by Krystal Wade
“Are you two ready?” Arland asks.
“Yes,” we say in unison, but Tristan adds, “Sir.”
Lann attacks first, directing his assault at me, slashing his sword, and hitting my shield. His blows come one right after the other. I spin on my toes to get away. The short distance between us gives me the opportunity to get a firmer grip on my sword. I stab it into him, hitting his shield. We push each other back and forth. He swings his sword from under him, meeting mine with what feels like his entire strength put into it. I force back the urge to let my sword fly from my hand and, instead, push harder.
Lann and Arland share a look and twist around each other.
Now, I’m fighting Arland, and Tristan is fighting Lann. It’s obvious who the stronger swordsman is here—Arland.
They are trying to make me tired.
“Switch with me,” Tristan whispers.
I run around Tristan, taking my place in front of Lann again. They don’t corner us, as Tristan had expected, but I can tell they are both tiring. It’s odd, but I’m not tired. I swap strikes with Lann until his sword flies out of his hand, leaving only Arland to contend with. Tristan lunges, swipes, ducks, and strikes Arland’s shield, trying with all his might to win. It’s clear Arland has much more experience; he allows Tristan to wear himself out, then knocks him to the floor with an easy swipe of the leg.
“Get him from the side, Kate,” Tristan says.
Running up to Arland, I try to knock his sword free before he sees me coming, but he jumps and braces for my blow. He slashes, stabs, pushes, hits my shield with his, then backs me up against the wall, his sword locked onto mine. I have nowhere to go, no leverage to use. Or do I? Using my right foot, I push myself away from the wall and knock him back a few steps. Arland swings his sword; I duck and try to trip him.
Everyone in the room has stopped what they were doing; they watch the two of us. Arland is in front of me, stabbing, slashing, blocking, and I return each of his strikes with one of my own. Our swords meet again, mine under his. Using every muscle in my body, I push up and knock his sword out of his hand. The metal clangs on the floor, echoing through the facility. Everyone is quiet except for one small shriek of excitement, coming from a little girl in a corner.
“I believe we have confirmed you are skilled with swords,” Arland says with a laugh, walking back to the center of the room.
Flanna gasps. “You can say that again.”
Excited murmurs rise out of the gathered crowd.
“Sorry I couldn’t protect you.” I offer my hand to Tristan.
“It was my fault. I know Arland is weaker from the side, but I was surprised by how well you were doing and did not pay enough attention to him.”
“Well, thank you for practicing with me,” I say, then rejoin Arland.
“I think that will be enough for today. Would you like to head back to the base for lunch?”
“Are you scared to fight me again?” I taunt, pointing at his sword. I don’t know what makes me do it; the thrill of the fight is so addictive. “Let’s go one more time?”
Flanna laughs in the background; our audience cheers for us to go on. Arland cannot resist. He picks up his sword, winks at Lann, and takes his position in front of me. It’s as if I can read Arland’s mind; for every move his feet make, mine move away in defense, and then my arm commands the sword into his, crashing against the shiny metal of the claymore, over and over again. The battle takes no exertion on my part.
After a few minutes, he looks frustrated. Fighting the instinct to stab at him, I allow Arland to get his sword under mine, then knock it from my hand.
“Got ya. Good work,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow, then turns to address the rest of the room. “Now, if you all will excuse us.”
My deflated strength seems to be returning. Maybe if I can fight, I’ll have a chance to save Brad, to see my family again, and maybe even save my people.
The others give a short bow to Arland. He points at Flanna and Lann; they run up the stairs in front of us.
“Oh, I forgot to put this back.” I return to the weapons table, intending to replace the sword and shield.
Arland comes up behind me and clasps his hand around mine where I still hold the sword’s hilt. “Keep this. I believe you should remain armed from now on. You can certainly handle yourself, if the need to use it should arise. There is a leather strap on your belt right here—”
He tugs at my belt, helping me slide the claymore through the loop. His fingers graze my stomach, sending a shiver through me.
Clanging of iron, feet scuffling, thuds when quivers hit their targets, bring the room to life. A little boy and girl, who had been practicing with knives, wave goodbye to me as Arland and I leave the room.
The locks open and the hinges creak.
“All clear,” Lann says.
We step out into the dark forest, Arland takes me by the hand, and we proceed along the path between the two buildings.
“You are full of surprises.”
“That was the most amazing experience. I really don’t know where I learned to move like that.” I smile, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.
“I am beginning to think that is the first of many surprises to come from you.”
The way Arland speaks makes me nervous—not about what kind of surprises will come from me, but in a nervous about being around a guy kind of way. For the first time in my life, I’m concerned with what my hair looks like, how I smell, if I’m sweating, but I’m not about to do anything that would make him aware of how I feel. I shake away the thoughts.
He leads me through the door to the base and abruptly drops my hand. The absence of his touch leaves me empty. I know it’s wrong to think like this, with Brad stuck in a coma, but I can’t ignore six years’ worth of romantic dreams.
Arland turns to face me. “I must attend a meeting.”
“I’ll help Flanna in the kitchen while you’re gone. Will you be back soon?”
