by Matt Laney
Immediately, the wolf turned and fled. The mother sheep thanked the rabbit for his kindness, courage, and quick wit, and she and her lamb continued their journey home.
I exhale, grateful the story is done and for the privacy of this barn. This place could come in handy next time the disease overtakes me.
My relief is short-lived. Something stirs under a tarp.
Something big.
I fling open the barn doors and retreat into the night. A dark shape rises up in the barn’s dim light, snarling and shaking dust from its pelt. The beast leaps through the door, knocks me down, and straddles me.
He is massive, five times larger than a slaycon, with powerful legs, coarse black fur, a bushy tail, teeth like daggers, and bright blue eyes.
It’s Rukan, the wolf from the story. He is in the halfway state: ghostlike and visible only to me. Instead of biting off my head, which he could do in half a heartbeat, Rukan licks my face. Although nothing about him is completely solid, his tongue is still damp and bigger than a door. That’s twice I’ve been licked today.
“Stop that!”
Rukan whimpers and dips his head. “My apologies, Lord. Instincts. I can’t always control them.”
I scramble back on all fours, spooked by such courteous words coming from this terrifying creature.
Rukan takes a step in pursuit. “You have nothing to fear from me. You are the master, and besides,” he says with a chuckle, “eating you would make it very hard to fulfill my mission to serve you. What is your bidding? Give me a task, some noble purpose, and it will be done. I am yours to command!”
Rukan rests his snout on the ground, tail wagging like a puppy’s.
“I don’t really need any help at the moment.”
The great wolf jerks up with disbelief. “Then why was I sent here? Think carefully now. I can smell a few foxes and snakes nearby, and I’m not talking about actual foxes and snakes, but Singas with the hearts of foxes and snakes. If you ever need help with one of those, you must call on me, and I will handle the problem properly!”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Fine!” the great wolf howls. “No one is fine here! If only you could see this world as I do. All of you are half-blind! How Alayah puts up with you is beyond me!”
His snout spins in the direction of the feeding hall. “Someone’s coming! Say my name! Make me solid and visible and allow me to demonstrate my skills!”
“No! That would be the worst thing. You need to go. Please!” I hiss.
Rukan bows his great head. “As you wish, Lord. You will remember my name, won’t you? Rukan . . . Rukan . . .” He fades away.
I breathe easier until I pick up Zoya’s scent riding on the evening breeze, followed by her gruff voice in my ears.
“Who are you talking to?”
Chapter 15
Joy and peace are the fruits of sacrifice.
—Sayings of the Ancients
oya carries my blades under one arm. “You okay?”
I climb to my feet, brushing my backside. “Just tripped. That’s all.”
She hands over my weapons. “Put these on. We’re supposed to be in the arena right now. For gaming.”
“What’s gaming?”
“Happens once a week. A company gets to demonstrate their progress in the Science of War. Tonight, we’re up. It’s our first time.”
We jog through the training fields to an area encircled by bleacher benches at the far end of the Academy. Torches perched on posts light the space. Alpha and the head instructors are gathered on a platform overlooking the arena. Signs jut up from the benches, designating where each company is to sit. The section for Company F is empty because the cadets lined up in the center of the ring. Jakal is with them, frowning at the two latecomers.
Zoya points to the empty benches. “Sit there. Cadets don’t game on their first day. It’s the one bit of mercy you’ll find around here.”
Zoya trots into the arena. The crowd of cadets stomp impatiently, hundreds of feet banging out a steady rhythm, louder and faster, until the canyon vibrates.
Jakal roars, and the stomping dies away.
“Good evening, Alpha! Good evening, instructors, and welcome, cadets of the Royal Academy of War Science!” Jakal bellows. “Tonight’s gaming gives Company F, our newest batch of cadets, the opportunity to demonstrate progress in the Science of War. A series of challenges has been arranged in the arena, and these cadets will prove themselves worthy of the blades they carry.” Jakal turns to Company F. “Is your company ready, Commander?”
“Ready!” a stout cadet answers.
