Bastial Steel

by Narro, B. T.

  It just then came to Cleve that Jaffo hadn’t been afraid he and Jek would attack him during the night, or even now. There must be something about them that Jaffo didn’t find threatening, but Cleve didn’t know what it was.

  So he figured he would ask as he followed Jaffo out of the bedroom. “Why do you trust us not to fight you after your attempt on our lives?”

  Jaffo’s head snapped around his shoulder to eye Cleve, his gaze looking down to Cleve’s sheathed Bastial steel sword. After a breath, he turned the rest of his body around and said, “After the effort you both put in to try to save Olmi’s life, I knew you were good people. I will tell this to Azaylee.”

  “You’ll speak for us?” Cleve asked.

  “Not for you, each person meets with her alone. But I can speak of you during my own trial. I’ll most likely be going first, being the oldest.”

  “I didn’t know there would be a trial for you as well,” Cleve said, beginning to wonder if the lie he’d created was the best idea. “Will they take a finger?”

  “I can’t say.” Jaffo nearly whispered it as he glimpsed his hand. “Never been on trial before.”

  Jek was still sleeping, the fire beside him dead cold. His chest was bare with a fresh bandage over his stomach.

  Cleve knelt to wake him with a low voice. “Jek, it’s morning.”

  The light coming in through the window hit his widening eyes to give them a shine. Just like Reela’s, Cleve couldn’t help but think. Except such a blue instead of green.

  After some porridge, they were on their way to the center of the village where Azaylee’s tower could be seen shadowing the buildings in front of it.

  On the way there, puddles scattered throughout the road were the only sign of last night’s storm. Families of birds took residence on the roofs of surprisingly large houses—they were bigger than most in Kyrro City, at least.

  Cleve noticed that most people walking by him were in their second half of life, usually older than forty. Most of them weren’t shy about staring. Cleve was always first to draw their glance, and then Jek and Jaffo were next. Cleve figured it was his size. It had constantly been a source of unwanted attention, but he wouldn’t trade his body for any other.

  An old man stopped Jaffo to ask him about Cleve and Jek.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Jaffo said, not stopping longer than a breath to lower his head in respect before continuing.

  When they reached the tower, Cleve was shocked to learn from Jaffo that Azaylee was its only inhabitant. The structure was big enough to house fifty people.

  What a waste, Cleve thought as he stopped at the door to strain his neck for a glimpse at the top of it.

  “No guards outside the door?” Jek asked.

  Cleve realized he was right. Why were there no guards for their leader?

  “None inside either—no need,” Jaffo answered. “Azaylee can protect herself better than any man with a sword. At least that’s what they say. I’ve never met her.” His tone was soft, growing weaker the more he spoke of her. “And I’d hoped I never would.” His last words were whispered.

  Jaffo raised his knuckles as if to knock on the door, but he stopped. “The bell…” he muttered, looking around. “There’s supposed to be a bell.”

  Jek seemed to find it, reaching up to unhook a thin chain blending into the wall beside the door. He tugged on it. Cleve listened but heard nothing. Jek pulled down harder, and Jaffo’s hand snatched his wrist.

  “Stop,” he whispered. “Wait to see if she comes.” His fearful tone made it clear he was afraid of this woman—this leader he’d never met.

  They waited in silence, Cleve unsure if he should be nervous, though he wasn’t.

  “She should really have some guards outside the door to move things along,” Jek said, his voice annoyed. Cleve couldn’t help but notice how easily frustrated the mage had become since the villagers had attacked, as if taking the lives of those men had stirred an insatiable frustration.

  At least he’s not taking it out on himself.

  Jaffo pretended not to hear, stepping toward the door while his hands fidgeted with his belt.

  “I’m going to ring it again,” Jek said. But just then, Cleve heard a latch being undone. The door swung open, and a middle-aged blonde woman had a prepared smile for them.

  “You’re early,” she said sweetly, her red lips the color of thick blood. “State your names before entering.”