The memory of that first dream has me utterly confused. I want to spend more time with Arland, have him hold my hand longer, but then where does that leave me and Brad? Arland said he doesn’t understand my dreams, but there’s no way he can deny I had them. I know his name, his position in the military, and his mission to protect me. Maybe portions of the dreams are wrong, but my familiarity with him, and ability to predict his moves, make me wonder if I might be a Seer, like the one who prophesied about me before my birth. If I’m not, I must have some other strong connection to Arland.
“I am afraid I will be gone the remainder of the afternoon. I will come by your room tonight, after I finish my meetings. Oh, and Kate, try not to be too nice to Flanna, or she will want to keep you for herself. No one has ever offered to help her in the kitchen like you did this morning.”
He reaches for my hand again, then brings it to his lips and kisses it. My heart skips a beat—or three—as he heads back into the corridor, then goes through the door on the right.
When Arland is out of the room, Flanna—who had been staring at us without shame—smiles, hands me a knife, and points to a basket of potatoes.
Chapter Nine
Flanna and I busy ourselves with preparations for the two upcoming lunch rounds. Since there’s not enough room for everyone to sit in the dining area at one time, the children eat first, followed by the adults.
Twenty-five or so young boys and girls eat their stew and bread in less than five minutes. Two of them stop to talk to me in the kitchen before leaving for their afternoon chores; they have to wash clothes and bed linens. Marcus and Anna, who Flanna tells me are brother and sister, ask in high-pitched voices if I’ll give them lessons in sword fighting. I have to stifle the laughter rising inside me, because in all honesty, they probably know a lot more than I do.
“I will talk to Arland to see if he will allow it,” I tell them, after a moment’s pause. Since he appears to be in charge here, I figure this is my best bet at getting out of teaching an
yone anything.
“Thank you!” Marcus trills.
The two of them, who I’m guessing are about ten and twelve, run to the corridor and through the door on the left.
A distant memory of Brad and me running through the barn, a delighted Gary promising to teach us how to break the young horses, surfaces and sends a fresh, stabbing pain through my chest. I wonder what Brad would think of all this—if he’d try to sneak us out while everyone was asleep, or if he’d support the notion I’m some sort of hero. Forcing my thoughts onto other things, I serve lunch to the adult crowd.
The older soldiers stare at me while they eat. None of them asks questions or tries to talk to me. They just watch. I can’t help feeling like I’m on display, carrying food from the kitchen to the buffet table, walking between the tables, and collecting empty plates when people finish their meals.
After everyone finishes eating, I help Flanna clean the kitchen, and allow my curiosity to get the best of me.
“So what’s behind the two doors in the corridor?” I ask.
“The door on the left leads to the soldiers’ sleeping quarters. There are forty-two soldiers and children currently sharing that room.”
“Forty-two! That means there are more children here than adults! What happened to their parents?” I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. I swallow hard, remembering the coldhearted slaughtering I witnessed in my vision when we entered Encardia.
“We are at war, Kate; people die.” Flanna shrugs as if it’s no big deal people die, but there are only thousands of people left alive.
I’d say that’s a big deal, but I don’t respond. I understand it’s a war, and a war the children here will soon have to fight in, a war in which I lost my own father. It scares me to think that, all too soon, any one of the boys and girls who ate lunch in here today could be killed.
Flanna washes dishes. I wipe down the tables and push the chairs back into their places. After we finish, she sits down with me and gives me some stew, since we didn’t eat when everyone else did.
She watches me with her captivating eyes, as if I’m some sort of freak show at the fair—as if she’s expecting horns to suddenly pop out the top of my head. “This world is not an easy one to live in, Kate. I know it is difficult for you to understand, but none of these children fears what lies before them. They are eager for their opportunity to fight and help our people regain control of our home.”
Starving, I spoon a big bite of the stew into my mouth, chew, and swallow, before I speak. The warmth of the potatoes and sweetness of the carrots remind me of my farm and set my nerves at ease.
“Where I’m from, it would be unheard of for anyone under the age of eighteen to fight. Even fighting at that age was sad, but the world I live in is difficult, too. Earth is riddled with problems, but nothing as powerful as what’s happening here. Children there are expected to go to school to learn, and then to college to learn more, before going off into the world on their own. Although some do join the military early. But most have an easy life there.”
She hasn’t touched the food sitting in front of her. “Hopefully, it stays that way there, but here, most children are considered adults by the age of fifteen. Many of us choose to get married and have children before we reach our twentieth year. Otherwise, our race would die out all too soon.”
“Are you, Arland, or Lann married? Do any of you have children?” I ask before I can stop myself. The thought of Arland being married to someone makes me uncomfortable. Considering what we’ve shared in my dreams, I think my presence would make his wife uneasy … if she knew.
“No, but we are different.” Flanna’s eyes light up, and she pats my hand.
“Why?”
“Timing.” That’s all she says about their love lives, but Flanna doesn’t appear sad—not at all. In fact, she’s all smiles. “Would you like me to tell you more?”