“Then let us begin.”
For the next hour Jakal pushes Company F through a long string of basic fighting drills, such as the double draw, the act of drawing two blades at once, and several “kata,” sets of fifty or more moves the company must perform together. From a lifetime of observing soldiers train at the castle, I’d say Company F is not terrible. They are not good, but definitely not terrible. After all, some of them have been here for only a few days.
At one point, Jakal has each cadet show his or her skill with all four weapons in rapid succession. He introduces an array of targets set on wooden posts pounded deep into the earth and demonstrates the test. Jakal bounds over a starting line and sprints forward. He unhooks his aero-blade from his back and flings it at the farthest post. The circular blade whistles through the air and sinks into the wood. Still in motion, Jakal draws his long blade and slices a cabbage sitting atop the post to his right, cutting it neatly in half. A moment later, Jakal’s short blade flashes in the torch light and is thrust into a bag of sand on yet another post. Returning both the long blade and short blade to their sheaths, Jakal leaps and executes a perfect flip while drawing his dagger. He lands astride a log, driving his dagger into a circular target painted on the bark.
The crowd of cadets cheers and roars.
“Now you!” Jakal orders Company F.
Our stout company commander leads off. His sprint toward the collection of targets is more of a waddle, prompting hoots of laughter from the audience. His aero-blade misses its goal. The long blade hits the post but fails to connect with the cabbage on top. He has to stop running to draw the short blade before plunging it awkwardly into the bag of sand. Skipping the leap and flip, he marches to the log, places the handle of his dagger between his teeth, and whips his head to the log, driving the blade into the target.
The commander appears to have knocked himself out with that final blow. After an uncertain moment, he pops up, waving and bowing as though he has just defeated four Maguar. Only Company F cheers the creative finish. Everyone else hisses with disapproval, scratching at the air with extended claws.
As the rest of Company F take their turns, the commander’s performance looks better and better, each of them having a harder and harder time managing the series of challenges.
Zoya goes last.
She doesn’t bother throwing her aero-blade. She thumps the post holding the cabbage with her forehead, causing the vegetable to fall to the ground, where she crushes it underfoot. She slashes the sandbag with her claws and watches the contents drain out. Finally, she picks up the log and uses it as a battering ram against the aero-blade target.
Company F surrounds Zoya with shouts and roars of praise. Zoya remains stone-faced.
Jakal enters the ring carrying a bowl. “Commander, in this bowl are slips of paper, one for each company at the Academy, except Company F of course. The company you choose will face Company F in several rounds of Judoko.”
Jakal holds the bowl well above the commander’s head. The commander has to teeter on his toes to reach inside, sparking more snickers and cackles. Finally, he extracts a paper and hands it to Jakal. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Amara rising from the crowd, as if she already knows the outcome. Perhaps this is a charade, and all the pieces of paper in the bowl say . . .
“Company C!” Jakal announces.
Energized, Company C le
aps from the bleachers and pours into the ring, led by Amara.
“Company F will face Company C in three rounds of Judoko,” Alpha says. “The winners of those rounds will go on to a final round.”
Judoko is a combat game in which two opponents face each other in a ring. The ring, about five meters wide, is made of curved branches fastened together and secured to the earth with pegs. Two blades stick out from the ground at opposite edges of the circle and behind the two challengers. The first to reach the blade behind his or her opponent wins. Claws are not permitted. No attacks are allowed until each player is ready, signaled by crouching down and touching the ground with one hand. Beyond that, there are no rules. It’s a game of strategy, skill, strength, and speed.
Within minutes, almost every cadet of Company F has been defeated by the far more experienced, and less weary, Company C. Only Zoya, a natural fighter and the largest cadet anywhere, and Stick, the stealthiest and fastest, remain standing at the end of three rounds. For the final round, Amara selects 10-2, a brawny member of her company, to challenge Zoya and keeps Stick for herself. Zoya eyes Amara hungrily, as if she would happily take on both opponents at once.
