Of Blood and Steel

by Seymour Zeynalli

  Seconds felt like minutes. She slowed her pace further and was ready to use her spear but the man simply walked past her. Arda remained cautious. She listened carefully, making sure the man wouldn’t follow her—or worse, strike her from behind. He didn’t. The steps grew further away and she was about to exhale with relief when she realized that she could no longer hear his footsteps. The man had stopped and suddenly, he let out one loud whistle. She turned around, staring at the man. He wasn’t rushing to get her, but he was now strolling in her direction. She turned her head back to the end of the alley when two more men appeared blocking her exit.

  “Where are you heading, sweetheart?” a man behind her said.

  Arda was trapped, surrounded by three men and narrow walls. She frantically scanned her surroundings, looking for a way out. The narrow alley wouldn’t allow her to use the spear to its full advantage. She was trapped, but not unarmed.

  An arm landed on her shoulders. She quickly shrugged it off and armed herself with the spear pointing at the men, keeping them at bay as they continued to approach her.

  “Nice toy.” The other two men laughed as their presumed leader spoke. “We have shiny toys too. But you don’t want things to get nasty, do you?” teased the leader of the group as each man slowly revealed their sharp daggers.

  “Leave now and I won’t hurt you,” Arda advised as she pointed her spear at the leader of the group.

  All three men looked at each other and began laughing hysterically.

  To prove her point, Arda quickly extended her spear into the leader’s face but only managed to scratch his cheek. This got their attention and the other two men stood in silence, looking at their leader, waiting for a response.

  “I am not joking,” Arda stated firmly.

  The leader touched his cheek, noticed a smudge of blood on his fingers and licked them. “This is but a scratch.” The other two men laughed again

  “You are a feisty bitch, I like that,” he told her. “Get her.” All three men advanced on Arda simultaneously.

  Arda, began hurriedly whispering something under her breath.

  “The prayers are not gonna save you now, girl,” Spat the man behind her as he covered her mouth. She bit into his hand, hard, and swung her spear at the other two, stepping back until she was against the wall.

  Then a voice came deep from the shadows, addressing all three men

  “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘yield to the desires of your body, then endure the troubles that follow?’” roared the voice. Arda looked at the large figure stepping out of the shadows behind the men. “I am that trouble,” Balak told the men, revealing his double-headed axe.

  Two of the men hid their weapons and were gone in a moment’s notice. The leader of the group watched his men run like cowards and turned to Balak. “She’s all yours,” he blubbered and quickly ran to join his friends.

  Balak looked at Arda and slowly started making his way towards the elevator.

  “You coming?” Balak asked, waiting for her to catch up.

  Arda brushed herself off and rushed to join Balak.

  “What made you change your mind?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, I am glad you did.”

  “And Arda.”

  “Yes, Balak.”

  “Next time, aim for a kill.”

  “I . . . I have never killed anyone.”

  “Don’t be soft on your enemies, they won’t be soft with you.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Three men worked the elevator from the bottom and three more stood at the top. Its old wooden platform creaked as it travelled down to meet them. It was square, with a railing surrounding three of its four sides, but it still didn’t look any safer. It rocked back and forth. They heaved ropes up and down, tying them up to large metal rings when they were not in use.

  She waited patiently for the elevator to lower. It creaked and squeaked as it slowly dropped towards her. With a heavy sigh and one last glance at the strange city, she clambered onto the platform, using the stick of her spear to steady herself. When Balak stepped on, the platform rocked back and forth.

  “Slowly, please,” she appealed to the men. The elevator started to rise and Arda held on for dear life.

  As the air gradually cleared, she noticed that the infant’s cough was subsiding. At the halfway point of the ascension, she gripped the rail on the landing with one hand and held the child close with the other. Balak sat down.

  “For you, brother,” he whispered to himself as he put an amulet in his pocket. As the bright light drew closer, he squinted and used his hands to shield his eyes.

