Her dress caught on some thorns. She struggled through, ignoring the ripping sound as her dress tore. What good is the dress after tonight? She wasn’t going to wear anything nice for Washmir. How is it that he is old and fat and ugly, yet my figure is the problem?
Reaching the other side of the hedge, she let herself fall onto her knees. The dark grass was heavy with dew and instantly soaked the bottom of her dress. She fingered the sleeve, half hanging off. Her tears had dried up, but seeing the ruined dress made her feel as though she might start crying again.
She then saw something, just lying there in the grass within arm’s reach—an axe of some sort. No, not just an axe, a battle-axe. She picked it up. A golden glow flared then faded. Suma glanced up at the moon then back at the axe. She got to her feet. From her chambers, she had often watched the soldiers fight, and she’d never seen a weapon like that. The axe was double-sided, with no decorations marring the smooth metal. It was sheer and elegant. The blade and handle were all of one piece, both metal, white in the moonlight. Suma was no expert in weapons, but in the same way one instantly differentiated an expensive dress from a cheap knock-off, she knew that wasn’t a weapon that would be left lying around.
She waved it gently back and forth. I should barely be able to lift a weapon this size with two hands, she realized, yet I hold it lightly with one. She took a few swipes through the air in front of her then squealed delightedly. The slice cut through the moonbeams with a soft whoosh.
Weapons weren’t used to cut through wood, she knew, but Suma could not resist experimenting further. She aimed at the trunk of the nearest rosebush. With a thunk, the wood split open, and the bush fell down on top of her. She didn’t even try to get out of the way, amazed that the axe sliced cleanly through with virtually no resistance. She batted at the bush with her left hand just before it hit her. Thorns cut into her hand, and the bush hopped several paces away.
Weirder and weirder. She lifted the rosebush and threw it without putting much effort into the attempt. It flew halfway across the yard. Suma darted to the gap in the hedge that she’d created and surveyed the yard then the castle walls, looking for watchers. Apparently, no one had seen her. She glanced back at the axe. Moonlight glinted all along its edge, and she couldn’t resist smiling. She’d never heard of anything like that, but it had given her the power of a strength-mage.
She remembered Duke Washmir, and the smile fell from her face. A magical weapon didn’t affect marriages. Or did it?
Men were important because they learned weapons and fought in wars. Father had been watching her brothers train out in the yard all their lives. What if the Duke’s daughter fights better than his sons? He wouldn’t see her as a mare to be sold off, then.
She thought about her favorite stories and the heroes and heroines in them. Gwavin and his Lara. Dondolier and Princess Eveleen. The heroines didn’t always have it easy. They had their struggles before their princes found them. It wouldn’t do for Suma’s prince to find her married to an old man.
Suma touched her upper arm, where a bruise was beginning to form, remembering the Duke’s cruel fingers and the chill in his stare. As Lucii had reminded her, when she was younger, she had mistaken the Duke for Mezziall up in heaven. She raised the axe up before her. If she had to stand up to God himself to find her Gwavin or her Dondolier, that was what she was going to do.
The Silver Portal – Chapter 5
Simeon ducked low in the hedgerow, hiding. He wasn’t going to perform the ritual and let himself be raised to manhood, not even if everyone in Pizarr took turns beating him. Mud squelched close by. A branch was sticking into Simeon’s thigh, and his leg muscles protested the crouch he’d settled into. Better lack of comfort than a beating, though. Or worse.
He couldn’t keep taking those beatings. Bruises patterned his flesh, two of his teeth were loose—one sure to fall out—his tongue was cut so badly that eating was painful, and a thin wound on his left arm was beginning to fester. At least his head was clear again. It had rung like a bell for almost a full day after his previous encounter.
Low voices stole up the hillside. He wasn’t sure how well hidden he was—when he’d heard them coming, he’d scampered across the fields and thrown himself into the first hiding place he’d seen. His tribemates hadn’t been in view to know which direction he’d gone, so he was surprised they were so close already. However, he hoped they would pass right by him, with a bit of luck.
A leg slashed through the nettles, striking him in the shin, and he yelped. Another kick followed, that one missing Simeon but spraying nettle leaves across his face.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming out,” he said.
Simeon crawled out. Three of his tribe awaited him: Freid, Abel, and Gorms. They hadn’t brought just their feet and fists. They carried weapons.
Simeon started to stand up, but a punch in the face from Freid, followed by Gorms’s kick in the stomach, left him on his back, winded, sucking for air.
“The tribe isn’t messing around anymore,” Freid said. He had been Simeon’s best friend—or perhaps second-best friend, at the end. He hadn’t been among those who’d beaten Simeon on the other occasions. He’d kept himself apart before.
“Oh, is that what you’ve been doing?” There was a strange taste in Simeon’s mouth. He turned to the side and spat. A glob of blood with a tooth in the middle landed in the mud.
Gorms laughed.
Freid ignored him. “There is only one way this ends. You know it. I know it. Your birth mother knows it. Hell, the whole village knows it.
“My birth mum?” Tarla had been an ally. Of sorts.
