A Girl From Nowhere

by James Maxwell

  “There is someone. A man.”

  “This man,” Ruth said, giving a slight smile, “is he . . . handsome?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Selena, it’s the way you said it. What’s his name?”

  “I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “So how can it hurt to tell me his name?” Ruth’s smile broadened.

  “Taimin,” Selena said. “His name is Taimin. Satisfied?”

  “No, I’m not satisfied,” Ruth said. She sat down on the bed. “Go on. I want to hear all about Taimin.”

  31

  Blixen paced the length of the subterranean cavern. His stride was angry and he muttered to himself as he walked. He was desperate to go outside for some fresh air, but he knew that leaving was the last thing he could do.

  This was the largest of the caves, yet it was stifling, and he could only imagine how it felt in the others. The walls were made of a crumbling, dusty rock, and somehow everything continually became covered in yellow grit. Any fires had to be contained to the deepest sections, far from the open air. The smoke made everyone cough and stung their eyes, so most meals were cold and it was dark for much of the time. The movements of hunting parties and scout patrols were restricted to the night. Getting through the periods of daylight tested everyone’s endurance. Only when darkness came could they go outside, in small groups, to take deep breaths and stretch cramped limbs.

  Blixen and his followers had taken refuge ever since the dramatic increase in the Protector’s raids. If any bax moved during the daytime, the wyverns would soon come. There was only one explanation: the Protector had a new mystic, perhaps even the human female Blixen had asked to search for his wife.

  Not for the first time, he wondered why he had sent the young mystic so close to the city. He knew his wife was dead—how could she not be? The mantorean, Rei-kika, was useful, and saved many when her casting brought news of the wyverns’ approach, but she didn’t have the human girl’s power. Rei-kika’s warnings only came when a raid was imminent.

  Blixen had lost weight, and was now as wide as any other bax, although his height still singled him out—his height, his powerful frame, and the circle of finger bones around his neck.

  He halted his pacing. “Blast it!” he growled.

  Around him, the younger bax huddled against the walls looked up fearfully. They filled the cave; only Blixen was given some space to himself. He was keeping his army together, but for how long? He was surprised that the skalen under Vail hadn’t given up and left long ago. Instead, Vail and her warriors were hidden in another cave nearby. Their sense of duty to their clan leader must be strong.

  He wondered how it had come to this.

  Zorn and the Rift Valley had never been on the best terms, but there was occasional trade between bax and humans, and each had recognized the other’s territory. He was aware that the Protector blamed everyone who wasn’t human for his father’s death. Blixen knew nothing about how the man had died, and every trull, skalen, or mantorean he had questioned on the matter had been just as ignorant as he was. Why would anyone kill Zorn’s leader, knowing that his death would incur the city’s wrath? And who would take his head as a trophy? It wasn’t something any bax would do. The same could be said of the other races.

  Yet after the ruler of Zorn’s death, as the years passed, the new Protector had made his intentions clear. He had slaughtered both bax and skalen. The last few remaining mantoreans in the Rift Valley had fled. The Protector now presented all non-humans in the Rift Valley with a choice: leave or die.

  There was a time when Blixen had considered evacuation, despite the difficulty. He and the bax he led would have to survive a difficult journey, with no promise that they would find a new home as good as the Rift Valley. It wouldn’t be easy, not at all. But the Protector made a powerful enemy, and, yes, Blixen had considered flight.

  That was before they took his wife.

  He had made his decision. Rather than flee, he would wage war. He had sent out word and entreated more warriors to join his cause. Many had come, seeking plunder, glory, and Blixen’s commendation to their wardens back home.

  But while Blixen was desperate to discover the fate of his wife—and if she was dead, to make the Protector suffer—he was also a pragmatist. If revenge had been his only motive in the war against the humans, he would have had few followers. What he also desired was safety for his people. Bax had lived in these lands for generations, where there was a steady supply of water and good hunting. If the Rift Valley fell to Zorn’s control, the humans would continue the slaughter. Even the skalen had been driven from their mines. All looked to him for guidance.

