by Stuart Jaffe
“Only since you arrived.” Harskill’s front foot moved forward causing his body to lower. He raised his sword behind him, gripping it with both hands.
Malja switched from her right foot forward to her left. The rest of her body adjusted accordingly. “So, this war is somehow my fault?”
“Your presence has escalated matters. Before you came, the Scarites were set to overwhelm the Carsites. They would now be on the way to becoming a united people.”
“I never saw a master and slave relationship as united.”
He chuckled. “You have much to learn, if you want to be Gate. You can’t simply go meddling wherever you want.”
“Aren’t you the one who gave the Scarites snake-magic? Before that, they lived in a peaceful world in which each group had its place. You disrupted their simple way of life.”
“And you turned it into a bloodbath. All those farmers down there pretending to be warriors — they’re being slaughtered.”
“They fight for their homes and families and freedom.”
“It amazes me you’ve lived this long without learning to get all the information before acting. You should come back with me. Let me show you the life the Scarites have built compared to the one they had before.”
“I don’t really care.”
Though she knew better than to launch the attack, thus giving Harskill the ability to react and counter her moves, she wanted to end all this chatter. Every word from his mouth grated on her bones. She shot forward, swinging Viper more as a distraction than an attempt to hit him. She needed to close the distance between them.
Harskill parried and laughed. “What’s the matter? Don’t want to face the fact that you might be just as responsible for this mess as me?”
Viper clashed with Harskill’s sword. She tried to lock his straight blade in Viper’s curve, but he anticipated this, never allowing the blades to touch longer than necessary. Each thrust, each parry, met with a properly timed and executed counter.
Malja feigned a sidestep and brought Viper upward to hook Harskill’s chin. Instead of dodging or blocking, however, Harskill lunged forward, closing in passed Viper. His left arm clamped over her right, preventing her from maneuvering Viper. His right arm dropped his sword and curled around her waist. She could smell his skin — a rich and fresh aroma like thick woods after a morning rainstorm.
He brushed against her cheek and said in her ear, “If you will come visit the Scarites, I promise you’ll be completely safe. No traps. No lies. I want you to understand exactly who it is you’re fighting for.”
“You want me to believe that I’m making things worse, that I’m escalating the problems here? Then leave. Stop playing with these people and take me to meet my own people. Show me Gate and let this world settle back to the way it was. Then I’ll believe you.”
“If we do that — and how I would love to do that for you — this world would only settle into horrific violence far beyond the controlled war that we wage now. It’s too late to leave. We can only try to find a stable situation for them, even if it lacks in our ideals.”
“Then let the Carsites gain their freedom.”
“The Carsites are the problem.” Raising his hands, Harskill backed off, keeping his eyes on her. “Allow me to prove it.” He slowly lowered his right arm and stared at his do-kha until the smooth black suit turned bumpy around his wrist. He spoke into his wrist. Then he raised his arm again. “It’s done. Go look.”
Malja stepped to the side, never lowering Viper from a ready position. She passed between rows of graves, the mournful faces looking at her as near the edge. When she peeked over, she saw Red Head calling the Scarite ground troops into a retreat. Their flying fighters swooped down to retrieve their men and carry them away.
The Carsites followed their enemy to the perimeter of the town, and a few old men shot at the retreating troops. Fawbry stopped that from continuing. Most of the Carsites slumped to the ground — some cheering, some weeping.
“When you’re ready,” Harskill said. “Call for me on your do-kha. I’ll show you what this war is really about.”
Chapter 14
Javery
Javery sat on a hill as the night cooled him. The smell of battle hung in the air like a putrid fog, yet not too far away, the sounds of celebration drifted up the hill. He had never heard such a massive party occur in that little town, and he dug the heel of his hand into his eyes to hold back the tears.
All that singing, dancing, drinking, yelling — all of it a thin attempt to banish the death that surrounded them. The entire town suffered from the guilt of having survived near-annihilation and only found solace in the bliss of alcohol, sex, and exhaustion. Each roaring cheer slapped Javery in the face.
