by E. S. Maya
Stiv bellowed in protest, pushing away from the ground with the might of his big right arm. Months of toil and cumber had thickened the flesh on his bones. It took no small feat of strength to keep the boy pinned to the ground.
Fortunately, Jabbar held the superior position. He leaned into Stiv’s back, pinning him with the weight of his body. The boy of Berrider thrashed like a fish out of water. Jabbar let loose a grunt whenever he suffered a blow.
A dozen feet before them, Safi lay on her back in the sword ring. The sight struck fear into Jabbar’s heart. The girl’s left arm was caked with dust and blood, and her work shirt was torn in several places. He held his breath as she rose to one knee, only to collapse back to the ground.
The crowd groaned with disappointment.
“Get off’a me!” Stiv said, glancing backwards for help. Goggles shuffled uncomfortably in place, squinting down at the pair, not daring to interfere. Jabbar squeezed tight until Stiv went limp in his arms. The Berrid slumped to the ground.
“Let me stop the fight,” Stiv squeaked. His cheek was squished to the dust.
With some difficulty, Jabbar freed his hand and placed it on Stiv’s shoulder. “I cannot.”
“He’ll really hurt her! She’ll be a cripple!” Stiv shrugged off the hand and reached for the boundary rope. “It’s not worth it! To hell with the wager!”
Jabbar clenched his jaw. Perhaps the Berrid was right. Looking into the sword ring, he found Safi taking a knee. Her right hand clung her sword, the other her breathing stomach.
Then the wind pushed its way through the crowd, cooling the sweat of Jabbar’s neck. He shivered as the gale swept around him, then over Safiyas, sending her hair, all of its bright blonde bulk, dancing like the flames of a fire.
The girl’s expression, however, was still as stone, her focus as sharp as a blade. Though he had never seen one in person, Jabbar was certain she had the look of a true Abedi warrior. Even with those bright yellow-blue eyes.
So Jabbar let go of Stiv, rising slowly, and offered his friend a hand. “Have a look at Safiyas. The fight isn’t over yet.”
Stiv took the Abed by his wrist and pulled himself to his feet. “Noth’s too strong for her,” he said.
“The Titans are strong,” said Jabbar, “yet still people have climbed them.”
“Barely! More have died trying.”
“And it was they who made that choice.”
“Making dumb decisions don’t make them right!” Stiv looked towards the sword ring before continuing, “And if Wulf were here, you know he’d say the same.”
Jabbar opened his mouth to speak, but paused, wondering what Wulf would have done, had he been here watching beside them. Perhaps more than sit on the sidelines.
Taking the opportunity, Stiv whirled around and said, “Tell him, Gogs!”
Goggles jumped at the sound of his name. Jabbar was surprised, for his cheeks were gleaming wet. Palming the tears away, Goggles squinted towards the sword ring. “I say we let her fight.”
Jabbar and Stiv stared at the boy, speechless.
“If Wulf were here,” Goggles stammered, fumbling to catch his words, “if he were here and fighting, and losing, he’d still want to fight to the end. I’m sure Safi feels the same.”
Jabbar nodded solemnly. He took Stiv by the shoulders and turned him about, shoving him towards the sword ring. “Does that look like a girl who’s about to give up?”
Safi was standing now, sword in fist, showing no regard for the roars of the audience, nor the wind in her hair, nor the dust and sweat on her uniform. Not even for her injuries. Not even her friends at ringside.
Her eyes were fixed on Noth.
Stiv voice came out in a whisper. “No, it does not.”
Jabbar patted Stiv on the back, then waved Goggles over, so the three of them could watch together. To see if Safi had the strength to defeat the recruit foreman after all.
Drawing a deep breath, he smiled. “The outcome of this fight is in the Titans’ hands now.”
For Safi, the world outside the sword ring ceased to exist. There was only her opponent, Noth, who faced the crowd with his back turned to her. There was only the burning in her left arm, the streaking pain in her chest. Only Titansbane in her fist.
To say she wielded the sword would be a mistake. Rather, her right arm began at the shoulder and ended at sword point. She could feel it moving now, swaying in the passing breeze. Begging for her to strike.