  Blixen’s army had taken shape, but now, here he was, holed up in hiding. Soon the newcomers would begin to leave. When they did, he couldn’t blame them. He had been waiting until he had greater numbers, but he knew that the time had come. He had to attack the city now. If he didn’t, the opportunity would never come again.

  He continued to pace as he pondered. He reached the wall and sighed, before sinking to a crouch. It wasn’t just his warriors who had been watching him. A wherry had entered the cave a while ago, and Blixen had decided to keep him. The wherry seemed devoted to him, and even brought in lizards to supplement their diet. No one complained.

  Blixen put out his hand and began to stroke the wherry’s floppy ears, while the creature regarded him with gentle eyes framed by long lashes.

  “What do you think?” Blixen murmured. “I don’t have a choice, do I? It must be now.”

  The wherry panted softly and whined.

  Lost in thought, Blixen heard the sounds of a whispered argument and straightened. Two of the young bax warriors sitting with their backs against the wall were having a heated conversation. One of them was gesturing with his hands. Blixen could tell that whatever was being discussed, it was something to do with him.

  “You two,” Blixen said. He straightened and strode over to the two warriors. “What is it?” he demanded as he glared down at them.

  They both fell silent. In an instant all eyes were on them. The cavern became quiet, broken only by the sound of Blixen’s heavy breathing.

  “Speak,” Blixen growled. “I am the warden. You will do as I command.”

  One of the pair opened his mouth. “It’s the wherry, Warden.”

  Blixen tilted his head and turned to glance back at the creature, before returning his attention to the young warriors. “What of it?”

  “He is about to change. That’s why he is here, underground.”

  “Change? What are you talking about?”

  “I . . .” the warrior glanced at his companion, “that is, we thought you should know.”

  The other warrior spoke up. “It’s the ears. That’s the first sign. They’re straightening. And see the ridges behind his shoulders? They are bigger than they should be. He is about to transform.”

  “That wherry is about to become a wyvern,” the first warrior said.

  Blixen looked at the wherry again. Suddenly he didn’t seem so harmless. He was big, after all. Not as big as others he’d seen, but he had a powerful frame and probably weighed five times what Blixen did himself. Now that Blixen was looking for it, he could see that the wherry’s skin was becoming red in patches. The once-floppy ears were slightly pricked. Above the wherry’s eyes were defined brow ridges. And were its front legs shrinking?

  “Fine,” Blixen said. “I’ll send him away.”

  Despite the fact that his warriors were only worried about his safety, Blixen felt vaguely irritated that he would soon be parted from his new companion. He resumed his pacing. This time he occasionally glanced askance at the wherry.

  He heard a clicking sound.

  Turning toward the cavern’s entrance, he recognized the mantorean, Rei-kika. She moved with that odd gait that all mantoreans had and fixed him with her unsettling black eyes. The scars on her face had faded to thin white lines.

  “What is it?” Bli
xen asked. He knew that Rei-kika had been in another part of the Rift Valley. The range of her casting wasn’t great, so she often remained closer to where the canyon opened onto the plain. “You have been moving in daylight?”

  “I had to,” she said. “I have important news. You said to be on the lookout for your brother. He now approaches.”

  Blixen froze. “Alone?”

  “He brings warriors. Many of them.”

  Hope kindled in his heart. “You are certain?”

  “I saw them from a distance, but who else could it be?”

  Blixen punched his fist into the palm of his hand. “How many?”

  “Perhaps equal to our current number.”

  “How far away?” Blixen’s mind worked furiously.

  “More than two days’ journey. Less than three.”

  Blixen stared into the distance while he muttered to himself. “The city’s mystics may not have seen him yet. But if he keeps heading this way, they undoubtedly will.”

  One of the young warriors spoke up. “What if we guide him here, to these caves?”

