She ran forward, knife held above her head, and threw herself at Nakoa’s leg, driving the blade as hard as she could into his flesh.
It was a shallow cut, and the war god kicked back against her, throwing Kaimana hard to the ground once again. The god turned to look at her, nostrils flared, lips curled in anger.
“You dare?” he bellowed at her.
Kaimana’s blood rushed around her body, her breath quickened. She was excited. Elated.
“Yes, we dare.”
Rakau’s jaws clamped down onto Nakoa’s shoulder, causing the god to scream in pain. The taniwha shook the war god briefly, then threw him to the dirt. Nakoa’s shoulder was red now, the blood from his wound seeping into and staining his woven armour. The god tried to lift himself up, but found that his arm would not move anymore, and collapsed back down. Rakau lowered his head and growled at Nakoa, readying himself for the kill. Kaimana noticed the multitude of nearby warriors drawing their blades.
She ran to her friend’s lowered head, and jumped up onto him, sitting on his neck.
“Rakau, we’re done here. Let’s go.”
The taniwha stopped growling and turned his head to the hole in the temple wall he had caused some weeks ago. With a run and a bound, the taniwha and the ocarina player disappeared into the night.
A tale from the Crescent Atoll
Nyree had gone to the beach to kill herself.
She had stolen a black potion from the medicine woman’s hut, and knew it would do the job. Her death would have been quick and quiet, if not for the young woman Nyree spied when she reached the beach.
The girl was a stranger, that much was clear. She looked wilder than other women from the island, with hair that needed combing, a crooked nose that seemed to have been broken and then set badly, and a bare shoulder on which Nyree could see puckered and scarred skin. The woman was resting against a fallen tree that had been washed up onto the beach, and was playing music on a small, unadorned ocarina.
The music the stranger was playing was beautiful, haunting, and somehow incomplete.
Nyree could not help herself - she walked up to the stranger, and the woman stopped playing at her approach.
“That was beautiful,” Nyree said, still wary of this new face.
The stranger smiled, somewhat sadly. “Thanks.”
“Does playing always make you sad?” Nyree asked.
The stranger looked surprised for a second, then gave a laugh. “It depends what I’m playing. What about you? Does hearing music always make you sad?”
Nyree could not help herself. At that question, she burst into tears. The ocarina player quickly rose to her feet and comforted the islander.
“What’s wrong?” the stranger asked.
Nyree shook her head, unable to speak through her sobs. The ocarina player led her to sit on the sand with her back against the giant log. Nyree noted how much the log had been chipped at and marked by the elements, but had no more time to think of this because of the new face that arrived on the beach from the village.
“Nyree! Do not do it!”
It was Heeni, Nyree’s best friend. At the sight of the pretty girl, Nyree’s grieving face turned into a sneer.
“It’s her. She’s the one who broke my heart.”
Heeni reached her friend, quickly nodded her head to acknowledge the stranger on the beach, and then fell on her knees, begging. “Please, do not kill yourself, Nyree.”
The ocarina player was surprised. “Is this true? You came here to die?”
“Yes,” Nyree spat, angry eyes still locked on Heeni. “She has taken everything from me, I have nothing left to live for.”
The ocarina player’s eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”
“My betrothed,” Nyree said. “The man I have loved since I was a little girl, we were to be married. She seduced him and stole him away from me.”
It was now Heeni’s turn to cry. “Please forgive me, Nyree. It was he who seduced me, and I was too weak to resist. I did not want to drive you to this.”
The ocarina player rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You really were planning on killing yourself because of a man?”
Nyree said nothing, but continued to lock her hateful gaze on her former friend.
“You two were friends once, right?” the stranger asked.
Heeni nodded. “Best friends, yes. That’s why I would never want to hurt her.”
The ocarina player grinned. “Best friends.” She stroked the side of the fallen tree. “Listen, I don’t know much about men, but I’ve been learning a lot about friends.” She stood up, putting her unpainted ocarina into a pouch at her waist.
“The friendship you have, it is worth everything.”
The woman pointed at Heeni. “You hurt your friend. You did something really stupid. That was bad, and you should have warned her when you knew something was wrong, but now you’re asking for forgiveness.”
She turned to Nyree. “That silly man isn’t worth your life. He certainly isn’t worth losing her, either. Listen to your friend. I know she hurt you, but listen to her, remember all the good things about having her in your life, and never let that go again.”
Nyree stood up, angry now. “How dare you. What makes you think you know my pain? What gives you the right to talk to me in this way?”
The ocarina player gave a thin grin. “I’ve been around, seen a thing or two. Learnt some lessons. Stick with your friend, no matter what. Keep her close and all your other troubles will wash away with the tide. You’ll make each other happy.”
The stranger slapped the side of the fallen log. “I think it’s time we were leaving.”
The log began to shake. Nyree and Heeni both gave screams, instinctively held each other’s hands and backed away from the vibrations.
The log pulled itself out of the sand, and turned to look at the two girls with its green eyes. Then it turned to the ocarina player and smiled.