“How do you think we found you so fast? She rushed out to us and pointed to exactly where you were hiding.”
“That’s disappointing.” He was truly on his own. Will she keep letting me stay in her house? Where can I go if she doesn’t?
“Can we get on with this?” Abel asked. “I enjoyed beating the piss out of the fool the first few times. Now it’s just getting tiresome.”
“By all means.” Simeon kept a brave face on even as his insides quivered. The fear of pain is worse than the pain itself, he told himself. One of the instructors had told him that, and he liked to repeat it in his mind—even if recent experience had shown it to be far from the truth. “Do your worst.”
Abel lifted the spear in his hand and aimed it. Simeon scrambled backward. Do they intend to kill me? Now? He’d thought he was willing to face death, but since it was upon him, his mind screamed in panic.
Abel threw.
The spear pierced the ground between Simeon’s feet, spraying mud into his face. He stopped moving.
“Spear for the brave,” Abel said.
Freid chopped his axe into the ground on Simeon’s left. “Axe for strength,” he said.
Gorms stuck the sword into the mud on Simeon’s right. “Sword for skill.”
Abel pulled a bow from his back and threw it. Wood hit Simeon in the forehead, and the bow bounced away. “Bow for stealth.”
“You need new lines,” Simeon told them. “I’ve heard all those before.”
“It ends,” Freid said. “Your final tests have been waived. All you have to do is chose one of the four weapons. Then you are raised, and everyone in the tribe is raised.”
“Not everyone,” Simeon said. Xelinder wouldn’t be.
“No one is happy about what happened. You aren’t the only one to have lost a friend,” Freid said. “But you’ve had your protest. Choose a weapon now. You know why we have to make you.”
Simeon nodded. “Tribe runs together, tribe learns together, tribe fights together, tribe stays together, tribe is raised together.” They’d all said it thousands of times. The boys of Medalon around the same age were co-opted into the tribe called Blue Fox. If one boy fell behind in skill or effort, the other members of the tribe made sure he caught up, whether that meant helping him improve or punishing him for falling behind—often both. Until every member of Blue Fox went through
the final initiation by voluntarily choosing their weapon, none of them could leave the tribe and become raised as Pizarrian men. “I’m sorry about how it affects the rest of you. I have to do what feels right.”
Gorms rushed forward and kicked Simeon in the side. “Just pick up one of the bloody weapons. It’s not that bloody hard.” He kicked again. The first one hadn’t hurt badly, but the second kick found a tender spot, and agony spread across Simeon’s whole lower torso. Simeon rolled over, clutching his side.
“Stop,” Freid told Gorms. “That has been tried and hasn’t worked. We’re not here to beat him this time.”
Good to know I’m not getting beaten today. Simeon took short, shallow breaths to ease the movement in his chest.
Freid leaned down in front of Simeon, putting his hand on the hilt of the sword. “Listen, Simeon, we are going to leave these weapons here. Give you time to think and decide which one to choose. Remember: bravery, strength, skill, stealth. But more importantly, bow and spear are hunting weapons, and axe and sword are fighting weapons. I know you know all that, but you aren’t thinking straight right now.”
“I think he’s trying to say: Choose the spear, already,” Abel said.
Freid ignored him. “We tried to make you see sense, but this has now gone beyond tribe. We won’t be back.”
Simeon’s spluttering cough hurt his side. “Seriously? I’m going to miss little tribe chats like this one.”
“You are the smartest one in our tribe. So use that brain of yours and think how this ends. Word of what happened has spread beyond Medalon. And your protest is making everyone here look even worse. The men of the village aren’t going to do nothing. As I said, this has gone beyond tribe. If you don’t choose a weapon today, then you will when they come for you. Make it easy on yourself. Please.”
Freid straightened and turned to depart. “Come away.”
Abel followed him down the slope.
Gorms paused for a last look. “Freid’s wrong about you. You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.” Then he too left.
For some reason, what Gorms had said seemed impossibly funny to Simeon. He fell onto his back and giggled to himself. “You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.” If Simeon had been considered the smartest in the tribe, Gorms had been considered the dumbest. Yet what Gorms had said was the truest thing he’d heard in his life.
The sky was overcast, gray and foreboding. It looked like rain but perhaps not for a while yet—it was a sky that preferred to threaten. Close by, a chirping bird hopped from branch to branch in the hedgerow, probably wondering about the idiot lying in the wet grass and staring at the sky. Simeon wondered himself. “You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.”
The spear leaned away, on the edge of toppling over. Abel was right about that being the weapon he should choose. He sighed and turned away from it, pushing himself to his feet. Then he saw the fifth weapon.
But no, it wasn’t a weapon. It was just a staff. His tribemates hadn’t brought it, though, and Simeon didn’t know where it had come from. It was unusual looking, too. He reached down for it, then he paused, his fingers hovering. He double-checked to make sure there was no spear point on either side. Definitely just a staff. Not a weapon.
