by Marian Gray
I shook my head, confused. “Why do you believe me to be your death?”
“That’s right. You’re not Norrender. You wouldn’t know.” She sighed. “The number nine is sacred to us, as well as its derivative, three. We have nine gods total, but only three are ever alive and active. We have nine recycling spades with nine sets of powers, but only three are ever alive and active. There are currently three of us, well, four now. When you come into your powers and are anointed by the temple, one of us will die or already be dead. Berit and I are old. It was somewhat understood that it would be one of us to die when the next spade arrives.” Her long fingers wrapped along the armrest of her chair. “It’s been difficult to face, but I can see the writing on the wall. I don’t think it’s just coincidence that the gods have placed you in Varund.”
I sighed. I was afraid of the words that were about to come out of my mouth, but I had to confess. She was the only one that could help me.
“I don’t think I’m a spade.” My powers had been absent as of late and stunted for months. “Is there another possible option? Another magical entity or something?”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “No, there’s no other magic-wielder that we recognize. Why do you doubt yourself?”
A sheen of sweat grew along my palms. It was difficult to admit. “My powers just aren’t… like yours. They don’t come very often and can be difficult to manage.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Don’t come very often? You can’t summon them?”
I dropped my head. “No.”
Kona released a loud, uninhibited laugh. Her blatant mockery made me feel even less than I already was. “I’m sorry.” She made fake attempts to hide her amusement with her hand. “I’m not laughing at you. I promise.”
My jaw tightened. The lie was unconvincing.
Her laughter twisted into a cough in her throat, and she hacked a few short bursts into her palm. “I’m laughing at the gods. They can be cruel sometimes, but I wonder if there’s purpose in their actions.”
“Sorry, I’m not Norrender.” I repeated her words to convey that I didn’t understand.
“Our powers are based on nine elements—one element for each spade. We can manipulate this element and force it to do our bidding. However, we also have one element that inhibits or stifles our abilities as well as an element that can boost or encourage our magic. I should think this obvious, but it’s common practice to live away from and avoid your adversarial element at all times and try to always live amongst the allied element.”
Threes and nines. The pattern was here again. Three elements to contend with. Nine spades all together, living or dead. “What are your elements?”
She giggled again, shaking her head. “You never share your stagnating element nor your supporting element with anyone. Your enemies will use the information to defeat you.”
“Do you think I am somehow living around my stagnating element? And that’s why my powers are so… inconsistent?”
She nodded. “Possibly, because there’s no question that you are the next spade. You’re not branded.”
“How can I figure this out? How will I learn which elements affect me?”
She shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand, batting the notion away. “That’s for another time and another place between you and your mentor. But I can tell you this—it is of the utmost importance that you learn to use your powers rather than letting them control you. The Temple of Askaden can provide training, but you must surrender to the will of the gods.”
I was sick of being subservient to someone else. “And what if I don’t? What if I decide to do this on my own?”
Her lips sank into a frown. “You can’t. The power will consume your flesh. Depending on your element, you could be in for a very painful death.”
IV
The Four Elders
I entered the hall with my guards carrying five separate trunks. My legs felt weak, and my eyes were heavy. I was ready to collapse on a mattress and pull a warm blanket over my body—two things I had experienced sparingly within the last month and greatly missed. But I had one more task ahead of me. It was the culmination of all my efforts since arriving here.
I wasn’t going to let exhaustion mar my efforts.
“Ark Iver,” Elder Herder rose from his chair while the other three remained in their seats. A smile spread from ear to ear. “I am happy to welcome you home. It’s a relief to see you are alive and well.” His teeth were uncannily bright and clean. Something usually only seen in the noble classes, amongst the rich. But this was Arus. Not a place where the rich congregated.
“Thank you, Elder Herder. It is good to be home,” I said, taking a seat across from the four of them.
There was no solar in the ark’s hall here, forcing us to meet in the common room. The ceiling reached two stories high, and the dingy stone floor was large enough to hold two hundred people. It made the meeting feel impersonal and cheap.
Tuskyor spat. “Home.” He hunched over, resting the majority of his weight on his cane. His bald head gleamed in the firelight. It was marked with liver spots and small strands of white hair that grew out of sheer determination. “Your home is back in Varund.”
I agreed with him wholeheartedly, but that wasn’t going to win over these four sour men. “The Drev people have a great saying about this: Home is where the heart is.”
Tuskyor waved his withered hand, dismissing the notion. “That is what a bunch of dirty nomadic forest-dwellers would believe. Can’t wait for the gods to smash them.”
I couldn’t hold it in. I burst out laughing. “How can you say that, Tuskyor? The Drevs are some of the most feared people—and for good reason.”
“He’s been prickly ever since the supply of young girls dried up,” Elder Aevil said. He was younger than the other three by at least fifteen years—still well within his days to father children and build his clan. How had he ended up an elder at such an age?
“Young girls?” His comment piqued my interest.
Aevil went on to explain. “Godromar had struck a deal with some villages out east for a monthly shipment of young girls, and once we no longer had use of them, they were sent back. But the Bitch of Beskmal ended that not three months later.”
