by Colt, K. J.
Talon got up and took two steps and fell to his knees again. Jahsin got under his arm and lifted him with his good arm, and together they began the long walk back to Skomm Village.
The sliver-moon hung in the cold clear sky among bright, shimmering stars. Talon had oft ventured out in the nighttime to gather for his amma. He was small and fast, and it was better to run from bullies in the dark than in the daylight where there was nowhere to hide. He had never been afraid of the dark; it sheltered him from the threatening eyes of the other Vald. He thought it funny he had gotten assigned the duty of gathering apothecary supplies at night, as he was quite good at locating the various plants in low light.
A herd of white buffalo watched them pass; they munched on what grass they could find in the snow. The shaggy-haired buffalo were common in Volnoss and highly guarded. They could only be hunted one day out of the month, and then only with spears; no traps and no arrows. The penalty for breaking the age-old law was swift death. The barbarians of Volnoss had seen the effects of overhunting and had learned that they had to be careful, lest their appetites leave them with a feast of famine. Generations ago the white buffalo had nearly been wiped out; it was not until the seven tribes voted to enact the new laws that the numbers returned to safe levels.
As they passed through the forest, Jahsin pointed out a big, white owl studying them from a high branch. Talon insisted they stop and watch it for a time. The owl proved more patient than Jahsin, who soon spurred his friend on. They had already taken more than an hour to get back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AKKERI’S BLADE
THE BEAUTY WITH hair of fire, how mighty her small blade.
—Gretzen Spiritbone, 4978
When they returned to the Skomm village, Talon’s heart dropped as he saw Brekken storming toward them. He had been waiting next to Jahsin’s hut.
“Hear you been makin’ trouble in the mines today,” he came at Talon.
“Sorry, Vaka Brekken,” he said with his head down.
Brekken moved to tower over Talon, who was little over half his height. “Sorry Vaka Brekken? Do I have pig shyte in my ears, Draugr? Or did you just call me sorry?”
“I said I was sorry…Vaka Brekken.”
Brekken laughed and turned to Jahsin, who did not share his mirth.
“First he says I am sorry, then calls me a liar. Your new friend tryin’ to get himself killed?” he asked Jahsin.
“I think he is confused, Vaka Brekken,” he replied.
“Are you confused, Plagueborn?” he asked, whirling back on Talon.
“No…yes, I am, Vaka Brekken,” he stammered.
A belly laugh escaped the big Vaka. “Sounds like you’re confused, Throwback.”
Brekken’s feet twitched for the slightest moment, and Talon knew a blow was coming. On cue Brekken’s torso twisted, and a big, right uppercut sliced through the air toward his head. Talon had begun to move when the feet twitched, and his aversion caused Brekken’s fist to whoosh through the air, pulling the man forward in his stance as the ghost punch hit nothing. Brekken’s backhand came swiftly and Talon ducked under it, and then the cross from the other fist. He backed away from Brekken, looking over his shoulders, instinctively planning a route. Behind Brekken, Jahsin shook his head with a stone face that said “no!” Brekken fumed, his eyes promising murder. The few oohs and aahs from the watching Skomm only infuriated him further. He grinned at Talon and his split lip showed gleaming teeth set inside his closed mouth.
Talon did what he had done his whole life when faced with mean people bigger than him: he turned and ran. He was exhausted from the long day in the mine, but the excitement of the moment caused his heart to pump so fast it ached. He sprinted as fast as he could toward the nearest hut. Brekken’s heavy footfalls sounded behind him, but Talon was quicker. He reached the end of the hut and began to turn the corner when the crack of a whip split the air. The thin end of the leather whip wrapped around his left ankle, tripping him. He tried to shake it loose as he was dragged backward through the snow, but the whip held.
Brekken pulled him in like a fisherman’s net, with a grin promising death. Talon kicked and clawed at the snow to no avail. The Vaka pulled him in and grabbed him by the throat. The grip made it hard to breathe, but it was not crushing. Brekken had better plans for him. He lifted him into the air and threw him as high as he could. Talon flapped his arms in circles in surprise and panicked as he sailed higher than the nearby huts. Afraid he would land on his head Talon tucked his knees in quickly. The maneuver brought him around faster in his fall, and rather than land on the top of his head, he landed on his knees and face.
