Warrior of the Wild

by Tricia Levenseller

  Iric’s fitful body calms considerably as he talks, and Soren looks at me, relief for Iric’s improving condition written across his features.

  “I’d climbed one of the big trees inside Restin’s boundaries,” Iric continues. That must be the village they’re from. The one tasked with providing precious stones for Peruxolo. “I wanted to be up high where no one could find me. Where I could be alone with my thoughts. And he was already up there. Aros. So we talked. We got to know each other, and by the time we were seventeen—” He breaks off, closing his eyes.

  “You became more than friends?” I prompt.

  “I realized I hadn’t actually loved Soren. I admired him. He was my best friend. Our love for each other is the love between brothers. But Aros, I loved. Aros, I wanted to spend forever with.”

  He looks down at the ground. “But I can’t. Because I’m trapped out here. Because I listened to him.” He points an accusatory finger at Soren.

  Soren seems to pull into himself. “I’m so sorry, Iric,” he whispers.

  This is an interesting revelation. I hadn’t realized these two had such a complicated history. I’d thought them best friends.

  “It’s done,” Iric says. “This is our life now. We live out here. We’ll die out here. And that’s the end of it.”

  “Wait,” I say. “All you have to do is kill the hyggja? And then you can go home?”

  “All? Yes, Rasmira. That’s all. Simple thing, really.”

  I let out a short laugh.

  Iric turns toward Soren. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Do you know what I have to do?” I ask. I go on before he can answer, because he obviously doesn’t know and will only have another snarky comment for me, I’m sure. “I have to kill Peruxolo. The god. The immortal who probably isn’t even capable of being killed. But you? Your beast can be killed. Are you telling me that the whole time you’ve both been in the wild, neither of you has even tried to accomplish your mattugrs?”

  Iric crosses his arms, angry now. I feel a little guilty for incensing him so close to a near-death experience, but not guilty enough to take back the words.

  “I told you before,” Iric says, “dying horribly is stupid. I don’t believe in your goddess, and I will not get eaten by the hyggja because our village demands it.”

  “And you?” I ask, turning to Soren. I know he believes in the goddess. He’s mentioned her before.

  “I can’t die. I have to protect Iric.”

  “What, do you owe him a life debt, too? Are you incapable of saving yourself?”

  Soren glares at me. Good. I want him angry with me. Maybe he’ll finally leave me alone.

  “I do not owe Iric a life debt,” he says, “but I am the reason he was banished to the wild in the first place, so I will keep him alive and help him survive. I won’t risk my life by attempting my mattugr, and I’m not about to go home without him even if I did complete it.”

  I shake my head at both of them. These stupid, stupid boys. “Fine. You’re both lazy cowards. Stay out here and die for all I care.”

  I wring out my shirt as best I can and head for the cliff to retrieve my ax and armor.

  “Are you going to try to kill the god again?” Soren asks.

  “Obviously,” I say, not bothering to turn around.

  Silence for a moment, and I can imagine perfectly what must be going through his head. He owes me a life debt and wants to help me, but he doesn’t want to risk himself because he feels that he owes Iric.

  Finally, he says, “I will help you.”

  I stop and spin around. “Do your own damn task! I don’t need help from any boys!”

  Iric’s face curls down into a frown. I think he’s decided that he doesn’t like me, despite the fact that I saved Soren’s life. “Hurry and put your armor back on,” he snaps. “You’re showing everything.”

  Then he turns on his heel and darts away, his last words no doubt meant to embarrass me.

  I look down at my shirt. It’s sticking to me like a second skin, and the chill—it’s not helping to hide anything.

  Soren glances over, as though his eyes are reacting to Iric’s words before his mind has a chance to catch up to them. He looks away quickly and blushes.

  Actually blushes.

  “What are you, twelve?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I scurry up the hill, gather my things, and return to my boy-free fort.

  * * *

  THOUGH I HAVE NOTHING to cook, I build myself a fire first thing upon arriving at my camp. As the flames heat my chilled skin, I remove my sopping clothes and hang them on a nearby branch to dry. I don one of the spare pairs of clothing from my pack and stare at the flames in front of me.

  Dying horribly is stupid.

  No, Iric. Losing all honor and doing nothing to get it back is stupid. An eternity of damnation is stupid.

  Tomorrow, it’s back to observing the god for me.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS LATER, I stand in front of the map I’ve carved into my tree. I use the rock to shape a hole at the end of the trail the god travels regularly, the one that wends below the tree I usually use as a hiding place when observing him. I was surprised by what I found at the trail’s end.

  A latrine.

  It was unremarkable and disgusting, but now I know the god must eat and drink as a man does.

  Once done with the drawing, I turn to the side and add to my list.

  FACE OF A MAN

  BLOND HAIR

  CARRIES AN AX

  CAN USE HIS POWER TO LIFT ME OFF THE GROUND

  USES A LATRINE

  On the other side, I have other details written down.

  PERUXOLO’S DOMAIN:

  I CANNOT ENTER

  MY AX CANNOT ENTER

  ROCKS CAN ENTER

  STICKS CAN ENTER

  I let the rock drop from my hand and clatter to the ground. I’ve learned a little, but I don’t know what to try next. How are rocks and sticks going to help me?

