by E. S. Maya
The following round had Noth chasing the fourth-year in circles, swooping his sword through the air. The fourth-year turned around and launched a clumsy counterattack, and was immediately dispelled by the recruit foreman’s brute strength. He battered the boy’s defenses until he tripped over the boundary rope, tumbling out of the sword ring.
“Ring out!” Spanky roared, thrusting a finger at the recruit foreman. “Point, Noth!” The crowd cheered in approval.
Safi clutched Raven’s sleeve, and the Anderan squawked in surprise. “I think I understand now,” she said.
“Understand what?” Raven yanked her sleeve away and folded her arms.
“Understand why it’s so hard for weaker recruits to win. Why the boys go in there swinging instead of fighting how you said, you know, with skill and speed.” She stared for a long moment, squinting. “The sword ring’s too small.”
Raven sat up straight. A pair of boys were dragging the fourth-year onto his feet. They peppered his back with slaps until he stepped reluctantly back into the sword ring. “Titan’s ass, you’re right.”
Safi watched as Noth chased his opponent one last time, clobbering his shoulder and ending the fight. “Show’s over,” she said, hopping down from the wall, boots crunching dust. Raven landed soundlessly beside her. They bid Matilda and Suzy farewell and crossed the orange field towards the Titan’s massive feet.
“Now we get to church,” Raven said.
Safi looked back at the crowd. During the fights, she was certain she’d spotted Stiv in there, and Goggles with him, but Jabbar was nowhere to be found. “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “First I’ve got to pay a visit to the first-year boys’ barracks.”
55
Titansbane
At the stroke of noon, the church horn blared in its tall steeple tower.
Safi hugged her ears, slipping past the adults who had gathered early in the cobblestone square—an incessantly chattering crowd of the most pious recruits Blackpoint had to offer. She hurried through the church’s arching doorway, catching her knees inside. There, panting for breath, she felt the familiar grit of dust in her hands, so she gave her work trousers a couple of slaps.
Only she wasn’t wearing her work trousers
Safi stiffened in horror as the crumbs of Lazar’s Crossing sprinkled all over the church’s polished wooden floor. She plunged her hands into her hair and gasped, and recoiled from the touch.
For a moment she stood perfectly still, wondering if all that time the Titan mines could drive a girl stone-crazy after all.
Then she panicked. She extended her right foot and began kicking the dust down the pews. But her boots were covered too, and every little movement seemed to add to the mess. Looking down, she found her favorite red dress stained up to the hips in orange. How could she have let it get to this point?
So Safi did the only thing left to do: raised her chin, folded her hands behind her back, and walked away. Her knees wobbled as she went, but the church was mostly empty, and she was certain no one had seen her. Aside from God, she supposed, but Mother had always said that He was about forgiveness. It was people you had to worry about. She had learned that the hard way.
Hot with guilt and exertion, Safi went looking for Raven. The church was large, and her bunkmate small, but she found the girl where she ought to be: in the leftmost row, third pew from the back. Their designated meeting spot with the boy from the woodcuttery.
Much to her surprise, the Anderan was not alone. Stiv sat in the pew beside her, knees stretched wide, fingers laced behind his head. The two of them kept their eyes forward, saying not a word, and moving not at all, aside from Raven’s bouncing right leg.
Safi seated herself at the end of the pew and slid her bottom along the wood. Raven and Stiv greeted her with smiles of great relief. She raised a quizzical eyebrow, but soon lowered it. Her friends were always acting strange, and she figured it was time she got used to it.
Stiv eyed Safi from head to toe, settling on the dark spots beneath her armpits. “Titans, Blondie. Looks like you just came off shift.”
Raven stomped down on Stiv’s right foot, and the boy went jumping in his seat. Then he snickered, for today he wore his mining boots, and Raven’s heel had barely put a dent on his cap-toe.
“Ran here all the way from the Fivers’ Camp,” Safi said, wiping her forehead and neck. “Wanted to arrive before everyone else piled in.” She checked the nearby pews before sidling up to Raven. They were early, but the church was filling fast. “So, did you get the sword?” she asked excitedly.