His fingers firmed around its center, and he lifted it. Before his back had straightened, the staff glowed. Simeon froze. A golden shimmer started on both ends and spread along the staff’s length then up his arm before disappearing.
Simeon just stared at the staff for a moment then looked around. His tribemates were disappearing over the hill, and no one else was in sight. Simeon turned the staff over in his hands, but it didn’t do anything strange. It surely had to be magic of some kind. Perhaps I can turn on the glow again. If a way to do that existed, Simeon couldn’t see it since the staff was perfectly smooth with no markings. It was beautiful though, made of a dark wood with a faint grain running through it. He shook his head confusedly then started back for the farmhouse. Maybe it would make sense a bit later.
As he descended the grassy slope toward the back of the house, the staff became useful immediately, though not due to any possible magical powers. Leaning on the staff allowed him to ease the pressure on his left side, which was still hurting from Gorms’s kick.
He opened the back gate, closed it behind him, then turned to see Tarla rushing toward him.
“I’m so glad you did it.” She was blinking back tears.
“Did what?” Simeon asked. Then he realized what she was thinking. He raised the staff to show the lack of a spear point. “It’s just a staff. I didn’t choose a weapon.”
She slowed, the animation draining from her. Her arms, half raised, fell limply to her sides. More than his own hurts, Simeon hated what his decision did to those around him. His tribemates. His birth mother.
“They left the four weapons up there on the slope, did they? I’ll go retrieve them,” Tarla said.
As she moved past Simeon, he reached out to stop her. “Don’t. There’s no point.”
“They’ll be in the house, ready for you to make your choice when you come to your senses.” The wind blew her long brown hair, usually tied up in a cap, across her face, and she brushed it away. She wore thick mud-splattered boots and coarse homespun pants and jacket. Most knew her as Medalon’s representative on the Women’s Council, but she was happiest when out farming in the fields by herself. “I have to do all I can to fix this. It’s mainly my fault. Everyone says it.”
“Everyone is wrong. It’s nothing to do with you,” Simeon said.
“I should have given you up when the time came for it.”
“Never.” Simeon’s heart broke to hear her say that.
Birth mothers were supposed to leave their children to the village’s baby-mothers after they were off the breast. The children would move on to kiddie-mothers, and from there, the boys would join tribes, and the girls would start their apprenticeships. Tarla had taken care of Simeon while managing her farm and being a counselor, all the way up to his joining of the tribe.
“You have been everything to me,” he said.
“I was an idiot. Everyone said so at the time, but I didn’t mind working twice as hard as everyone else when I got to have my little child with me. If only I’d known it would come to this.”
“You taking care of me when I was younger has nothing to do with what’s happening now.”
“I shouldn’t have kept you. And I shouldn’t have let you stay when you sneaked away from your tribemates for a night. I gave you an escape, let you think you could let your tribemates down.”
“No.” Simeon shook his head. “I am the only one standing up for all my tribemates. Everyone else wants to forget one of them.”
“Simeon, the boy died. I know you cared for him. I know it shouldn’t have happened. Everyone has to go sometime. It was just his time.”
It was Simeon’s turn for tears. “It wasn’t his time.”
“It’s time to look forward. Freid tells me that it becomes Men’s Council business after today. Tell me one way that this goes well for you.”
“I have this.” Simeon raised his staff. Why did I say that?
“A staff?”
“It’s magical. It came to me at my moment of need.” The words sounded stupid coming out his mouth, but Simeon realized that was what he had begun to think. A glowing staff appeared at his side just when everything looked bleak. That meant something—he wasn’t sure what, but something.
Tarla looked at the staff then back at Simeon. “You really believe that?”
“It glowed.” He wished the staff would start glowing again so he didn’t feel so stupid. That or make him disappear.
“And if it turns out that the staff doesn’t save you?” Tarla asked. “When the Men’s Council gets involved...”
“What was that phrase you used earlier? Everyone has to go sometime.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
Tarla’s face folded in on itself
for an instant. Then she regained control of herself before the tears came. “I’ll collect those weapons. No point letting them go to rust.” She stamped up the slope.
* * *
To continue reading, pick up a copy of The Silver Portal on Amazon. Book 2, The Black Bearer, is expected in mid/late 2017. To learn more about the series, click here.
Author’s Note
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this story. I always love to hear from readers so send an email ([email protected]) or message me on FACEBOOK if you want to get in contact.
To discover more about me and my books, check out my WEBSITE
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Also by David J. Normoyle:
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THE SENTINELS (urban fantasy)
Fire Sorcerer
Fire Summoning
Fire Soldiers (due 2017)
Fire Serpent (due 2017)
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WEAPONS OF POWER (epic fantasy)
The Silver Portal
The Black Bearer (due 2017)
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THE NARROWING PATH (dystopian fantasy)
The Narrowing Path
The Treacherous Path
The Collapsing Path
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THE DRAGONGODS SAGA (urban fantasy)
The Mage Team (due 2017)
COPYRIGHT
THE DESERT PALACE
Copyright © 2016 by David J. Normoyle
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
[Weapons of Power 00] - The Desert Palace Page 7