by E. S. Maya
Raven dropped an elbow onto the tabletop. “We’ve got a plan,” she assured her.
“I still think the both of you crazy,” Rebecca said, with a rising lilt in her voice. “But I’ve always thought so, since you became a miner, and you—” she looked at Raven “—got your pale butt thrown into the stockades. So if there’s anyone who can make crazy work, well, I suppose there are no better girls for the job.” She met Safi’s eyes and smiled. “I’m saying I’ll be betting on you to win.”
Pearl leaned her head against Rebecca’s shoulder. “You know, Rebecca, gambling is a sin.”
There was a pause in the conversation, and then the four of them shook with laughter. Safi finished her meat and potatoes and drained the rest of her coffee. Rising from their seats, she and Raven bid the girls farewell.
Raven nodded towards the door. “Let’s fetch that sword.”
57
The Raven Paradox
Safi tipped the hiding stone and reached into its hole, where Titansbane was waiting.
Held lightly in her hand, the sword swayed in the wind like the farthest branch of a tree. Yet when she closed her grip, its point moved through the air like the smooth stroke of a pen. Her sparring sessions with Raven had been a barehanded affair, but now her gloved hands added a sense of familiarity. Of power.
Safi turned to the ringing of coins, and the rhythm of unsteady footsteps. Raven was tottering over, swaying this way and that, carrying in both arms a heaping sack of money. Gone was the enforcer’s red pouch. In its place was a tightly wrapped burlap sheet, knotted at the top with a length of twine.
Raven swung the sack over her shoulder, hunching from the weight.
Safi winced at the sight, and she almost rushed over to help carry it, but knew better than to get between Raven and her money. “You hoard worse than a dragon,” she teased. “Just where did you get all that coin?”
Raven strained to show a toothy grin. “I told you I was a member of the Serren Feathers.”
Safi rolled her eyes. “And why do you need it now?”
“Same reason anybody brings money to the sword fights!” Raven reached out and patted Safi on the shoulder, nearly tripping from the effort. “Don’t you worry, hero. No pressure.”
Hero. One of the last words Safi would use to describe herself. She clutched a hand to her chest. If she didn’t start burning off this coffee, she feared her heart might burst. “We should hurry.”
With haste in mind, they walked close to the heel of Cronus’s left foot. Safi had never walked so close to the Foot’s underside. The Siege Titan’s fall had left the ground fractured and uneven, but that had been decades ago. Carpets of bright green moss patched the great stone wall, and embedded in its countless faults were the dried-out trunks of ancient forests, and a multitude of tightly-packed rocks in every size, shape, and color imaginable.
Opposite the Foot, the warden’s manor stood sentinel in the distance. For the first time, she noticed, sticking up from its red mansard roof, a pair of intersecting wooden walls, between which sat a mound of pale yellow straw. The gryphon’s roost. Beneath it, the windows of the warden’s office shimmered against the manor’s broad face.
That the sword fights continued was no oversight by the Blackpoint Mining Company. Safi had seen boys get hurt in the sword ring, and surely the occasional injury hurt the yields of the Titan mines. Eying Raven’s hefty sack, she wondered if giving recruits wages was another way of keeping them under Blackpoint’s fat red thumb. Perhaps no one truly bought their freedom. Rather, they bought the time of their fellow recruits, the ones they had wagered money away from.
Safi’s mining glove squeaked as her grip tightened around her sword. She hoped the warden wasn’t watching today. She wanted nothing to do with the man, nor his brutish Serk pet. Not until she discovered her Siegestone.
Raven took Safi’s hand and hurried her along. The boys were a mass of brown and blue work uniforms, the largest Blessing Day attendance Safi had seen thus far. Squinting under the sunlight, she peered up the hill to the half-broken wall. Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. Among the attending girls sat Hannah, thick brown curls whipping in the wind.
Safi hid her sword behind her back, just in case.
“There are your boys,” Raven said, tugging on Safi’s arm. At the fringes of the crowd stood Jabbar, Stiv, and Goggles, looking about aimlessly. Paying little attention to the ongoing sword fights.
