by E. S. Maya
“Now hold on just one darned minute,” said Matilda, folding her thick arms. Flanked by a pair of fourth-years, the head of the kitchen moved to stand between Raven and Hannah. “Could be that I’m getting forgetful, ma’am, but from what I remember, you and my kitchen girl had that wager firmly agreed on.”
“You’ve got good memory, Matty.” Hannah flashed a wicked grin. Her curls had slipped out from behind her ear, so she pushed them back into place. “You should also remember that gambling is strictly forbidden in Camp Cronus. As such, all wagers are illegitimate—and forfeit.”
Hannah glanced down the hill to the sword ring. Raven looked too, watching as the cheering boys bounced up and down in a cluster. They were slapping each other’s backs, and work shirts were flying off. They were also chanting Blondie’s name.
The sight wiped the joy from Hannah’s face. “In fact, I don’t think we’ll have much betting from now on.” She cocked her head towards Matilda and forced a smile to her face. “After all, as the head girl of the Fivers’ Camp, it’s my duty to enforce Blackpoint law.”
Matilda shook her head and chuckled, though her laughter betrayed no happiness. “Now that just won’t do.” She raised her head and bellowed, “Come on over, girls!”
The fourth-years dropped down from the wall, dusting off their bottoms and stretching their sturdy arms. Raven was impressed. Though they hadn’t the size of the fifth-years, here were tall and confident girls who showed no hesitation in marching to Matilda’s side.
“As the head of the kitchen, it’s my job to ensure that my girls are treated fair, ma’am. Besides, banning sword gambling? That’s plain foolery! What would the boys think? Titans, what would Noth?”
“Like I give two damns about that loser!” Hannah said, shoving a fifth-year aside as she stomped up to face Matilda. “You might run the kitchen, but the matron put me in charge of the Fivers’ Camp.” Her lower lip trembled. “Wait your own damn turn.”
Raven flinched when someone touched her shoulder. It was Suzy’s freckled hand, and she’d brought the rest of the kitchen crew with her. The two of them shared a smile, though Raven could feel second-year trembling.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “What are you waiting for?” she screamed at her fellow fifth-years. “I said, go and fetch my damn money!”
Raven swallowed. It was apparent that, despite being outnumbered, the fifth-year girls were far too used to the hierarchy of Camp Cronus. Having suffered for years under each older generation, now that their turn had come, they were more than willing to dominate the younger recruits.
It reminded her much of Crow, how she’d ruled with absolute authority over the Serren Feathers. She hadn’t been able to stand up to her sister before, but now…
Raven forced herself to laugh, to cackle as loud and carefree as her sister. That gave the fifth-years pause. She held up the purse in her palm and moved to take her rightful place before Matilda and the fourth-years.
Hannah stood within arm’s reach of her now, eying the bundle of silver, but making no motion to take it.
Raven looked Hannah in the eye and snickered. She set her free hand on her hip and said, “Come on ladies! After watching Blondie whup Noth in the sword ring, you’re just going to sit there and let this barn-betrothed wench push us around?”
It wasn’t apparent to Hannah, nor Matilda, to whom Raven was addressing until the first-year girls came springing down from their seats. They approached Raven cautiously, then rushed in all at once. There was Tybel from the stables, and Chelsea from the barn, and Meredith from the tannery. Even Pearl, who popped up beside Raven with a hand fixed on her hip. Raven patted the girl on the head, suspecting the tiny Serk had been nearby all this time.
At the vanguard of the fifth-years, the cat-eyed brunette shied away from the mass of younger recruits. Hannah grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her forward. “Go on then! Don’t turn craven from a few insolent children!”
Then came Suzy’s turn. “Girls!” she called. “Are you gonna let a bunch of first-years make us look like cowards?”
The second-years hopped down to join Suzy, seemingly without fear, more than ready to stand with their friend. Soon the third-years were riled from their seats, and then all the girls of the Fivers’ Camp stood united against Hannah and her fifth-year minions.
“Seems to me,” Raven declared, “that a head girl without the support of her recruits, ain’t much of a head girl.”