  Blixen shook his head. “From what she says he brings more warriors than we can easily hide.” He looked again at Rei-kika. “How long has it been since you farcasted my brother?”

  “Close to a day.”

  “I need you to cast again. My brother has a small amount of your ability. You must contact him.” Blixen scratched at his chin. “This is important. Tell him that if he continues to march in daylight he will be seen. He needs to hide from the suns and travel only in deepest darkness. Tell him to meet us on the plain, near the stone formation in the shape of a pyramid, at midnight, five nights from now.”

  Blixen waited impatiently as the mantorean withdrew into herself; he knew better than to interrupt her casting. Time dragged on and his tension grew. If Rei-kika couldn’t reach his brother, the city might become aware of his arrival. He resumed his pacing.

  At last Rei-kika shook herself.

  “Well?” Blixen demanded.

  “I spoke with him. He will do as you say.”

  “Did you hear that everyone?” Blixen called out. He swept his gaze over the warriors in the cavern. “Spread the word. We leave as soon as it gets dark.”

  “We will fight?” a young bax warrior asked.

  “We will,” Blixen said. “My brother will join us on the way.” His voice firmed. “We will not stop until we have taken the city.”

  The warriors all shot to their feet. The din of conversation filled the cavern. Blixen glanced once more at the wherry and realized that the creature was like him. The beast had retreated underground. He was gathering his strength.

  He would emerge twice as strong.

  32

  Taimin could finally sit up. His bruised ribs would take a long time to heal, and he still spent most of his time in bed, but at least his head was no longer pounding.

  Rathis, the old skalen liked by both bax and humans, was still alive. Taimin had no regrets, and he had gained the respect of the bax in the prisoners’ quarters when he had called for peace between the races. He knew that he had to do what he could, while the crowd looked on, to bring about a change in the city and stop the fighting.

  But there was a price to pay. Taimin’s refusal to fight Rathis hadn’t been taken lightly. After his savage beating, Taimin had hovered in and out of consciousness for days.

  He saw Vance approaching his bedside, but then his heart sank. Vance’s usually twinkling eyes were solemn and his bearded mouth was tight set.

  “I have bad news,” Vance said bluntly.

  Taimin tensed. “Just tell me.”

  “You’ve been called up to fight.”

  Taimin steeled himself. He had been expecting this. “When?” As Vance hesitated, Taimin’s stomach churned. “Now?”

  Vance nodded. “That’s not all. The Protector is in the arena.” He met Taimin’s gaze. “People are talking about you everywhere in the city. Abigail too. You defy the soldiers they all fear. Galen can’t let you survive any longer. If the Protector is here, you’re going to be given an enemy you can’t beat. The odds will be against you, even at the risk of angering the crowd.”

  Taimin tried to summon his courage. “I understand.” He sat up higher in the bed, wincing as he felt the tightness in his ribs. “How long do I have?”

  “They’ll call us forward any moment.”

  Vance said it with such finality that Taimin felt dread closing in on him, like a heavy weight pressing down on his body. He was going to die. Yet even through his fear, he heard a catch in Vance’s voice. When he tried to meet his friend’s eyes, Vance looked away.

  “There’s something else you’re not telling me,” Taimin said. He started. “Wait.” His eyes widened. “You said they’re calling us forward.”

  Vance’s face was pale. “I’m to fight by your side.”

  Taimin’s breath came out of him. “Brother, I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

  Vance shrugged. “My time had to come eventually. The Protector wants to see my blood, just as Galen wants to see yours.” He gave a weak smile. “We’ll give the crowd a fight to remember.”

  Taimin saw Rathis approach. The skalen’s tilted eyes were troubled.

  “You told him?” Rathis asked Vance.

  “I did,” Vance said.

  “I know what you are fighting.”

  Taimin leaned forward. “Tell us. Anything that can help us plan.”

  “Trulls,” Rathis said. “Three of them. The city guard captured them from the waste, along with their firehounds. I am sorry.”

