He grinned. ‘Cool.’
Another hit sailed towards his head. His arm whipped up. The courtyard brightened again. Time after time David struck, aiming for Nick’s chest, back, sides, head, legs. Nick managed to deflect most of the blows, but the ones that shot past his defence did nothing more than force him back a step.
After a while, David tossed the staff aside. The numbness on Nick’s skin disappeared and in its place came a throbbing ache that shot through his whole body. He collapsed to his knees, panting.
‘Maintaining your shields for any length of time takes a lot of getting used to,’ David said.
‘How long did I last?’
‘About two minutes. That’s not bad for your first try.’
Nick wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Two minutes? It felt like at least twenty.’
‘Twenty minutes takes years of training.’
‘Years? But I thought...’ He trailed off, realising how stupid he’d sound if he finished that sentence.
David chuckled. ‘You thought you’d learn how to shield one day and be invincible the next, right?’
Nick shrugged.
‘It’ll take months of hard training before you come close to cracking even the three-minute mark,’ David said, then added in a quiet voice, ‘You can’t rush something that important.’
Chapter 23: Running the mountain
Nick dreamed he was back in Buckadgery Creek, riding his bike down Canyon Drive, the fresh morning air blowing straight through his school shirt. He stretched out his arms, feeling an incredible sense of freedom.
Something dark appeared on the horizon. As it got closer, Nick saw it was a horse carrying a masked Arai rider. He skidded, sending gravel into the air, and turned onto Striker’s Run. No matter how hard he rode, the horse gained on him. He reached the foot of the Spit, dumped his bike, raced up the slope towards the humming song gate. Branches snared his clothes and slowed him down. He saw the gate through the trees, a slim thread of rippling air between the boulders. But before he could dive through, the rider circled and cut off his escape.
The black figure dismounted, sword drawn. Nick stood frozen, unable to run or scream as the sword blade licked his throat. Burning hazel eyes stared out from the slit in the mask. The Arai took off his mask, but instead of a man’s face, Nick saw it was a girl.
Artemis.
NICK JOLTED AWAKE AND crashed onto the floor in a tangle of bed sheets and sweat.
‘Shit!’ he gasped. The shock of that image left him shaking. He sat with one hand clapped over his heart and the other across his eyes, trying to scrub the dream from his mind, but it remained as clear as if it had been seared into the back of his eyelids.
He scuffed into the kitchen in search of food. Xanthe’s medicine bowls were stacked on a corner table with a cloth draped over them, as if to remind everyone to keep their hands off. The window was open, letting in a breath of cool air. In the early morning light, the city roofs looked like golden steps rising out of the purple and grey bush.
‘Hi, gumbrain.’
He jumped and spun around. Jinx sat cross-legged on the dining table, sucking on an orange.
‘Wow. You look more like a dead dingo than usual this morning.’
‘Jinx, do you ever think before you speak?’
She shrugged. ‘Just being honest.’
‘How noble. Have you ever considered becoming a martyr?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Someone who represents justice, righteousness and purity.’
She flicked the orange peel into the scrap bucket and slurped at the juice running down her arm. ‘Sounds alright. What do I have to do to be one?’
‘Die.’ He snatched her last orange quarter. ‘And just let me know if you’re having any trouble with that.’
He retreated to his room before she could retaliate. After eating the orange slice, he pulled on his boots and a clean shirt then went back into the kitchen for some bread and cheese.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jinx said, using her arm to shield her fresh plate of fruit. He was sorely tempted to try and snatch something else, but decided not to waste the effort, grabbing instead a chunk of bread before heading downstairs. An unfamiliar Bandála soldier stood guard at the foyer door.
‘Where’s Kráytos?’ Nick asked.
The woman cast him a scathing look and replied, ‘He does have to sleep, you know.’
‘Right. Of course.’ Nick tapped a rhythm on his thighs. ‘So...can I go to the training field for morning drill?’