I wanted to ask how young the girls were, but I feared the answer. “Well, I’m sorry to say but I will not condone any such trades in the future.” I didn’t hide my repulsion.
“You think less of us because of this?” Aevil asked.
“Yes.”
Tuskyor rolled his eyes. “Since this is our first meeting together, I think it pertinent to get one thing straight: this is Arus. We are a conservative, traditional people that still respect our past and where we came from. We will not be overthrown by your twisted, modern ideas. Cities breed nothing but filth and immorality. If you intend to rule Arus, then you will need to adopt our customs.”
I nodded. “I gathered that when I learned the town still had influential elders.”
“I-I-I don’t know.” Elder Miresk shrugged. His droopy eyelids made him look as though he were constantly on the verge of falling asleep. “I k-k-kind of like the idea of s-s-someone from one of the major cities leading us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Elder Herder added with a large, forced smile.
“You kn-kn-know, Ark Iver. I-I-I worked under y-your great-grandfather as an apprentice, during the c-c-construction of the golden domes in R-Rekkesov,” Elder Miresk said with a gentle smile. “B-Brilliant craftsman. He t-t-turned the trade into an art.”
He was going to be my in with the four elders—my ally. If he had worked under my great-grandfather in Rekkesov, then he would have at least met, if not befriended, my grandfather. There was a connection. “You were a blacksmith?”
He shook his head. “It-It turned out not t-to be for me. I became an engineer instead. U-u-until the accident.” He gripped his right sleeve with his left hand and pulled back the cloth, revealing a flesh-covered nub.
&n
bsp; “That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry.”
Miresk shrugged. “J-just got me into t-t-teaching sooner than expected.”
“I am sorry to interrupt this little reverie,” Elder Herder began, “but I cannot contain my curiosity any longer. What are in the trunks that you have brought back with you?”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” I glanced over my shoulder at the five men. “If you’d be so kind to open each of your chests.”
Five tiny metal clinks chimed out in the hall as the locks were undone, and their contents were laid bare for all to see.
To my joy, the four men all appeared somewhat taken aback. Herder shrieked, holding up his hand to block the gruesome scene. Aevil turned to the side at once, gagging. Tuskyor didn’t even flinch, but the scowl on his face betrayed his attempt at seeming unmoved. Lastly, Miresk cupped a hand over his mouth. His eyes remained on the severed heads, though, unable to tear away from the dried blood and pale, rotting flesh.
“When we last saw each other, you all said you weren’t willing to discuss matters of loyalty or town proceedings until you could be sure that Godromar’s supporters were gone. Well, I decided to bring them to the meeting so there would be no doubt.”
Herder pinched his nose. “Surely you could have put them on a spike or something outside the hall?”
“No, that’s what you do with opponents you find intimidating or difficult to conquer—their heads are trophies to warn those that might think you weak.” I shook my head. “I never viewed these men as such. Just simple tasks to complete during my day.” I motioned with my hand for the guards to take the heads away.
“Well,” Aevil started but was stopped by a wrenching cough. “Oh, that smell is just—”
“Putrid?” I finished for him.
“Yes.” His face began to turn a pale, sickly color.
Herder cleared his throat. “We hope you won’t resent us for our behavior, Ark Iver. This is just how these things go, you know?”
“Absolutely not. I understand,” I said, but I was bitter and annoyed.
The recent ride had tired me, and the last month spent hunting and chasing down each opponent had worn me down thin. I was sick of their games and insults all done under the guise of diplomacy.
“Good. Now that we have been shown proof that Godromar’s men are… no more, shall we proceed with negotiations?” Herder asked, glancing to the three men to his side.
“Yes, please. I want to get out of here as soon as possible,” Aevil said, fanning himself with his hand.
“What are your demands?” I leaned back in my chair, preparing for a tidal wave of horse shit.
Aevil, Tuskyor, and Miresk all turned to Herder, expecting him to be their mouthpiece. “Our first and most important demand is that the four of us remain in control of both our lands and titles. And that no other elders or regions are added for at least ten years.”
So, they didn’t want any shifts in the balance of power, nor did they want me to stack the council with elders of my own. “Done. What’s next?” I had no interest in redefining the lands each elder supervised nor the time or patience to find other individuals to do the job.
Herder’s jaw bobbed in disbelief. “What?”
“Done,” I repeated. “You all shall keep your titles and lands, and I will not introduce any new elders to the council for ten years. I agree to these terms. What is your next demand?”
Herder turned to the three elders at his side, stunned, but nobody said anything more. “Nothing, I guess,” he mumbled as he sank into his chair.
I sat forward. “That’s all then?” I raised my hand, catching a servant’s attention and motioned for him to come near. “The arm bands, please.”
“Wait, just a minute,” Tuskyor huffed.
No, that was it. “The Norrender Codex says once all demands have been met, the elders then must agree to—”
“I know what the codex says,” Tuskyor cut me off. “But we didn’t overthrow the Varundians seventy-five years ago to just plop another on the throne.” His eyes blazed. “Herder wasn’t speaking for all of us.”