“I wish,” Raven answered, taking the time to glare at Stiv. “I could think of a few uses for it right now.” To Safi she raised her armpit, revealing a bundle of wrapped up coins in a square of damp cotton cloth. “Got the payment right here, though.”
Stiv stuck out his tongue and gagged. “Now I see where Blondie gets her manners.” He reached over Raven’s chest to poke at the makeshift coin purse. “It’s all wet, too. And here I thought Anderan street kids loved their pockets.”
“Who needs pockets when I’ve got a big, strong man to lug things around for me?” Raven peeled the sweat-soaked money from her armpit and flung it into Stiv’s arms. He yelped in disgust and started fumbling with the coin purse from, one hand to the other. Finally he caught the thing, slamming it down beside Raven with a clunk.
The girls rang with laughter as Stiv wiped his hands on his trousers. Then, after the glares of adults had sapped their joy away, they eased themselves into silence as the worshipers filed in.
Stiv folded his hands behind his head, and Raven returned her leg to its bouncing. Safi allowed her eyes to wander about the church, up to the altar at the front of the room, following the many curves of the holy instrument’s bronze, snaking arms. Even higher, she counted the nine wooden arches that held up its stone-shingled roof.
Then she lowered her gaze to the pew before her. A book sat cradled on the shelf against the bench’s back. The poor thing looked like it hadn’t been read in years. She lifted it off its shelf and set it on her lap. Heavy. It took a half-dozen swipes to remove the dust from the tome’s surface.
THE TESTAMENT OF STONE read the blocky text on the red leather cover. The book opened with a creak. Its pages felt like dry leaves in her careful fingers. Past the opening tale, the origins of the Titans and Mankind, she discovered many stories of long-dead heroes, of Titans she had never even heard of. But the language was old and full of complicated words she didn’t understand. It was moments like these when she missed her father most.
“Raven,” said an unfamiliar voice. A boy’s voice.
Safi snapped the book shut. The boy was peering down the pew. His skin was olive, and his hair the color of autumn. About a third or fourth-year, she reckoned from his height, with more stubble than a boy his age ought to have. A Sovereign Coast boy if she ever saw one. She smirked. Not a bad looking one, either.
“Finally,” Raven groaned. By now the church was thrumming with hushed voices.
Safi looked past the boy and frowned. “Where’s the sword?”
The boy scooted deeper into the pew, stepping over Safi and squeezing himself between the girls. Stiv straightened his posture and folded his arms, keeping an eye on the older boy while Raven grinned with delight.
“Outside,” the boy said. “You’d have to be stone-stupid walking into church with a wooden sword.”
“I’ve seen dumber things within these walls,” Raven said. Safi noticed her fingers were particularly busy. “About the payment…”
“Fifty Blackpoint sovereigns,” the boy said pointedly. “The price we agreed upon.”
Safi sucked in her cheeks. That was a lot of pay money. A whole month’s worth.
“I know the price,” Raven said. “I can give you twenty now, the other thirty in a week.”
“My ass!” At the behest of several stern looks, the Sovereign Coast boy lowered his voice. “I know you’re good for the money, Raven.”
; “Twenty now,” repeated Raven, feeling between herself and Stiv, then holding out the damp makeshift pouch. “And I’ll do you an even forty later.” The boy looked apprehensive, so she batted her eyelashes for good measure. “C’mon, Rao. It ain’t like I got someplace to run off to.”
“Fine, forty sovereigns later.” He reluctantly took the pouch from her hand. He quickly added, “And you come with me to the Main Camp after the sword fights next week.”
Stiv choked in surprise, then broke into a fit of spitting coughs. Cheeks and forehead flush, Raven spun around and punched him square in the arm. Stiv groaned, and the four of them received a harsh round of shushing.
Stiv sprang to his feet anyways, glaring at the older boy. “No deal!” he said, thrusting a finger perilously close to Raven’s face. “She doesn’t have to go with anyone she doesn’t want to!”
