by Ross Turner
“How about a challenge boys?” They looked across from retrieving their knives, instantly interested in Ayva’s proposal. She adopted that same walk she had done when they’d first met her, purposeful and exaggerated, walking over to another of the target boards. “I propose, that there is no chance whatsoever, that either of you can hit me.” They looked shocked for a moment.
“We can’t try and hit you Ayva.”
“I mean…what if we do hit you?”
“We don’t want to hurt you…”
“Now boys not to worry. I personally guarantee you that you won’t hit me.” She said with a smirk. That comment struck the boys a little close to the core, but still they didn’t want to endanger their friend.
“Maybe this isn’t the best idea Ayva?” Zanriath suggested.
“Honestly, don’t worry. They won’t hit me. I’ve been waiting all my life for someone that could. They might stand a chance.” With the emphasis in her words and her steadfast confidence driving their egos, Ben and Zhack suddenly moved to position in front of the target board. “That’s more like it boys!” She exclaimed with glee. Isabel was beginning to realise how much Ayva loved being the centre of attention, though somehow she suspected there was very little real risk present in this situation.
The boy’s first few throws were not as quick as Isabel had seen in the past and hit the board around Ayva without her even moving. She didn’t even flinch. In fact Isabel thought she looked a little disappointed.
“Come now. If you’re not actually going to throw them at me…” She started before pulling out the knives and throwing them back at the boys’ feet. “…Then there’s no real point is there?”
And with that they threw for all they were worth, launching four blades each in quick succession. Isabel’s heart was suddenly in her mouth as the scene unfolded before her.
The first two blades, aimed directly at Ayva’s head, the boys’ thoughts matching, she easily ducked beneath. And then, in the split second she had to react to the second two, she whipped one of her swords from its sheath and knocked them cleanly from the air, only centimetres from her chest. Her concentration was evident, yet she still looked relaxed, and her skill was incredible, matched only by the boys launching their deadly throws.
Their third throws swept lower, towards her stomach, and Ayva was forced to arc her body left to avoid them, but the fourth were then upon her, screaming through the air like lightning. Isabel caught her breath and her hand snatched Zanriath’s.
The final two were separate, one aimed at Ayva and one blocking her return arc of escape. Even the boys’ horror was clear as they realised, even just in that instant that she had to react, that she couldn’t avoid it. Her momentum was carrying her body the wrong way and the boy’s had been too quick blocking her path, giving her no time to alter it.
Ben’s throw whistled cleanly at her throat while Zhack’s covered her escape. It was but mere centimetres from killing her before it curved off sharply left, following the line of Ayva’s neck and thudded loudly into the target board along with Zhack’s blade.
Ayva cursed quietly under her breath and then laughed calmly. Her four companions just stared at her, thinking the whole thing had gone too far.
“You’re better than I thought.” Ayva complemented, collecting their blades before re-joining them. They said nothing. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that.”
“Do what exactly?” Zanriath asked clearing the lump in his throat.
“You probably noticed the welcome I was given when we arrived.” She said giving a nod in the direction of Heldvik’s tent.
“And everyone’s been staring at you.” Isabel added raising her eyebrows.
“Not just at me. I’m in pretty unique company, but anyway, my family, the Penworth Clan, were for years the most skilled clan in Hinaktor. Clans would fight other clans, as everyone here does, for pride - just to see who the best is.”
“What happened?” Ben piped up leading the twins’ trail of thought. A peculiar notion crossed Isabel’s mind and she wondered if he was the older of the two of them.
“Did another clan beat you?”
“No. Over the centuries my family were always the best. They developed such a close bond to their art that even their weapons responded to them.”
“Responded?” Isabel said confused.
“They would make their own weapons, fight with them, live with them. The weapon would know its owner’s every technique in battle, and even begin to pre-empt them.”
“So their weapons had a mind of their own?” Ben said.
“To a certain extent. But they couldn’t do anything without their owner. It wasn’t really the weapon doing the work. So for example, once shot, an arrow’s direction could alter slightly to give more accuracy. And then eventually, we learned to even manipulate other people’s attacks, misguiding arrows or altering the arc of a swing…”
“So my knife…” Ben began.
“I manipulated its course to miss.”
“That’s incredible.” Zhack said, grinning at the thought.
“You still haven’t told us about your family?” Isabel pointed out.
“Indeed.” Ayva replied. Her eyes seemed distant all of a sudden and Isabel was certain she saw a small tear building before Ayva turned her head away and continued. “It was barely even a week ago. The demons attacked our camp. My brother and I were out in the woods setting game traps, and when we returned, everyone was gone, and there was blood everywhere. My brother went the closest to berserk I’ve ever seen him and went after them, but by then it was dark. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. Of course I wanted revenge too, but going at it alone was stupid. They killed him too. I followed him at first, hoping I’d be able to protect him. But they ambushed him, and I only just escaped.”
“So that’s why you agreed to join us so quickly…” Isabel said, her voice quiet now, reminded of the sharp pain she felt at the loss of her own family. She and Ayva were more alike than she’d first realised.
