyes as he tucked the porridge between his lips. “But you’re my friend,” he added through his full mouth, “ind I trffft you.”
“It’s going to be hard making quota with only three miners,” Jabbar said, a gleam in his dark brown eyes. “I suppose you might be able to stay in the Titan mines if the wager became forfeit. If in two Blessings days from now, Noth didn’t show up to the sword fights, either.”
“No!” Safi said, a little too loudly, for several nearby recruits looked up from their meat and porridge. She softened her voice before continuing. “No, we’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“An eye for an eye,” Jabbar whispered urgently. He drew his spoon from his porridge like a sword from its sheath. “Or in this case, a leg for a leg.”
Stiv stared at Jabbar for a moment, then nodded. “The Abed is right. We can’t let those fifth-year bastards hit us like they did, and just sit here and do nothing!”
“Your sentence will get a whole lot longer if you get caught,” Safi said. She was almost surprised to find herself making the argument. No one wanted to hurt Noth more than she did.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” asked Jabbar.
“You want to hurt his body,” Safi said, “but what would that solve? It won’t fix Wulf’s leg, and with his history with the recruit foreman, we’ll be the first ones they suspect. Who knows how the enforcers might punish us?” She paused for dramatic effect, taking turns looking at each of her teammates’ faces. “I say we hurt Noth’s pride, instead.”
“And how in the Nine Stones do we do that?” asked Stiv.
“We—” Safi paused to consider her words “—I’ve got a plan. But you boys have got to promise me you won’t do anything crazy in the meantime. You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”
Stiv spooned up a wad of porridge. When it began to drip back into his bowl, he shoved it into h
is mouth. “Yeah, Blondie, I guess I do.”
“I trust you, sister,” Jabbar said, raising a single finger. “But if you fail, I’ll take my pickaxe to Noth’s leg myself. You can trust me on that.”
Safi’s stomach twisted at the thought, but she kept her hands working her breakfast. It wasn’t enough that she had to protect her friends from the fifth-years. She had to protect them from themselves, too.
All the more reason to go through with Raven’s plan.
“Deal,” Safi said. Before Stiv and Jabbar could change their minds, she rose from her seat and reached across the table, shaking both of their hands at once.
52
Winterwood
Safi held her breath as they passed every pillowed head, every pair of calloused, well-worked feet. Here Matilda purred like a cat, one leg hanging off the edge of her bed. And there Rebecca slept, straight as a sword, hands folded over her tummy.
Then they were in the cleaning room, lifting the old shelf, setting it gently aside with straining fingers. Raven knelt before the wall and placed her palms against the bottommost plank. It opened with a pop. They crawled out into the cool midnight air.
Safi tugged on her boots and climbed to her feet. She took a few breaths and nodded. “Better lead the way.”
They slipped behind building to building, shaded from the lanterns of the road, heading past the chow hall and out to Lazar’s Crossing. Raven’s footsteps were short and brisk on the grassy dust, stepping circles around Titan stones large and small alike. Taking the fastest possible route to Pearl’s hiding spot.
Safi smiled in the dark. Raven knew the way better than she did. She doubted the girl had just that good a sense of direction.
Coming upon an unremarkable gray stone, Raven slowed her pace. She planted her foot and pushed. The stone fell slowly for a moment, then landed heavily on its side. Dropping to one knee, she reached into the hole and opened the box inside, retrieving a midnight blue garment.