The Kingmaker Contest

by Troy Clem

  “Not innocent is Burk.” Jaina tossed the sack halfway to Nagima. “Not innocent is anyone who with you joins.” Nagima heard Burk’s shrieks more clearly, and instinctively stepped away from Theo, toward her oldest friend and his calls for help. Jaina pulled an arrow from her quiver, readied her bow, and shot a perfectly targeted arrow into the ground an inch from the sack before Nagima got more than three steps.

  “Theo you give to us,” Jaina ordered. A handful Sigandar warriors, in the typical red leather, and two apprentices of the Sha, in unique and intricate ornamental cloaks, came out of the shadows of the trees—more silhouettes hung back.

  “Like you this is not,” Nagima said, distracted by Burk’s flailing and his cries. “Close we once were.”

  Jaina fired another arrow even closer to the sack containing Burk. “Known me you have not for years,” replied Jaina. “Rekindling childhood friendships there is no need. Give him up,” she demanded, “or dead center the next shot hits.”

  Nagima went for her bow and arrow, but Jaina’s shot was off before Nagima had readied. Nagima did manage to get off a shot, but her attempt to deflect the arrow heading toward Burk failed. Jaina’s arrow pierced several inches into the sack; Burk stopped flailing, the sack went still, and silence filled the air for an eternal second.

  Nagima fired arrow after arrow at Jaina through bleary eyes, but her aim was never true. Nagima was out of arrows quickly and Jaina laughed. “Pathetic you are, just like the old hag that calls herself Sha.”

  “Danaje is where?” demanded Nagima, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop staring at the bag.

  “Position to make demands you are not in,” replied Jaina. “Give up the royal you will when we put dear Grandmother in the sack.” She laughed. “Shall we see?”

  “Know you do what Danaje means to me, to us all. Generous and kind to you always she has been." Nagima frowned. "Evil you have become.” She glanced back at Dak and locked eyes for just a fraction of a second before turning back.

  Dak understood what Nagima wanted from him. He looked at the arrow still piercing his calf. He turned to Theo. “You ready?”

  Theo had nothing in him. His whole body was broken and he didn’t have the spirit to go on. His chew had failed. He couldn’t give an answer, but Dak didn’t seem to need one. Dak lifted his leg toward his mouth and grabbed the arrow shaft with his teeth. He screamed and pulled with one swift jerk of his head, ripping the head of the arrow out of his leg.

  “A vision Onqul and I have shared,” Jaina revealed. “Seen have I what will happen if you bring him to Her.”

  “Seen have I what will happen if I do not,” snapped Nagima.

  Jaina pulled a parcel made of leaves and then a dagger from her cloak of brown, black, and gray bird feathers. She cut herself, dripped blood on the parcel, and threw it at Nagima.

  Nagima backed away.

  Jaina hissed like a snake as she stared at the small package. Her eyes remained transfixed on the small parcel of leaves and tree fibers as it burst open and a large snake—hissing in unison with her—expanded from inside and surged toward Nagima. The snake snapped and quickly wrapped up Nagima’s leg before slowly working further up her body.

  Dak leaped onto the snake and bit hard on its scaly flesh, ripping it open. The snake flailed and released Nagima. She slammed hard on the snake’s head with her heel. The snake returned to dust and dirt and pieces of an old snake skin.

  Jaina screamed and hissed before readying another parcel with her blood. An arrow flew past Dak’s ear and hit the parcel out of Jaina’s hand. She winced when the arrow hit the parcel, as if she had felt it pierce her own skin.

  Three Sigandar warriors—swords drawn—came charging toward Jaina, with a fourth firing another arrow at her. Theo recognized them, even though he had only caught a glimpse of them before. He knew they were the four warriors that had carried him on the makeshift stretcher. Perhaps it was their broad shoulders or the way they carried themselves, but Theo was certain either way.

  Jaina, with her full swath of warriors and apprentices, charged. Those that were hidden in the shade of the trees stepped forward enough to find clear shots for their bows as they pulled back the strings with readied arrows.