  Arda recognised the dizzying sensation of vertigo, and knew they were nearing the top. She didn’t dare look down and busied her tongue to distract herself from the rational fear that she might plummet to her death at any moment. Her bulging satchel on her back was feeling heavy already. The horizontal journeys were difficult enough, never mind vertical excursions. She closed her eyes.

  “You know, you should really step off the platform with your eyes open,” Balak joked.

  It got much hotter and brighter as they headed higher and higher, until finally, they reached the exit. Balak growled and shielded his eyes, placing a palm over each.

  As it got lighter, Arda looked Balak up and down. He was wearing a heavy leather vest adorned with flaps of chainmail and iron plates, but he wore no tunic underneath. His bare chest was exposed, and his midriff bound tight in blood-darkened bandages, a few days old. His eye was swollen and his knuckles were red. “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “I fell.”

  “Very funny.” She narrowed her eyes in scorn at him. “The dressing will need changing on our trip, and soon. I can smell it from here.”

  Over one shoulder, he had slung an empty-looking leather satchel; over the other, a rusted and dull, yet formidable battle axe, dangling by a strap. A double-headed axe hung from his belt beside a goatskin flask.

  Arda looked down at the city she was leaving behind.

  “I hope I don’t have to see that place again anytime soon.”

  Just below the exit hole, there were two large metal wheels, with ropes dangling through them over enormous steel hooks drilled into the rock ceiling.

  “Is that what those elevators are attached to?” Arda asked.

  Balak nodded.

  “We’re lucky to be alive.”

  “That’s why I usually take the stairs.”

  The ends of the ropes were looped through barrel-shaped winches fixed to some boards. When she had first arrived, Arda had wondered what exactly the wheels were for, but had decided to take the stairs.

  The light got brighter, as it shone through the hole and reflected onto the platform.

  Arda was enjoying the heat. It warmed her cheeks and she could feel a very gentle breeze entering the hole as they closed in on the top.

  The platform creaked its way to the top and rocked back and forth. Arda steadied herself and inhaled the fresh air.

  “Finally,” she sighed. As she made the leap from the platform and onto the dusty surface, she dusted off her dress, looked up the sunshine and smiled.

  “Argh!” Balak growled as the sunlight shone with glaring intensity; he was blinded.

  — CHAPTER FIVE —

  Whispers in the Dark

  The searing pain began at his pupils and quickly wormed its way through his temples, burning into the very core of his skull. Between the deep wound in his gut, his still aching shoulder, and now his blindness, he was beginning to doubt his capability. Something, however, deep inside of him, willed him to stand again and carry on.

  “By the Maker!” The girl was distraught. “Are you alright? What is it?”

  Even with his eyelids shut, the brightness of the open sky was too much for him to bear. He covered his line of sight with his hands.

  “I’m fine, I . . . I forgot how bright it gets on the surface.”<
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  “Here,” Arda took off her pack and rummaged through it on her haunches, “I might have something . . . yes! This will do.”

  She pulled out a tunic of heavy, dark material and tore a large strip off it. Not daring to apply it herself, she carefully took one of his hands and placed it in it.

  “A veil?” He scoffed. “Is this a joke?”

  “Would you prefer to lie here in pain?” she chortled in response. “Just ‘til your eyes get used to the light. I’ll guide you.”

  “Fine,” he stated firmly, wrapping the fabric around his head and tying it tight at the back. “We don’t want to be out here at night, we should at least cover some ground and find somewhere to camp overnight.”

  “I won’t argue with you there. Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

  “I’ll be fine. Come on, let’s get moving. Head towards the mountains.” Balak waved his hand towards a dirt road he could no longer see. “You first. Keep your eyes peeled, alright? At the first sign of trouble just get behind me.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll deal with it,” he growled, running out of patience. “Now go. We haven’t got all day.”