  “How’s the god hunting coming along?”

  I spin, my hand going for my ax, but of course, it is only Soren. “Could you wear a bell or something?”

  “I think what you meant to say was ‘It’s nice to see you again, Soren.’”

  “I cannot tell a lie.”

  “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

  This time, I actually do reach for my ax.

  “Now, before you get angry,” he says, “you should know that I brought you dinner.”

  That’s when the smell hits me. Juicy valder meat. Soren holds a skinned, roasted beast on a spit. He offers it to me.

  I eye the meat, my mouth watering. I haven’t had hot food since I was still in the village. Despite my irritation, I take the meat and bite into it. It’s tender, and I chew slowly, savoring the taste.

  “Thank you,” I say once I swallow.

  “I’ve seen you with your pack of supplies. You must be running out of food.”

  He’s not wrong.

  “So I brought you this,” he continues, shrugging a large metal contraption off one of his shoulders. It’s circular with metal spikes around the edges. A dried brown substance crusts the tips. Blood.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “A trap for catching valder. Iric designed it. He’s the most talented metalsmith I’ve ever met. Let me show you how it works.”

  The hunters from Seravin use traps, but they’re all made out of rope. Nets that raise into the air when stepped in. I’ve never seen one made out of iron.

  “I thought Iric was a warrior, like you,” I say.

  “He took the warrior trial, but he trained most of his life with the smithies.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “It’s … complicated.”

  “Make it uncomplicated.”

  “It’s not really my story to tell.”

  “Then what’s your story?” I ask.

  I don’t know why I bother. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been alone fo
r the last few days with no one to talk to.

  “If I tell you my story, will you tell me yours?” he asks.

  “No.” I don’t hesitate before answering.

  Soren looks down at his boots and smiles softly. “When Iric failed his trial, I failed on purpose so I could watch over him in the wild.”

  “That’s very noble of you,” I say.

  “Not really. Not when it was my fault he was banished at all.”

  And that’s the part he won’t explain. But something tells me he didn’t grab a decapitated ziken head and clamp it onto Iric’s arm. How else could you cause someone to fail? If Soren willingly lost to protect his friend, then he couldn’t have purposely made Iric fail, could he?

  Soren lays the trap down by his feet. Spikes that can only be described as teeth make a circle around a metal lever in the middle. Soren explains how the device works, how pressure on the lever sends the sharp teeth clamping shut like a mouth, trapping whatever steps on it. He and Iric usually place a morsel of food on the trap to attract the valder. He recommends I set it up away from camp so that if something is caught, it won’t alert ziken to the whereabouts of my camp.

  “It’s very clever, but why would Iric give me this?”

  “It’s his way of saying thanks for helping him out of the lake.”

  “I’m surprised,” I say. “I thought he didn’t like me.”

  “Well,” Soren says, his lips pressing together in thought. “You’re not his favorite person, but after some convincing, he agreed you should have it.”

  I let out a short laugh. “Then please do pass along my thanks to Iric.”

  He stills. Just for the briefest of moments. Then, “Of course.”

  “And thank you, Soren, for bringing it. It is much appreciated.”

  He beams. After a moment, he asks, “Would you take a walk with me?”

  I’m taken aback. “Why?” Then I realize it doesn’t matter. “No.”

  “It could be fun.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Now that’s hurtful.”

  “You’ll recover.”

  Soren looks down at the toe of his boot, thinking for a moment. Then he says, “Could I show you where the yellow berries grow the thickest so you can pick them on your own?”

  I scramble for an excuse not to come.

  “If you learn where they are, then I won’t have to come back here to deliver more to you,” he adds.

  He’s good. Very good. I can’t argue with that logic.

  “All right, then. Lead the way.”

  If he wants to smirk over the victory, he’s smart enough to hide it from me.

  I don’t walk beside him, but rather just behind him, so I can always keep him in my sights.

  Soren pretends not to notice. Either that, or it honestly doesn’t bother him at all. When he veers around a tree, he holds back the branches for me so I can cross without getting whipped by their needles. He takes me in roundabout ways to avoid obstacles, but I put my foot down when he jumps over a log and then holds out his hand to help me over.

  “Do I look like a helpless child?” I ask.

  “I was just being polite.”

  “I’m a warrior. Treat me like one.”

  “Sorry, I’ve never met a female warrior before. Didn’t realize they preferred to be treated like men.”

  “That’s not—”

  I’ve always wanted to be free to behave like a woman, but Father never allowed it. But Father isn’t here now, is he?

  I think about what I want. How I would like to be treated. I don’t want Soren going out of his way to make me more comfortable. That just seems silly. What I always wanted was to be free to wear what I wanted. To act how I wanted. Father would chastise me if I hugged my sisters in front of him, if I cried when I was little, if I whined or complained when I was injured.

  But no more.

  I am a warrior of the wild, and I can behave however I damn well please.

  “I’d prefer it if you treated me as you would another warrior,” I say.

  “All right, then.”

