“Don’t pay attention to me.” Leeya barked. Finn stumbled backward, hands flying to his face as he yelped. He tipped and smashed down, the weights hugging the ground. Immediately Leeya was reloading. With a grunt, Finn flopped over onto his belly and pushed himself up, his fingers digging into soft earth. An arrow smacked into his backside. The pain was dulled by the leather but it was enough to motivate him to move faster. His body groaned as standing, he ran once more. And that’s how it went for the following hour.
Finn sprinted, jogged, tripped, hobbled, even at one point crawled—holding one arm over his face for protection. Every time he drew near the middle of the two cabins, Leeya would fire an arrow. Most of them hit, some missed. Thankfully the leather protected his skin from many of the shots—but occasionally one came through and stung him, leaving a deep throb that pulsed for minutes. When she ran out, Leeya would come forward and retrieve the arrows to begin again. It gave Finn reprieve and—shamefully—he used those moments to stop and suck-in as much air as possible, hoping the dizziness he was feeling would go away. He was embarrassed of his weakness and it was made especially worse with Leeya watching. When he was near collapsing, his limbs quivering and refusing his commands, his eyesight of one drunk or near-dead, Leeya held up a hand for him to stop. Finn fell to his knees.
“Are we done?” he panted, struggling through each word.
“No. I’m just hungry.” Leeya replied. “This exercise has given me an appetite. We’ll eat and return to continue our practice. There’s plenty of sunlight left.”
Her—hungry? Finn couldn’t tell if she was teasing or speaking truth. Leeya had kept a stern face through it all, yet Finn knew she had to have enjoyed watching him suffer in the ridiculous suit. He didn’t have the strength to complain. Instead, he staggered toward her cabin where at the front door awaited a basket of bread, fresh fruits, vegetables, and soup. As he ate, his stomach spinning in both greed and nausea, Finn again had the desire to meet the person whose duty it was to provide them food.
They shared their meal in Leeya’s cabin, sitting across from each other at a wooden table. The door was closed but the window filtered in clear light, causing their glasses of water to sparkle. Finn drank very little, as the lack of thirst brought on by the bracer kept him hydrated for longer. Leeya didn’t speak and Finn hoped the horrid smell coming from his armpits and back didn’t offend her. Yet even in her stony quiet, Leeya seemed more at peace than Finn had seen all day. In the short time knowing each other, they’d developed some form of bond. Perhaps a friendship similar to what he had with Goblin, yet its own thing. How could he describe the variance? With Goblin, it’d been a friendship forged upon experience and survival—loyalty and jokes. With Leeya… and suddenly Finn came upon the answer. Although she didn’t show it, their friendship had developed upon emotion: a loyalty of a different kind. And how quickly they’d been thrust into each other’s lives. Destiny—a lot of the current events seemed to ring of it.
Finn adjusted in his chair, alone in the cabin with the beautiful girl. He wanted to talk to her. Wanted her to be more open with him. How could he get her to speak more? Get her to feel? They stared through the window, hearing the distant call of birds. The silence was there, but it was a comfortable moment.
When they’d finished eating, Leeya stood back up and indicated they should return to practice. Together they lugged the wooden weapons back out to the wall’s edge in the secluded clearing. Leeya took the wooden sword and demonstrated a three-swing pattern, explaining each move, when and why to do it, and adjusting Finn’s stance with her hands. Finn tried his best not to blush when she grabbed his thighs and moved them, widening his pose. He followed her commands, his body once again sweating under Old Heavy. A question arose in his mind and he couldn’t help but ask it.
“Leeya, how’d you learn all this? To fight? To train?”
She took his wrist and changed its angle, pointing the sword a little farther out. Finn had nearly hit her on accident. “It was my passion.”
Her words made Finn’s chest jump. Her passion. She had desires. Something she cared for. Was she opening up?
“But weren’t you being trained to become a business woman?” he asked. “Become the person in charge over two companies made one?”
Leeya stepped away from him and looked to the top of Jakitta’s wall. “We were all born to do something; to become one thing. But yet…we weren’t. There’s always other paths.” She pointed to him. “Cave-diver or Star-Child.”