She scrutinised him then said, ‘Speak out of line, and you’ll be running up that mountain so fast you’ll wish you’d been born without a tongue.’
As she unlocked the door, Nick imagined her tugging the handle too hard and knocking herself out. To his disappointment, she stepped aside, uninjured, and waited for him to lead the way.
Market Square was already packed. Nick wove through the early morning shoppers to the public fountain, leant over, and gulped several mouthfuls straight from the spout. The Bandála guard sighed loudly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and brushed spilt water from the front of his shirt.
At the training field, recruits were already jogging around the perimeter. Nick spotted Artemis among them, and when he drew nearer she broke away from the group.
‘You’re up early,’ she said.
‘So are you.’
The vision of her face with Alexander’s hazel eyes lingered in his mind. He shifted uneasily and said, ‘I had a dream about you last night.’
She planted her hands on her hips. Nick’s face instantly burned.
‘Er, not anything like...um...you tried to kill me. In my dream.’
‘Oh.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Did I succeed?’
‘No. Well, you might’ve, but I woke up.’
He studied her for a moment, trying to find any traces of the menacing Artemis from his dream, but in this early morning light, there was nothing frightening about her. In fact, she was glowing. A fine mist of sweat beaded her bare shoulders, and her fringe had come loose from her ponytail and hung in strands about her flushed cheeks. All of a sudden, he had an urge to brush her hair aside and trace the curve of her jawline.
Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Ah...so...how did you know I was coming to Auremos?’
‘Valerius told me to watch out for you,’ she said.
Nick frowned. ‘How did he know what I look like?’
‘He didn’t. He gave me clues.’ She fingered his copper Bandála necklace and said, ‘This was one.’ Her secretive smile returned and, to his immense fright, she stepped closer, dragged down his collar, and ran her thumb across his Arai tattoo.
‘And this was another,’ she whispered.
He caught her hand, adjusted his shirt to hide the mark, and glanced about to check if anyone had seen. His skin tingled where she’d touched him.
‘Don’t be scared, Nick. I won’t tell anyone.’
‘I...I’m not scared.’
She looked at her trapped wrist, and he released her.
‘I’m not scared,’ he said again. ‘It’s just that I’m not ready yet.’
‘For what?’
He pointed to the Bandála recruits gathered on the training field. ‘To tell them.’
‘You’ll have to one day.’
‘I know.’
The temple bell tolled.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘My shift’s about to start.’
Nick watched her walk away then wandered over to Pan’s combat students, who were lining up to begin their morning class. Jinx was in the back row, and when Nick joined the group, she scooted over to him.
‘You like her, don’t you?’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘Artemis, gumbrain.’
His face heated up. ‘No. I don’t.’
‘You’re a crap liar.’
‘Shut up. I am not.’
‘Yes, you are.’ She hooked his arm and cooed, �
�And you know I only tell you this out of cousinly love, right?’
He shrugged her off and positioned himself at the end of the row farthest from her. As he fell into the rhythm of the moves, his attention wandered. David was on the other side of the field, instructing some older recruits in sword fighting. He reminded Nick of a rugby coach, overemphasising his movements and sweeping his gaze over his students to check that everyone had paid attention.
Cal stepped through an archway and crossed the field towards Pan’s combat group. When he paused to let a huddle of joggers pass, one of them stopped and spoke to him. It was the blond scout, Miles, who held himself with the arrogant swagger of a bully. Cal glared for a moment before shoving him aside and walking past. Miles regained his balance then rushed at Cal from behind, as if to tackle him, or worse. Before Nick had time to yell a warning, Cal spun on his heels, ducked a right hook, and punched Miles in the gut. It was a swift, sneaky blow but so solid that Miles dropped to his knees in a spluttering fit.
‘Cal!’ David roared. ‘You back off right now!’
Cal stepped away from Miles and stood to attention as David barrelled towards him. Nick ran across the training field too, but David got there first.
‘Are you alright?’ David asked, helping Miles to his feet.