Together, the ocarina player and the taniwha waded into the sea, and Nyree and Heeni watched as the young woman got onto the monster’s back.
“You know who that is?” Nyree whispered to her friend, otherwise rigid with fear. “That’s Kaimana, the Taniwha Girl.”
“I know,” Heeni whispered back. She squeezed her friend’s hand, and Nyree squeezed it back. “Thank Leinani, we’re lucky to be alive.”
They watched Kaimana ride her taniwha towards the horizon.
On her friend’s back, the young woman was smiling, content, looking forward to whatever came next.
Contents
Title
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
The Lonely Farmhouse
Chapter 2
El Elephante and The Queen's Blades
Chapter 3
The Legend of the Black Shepherdess
Chapter 4
Silent Sparrow and The Balefire Witches
Chapter 5
The Sacking of Bajapena
Chapter 6
Roaming Iguana and the Ghost Girl
Chapter 7
The Story of Vengeful Badger
Chapter 8
The Lady's Revenge
Chapter 9
Crazy Raccoon and The Massacre at Morelia
Chapter 10
A Word From the Author
Those Brave, Foolish Souls From The City Of Swords
Copyright 2017 Benedict Patrick
All rights reserved.
www.benedictpatrick.com
Cover design by Jenny Zemanek
www.seedlingsonline.com
Published by One More Page Publishing
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The muttering of the crowd gave Arturo his first hint that something was wrong. In the distance a baby wailed, slightly higher pitched than one expected in a busy marketplace. The crowd rippled, innately s
ensing something was amiss. Across the Great Plaza, cries broke out. Arturo knew what was happening before the words reached his ears.
“Masks in the street! Stable fight!”
Nervous murmurings turned to panic, as the good citizens of Espadapan broke and ran. Children were picked up by fathers, goods were left in the market stalls. A cloister of Queen’s Brides, in their grey habits, quickened the pace of their single file march, moving directly away from the source of the disturbance. People were panicking, but even in their distress there was something almost rehearsed about these actions, the sense that most here had experienced this mad dash before. One does not live for long in the City of Swords without learning how to stay out of the way of the swordfighters.
Arturo’s pulse quickened. This was exactly what he had come here for.
“We should go,” his guide suggested, tugging at Arturo’s sleeve. “This is not safe. You will see, we should not be here. We will go.”
Arturo did not look at the hunched, dirty man, his bright eyes too busy scouring the panicking mob, doing his best to pick out the combatants.
“No, this is what I paid you for, to find the Bravadori, the swordfighters.”
“Yes,” the man said, “but not like this. This is not safe, we should go.”
Arturo caught a flash of metal from under the man’s sleeve. He was playing again with his concealed blade. Arturo had caught sight of it when the guide had first approached him at Espadapan’s gate, and had not been surprised by it - he knew that life here was dangerous, and even those who were not Bravadori needed to protect themselves. He also knew outsiders were seen as easy prey. Arturo suspected this man, who had vowed to be Arturo’s closest ally when he had first received coin, was just waiting for a dark alleyway in which to slit Arturo’s throat and take his belongings.
Nevertheless, Arturo was new to Espadapan, and the man had served a purpose. A purpose that had now been fulfilled. Arturo’s heart began to thump. He was not used to initiating violence.
But I’ve got to show I’m no easy mark, if I’m to survive. If I’m to impress.
Arturo grabbed the guide by the wrist. He could feel the edge of the blade under the man’s sleeve, and tightened his grip, forcing the concealed blade to cut into the man’s skin. Arturo’s hand was protected by his own thick duelling glove, but the guide winced in pain, drawing backwards but finding himself caught by Arturo’s surprisingly firm hands.
Arturo drew himself closer to the guide’s face. “Now, you listen to me, and listen well. You’ll not be using that blade on me. You’ll not be taking my purse. I’ve paid you for a service, and you’ve delivered that service to me. I am happy, and will not pursue you. Understand?”
The small man nodded, grimacing at the pain in his arm.
Arturo pushed the man to the ground, at the same time slipping a hand into his own jacket pocket. He pulled out a black domino mask, decorated with specks of red, and the small guide gasped.
Arturo, fingers quivering with excitement, fitted the mask on, covering his eyes.
The guide made the Queen’s mark, pulling away from Arturo at the same time.
“I didn’t know,” the small man stammered, scurrying away in the dirt. “I didn’t know you were one of them.”
Arturo could not help but grin as the thief turned tail and ran.
One of them. He thinks I’m one of them.
Arturo nudged the mask again, making sure it was firmly in place. He flexed his shoulders, and checked for the hilt of the rapier that was fitted at his waist.
He thinks I’m one of the Bravadori.
A scream from the other side of the plaza brought Arturo back to the present. Most of the great square was clear now, market stalls abandoned. From the other side of the square came noises that quickened Arturo’s pulse, bringing out beads of sweat on his forehead.
There. Sword fighting.
All Bravadori were swordsmen and women. All had the Knack for it. Most men and women of the Wilds and the Muridae would eventually develop a talent for one skill in particular, and to survive as a Bravador one had to have the Knack for swordplay.
