by A. R. Knight
"You will make one," Naila's voice is iron, and she punctuates her words with a strong swing of Tasa's spear, sending the haft cracking into the chieftain's head.
12 A Warrior Must Rest
By the time Ignos descends that night, the villagers have burned their twelve dead, along with the eight hunters that joined them. Malo stands over the flames with the remaining villagers, Naila, and the sole bright spot of the battle - a bound Tasa. Even the chieftain, though, adopts a solemn stare.
"We lost too much," Naila sighs, standing next to Malo.
With Tasa captive, the hunters called for peace, a deal the villagers, Naila and Malo included, were happy to take. In exchange for leaving with their lives, and for giving the villagers their own, the hunters left with a promise not to return except to trade. Ignos, though, demands a sacrifice from the loser of any struggle, and as Tasa began this fight, he bears the final cost of it.
"So you'll leave." Any question of staying is denied by a glance around the funeral circle.
More children than mothers and grandmothers survived. Especially the ones in the trees, whose alarms had given their families a chance to protect themselves. They are too young to carry out the essential labor - hunting, growing, building - that a true tribe needs.
"We'll find another," Naila replies. "There will be tribes looking for more members, especially children they can groom to suite their own needs."
"I thought you didn't want that?"
"What I want doesn't matter anymore. I tried that, and all we did was get these people killed. All my anger bought me was the lives of others."
Malo says nothing for a moment, but takes another look around the fire. It's quiet now, at the start of twilight. As if even the jungle senses the mourning. Sadness caresses the villager's faces, but Malo doesn't see despair. Rather, determination lurks in their set mouths, in the way even the younger ones still hold their spears. The surviving mothers have already taken charge of the orphans, too, and cook fires are lit and burning near the houses.
"They press on," Malo says. "You taught them that. You gave them honor, bravery. I don't envy any Solare or Charre tribe that tries to fight any of them. Any tribe you join will find itself blessed by Ignos beyond any expectation."
Malo can't tell if the words help Naila, but she doesn't speak anymore of losing, or of what comes next. She doesn't speak at all, and Malo, his mouth hurting and his body sore, lets the crackling night come down slow.
Morning brings early motion. Malo's up as Ignos dawns, his pack stuffed with enough provisions for the walk to Damantum, though he's hoping he'll catch up with Jakkan and the others a little beyond the jungle. Especially as he's not going alone.
"You're taking him then?" Naila says, emerging from the house to watch as Malo kicks Tasa awake.
"I think your village has seen enough death lately," Malo replies, then glances down at the hunter. "Besides, Tasa is a chieftain. He deserves a sacrifice worthy of his title, atop the golden altars."
"You would walk all that way, to people that abandoned you?" There's a question in Naila's eyes, one that can't be directly asked because she knows as well as he does what he would have to say.
"I have not abandoned them," Malo replies, though the words are harder to speak than he thinks. "I was asked to return with my spear." Malo holds it up. "I have it, and I mean to do as I was commanded."
The thought of staying in the jungle had flirted in Malo's mind all night, in between his dreams and the sounds of the night. These villagers, though, didn't need a fighter any longer. Any tribe they found would see Malo as a threat, and he'd likely find himself dragged to the top of a Tier. Sacrificed as an enemy of the Solare peoples.
Besides, he's longing for the sound of crashing waves instead of buzzing mosquitoes. The smells of a hundred cooking spices and the laughter of many thousands of people. A journey to the jungle is fine, but Malo knows he's a city man.
"Well then, Malo of the Charre," Naila says. "Thank you for lending me your spear."
Malo raises it slightly so that the black glass tastes Ignos' first light and scatters it across the village. Gives Naila one last nod, then pulls on the rope tied to Tasa's wrists and begins the long walk home.
An Excerpt from Starshot - The Skyward Saga Book 1
All of the warriors carry weapons and have tattoos. Most wear the giant, toothy maws of bears in the same way Malo sports the lion skin. I see something else, too: many of the warriors are blinking, stepping on roots here and there. Those carrying spears in addition to their kukri have them hanging low rather than at proper marching height.
“They’re exhausted,” I say, and the breach in the Charre’s invincible myth is a comfort.
“We ran all morning and afternoon to reach you,” Malo says. “We didn’t want to lose time.”
“Lose time?”
“Ignos sent a sign, Kaishi. Surely you saw it? A great fire in the sky?”
