Umbertouched

by Livia Blackburne

  As he storms away into the forest, I wonder if he may be right that I don’t know anything about his people, or him, at all.

  My fight with Zivah haunts me as I make preparations to scout the bridge. It’s an arrow lodged in my ribs, working its way in even as I try to ignore it. Every time I let myself think we understand each other, something like this happens to make me realize how little she actually knows.

  A nagging voice comes to me. Is the promise really what’s bothering you? Or is it that when you heard the promise she made, part of you grasped at it? You’ve long doubted whether you’d be able to fight your Amparan comrades. This oath would make that decision for you, at least for Arxa.

  That thought, I bury deep underneath the rest.

  Thirty of us responded to Gatha’s call for volunteers—ten boats of three people apiece. As night falls, we gather on the beach to ready the attack. The water around the beach is rocky, and in this darkness, we won’t see the rocks until it’s too late. We’ll be relying on our memory and our instincts to keep from being dashed on them. I’ll be surprised if all ten of the boats make it to the bridge. Seven would be a good number. If the winds work against us, the number could be as low as five. As I consider the risks, I realize how foolish I was for not going to see Zivah again before the mission. If something were to happen to me tonight, I don’t want that fight to be our last conversation.

  The waves beat a steady rhythm on the sand as I strap my swords to my waist, and my quiver and bow to my back. Our shields go on the bottom of the boat, along with jars of pitch. All around me, I hear muffled thuds, the swish of clothes, and the clink of metal as the fighters make their own preparations. When I’m done, I peer out onto the ocean. Somewhere in all that darkness, there are the darker shadows of ships, but I can’t see them.

  A hot wind blows across my face. It’s high noon. Sweat drips down my forehead as I stand in formation with Neju’s Guard. Arxa’s voice echoes over the field.

  “Look around you. These are your brothers-in-arms. You are one creature. If one dies, all die with him.”

  A surge of pride fills me at his words.

  Not the best flashback to have when I’m about to launch an attack against the empire’s ships. I turn the memory around in my head, try to make Arxa’s words about the crew on the beach. Try to pretend that the pride that surged up within me was for being Shidadi.

  Sarsine nudges Hashama. “Don’t look so glum. We haven’t even left yet.”

  Hashama raises his eyebrow. “Glum?”

  She throws up her hands. “What was I thinking? You always look this way.”

  I turn my head to hide a smile. I’m glad Gatha’s assigned them to my boat.

  It’s time to go. I whistle into the darkness—the signal to leave—then bend down and take a hold of the boat. Sarsine and Hashama do the same behind me, and we push out into the water. My veins start to thrum with the familiar anticipation of battle. The vessel rocks on the waves as I hoist myself in and get my bearings. The sliver of a moon does give us some light. I can see a few boat lengths in front of me, and I make the most of my vantage point, whispering directions to the others.

  “Big rocks off starboard. Be careful.”

  Far behind me, I hear a scrape and a muffled curse—one of the boats has hit a rock. I don’t look back. They’re close enough to shore that they can make it back if they’ve capsized. Still, it’s early to be losing a boat.

  I stop talking as we row farther out. Soon, we’re floating in what looks like an endless expanse of water, and then the outline of the first warship materializes. The bridge has lengthened quite a bit in the past days. It now reaches almost halfway across the strait.

  I put up a hand, and we stop rowing, letting the current carry us the rest of the way. And now I finally look over my shoulder to see who made it. Four boats trail a short distance behind us. As we drift closer, Sarsine sticks her oar behind us like a rudder and adjusts the angle. Each bob of the waves carries us closer to the bridge. I reach out to touch the damp hull of the warship.

  Something hums through the air above my head, setting every nerve in my body to buzzing. I dive to the bottom of the boat and raise my shield over me as an arrow thuds into the side of our boat. Behind me Hashama yells and clutches his arm.

  Shouts sound, both from our own boats and from the bridge. On the deck of the warship above us, torches flare to life, illuminating rows of archers lining the edge. How are there so many of them?