  Jaffo introduced himself first, his voice eager. Cleve figured he just wanted to finish this as quickly as possible.

  After Cleve and Jek told Azaylee their names, she nodded, making sure to keep her smile in place. Her hair had a unique hue to it, almost as if it were made of gold. Her eyes were somewhere between green and blue, complementing the shine of her lips that Cleve thought must’ve had some sort of substance added to color them.

  It made him wonder if her hair was dyed as well. The way it glimmered didn’t seem natural, like Reela’s hair…could she be an Elf?

  Her ears were covered…no way to be certain. Her creamy skin could be Elvish, the same with her soft features, her dainty nose, her rounded chin.

  “Follow me,” Azaylee said, her cheerful tone on the verge of excited.

  Cleve expected there to be stairs, only to find out that the massive tower was built without them. Its entrance led them into an enormous room that was nearly the entire building. All along its walls were stained-glass windows, coloring the piercing sunlight into rainbows.

  A stone walkway led them between two pools of water. Walking behind Azaylee, Cleve still had little idea what to think of her. She was pretty—clearly more so in her youth than now, but she still had the confidence of a woman in her prime.

  Passing by a table with a bowl of fruit, she picked up a peach and bit into it.

  As Jek started to reach toward the bowl, she spoke without turning. “No food for those on trial.” Her tone was indifferent, as if she wouldn’t mind if the rule was broken just this once.

  Jek’s hand froze. Slowly it slid into his pants pocket. But then, as if testing the temperature of water, he brought his other hand toward the bowl.

  “No food!” Azaylee shouted this time, only now turning to face Jek, folding her arms with a glare.

  “How did you know?” Jek asked.

  Her smile was back, seemingly genuine, to Cleve’s surprise.

  “Keep up.” She turned again, quickening her pace.

  Jek looked at the fruit once more, scratching his head.

  “Just leave it,” Cleve whispered, putting his hand on Jek’s arm.

  Nodding, the mage continued forward.

  Azaylee led them to a boxed room within the tower.

  “This is the trial chamber.” She opened the door but turned and stood in the doorway, pointing at Jaffo. “You first,” she demanded. “Cleve and Jek, wait out here and don’t try to come in no matter what you hear.” She waited for them to agree.

  “Fine,” Jek said, while Cleve nodded.

  She gestured for Jaffo to enter, following him and then shutting and bolting the door behind them.

  Cleve had brought his sword, Jek his wand, but Azaylee had asked neither of them to remove their weapons. Normally, it would’ve made Cleve more comfortable for his sword to remain with him. But in this case, he took it as a sign to be even more uneasy.

  “How confident she must be not to care about our weapons,” Cleve said, leaning against an outer wall of the boxed room.

  “I don’t like this,” Jek said. “There’s something about her that’s familiar. Is it the same for you?”

  “Not at all,” Cleve admitted.

  Jek let out a hum, stroking his chin. “I’m not sure what it could be.”

  “How long do you suppose Lysha would wait for us before leaving?”

  Jek shrugged. “A day, maybe. She’s probably already gone. Raymess didn’t need to be in the care of a chemist for too long, and I’m sure Vala was eager to get back to the palace.” />
  “Do you know the way back?” Cleve asked, hopeful Jek did. He’d had enough adventures already without getting lost in the middle of Zav.

  “I do,” Jek said confidently.

  During their silence, Cleve pressed his ear against the door to listen. He could hear murmurs, but nothing above that.

  Then a scream startled him. It was a man’s voice—had to be Jaffo’s.

  The screaming grew louder. Cleve could hear words: “No, no! Please, no!”

  For a blink, Cleve thought to kick down the door, but he wisely remembered Azaylee’s warning not to disturb them. He reminded himself that Jaffo was part of the group that had wanted to hold them hostage for Bastial steel swords.

  Still, he couldn’t ignore the empathy that clawed within him, begging him to make the screams stop by any means necessary.

  “No, don’t do it!” Jaffo continued to yell. A guttural howl of pain followed.