He had failed them.
He had led them to believe in Malja, believe they could fight their enemy with heart, believe that the sacrifice of those they loved would be worthwhile if done in the name of freedom for all. But had the Scarites not pulled back in those final moments, they would all have been dead. There was no cause for joy, and no amount of forced jubilee could wipe away the blood soaking into the ground.
“What’re you doing here?” Druzane asked as she sauntered up the hill. She carried a frothing mug and looked as if she had imbibed in a few mugs already.
“I can’t pretend like the others. I have to wear my sadness openly.”
Thrusting out the mug and spilling much of its contents, she said, “What’s there to be sad about? You think all that down there is sadness?”
“We lost so many today.”
“That’s true. And I guarantee that in a little while, a lot of tears will flow. For now, though, that celebration is pure happiness.”
“But why?”
Pushing the mug closer, she said, “Come join me. I’ll show you.”
Javery rubbed his eyes dry and took the mug. After tasting the bitter fermentation and getting an amused chuckle from Druzane, he followed her down the hill.
As they neared the town, Javery noticed the music — a jaunty, exuberant sound lacking any melancholy undertone. Behind one home, he caught the amorous clinging of a couple in the shadows. Off to the other side, a group of boys grabbed hold of metal bits and flung themselves over the waters of a small pond.
“It was just like that,” one of the boys yelled, his face blotching red with excitement. “Those Scarites never knew what side to fight on.” The other boys laughed and splashed water.
Walking down the main road, the celebration bombarded Javery’s senses. These weren’t a people drinking away the horrid losses of their brethren. These people — his people — amazed him.
Hertwine Oprite, a hefty fellow whose robe hung off his shoulder, clambered onto a table and raised his mug. His gusto sent him reeling, but he managed to regain his balance before toppling into the crowd. People pointed and laughed.
“Another toast,” he bellowed, placing his hand over his mug. “Never in our history have I ever read, ever seen, ever heard of a battle against the Scarites like this. We held them off. They turned and ran. And for the first time, we can claim a victory!”
Voices rose in good cheer and quickly turned to guzzling alcohol.
“A toast,” Hertwine continued. “To our brave young boys who flew out first to face those snake-backed bastards.”
“And don’t forget Hirasa,” a voice called from the crowd.
Hertwine emptied his mug, grabbed another from the table, and raised it in the air, covering it with his hand. “To Hirasa and her Lethal Ladies.” More drinking. “To the goddess, Malja, and her able men without whom we could never have become the force we were.” More cheering.
Javery scanned the crowd but did not see Malja, Fawbry, or Tommy. Before he could think further on their absence, Druzane touched his shoulder. He leaned closely in order to hear her.
“Do you see now? They’re happy.”
Javery nodded. Druzane had not exaggerated the situation. His people really found cause to cele
brate this gruesome event.
Hertwine pointed a thick finger at Javery. “We cannot forget to honor those who we have to thank for all we’ve accomplished. Raise your mugs, my friends, and give cheers for a man who worked tirelessly to see that we were prepared for battle, whose intelligence and unwavering commitment to our town brought new ideas to improve our way of life.”
Javery tried not to blush even as he lifted his chin a bit higher.
Hertwine went on, “A man who did not fear the arrival of a god and instead, brought that god over to our cause.”
Puffing his chest out, Javery held back his smile. From the corner of his eye, he spied Druzane inching away from him, giving him all the glory. A remarkable woman. Unlike any he could have ever hoped for in his life.
“My dear friends,” Hertwine said, his drunkenness not taking away from his heartfelt words, “I have no doubts in my mind that without this man’s bravery and forthrightness, we would have all perished today. Cheer and drink and give all our thanks to our great, new leader — Canto!”