Brekken was waiting with a kick to the gut, flipping Talon onto his back. The big Vaka grabbed him by the ankle and with a two quick steps flung him spinning through the air to crash into the frozen mud bricks of a nearby hut.
Talon was knocked unconscious, but was soon jolted awake by the crack of a whip to his face, setting his cheek on fire. He instinctively curled into a ball as the lashes rained down on him.
“C’mon, Brekken, he’s had enough already,’ screamed Jahsin.
The whip stopped.
Talon dared to look past his shaking, pain-riddled body as Brekken backhanded Jahsin. He flew back in a half spin and landed hard, clearly unconscious.
Brekken turned on Talon again. Talon hid behind his arms. He heard the whip being turned back, scrapping across the hard-packed, frozen snow like the claws of a snow cat.
“Stop it!” came a voice Talon recognized.
No, no, no not Akkeri. Anyone but her. He thought.
Akkeri jumped between him and Brekken, her arms raised high and her head desperately shaking back and forth. Time slowed as her thick, red locks bounced back and forth and the shadow of the giant Vaka fell over her. The whip cracked once more, and it was the most painful of them all. Akkeri’s head flew back and she fell on Talon. Their eyes met as she fell into his cradling arms. In her bright eyes Talon saw not fear but fury, a righteous anger that set his heart ablaze and his mind to vengeance. Talon leapt over her and shielded her from the whip that came again and again.
“Vaka Brekken, Stodva!” a deep, booming voice let out.
Talon shuddered out a breath that ended in a cracking cry of pain. His body twitched as his nerves jolted and tides of pain washed over him.
The speaker turned out to be the chiefson, Fylkin Winterthorn. Brekken stood before him, arms flailing in explanation, pointing toward Talon and Akkeri and then to Jahsin, who still had not moved. Akkeri’s soft breath came on Talon’s neck and he gazed down on her. She did not watch the exchange between the two men; rather, she stared at him calmly.
The incessant ringing in his ears went away, and the argument came rushing to him. He glanced back at Brekken and Fylkin.
“To learn his place; they both do,” said Brekken.
He and Fylkin stood face to face; though no malice laced Brekken’s words, he stood prouder than any Skomm dared before a Vald. Talon supposed he got special treatment, since he was tall enough to be a Vald, with only the curse of the catlip.
“And what is her place?” Fylkin asked, pointing toward Akkeri.
“She is a Skomm,” Brekken replied cautiously, as if suddenly understanding the future chief’s anger.
“She’ll fetch me fine coin from the Agoran slavers. If her face has been marked, I will have your head,” Fylkin promised him calmly, even patting Brekken on the shoulder.
Talon glanced back to Akkeri who locked him in a stare. She smiled deviously and brought a small blade to her cheek. Talon began to protest but her eyes begged him no. A small bead of blood appeared at the end of her blade and she dragged it down to her chin.
Talon was ripped off her and thrown to the side by Fylkin Winterthorn. The big Vald grabbed Akkeri by the chin and turned her head roughly left and then right. When he saw the long cut on her face, he rose slowly, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He turned on Brekken, who was shaking his he
ad and patting the air before him.
“I didn’t…my whip didn’t hit her face; I know better!”
“Claim Bjodja and arm yourself like the Vald you will never be, Catlip,” Fylkin said calmly as he took three steps toward the man and stopped, planting his feet.
Brekken looked around at the growing crowd as if looking for help, but no help or sympathy would be forthcoming from the Skomm villagers. Three of the Vald who had arrived by horse-drawn sleds with Fylkin moved to surround Brekken and block any possible escape. The crowd looked on, transfixed by the scene. Talon thought he had gone deaf in the perfect stillness of the moment.
Seeing no retreat, Brekken turned from the crowd back to Fylkin Winterthorn and laughed nervously.
“Chiefson,” he bowed. “I have served you well over the years, have I not?”
Fylkin opened wide his muscled arms. “Claim Bjodja; challenge me.”