  Jek pounded on the door. “Bastial hell, what’s happening?” he yelled. But the screams within continued, overpowering Jek’s voice.

  And then there were none, no sounds at all.

  Jek pounded again. “Jaffo!”

  The door’s latch slid undone with a crash, and the door was pulled open. “Do not touch my door!” Azaylee warned Jek with such malice in her eyes that Cleve felt the chill just for thinking of breaking it down.

  She moved aside to let Jaffo hobble out from behind her, holding a bloody hand. He looked pale, his knees buckling under the weight of each step.

  Azaylee caught up to him, sliding something into his shirt pocket. “Don’t forget this.” She patted his chest, and then Cleve saw it was his finger.

  Azaylee calmly walked back to the doorway. “You,” she pointed at Cleve. “You’re next.”

  Cleve kept his hand near the handle of his sword as he entered. He could hear Jek gulp down a dry swallow behind him.

  Cleve didn’t know who this woman was, but she was in for a surprise if she tried to take his finger. This thought was the only thing keeping him calm for the moment, though he could feel panic beginning to stir when she bolted the door behind him.

  “Sit or stand?” she asked, walking past him toward a garish seat lined with gold and studded with diamonds.

  He waited for her to seat herself before answering.

  “Stand.”

  “Very well,” she said, her tone morose as if she’d expected his answer and didn’t like it.

  The room was square and large, with nothing to take the attention of his eye except for one other person sitting at a table against a side wall. He held a knife with one hand, his expression numb, as if he didn’t know or care that Cleve was even there.

  Walking forward, Cleve got a glimpse under the table and noticed the man had no legs.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Azaylee said. “It’s me you should be thinking about.”

  Cleve noticed the familiar interruption of psyche then. She was stirring in his thoughts like a spider crawling around in his hair. She was far more powerful than Lysha. He wondered if she might even be close to the same ability as Rek.

  He felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple. “Are you an Elf?” Cleve decided to ask, preparing a mental wall.

  Her face held shock, her head snapping back and her eyes widening. Before answering, she leaned forward again, using a finger to gesture for Cleve to come closer. He took one step and waited.

  “Come on,” she urged.

  He continued, giving another glance to the legless man to his side. He seemed to be looking right through Cleve.

  Azaylee continued to motion for Cleve to come toward her until he was close enough to touch. She stood, and his heart shook. With both hands, she grabbed his head.

  Paralyzed with fear, no thoughts came. He was hers in that moment; he could feel it. All his strength was gone. Not ready for this, his diminutive wall had crumbled. He was an empty shell, and she’d already cracked him open.

  “And why would you ask if I’m an Elf?” Azaylee said in a threatening tone, not even pretending to hide the importance of the question. “Have you heard anything about me before?”

  “No. But I know Elves who are very powerful psychics.”

  She parted her hair to show her round Human ears. “I’m no Elf, but I do respect them greatly.”

  She released her grasp on him. Cleve nearly fell stepping away from her, tripping over nothing. He felt his thoughts returning, filling him back with strength in the same way a meal does to satisfy a famished body.

  “Most people don’t even believe in psyche, and here you’ve figured out I’m a psychic within the first moment of your trial.”

  So the trial has started?

  Azaylee was waiting for his reply, tilting her head as if expecting him to answer a specific question.

  But he had one of his own for her. “Why did you take Jaffo’s finger?”

  “Why do you think you can ask the questions here?”

  Cleve decided to be honest, figuring perhaps that was the reason Jaffo had lost his finger—lying.

  “Because you haven’t told me not to ask a question, and I’m not familiar with the rules.”

  She didn’t find any entertainment in his answer, her mouth twisting in disapproval. “There are no rules, just decisions—my decisions. And now I have decided that you will not ask any more questions.” She leaned forward, waiting.

  “Fine,” Cleve said.

  Leaning back, she continued. “Jaffo lost his finger because he tried to hide the truth, something you will not do, correct?”

  “There’s no truth I’d wish to hide.”