The crowd roared louder than anything Javery had ever heard in his life. It shook the ground, and the weight of such noise pushed his head low. Even Druzane cheered. Though he knew she did the right thing, that he should cheer as well for appearances, he could not find the strength to raise a hand. Denied once had been humiliating enough. As Canto was shoved onto the table, Javery found it necessary to use what little strength he had left to keep from throwing up.
Canto waved his hands and grinned at the crowd’s exultations. “Thank you. But the real cheers do not belong to me. They are for us all!”
Javery took hold of Druzane’s elbow. “Let’s go back to the hill.”
She pulled loose, keeping her dazzled eyes on Canto. “We should be here with everyone else.”
“There’s only so much I can endure.”
“Maybe if you endured a little more you’d figure out why Canto’s up there and not you. How am I going to get anywhere if you’re unwilling to do the hard parts?”
Though he stood in the thick of the crowd, Javery felt alone. He stared at her, waiting for her to change her mind, but her attention stayed with the crowd. She was right — about everything — but he would have to trust her to glean whatever they needed to know. He simply couldn’t stomach anymore of Canto.
Snatching a frothing mug from a nearby table, he stormed back towards the hill, guzzling the horrible tasting drink as he went. He tossed the empty mug aside, trying to resist the tears welling in his eyes. At the top of the hill, he fell to his knees, his body slumping over. He pounded his fists against the hard ground.
In his mind, he could hear Father standing over him, the old man’s mouth curled as he spat out his venom. “Crying? You really think I’d let you lead our people when you go running off and crying at the first sign of resistance? Aw, is the little baby boy upset because Life isn’t fair?”
But it was more than that, more than simply being unfair. It was wrong. Wrong for the Carsites to ignore him, and wrong for the Carsites to entrust Canto with their lives.
“Canto didn’t cower at the crucial moment,” Father echoed in Javery’s head.
Javery couldn’t deny that in the thick of battle, he found his bravery lacking. But he didn’t have the physical strength of Canto or the blade skills of Malja or the magic power of Tommy. He had the intelligence to plan the battle, not execute it. That didn’t mean he deserved to be thrown away. And it certainly didn’t mean that Canto would serve the town better.
“Really, boy? Or is it more likely that you —”
“Shut up!”
Javery lifted his face from his hands. Though the echoes of Father’s voice still bounced in his head, he was alone.
“I shouldn’t drink when I’m upset,” he said to the hill. “It brings out the worst in me.”
Chapter 15
Malja
Standing at the entrance to the Assembly Hall, Malja had to laugh. Fawbry and Tommy stood to either side, and they laughed as well.
“It’s a bit different than the last time we were here,” Fawbry said.
“It was late in the day then.” Malja covered her mouth and let out another chuckle. “I think the midday sun catches the building in a far more majestic way. And you aren’t under arrest.”
Tommy snorted which ignited Fawbry’s laughter again.
“Do we simply wait or come back or what?” Fawbry finally said, after he caught his breath.
Malja tried the door and found it opened with ease. “Considering that some of them are still carrying on last night’s party, I doubt anybody will come to greet us.”
“But they called us here.”
“So, let’s stop debating protocol and go find out what they want.”
“Haven’t we given them enough? I understand wanting to help these worlds, but why do we have to nearly die to do it?”
The three entered the enormous hall and walked into the center. Long cuts of sunlight poured through the many windows above. Their footsteps echoed in the empty space.
Fawbry snapped his fingers. “Oh, for Kryssta and Korstra. Nobody’s here. They’re probably hung-over or still drunk. Either way, I guess it’s time we go.”
Cocking his head, Tommy’s expression matched Malja’s thoughts. Neither had to ask the question, though, for Fawbry shrugged and said, “We helped these people fight off their enemy. Now they’re back on their feet, and we’ve more than repaid our theft of a few apples. What more do we need to do around here? You want to go find Harskill, right?”
“I’ll find him. But you seem eager to avoid ... oh, no.” Malja placed a hand on her hip, feeling every bit like Fawbry’s mother. “You didn’t get one the girls pregnant, did you?”