I nod.
“We were camped north of here, waiting to meet another of our bands, but when we saw where the fire touched the earth, we left to head this way. We ran into one of your village’s messengers as we traveled, he was quick to tell us what had happened.”
“I went there. To where the fire touched.” There doesn’t seem to be much point in hiding it. “That’s where I found Ignos. He talks to me, and then I say his words.”
“Then you are precisely what we need,” Malo says. “Whispers float through our cities that hordes from the mountains are coming, and that they have constructs so massive only Ignos himself could have built them. That they hold weapons which can spit fire.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You are divine, Kaishi.” Malo’s hands twitch towards me as he says this, as though he wants to grab my shoulders. “At least, if you are telling the truth. What the Emperor needs now is someone to show that Ignos is still with us. To prove that the Lunare are not the chosen people.”
As Malo speaks these words, his face transforms and his eyes pick up the same fervor that I saw when he bowed to me at the base of the Tier. He wants to believe me. He wants me to be the miracle his people need.
You can be, Kaishi. They are looking for hope. You can be more than that - you can be real. Keep this one close to you. We can use him.
Use him? The word is oily, somehow, and I recoil from it.
You’re naive. Everyone can be used, and to carry out my mission, you will need to use many.
Ignos’ mission. Preparing us for a new future. That is more important than any discomfort I might feel over simple terms. So when I realize Malo’s staring at me with worry, I do what I can to dispel it.
“Ignos asks me questions sometimes,” I say.
“A god asks you questions?”
Malo’s point is a good one, but I’ve come up with my own answer to it already, one that Ignos confirmed when I suggested it hours ago. “He’s testing my faith.”
Ignos says I should keep Malo close, so I climb the mountain of my rage and seek cool understanding on the summit. “You’ve seen my home, Malo, tell me about yours?”
This sparks another, different expression from the soldier who I’m starting to think has a thousand faces. His lips turn up at the corners, he looks to some point west, and his mouth opens slightly before he talks, as if measuring the words for their worth. “Have you heard of Damantum?”
The name is familiar, like a minor character in a story often told. I shake my head.
“Then you have missed the greatest city in all the world.” Malo’s hands start to sweep as he talks. “Damantum covers an island with gold that glitters in the light of Ignos. Lush gardens float on its gentle waters. Markets throng in every street, offering wonders of which you and I can barely imagine.”
I’m sure Malo would keep going, but I interrupt him, because there’s only so much adoration I can stand, “You sound like the Lunare. She talks of her mountain cities in the same way.”
After I say this,
I realize Malo likely has no idea who I’m talking about, but, to my surprise, Malo glances behind us. I follow and there, her hands bound but feet moving free, flanked by two warriors, marches Viera.
“Unlike the Lunare, what I speak of is true,” Malo says. “When we reach Damantum, you will understand.”
“Why did you bring her?”
“To see if, underneath her boasts and lies, we may learn something of her brethren,” Malo says. “And once we do, her sacrifice will be a glorious one.” He looks at me, the fervor returning to his face. “I hope you will wield the knife.”
Also by A.R. Knight
The Mercenaries Trilogy
The Metal Man
Wild Nines
Dark Ice
One Shot
The Riven Trilogy
Riven
The Cycle
Spirit’s End
The Rakers Saga
Rakers
The Skyward Saga
The Spear
Oratus
Starshot
Mind’s Eye
Clarity’s Dawn
Creator’s End
Humanity Rising
The Last Cycle
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Acknowledgments
This novel is the product of my family and friends refusing to let a dream die. My wife Nicole, for letting me write in the early mornings and making sure I didn’t starve. My brothers and parents for their continual comments, support, and enthusiasm.
And, of course, you, the reader, for giving me a reason to write.
About the Author
A.R. Knight spins stories in a frosty house in Madison, WI, primarily owned by a pair of cats. After getting sucked into the working grind in the economic crash of the 2008, he found himself spending boring meetings soaring through space and going on grand adventures.
Eventually, spending time with podcasting, screenplays, short stories and other novels, he found a story he could fall into and a cast of characters both entertaining and full of heart.
The Wild Nines have more adventures to come, along with new plots, settings, and stories in the future. From there, A.R. Knight plans on jumping through to other worlds and finding new stories to tell in the limitless borders of our imagination.
Thanks, as always, for reading!
For more information:
www.adamrknight.com