Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel

by Benedict Patrick

  The villagers were looking at her, clearly considering her words. Arturo, for his part, felt nothing but disappointment. This here, right now, this selflessness, this is what I wanted when I came to Espadapan. This is what I thought being a Bravador would be like. And to lose that hope, but find it in these simple people… But what a waste, this bravery. They could all stand together against Procopio and his men, and they would still be run down. He has too many men, too highly skilled. These are farming and weaving Knacks, trying to stand up to killers. Staying here is brave, and stupid. Just like Tomas.

  “We must stand together to protect Calvario,” Rosa continued. “They are dozens, we are close to a hundred. Even if they have better weapons and have more skill, we have numbers, and we are determined. If we fight to save our home, we will win.”

  A number of villagers stepped forward, agreeing with her. Arturo shook his head, watching dead people volunteering with smiles on their faces.

  “I will join you,” Yizel said, stepping forward from beside him.

  Arturo’s mouth dropped open.

  “What?”

  She was clearly surprised by the question. “These people are about to fight. I’m helping them, protecting them.”

  Arturo stared for just a moment, then turned and walked away.

  Yizel ran after him, grabbing his jacket once she caught up with him, well away from the rest of the crowd.

  Arturo turned back to her, ashamed of the tears that were now on his face.

  She took a step backwards at the sight of them. “What… what is it?”

  Arturo rubbed at his eyes with his dusty sleeve, sniffing. “What’re you doing, staying here with them? You know they’re going to die, right? You will too, if you stay here. No money is worth that.”

  Yizel looked back at Father Morales’ home. More villagers were stepping forward to volunteer to protect the village. There was a sense of excitement from the people gathered there. “I’m not doing it for money,” Yizel said, slowly, as if exploring these thoughts for the first time. “I’m doing it because… because it is the right thing to do. These people need me, and it has been a very long time since I have been needed.”

  Arturo shook his head, anger returning. “Is this still about becoming a Bravador again? Yizel, they don’t care about you. Even if you walked up to Procopio’s band and dispatched them all single-handedly, the Bravadori of Espadapan would still spit at you and laugh at you. You’ll never be a Bravador again, and - drink your own piss, why would you want to be? The Bravadori, they’re selfish, and stupid, and evil, and-”

  Yizel put her hand on Arturo’s shoulder to silence him. He was surprised to see her smiling softly.

  “Starving Pup, I’m not doing this to become a Bravador. You’re right, that is a title that holds no value for me. I told you before - I’m doing this because I can, and because it is right.”

  Arturo opened his mouth to reply, but could think of nothing else to say.

  Yizel lowered her eyes, then turned to walk back to the villagers. Arturo stood with his mouth open, unsure of exactly what he should do next. Dying beside the villagers just seemed like idiocy.

  Yizel stopped and half-turned, just enough so Arturo could see her face. “It was you, you know. You’re the one who told me I could be something other than a Shaven again. That speech you made, back in the Proving Grounds, about what being a Bravador should be about. And today, when you told me I was the best fighter you’d ever seen. You reminded me that it’s not only people who wear masks who can make a difference. You made me better, Starving Pup.”

  Yizel turned and walked back to the villagers, waiting to see who else she was going to die alongside.

  Less than a minute later, a black-clad swordsman was one of the voices to step forward to volunteer his services.

  “Where Yizel goes, I’ll follow,” Arturo said, “if you’ll have me.”

  “Fight me.”

  Arturo turned to look at Yizel as she spoke, at the same time drawing her blade and pointing it at him.

  “Sorry?” Arturo said, his companion’s challenge breaking him out of his distracted gaze. He had been watching the villagers amass, preparing for battle. The weapons they had to use were paltry in comparison with what he knew the bandits had. The bandits wielded swords, clubs, spears - weapons of war. The best the villagers had were their machetes, blades designed for cutting away vegetation, not for killing men. There were a few bows in the village, and more slings, but few were able to use these to an effective level. As Rosa had promised, there were almost a hundred of them in total, but she had been counting the children and the elderly. In actuality, the number of bodies able to fight were closer to fifty, and none of them had the Knack for it or anything resembling a meaningful level of experience with violence. In the best of scenarios, they would probably outnumber the bandits two to one. Arturo, inspired as he was by the bravery of the village, did not feel the numbers would make up for the lack of ability.

  And now, for some reason, the most skilled swords person in the village was challenging him to a fight.

  Yizel gave a quiet smile, aware of how nervous Arturo suddenly seemed.

  “Your Knack,” she said. “I want to see it. You said Crazy Raccoon had no Knack, but the way you could sense that seems… strange. You’ve seen my Knack at work, so it’s only right that I should get a chance to see yours in action, take the measure of who I’m fighting with.”

  Arturo got up, embarrassed. “All right,” he said. “But, look, I’ve not had a lot of opportunities to fight against somebody else with the Knack. So, I might not be as good as you.”

  Arturo knew there was no chance he was as good as Yizel. He was decent enough with the rapier - how he had fought against Procopio’s unKnacked bandits had proven that. But what Yizel had displayed at Procopio’s camp, Arturo had never seen anything like that before. She would easily best him.

