Esra (34 page)

       Every inch of her body begged her to agree.  Let them be dragged out of the forest and sent home empty handed.  It was not worth her life.  It was absurd to think that she could stand a chance against any weathered warrior, especially a Valkor.  This was no sparring practice with a wooden sword.  She knew from her studies with Cane that the Valkor were a people who lived for the thrill of battle, even if there was no purpose for it.

 “But this is my first test,” she tried shakily to convince herself. “Nor and Cane believe in me, so do my parents.  There must be a reason I’ve come to this point.  If only I could win, as faint as that chance is, it might change everything.”

“Esra, please,” Baelin pleaded. “Let me try and speak with him again.”    

“No,” Esra said to her own surprise as she tried to swallow the lump that was quickly growing in her throat.  “I will fight.”

       “But…” Baelin began to argue, quickly realizing from the look on her face that her mind was already made up.  “Alright, well remember what we taught ye.  Stay on yer toes and anticipate his movements.  Fight smarter and ye needn’t be stronger or bigger than him te win.”

       Esra nodded nervously.  She suddenly realized that in order to stay alive she would have to kill someone else.  She had never injured someone on purpose, let alone ended a life.  Even trapping Animals for food made her feel guilty.  Trying to ignore that part of the bargain, she turned to the Unni who brought her Baelin’s handcrafted sword and shield.  The buckler seemed so small now, she wondered how she had ever used it to protect herself.  The sword, its incandescent hues reflecting in the Sun, felt familiar in her hands as she swung it twice to remind herself that she indeed knew of its form. 

       An Unni with greatly shortened horns appeared in front of her with outstretched hands, offering her a helmet.  A large orange stone hung from a leather string around his neck, swinging towards her as he leaned down.  She reached for the armor with gratitude.  Although Baelin had worked on various pieces of her armor before leaving for Fira Nadim, it was nowhere near complete.  The others had brought theirs along, but when she had tried on a few pieces it felt more uncomfortable and distracting than anything else.  Baelin told her that sometimes armor was like that, made for a specific person, and no one else could grow truly accustomed to it.

       Touching the cold metal of the helmet, she was jolted with a memory of Yarmon, the young Keeper of Foresight she had met just before their departure from the Stronghold.  He had warned her about this.

       Esra tentatively took the helmet into her hands as the warrior smiled at her with smug satisfaction and stalked away.  She motioned to Baelin, who once again pushed his way through the hordes of people to her side.

       “Good, ye’ve got a helmet at least.”

       “I can’t wear it.”

       “Why not?”

       She gestured to the Unni who was quickly disappearing from sight.  “Yarmon warned me about a bad man who would offer me a helmet.  He said not to wear it.”

       Baelin rubbed his chin thoughtfully and shrugged.  “I hate te see ye fight without one, but I trust Yarmon.  He’s young but his powers are strong.  Very well.  I will see if I can find ye another.”

       “No thanks.  I’ve been fighting without one so far, it would just be a distraction to change now.  I won’t be able to see.”

       “Alright,” he conceded reluctantly. “Just remember te use yer shield and stay low.”

       The crowd continued to pack into a circle around the practice ring, the Unni men, women and children roaring and stomping in anticipation.  Baelin took the rejected helmet and went to stand by the other Keepers, who looked equally worried.  Esra gave them a forced smile, more for herself she knew than anyone else.

       Across the sparring ground, which was roughly fifty feet in diameter, appeared a pale, strange looking man.  His face and bare chest were covered with a red and white paint and he wore only a short tattered rag, covering from his waist to the top of his thighs.  He was completely bald and appeared to be twice Esra’s age.  Although he was older, the long muscles in his lean frame were hardened, and as they untied his hands he snarled towards her with malice.  There were only a few broken teeth remaining in his mouth. 
What was I thinking?  Maybe I can still say no.

       Before she had the chance to change her mind, the Unni-se approached the center of the practice field to announce the start of the contest.  “My people will bear witness te this duel and the honor of my word.  If the Valkor from the south wins, he will be allowed free and no further harm shall come te him.  If Esra of the Stronghold wins, I will journey with her and the other Keepers te the Jade Gardens fer a War Council.”