Hannah snarled at Raven, then turned to scream at her fifth-years, the girls she had known since arriving in Camp Cronus, who had obeyed her every whim, Raven knew, since she came into her position at the top of the Fivers’ Camp hierarchy. “Don’t just stand there! A year’s worth of silver to the girl who gets me my money!”
Raven’s squeezed the purse in her hand. She looked over the fifth-year girls. Hard-faced and tall, but presently lacking in confidence. Not one of them dared move against her.
Hannah glared at her fellow fifth-years until she turned red in the face. Then she shrieked, spinning towards Raven with two swinging arms.
Despite her pounding heart, Raven kept herself perfectly still. She watched as the larger girl closed in. Hannah’s first swipe struck her aside the face, and the second stole the purse from her hand. Raven’s cheek erupted with pain, and she felt fresh blood on her skin.
It reminded her of the warden, the way his Serk bulldog had traced that dagger over her face. The pain had driven her to tears before the two powerful men.
This time, she put a hand to her cheek and grinned. She watched as Hannah retreated to the safety of her fifth-years, laughing like a fool, waving around her coin purse like a trophy for everyone to see.
Matilda gasped, hurrying to Raven’s side with a clean, outstretched handkerchief.
Raven held up her palm to halt the fourth-year. “The head girl ought to follow the rules,” she told Hannah. “Everyone knows fighting is banned in Camp Cronus.” From behind her came the sound of hushed laughter. “We’ve got a whole lot of witnesses who saw that outburst, ain’t that right, Matty?”
Matilda stared for a moment, then gave a knowing smile. “Sure do,” she said with a chuckle. “Over a hundred girls by my count.”
“A hundred Blackpoint recruits,” Raven said ponderously, “who’d be glad to chat with the matron and tell her what they’ve seen.” Her smile couldn’t get any bigger. “And to give a vote of no confidence in the current head girl of the Fivers’ Camp.”
To Raven’s relief, the girls behind her murmured in agreement.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Hannah growled. She attempted to fix her hair, but her curls were plastered all over her face.
“I’ll make you a deal, Hannah,” Raven said, raising an upturned palm. “You can keep out of the stockades. You can even stay head girl. You can call yourself whatever the hell you want, but first you better stroll back over and hand me my purse back, nicely.”
Hannah paused, like she was reconsidering her course of action. She glanced back at her girls for support, but the fifth-year shrunk away from their furious leader.
Raven tapped her foot to get her attention. She held out her palm, waiting. “Well?”
Hannah turned stiffly towards her. Like a Siege Titan marching at the bottom of the deepest ocean, she made her way over to Raven. It appeared to take tremendous effort to offer up the coin purse. She set it down gently in the palm the Raven’s hand.
Raven bounced the purse a few times, heard the satisfying jingle of coins. A rush of triumph washed over her, and her fingers were still at last. “And don’t forget about our agreement about your bunk.”
Behind her, the girls rippled with laughter. And it wasn’t just them, but the fifth-year girls as well, who could no longer hide their resentment for the girl who had ruled over them for so long.
“You’ll pay for this, street rat,” whispered Hannah, low enough so that only Raven could hear. There were tears in the head girl’s eyes.
“Maybe so,” Rav
en said, tucking her purse of silver away. She looked at the fifth-year and grinned. “Until then, it’s a good time to start saving.”
63
Siege Titan Cronus
Not a minute after arriving upon the Main Camp’s busiest avenue, Safi paused her step. She listened to the deep, bellowing sound that came sweeping across the flat wooden rooftops. A sorrowful sort of sound, to which she raised her head and smiled.
She could only imagine the faces of Kemal, Foreman Adams, and even old Monsignor Marcellus, not to mention the various schemers who filled the rear pews, when not a single recruit from the Fivers’ Camp showed up for today’s Blessing Day service.
She strolled deeper into the Main Camp, snickering to herself until a sudden pain tore into her side. Then she fell to her knees and groaned. That took the attention of the avenue’s church-dodging men and women, of which there were plenty. She hobbled on with a grimace, ignoring the staring adults, but stopping often to poke her head through every saloon doorway, to cool her nose against every storefront window. Desperate to find infirmary, but too embarrassed to ask for directions.
