“You are a coward. Afraid to fight a little girl!” I shout in condemnation.
Belchik’s laughter ends abruptly. He silences those around him and levels a hostile gaze my way. “What did you just say to me, girl?”
“I think you heard me just fine.” I glare at him, pouring as much of my fury into my gaze as possible. “And I think you’re afraid. You know I’ll strike you down and take back what is mine.” My words are steel tempered in velvet as they shiver from my lips and echo through the ether with unwavering determination despite the fact that my heart has lodged itself firmly in my throat.
Belchik’s face reddens to an unhealthy shade. “You think I’m afraid of you, girl?” He licks his teeth and snarls. “I’m afraid of no one!” he erupts, screaming so loud spittle sprays from his mouth. “Open the gates!” The men beside him jump at his command. “If she’d rather die by my sword than an arrow, so be it.”
Sully turns to me. “Avery, no! You can’t do this. Let’s jump in the truck and get out of here, alive.”
Spinning, my eyes flash. “June is in there! You heard what Belchik said. You think I’m going to leave her here?”
“Avery.” Sully’s voice shakes. My name feels like a plea to understand he’d made a huge mistake by suggesting we leave. “You know I would never leave her behind, I just don’t want this to happen.” He points to Belchik.
“Even if she were with us, I wouldn’t turn and run.”
Sully holds my haze for a beat. “I know you wouldn’t. Let me fight him then.”
“No. It has to be me.” My tone doesn’t leave room for argument. Still, he tries.
“Please, Avery. You know I believe in you. I think you can do just about anything, just not this. I don’t think you can beat him.” Sully’s eyes are apologetic. They shouldn’t be. He’s right. I probably can’t beat Belchik in a sword fight.
“Keep believing in me, Sully. Have faith,” is all I say
The earth beneath my feet rumbles as the gate parts slowly. Belchik has disappeared from his perch only to reappear between the opening gates.
Seeing the mountain of a man, his meaty arms and barrel chest, Sully’s gaze pleads with me.
“Are you ready to die, girl?” His voice claws at my eardrums with sharpened talons.
The gate closes behind him, the sound echoing with finality.
Belchik looks up at the archers on the wall. “If they try anything take them out!” he orders.
Little room remains where Belchik just stood. More and more people appear along the wall, filling it with onlookers.
“Please, Avery, I’m begging you,” Sully attempts again.
“You should listen to your little boyfriend,” Belchik advises as he pulls a long, curved blade from the sheath at his hip.
“I’m doing this.”
Sully sighs and shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” His eyes lock on mine, wordlessly conveying more emotion than I can handle when faced with a man who intends to lop my head from my shoulders and keep it as a trophy.
“You really are a stupid girl. You don’t stand a chance against me. And as soon as I finish carving you into little pieces, I’m going to go inside that wall and have a little fun with your sister, June.”
Cold, hard violence, just a razor’s edge below the surface of my skin, roars to life inside me. A deadly beast awakens. Every ounce of malice, of vengeful spite, of hate and ferocity growls hungrily. I breathe deeply, stilling the primal voice inside me that screams, demanding Belchik’s blood. Coiling it tightly, I push it down for the moment. I turn my back on him and bend at my waist, reaching both hands to my toes.
In my periphery, I see Belchik turn to the crowd assembled on the wall and gesture to me. “What’s all this? She’s stretching? As if that’s going to help!” His words draw laughter. Holding court and enjoying the reaction, Belchik continues, his attention on them not on me. “This is ridiculous!” He doubles over and clutches his belly. “I’m really going to enjoy this!”
As I grip my calves, my hand slides down, feeling for the dagger strapped to my ankle. With my back still to Belchik, I carefully slide it from its case. I continue to pretend as though I am still stretching, lunging and twisting. The laughter continues all around me. But I’m oblivious of it.
With my dagger in hand, I know I have but one chance. Only one. I look to Arnost and Andris, to Killian, then finally to Sully. With the exception of Sully, each man wears the same mask. They look at me as if they’re seeing me for the last time. Maybe they are. But I doubt it.