Holding his stomach, Miles gasped, ‘I’m not sure, sir.’
‘Go to the surgery and get Xanthe to check you.’
Miles limped away, his face scrunched in agony.
Nick stopped beside Cal and said, ‘David, it wasn’t Cal’s fault. Didn’t you see Miles was going for him?’
Without taking his eyes off Cal, David said, ‘I did not ask for your input, Nick.’
He spoke with such coldness that Nick felt a twinge of apprehension.
‘You dare lift your hand against a Bandála soldier?’ David demanded.
Cal stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched, and didn’t respond.
‘You know the rules, Cal, and you’re well aware of the consequences for breaking them.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cal said, turning pale.
‘Run the mountain,’ David ordered, ‘and when you return, you report to me at the council chamber.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But David—’ Nick began.
David’s eyes flared. ‘Do not speak back to me,’ he growled. ‘You’ll join Cal up the mountain.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh, I’m serious. And if you speak out of turn to me or any other of my senior officers again, you will run the mountain once for every single syllable you utter. Is that clear?’
Through gritted teeth, Nick replied, ‘Perfectly, sir.’
‘Both of you get going.’
Cal and Nick jogged off the training field. As soon as they’d reached the street, Nick said, ‘David can be a real arsehole sometimes. Why didn’t you speak up? Tell him what Miles did?’
‘Because Rayámina’s right. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’
‘Are you kidding? I would’ve done the same.’
With a wry smile, Cal said, ‘I know.’
They circled around some kids who were kicking a leather ball to one another. Nick thought about abandoning the mountain run and joining in, but he didn’t want to get Cal in any more trouble, so jogged on towards the eastern wall.
‘How long does it usually take?’ Nick asked.
‘To run the mountain? Two hours if you’re used to it. Three if you’re not.’
Nick groaned. This Bandála training regime was way too rigid for his liking. Then an idea struck him.
‘Why don’t we just relax here then go back to the council chamber when the time’s up?’
‘We can’t. The guards at the beacon tower have to stamp our arms as proof that we’ve run the mountain.’
‘So there’s no getting out of this?’
‘Not if you want to avoid a night in the vaults.’
‘That’s harsh.’
‘That’s the Bandála.’
Nick grunted. ‘That’s Rayámina, you mean.’
As they jogged out the east gates, the aqueducts loomed above them. Sandstone arches supported two water channels. The lowest was two storeys off the ground and the second channel stood another storey above the first. The aqueducts soared across the fields and crops and up into the mountains.
‘Incredible,’ Nick murmured.
He enjoyed the first part of their run outside the city, and was constantly finding new things to look at, from the ancient wooden ploughs to the strange, old-fashioned clothes of the farmers. As soon as they hit the foot of the mountain, however, the run turned into a laborious climb.
‘I hate this mountain,’ Nick grumbled.
Cal chuckled. ‘Everyone who runs Blackrock says that.’
Nick slowed to a stop. Blackrock Mountain. Nick wondered whether Blackrock Falls were nearby. He glanced about but couldn’t see any rushing water, apart for the glistening tracks of the aqueducts now far below them. Perhaps the falls were on the other side of the mountain.
‘What’s wrong?’ Cal asked, looking back.
‘Nothing,’ Nick muttered, and ran to catch up.
It was a good hour before the beacon tower at the summit of Blackrock Mountain first came into view. The tower was a squat, square building with an unlit bonfire on top and manned by half a dozen soldiers. Nick spotted several more beacon towers on mountaintops, each farther away than the last. By the time they reached the foot of the tower Nick was dripping sweat and gasping. Cal, on the other hand, looked as though he’d done nothing more than jog a few laps around the training field.
‘How are you not dying right now?’ Nick panted.
Cal shrugged. ‘Practice.’
‘Are you two slackers here for a stamp?’ a soldier asked, leaning on the doorframe.
Nick straightened. ‘Slackers? We just ran up a bloody—’
Cal elbowed him in the ribs. ‘He’s new. Please ignore him. We’re here for stamps, thanks.’