“They’re not my boys,” Safi said, tugging her arm free and dashing to meet her mining team. Bearing the weight of her money, Raven hobbled in pursuit.
“You made it,” Stiv said, welcoming the girls with a smile. The others were quick to join him.
Jabbar stared intently. “Is that the blade?”
“Sure is.” Safi flipped the sword and passed it over, hilt first. “Titansbane. My secret weapon.”
Upon hearing the name, Jabbar laughed. He weighed the sword in both hands. “It’s lighter than it looks,” he said, passing it to Goggles, who gave it two careful swings.
A wave of cheers coursed from the crowd’s center, the current fight nearing its end. Hands trembling, Safi began rolling up her shirtsleeves. She folded them tight around her biceps.
Stiv wiped his sleeve on his forehead, chuckling. “Is distracting the recruit foreman part of the plan?” Safi caught a flash of disapproval on Raven’s face. The sort of expression only a good friend would notice.
Jabbar looked at Safi’s arms and laughed once more. “An advantage is an advantage.” He straightened his lips and narrowed his eyes, and when the wind blew through his hair, he seemed like less of a boy and more of a man. Like the warrior of the people of a strange and distant land. “Just remember, sister, I’m proud of you. No matter how this turns out.”
To that, Safi and Raven each raised an eyebrow.
“However,” Jabbar said, raising his palms with a smile. “I have prayed to the Titans, to Cronus himself, for you to win soundly this fight.”
“Thank you.” Safi took turns looking at each of them. “All of you.”
Grunting, Raven adjusted the slipping money sack. “Blondie, can you take it from here? I’ve got to go join the girls.”
Safi nodded curtly. She sure wished she could tell Raven not to bet all that money, that she was stone-stupid for doing so, for even hatching this plan in the first place. They had collected their monthly wages the night prior, but Safi hadn’t even thought to gamble on her own victory. For all this, she stayed her tongue, comforted by the knowledge that her friend believed in her more than she believed in herself.
Raven gave her a wholesome smile, then snickered and swung away. Her coins jingled over her shoulder with every bouncing step.
Over the din of the crowd, Safi heard Spanky’s voice rearing up the audience for the final fight of the day. “As many of you may know,” he began, “today is the most highly anticipated, highly expected fight of the year! Wulf, the leader of the first-years, versus our very own recruit foreman of the South Foot, Noth!”
Safi looked at the remaining members of Team Wulf. Goggles’ lower lip was quivering. Stiv’s shoulders had sagged forward, back slouched, head drooped. Jabbar’s arms were folded, and all the confidence had drained from his face. Only then did she realize how much they were relying on her.
“Of course,” Spanky continued, voice thick with concern, “due to an unfortunate mining incident, Wulf is unable to join us.” He paused, allowing the crowd time to murmur. “There were some stipulations to this fight, and as such, Wulf’s terms will be forfeit!”
Safi approached the crowd. She heard her teammates fall into step behind her. She pulled a deep breath, and at the top of her lungs she screamed, “The fight will go on!”
The words left Safi’s throat burning. Work boots stomped dust as the crowd turned to face her. The sight nearly pushed her into her teammates’ arms. She had never been stared at by so many people before.
As if moving with a mind of its own, the crowd
parted to form a straight path, from the toes of her boots to the sword ring. Noth stood at the center, hands on his hips. The fifth-year looked genuinely surprised.
“Let’s not keep the recruit foreman waiting,” Safi said through her teeth. Stiv, Jabbar, and Goggles, sword in hand, followed close behind her. “The fight will go on,” she repeated, softer this time. Her knees buckled as she went, and she could hear doubt creeping into her voice. “I, Safiyas Azadi, first-year miner, and member of Team Wulf, will fight in my captain’s place.”
The crowd cheered. They began to chant her name. Except instead of Safi, it came out as, “Blon-die! Blon-die! Blon-die!” She furled her eyebrows and pursed her lips, trying to keep down a smile.
Bellowing with laughter, Noth’s eyes swept over the crowd. “There are no replacement fighters! The bet was between me and the Anderan boy.”