Arturo adjusted his mask one more time, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
Time to introduce myself.
Arturo scurried across the square, moving quick to find the combatants before they moved elsewhere, but also doing his best to not be seen. The rapier at his side already marked him as fair game, but his new Bravador mask practically invited aggressive attention. He did not want anyone to spot him until he knew which stables were taking part.
He rounded a tomato farmer’s stall and finally caught sight of the fighters, two women and a man. All had blades drawn, and Arturo could tell by the coloured bands on their arms that two were Paws, and one was a Whispering Mouse. All wore masks, each different and colourful.
Outnumbered, the lone Mouse - her mask crimson, with long plumed feathers sprouting from the top of it - was losing ground, and the Paws were pressing that advantage. They took turns to dart in, swiping at the Mouse, causing her to react more frantically, moving backwards with hurried footsteps. From where he stood, Arturo could see the Paws were edging her towards an unbroken wall. Two on one situations were nearly always impossible to win, especially when all involved had the Knack for it. When the Mouse had nowhere else to move to, it would be over. She would not be killed - Bravadori tried to not kill each other, as each of them carried the Queen’s gift and might be called upon to defend the city - but she would be humiliated, and getting hurt or even maimed in stable fights was commonplace. In the worst of situations, she might even be called upon to forfeit her mask, to forever give up being a Bravador.
Arturo gripped the hilt of his rapier, blood pumping. After dreaming about seeing the Bravadori for so long, what luck to come across this fight after only an hour in the city.
The Lion’s Paws and the Whispering Mice. The two largest Bravador stables in Espadapan. I hadn’t even considered presenting myself to either of them, not so soon. Perhaps join another, smaller stable, and eventually gain enough renown to move to higher ranks. But this is too good an opportunity to pass up.
He studied the combatants again, aware that the longer he remained here, the more likely he would be discovered.
The male Paw - his green-dotted bandana covering his entire head, like a hood - laughed as the Mouse stumbled slightly, righting herself in a panic, waving her rapier wildly at her attackers to warn them she was still a threat.
Arturo’s mind filled with red at the cruel laugh. He did not want to be in a stable with someone who took so much pleasure in outnumbering his opponent. Arturo stood up, drew his rapier, and brought his Knack into play.
Time seemed to slow as his gift took over. His awareness reached out, searching at the world around him, focussing on the nearby swordfighters, giving Arturo an insight into their behaviours. The male Paw was the dominant of the pair - the female did not move until a fraction of a second after her partner - so if Arturo attacked - announcing himself with a shout, of course, as no Bravador would stab another in the back - then the male would take him on, leaving his colleague to deal with the Mouse, the known quantity. The male Paw was keeping most of his weight on his back leg, preparing to lunge forward for a decisive strike. It was an aggressive stance - it had a name, Arturo knew, but he never had anyone to teach him these details - but restricted the man’s movement, which Arturo would use against him. This was Arturo’s Knack, his gift, to read otherwise unnoticeable patterns from his opponents’ actions and use this information to predict how they would act in battle. As time sped up again, as he readied himself to put his predictions to the test, he realised he had never before used his gift against another sword fighting Knack.
“Don’t draw your blade in the City of Swords, unless you’re willing to kill or be killed,” he whispered, repeating the mantra his mother had uttered as she had kissed him goodbye.
“So be it,” he said.
At that moment
, a scream erupted from behind Arturo. Taken by surprise, all bravado left him and he dropped his rapier, ducking under the tomato stall to avoid being seen. He was surprised to see that beneath the stall was already occupied. A young Queen’s Bride, obviously separated from the older members of her order in the commotion, looked at him with wide eyes.
Arturo raised his hands, inhaling a breath with which he planned to tell her not to worry. The Bride reacted first, drawing a small, sharp blade, and poking it towards his groin.
“Not one fucking step closer,” she whispered. “Any movement from you, and I swear by the Queen’s tits I’ll have your balls off before you can touch me.”
Arturo froze, shocked more at the language coming from the Bride than her threat.
She motioned with the knife towards the cloth Arturo had just dived under. “Get out. This is my hiding place. Find your own.”
Arturo looked to his left, to the plaza walkway he had been standing in moments ago. The sound of footsteps, belonging to many more bodies than the three fighters he had been watching, were close, but were not right outside. Perhaps he could make his way out without being seen.
He turned back to the Queen’s Bride, and saw a puzzled look on her face. He himself was surprised at the age of the girl. The Brides’ grey habits did a lot to conceal the physical features of those who wore them - sacks with a hood, the ranchers back home had called them - but looking closer at this girl’s face told Arturo she was younger even than his twenty years.
“Where’s your sword?” she asked him. “Ain’t you all supposed to have swords?”
Arturo felt his face flush, and he glanced out to the plaza again, to his rapier lying in the dust.
Bravadori do not abandon their weapons at the sound of battle.
He turned back to the Bride, lowering his hands, and giving the winning grin that so often gained him favour with the girls back home, ready to explain.
The Bride did not give him time to speak. At the first sign of movement from him, true to her word she darted her blade forward, aiming its point between his legs.
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