“You didn’t want to follow in your parent’s footsteps.” Finn concluded. Leeya didn’t reply. She acted as if Finn’s words hadn’t been spoken, but her muscles were clenched—barely noticeable. Finn pictured a young Leeya, barely tall enough to look over the wall of the Upper-District and see below at what lay beneath. The little girl wondered why her parents didn’t show love. The little girl’s eyes followed Kazman guards marching past her in the vendor alleys, their armor shining and imposing spears bobbing. Her parents would tug her arm, forcing her to look at shop counters, where money receipts and ledgers spoke of commerce, trade, and the life she was supposed to have.
“Who taught you?” Finn asked her.
“An old man.” she replied, her words as soft as a whisper, her eyes dim. “A retired soldier who’d seen more battles than sunsets. Eyuro was his name.”
“He taught you well.” Finn praised.
“He’s dead.” Leeya replied and spoke no more of the subject. Instead, she returned their focus on sword swings and for the rest of the day Finn switched back-and-forth between his right and left hand until he was comfortable doing the move Leeya had shown.
Night came and they returned their equipment. Without Old Heavy, Finn was as weightless as moonlight. Walking home, Finn hesitated in front of Goblin’s cabin, where the boy had been kept in solitary confinement. Salt had left a twin near the place ever since locking Goblin in. So far, Finn hadn’t even seen his friend wake up, much less heard word of his condition. Yet tonight the cabin was guard-less. Leeya stopped and studied Finn carefully. He hesitated for only a second before jogging to the side of the building where bushes pile against a covered window. Leeya followed, her pace far calmer, and together they crouched between the leaves hoping no one could see them. Finn reached up and tapped one finger against the glass. Was he making a bad decision? He technically wasn’t disobeying Salt. He hadn’t stepped foot at all into the cabin. He was movement from within: the rustle of bedsheets and the soft steps of bare feet. There was a click and the window slid open. A face popped over the edge and looked at them.
Goblin beamed. “Finally-you-came!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:
Unopening Wound
—Circa 106 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): A strange brown smog sweeps over the Wooden Wall, encircling the thick forests South of the Table. All animals that breathe in the haze rush to the center of the forest where they begin to pile one atop the other, their skins, muscles, and bones meshing into an anamorphous, horrid blob. The smog does not affect humans and no one is able to tell where it comes from. Eventually the smog dissipates and the blob comes apart, reforming back into the individual animals. Yet the animals no longer behave the way they used to. They stand still for long periods of time, as if distracted and oblivious to their surroundings. Predators no longer hunt after prey, regardless of how close they are one to another. Local hunters claim the meat from the animals has no taste and leaves them feeling quite ill afterward. Soon after, all animals vanish from the forest. All that is left are piles of bitter ash.—
-Excerpt from Lenovan Mysteries: Never Answered, Never Forgotten, page 133
“Goblin!” Finn exclaimed, the excitement in his voice difficult to contain within a whisper.
The boy grinned and noticed Leeya. His face mellowed. “I’m-sorry-about-Kazma. I-did-everything-I-could. I-hit-Mal’Bal-on-the-head-but-it-didn’t-stop-him.”
Leeya looked surprised. “You hit him on the head?”
“Yes-with-a-piece-of-the-tree-golem! It-knocked-him-down.”
Finn could tell Leeya was impressed. “You’re a greater warrior than I gave you credit for.” She spoke the praise with a flat tone; but coming from Leeya, it meant a lot.
“Have you recovered?” Finn asked.
“Yes. But-it-required-much-sleep. I-dreamt-of-the-green-eyed-woman-many-times.”
Lady Tuliah. “Did she speak to you? Say anything at all?” He probed the questions with the slightest hint of jealously.
“No. Only-sang-of-oceans-made-from-grass-and-lilypads-floating-among-the-stars. Finn…” Goblin bit his lip with a look of contemplation. “I-think-her-songs-were-protecting-me. Or-healing. Or-maybe-keeping-me-from-the-dark-edges-of-my-dreams. I-could-see-Mal’Bal-there-in-the-dark. Watching-with-a-mask-over-his-face.”
The words silenced the group for a while.
“Goblin, what of the shard within your chest?” Finn asked with worry.
“Salt-brought-a-woman-to-the-cabin-a-few-days-ago. The-woman-was-a-Star-Child-Finn! Same-with-Salt! They-have-such-unique-powers!”
“Salt told you his power?” Finn asked in surprise.
“Yes. But-he-made-me-promise-to-not-reveal-it. He’s-also-training-me-to-fight! He-comes-each-day-with-practice-swords-and-we-spar. I’m-getting-better!”