A sudden dark shadow fell across Brekken’s face and he scowled over at Akkeri. All fear left his eyes as he accepted his fate. He straightened proudly and a fierce cry bellowed forth from his twisted mouth.
“I claim Bjodja!”
Fylkin smiled. “I accept your challenge, Vaka Brekken. Kill three of us and you shall be named a Vald, Slayer of Chiefson Fylkin.”
A light flashed behind Brekken’s eyes at the mention of the title, and he gave another roar and unsheathed his longsword on the run. Fylkin stood motionless as Brekken charged. The longsword steered for his gut and Fylkin sidestepped the sword, backhanding Brekken as he passed. Brekken was thrown ahead of him and stumbled into the snow face first. Still Fylkin did not draw his sword.
Brekken rebounded and came on with quick slashes of his longsword. Fylkin jumped back once, then twice, and came in behind the elbow of the passing arm with the speed of a viper strike. Blood sprayed from Brekken’s nose as a firm elbow snapped his head back. Fylkin shifted his weight and his direction and swept his opponent’s legs. When Brekken fell flat on his back, Fylkin kicked the sword away.
“Perhaps you should fight with something you know how to use,” he said calmly as he backed away and waited for Brekken to get up.
Vaka Brekken got to his feet and pulled a dagger from the small of his back. Talon looked to Akkeri, but her eyes remained locked on the battle, as did the eyes of the crowd. No cheers issued from the Skomm, but Talon saw the anticipation of death in their eager eyes. Many wished to see the hated Brekken get his due. How many of them imagined themselves Fylkin Winterthorn in that moment, Talon wondered.
Brekken lunged forward with a quick feint and swiftly brought the dagger back in a slash that sent fur flying from Fylkin’s vest. His small victory was short-lived, as Fylkin caught his arm and twisted it back. There was a loud pop and a snap like a dry tree branch breaking. And how Brekken howled. Talon could not help but wince at the sight and sound.
Brekken desperately whirled with a backhand that hit Fylkin’s face to no effect. The Vald chiefson grabbed that arm as well and broke it. He then whirled around and planted a swift foot to the side of Brekken’s head. The big Vaka went down like felled lumber. Fylkin drew his sword.
Brekken blinked hard, as if trying to wake from a bad dream. He tried to get up from his prone position, but his arms flailed at their breaks sickeningly. The sight made Talon’s stomach turn. Fylkin helped him to sit up and positioned himself behind.
Brekken’s eyes fell upon Akkeri; next to her smiling face she held the small blade she had cut her cheek with—the blade that had sealed his fate. With a swift chop of his longsword Fylkin cut through Brekken’s neck to the middle of his chest. He pulled the blade back and the sword fell again through the other side of Brekken’s neck. He grabbed the head by the hair and pulled it off, bringing part of the spine with it. He held the head up to the crowd with a victorious roar.
His demonic eyes fell upon Talon as Brekken’s blood bathed his arm. The chiefson grinned.
CHAPTER NINE
THE RED RIBBON
TO THOSE he loves, he sees himself a curse; seeds sown with daughter’s last breath.
—Gretzen Spiritbone, 4981
Fylkin tied Brekken’s body to his big sled and set the head on one of the many spikes protruding from the sides. He eyed the crowd once more as he circled Brekken’s headless body. Blood dripped from the spike creating a ring of red in the snow as he went.
“Who here claims Bjodja?” he roared. The only reply came from dogs off in the distance.
Fylkin opened his arms wide. “Come forth and challenge the Vald; change your stars if you can.”
No one stepped forth, and a sneer crossed the chiefson’s face. His eyes fell upon Talon who, like the others, was frozen in place; but, unlike the others, he looked into the big Vald’s eyes. Fylkin stared him down until Talon looked away. With a swift crack of the whip, the team of four horses led him west.
Talon crawled to Jahsin’s side, joined by Akkeri. He gingerly turned his friend over and Akkeri wiped the snow from his face. Talon’s heart sank when he saw the way Jahsin’s head lolled.
“Jahsin, wake up, wake up!” Talon began to shake him.