While Belchik continues entertaining the crowd at my expense, I grip the blade of my knife. I spin around to face him and in one motion pull my arm back and, using every bit of strength I possess, and swing the knife forward, releasing it when my arm is extended in front of me.
In the fraction of a second after I release my dagger, the world falls silent, as if it stopped altogether after taking a collective breath and holding it. All I hear is the whoosh of my blade tumbling end over end as it carves the air, racing toward Belchik.
The dagger meets with his throat with a loud thwack, silencing his laughter. He parts his lips to speak, but a wet rasp is all that sounds, followed by blood. Dropping his sword, he falls to his knees gasping.
I close the distance between us, taking my time. Watching him suffer. When I am upon him, I place the tip of my sword over his heart. I stare into his eyes as I drive it forward, piercing the pumping muscle, stilling it. I then yank it out of his flesh and watch as he collapses onto his side in a heap.
Tearing my gaze from Belchik’s corpse, I train it on the wall. “Drop your weapons!” I order the archers who arrived with Belchik.
The men look amongst themselves then back to me, confused.
“I said drop them!” I shout.
“You drop your weapons,” one calls out insolently.
A hand unexpectedly grabs his head from behind and slits his throat in one swift motion. His body tumbles forward and off the wall. Only when he’s gone do I see that it was Will who killed him. With a crimson stained blade in one hand, he calls out, “Those of you who are with our leader, Azlyn, drop your weapons. Any who stand against her, prepare to die!” Dozens of my people line up behind the archers.
Weapons clatter to the concrete wall in a series of loud clangs before the ground shakes and the gates open. But I do not watch it for long. My gaze falls on Sully.
Beaming at me, he shakes his head and jogs toward me. He wraps both arms around me. Lifting me off my feet, he hugs me tightly. “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or afraid of you,” he says into my hair.
Leaning back so that I can look at him, I say, “Probably both.”
Laughter spills from him, and I can’t help but join him. Together, we pass through the protective wall that surrounds Cassowary.
Chapter 13
Knowing in advance that an enemy attack is imminent is a strange phenomenon. Incessant anxiety becomes a way of life. The people of Cassowary have lived as I have, plagued by continual apprehension for the last week and two days as we wait for the King’s army to arrive at our doorstep. We’ve put our nervous energy to good use, though. The nine days have been spent working as hard as we can in preparation. Sully, in particular, has been working tirelessly to create bombs out of the materials available in the supply warehouse. Scarce of late, he’s been all but locked away, utilizing everything from cleaning products to animal dung to fashion explosives. Everyone else has spent their days digging.
Diligent workers unafraid of physical labor, those who were formerly slaves have proven themselves to be a vital component of our operation. They’ve gone about their every assignment and completed each ahead of schedule. I only wish their industriousness and tenacity paid off where training is concerned. In that area, there’s a dire need for improvement. Swinging swords and hand-to-hand combat are skills that seem as though they’d correspond to swinging an ax or wrestling an injured animal for slaught
er. But they don’t. And it’s not for lack of trying. They try. And try. Still, they aren’t ready. I only hope that the plan we have in place will work, that their fledgling skills will not be tested.
Nine days have passed, and there haven’t been any signs of Urthmen in the immediate vicinity. The original projections set forth by our scout had the King’s army at our gate within a week’s time. That week has come and gone. I wonder whether our scouts were wrong, whether they’re headed our way at all.