Salt was personally training Goblin? No wonder the man was never around. He was either out of Jakitta learning of Mal’Bal’s forces or with Goblin, who he’d taken under his wing. Finn’s frustration rose. Hadn’t Salt kicked Finn out of the cabin because Salt didn’t trust Goblin?
As if answering his question, Goblin continued. “The-Star-Child-woman-used-her-power-on-my-chest. The-ownership-of-the-shard-belongs-to-me.”
Finn’s eyes went up. Whether Mal’Bal had purposefully stabbed Goblin with the heart shard or not, his plans had failed: Goblin wasn’t dead and not under Mal’Bal’s control.
“When I last saw you, your chest was as hard as rock near the wound. It was spreading to the rest of your body. What was happening to you? And if you’re alright, why does Salt keep you here?” Finn studied Goblin’s neck and arms, the only exposed part of him. They looked normal.
Instead of answering, Goblin changed the subject. “What-of-you? Have-you-learned-of-your-bracer? Have-you-been-training?”
Finn lifted his dead bracer, flicking it with one finger. “It’s as silent as the day I found it. Perhaps it’s weaker than an accessory. Maybe it won’t even grant me a suit, but only fire immunity. As for training,” he looked to Leeya and tried not to blush. “Leeya’s helping.”
Goblin raised an eyebrow and Finn swore to himself that if the boy attempted to make a teasing remark, he’d tear out Goblin’s voice-strings and leave him mute once more. Although Goblin let out a small playful smile, he didn’t press the subject.
“Why is Salt training you?” Leeya asked, speaking up.
Goblin shrugged. “He’s-taken-a-liking-to-me. He-said-I-remind-him-of-himself-as-a-younger-man. Sometimes-he-tells-me-inappropriate-jokes.”
Finn shook his head. What sort of training was his friend receiving from the leader of the Star-Children? What sort of secrets was Salt sharing with Goblin that Finn didn’t know?
“If the other Star-Children hear you’re receiving special treatment, they’ll grow violent.” Leeya commented. “Perhaps some will even leave the Coalition. Salt’s taking a risk on you.” The words lingered in the air.
Finn knew there was more to Goblin’s story than met the eye. Something had happened to his friend—something that’d sparked the scholar in Salt to stay and observe. From Finn’s discussion with the Coalition leader, he knew Salt to have great curiosity about the world around them; a man far too similar to Finn himself. Noise from the street made both Finn and Leeya crouch lower. Peeking through the bush, Finn spotted one of the twins, the one called Punishment. He was making his way toward Goblin’s cabin.
“We must leave.” Leeya spoke.
Goblin nodded. “Go. We’ll-speak-more-soon. Will-you-visit-me-again?”
“Every night if possible.” Finn hissed.
Goblin gave one final toothy grin and disappeared, closing his window. Leeya and Finn crawled into the dark, away from the road and the approaching twin. They hugged the edge of the outer wall, keeping to the shadows. Passing a cabin, they heard booming laughter.
“Yes, his power is impressive, but have you seen the suit that forms around him? It’s like a great metal loincloth! Of course I lost to him in the fight! I’d like to see you not fall down in laughter when a giant man-baby charges at you!”
Finn sniggered and moved on. Leeya, behind him, didn’t even smile. When they neared Leeya’s home and were far from prying eyes, they stepped out onto the road. Leeya stopped and turned to him with furrowed eyebrows. “You and Goblin, you’re the closest of friends. You’d risk great danger for him.”
Finn was surprised by her comment. “Him and I—we’ve been through a lot together in a short amount of time.” Leeya stayed silent and Finn continued. “Before all this, I was alone in the mines. I had no one. No friends, no family. In the Crust, friendships are frowned upon.”
Leeya gazed at him intently, her face showing the slightest hint of a flush. “Yet you befriended him.”
Finn licked his lips, recalling the decision. It had affected his entire adventure. “No parents, no support, a dead-end future. I was to be a cave-diver until I died or transitioned to mining. My life was written and I was tired of it. It was dangerous and maybe even stupid, but I became his friend. He’s the closest thing to family I could have. It… it gave me a sense of control over myself.”
Leeya’s face was changing, moving, struggling. “Family…” she whispered under her breath, as if to herself. “Now I know what you must have felt like all your life. Oh Finn, how it must have been for you…so alone. And now that I’m mutilated…” Her face was turning green, sickly. A terrible pain was seeping from her form. “I cannot have…I cannot…”
Finn spoke without thought. “You’re with me now. I’m your family.”