Akkeri’s hands stopped him, “Look,” she said, pointing toward the bubbles of blood in his nostrils growing and retracting as he breathed.
Talon sighed with relief and Jahsin groaned in pain. His head rolled back and forth and his eyes opened groggily. As awareness hit him, he jolted and scrambled back from the two.
“Relax, Jah; it’s over now,” Talon promised.
“Over?” his friend asked, holding the side of his face. “Then how the Feikinstafir you still alive?”
Majhree had been watching from the crowd; she shuffled over, regarding them with a sideways glance, bent as she was. “Best you three get gone and quick; c’mon!”
Talon helped his friend up, and together with Akkeri, they followed Majhree to her house of healing. Talon and Jahsin were led to beds opposite each other and Majhree went on to inspect Akkeri’s face. She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“I done seen it all, girl; what kind of fool thing you do?”
“It worked,” Akkeri replied.
“And you’re lucky it worked; don’t pretend like you planned the whole thing,” said Majhree, turning Akkeri’s head to the side none too gently. The girl shrugged and regarded Talon with a mischievous grin.
Had she planned it all, he wondered.
“Let’s see where the whip really hit you,” Majhree said, searching her person.
“Here,” Akkeri showed her, indicating a spot near her shoulder.
“You clever, clever girl.” Majhree could not help but laugh.
She went to tending to Akkeri’s face and turned on Talon and Jahsin with an angry eye. “What you two have to say for yourselves?”
They shared a glance, not quite knowing what to say.
“That’s right, nothing, ’cause there ain’t no excuse for stupid,” she said, glowering.
The two boys lowered their heads in shame, “yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry, Majhree,” Talon confessed.
“You right you are! Next time a Vaka raises his hand to you, you best be standin’ still. Anybody with two good ears best listen! You nearly got yourself and your friends killed tonight. A miracle they don’t come for you still.”
Dread crept over Talon and Majhree saw it on his face. “Ah, but I care too much,” she sighed.
She finished up Akkeri and sent her on her way, but the girl moved past her rather than to the door. “I’m helping,” she said and came to Talon’s side. She began to help him out of his clothes, having to wet the coarse fabric to peel it from the dried, dirty wounds. Talon shuddered with pain and his head spun as she gently pulled the fabric from his wounds; he was convinced the skin had gone with it. When finally he was down to his underclothes, Akkeri and Majhree began to pour strong whiskey over the wounds. Jahsin put a stick wrapped in leather in Talon’s mouth for him to bite on and offered a strong hand to squeeze.
> Talon passed out long before the work was through.
He awoke the next day and the pain came rushing back to him. He shuddered beneath his coverings and gained control of the pain. Akkeri was there with a damp cloth once again, and Talon thanked the gods for the whipping if it meant he could see her again.
“Good afternoon,” she smiled as she gently blotted his forehead.
“Hi,” Talon replied, his cheeks and ears suddenly burning.
“You were very brave last night,” she said.
“Majhree thought I was stupid,” Talon laughed but soon regretted it as he was reminded of the heavy boot to his gut.
Akkeri laughed in a voice like music—music that Talon wanted to hear for the rest of his life.
“I didn’t say smart; brave isn’t always the smartest choice,” she said.
“What about you? Why did you risk your life for me last night? Did you really plan the whole thing?” Talon asked.
Akkeri grinned mischievously and her raised brow hinted of diabolical genius. “No,” she finally admitted. “I just couldn’t bear to watch you being hurt so.”
“Why?” he asked, “You hardly know me.”
“You didn’t know the old man at the mines,” she retorted.
“How did you hear about that?”
“Word travels fast in the village,” she shrugged. “Not every day someone stands up around here. If they do they are quick to the ground.”
She turned and soaked the cloth once more. “Why did you keep the red ribbon all this time?”
The question made Talon turn away nervously. Why had he kept the ribbon?
In an instant, all of the words rushed to Talon’s head that he knew he could not say: Because it smelled of your hair, like snow lilies in the clear crisp air of a moonlit night. Because you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. You remind me that there is more to this world than violence, hate, and death. Because…I love you.