A Girl From Nowhere

by James Maxwell

  The wall burst into nothingness. Selena was free.

  Arren cried out.

  Outside her body, Selena flew toward the one man she cared about.

  Taimin’s eyes widened as Selena’s voice spoke inside his mind. As soon as she had finished, he thrust out an arm to point at the Protector.

  “The well is dry,” he shouted. “There is no water in the tower at all.” He continued to single out the Protector. “Ask him!”

  Heads turned sharply to focus on the Protector. Even Galen faltered, and glanced over his shoulder to see what the Protector would say or do.

  The Protector slowly stood. Tall, proud, and stern, he opened his arms to address his people directly.

  But before he could begin, a man’s voice cried from somewhere in the crowd. “We want to see!”

  The shout was taken up again, until it came from all quarters. “We want to see!”

  The Protector’s hesitation was obvious. He raised his arms higher. Even as the prisoners and soldiers still faced each other across the fighting pit, everyone waited to hear his words.

  “There is water in the Rift Valley—”

  The Protector never finished what he was going to say. All around, the people closest to the fighting pit gave a loud roar. Suddenly they held weapons, ranging from cudgels to kitchen knives. Matching blue arm bands decorated every sleeve.

  Taimin cast another swift look in the Protector’s direction when he saw a commotion involving Selena. The flash of steel made his heart beat out of time.

  Then Galen called to his men. “Attack!”

  As soon as Selena had returned to her body, Arren tried to grab her, but she knocked him back. Determination fired through her veins. If she could get away, she would be free to join the uprising.

  “Merin, help!” Arren grunted. But Merin had his hands at his temples. His eyes were confused.

  With Arren off balance, Selena saw a dagger still held in the hand of the dead soldier Taimin had shot. She lunged to the tier behind her and fumbled for the hilt.

  Arren wrapped his wiry arms around her and pulled her toward him.

  All of a sudden, the narrow-faced mystic grunted. He looked down, toward his chest, at the dagger gripped in Selena’s hand. He didn’t make a sound, but his entire body relaxed, shoulders slumping as he crumpled.

  Momentarily stunned by what she had done, Selena turned and saw a flash of the Protector’s face. Something crashed into her head.

  “Grab her.” The Protector’s voice sounded muffled. “Arren is dead. Leave him.”

  The prisoners rushed forward. More than twice their number of soldiers charged. The two groups collided.

  Taimin tried to get to Galen but a soldier with broad shoulders attacked and he found himself engaged, parrying until he saw an opening and took his opponent down. Nearby, Vance roared and dispatched a scar-faced soldier with a feint and thrust. Bax smashed into the men who had slaughtered their friends and families. Lars swung a wicked-looking axe into a crimson-clad soldier’s chest.

  As Taimin tried to cut a path through to Galen, he reminded himself of the refugees on the plain, and the things the bax had told him. In his peripheral vision he saw bax hack and grunt as they battled their enemies. Fighters on both sides cried out in pain when blows struck home. Soldiers tripped on the uneven sand. Prisoners gasped as swords entered their chests.

  Taimin defeated another opponent but after just a short time the superior number of soldiers began to tell. Around him his companions were being pushed back. Vance was under pressure, up against two soldiers at once. The bax fought together at the front, in a cluster that grew ever smaller. One bax fell, then another. Soon there was only one bax fighting. A sword plunged into his torso, and he fell too.

  Then everything changed.

  Taimin had forgotten the rebels.

  People from the crowd reached the battle and immediately enveloped the soldiers. The prisoners took heart and renewed their efforts; soon it was the uniformed soldiers who were giving ground. The newcomers were a range of ages and their weapons were improvised. But they had numbers.

  Taimin caught sight of Galen.

  A patch of ground cleared between them. Everything else diminished in Taimin’s perception. Galen thrust his sword into a youth’s chest. He then turned and his eyes narrowed when he saw Taimin.

  Taimin gripped the hilt of his hardwood sword in both hands. The point of Galen’s steel blade went up.

  Taimin reflected on his constant practice with Abi. She had drilled the moves into him over and over again. She taught him how to move in deft, unpredictable ways, despite his impediment.

  He attacked.

  He slashed with his sword. Galen’s sword followed his movement, and the two weapons collided. The sharp steel bit into the wood but Taimin’s blade held. The two men soon stood chest to chest, teeth gritted, eyes glaring.

  Taimin put his weight onto his bad leg. The pain was excruciating, but he knew how to bear it. He freed up his other leg and smashed his boot into Galen’s ankle. Galen gave a cry of pain but was too experienced to shift his posture. Instead, Galen pushed back in an attempt to throw Taimin from their locked position.

  Taimin was expecting it. He rolled with the motion, but rather than fall back he dropped. Galen’s sword arced down over his head, but Taimin was still moving and the steel blade struck the sand.

  With the older man overextended, Taimin was now inside Galen’s reach.

  Taimin gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought the point up as he straightened. The blade entered his enemy’s chest, penetrated the leather armor, and continued. Abi had always taught Taimin to never falter, to stay committed until his enemy was down. Taimin kept pushing, and his sword slid through to emerge on the other side of Galen’s body.