“Come on.” Zanriath said in the comforting voice he used so well, ushering them from the clearing. “It’s getting late and we have to be ready for tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Ayva agreed squaring her shoulders. “We must lead the men.”
Zanriath was right, Isabel hadn’t even noticed as the sun had slipped away and darkness had begun to settle over the troops. She thought briefly of what lay ahead the next day. She wondered whether she was ready. She’d been so authoritative that afternoon speaking with Heldvik and his men, but it hadn’t even really been her. A part of her hoped that the same strange sensation would resurface tomorrow when the time came. It always seemed to, and she was becoming more and more accustomed to it.
Ayva led them back into the main section of the encampment. It was eerily quiet as they retraced their steps through the bundles of now-sleeping men. The troops were ready and some probably couldn’t wait for their shot at the demons…but for now they would have to.
The five of them shared a tent that Garan had freed specifically for their use.
Soon they all felt the weariness of their burdens bearing down upon them and lay gratefully on the comfortable straw beds that Garan had kindly had prepared for them. He had left them fresh clothes and light sets of armour as promised. It took them very little time to bathe and prepare their attire ready for the morning. They all wanted a good night’s sleep.
Once more Isabel lay with Zanriath, comforted by his warmth. Ayva had stepped out to speak with Garan about their horses, though Isabel silently suspected she had other motives, and the boys were already asleep the on the other side of the fire.
“Will it work tomorrow?” Isabel whispered to Zanriath, not wanting to wake Ben or Zhack.
“Heldvik has made his preparations. And all the men seem ready, if not a little eager.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“I know.” Zanriath sighed deeply and answered honestly, holding Isabel close.
“The odds are against us, but everyone knows what they need to do, and as long as they manage to hold, we should be able to get away. The boy can’t follow us if he’s got an army surrounding him.”
“No.” She agreed. “But what if there’s something I’ve missed?”
“Then we’ll just have to deal with it as it comes, the same way as we’ve dealt with everything else up to now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Get some rest Isabel.” He said reassuringly. But she had already almost fallen asleep, her eyelids forcing themselves shut and her mind drifting away from reality. She felt Zanriath’s lips lightly touch her forehead before she slipped away, lost completely to her dreams.
21
The night wore on and most in the Southern Armouries’ encampment slept surprisingly well considering they all knew that the day ahead would bring hardship - but hopefully victory. From each new recruit to Master Smith Heldvik, who had at the very beginning banded them all together, sacrifices would have to be made.
Far to the north, another march began in the darkness. In strange silence the demonic horde slowly began trudging south, having finally gathered every demon on the island. Driven by fear and self-preservation, the demons moved on the boy’s command.
He still feared Isabel. But his festering doubt would have to be turned to strong resolve in the battle to come. Surely by now she had joined the march of the Southern Armouries and would be preparing them for battle. He knew she had no other choice. Then they would try to run, try to slip past him, but he would not allow it. He could not allow it. And neither could Depozi. He would have to outsmart her.
The consequences would be too great if she managed to escape.
Morning grew closer, but sunrise had not yet brought Isabel’s army from its sound slumber. However, one person amongst her companions grew restless.
Ayva tossed and turned in her sleep, plagued by nightmares. She saw herself alone. Alone in the darkness she was surrounded by demons. They taunted and goaded her. She ran through the blackness shouting for help, but found no one. The demons edged closer, mocking her as they did so. She collapsed to the floor and wept, her strength gone, her will shattered. The confidence and resilience at the very core of her existence was non-existent. Yet the demons came no closer, even as she lay helpless at their mercy.
The darkness was all around, and it wasn’t even the dark of night, it was just nothing. That thought frightened Ayva. What she lay on was not ground. There was no grass, or dirt, or rock. It was cold like ice and hard like stone, yet it was neither.
She wept harder.
From behind she felt an icy chill scratching at her back. Turning slowly, she saw the boy stood amongst the demons. Though she had never seen him, she recognised him immediately. His face was struck with concern. He wanted to help her. He wanted to free her, but the demons held him back, pulling him away.
“No!” She called meekly, attempting to drag herself closer, but found no strength to even do that. And the boy vanished into the body of merciless creatures.
Fresh tears cast warm streaks down her cheeks where the cold had stolen her heat away.
A sudden flash erupted in the darkness above the army surrounding her, and every head in the horde turned towards the light. She was unable to look and held her eyes tightly shut, shielding her face with her hands from its intensity.
After a few moments her eyes adjusted to the intense white amidst the blackness and she looked on to the figure standing above her, beckoning her closer. It was an angel, more beautiful than anything she’d ever imagined. Even in that briefest of moments, she knew that somehow he was her angel.
Her strength restored by the light, she rose to her feet, and kept rising, soaring upwards to her angel. His arms were outstretched, wanting to shield her from the horde below, yearning to save her from the darkness, yearning for her. She extended her hands, mere moments from that glorious touch she so badly needed to save her, when everything shattered.
Her angel thrashed in agony, his body arcing backwards under some invisible pressure that she could neither see nor touch. The demons below her laughed with delight, a horrible roaring laugh that she despised. Tears streamed openly down Ayva’s face and she screamed for it to stop.