‘A fresh recruit, eh?’ the soldier said. ‘Better rein in that attitude, kid, or I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.’ She pressed a wood block stamp with an image of the Bandála star onto each of their forearms then gave them a generous drink of water.
When they turned back to the mountain trail, Nick stared. Auremos lay before them, alive and breathing. The city stretched for kilometres, its fortifications encasing it like a thick shell. The parts closest to Nick, the eastern and southern quarters, were crumbling, decayed and overrun with bush. The northern quarter, on the other hand, glittered with golden sandstone and ruffling flags. The contrast between the pristine and the damaged areas made it seem as though Auremos was emerging from the ashes of some great catastrophe. Or else sinking into it.
‘Nick, if we don’t get back soon, Rayámina might make us run the mountain again,’ Cal said.
‘Yep. Coming.’
As they jogged back towards the city, Nick examined the stamp on his arm.
‘Anyone could forge this,’ he said.
Cal shook his head. ‘The beacon guards have dozens of different ones, and they switch them every day. If you try to cheat and stamp the wrong one on your arm, the officers will know, and they’ll lock you in the vaults.’
‘Oh. Right.’
The descent was easier, and a breeze picked up, drying the sweat on Nick’s face. As they cleared the trees behind the vegetable fields, rows of severed Arai heads came into view.
‘That is so disgusting. Why do they do that with the heads?’
Cal responded in a quiet voice, ‘About three months ago, the Arai massacred an entire Bandála training camp just north of here. More than fifty recruits were killed. Now, any Arai who cross into Bandála territory have their heads staked.’
Nick’s fingers strayed to his collar to check that his tattoo was hidden.
It was mid-morning by the time they reached the council chamber. Nick slumped onto the bottom step and said, ‘I’m spent.’
&nb
sp; Cal leaned on his knees and drew several deep breaths. ‘Me too.’
‘Why did David want you to report to the council chamber?’
For a long while, Cal kept his head bowed. Then he straightened, his expression unreadable. ‘I’m not sure,’ he replied, and walked up the steps to the entrance where he disappeared into the dark antechamber.
As Nick trudged across the plaza, he became aware of someone following him, and when he glanced back he saw Kráytos. Nick was about to say something when he remembered David’s threat about speaking back to the officers. Aside from being forced to run the mountain again, Kráytos might drag him up a sooty alley for another lesson in discretion.
Kráytos glanced at Nick’s arm where the Bandála star had been stamped onto his skin and said, as if reading his thoughts, ‘You’re wild and undisciplined, Nick, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have potential.’
‘That’s exactly what my teachers have said my whole life,’ Nick replied drily.
‘Then your teachers were astute.’
Most of the stalls in Market Square had been dismantled. Nick leaped over empty trays and skirted the slippery remains of animal guts to get to his apartment block.
In the foyer, Kráytos held Nick with his dark gaze and said, ‘Remember, Nick. It doesn’t matter who you were or what you did before you arrived in Auremos. You’re one of us now. You’re a greyskin.’
‘No, I’m pretending to be a greyskin.’
With a serious shake of his head, Kráytos said, ‘The Bandála don’t pretend to do anything, Nick. Neither should you.’
‘But I’m no soldier. I’m crap at it. How can I be something I’m not?’
‘Practice. Or in your case, a lot of practice.’
‘Right. Thanks for that.’
Nick trudged upstairs and at the second floor landing caught up with Amaránta, who was struggling with a basket bulging with clean linen. Nick silently swore. He didn’t feel like carrying a massive load of washing up the narrow spiral stairs, but he couldn’t let this old woman stagger the distance by herself. Mía would not have approved.
‘Hi, Amaránta. Let me give you a hand,’ he said.
She looked alarmed, and he took the basket from her before she could protest, wedging it under one arm. She made a meek sound and rushed after him, tripping on the steps in her haste. He slowed down so she could keep up.
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