While it would be odd for me to want them to get here already, I think anyone in our group would agree that waiting for something unpleasant is often worse than the unpleasant thing itself. War is horrific. There aren’t any ifs, ands or buts about it. Intentions collide. Adrenaline, fear, pain and tension coalesce and form an energy that hovers in the air like a mist, a collective entity that presides over all present. In the seconds before sides collide, peaceful, blessed silence so thick a pin could be heard falling to the ground blankets the space between warring factions like a layer of freshly fallen snow. Then quickly, the world erupts deafeningly. The clang of swords, the grunts of bloodthirsty beings, the thump and thud of bodies striking one another are mere notes that ring above the loud buzz that shrieks unendingly, tunneling from my ears to my brain as powers screech in protest, repelling each other. It agonizes and energizes. And no matter how volatile the experience is, how unpredictable and harrowing, I understand it. What’s happening now, the waiting, I don’t understand. I’m having trouble adapting.
Enduring daily life teetering on the pointed tip of an enormous needle, where standing still is every bit as painful as falling off, is worse than any battlefield. Spending my time jumping at every sound and looking over my shoulder at every turn is taking its toll on me. Even now, as I sit in my room with Sully and June, my two favorite people on this planet, I can’t relax. My insides shake; a sensation so pronounced it feels as if the entirety of me vibrates just below the surface of my skin, that if it were peeled away, I’d be little more than a quivering mass of cells. My muscles ache. My hands refuse to still. And my mind spins like a wheel in mud, burrowing deeper and deeper, worsening its chance of traction with each rotation.
“Avery? Avery, are you all right?” June’s voice snaps me out of my fretful trance.
I look up from my lap where I’d been wringing my hand so tightly my knuckles blanched and am met with twin lakes of sparkling silver-blue water. June’s fathomless eyes shine with worry. The space between her brows is crimped as she watches me intently, seated at the foot of my bed. “I’m just really on edge.” I decide not to lie to spare her feelings. She is every bit as much a part of Cassowary as I am. She’s only eight but she’s not immune to the world around her. Everyone is on edge. Waiting to be attacked when you know you’re outnumbered tends to do that to a group.
“It’s the waiting that’s making you crazy.” Sully’s smooth voice is like velvet brushing the shell of my ear. My scalp tightens and tingles at the sound. My eyes settle on him. Propped up on one elbow and stretched languidly across my bed, he’s a sight to behold. I’m grateful for his presence, that he’s a part of my life, for so many reasons. Smart and almost always echoing my exact opinions when he speaks, he’s right, of course. Waiting is the worst. “It’s making me crazy, too.”
“I keep playing out all the possible scenarios in my head, all the different ways this could go down.” I stare straight ahead, my gaze unfocused. “All this time preparing has been, I don’t know, too much time. Yet we could’ve used more, more of everything. More fuel, more chemicals for you to mix, more people, more training. Maybe even more time.” My thoughts fall from my lips in a jumbled mess. I wonder whether my sister or Sully understands what I’m trying to say.
Tension bunches the muscles in my shoulders and neck and makes my temples pound. Too many images swarm my brain, all jockeying for the spotlight. The need to pace burgeons, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to lift myself from the chair in which I sit.
“If they breach the wall, most of these people, the ones who lived here before we came, aren’t going to be much help,” June surprises me by saying.
My eyes focus on her. “What makes you say that, June?”
“Well, I’ve seen them train.” She twists her lips to one side, pausing thoughtfully. “They’re not very good at most of the stuff you’ve tried to teach them.”
She is a child, and their shortcomings are glaringly obvious to her. What will an Urthmen trooper see when he looks at them? Weakness. Walking targets, that’s what he’ll see. I rest my elbows on my knees and allow my head to fall into my hands. Making small circles with my fingertips, I massage my scalp in an effort to alleviate the tension creeping up the back of my neck.
“They aren’t warriors,” Sully agrees. “But think about what happened in the underground city. The people rose to the occasion.”
“Yeah, but they’d been trained. They took classes.” June worries her lower lips between her teeth. “They were taught to fight for years.”
Sully smiles at June warmly. “You are so bright, June bug. And you’re right. The people of New Washington trained from a very young age. But don’t be so quick to count out the former slaves.” He looks over her head at me and arches a brow. His comment is meant more for me more than her. “When faced with life or death, you’d be surprised how quickly all that they’ve learned this past week will come together.”