Zoya and 10-2 square off. They squat low, fingertips brushing the dirt, growling at each other, tails swaying.
The brawny 10-2 surges forward, plowing into Zoya’s middle and forcing her down. He backflips over Zoya, but Zoya locks her hind legs around 10-2’s waist and uses their combined momentum to launch herself upright and on top of 10-2. Zoya slams 10-2 to the ground, sits on his torso, and bashes him in the head with one fist, knocking him momentarily senseless.
Instead of bounding off to retrieve her blade like any other Singa would at this point, Zoya grabs 10-2 by the foot and drags him along. He revives in time to see Zoya seize her blade and claim victory. The audience applauds and roars for the winner.
10-2 shakes the sting of defeat from his muzzle, looking woozy and weakened.
The combatants return to the center of the ring for the next match. Before Zoya can signal her readiness by touching the ground, 10-2 delivers a spinning back kick into Zoya’s gut. She crumples, growling and moaning. 10-2 saunters across the ring and claims his blade. The crowd boos, scratching the air in protest of 10-2’s cheap shot.
Alpha rises. “10-2 has battled dishonorably and is hereby disqualified from this competition! I declare 24-2 the winner!”
Now it’s Stick’s turn to face Amara.
As they move to the center of the ring, the difference between them is obvious. Amara is a year older, confident, and powerful. Stick is almost as new to the Academy as I am. He is shorter than his opponent, bonier, and scruffier. Within a heartbeat of the first round, Amara conquers Stick, sweeping his leg and pressing his face into the dirt. She glides easily over Stick’s prone body, leaps, seizes the blade while still in the air, and lands with a dramatic fighting pose.
Only Company C expresses approval for this brutal and overdone victory. Amara plants the blade and returns to the center of the ring. In the next round, Amara permits Stick to have the first attack. He propels himself past Amara, but before he can tuck into a roll, she grabs him, spins, and thumps him to the dust. Amara claims the blade as Stick forces himself up.
I can’t bear to watch any more of this. I’d rather be Stick than witness what happens next. I wonder if that is even possible.
“Wait!” I yell.
Hundreds of eyes shift to me.
“Wait,” I repeat, confirming to myself that I’m actually doing this. I hop from the bleachers and face Alpha and the head instructors. “I request permission to take 24-3’s place in the final round.”
Alpha, and all the Academy with her, is stunned.
“I accept!” Amara says.
“Very well,” Alpha agrees. “I will remind you, 10-1, this is only a training exercise; 24-4 has much to learn.”
I enter the ring. Amara crouches in a ready stance. “You are no match for me. You have no reach, no strength. You are as foolish as your grandfather. You will never be the Singa-Kahn, even if you do make it through the Academy.”
“Send that fox out of the ring with her tail between her legs,” someone from Company F yells.
Fox? What was it the great wolf said? Something about Singas with the hearts of foxes? What was his name?
Just before my fingers touch the earth, I say it.
“Rukan.”
“What?” says Amara.
She is answered by a howl from outside the arena. Alpha jumps to her feet as Rukan soars over the bleachers and lands behind me. Everyone yowls with terror, making it completely clear that this giant wolf, from his daggerlike teeth to his long, bushy tail, is visible to one and all. Whatever happens next, it’s my fault. I am responsible. I said his name. I made him real, solid, present.
I swivel to face Rukan, shaking uncontrollably. His snout is centimeters from mine, warm breath pumping on my face. I have no fear of the beast. I’m horrified by what I’ve done and deathly afraid of what Rukan might do.
“What are your orders, Lord?” he whispers.
Alpha, Jakal, and the instructors draw their blades and leap into the ring. Amara scrambles to the blade behind her.
“Pick me up in your mouth and toss me aside,” I mumble without moving my lips. “Give a show of battle, but don’t hurt anyone. Then go.”
Rukan growls and snatches me up in his great mouth. With a flick of his head, Rukan launches me into the crowd. I land, in time to see Amara roar and leap over Alpha and Jakal, blade in hand, to attack the giant wolf.
It’s a brave move.