There was a collective groan of disapproval. Amongst the crowd, voices began to shout.
“Don’t be a damn coward, Noth!”
“Scared of a first-year girl? And you call yourself a Serk?”
“Give the Southerling the beating she deserves!”
The crowd jeered on, but Noth merely smiled. As if this was going according to his plan. Beside him, albeit at a much lower height, Spanky tapped the ground with the sole of his booted foot.
“Well, recruit foreman,” Spanky said. “I suppose we could make an exception and let the Southerling fight in her boyfriend’s place.” Laughter rustled through the crowd. “But only if you would be so gracious to agree to the fight.”
Noth cracked his large knuckles. “Part of the wager is that the girl becomes the cleaner of the fifth-year’s barracks,” he announced with a chuckle. “After the Southerling’s loss, I’ll have her wash my uniform personally!”
The boys roared with approval. Safi folded her arms and scowled. Just whose side were they on anyway? Perhaps the recruit foreman was more popular than she’d thought. All the more reason to take him down.
“I accept!” Noth said. “The Southerling will fight in Wulf’s place!”
The crowd erupted, drowning out the sounds of the world. Arriving upon the sword ring, Safi stepped carefully over the boundary rope, fighting to keep her legs steady beneath her. She tried to look Noth in the face, but it was hard not to wander his body. Somehow, she had forgotten how large the Serk boy truly was. How thick his arms, how broad his chest, how sharp his bright yellow eyes…
Feeling her tummy rumble, she began to wonder if her fight with the recruit foreman wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Raven climbed the hill to the wall with an intentional, stern footstep.
A careful sort of gait, for all her hard-earned coins weighed heavy on her back. Here was the result of several months’ worth of saving, of gambled pennies and pilfered purses, and prudent church day trading. A mass of iron and copper that made her knees ache.
For all the pain, the Anderan carried herself confidently. When it came to negotiations, it paid to look tough. Still, she could feel her hands begging to move, and twitch and fondle and touch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so nervous. She often forgot to remind herself that her condition wasn’t real. That her hands could be still if she wished.
That she wasn’t like Crow, her sister.
When her fingers were steady, and her lips were fixed in a cocky grin, Raven picked up the pace. All perched on a row, the many girls of the wall stared down at her. The coins on her back seemed to double in weight.
Behind her, the boys were roaring around the sword ring. They sounded miles away now. Safi was making her move, she knew. There was no stopping what they had set in motion.
Now came Raven’s turn to wager her livelihood. Like Crow had taught her, in life, you either ate or you starved. Raven was hungry. She ran her eyes down the wall until she spotted her curly-haired mark. Hannah. At long last, Hannah.
Remembering the stockades, Raven felt her scarred cheek twitch. A whole month spent in that stinking pit of a building, dug deep into the earth, where food was served through slots at the bottom of doorways, and you slept in the same room you shat in…
She had slept in some wretched places in Serren, but the stockades were by far the worst. Not from crooked beds nor impenetrable stone walls, but the days that stuck together like sap. For thirty that may have as well been one, Raven had little to do, little to touch, little to think of, other than escape. And revenge.
She heard Spanky shouting into the wind. His words were meaningless percussion in her ears. The girls, too, were absorbed by Raven’s approach. As she walked the length of the wall, their eyes followed her movements like attentive cats.
Finally, Raven found herself before Hannah, who sat atop the wall’s highest seat. Eyes on the head girl, she allowed the sack of money to slip from her shoulder. It landed with a clunk. She fought the urge to stretch her arms and back.
All along the wall, the girls began to whisper.
Hannah looked down, wearing an expression somewhere between hostility and feigned indifference. “You’re blocking my view.”
Raven did not move. A gale descended from Cronus’ lofty thigh, throwing Hannah’s hair into a storm of curls. Raven traced a finger down her sweat-slick jawline. She bumped her heel against her money, comforted by its presence. “I’m here to settle our debts.”