“So you think they’ll be fine?” June stops chewing her lip. Her features brighten.
“I do. I also don’t think the wall will be breached. My plan will work. Have faith.” He repeats the two words I uttered just before the earth shook and Belchik stepped out to fight me. I shake my head at him and he winks at me jauntily.
“I hope so,” June replies, seemingly oblivious of our wordless interaction.
Remaining seated in the chair by the window, I pause for a moment and contemplate all that Sully and June have said. Is there an inherent force inside each person that will drive him to fight for his life when faced with death? Is that what Sully meant when he said the people of New Washington “rose to the occasion” and that the former slaves of Cassowary would do the same? Those questions, and so many others, taunt me. Chief among them is: where’s the King’s army? Staring out the window, an indigo sky, shimmering and dizzying in its vastness, is a jewel-crusted swath of velvet, and only it knows where exactly the Urthmen troops are.
Giving up on racking my brain for an answer I don’t have access to, I stand and stretch slowly. June stands as well and tucks herself into my open arms. Encircling my waist with her long, thin limbs, she squeezes. I lower my head so that my cheek rests against the part in her hair and revel in the warmth of her hug. In that moment, I decide that I must force myself to rest, to return a sense of normalcy to my life. The last few nights, sleep has eluded me. Expecting the Urthmen army kept me tossing and turning, unable to find comfort. But here, as I am, all the support I need is before me. I’m surrounded by the people I love.
As if perceiving my sentiments, Sully sits up and slips off the bed. He makes his way toward us and embraces both of us. If anyone were to walk in and see us huddled as we are, they’d think us odd. But I don’t care. Solace has been scant my entire life. Now that I have it, literally in my arms, I’m reluctant to let it go.
“Um, guys, you’re squashing my head.” June’s voice is muffled as she speaks from the space between Sully and me.
“Oh, June bug!” Sully jumps back as if he’s on fire. “Sorry about that. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”
“Or your own smell.” June fans her face exaggeratedly and wrinkles her nose.
Sully’s mouth falls open and his eyebrows rocket toward his hairline. “Smell? Smell!” He feigns annoyance. “I washed today!” he huffs playfully then adds, “Maybe what you smell is, you know.” He inclines his head toward me then raises one hand and points with the other behind it.
June giggles and looks at me. “Maybe,
” she agrees conspiratorially. She purses her lips and bobs her head.
“What? Me! What did I do?” I protest. “I showered.”
“Hmm, maybe not long enough.” June pinches her nose.
Instead of retorting, I reach an arm around her neck and use both hands to tickle her sides. “So I’m stinky, huh? Is that right?”
Squeals of delight echo from her, and for the first time in days, I find myself smiling, truly smiling. A bit of the tremendous pressure I’ve been feeling seeps from me. The three of us continue to joke and play until a long, hearty yawn passes from June.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” I brush a thick curl from June’s forehead.
“I am tired,” she admits. Her eyes are glassy and slightly bloodshot. “But I don’t want to leave.” Her gaze drops to the floor.
“Why? Don’t you like your room?” I ask.
June shifts her weight from one leg to the next and picks at a thread that protrudes from the hem of her shirt, her eyes riveted to the thin piece of string as if it’s the most interesting sight she’s ever seen.
“June, what is it?” I ask gently. Hooking my index finger under her chin, I lift it so that she’s facing me once again. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell, really. It’s just that, I don’t know, my room is so big, and I’m all alone.” She lifts one shoulder as she watches me through a thick fringe of lashes. “And with the Urthmen coming any day, I’m-I’m scared.” An involuntary shudder passes through her.
Hearing her say the words aloud, that she’s scared, causes my heart to break. I frown. “Oh June,” I say softly. “Why don’t you stay here, with me? Sully, you can stay too. I doubt any of us will sleep the night through, but while one does, the other two will have each other. We can all look out for one another. Does that make sense?”
The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4): Planet Urth, no. 4 Page 15