  Theo's warrior porters were not alone. Hundreds of Sigandar men and women trailed behind, armed with axes, spades, sticks, and whatever else they could find, to run into battle with them.

  “Alive you are, Bir!” Nagima shouted at the tallest of the four leading warriors.

  “More of us our mama would make even if we did die,” replied Bir with a morbid grin. “Go! Lead the fight can we.” The brothers ran past Nagima and clashed swords with the other faction of Sigandar. Nagima saw the young and old rallying behind the brothers in the name of her cause and was honored by their loyalty. They were not warriors, but each had a warrior’s conviction in their eyes and hearts.

  In the commotion, Dak got his head under Theo’s body and stood, straining as he got Theo onto his shoulders and stood unassisted. His calf was hurting, but he knew that Theo was hurting more, so he ran. Theo felt more alert, more able to make it. His pain was still growing, but Dak’s courage had healed his spirit.

  Nagima grabbed the sack with Burk’s body—while the fight raged around her—and ran after Dak and Theo. Sigandar blood was being spilled behind them, but as they went deeper into the woods and the trees grew closer together; the light faded and the sounds of battle faded away with it.

  Children of Domm

  The guard carrier that Tess and Pasqual had stolen a ride from was continuing on a path toward Rigol and would take the fork ahead leading away from the church. “Jump!” Tess yelled to Pasqual as she dangled from the carriage. Her fingertips were numb and her arm muscles were burning.

  “Now?” Pasqual asked.

  Tess answered by swinging off their speeding transportation. She landed and purposefully rolled forward. It wasn’t as graceful as she had imagined, but it got the job done. Pasqual leapt off after, but had no plan. He practically bounced when he hit the ground, tumbling head over heels several times.

  Tess laughed at Pasqual while dusting herself off. She checked to be sure she still had Nickson’s pistol. It was loaded and tucked in her coat. “Let’s get a move on, Squally.”

  Pasqual had a few bumps and bruises, and was slow to get up to his feet. “I’m coming.”

  “Move faster.”

  The church was still several hundred yards away. “Why’d we jump so far away?” Pasqual complained as he watched the three guard carriers continue down the road.

  “The farmers jus’ tilled the soil ‘ere,” replied Tess. “Figger landin’ in the dug-up soil’s a ‘ole lot better than rocky dirt.”

  “Didn’t feel softa me,” mumbled Pasqual. The farmland came to an end, and, stepping out onto the road, Pasqual stomped the ground with his feet to test Tess’s theory.

  “Think ya wanna land on that?” Tess asked.

  “No,” admitted Pasqual.

  “Toldja.”

  The Church of the Sun was made of stone blacker than any Tess had ever seen. On one end, it had a bell tower decorated in stained glass. On the side of the bell tower that was facing the rising sun was the largest stained-glass window on any part of the church: a sun made of dozens of different shades of yellow, orange, and red. Attached to the opposite side of the tower was the church’s main building. It was rectangular, with small stained-glass windows evenly spaced all around, and a set of wooden doors. It looked as if it had been added onto over the years as some of the stone, like on the bell tower, was ancient, while the other end of the church’s stone didn’t have nearly the same age—but even the newest stone had to be hundreds of years old.

  Tess and Pasqual entered the wooden double doors in roughly the center of the side of the rectangular building. The doors opened to the back portion of the nave, the main chamber of a church where parishioners observe the priest’s sermons. On their right were pews facing the altar
at the far end—bathed in warm light from the stained- glass sun—and on their left were several closed doors, keeping half the church’s mysteries locked away. “‘Ello,” said Tess, thinking the priest would pop out of one of the many doors, but all she heard back was her echo. Tess slowly walked along the wall of doors and checked each one: locked. While her hands were busy her eyes wandered, looking for signs of life.

  Golden light flashed across her eyes, reflected off a small gold box on the altar. She had to get a closer look. Pasqual had been standing by the entry doors, and followed her up the aisle as she walked toward the altar. She took the few steps up to the altar. The half-circle-shaped top was made of the same black stone as the church—but perfectly smooth and polished—set on a wooden stand decorated with gold accents. She walked around the rounded edge of the altar to the flat side, and looked out over her invisible congregation.