Her eyes were anywhere but the road when she walked face-first into a broad, red-garbed belly. The impact sent her stumbling backwards, though her feet caught the ground with ease. Wincing, she rubbed her smarting nose and looked up.
A pair of men stood before her, wearing long red capes and with bright red cheeks. Enforcers, she realized, with polished brown boots and glimmering steel pommels. On the left stood a stout blonde with a purple scar over his left eye. On the right a tall redhead with a thin, smiling mustache.
Safi scratched her eyebrow. The pair looked strangely familiar. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the thought of finding Wulf began to ache the inside of her head. She found herself folding her arms, fingering the scab on her palm. Remembering her agonizing fight with Noth.
Her apology came out as, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you drunk louts! That’s all you men ever do, drink, drink, drink!”
The enforcers looked at one another, mouths agape. When they turned back to Safi, the flush of their cheeks had spilled into their beards and climbed into the creases of their foreheads.
She swallowed. Though she had never tasted alcohol, she had seen its effects a few times firsthand, back in Ashcroft, outside the Soaky Oaks tavern, when drinks made children of adults. Not to mention that one time in Camp Cronus! That cooled her remaining fury, pushing it into a faraway place with no hopes of coming back.
The blond enforcer moved closer, and he scrunched her nose. The man smelled of alcohol and soap. “You understand a punishment is in order,” he said, smiling grimly. “Can’t have recruits speaking to enforcers like that, Blessing Day or not.”
Safi smiled back at him. Then she turned around and ran as fast as her tired legs would carry her. Which wasn’t fast enough—she felt a hand snagging the back of her work shirt collar. She kept running anyways, kicking up a cloud of dust into the Blackpoint men’s faces.
“Hold it right there!” the blond enforcer said, raising a meaty forearm over his face.
“Halt!” said the red-haired enforcer in that sharp, commanding tone so common to those in the employ of Blackpoint. But Safi’s body was too tired to listen, and it wouldn’t stop running. “Halt, I say, blasted Southerling wretch!”
Finally, Safi managed to still her legs. She turned around awkwardly, for the enforcer’s meaty hand remained clenched at the back of her collar.
“Prophet’s teat!” said the blond enforcer, coughing profusely as his Resmyran partner frowned disapprovingly. The blond swayed on his feet, purple scar bulging. “When an enforcer gives an order, you listen! I ought to beat you silly, and I would if I weren’t in such a good mood. But you’re trying my patience, girl.”
“Aw, let her go,” said the red-haired enforcer, twiddling the tips of his mustache. “She’s only a girl, and would you look at the state of her!”
Safi reached for the bloodied blue shirtsleeve bandaging her left arm. She ran that same hand through her hair and caught a knot with each finger. Looking down, there were holes in the knees of her trousers. Titans almighty, she thought. I can’t let Wulf see me looking like this.
“In the name of the warden,” cried the blond enforcer, as if seeing Safi for the first time. “Who did this to you, girl? Tell us and we’ll have their necks!”
“No one, sir,” Safi said. “I—uhm—fell down on my way to church.”
The enforcers looked doubtful.
“Honest!” she insisted.
“An Abed going to church,” mused the red-haired enforcer.
“Why, the blasphemous little liar!” roared the blond. He let go of Safi’s collar, but her relief was short-lived, for the enforcer came lumbering towards her and struck out with an open palm.
Safi kept perfectly still, thinking she ought to take the blow on the chin. After all she’d been through, what was another smack or two? But in an instant she threw up her fist, catching the enforcer’s hand with the back of her forearm—a perfect guard.
The blond enforcer snapped his hand away, shaking the pain from his fingers. “Tough little runt,” he said.
“The girl’s an Abed,” said the red-haired enforcer, like that happened to explain anything. He leaned forward, one hand on his knee, squinting down at Safi. “And would you look at that uniform. This one looks like a miner!”
“A miner!” The blond enforcer narrowed his eyes and smiled. “She’s that half-Andolan girl from the Fivers’ Camp!”