  I call over my shoulder. “Hashama, are you hurt?”

  “Grazed my arm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Could be worse.”

  Zenagua, goddess of death, take them. They knew we were coming. If we stay here, they really will pick us out of the water like fish.

  I give three high-pitched whistles in a row—the signal for retreat. It hurts to give it. We were so close.

  “Row back to shore!” I call over my shoulder.

  “We won’t get another chance!” yells Sarsine from the back.

  “She’s right.” Hashama forces the words out like a growl.

  I have to admit, I’m thinking the same thing. It kills me to get so close to the bridge and not even get a chance at it, but I can’t risk the lives of those under me. “Hashama needs a healer.”

  “I’m fine,” he shouts.

  An arrow pings off my shield.

  “Sarsine, is he lying?”

  A short pause, then she calls. “He’s telling the truth.”

  Well, in that case, let’s at least give the Amparans a proper greeting. “We stay. But only I go on the ship, and you two cover me from the boat.”

  I pass my shield back to Hashama, and he holds it over our heads as I row furiously away from the archers. Water splashes into the boat, both from my oars and from the arrows coming down around us. The onslaught lightens somewhat as we reach the relative cover below the prow. Sarsine picks up her bow and starts directing shots at the archers nearest us. Other Shidadi boats must have had the same thought as us, because arrows are now arcing onto the deck of the warship, some with flaming tips.

  Well, it won’t get any easier. “I’m going!” I shout.

  I throw my grappling hook over the side of the ship and tug to make sure it’s caught. Then I sling two jars of pitch over my shoulder and climb. The rope swings back and forth with the waves, and my feet slide on the slippery hull. I flinch as an arrow grazes my arm but keep going. An arrow whistles past my head from Sarsine’s direction, and an archer falls over the side of the ship.

  When I pull myself over the railing, the deck of the boat is in chaos. A handful of archers stand at the edge of the boat, shooting arrows over the side. They’re more concerned with whatever’s down there than with me, but that could change at any time. I smash one jar of pitch against the ground, then pick up a flaming arrow smoldering next to me and set the pitch alight.

  A thud shakes the deck behind me, and I turn, drawing my blade. It’s Sarsine.

  “Get back to our boat!” I yell.

  “Go!” she shouts at me, and removes her bow from her shoulder. I’m not going to waste time arguing with her. Two soldiers run to meet me as I sprint toward the next boat, only to be felled by Sarsine’s arrows. Behind me, the fire I’d started crackles and grows.

  Wooden planks span the space between this ship and the next—the skeleton of what will become the bridge. Breathing a quick prayer, I hop onto one plank and teeter across, then mash another jar of pitch on the deck and jump down after it. I look for fire to set it alight, but there’s nothing nearby.

  An arrow strikes the ground by my feet, sending a vibration up my legs. I dive to the side and scan the deck for the archer. At the other end of the boat is a huge and very familiar shape—Walgash.

  My old friend doesn’t nock another arrow. For a moment, we simply stare at each other.

  Metal flashes in the corner of my eye. I throw myself to the ground just in time to keep my head on my shoulders. The swordsman behind me raises
his blade for another strike, and I roll away from him.

  Then his mouth opens. Blood seeps through the front of his tunic, and he falls to the ground. Sarsine stands behind him.

  “Be glad I’m disobedient,” she says.

  Another group of swordsmen charges toward us.

  “Over the side!” I shout.

  She sheathes her sword and runs for the railing. I look again for Walgash. He’s still watching.

  I sprint for the side of the ship and throw myself over.

  Freezing water rushes through the gaps in my armor, soaking through my clothes and forcing the breath from my lungs. For a moment, I’m paralyzed as the weight of my gear drags me down. Then I regain my senses. I yank my daggers out of my belt and let them fall. My quiver goes as well, but I keep my swords and bow. I pull madly at the water, propelling myself away from the ship until my lungs are about to burst, and then with one last surge of strength break through the surface.