If only she could reach Noth with it!
She approached the center of the sword ring, testing her many injuries. Each footstep strummed a chord of pain inside her. And as that pain grew, so did her outrage, her fury, that someone would dare lay hands on her!
She decided she no longer cared if she lost. No longer cared about avenging Wulf, nor saving the paychecks of her friends, nor continuing her life as a miner. She just wanted to hit Noth real good. To pay him back for the hurt she felt inside.
The recruit foreman turned to face her. The slabs of his chest and shoulders mantled his torso like a suit of armor. She stared at the breathing lines of his abdomen, the way his skin clung to his bones and flesh. It was hard to believe such a body belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy.
Safi raised her sword to the ready. So did Noth.
“Begin!” Spanky said, sounding miles away now. A torrent of voices followed, spouting from every direction. A storm of empty words.
Surprising even herself, Safi exploded into action, fully prepared for her next attack to be her last. She charged in low, a sweeping strike that whipped up dust just inches from the ground, aiming for Noth’s shins.
“You little monster!” Noth laughed, stabbing the ground with the tip of his sword and stopping Safi’s attack. Body twisting, she snapped her weapon upwards, aiming to break his fingers around the hilt.
Noth pulled back, but before he could return his sword to starting position, Safi was flicking Titansbane towards him, swinging faster than she could understand. Her attacks sent the fifth-year stumbling backwards, and he began sweeping his sword in broad strokes, to batter her fleeting strikes away.
Safi was ever in pursuit, aiming for the odd places, his shins, his knees, his crotch. Hit him, she told her sword. Hit him just once!
But Noth was not so easily caught, and soon she felt the all too familiar swell of fatigue in her sword arm. Titan’s ass, she imagined Raven saying. The recruit foreman was wearing her out.
Safi sent her sword biting forward, but Noth caught her attack with a full guard. Before she had time to react, he shot out his bulky arms, pinning her sword to her chest.
“I don’t want to hurt you any further, Southerling,” Noth said, through a snarling sort of smile. He began marching forward, sending her boot heels dragging. “After all, you’re to be working hard in the fifth-year barracks till next spring.”
“Never!” Safi leaned over her sword, pressing her shoulder against Noth’s chest. Mustering all of her strength, every hard-earned swing of her pickaxe, every morning climb to the Foot, every night spent exercising while others slept… she planted her feet and pushed.
—and gasped. She had moved full minecarts, but never in her life had she felt such weight. Her effort hadn’t slowed recruit foreman in the slightest. Looking over her shoulder, there was the boundary rope, coming quick. She screamed, kicking wildly at the ground, leather soles slipping. But there was no stopping the fifth-year’s momentum.
Noth slowed his march, savoring every moment. “That’s good!” he said. “Fight me, Abed. Fight till the end!”
Safi spat in the fifth-year’s face, and even that didn’t faze him. It didn’t even blemish his smile. Feeling her ankles touch the boundary rope, she set her forearms against his chest and gave one final, desperate shove.
Noth looked down at her and laughed. “Goodbye, Southerling.”
Safi felt her toes leaving the ground. Then there was only the blue of the sky, the glare noontime sun. Clinging to Titansbane, she trip
ped backwards over the boundary rope and went tumbling out of the sword ring.
60
Of Men and Gryphons
She came striding through Lazar’s Crossing on long, resilient legs. Dust whipped up behind her as the Foot loomed perilously ahead. Though the sun was nearing its zenith, and service was soon to begin, not a soul had remained in the Fivers’ Camp. No one, not even Pearl, dared to miss today’s sword fights.
No one except Rebecca.
She hoped God would forgive her for skipping service this one time, and for exerting so much physical effort. For the Day of Blessing was intended for rest, of both body and mind. A day for the spirit to be put to work.
And here she was, a devout follower of Faerana, stone bless the prophet, legs swinging, mind racing, heart pounding!
Stepping over the spiderweb of cracks put in the ground by the Siege Titan’s fall, the redhead cringed. In the barracks she had knelt at her bedside on hard splintered wood, hands clasped in prayer. And it was through prayer she came to the truth. That it wasn’t God who had put Safi in the Titan mines, nor into this senseless fight with the recruit foreman.