“You’re about to settle for another trip to the stockades,” Hannah said, setting her hands on the wall. For a moment, it looked like she might leap down, but the fifth-year remained seated. She stared ponderously at the money beside Raven’s left foot and drew a sharp breath. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. Continue, Anderan.”
Raven fought to keep her tongue from delivering the verbal lashing Hannah deserved. Over the summer, she had watched the head girl from afar. The girl of Berrider never missed a sword fight, and when she gambled, which was often, she gambled big and rarely lost. Especially when Noth was fighting. Afterwards in church, the fifth-year never missed service and sat always in the rearmost of pews.
It was all too obvious to the sharp eyes of a Serren girl. Hannah was hoarding money, and fast. In her short time as head girl, she had taken full advantage of her privileges. The way Raven saw it, some of the first-year girls would daresay she abused them.
No cost too great, when you’re saving to buy your way out of the Blackpoint Mining Company.
“In this bag,” Raven said, “is exactly enough copper and iron to pay off exactly one year at Camp Cronus.” The girls looked at one another and began to speak, sharing their excitement and disbelief.
“Impressive,” Hannah said. “You’ve worked hard, to save so much in so little time.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I know you’ve got way more. You’re a twenty-fiver, ain’t you? Just like me and Safi. You penny pincher. How’s about we make this next fight a little more interesting?”
“You want to bet on the Southerling?” Hannah threw back her head and guffawed. “You’re even stupider than I thought.”
Raven dismissed her comment with the flick of a wrist. “A whole year’s pay, on top of the hoard you’ve already got. What are you up to now? Ten years? Eleven? You need this.”
The head girl chuckled, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?” With the same hand, she reached into the neckline of her dress. Out came a money pouch the size of a small fist. Raven’s heartbeat quickened. Hannah untied the top and held it towards her. Its contents glittered cold and bright in the morning sun.
“Silver Anderan Sovereigns,” Hannah said. “Real money.”
“I can see that,” said Raven through her teeth. Few girls would dare carry such a large amount on their person. Five silver sovereigns alone bought a whole year’s stay in Camp Cronus.
Raven said, “This is a personal bet. No fifth-year boys involved. So how do I know you’ll pay up fair?”
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” Hannah swept the curls from her forehead and g
rinned. “I’m your head girl, after all. I’m here to look out for you.”
Raven let out a snort. “I wouldn’t trust you to wash my back.”
From down the wall, she heard a familiar, hearty laugh. Approaching them was Matilda, head of the kitchen, unofficial leader of the fourth-year girls. Most importantly of all, she was Raven’s trusted friend. “I’ll serve as mediator,” Matilda said, “along with the rest of the fourth-years. We do it fair and simple. Set the money on the ground and winner takes the pot.”
“Fine by me,” Raven said, speaking inadvertently fast.
Hannah wrinkled her freckled forehead “You just keep them money bags shut tight, Matty.”
“Never did nothing to challenge your trust.” Matilda folded her thick forearms. “Ma’am,” she added with a nod.
Hannah’s gaze slunk back to Raven. “Name your odds.”
“Eight to one,” Raven said. “On Blondie. Favor Noth.”
Hannah laughed sharply. “Eight to one! Please. I’m not betting eight years on a sword fight. I’ll do you three to one.”
“Don’t insult me,” Raven spat. “A first-year girl fighting a fifth-year boy, Titans, the head of the fifth-years at that, and you’re telling me three to one?” Raven tapped her chin, then spoke fast. “Seven to one.”
“A fool’s bet is a fool’s bet,” Hannah said curtly. “And I know you’ll go lower.” She took a moment to breathe. “Four. I don’t have to bet anything. Four is the best you’ll get.”
“Come on, Hannah,” shouted Suzy from a dozen seats over. “You scared of the little Abedi beating Noth?” Even the fifth-year girls murmured in agreement.
Hannah glared down the wall, then back at Raven. “Four,” she repeated.
“That’s no good,” Raven said. “At least do me five.” Hannah began to reply, to agree, Raven knew; she could tell from the way the fifth-year was leaning forward in her seat. So she added, “And Blondie and I get your bunk till the end of the work year.”