  Soren leads me back to the tree house. He stops to open a shed I hadn’t noticed before at the tree’s base. Inside I see more traps, extra rope, chopped firewood, and buckets. It’s one of the latter that he grabs.

  Then he takes me along a well-trodden trail, one I’m sure he and Iric have made during their time living out in the wild.

  Eventually, Soren comes to a stop in front of … brambles. Smooth vines with plump yellow berries grow like weeds. They’re everywhere, the plants extending far into this section of the wild.

  Soren puts the bucket on the ground and starts picking berries and dropping them inside. I hurry to join him. It seems the best way to say thank you for sharing this location with me.

  “What village are you from?” Soren asks.

  Since I can’t see how it would hurt to tell him, I answer, “Seravin.”

  “I’ve heard of your leader. Torlhon is said to be one of the greatest warriors of his generation.”

  Just hearing his name turns my insides cold. His face is all I can see for a moment. Not the way it looked when praising me. When proud of me. When training with me. But the way it looked as it sentenced me to banishment. When it told me I was tasked with killing a god.

  “He is,” I manage.

  “Did you know him well?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  Soren pauses with his hands full of berries about to be deposited into the bucket. He stares at me, waiting for an explanation. But he doesn’t ask, just leaves a space for me to fill, should I choose to. Not forceful, just open.

  “He’s—my father.”

  That sends his eyebrows shooting upward. He lets his load roll into the bucket, then wipes his hands on his hide-covered thighs.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Because you are here instead of with your family.”

  And that word, family, has thoughts of Irrenia racing through my mind. My throat suddenly aches, and I feel the annoying presence of extra water in my eyes. I blink forcefully, keeping it at bay.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Did you leave behind a family?”

  “Iric’s family raised me. My father died a warrior’s death. He was on watch when the ziken tried to breach the borders. I was three.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sickness took my mother the year after. I had no siblings. No living relatives at all. But Iric’s parents were unable to have any more children, though they desperately wanted another child, so they took me in.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

  “Don’t be. I don’t remember either of them.”

  But he’s here now, which means Iric’s parents lost both of their boys after they took their trial. I wonder if they reacted the same way my father did. With such disappointment and sudden hatred.

  “And Iric’s parents are the kindest and most giving people I know,” Soren says. “They’ll have the biggest estate imaginable waiting for them in Rexasena’s Paradise.”

  I suppose not, then. Perhaps it makes it harder, in a way, to leave them if they were loving up to the end.

  “Do you have a big family?” Soren asks. “I know nothing of it outside of your father’s fame.”

  The bucket is full now, but Soren and I pick berries and put them directly on our tongues. Neither of us moves to head back down the trail.

  So I tell him about my five sisters. They, at least, are not painful to talk about, except for the small ache in me that longs to see them.

  “Six daughters!” Soren exclaims. “Your father must have been so proud.”

  At first, I think Soren is jesting, but after a moment, I realize he’s serious. He honestly believes that my father is proud of his large family.

  “He would have been proud if we were all sons.” I don’t mean to say that aloud, but out it comes anyway.

  “How can that be? After hearing you talk about
your sisters, they all sound wonderful.”

  “They are, but my father is blinded by his legacy. He thought me his one chance to pass down the role of village leader and warrior. And then I disappointed him by…”

  Failing is what I was going to say. But I didn’t fail. I was failed.

  “I’m sorry,” Soren says. “It sounds like Torlhon is an excellent warrior, but a terrible father.”

  I’m surprised by the words, but they sit so right in my chest. “Yes, that is exactly the right way to describe him.”

  I look up toward the sky; the sun is fading fast. “It’s time for me to head back. I don’t want to be out in the open when it’s dark outside.”

  “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come stay with Iric and me?”

  I don’t even try to let him down gently. “No.”

  For some reason, he seems to find my quick answer amusing. “All right. Well, don’t forget your bucket.” He nods to the one we’ve filled with berries.

  “That’s your bucket.”

  “Then you’d better bring it back after you’ve eaten its contents.”

  I can’t help the small grin that surfaces. Well played, Soren. Well played.

  CHAPTER

  10

  I have just enough time to set the trap Soren brought me and make it back into my fort before nightfall. I bring the bucket of berries inside with me so they hopefully can’t be sniffed out by hungry vermin.

  The next morning, when I go to check my trap, I find that the mechanism worked perfectly. A dead valder is crushed between the metal teeth. It probably died on impact.

  I also note, however, that Soren’s warning about placing the trap away from my camp was justified.

  A ziken is already chewing the head off my catch.

  “Hey!”

  The ziken turns around and licks the blood from its lips. It raises its head and lets out a cackle. I slam a blade of my ax right into its gaping maw, cracking teeth and taking the top half of the head clean off.

  Just to be safe, I sever the neck with another swing, then stare at the mess on the ground. I managed to dislodge a canine perfectly. I pick it up from the ground and stare at it. It’s the length of my finger but much wider. The tip is sharp, but I don’t dare test it by touching it. I’m sure the tooth is still coated in venom. If it were to pierce my skin, I’d be a wriggling, uncontrollable mess.