The red-haired enforcer smiled knowingly. “You forgetful oaf. Anyone with half a head of stones for brains would recognize the girl.”
Safi swallowed. Anyone sure sounded like a lot of people.
“Very well, Abed,” said the blond enforcer. “Why in the world are you doing running around the Main Camp like a tickerbird with its beak cut off?”
“Trying to find the infirmary, sir,” Safi said. As if to prove her point, she bent herself sideways, put a hand to her stomach, and made a face of excruciating pain. The worst part was, she was only half-pretending. “Ow! Ow! Owwww!”
“The infirmary!” the blond enforcer said, “why didn’t you say so?”
The redhead turned to his partner, thin mustache twitching. “Well don’t just stand there, fool. Show the poor thing the way!”
Safi held her breath as she peeked through the infirmary door.
A single bed took up most of the room’s narrow space. The wooden floor and walls gleamed in the noontime sunlight, meticulously clean and polished. A pristine white sheet covered the bed, and beneath it sat a familiar dark-haired boy, thank the Titans.
“You can come in if you want to,” Wulf said.
Safi stepped into the room. The nurse on duty had tended to her wounds and scrubbed her face, and had even tried convincing her to put on a clean gown. But when the moment came, Safi had insisted on her torn and dust-stained uniform. It felt wrong to wear anything else. Besides, it was foolish to worry about her appearance now. Wulf had seen her at far worse.
She stood beside the foot of the bed, not knowing what to say or do. Beyond the open northward window, a pristine blue sky blanketed the dusty campgrounds. The length of Cronus’ body filled the space between sky and earth, from the mountain peak of his left foot, to his jagged hill of a chest, to—
Gasping, Safi threw herself against the windowsill and leaned halfway outside of the building. A sheet of clear blue sky filled the space where the Cronus’ head ought to be. Instead the Siege Titan’s body began at its pauldron-like shoulders, where a mass of small gray stones lay scattered across the ground. Further to the east, a trail of footprints carved deep, broad shapes into the badlands beyond Camp Cronus.
“I was surprised when I first saw it, too,” Wulf said. “Cronus, the headless Siege Titan. You’d think they would have mentioned such a thing.”
She turned towards Wulf, heart racing. It wasn’t the Siege Titan’s missing body parts
that she was worried about. Two long lumps held up the bed sheet where his legs ought to be, both feet included. That was a good sign. She even counted ten little toes. She palmed the sweat from her forehead. Her friend was in one piece, but had Blackpoint managed to fix him up proper?
There was a wooden stool beside the bed, as if placed there just for her. Walking over, she lowered herself onto the seat. Wulf’s eyes remained on the window, his mouth closed, his expression neutral. She furrowed her thick eyebrows. Was it enjoyable for him to hide his feelings? Truly, he was the most frustrating boy in the world!
After a minute disguised as an hour, Wulf turned sideways in bed. His eyes explored Safi’s uniform, and it took all her willpower to keep from blurting out everything that had happened. Would he even believe her if she told him? She could hardly believe it herself.
Wulf returned his gaze to the window. Safi folded her arms and joined him, watching the Anderan out the corner of her eye.
“Titans, Saf. Would you say something already? You’re fixing to drive a man crazy.”
Safi pursed her lips, surprised that he was the one waiting for her. “I guess I’m not sure what to say.”
“A simple ‘hello’ would do,” Wulf said. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll accept the usual Blessing Day greeting?” she teased, knowing Wulf’s disdain for all things pious. He rolled his eyes in response, and she giggled at the sight. Oh, how she had missed her friend! “I’m sorry for not visiting sooner.”
“I’m sure you’ve got your reasons,” Wulf said, looking her up and down. “That uniform of yours is looking a little beat up, you know.”
“That a long story.” Safi gave an exaggerated shrug, making sure the boy would notice. “Do you suppose a good tailor would be able fix it?”
“Maybe,” Wulf said hesitantly. “Are you planning on wearing it much?”
“Maybe,” Safi countered hastily. “Are you?”