Propping my elbows on the table, I rest my chin in my hands. “Please do.”
“Good. Well, Lann, Arland, and I were the only three with private quarters. In case you have not figured it out, we are the highest ranked soldiers. Arland has been in charge since his father left, ten years ago.”
“So, since he was fifteen, he’s been in charge?”
“Yes, and he is the youngest we have assigned to lead a base, and the best at containing the daemons.”
When he took over, Arland was a year younger than the eager soldier, Tristan. I picture Arland as a fifteen-year-old boy, giving orders to men and women, many of whom were much older than he was—which is still the case. It must have been hard for Arland and the soldiers under him. The fact he has run this base for so long, with so many reporting to him, means they have a great deal of respect for him. I’ve seen, firsthand, how they treat him when he enters and exits a room. They give formal bows, step out of his way while he walks, and rush around following his instructions. He’s not a stern leader. When giving orders, he doesn’t talk down to them like they are beneath him—he shows kindness and smiles. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed, so far.
“Wasn’t he ever afraid?”
“You have seen him. Does he appear fearful of anything?”
I laugh. “No, I guess not. How did he learn to fight the daemons?”
“He had no choice. We were just children when the early battles took place, but Arland seemed to have a natural instinct for killing them.”
“Is that why he was put in charge here? Because he was so good at killing and containing them?”
“Part of the reason is due to his strength and talent, but it is in his blood to lead—and he was anxious to take on the role from his prophecy … waiting for you. His father trained him for it before you were born, before they even knew what they were training for,” she says with a pointed look. “You know, I have never seen him sleep anywhere other than the room you are in, but since your arrival, he now sleeps in the soldier’s quarters with the others.”
I set the spoon down and push away my bowl. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course not, how were you to know? At least Arland is not sharing my room, along with Lann. He snores!” Flanna teases.
“Did Lann have to move because of Brad?”
She nods.
“I can sleep somewhere else, so you don’t have to share with him.” So many people have had their lives turned upside down because of me—it doesn’t seem fair.
“No, no, no. Please do not go runnin’ off to sleep with the soldiers. Arland would never let me hear the end of it—and I do not mind.”
“It really doesn’t make a difference to me where I sleep.” I feel horrible. Why should anyone have to move because of me? I don’t care who I am or might be or whatever it is they think … a regular bed is more than okay. Their lives are tragic, compared to mine. “I can sleep on the floor.”
Flanna narrows her eyes, and I decide to let it go.
“Back to your original question. The door on the right conceals a hallway. There is a communications room on the left, where Arland went earlier, and a storage room on the right, next to a flight of stairs leading up to the stables.” Flanna has given me a glimmer of hope.
Animals, they have animals!
“So you’re telling me that in the middle of a forest there are stables, containing a bunch of noisy animals where there are no other buildings? How odd does that look … and sound?”
“The layer of magic which protects us also protects the stables. We have used some of our strongest magical spells on it. I promise you, the stables are not visible to an untrained eye.”
“I would love to see the animals.” I imagine the smells of the farm back home.
“I do not believe Arland would appreciate me taking you aboveground,” she says, looking as though she already regrets telling me about the stables in the first place.
“I thought you said it’s heavily protected by magic?”
“The magic is strong, but not perfect.”
I cringe; maybe I don’t want
to go up. “So, it’s possible for something to get in?”
She sighs. “Nothing ever has.”
“Well, then what are you worried about? Please?”
“I cannot take you—I do not enjoy getting in trouble—but if you were to accidentally stumble upon the stairs to the stables, I would be more than happy to pretend I had no idea where you were.” Flanna winks.
“Thanks!” I hand her my dish and bolt from the table.
“Please do not try to leave the stables, or Arland will have my head on a platter,” she yells as I run off.
Pushing through the door on the right, I enter an unlit hallway. Running my hand along the wall for a guide, I find the stairs leading up to the stables and begin climbing up them—two at a time. After a good fifty steps, I reach the top. I slide my hands over the door in search of the locks. Three bolts have to be pushed aside. Lifting the bar, I push the door open on its squeaky hinges, willing the old metal to be quiet so no one catches me coming up here.
The well-lit stables, while not large compared to our barn back home, are big enough to maintain a few different animals. There are chickens housed in a coop on the left across from the door leading downstairs, clucking away. Next to the chickens are four cows, and another stall with a bunch of goats. They stand on their hind legs, leaning against the wooden railing, chewing straw and watching me as I pass. I inhale the earthy scent of the stables and feel like I’m back at home, working in the barn with Gary.
At the end of the first section, there’s a bay where feed, straw, and tools are stored. I turn to my right and discover horses. Standing in the first stall before me is the most magnificent brown and white Paint I’ve ever seen. He stands tall, neck straight, eyes watching me. He’s knows he’s beautiful. So as not to startle him, I approach slowly, with my hand up, and offer some oats from a burlap bag next to his gate. He watches me, his ears pricked back, then somewhere he seems to find resolve and eats from my palm. When he finishes, I rub his forehead.
“I’ll be right back, Big Guy!”
He snorts.
“I’m only checking out your friends.”