No, Rebecca knew the girl too well. This sword fight with Noth was no quirk of faith, but a carefully weighted choice. There was but one person responsible for Safi’s predicament. It wasn’t Raven, nor the boys, nor even Hannah and the fifth-years, but Safi herself.
So Rebecca had decided that her place was beside the sword ring, to offer Safi the support she needed to find success, or otherwise. She only wished it hadn’t taken her so long to realize that.
Or perhaps it was she who needed Safi, to ease the guilt of having abandoned her friend. She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing her get hurt. The mere sight of violence lightened Rebecca’s head. She had sometimes fainted before, back on the Hollingberry family farm, when her older sisters put cattle to slaughter. Having grown taller since then, the occasional tumble proved far more dangerous.
At last, Rebecca turned the corner of Cronus’ foot and sprinted towards the sword ring. The sight struck her as peculiar. The boys, pooled in a circle between the Titan’s great stone legs, stood uncharacteristically still and silent. The girls, too, perched upon their high stone wall, uttered not a word, nor did any of them take notice of Rebecca’s abrupt arrival.
Sparing not a moment, the girl of Resmyr collided with the back of the crowd. She elbowed her way past thick arms and hard shoulders, feeling her stomach begin to knot. But the girl fought on, desperate to reach Safi. To let her know she was there for her before it was too late.
When there were no boys left to push, the sword ring appeared at once. Rebecca gasped, for Noth stood shirtless within the circle, fist raised in triumph. And behind him was Safi at the boundary rope—
Rebecca covered her mouth in horror. She could feel her body reacting—the stiffness in her legs, the lightness in her head. It felt as though tremendous weight fell upon her. The redness of her hair came sweeping across her vision.
The world began to spin, and everything went black.
“Turn around, you arrogant little fool!” boomed Vice Warden Arnalus, standing inches from the balcony doorway, misting the glass with his breath.
Despite his usual stoic manner, Leo flinched. It had been years since the sergeant major had been transferred to the Titan Camp Cronus and promoted to the rank of vice warden, but the man’s presence still made him uneasy. The butler straightened himself beside the empty stone hearth, adjusting his hands behind his back. He began to count the colored spines of the warden’s vast library: The Common Material Properties of Titan Stone, Historical Geosapien Tendencies, Plotting Courses: A Chronicle of Titan Trajectory…
Warden Tiberonius lounged behind his desk in his leather chair, glancing through the balcony doors. Showing little regard for the toy sword fights of children.
But the butler saw past the facade, for the warden’s way was the way of the Anderan Royal Family; the greater the interest, the less it must be shown. Not a true deception, but one intended to express how insignificant commoners were, how little a threat they posed, to the most powerful family in the world.
Grinning, the warden stroked a white-gloved finger beneath his clean-shaven chin. “The boy is arrogant,” he told Arnalus. “Not dissimilar from yourself.”
Leo watched the glass doorway out of the corner of his eye. Just what was happening between the South Foot recruit foreman and the half-Abedi girl? He remembered her plainly, the way she came creeping into the manor house, how she’d gobbled down the warden’s noontime snack. How she’d come out carrying a pickaxe.
And now, that frail little child, fighting impossible odds!
Leo smiled, remembering a time some years ago when he had gone by the name of Leopard, a boy of the Serren streets. A time when the warden hadn’t called himself Tiberonius at all, but merely Edgar, Leo’s partner in crime, and friend.
“The boy’s naive!” retorted Arnalus. “You never turn your back on an opponent.” He brought his scowl away from the window and turned it upon the warden. “That’s something you don’t learn in the comforts of the palace, playing with blunted swords.”
Leo tensed at the remark. Few would speak to an Anderanite, let alone a Brigadier General of the Blackpoint Mining Company, with so little regard for decorum and lineage. Again the butler recalled his younger self. He glanced over his shoulder at the jewel-encrusted sword, mantled over the hearth, crossed with its sibling pickaxe.