  Yizel nodded. “I just want to see your Knack working. It sounds different from what I’m used to.”

  Arturo, puzzled, drew his blade. As always happened when combat beckoned, he felt his Knack reach out, slowing time for him, sensing his opponent and helping Arturo to predict what was going to happen next. As soon as Arturo’s sword was drawn, Yizel lunged at him. Thanks to his Knack, however, Arturo had seen the move coming. It was almost like a line of red had extended from her, seconds before she had actually moved. There were other lines extending from her as well, as if he was reading the small shifts in her body, displaying the possibilities for her attacks. However, as time began to slow, his senses quickening, it became clear that an early thrust would be Yizel’s favoured approach. He took a small step backwards and parried the blow, forcing her to move back from him.

  Should have countered there, he chided himself, spotting the possibility after it had passed. She was not expecting me to block that - I should have taken advantage.

  Yizel narrowed her eyes, leaning forward into an aggressive stance, then lunged at him again. Arturo blocked this the same way, and also easily spotted the followup attacks she had planned, now that she understood his normal response to her thrust. Arturo blocked these too, but found it difficult to keep up with her, despite his awareness of what she was planning.

  This is what it’s like, to fight another Knack. I’m too used to outmatching my opponents, to be able to best them in speed and skill. Not when I’m fighting someone like her.

  Arturo was aware Yizel was gaining ground, was continually forcing him backwards. He could also tell he was tiring, while there was no sign of Yizel’s relentlessness abating.

  She’s better than me, he admitted, heart heavy. Much better.

  Yizel stepped back suddenly, and sheathed her sword. Arturo tried to not show relief.

  She nodded at him. “That was good.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not true. I’ve got the Knack, but it must be a weak one. I never had any proper training, never had other Knacks around me, except for the Bravadori my fa
ther hired when we were warned about Wild beasts nearby. I don’t stand a chance against you, or anyone else who has the Knack for it.”

  Her eyes narrowed again. “I don’t think it’s the same though, our Knacks. For me, when my heart starts pumping, when I feel my Knack come into play, I speed up. I can feel my muscles move more easily, my sword almost moves by itself. It’s as if… it’s as if, all that training, all that rigorous drilling my mother put me through when she was teaching me how to use the rapier - it’s as if my body, my muscles can use that information without getting my brain involved.”

  Arturo frowned. He had never felt like that before. Each movement of his blade was calculated, rushed when he got exhausted. His Knack must not be strong.

  “What else happens?” she asked him. “When you feel your Knack come into play?”

  “Well, I can see what you’re going to do,” he said. “You know, like a warning about your attacks just before you make them. Can’t move quick enough to deal with them, though, not when you move so fast.”

  From the widening of Yizel’s eyes, Arturo could tell his response had surprised the Shaven. “Isn’t that what it’s like for you?”

  “Not even a little. You can tell my attacks before they happen? You can predict the future?”

  Arturo shook his head. “Nothing like that. You show me. When you plan ahead of time your body moves, shifts, small tells that hint about future movements. I see all of that, and my Knack… kind of shows me the possibilities, lets me plan in advance a bit.”

  Yizel bit her lip, deep in thought.

  “It isn’t like that for you?” he asked again, curious now.

  She shook her head slowly. “I can read an opponent, of course, but that never feels enhanced by my Knack. My gift is more physical than anything else.”

  Arturo frowned. “So, you think I don’t really have a Knack for swordplay?”

  She shook her head again. “No, it’s there all right, or I’d have drawn blood at the beginning. I wasn’t holding back. Still, it seems to be different. Maybe something to do with you spending so much time watching others fight…”

  Different, Arturo thought. That’s just another word for worse.

  “Does it only work when you’re fighting?” Yizel asked. “Can you sense what people are going to do at other times?”

  Arturo frowned. He had not thought about trying to use his Knack this way before.

  “Look over there,” Yizel said, nodding towards a group of older villagers chatting in the shade of a juniper tree. “Can you tell me what they’re going to do?”

  His forehead still knotted, Arturo focussed on the men. He was used to bringing his Knack to bear automatically when combat began, so it was difficult to force his mind to work the same way in such a peaceful situation.

  Still…

  Head throbbing, his hand on his rapier to give him something familiar to cling onto, time began to slow for Arturo.

  “One of them is about to slap the other on the back,” Arturo said, a brief second before it happened.

  Yizel gave a hum of approval.

  “Now they’re leaving, but the one with the beard is going to hesitate. There’s something else on his mind. He wants to look for someone…”

  Sure enough, the bearded villager remained where he was for a brief moment. Arturo saw him scan the village, his eyes rested on a woman - his wife, possibly. The man smiled, then followed his companions.

  Yizel nodded. “Well, well.”

  “I don’t understand. Why can I do this?”

  “Who knows,” Yizel answered. “But think about what this means. You can… well, you can see patterns in things. That’s why you’re so skilled in fighting, compared with most. But it looks like your Knack can be used for more than that. You’re certainly good at reading people. Maybe it could be applied to other patterns in the world, too. Could you train it to read the weather?”