  Pasqual walked up the steps but didn’t walk behind the altar. “My tummy hurts,” he said, standing next to a slim door discretely obscured from view by a decorative banner that hung from above.

  Tess looked at the bottles and vials under the altar, each a different shape and size. “No one toldja ta follow me,” she replied. She changed her focus back to the gold box that had enticed her in the first place. The box had been intricately stamped with images of the sun. She could see her distorted reflection in the shine of the gold, but it hardly looked like herself. Tess ran her hands over its uneven surface. The sun designs were precisely symmetrical. Each side was individually aesthetically pleasing, and the box as a whole had its own uniquely rewarding symmetry. Tess could have looked at it for hours, and touched it for longer. The tiny detail was exhilarating. Tess felt like a child exploring the world.

  Tess opened the box and inside was a glowing blue stone that seemed to be floating perfectly in the center of the open compartment. The stone was bright—but didn’t hurt like staring at the sun. She slowly reached inside, expecting it to be hot—but it didn’t emanate heat like a lamp.

  The entrance doors creaked open.

  Tess jumped before she could touch the stone, the box slamming shut accidentally and echoing throughout the nave. She looked around for an escape and saw the slim door next to Pasqual. She went for the door, opened it, got inside, pulled Pasqual inside with her, and closed the door behind them as swiftly as she could while still making sure not to let it slam.

  They were in a dim hallway which led them to the vestry: a small preparation room with oil lamps and robes hanging on the walls, shelves full of religious artifacts, and more vials and bottles like under the altar. Tess darted for another door on the opposite end of the vestry, but caught a glimpse of herself in a small mirror sitting on a chair-side table. Her black eye—courtesy of Nickson—was starting to show.

  “We’re fools, Squally,” Tess said.

  “If you say so,” replied Pasqual

  “Why did we run and ‘ide?” Tess asked. “We shoulda jumped in the pews.”

  “I followed you.”

  “We coulda made it look like we were jus’ sittin’ there waitin’, but now we look guilty. Like we were doin’ somthin’ wrong. We weren’t doin’ anythin’ wrong.”

  “We shouldn’t have been on the altar.”

  “Well speak up nex’ time why don’tcha.”

  Tess slowly opened the door just a crack and could see the back half of the nave and the entrance doors, where the priest Olister was talking to an enormously fat man Tess didn’t recognize. She closed the door. “The priest’s talkin’ ta someone out there.”

  “What do we do?” asked Pasqual.

  “If we can get outside, Squally, then we can come right back in and make it look like we’re enterin’ fer the first time,” Tess replied

  “I’ll follow you, Tessie,” said Pasqual.

  “Ya got any ideas fer a distraction?” asked Tess.

  Pasqual shrugged.

  “Yer no ‘elp,” she said. She edged the door open again, just enough to see and hear the priest’s conversation. Olister was still standing near the doors at the back of the nave, keeping balance with the aid of a gnarled wooden staff. The robes the priest was wearing were white with beige accents, and not nearly as elaborately designed as the ones hanging in the vestry, but they still had some ornamental stitching on the cuffs. Olister was thin, hairless, frail, and hunched. Tess had spent an afternoon as a child trying to imagine a more wrinkled person, but found it impossible and doubted one existed in the entire Empire. Olister’s eyes had bags under their bags, but perhaps it was just more wrinkles.

  As if to contrast Olister’s slim frame, his fat companion had proportions which Tess had never seen outside of a child’s drawing. He was easily as wide as he was tall. Behind the priest and the fat man were a handful of Olister’s most devoted followers—all of whom were tall, dark, muscular, attractive, and shirtless young men with shaved heads—at attention, ready to serve. “Are you quite sure you don’t need a healer?” asked Olister in a high-pitched and soft voice. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Enough,” the fat man replied, sitting down. His naturally deep voice boomed, echoing slightly off the church walls. “Quit moving your mouth and prepare the carriage you’ve already promised.”