And a stupid one.
Rukan snatches her in midair between his teeth and flings her aside. She too crashes into the crowd. Alpha and the head instructors surround the fearsome intruder and attack. Rukan’s skill as a fighter is quickly revealed. He kicks and twists and snaps his jaws, toying with the soldiers.
“Attack! Attack!” Jakal yells to one and all.
Cadets from every section of bleachers draw blades and dive into the battle, swinging wildly and unsuccessfully at Rukan. The giant wolf seems to enjoy having more foes to play with. Jakal and two other instructors unhook their aero-blades. It would take at least ten aero-blades to bring him down, but a few well-placed throws could do some damage.
“Run!” I shout to Rukan over the din of battle.
Rukan spins, charges straight for Jakal, and knocks him to the ground. The wolf surges out of the arena and jumps into the waterfall.
Dozens of cadets give chase until Alpha calls out, “Stop! There is no need to pursue the beast. He will not survive what awaits him beyond the falls.”
Alpha scans the disheveled crowd. “Is anyone hurt?”
Everyone checks themselves for wounds. No one breathes a word.
“Do you mean to tell me this vicious monster did not harm or wound one Singa?”
“Where did the beast come from?” an instructor wonders.
Jakal and Alpha exchange an uneasy glance. Alpha stares at the waterfall for a long moment. “Such a creature has not been seen since the Great War,” she says thoughtfully, “commanded by a demon of a Maguar.”
She must mean the Abomination, the enemy Spinner who nearly defeated our army and destroyed Singara. Alpha and Jakal both fought in the Great War. They saw what he did. No wonder they’re so freaked.
What have I done? I’ve put myself, my company, and the entire Academy at risk.
A different instructor asks, “If this is the work of the Maguar, is it the beginning of an invasion?”
Alpha surveys the campus of the Academy from the training fields to the top of the canyon walls. “If it were a Maguar invasion, there would be hordes of unnatural creatures storming the Academy right now. Why there was only one, and why the beast did us no harm, is a mystery beyond all science and reason.”
Alpha sheathes her blades. “Jakal will return to Singara to make a full report to the Kahn and his generals. Meanwhile, we will double our guards and w
atch for any further sightings of enemy devilry. Sleep with your blades close at hand. That is all. You are dismissed.”
The spooked and skittish crowd of cadets drifts toward the bunkhouses. On the way, I pull Zoya and Stick aside and remind them about going back to see Wajid, the captive Maguar, in Alpha’s fortress. I want to talk to him now more than ever.
Stick refuses. “We just got attacked by a giant wolf sent by the Maguar and you want to visit the only Maguar around?”
“That’s exactly why we should go,” I argue. “He might have the answer to the mystery of the wolf. If Singara is in danger, I can’t just sit around and wait for something else to happen.”
Obviously, I know where the wolf came from, and I’m not too concerned about an attack from the Maguar, not even from the hole in the Great Wall. I mostly want to ask Wajid about the Abomination and Daviyah. Could they be one and the same? No use mentioning any of that to Stick and Zoya. Too many questions will follow. Questions I can’t answer.
Stick struggles with my proposal. “How are we going to get in there?”
“What better challenge for a thief than breaking into Alpha’s fortress?” I say encouragingly.
“Maybe,” he replies, “but there are lots of guards, and the locks are tough.”
“If you won’t help me, then maybe Zoya can.” I look up at her. “How about it?”
She says nothing at first, then murmurs, “There is another way.”
“How? Where?” I ask.
“Tonight, when the rest of our company is asleep, I’ll wake you both. Stick, can you get your hands on twenty meters of rope?”
“You know I can.”
We arrive at the little village of bunkhouses, simple wood-and-stone structures, each with a small front porch, all built in tight rows under the watchful eye of Alpha’s house. We shimmy through the bustling throng of cadets. I have no idea which bunkhouse is ours, so I hang close to my companions, fearful I might lose them in the thicket of Singa fur. We stop outside one bunkhouse as the rest of Company F ambles in for nighttime napping.