  Choppy waters toss me about, splashing into my nose and mouth when I try to breathe. Flames sprout from the closest warships as yells and screams carry across the water. Liquid seeps into my boots, freezing my ankles and pulling me down again. I search desperately for the beacon fire that was supposed to be lit from shore after the attack began. It’s hopelessly far, scarcely the size of a candle flame. I’ll freeze to death before I’m even halfway there.

  Oars splash behind me. Someone grabs me by the collar. Hashama’s only using one arm, but it’s enough to let me hook my elbow over the side of the boat. I nearly capsize us climbing in.

  “Sarsine?” I gasp, looking around.

  “Right here,” she says behind me.

  I toss my weapons to the floor of the boat, peel off my waterlogged equipment, and grab the oars. I’m shivering so hard it shakes the boat, but I don’t feel cold at all. I throw my back into the rowing, and the arrows don’t follow us.

  Shidadi meet us at the shore, pulling us onto the sand. Someone throws a blanket over my shoulders and pushes me toward a bonfire. I stagger to it, holding my hands up to the blessed heat.

  I look back out at the flames flickering across the water. It’s hard to see, but I’d guess that six of the ships are burning. Significant damage, but they’ll make up for it in just a few days. That’s the problem when fighting against Ampara. There are always more ships. There are always more soldiers.

  As warmth slowly radiates through to my bones, pins and needles attack my limbs. I scan the faces around me, trying to figure out who made it back. There’s Sarsine and Hashama, and I count fourteen total who’d been on the boats. At least eight are nursing injuries. Gatha will do a full head count in an hour, and we’ll know what the real toll was.

  I stand next to Walgash in the practice field. A short distance away, Naudar and Masista load sacks of sand onto a small catapult and launch them one by one into the air. Walgash draws his bow and shoots each of them. Every single arrow hits right through the center.

  “You need to spend more time at the campfires, Dineas,” he says between arrows.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re new. The men don’t know you, and they won’t trust you until they see more of you around.”

  “Do I need them to trust me?”

  He looks at me like I’m the world’s greatest simpleton. “When we go to battle, who will be keeping you alive?”

  “Fair point.”

  Masista launches five targets in succession, and Walgash handles them with ease. The last target must have been worn thin, because the bag explodes in a rain of sand, prompting curses from Masista.

  “Did you buy the armory steward a skin of Desoraf wine?” Walgash asks me.

  “Last week.”

  He looks at me expectantly. “And?”

  “He looked at my armor and told me the leather was dry. Then he found me a newer set.”

  Walgash’s grin is as smug as a crow who’d stolen a meat pie. “See? Uncle Walgash will take care of you, if you care to listen.”

  The fire crackles, and I snap back into the present. Walgash’s arrows never miss their target. Not by accident, at least. Why didn’t he kill me? I wonder what I would have done in his place. I wonder if he would do the same, should we meet again.

  Footsteps crunch in the sand behind me.

  “Report, Dineas.” I jump at Gatha’s voice.

  “They knew we were coming,” I say.

  Gatha’s face turns stern. “You’re sure of this?”

  “They were waiting for us with torches and arrows. Either their scouts can see like owls, or someone warned them.”

  She turns her head to see if anyone heard me. Accusations of treason are not something to be made lightly. “Is there anyone you suspect?”

  I shake my head. “None more than any other.” I notice now that several Shidadi are sneaking glances at me. I wonder how many people are having a similar conversation right now, and how many of them think I’m the traitor. I wonder if Gatha is one of them.

  “What did you see on the warship?” asks Gatha.

  “Nothing of use. What little I saw of the bridge looked sturdy.”

  “And the soldiers. Anyone you recognized?”

  A twig cracks in the fire, sending sparks into the darkness. I step back to avoid them.

  “No one I knew well.”