  “I assure you it is being done as we speak, at the fastest rate possible. We shall be on our way to Ironhead in only a few minutes,” replied Olister. “It was quite the ordeal to remove you from your conveyance. You’re bound to have a few cuts and bruises from the extraction—if not from the crash. Healing would hardly take a moment.”

  “You have enough bodies to inspect already, priest.” He stood up and ambled toward the door, taking in the church as he moved. “I’d hate to be in this tomb for any longer than absolutely required.”

  “I’m sure there must be something I could do to make you more comfortable.”

  “A horse drawn carriage and driver is all that I require.”

  “It will be nice to have company I think,” replied Olister. “I have regular business to attend to at the fortress.”

  “Your men should prepare two carriages.”

  “One carriage is quite spacious, I assure you,” said Olister. “If you have concerns about—”

  The fat man had almost made it to the exit, but looked back over his shoulder at Olister. “There isn’t a spacious enough carriage in the entire world for me to travel with you,” he interrupted.

  The priest looked irritated. “Very well,” Olister said, backing away with a long blink. “Your carriage has just finished being prepared and is rolling up outside the doors.” The priest gestured and, as if on cue, some more of Olister’s men opened the doors from the outside and led the fat man out to his transportation.

  The remainder of Olister’s men left, either to the outside or through one of the other doors at the back of the nave which led to parts of the church known only to the ordained. Olister let out a sigh and walked to the altar, out of Tess’s view.

  Tess opened the door further and, seeing a potentially clear opening, she moved slowly to the pews. A wall blocked her view of the altar and, when she got to the end of the wall, she carefully peered around. Pasqual stayed in the doorway. Olister had leaned the gnarled staff against the side of the altar and was looking down, pulling vials and bottles from under and setting them on top. Tess gave Pasqual a wave to follow her and she crawled to the pews.

  Pasqual made his way along the wall that kept him from Olister’s view, but when it came time to crawl to the pews Pasqual shook his head.

  Tess made her displeasure clear with her wild hand gestures and fuming face, but she kept silent as she tried to convince Pasqual to join her, like a frustrated, pantomiming parent.

  “As much as I would like to see him try to fit under the pews and crawl to the doors with you,” said Olister from the altar without looking up. “I do have business to attend to in Ironhead this evening. So if you’d please, just stand up and tell me why you’ve come here.”

&nbs
p; Tess shook her head at Pasqual and they stayed put.

  “Come on, Tess. Pasqual. I know who you are. I don’t like my time wasted.”

  “‘Ow d'ya know our names?” Tess said from the floor.

  “There is nothing I don’t know.”

  “Then ya tell me why we’re ‘ere.

  Olister let out an exhausted breath of air. “You want me to test Pasqual like I did with the other contestants, but I know you opened my gold box.”

  “So what if we did,” said Tess.

  “Tell me, Tess, what did you see?”

  “We saw a floatin’ and glowin’ blue stone.”

  “It’s not a stone,” said Olister. “But if that is all…” With eyes closed, Olister let out a long, measured exhale from the nose before putting more focus back on his vials and bottles. “I would kindly ask you to be on your way.”

  Tess popped up from her hiding place on the floor between the pews. “That’s not all. Ya can test Squally!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any more to discuss with you,” replied Olister.

  Tess walked up an aisle toward the altar. “I've got more ta discuss with ya!” Pasqual walked from behind the protective wall and lumbered through the pews toward Tess.

  “I sincerely doubt it,” replied Olister.

  Tess pulled out Nickson’s gun, aimed it at Olister, and cocked it. “‘Ow d’ya feel now?”

  “Not much different,” replied Olister, not stopping the seemingly futile fiddling with bottles and vials.

  “Stop, Tessie,” said Pasqual, stumbling in the cramped space between pews, trying to run to her.

  “‘E’s gonna test ya,” Tess said to Pasqual, glancing back quickly but being sure not to give Olister time to do anything shifty.

  “You misunderstand, girl,” Olister said, stopping for a moment to look up at Tess. “You’ve both already been tested, and you both already failed.”

  Tess waved the gun around a bit as if to remind Olister of the grave circumstances. “Whatcha mean?”