  Balak took a few steps forward, tripping on a few stones before Arda took his hand and laid it on her shoulder. It was an altogether alien sensation, the heat of the sun on his skin. For years, he had huddled around meagre fires, finding greater warmth in the ring of The Pit. The radiance he now bathed in was something else entirely. It felt as though the sun itself had lent him its robes, weaved of the sinews of its own flesh. It felt good.

  He took deep lungfuls of air, holding them in for minutes at a time, smelling and tasting the greens and browns of leaf and bark all around him. It was as refreshing as water must have been to a man stranded in the arid deserts of some foreign continent.

  “There are trees here,” he muttered, mainly to himself.

  “Were there not before?” she pried without looking back.

  “I don’t think so, but my memory can be fuzzy.”

  “Looks like it,” Arda mused out loud. “They’re tall enough.”

  “Is it summer?”

  “Fall.”

  They carried on for some time without speaking further. It didn’t bother Balak in the slightest, as he needed his senses clear to discern the environment, which the girl could not; but for Arda, it was almost maddening. An innate chatterbox by nature, she had taken to speaking incessantly to the infant strapped to her front wherever she went. In the face of her guide’s stoic composure, however, she wasn’t quite comfortable enough to carry on a one-sided conversation with an infant.

  They arrived at a fork in the road and the land got clearer, with fewer trees to obstruct Arda’s vision. She paused, observing each direction carefully, trying to get her bearings. Each path looked identical. Each lengthy track led to a clearing that would leave the three of them exposed. In the distance, she could see the dark green canopy of trees, alongside some mountains.

  “Why’ve we stopped?” Balak whispered. “What’s going on, girl?”

  “It’s just . . . there’re two paths and both lead us towards the mountains. I don’t know which-”

  “-take the one on the left,” Balak interrupted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Will it take us to the woods by the mountains?”

  “They both will.”

  “Ah. We’ll take the left, slowly,” Balak instructed. “We can then trace the mountains along until we find the lowest peak in the middle of the range. It’s the best place to cross.”

  They walked for some time through the clearing before Balak started to feel the cool air of the shade provided by the tree canopy. His eyes and head were soothed slightly by this.

  “Are we in the woods now?” he asked.

  “We are,” Arda confirmed. “I think we should look for somewhere to set up camp.”

  “If I’m in the shade for a brief time, I’ll be able to get my eyes used to this damn light,” Balak agreed.

  “I don’t mean for a short time, Balak. We need to rest and eat.”

  Balak grunted but didn’t respond. Bringing the child made it dangerous. He wanted to make a good start on the journey, without making regular stops. This mission could take much longer than he had first anticipated.

  Arda looked at his frustration-filled face and shook her head. They continued to walk in silence.

  “We’re close to the mountains now,” Arda told Balak.

  “Good. Now follow them north.”

  “How do I know which way north is?”

  “Look around you. Do you see any trees with moss?”

  “A few.”

  “Moss always grows on the northern side of a tree.”

  “Are you sure? Cause . . .”

  “Just . . . do as I tell you.”

  Arda looked left and right. “Alright then,” she said, pulling his arm to the right. Balak listened carefully. His senses were heightened, and even though the veil was restricting his view, he looked and listened, still aware of his surroundings. His fingers gripped the handle of his axe and he walked with softened knees, so he could pivot easily.

  He could hear faint snores coming from the inside of Arda’s cloak. He’d briefly forgotten that the child was even there, as she’d barely stirred in hours.

  He stuck to the left side of the path and the grass tickled the side of his leg as he walked along. It grew longer and was soon reaching past his knee. A light breeze rustled the blades, and Balak stopped. He stood still and listened.

  “What is it?” Arda asked.

  “Just a small animal,” he told her. “We should find somewhere to camp for tonight.”

  Arda nodded. Not that Balak could see her, but she didn’t protest, at least.