  A movement on the other side of the campfire catches my eye. Sarsine’s looking at us. I wonder how much she can overhear from where she stands.

  Gatha glances at Sarsine and then at the others around the beach. “I feel for you younger fighters,” she says. “You’ve known nothing but war.”

  It’s a strange time for Gatha to start feeling maternal.

  “When I was a girl in Central Ampara,” she continues, “a Shidadi child growing up could have many Amparan playmates. My favorite was a boy from a small village that we passed by several times a year. He was skinny as a snake, born with a shriveled left hand, but tough enough to run and tumble with the Shidadi children. I always looked forward to visiting his village.”

  The story makes me uneasy. I look for an excuse to leave, but everyone else has drawn away from us.

  “When we grew older, his family fortunes changed, and he left to join the army. I didn’t give much thought to him, because Emperor Kurosh was ordering more attacks against us by then. Over the next years, the Amparan army drove us north. Our warlord died, and I was chosen to succeed him.”

  I know where she’s going now.

  “One winter, our scouts reported an army supply train moving north. We were desperately in need, since we hadn’t built up enough stores. I led a band to raid that caravan. As we were coming up, I saw him guarding the wagon. It had been ten years at least. He was a grown man now, broad of shoulder and square of jaw, but I noticed the way he propped up his shield with his arm. I saw his hand then, and I looked more carefully at his face. I could have killed him—should have—but I ordered our band back. Said something about how the guards had seen me.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes dark with grief. “We lost twenty to sickness and starvation that winter. I think about those dead every time it gets cold. I never saw my friend again.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Gatha doesn’t trust me either. Somehow, I feel betrayed to know this, even though I’m the one who just lied to her.

  Gatha sighs. “You are not the only one who has had to face friends across the battlefield,” she says. “You’re not as alone as you think.”

  And then she leaves me there.

  I feel especially useless today.

  It’s morning. The village must have news of the bridge attack by now, but there’s no way for me to hear it. If I were a true healer, I’d be on the beach or waiting at the village for the fighters to come in.

  I tell myself it should have gone fine. If we were able to return to Monyar from Sehmar City, then Dineas should be able to make it to the bridge and back alive.

  As I pace the ground in front of my cottage, a
shadow flits across the sky. Scrawny? Dineas sends the crow once a day to check for messages. The crow who lands, though, is not Scrawny. It’s a very dusty Preener.

  He may not be Dineas, but I’m still glad to see the bird back here safe. “How are the Rovenni treating you?”

  Preener caws crankily and extends his claw. There’s a note rolled on it.

  We’ve been spreading news about Kiran. Rumors unearth other rumors. There’s long been talk about Khaygal outpost. Slaves warn each other not to eat food from there, and the name Kione keeps coming up. She was a former slave at the outpost and fell ill with rose plague around the same time as Arxa’s battalion. Regrettably, we cannot talk to her because she resides in the Khaygal rosemarked compound.

  Preener looks at me expectantly, and I throw him a large piece of taro bread. After all that time looking for evidence in Baruva’s notes, I’ve come close to admitting failure, but now I wonder if perhaps there is more out there to be known. Hope, though, comes tempered with reality. Kione is in a rosemarked compound in Central Ampara. That’s far away in the best of times, and now with Amparans at our doorstep...

  A ball of black feathers dives at Preener, stirring up a cloud of dust. Scrawny flaps and chatters, dancing circles around Preener as the latter shakes dust from his feathers and caws his indignation.

  “With a welcome like this,” I tell Scrawny, “Preener might not come back again.”

  Scrawny continues his dance, and I notice a note tied to his leg.

  “Come here, Scrawny.” He ignores my first two whistles but reluctantly flits over after the third.

  This note is much shorter.

  Request your presence at meeting with leaders in clearing.

  My stomach drops when I see it’s not Dineas’s handwriting. It doesn’t necessarily mean that something has happened to him, since Gatha sometimes borrows his crows. Still, I’m quick to throw on my plague veil and race down the trail.