“NO! NO! STOP IT! PLEASE!!” Her voice trailed off into the endless nothing surrounding her and her shrill cries were drowned and swallowed by the deep bellowing laughter of the demonic horde.
Her angel still whirled in the air clutching his hands to his face, raking at his own skin, bleeding. The sight before her seemed never ending, and yet, just as abruptly as it had started, the pain stopped. Ayva felt relief course through her, if only for a second.
Her darling’s body hung limply as if on string, before falling into the horde of demons waiting below. Ayva fell also, the will of her angel that had held her up ceasing with his death, and she crashed back to the cold hard ground, accompanied by the sound of snapping bone as her legs buckled beneath her.
It was her turn for agony. Clutching uselessly at her shattered legs she could do nothing but watch as the bloodthirsty beasts devoured her beloved, ripping him apart piece by piece. The searing pain raced through her legs like fire and she screamed wildly.
A coarse voice sounded behind her in an incomprehensible tongue. Toppling onto her side and rolling over Ayva saw the voice’s owner - before her stood Isabel. Prevailing in the darkness her friend looked down on her with arrogance and Ayva returned that gaze with pure, rich hatred. With every morsel in her body she despised her companion. She had taken her angel, her darling, and in doing so, she had taken everything from her, destroying Ayva’s world in one fell swoop.
Revenge was all she wanted now. That was her new world. Revenge for her love’s suffering. Revenge by killing Isabel.
She began to shake violently and she felt strong hands on her shoulders holding her down. She was still so weak, and only getting weaker. But then the darkness faded into the distance and her vision blurred. Her eyes stung as a sudden light engulfed her vision.
Squinting, she allowed her eyes to focus as she sat up and opened them ever so slowly, casting her first gaze upon Isabel. Her face was close and her eyes were locked on Ayva’s. Rage consumed Ayva once again, more powerful than ever, boiling in her veins, surfacing immediately even as it had done in her nightmare. In a flash her hand was upon her sword and with all her strength she swung for Isabel’s face, wanting nothing but pure, unrivalled retribution. Sweet revenge.
But as quick as she was, Ben and Zhack were faster, seizing her arms as she thrashed beneath them. Soon more hands were on her again, pinning her down, holding her to the ground. She screamed and shouted and more and more people came rushing in. She saw Zanriath, Garan, Heldvik…and Isabel…Isabel.
Keeping her eyes trained and focused, Ayva settled her fiery gaze on her former friend, who matched it with an equally cold expression.
Then she moved closer, holding her face even closer to Ayva’s, meeting her stare with a fierce intensity.
“I HATE YOU!” Ayva screeched at her, inches from her face, not breaking the lock of their eyes even once.
And then she felt a push at the back of her mind, a push that slowly grew stronger and more prominent.
“NO! Get out of my head!” Her words were still sharp and pierced the cold morning air that she felt rushing through her lungs. But Isabel wasn’t probing Ayva’s mind, she was probing Depozi’s.
Troops sleeping closer to the tent were woken by the noise and came rushing to aid, swords already drawn, not even fully dressed, but there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do, except for Isabel.
Ayva saw her angel once again, as clear as day, as if he stood with her in reality. She reached for his outstretched hand with hers. Isabel stepped aside allowing her to reach him. The love in his eyes was clear. He wanted her. Their fingers touched, but she felt nothing.
She understood only then, that he could not possibly be her re
ality. How could such a beauty really be? How could such a God exist as a mere mortal? He couldn’t. The sudden realisation stabbed Ayva through the heart and her beloved’s face twisted from the flawless sculpture it had been before into an evil stare, somehow filled with even more hatred than she had felt towards Isabel.
He moved towards her, his arms outstretched again, but this time his hands longed for her throat, willing the life from her. Ayva tried to resist, but he was too strong. She faltered, crushed beneath his love and his hate. He was going to win.
But once more Isabel was there, standing between them, protecting Ayva, shielding her friend. He backed away hesitantly, cowering in Isabel’s presence.
“BEGONE!” Isabel’s voice rang through Hinaktor itself, shaking every tree and every rock, startling every animal and swaying every blade of grass. Reaching the ears of every man, woman and demon, it showed her strength to them all in one powerful message.
And her angel was gone. Ayva ceased her struggling and dropped her blade, exhausted. The strong hands that held her slowly released their tight grips and she felt herself being pulled up from the floor.
Isabel wrapped her arms around Ayva warmly, holding her in a safe embrace. Ayva held her close. The two were inseparable in that moment, surrounded by both friends and enemies, loving and hating. But only they truly knew what Ayva had suffered, what Isabel had sensed and prevented, and, eventually, what they had both come to realise.
22
The hour was still early and the sun had only just risen. The troops were stirring from their safe slumber and beginning their final preparations. They knew that today’s march would hold much in store and the lust that many of them held for revenge on the demons would soon be fulfilled.
Ayva’s ordeal left her shaken for some time and her companions gave her the space she needed to collect herself, not all of them understood entirely what had happened, but judging by the angered look in Isabel’s eyes, they knew better than to pry.