Raven took Stiv’s shirt in both hands and yanked him back into his seat. “You shut up.” She spun back to Rao and with a smile and whispered, “It’s a deal.” The boy’s face lit up. “But you’re paying,” she added.
Stiv began to protest but was cut off by the deep, bellowing horn of the church’s main instrument.
Safi slouched with relief. Folding her hands over her holy book, she lowered her head and watched as a trio of stormy-haired men appeared from behind the altar.
Standing at the edge of the dais, Monsignor Marcellus looked over his worshipers. Then he parted his thin lips to speak.
With a flick of a blade, the boundary rope fell slack between each of its six wooden pegs.
Setting the kitchen knife aside, Jabbar worked the rope in both hands, piling it behind him in a sloppy mess. That finished, he took to his feet and positioned himself over the closest wooden peg. Squatting low, he hooked his forefingers into the narrow hole, held his breath, and stood.
The peg shot out from the ground, sending the Abedi boy cartwheeling backwards. He climbed to his feet and slapped the dust from his overalls. Starting from the exposed hole, he measured two boot-lengths away from the sword ring’s center.
Jabbar marked the spot with his eyes and went to retrieve his pickaxe. He brought it down hard, punching the pick-end into the ground. With a grunt, he jerked the pickaxe free, then knelt to insert the wooden peg into its new home. It took three thumps from the head of his pickaxe to set it firmly in place.
Jabbar smiled. A perfect fit. As he’d suspected, the original holes had been made with the same method. Five more times did he bring his pickaxe down, and when all the pegs were replaced, he clapped his gloved hands and nodded with satisfaction.
Then he fetched a new, longer coil of rope off the ground. Working out its length, he remembered how Safiyas had come to him in the barracks and thrust it into his hands, how she had told him what needed to be done. He told her it interrupted his time of prayer, that he’d been skipping prayer far too often since coming to Camp Cronus. She told him there was no other time, that she and the Anderan girl could not risk sneaking out at night again.
Jabbar could not refuse his Abedi sister. His brothers were half a world away now, back in the Southern Kingdoms, where Abed belonged.
How he yearned to join them! And for many nights he’d planned on it, but after fifteen years of Blackpoint, who knew if he’d be seeing them ever again? Camp Cronus was his home now, and Safiyas the closest thing he had to family.
So Jabbar dropped to his knees and began rolling the rope in the dust. As he worked, he looked past Cronus’ feet to the warden’s manor. He hoped Warden Tiberonius wasn’t sitting in his office now. Just in case, he hastened his work. With the rope fully coated, he ran its length through each of the pegs and pulled the ends tight, tying them off in a sturdy knot.
Jabbar tugged at the rope, making certain it was taut. The sword ring’s new boundary was set. Recruits would have more space to fight, though the change was subtle. Safiyas had not explained it to him, but this, Jabbar knew, was part of her and the Anderan girl’s plan to defeat the recruit foreman.
Sighing, he bent to retrieve his pickaxe off the ground. A short distance from the sword ring, he found a natural orange stone and bashed it into a fine dust. He scooped it up in his gloved hands and carried it carefully back to the sword ring.
Jabbar dropped to his knees, pouring the orange powder into the first of six empty holes. He slipped off his gloves and began smoothing it over, enjoying the feeling of stone against his skin, all the while considering what a foolish plan this was, for a girl like Safiyas to fight a man like Noth.
A dangerous plan, yet he could think of none better. So he continued filling the holes, cursing his own weakness, and hoping that this little effort would help push his sister to victory.
Satisfied with his work, Jabbar coiled the old rope on his forearm, sheathed the knife in his work boot, shouldered his pickaxe, and began his walk back to the Fivers’ Camp, all the while reciting a prayer for Safiyas’ safety and success.
The alley was little more than a crevice between two busy saloons. Too busy, at least, for anyone to notice the four of them slipping inside.
Here, Rao had told them, was where he’d left Safi’s sword.
The third-year led the way as the alley darkened around them. Raven seemed to trust the boy, and that kept Safi’s feet moving, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not after learning how dangerous the boys of Camp Cronus could be.