Leeya’s skin flushed and her eyes scrunched up. She was clenching, her teeth biting together. Something happened. Something Finn never thought he’d see. Tears flowed from her face. She stepped toward him and they were close, very close. Then she turned and ran, taking the steps to her cabin two at a time. With one lingering flick of her hair, she was gone, disappearing and slamming the door behind her. Finn was left open-mouthed and alone. The distant booming laughter of a Star-Child mocked his puzzlement. Leeya had shown her feelings.
The following day, Finn met with Leeya outside of her cabin. Once more she was herself—calm and collected. Yet as they grabbed their gear and Finn donned Old Heavy with a whine of anguish, Leeya let out a small smile. Her braided black hair hung over one shoulder and the smell of cinnamon spice kissed Finn’s nose. Her smile haunted his mind for the rest of the day.
Distracted, Finn tripped a lot during his run and lost count various times when preforming muscle-building exercises. Leeya shot him with practice arrows and with his mind still ensnared by the smile, the blows didn’t hurt as much. When she drew close to help him with his sword swings, he tensed, thoughts wandering to those tears she’d shed, to how she’d fought Altin and the two other Star-Children, and that smile.
They moved on to the spear. Together, they practiced holding and throwing it. Leeya was still shut-in, but at one point when Finn finally managed to hit a tree stump from across the cabin yard, she let out another small smile and an approving nod.
That night, Finn visited Goblin once more. Leeya had gone on ahead and left Finn to spend time with his friend. Hiding in the bush underneath the window and speaking in whispers, Finn told the gypsy boy of what had transpired. Finn once more asked Goblin what about the shard and Goblin asked Finn whether he liked Leeya. Neither answered.
The days dropped by like the falling pinecones in the trees of Jakitta and Finn’s training with Leeya continued wi
thout pause or rest. Runs grew longer, sword swings became complicated, and spear thrusts turned to spear twirls. Finn was by no means exceptional, but he did improve. He often remembered the fight with Altin and it spurned him to move faster, push farther, and become better.
A change came over Finn’s body. Old Heavy became less heavy—difficult, yet not as much. His body grew and the exercise, hearty food, and sleep sharpened his reflexes. Occasionally, Salt gathered the Coalition for mass training. They would march out of Jakitta across fields of mud and rock until they were each left groaning in pain. Finn was no longer the first to tire.
Salt called out battle commands in a loud bellow, watching with eagle eyes for those who hesitated or refused to comply. “Move yer forsaken pimpled-rumps, ye sad-as-handless-thieves, sallow-skinned, spit-spleened festerjaws! Ye call yerselves Star-Children? Well, at least ye got the children part right! I’ve never seen so many complain over nothing! If ye were in my sea-ship, I’d throw the lot of ye overboard and train a crew of potatoes instead! They’d be more efficient!”
When a stubborn Star-Child refused to follow commands—rebellion gleaming in their eyes—Salt was immediately there, piling his insults upon the troublemaker with such speed and ferocity, the person would be left staggering back into line, nodding their head drunkenly. On those days Finn had little opportunity to talk to the Coalition leader. When Finn did try stopping Salt before the man disappeared, dark-blue cloak trailing in his wake, Salt would only provide quick chat, always hurrying out of Jakitta or interrupting Finn to speak with a messenger about delivering a letter to the king. Finn, frustrated enough to be blunt, voiced his anger.
“Where do you go that you leave us here to train alone? You—you never seem to take true charge! You’re supposed to lead us, aren’t you?” Finn felt like a little boy complaining to his father. Instead of taking offense, Salt nodded, suddenly looking out of place, as if a wall had come down for a brief second, revealing how the sailor truly felt. For a moment, Finn thought he saw a hollow frustration in Salt’s eyes, like the look of a carriage driver with no reigns. One who had no control of where he was going no matter how much he struggled against the pull of fate. Then the walls came up and Salt had his cocky confident attitude once more. “That be true, Finn-for-Finn’s-sake, it can seem like that. It is because I am in charge that my time is limited. There are many goals to accomplish—in addition to training—if we’re to become proper protectors of Lenova.” He grasped Finn’s arm, feeling the new muscle growing there. He smiled a pleased crooked smile. “Yer developing. The book don’t lie.”
SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga) Page 32