  The child began snuffling and shuffling; Balak swung his head around quickly. “Keep her quiet,” he spat. Arda placed the knuckle of her tiny finger in the infant’s mouth. The infant’s eyes widened as she sucked like mad, slurping her lips.

  “She’s hungry,” Arda said. “The sooner we find somewhere, the better.”

  “Bringing a child on this journey makes us an easier target,” Balak began to lecture.

  “I agree. But arguing about it won’t solve the problem. And by the looks of it, you are also not at full strength. “

  “Me? Just temporarily. Or would you like me to go back?” Balak growled.

  “We need to rest and eat. Get you to full strength and change those rancid dressings.”

  Balak grunted, but gave a nod in agreement. Arda smiled to herself.

  Again, they walked in silence. The path narrowed as they started to slip under a thicker blanket of trees. Balak liked the cooler, darker air on his face and he sucked in a deep breath.

  They headed through a small wood and stayed close to the mountain’s edge. Balak stopped occasionally, looking at trees and rocks.

  As the sun went down, he could finally adjust his eyes to the moonlight.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, where did you bring us? I have no memory of this place.”

  “Me? I followed your directions,” Arda stated defensively.

  “Well, you must have made a mistake then. I can get us back on the right track, but we must have gone in the wrong direction.”

  He recognised a delicate fragrance in the air. He inhaled again and followed his nose, along the mountainside. As the smell got stronger, he grabbed at some dark green plant leaves and heaved.

  He pointed to a small bush, growing up the side of the mountain.

  “These berries . . . they’re edible. Might be able to do something for the kid.”

  Arda took out a large cloth from her satchel and filled it with berries. She wrapped it and placed it in her satchel. She continued to follow Balak, who had rushed ahead. He was pressing his palms and then knocking on the mountainside as she approached him.

  “What’re you doing?” Arda a
sked him but he didn’t answer, he just continued to press the mountainside.

  A coating of shrubs hung loosely over the mountainside. He ran his palms along the stony wall and then scooped back the shrubbery and vines.

  “A small cave,” he told her. He popped his head in and looked around. It was dark, but silent. He pulled the shrubs back further to allow in more light. It was damp, but empty.

  “Wait inside. I’ll be back soon.”

  Arda pushed through the vines and entered the cave. She placed her belongings and the baby’s basket down, and sat on the ground, waiting for Balak. Balak returned soon after with tinder, kindling, and firewood. His eyes were still covered.

  “How did you find that without being able to see?” Arda asked.

  “The Hollow is a dark place. I am used to darkness.” He dropped the wood on the ground.

  “Can you light a fire?” he asked. He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting.

  “I can try,” Arda said. She set to work, placing a small number of logs into a point shape. She began rubbing two sticks together, vigorously. Balak slowly removed his veil. He rubbed his eyes and after a while, his vision began to return. He could see some stripes of low light breaking through the vines and shrubbery at the cave’s entrance. He blinked several times and looked around the small cave. He watched Arda keep rubbing the sticks until they started to smoke. She took breaks every so often to wipe her forehead as she began to sweat profusely.

  “Don’t stop. Keep it going and it will spark,” Balak suggested.

  She took a deep breath and rubbed continuously. Finally, she noticed a spark. She smiled and brought her face closer to the fire and blew gently. A few drops fell from her forehead and dampened the fire, wiping the smile from her face. Agitated, she threw the sticks away.

  Balak sighed, lifted himself up, and picked up the sticks. He sat next to Arda and rubbed the sticks furiously but steadily without stopping. Soon enough the smoke turned into fire. He placed it in the opening of the tinder teepee, blowing gently. When it had ignited the small tinder, he slowly added kindling then small sized twigs, building the fire up.

  “Is there any easier way?” Arda asked.

  “Not unless you can conjure it out of the thin air,” Balak replied snarkily before returning to his spot. He could see the glow of the fire, as its flame grew, snapping and crackling on the damp cave floor. The light outside was starting to fade, but he was unsure how he would react in the daytime.