  Galen gasped and staggered. The sword dropped out of his hands. He looked down at his chest and the blade buried in his body.

  Taimin held fast. Galen took another step backward. As the hardwood blade left his body, he pressed his hands against the gaping wound in his chest.

  Galen collapsed.

  Taimin took a deep breath as he stared at the commander’s lifeless body. His enemy was dead.

  He swiftly took stock of his surroundings. Fighters surged back and forth. Bodies lay scattered across the sand. A final pocket of resistance held out, but it was clear that soon the last of the soldiers would fall. Now the most experienced arena fighters threw themselves at the last members of the city guard standing. Lars barreled into a stocky soldier and knocked him down before finishing him off with the axe. The big skinner stood with his chest heaving.

  There was no one left to fight.

  The two groups had now merged. Prisoners and rebels mingled together as they slowly lowered their weapons. Everyone exchanged glances, shaken by the experience.

  “Well?” Lars called out to Taimin. “What now?”

  Taimin was surprised when everyone turned to face him. It felt strange when he became the focus of attention, having them look to him for leadership. He didn’t know them, but they expected him to know what to do.

  The city guard was gone. Galen had fallen, but the Protector still lived. Taimin opened his mouth to call on everyone to head to the tower.

  But then he heard a cry. He raised his gaze and saw a dark-haired youth on one of the stairways. The newcomer raced down the arena’s empty seating gallery, heading directly for the fighting pit. As some of the rebels exchanged worried glances, Taimin saw that the youth wore a blue armband.

  The boy pushed through the crowd. “Taimin . . .” he panted.

  “What is it?” Taimin asked.

  The youth was breathing so hard that he struggled to speak. “He’s here.”

  “Who?” asked one of the rebels, an older man with a balding crown and a thick neck.

  The youth spoke only one word: “Blixen.”

  41

  Out in the streets people were screaming. When Taimin had first been led thr
ough the city it had been bustling but orderly. Now citizens raced in all directions, shouting to one another to flee. Parents burdened with their possessions herded children toward the gates.

  “We have to leave!” a bearded man bellowed as he raced into a white-walled house.

  “Joram? Where are you? Joram!” a matronly woman cried while she ran past.

  Surrounded by rebels and former prisoners, Taimin took it all in. His large group was in the shadow of the looming arena and had come to a halt, stunned by what they were seeing.

  Not everyone was looking to escape. Taimin saw an old laborer in dusty clothing grab hold of the people he passed, calling on them to help with the city’s defense. A yellow-haired woman with a determined expression strode toward the gates with a bow in her hand and a quiver on her shoulder. Some of the people with weapons wore blue armbands, but many were common folk, frightened but prepared to fight for their homes. The number of citizens heading in the same direction increased by the moment. Taimin knew there would be even more panicked people in the main avenue connecting the tower and the gates. There was only one way in or out of the city.

  Taimin turned and watched as a dozen men of all ages ran together, armed with clubs, swords, and spears. The burly man leading the group called out to everyone who could hear him. “Save our city!” He saw Taimin’s group and waved his arm over his head. “Come on! You’re needed at the wall!”

  The man was right; Taimin had a large group of fighters with him. If Blixen attacked, they would undoubtedly be needed to help with the city’s defense.

  But any chance of peace with Blixen depended on ending the Protector’s rule.

  Taimin addressed Rathis. “Find Elsa,” he said. “She’ll be at the gates. This is what we were worried about. Blixen has come too soon.” He moved his gaze to take in all of the rebels in blue armbands. “All of you, go with him.”

  “What do I tell Elsa?” Rathis asked.

  “If the city was already under attack, we would know about it. Just try to keep the situation calm. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Taimin indicated for Lars, Vance, and half a dozen former prisoners to follow him. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to the tower.”

  As Taimin hurried along, flanked by his companions, he set his sights on the tall structure that dominated the city. Shouts continued to come from all directions. A sea of people streamed toward the gates.

  The Protector hadn’t waited to see the outcome of the battle between Taimin’s group of prisoners and Galen’s larger number of soldiers. He had left the arena and taken Selena with him. Taimin had to get to the tower before the Protector learned about the successful uprising.

  Taimin kept his gaze fixed on the tower’s summit. He and his companions turned into a side street, and the tower was perfectly framed by the rows of houses, distant but directly ahead of him. Desperation drove him on.

  The Protector threw Selena into the hard-backed wooden chair that was the focus of the observation room. Seeing that she was still groggy after he had cracked her over the head with the hilt of his dagger, he shook her shoulders, hard. She stirred, blinked several times, and then looked up sharply. From her expression, he knew that she had realized where she was.

  “Use her,” the Protector snapped at Merin. The round-faced, stocky mystic had already staggered over to the desk and leaned against it. Merin’s face was pale. “Get her to convince the people that I am still in charge of this city.”

  Merin was breathing heavily. He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. There are limits to what a mystic can do.”

  The Protector made a sound of disgust and walked away, leaving Selena where she was. He strode to the edge of the floor and watched the streets, before moving to get a different view. With his feet close to the drop, he held on to one of the columns supporting the ceiling and peered down at the plaza.