  “Three trulls, each with a firehound,” Vance muttered. “By the rains . . .”

  “It’s time!” a voice called from the far end of the room.

  Taimin set his jaw and straightened. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, then turned and glanced at the ground where his boots rested on the floor. It took him a few moments to yank them on, before he left the bed in one swift motion. As he stood beside his two companions, he tried not to wobble.

  He looked down at himself. He was wearing a leather vest and coarse linen trousers. His sturdy boots were on his feet. This was what he would be wearing when he died.

  He glanced at Vance. His friend wore similar clothing, but his face looked clean and his moustache and beard were newly trimmed.

  “You cut a fine figure,” Taimin said.

  Vance’s tone was grave. “It’s you the crowd will be watching.”

  The first beats of a heavy, regular thumping came from above. Already the people were making themselves heard. The sound thudded along with Taimin’s heartbeat. Vance looked shaken.

  “Prisoners, move!” a deep voice bellowed from the far end of the room.

  Taimin turned to Vance; the slim man nodded but his face was grim. Together they walked through the prisoners’ quarters and headed for the barred gate at the end. Taimin was surprised to see that the other prisoners stood in two files along the approach to the wooden gate. He felt their eyes on him and heard their voices as he and Vance walked past.

  “Fight well.”

  “Survive.”

  “Don’t let Galen win.”

  Taimin’s feet felt heavy as he and Vance walked through the gate. The crowd stamped above. Dust fell from the ceiling. A pair of burly prison guards waited on the other side of the gate, and when Rathis tried to follow they barred his way. With only each other for company, Taimin and Vance followed the stone-walled corridor. The sloped floor climbed. The tall archway beckoned, and, as ever, the light that poured through the opening was bright and dazzling. The portcullis groaned as it was raised. Taimin heard the roar of a great number of people, louder than ever before.

  “Prisoners, go forth!” a guard called, shouting to be heard above the din.

  Taimin and Vance exchanged glances. Taimin tried to remember everything Abi had taught him about trulls and firehounds. As he clamped down on the pain from his broken ribs and bruised body, he and his compan
ion were given hardwood swords.

  On his final approach to the archway, he gave a few swings of the sword to loosen his muscles.

  Taimin and Vance walked out to a mighty cacophony of sound.

  Selena felt sick and the fight hadn’t even begun. She glanced left and right, overwhelmed by the sight of so many people crowded together in one place. They filled every tier surrounding the fighting pit, separated by nothing more than a tall wooden fence from the place where blood was spilled. Those closest to the fence were the most roughly dressed: the field workers, haulers, laborers, and water gatherers. But everyone was shouting. Even the people at the back, in their bright, garish clothing, leaned forward in their seats and raised their arms to cheer. There were so many loud voices that Selena couldn’t hear individual words. A cluster of people started to stamp their feet and it was taken up by the rest of the crowd. The noise was thunderous.

  Selena had learned from Ruth that the citizens were forced to attend, yet some of the onlookers looked far more involved than she had been expecting. She wondered if this reaction was normal, or if the fight she was about to see was special in some way. All she knew was that two men—one an enemy of the Protector, and the other the killer of Galen’s brother—were both about to die in front of her eyes.

  Beside Selena, Galen leaned forward on his stone bench, the veins in his throat betraying his tension. The Protector, dressed in a black tunic and with his gray hair parted, sat next to Galen. Behind Selena were Arren and Merin, the two mystics, on a higher tier.

  Galen looked Selena’s way. As ever, his angular features and stony expression were cold. “We have noticed you and Ruth speaking. First it will be her down there,” he said, throwing a meaningful glance at the fighting pit. “The Protector has agreed to it; we can always find another servant. Then it will be someone else—perhaps a young girl or boy. Today you will see what happens here. If you ever fail us, someone close to you will die, whether you are around to see it or not.”

  Selena’s stomach churned. She finally knew Galen’s plan to control her.