“No!” He paused. “At least, I don’t think I did.”
The echoes of a door banging open surrounded them and were followed by steady footsteps. Shual and Canto entered from the small discussion room to the side. Malja expected to see Javery come out as well, but only the two men appeared.
Canto carried a chair which he set in the center of the room. He moved quickly back to Shual’s side and escorted the elderly man to the chair. Shual had painted a black stripe down the side of his robe, and though his face remained dry, he looked as if he had not stopped crying since the death of his daughter.
Placing a hand over his stomach, Canto stepped back and to the side of Shual. “Thank you for coming up here today. And thank you for all you have done to help us achieve our victory.”
“Victory?” Fawbry whispered.
“We were glad to be of help,” Malja said, a bit louder to cover Fawbry.
Shual coughed — or perhaps, he laughed. Malja couldn’t be sure, but it sounded painful and unsettling. “Help? Without you, we would all be either slaves or dead. You have no idea how important your contribution has been.”
Canto nodded. “For the first time in decades — not since the arrival of the god, Harskill — we have a chance to return the Scarite bastards to their place.”
“They think they can spoil our lands, our food, our people with their filth, but we showed them that with some ingenuity, we can make a lot from the little magic we have.” Shual peeked at Tommy. “Even he proved helpful.”
“Even?” Fawbry said. “Without Tommy, we’d have been crushed.”
Canto ruffled Tommy’s head. “And what a fine job he did. Shual only means that we’re not as comfortable with magic like he has, and so we were pleased that he used it for our benefit.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve noticed how comfortable Malja is with magic.”
Before he could start ranting, Malja cut in. “We’re happy that this has turned out so well for you. But you didn’t call us all the way up here just to thank us. What do you still need?”
“You, of course.” Canto paused with a broad smile — a politician’s move. “We’re simple farmers, but we’re not stupid. Without you, we don’t have the power to repel the next Scarite attack, and we hav
e no hope of defeating them. We’ll be overrun.”
Fawbry flapped his one hand as he said, “So, you want us to stay here forever?”
“Once the Scarites are no longer a threat, you’ll be free to go wherever you wish.”
“You are stupid, if you think that the Scarites will never be a threat. Even if you defeat them, they’ll always be harboring a secret hatred towards you. That’s what happens when those who hate raise a generation to hate. It starts a cycle that’s almost impossible to break.”
Shual cleared his throat. “Then it will be our task to break them. But we cannot even begin such an attempt until we no longer have to fear their attacks.”
“And what do you mean saying we’d be ‘free to go’ afterwards? You’ve seen Malja fight. Do you really think you can stop us from leaving if we want to go?”
Canto crossed his arms, pressing his muscles into a bigger image. “I may not be able to stop her, but I know I can stop you.”
Fawbry looked to Malja, and part of her wanted to let him dangle a bit on his own. But he was family, and she knew one didn’t leave family hanging in danger — even when they caused the danger to begin with. Besides, she had no intention of leaving until she figured out how to handle Harskill. “We will stay a bit longer, but you need to prepare your people and yourselves that we will be going eventually. At some point, you must stand on your own.”
The main doors clanged open, and Malja spun around, her right hand behind her, gripping Viper. The man who entered looked similar to the Carsites but clearly came from somewhere else. His clothes were of the same thin fabric, yet instead of robes, he wore billowing pants and an open vest that displayed his hairy, muscular chest. His facial hair obscured his mouth, making it difficult to read his expressions; however, Malja could never mistake the twinkling in his eyes — a warrior’s glee.
“Shual, it’s good to see you on such a great day,” the man said, his booming voice reverberating around the empty hall.
To Malja’s surprise, Shual rose to his feet, and instead of the traditional hand on stomach with a slight bow, he grabbed the burly man by the shoulders and hugged him. “Krunlo, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see you.”