  It sounded like madness. Mind whirring, Arturo glanced across the Wildlands, to the dark, grey skies that hung over them like a foreboding dream. He could find no patterns in that dreary emptiness.

  “Think about it, Starving Pup. If you can find other ways to use your Knack, ways that don’t involve the sword… Well, this means you aren’t doomed to being forced down the Bravador path for the rest of your life.”

  Not forced to be a Bravador. Alfrond’s balls, that’s the last thing I want to be, right now.

  Still, Arturo felt lost, cheated. He had thought he had a true sword fighting Knack. He had worked so hard to develop it, to force it to appear, and had been so proud of himself when it had come, despite no formal tutelage or family history of such a talent. To find out now that his talent was not truly in sword fighting, but in spotting patterns…

  What kind of future could a Knack like that bring me? If not a hero, what kind of person could I be?

  Not wanting to get bogged down in dark thoughts, Arturo nodded at the villagers, heading back to their homes now, preparing to fight within the next few hours.

  “We don’t really have a chance, do we?” he asked Yizel. “Ever seen a situation like this before? Ever heard of one?”

  She looked at the villagers as well, so calm in the face of certain death. She shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe. That night I was telling you about, the night I almost felt the Queen’s power? I thought we were dead that night. Should have run away, just like we should be running now.”

  “What made the difference then?”

  “Before the sun set, the farmer took us in. He fed us, his wife spoke to us about life in the city, his daughter braided my hair. When I was fighting out there in the dark, outnumbered and terrified, I was fighting for them, to stop anything bad from hurting them.”

  She looked at a nearby family, the father hugging his wife and child before they hurried off to the church to get locked away in the cellar.

  “A person can achieve a great deal, if they’re fighting for something they love. And here we have a whole village, each with love in their hearts, and looking to fight for it.”

  She turned to Arturo, saw his raised eyebrow, and he smiled when she blushed.

  A cry came up from a nearby home. A child, on her way to the church, was pointing at the distance, shouting wildly.

  Arturo looked up, heart beginning to thump hard, a drum beat beginning a song he had been anticipating for hours. There was a cloud of dust gathering on the horizon. It could have been caused by a storm brewing in the distance, but Arturo knew it was not. It was the bandits, riding hard to take their revenge.

  “Well, time to defend something we love,” he said, standing up, flashing one of his winning grins to Yizel.

  The woman’s face was pale, drawn. She was staring at the distant cloud in shock.

  “Yizel?” he asked. “You going to be all right?”

  She shook her head slowly, turning to look Arturo in the eyes. “Something’s wrong. Something’s horribly wrong…”

  Crazy Raccoon stumbled through the Wildlands, not overly certain of where exactly he should be going. After leaving the boy and his Shaven, he had headed towards the village, the only location he knew the vague direction of. From there he had planned to make his way back to the river, but when he had arrived, exhaustion had overcome him. He had gone to sleep in the shadow of the cliffs behind the village, keeping out of sight of prying eyes. Upon waking, he had seen the village mobilising for war. After laughing at their stupidity, Crazy Raccoon had urinated, stolen a skin of wine from one of the homes on the outskirts, and was now making his way towards the river.

  Dull-bladed idiots, he thought. Looking at me like I’m nothing, like I’m worse than them. Even the fucking Shaven. Bitch. And the boy, speaking to me like that. Me! Crazy Raccoon. Sure, I’m low now, but I’ve had a life of success as a Bravador, and will have again. Little prick. Probably jealous. But he’ll be dead soon, him and his bitch, if they stick around there any longer.

  Despite his internal bluster, there was another part of Crazy Rac
coon’s mind - a deeper part - that was in turmoil. He had lost against Procopio. He had lost again.

  He thought back to the fight, back to Restless Hawk’s dead face staring at him from behind the onlookers.

  “You told me I was the best,” he said aloud. She was not there, not even the visions of her that had been haunting him recently. “You told me I was the best, even without… You told me it didn’t matter. So why am I losing, now?”

  Crazy Raccoon spat his mouthful of sour wine into the dirt, angry at catching himself speaking to the dead. At that moment, he noticed a cloud of dust gathering on the horizon, took another swig, and snorted in disgust.

  There they ride. The bandits on their horses, coming for payback.

  Then, Crazy Raccoon narrowed his eyes, looking at the cloud a bit longer.

  That dust isn’t coming from any horses.

  Despite himself, Crazy Raccoon could not help but want to find out more. He jogged back a bit to look out over the cliff ledge, to get a better view of the coming assault.

  When he finally saw what was coming across the Wildlands towards the village, he dropped his wineskin, and sat down on the Wildland dirt, half-collapsing in shock.

  “Plough my mother,” he said out loud. “Queen’s tits, they’re fucked.”

  Arturo could see it now. He had expected a cloud of dirt, the brown of the Wildlands soil thrown up into the air by a mass of incoming horses. Instead, this was a cloud of deepest black, a smothering blanket being pulled across the grey sky.

  Nothing natural could have caused that cloud.