An absurd notion! Leo had learned from several trustworthy accounts that Arnalus had been a knight of renown prowess. That there was a river of Abedi blood on his hands. Victory and sacrifice in battle, it seemed, granted a man certain social allowances.
To the Serk’s outburst, Sir Edgar Tiberonius merely laughed.
Then the vice warden banged his fist on the glass, and the warden rose swiftly from his chair.
Breaking protocol, Leo strode across the room. He joined the Blackpoint officers at the glass doorway, taking note of Arnalus’ red-faced scowl and the warden’s calm, yet uncertain smile.
Looking down at the sword ring, the butler understood at once. Where the fight should have been over, there, dangling over the boundary rope, the half-Abed held on. There was a splash of red hair in the crowd, and then a sudden commotion.
The warden slipped the butler a smile as the first-year girl made her move.
“Point to the recruit foreman! THE FIGHT IS OH-OH-OVER!”
Plum-faced and smiling, Spanky stepped into the sword ring. He drummed his knees and stomped his feet, and began to loudly chant, “Noth! Noth! Noth…”
And Noth stood beaming beside him, sword held loosely at his side. Though the announcer continued to cheer his name, and the wind blew its whistling breaths, not a voice sounded out from the boys of the crowd, nor from the girls of the wall. Noth threw up his fist in frustration, watching, listening, waiting for the roaring cheers of victory.
But the crowd remained silent.
For all eyes fell on Safi, clinging desperately to her sword. Bent backwards over the boundary rope within hair’s reach of the ground.
Both feet still in the sword ring.
Despite the pain of her injuries, Safi grinned. Their game wasn’t over yet. Titansbane carried her now, sticking out from the dust by its narrow-pointed tip. Her entire body began to cramp as she struggled to maintain her balance. She strained in an attempt to right herself, but hadn’t the strength, nor the leverage, to climb back into the sword ring.
“Why aren’t they cheering?” she heard Noth growl. There was great anger in his voice, to which Spanky could only whimper.
Sweating from the sheer effort, Safi attempted to rise once more. But with her body arched over the boundary rope, standing up was impossible.
Looking down at the sword ring, there was the width of Noth’s back, the padded flesh of his arm—the fifth-year turning towards her.
Before the Serk took notice of Safi’s dilemma, a tall red presence burst through
the front of the crowd. Stiv and Jabbar leapt out of the way of the powerful, striding girl. The first-year named Rebecca.
The redhead staggered to a halt at ringside, gasping at the sight of the shirtless recruit foreman. When she noticed Safi, bruised, and bloodied, and covered in dust as she was, her fingers flew to her lips, and her chestnut eyes went wide.
Then she was falling, tipping slowly sideways before flopping over dramatically. Stiv dashed forward with both arms. He caught the girl of Resmyr in a handsome sort of way, in the manner of a storybook prince.
“Heavy,” grunted the boy of Berrider.
Safi winced. She hoped Rebecca hadn’t heard that.
Snarling, Noth turned towards the pair. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared at the first-years, then all of the crowd. “The fight is complete! Why aren’t you cheering?”
He did not notice Safi, gathering her strength behind him. She turned herself sideways, holding Titansbane in both hands. Then, like the ferryman of a boat that sailed the midnight shores, she rowed her sword at the ground, launching herself over the boundary rope and back inside the sword ring.
Before Noth could possibly react, she set Titansbane on her shoulder and charged. She felt her heart flickering to life inside her, pounding at her chest like fists against a cage. And her feet, powerful and tired, and heavy, shaking the dust of the world. Then she was holding her sword in both hands, raising it over her head. Here wasn’t the stance of a fighter, but that of a miner. A girl of the Titan mines.
For a moment there was no wooden sword in her hands, but the familiar weight of her pickaxe, and a wall of stone before her. She felt a sudden urge to work, to swing the warden’s digging tool as she had some thousands of times before. To discover a glimmer of hope under all that endless rock.
Safi brought down her pickaxe with force.
A dark, slithering crack leapt down the length of her sword. She felt the wound on her palm tear open, wetting the inside of her mining glove. Noth let loose a violent cry, spinning about to face her while clutching a hand to his neck.