       Cheers rang out as the Valkor grabbed the sword that was offered to him, refused the shield, and sunk low in preparation of the duel.  Esra bent her knees and assumed the defensive stance that she had been practicing, buckler held in front of her, sword poised at the ready behind her. 

       “Let the battle begin!”  Zakai roared.

       The Valkor slinked slyly around the circle, waving his sword at her tauntingly.  Swinging the blade easily around his shoulders, Esra noticed with disappointment how comfortable he seemed to be with his weapon.  She tried to remember that she too felt at ease now with her sword, and swung it in a reciprocal display.  They both stared at each other for a long moment, neither willing to make the first move.  Finally the Valkor lunged forward and stabbed at her forward leg as Esra deflected the blow with her shield.   He swung from the right and she countered him with her sword, their weapons singing with the impact.  He continued towards her, unaffected by her defensive maneuvers. 
Left, right, right,
she counted in her head as she anticipated his attacks.  She watched his movements as if they were in slow motion, the sound of metal humming in her ears.

       Suddenly he feigned left and jabbed quickly over her buckler, piercing deeply into her left shoulder.  Esra cried out with pain and surprise as she watched the blade retreat from her skin, a slow gush of blood beginning to trail down her shielding arm.  She could hear the Valkor laughing triumphantly as her eyes became speckled with intense bursts of light from the pain, and she stumbled backwards.   Clenching her teeth, Esra retreated to the far corner of the sparring ground to recover.  She adjusted her grip on the buckler, left arm slick with warm blood, and bent lower.  Strangely reenergized by her injury, adrenaline moved her onto the offensive as she attacked him with a fierce determination.  Even without a shield he countered her, and spun to take a wide swing at her head.  She ducked quickly, clipping a small chunk out of his calf with a well-aimed jab.  He howled, just as much from anger as pain, and backed away slowly.  Esra took advantage of his withdrawal to catch her breath for the next stream of attacks.

       There were bursts of ringing as their swords collided again and again, a strangely musical sound.  Esra darted about, trying to keep ahead of his quick swings.  Growing more confident in her abilities the longer she was able to avert disaster, Esra made two quick jabs, one causing a shallow scratch on his left side.   The Valkor hissed in annoyance and took a wide sweep at her legs.  Esra jumped over the blade just in time to see it reappear next to her head.  She felt a stinging at her cheek as the sword lightly dragged itself across her face.   The metallic taste of blood entered the corner of her mouth as she lunged forward powerfully with her buckler, knocking him to the ground.  She took an overhead swing but he rolled over and onto his feet swiftly, jeering at her with his few crooked teeth. 

       Pacing the circle, Esra took the defensive stance that was quickly becoming a habit and continued to deflect his attacks.  Gritting her teeth against the pulsating pain in her left shoulder, she tried to focus on all the defensive maneuvers she had learned.  Sensing that the Valkor was becoming impatient, she hoped to wear him down by letting him attack.  He lunged and stabbed at her furiously, growing exponentially more agitated with each deflection.  After a few long minutes of sparring, he guessed at her game and retreated to the other side of the practice field. 

“Oh no ye don’t,” she breathed.  Not wanting to allow him recovery from his weakened state, Esra took the offensive and swung at him with controlled fury.  He countered, but in his exhaustion the force of the blow knocked him off balance and he stumbled.  Esra punched quickly with her shield at his sword hand and watched with relief as the blade tumbled to the ground. 

       She pointed her sword straight at the Valkor’s throat and held it there, his raspy breath wheezing in and out heavily.  She could hear the people around her, shouting for Esra to end his life.  In her fury, she wanted to push the blade through his skin, this man who so desperately wanted to kill her.  But instead she took a step back and lowered her sword, turning to bow to the Unni-se.  Cries of disappointment traveled through the crowd as Zakai stepped forward.

       “I respect yer mercy, but this was te be a duel te the death.”

       “Great Chief, I…”

       “Esra!”  At the sound of Baelin’s panicked voice, Esra turned just in time to throw her sword out in front of her as the Valkor ran into her blade.  The sword which he had retrieved to attack her from behind dropped heavily out of his raised hands.  There was a sickening gurgling sound as Esra pulled the sword from his midsection and he crumpled over into a heap, a red stain spreading quickly over the dry earth.  She looked towards Baelin with overflowing gratitude at his warning, which was followed abruptly by an intense wave of nausea.  She bent over to vomit, a tear streaming down her bloodied cheek.  The crowd of Unnis shouted and beat their weapons together in a cacophony of applause.