Raven wouldn’t understand. She hadn’t been dangled over the dumping shaft by the recruit foreman. Hadn’t seen what the fifth-years had done to Wulf. Girls could steal, humiliate, hurt… but boys.
Boys could kill you.
The way Stiv was striding beside her, Safi was certain he felt the same. She wasn’t sure why Raven had brought him along, or if he had simply invited himself, but one thing was certain, she was glad to have him. Team Wulf hadn’t earned its reputation in the Titan mines by being a bunch of weaklings.
A mouse scurried out of the way as they turned down another alley. It squeezed itself underneath one of the many collapsed crates and barrels that littered the narrow passage. Safi breathed through her mouth, for the stench of rotting wood tainted the air. She suspected the alley had gone unused for quite some time.
Other than the pair of older boys standing there now, waiting to receive them.
The first was a tall redhead. He looked up from his fingernails and frowned. “Had to sit through the whole service, didn’t you?”
Rao chuckled self-consciously. “It’s rude to leave in the middle of prayer.”
“Ruder to leave your friends waiting,” said the second boy, a short blond. One of his hands was hiding inside of his left trouser pocket. The other was holding the blade section of a polished wooden sword.
Stiv placed a hand on Safi’s shoulder and leaned forward. “That’s your sword?”
Safi thought to answer, of course it’s my sword, but Raven had helped her steal the thing, and now she was paying for it too. At the very least, it was half hers.
“Yes,” Rao answered for her. “That’s her sword.”
“Doesn’t look like much,” Stiv said, absently picking his nose. “In fact, looks just like any other wooden sword to me.”
“That’s the point, Berrid,” the redhead snapped. He gave a nod towards Raven. “She asked us to make it look like the ones in the sword ring.”
“In fact,” Stiv continued, “looks like plain old shoddy Resmyran craftsmanship.” He flicked his booger into the shadows. “For fifty sovereigns, couldn’t you have, I don’t know, made a bit more special?”
Safi swallowed nervously as the redhead’s face began to match his hair.
“You be quiet!” Raven hissed. “Or I’ll step on more than your toes.”
Safi had to admit, from what she could tell, the boys had done a fine job. There were no visible flaws, and its color was deep and brown, not at all like the pale white winterwood she and Raven had stolen from the warden’s oasis. “Woodcuttery boys do good work.”
Rao loo
ked pleased. “It wasn’t hard. We make all the other swords, too.”
“Wait a sec, I recognize her,” said the blond. He stepped towards Safi, staring in that way that only boys could. “You’re Blondie, the Abedi girl from the Titan mines!”
“Yes, yes,” said the redhead, “and the other’s the kitchen tomboy.” He gave Rao a look of frustrated dissatisfaction. “Did you get our money or not?”
“She gave me twenty now.” Rao paused for a breath. “The other thirty comes next week.”
Thirty? thought Safi. But Raven owed him forty. The boy had made a mistake. “Excuse me,” she began, “I think you meant to say—”
Raven’s hand flew over Safi’s mouth, sealing it with a clap. “Shut uuhp, Blondie.” She brought her lips to her ear. “Leave the boys to their business.”
The redhead sneered. He snatched the sword off the Andolan boy’s shoulder and traced a finger up its length, stopping inches above the crossguard. “Then we ought to give them this much sword, and the rest of it next week, for the full amount we agreed on.”
Gasping, Stiv rolled up his sleeves and took a big step towards them. “You break that sword, and I break you. Do you have any idea what we went through to fetch that tree?”
Raven let go Safi’s mouth as the two of them fell into laughter. Safi bent over, slapping herself at the knees, while Raven leaned over her back, snorting out sputtering laughs.
Stiv turned to face them, eyes narrow and mouth open.
“You didn’t do nothing!” cackled Raven, leaning so hard that Safi nearly toppled over.
“All you did was carry it!” said Safi, wiping her tears with the heel of her palm.
Stiv stomped the ground and folded his arms, scowling. “Why, I risked my neck for you two!”
The older boys shared an uncomfortable look. The blond said, “What’s a couple of girls need a wooden sword for, anyway?”