“He wasn’t? Because that’s exactly what it looked like to me.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Herder squeaked.
I drew in a deep breath. Tuskyor was just nettled over how easily I was about to assume full power in his shitty little backwards town. “What else do you ask of me, Elder Tuskyor?”
He licked his lips as he thought, stalling. The other three elders watched him closely. It was obvious from Herder’s restless fidgeting and Aevil’s constant readjustment in his chair that they were nervous—they had no idea what the man was about to say and whether his words would destroy everything they had been carefully constructing.
“I want,” Tuskyor began but stopped. He swallowed hard before continuing again. “Before Godromar assumed the title of Ark of Arus, many of the small villages surround Arus paid tribute to the town—I want the tribute to be paid again.”
I rubbed my lips, trying to hide my frustration. Nobody liked demands for tribute—this would be a fight. “Why did the payments stop in the beginning?”
“G-Godromar was from one of th-th-those small villages,” Elder Miresk answered. “In exchange for their b-b-backing—”
“He agreed to end the tribute if they put him on the throne,” I finished for him.
“Y-yes.” Miresk nodded.
My eyes met Tuskyor’s, and I held his gaze. I wanted his undivided attention. “I do this and you put on my arm band, wearing the metal piece with unwavering loyalty and support.”
“I will follow you as though you were one of Arus’s own.” Tuskyor touched his chest where his heart lay, and then lifted his hand upward. He was swearing it on the gods.
“Then I will get you your tribute.”
V
Fare Well
The boat was smaller than most seaworthy ships I had ventured onto at Svotheim’s side. Its sail ran in stripes of azure and evergreen, and a snarling sea serpent snaked out from the bow. The belly was hollow and large but sealed off with a hatch. It looked like a cargo ship, but it lacked the scale.
“Why this one?” I asked Svotheim.
“Can you grab one of these?” he asked as he lifted a sack of vegetables over his shoulder and boarded the ship. “I chose this one because it can make the journey and be manned by just two people.”
My nerves tingled and my stomach twisted with fear at the prospect of just the two of us crossing the great open waters. “Do you think we’ll make it out there?” It was considered bad luck to ask if we’d sink and drown, so I left the question as vague as possible.
He cast me a severe glance and didn’t answer.
But he didn’t need to. With summer kneeling to autumn, the winds would blow cold and the waters would ice over. Our boat wouldn’t survive the winter seas.
“Do you plan on waiting the winter out on land?”
“Of course,” he said, as though it were insulting I would even ask.
Then, there were the foreign courts in which we lacked friends and allies. These Norrender shared a similar culture; however, it would have been naive of me to believe they were all amiable toward each other. I had witnessed once before how seemingly longtime friends and neighbors became enemies in the span of a single meeting. The repercussions of Ark Ulfur’s denial of Ark Godromar at the Festival of Nine would be felt by Varund for years to come. The ethnic ties that held these people together were easily severed.
“Do we have enough food?” I asked as Svotheim slipped a sack full of hard bread below.
“We should.” He was focused on the task at hand. “Wrap those jugs in the spare cloth and bring them over when you’ve finished.”
I did as he requested. “What if we run out?”
“Well.” He shoved a small pack of his belongings past the hatch, and then spent several seconds rearranging everything. “We will not be far from land since we are not venturing into the ocean. If food becomes scarce, we can always
hunt or barter with any people we meet.”
My fingers wrapped around the handles of the heavy wine jugs. With some struggle, I carried them to him. “And these people you are supposed to speak with, will they welcome us?”
He shrugged. “I can’t say for sure.”
My gut lurched. “Are you not afraid?”
It was a stupid question to ask a Varundian. They prided themselves on sticking out their chests and laughing in death’s face. Even if he didn’t feel fear, I wanted him to lie to me. I needed to know I wasn’t alone.
Svotheim slammed the hatch closed. He turned to face me, and his small, poofy ponytail lit into a sphere of gold at the sun’s beckoning. “I am not afraid, but that does not mean it is easy for me. If we die, we fail Ark Ulfur. We fail the city—our people. And most of all, I fail Hetla and the gods.”
A hard breath beat out from his nose. In that moment, he towered over me. His sinewy body stood with a determination that I had never witnessed in him before. His shoulders were back, and his stance tall. “We cannot wallow in our fear, Derethe, for that is weakness. And the weak don’t survive. Instead, be determined, be brave.” His finger clipped the tip of my nose in play. “We’re going to do this. Together, as a team.”
A small smile peeked out from my lips. “A team? Like partners? Equals?”
“A team on the water.” He nodded. “Equals.”
Not slave and master. It was a breath of fresh air to hear.
“Derethe,” Hetla called out from the shore. She stood on the wooden dock with the assistance of both crutches and one of Ark Ulfur’s servants. In her slender hand, she gripped the glaive Iver had fashioned from my javelin. The very one I had used to kill Roina. A shiver ran up my spine. “You can’t leave without this.” Hetla held out the spear. The scarlet fringe fluttered in the soft breeze.