  “Not about what happened last night, but I have some other questions that need answering now…after your ‘Elf’ comment.”

  Cleve sighed, figuring he could’ve been out of here already if he’d kept his mouth shut like he usually did. It’s Jessend’s fault, he told himself. My barrier’s been down for so long, I tend to let out thoughts and curiosities I never used to.

  He wanted to put all the blame on her, but really he knew he should be thanking the Princess. Life had only gotten easier since their talks. He’d never realized how much of a burden holding back his emotions had been until he was able to let them out.

  “Tell me everything you know about me,” Azaylee said. She gestured at the seat next to Cleve, inviting him with her hand to sit. He did, taking out his sword to rest on his lap as he spoke.

  “You’re the leader of this village, and no one seems to oppose you. You take people’s fingers if you decide to, so it seems to me you can really do anything you want, probably through the use of psyche.” Cleve couldn’t think of anything else, so he stopped.

  “Do you sing?” Her tone made Cleve exceedingly curious. Her question was asked with a rising pitch, as if the answer to it wasn’t important. But clearly it was, for it had nothing to do with what they were just talking about.

  “Or,” she continued, “do you know a lot of songs?”

  “I don’t,” Cleve admitted. “The only song I’ve heard that you would know is Come Home, but I don’t even know the words.”

  Her eyes squinted in disbelief. “I can tell you’re being honest, but I don’t understand how it’s possible? Even a child knows more than one song.”

  “I’m not from here. I came across the Starving Ocean from Kyrro.”

  She licked her lips as she leaned back, her genuine smile returning. “Then that’s all I need to know about that.”

  Cleve couldn’t figure out why songs would be important to Azaylee, but clearly they were. She even seemed relieved to change the subject.

  “Jaffo already told me what happened yesterday. You won’t be punished for defending yourself, but there’s something I want to know. You’ve chosen Goldram’s side in this war even though you’re from the continent of Ovira. What’s your reasoning for this?”

  Cleve remembered this village had no association with Zav or any other kingdom. So why was she curious? He almost asked,
but he didn’t feel it wise to go against her rule of no questions.

  “I’ve seen what Waywen and Presoren tried to do. They used spies in an attempt to kill the Kings of Zav and Goldram, along with a young child. It would’ve worked too, if I hadn’t stopped them. It was then that I knew my side had been chosen…at least while I’m here.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I’m going back to Kyrro as soon as possible. My home is there, and a war is being fought.”

  Someone knocked on the door. Jek’s voice followed it. “Cleve, everything alright in there?”

  Azaylee jumped to her feet, nearly growling with anger.

  “Everything’s fine!” Cleve called, before Azaylee could erupt. “Stay away from the door.”

  With her hands wrapped around the armrests of her chair, she stood and looked like she was undecided about what she wanted to do.

  Cleve was relieved when only silence followed, and she slowly sat back down.

  “You make it seem as if Presoren and Waywen are the only territories to use spies and kill children,” she said with some disdain. “But every kingdom is the same. We’ve had attackers from Zav, Presoren, even a group from Waywen years ago. Considering how far north they are, we were dumbfounded they had any interest in this village until we found out later about their alliance with Presoren just south of us.” She flipped some of her curly golden hair over her shoulder. “We defended ourselves each time, but many lives were lost.”

  “What do Presoren and Waywen want in this war?” The moment his question escaped his lips, Cleve cursed himself aloud. “I apologize. I momentarily forgot your rule.”

  She stood again, her grip tightening on the armrests of her chair. Cleve stood as well, taking a step back.

  His old fear of psychics returned in that moment, making him feel like a child at the mercy of a full-grown man. Although, this was no man before him, but a woman more than twice his age and half his weight.

  It didn’t matter. He could feel her ready to strike, a snake coiling back before a lunge. She lifted her hand, pointing, her sharp nails stained red by some substance Cleve wasn’t familiar with.

  “Let it be the last time you forget my rules if you want to leave with all your fingers. Now sit.”