       Baelin came to her just before she fell over, lowering her slowly to the ground. “Well done, Esra.  Ye did it.”

       Arland and Fynn grasped each other’s hand with relieved smiles as Nadia approached with a look of concern.  “Ye had to, Esra.  Don’t be upset.  He would’ve stabbed ye in the back, even after ye spared his life.”

       Zakai stepped towards her and stuck out a large hand.  Esra felt dazed as she looked up at his looming form, almost as if she were in a dream and not quite in control of her own body.  With much effort, she reached out with her good arm and he pulled her up so that she was standing right in front of him, her head barely as tall as his chest.  He gave her a nod of approval before addressing the crowd.

       “People of Fira Nadim, I am true te my word.  Esra has proven herself this day as a Human with courage and honor.  I will make ready te leave fer the Jade Gardens, where I will attend the first War Council in hundreds of years.  I will represent the great Unni warriors in this gathering of the races.  Before I leave we will hold our own council, where any man or woman may speak as they like upon the issue of war against Tallen.  I promise te hold yer opinion in mind as I go te the Stronghold, but in the end know that I will decide what I think is best fer our people.”

       Esra blinked back the wetness that formed over her eyes as she looked up at the Sun filtering dimly into the Glenn.  She could hear the excited cries of the Unni crowd that surrounded her, but they seemed distant in her ears.  A Whipbird flew low over her head, and she could see the Animal’s chest swell gently as it breathed, it’s wings framed in a graceful bow.  It was so alive.  Yet how quickly things could change.  Esra had claimed a life, but she felt as if it were her own life that were ending.  It was if she could feel the steady breath leaving the Valkor’s lungs for the last time, sensed the irrevocable end to the beating of his heart as his body surrendered its fight to survive. 

Barely aware that her face was streaked with tears, she lowered her head in defeat and felt darkness close in on her soul.  An old tavern ballad from Sorley came to mind, and she felt momentarily confused about all the songs she had heard about the valor and glory of war, of a battle swiftly claimed.  She had taken a life, and there was nothing triumphant or glorious about it.  Like the Valkor, she now had the urge to lay down and succumb to fate, to submit to this strange world that had such indiscriminate rules.  She put her face in her hands and let out a great heaving sob that shook her body violently
.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry
, she began to whisper over and over, rocking gently back and forth
.  I’m sorry. 

Baelin stood looking wide eyed at her sobbing form before slowly coming to put his arms around her.  Esra let herself be held for a moment, cursing the world and all of its bitter ways.  Cursing the Elite soldiers and Tallen, LeVara’s indifferent King, the stubborn Unni-se, her estranged parents, everything that had brought her to the brink of this moment, of her needing to kill someone.  What saddened her more than anything was the thought that this was just the beginning, that she would feel the sensation of bone and flesh on her sword again, or else be on the other side of someone’s blade.  And she felt guilty at the thrill she now felt at her aliveness, her gratitude that it had been her opponent, and not her, that lay broken and bleeding on the dry ground.  Baelin held her steadily until the sobs slowly left her body and were reduced to small gasping breaths. 

When she was too exhausted to cry anymore, Baelin stepped back awkwardly and lowered his gaze.  The Unni that helped her in the forest came marching up and indicated in a rumbling voice that Zakai requested Baelin’s presence.  He glanced worriedly at Esra, who stared at him blankly.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” she said scratchily, her throat raw. 

Fynn suddenly appeared next to them and Esra gratefully leaned onto his steady frame.  Without another word, they parted from her blacksmith friend as the Unni guided them towards a tent where she could sit and rest.  By the time they reached the tent, Esra’s knees buckled and she slid downwards until she was sitting awkwardly next to the Fire.  Fynn began to unload a bag full of Herbs onto a folded blanket.  “Jumpin’ jig, Es.  Serves him right, being skewered like a noonmeal Rabbit.  Ye did great.  Nasty gash he gave ye, though.”