  Four uniformed soldiers stood guard far below, outside the tower’s entrance. The bodies of rebels and soldiers alike sprawled across the paving stones nearby. The attack had come while the Protector was at the arena, but his men still held the tower.

  Then, as he raised his eyes, he saw something else that seized his attention.

  He squinted past the wall to stare farther into the distance. The flat plain was tainted orange in the afternoon light. His breath caught as he saw a multitude of dark specks on the horizon. The specks were moving toward the city. Blixen’s army would soon be at the gates.

  “Protector, we should leave,” Merin said.

  The Protector glared at the round-faced mystic. “Galen will survive, you will see. When Blixen comes, the people will turn to me for help, and this uprising will be over.”

  Merin’s expression was doubtful. The Protector’s gaze moved to Selena when she spoke up.

  “You know it’s over,” she said. She held his stare. “Let me go.”

  The Protector scowled. He returned to scanning the streets, wondering where Galen was, but then Merin cleared his throat.

  “We might have to do what she says,” Merin said.

  “Eh?”

  “I can’t control her on my own. She has become too powerful. Without Arren . . .” Merin trailed off.

  The Protector gave Selena a humorless smile. He indicated the empty void that the observation room opened onto. “If you want to leave, I have a suggestion for you.”

  A piercing shriek split the air. The Protector saw a flash of wings, and the outline of a lean creature with a tapered head, before it was gone from sight, curling around the other side of the tower.

  “It’s that wyvern,” Merin said.

  Selena stood.

  The Protector watched, perplexed, as she walked to the edge of the floor. She stood on the verge of the precipice and her expression was thoughtful. While he looked on, the set of her jaw became more determined. For a time, she stood and stared down at the white city below.

  The Protector and Merin exchanged glances.

  “She might actually do it?” Merin asked incredulously.

  The Protector began to walk toward her. “Selena,” he said. “If you serve me, I will give you anything you want.”

  Selena turned back to him. “There is nothing you have that I want.”

  Her legs bunched. She tilted her body forward.

  The Protector gasped as she gathered herself and dived.

  Taimin had reached the city’s main avenue and was watching the tower when it happened.

  He saw a figure dive from the tower and recognized Selena. A tall, gray-haired man—the Protector—stood framed by the columns she had leaped between.

  Taimin’s entire world came crashing down around him. The Protector had pushed her. She had risked everything to give Taimin the information he needed to launch the uprising. She had paid the ultimate price.

  Time slowed as Taimin stood in complete shock. Vance, Lars, and everyone around him disappeared from his perception. There were no people running, no stone buildings on the street he had been racing along. There was just a tower, and a woman falling to her death.

  But even as Selena fell, a wyvern came up from underneath her.

  Selena struck the wyvern’s back. Between the wyvern’s sweeping wings and Selena’s scrabbling limbs, Taimin couldn’t make out what was happening.

  Then Griff steadied himself.

  The setting sun was in Taimin’s eyes, but there, above the white structures of Zorn, he was sure he could see Selena’s silhouette as she rode on Griff’s back. He shielded his gaze and stared intently. Griff’s wings moved up and down. Taimin heard a piercing shriek.

  The wyvern turned on the tip of his wing, tilting away from the orange sun.

  Taimin saw Selena.

  Relief flooded through him. She was alive. He hadn’t been able to help her, but she had helped herself. Griff knew her and would take care of her.

  She was free.

  42

  A swell of panicked voices seized Taimin’s attention. As he stood in the middle of
the broad avenue, the loud cries and shouts came from the city gates. He saw a great crowd pushed up against the wall. The pair of tall wooden gates, several inches thick, remained tightly closed and barred with stout timber.

  Selena might be safe, but the city was still in danger.

  Taimin had an idea, and immediately turned to Vance and Lars. “The Protector is in the tower.” He directed his words to the entire group. “I need you to secure the entrance. Don’t enter. Just make sure no one goes in or out.”

  Vance gave a puzzled nod. “Sure.” He met Taimin’s eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “To do what I can.”

  Taimin burst into the fastest run he could manage. The cries of the crowd grew louder. He began to make out individual figures. People were shouting. The crowd surged back and forth. Soon he heard both men’s and women’s screams.

  “Open the gates!”

  “It’s too late, Blixen’s already here!”

  “Let me out!”

  Children wailed. Fear was on every face as Taimin plunged into the crowd. The frantic people pushed back and forth. He turned his body to the side as he worked his way through, heading toward the wall of white stone, and the diagonal stairway leading up to the wall’s summit.

  Taimin began to climb. He swiftly gained height as he lifted himself up one step after the other. With the shouts swelling below him, he moved onto the top of the wall. From his new position, thirty feet above the ground, he came to a halt and stood alone, a solitary figure framed against the sky. He looked down from his height at the city folk below.

  People turned and saw him. A middle-aged man, holding a child in his arms, called out, “It’s Taimin!”

  The name bounced throughout the crowd until every head had turned and then tilted back to look up at him. Gradually, the panicked cries fell silent. The surging motion stopped.