The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (30 page)

“
The wristbows are just soaking it up, Keres. Relax,
”
she says.

“
Oh,
”
I say, straightening up.
“
Well good, because Marigold wasn
’
t going to cut me again.
”
I run my hand over the place where the cut was made. It
’
s completely smooth now, no scab and no scar.

The strings on the wristbows snap as the last dregs of ink disappear into the stock.

“
They are all yours now,
”
Loshee says.

I reach in the bowl and pull them out. I can feel a quick, even pulsing through the wood, exactly like a heartbeat. Like my heartbeat.
“
Loshee, they are beautiful. Thank you.
”

“
They are one of my better looking babies, yes. Very pretty. And deceptively powerful. Sound like someone you know?
”
she cocks her head quizzically at me.

I
’
m sure she is talking about me, but I don
’
t answer. I strap the wristbows to the tops of my hands and wiggle my fingers.
“
Perfect fit. I
’
ll still be able to do just about anything with them on.
”

“
Including throwing magus, that
’
s why I left the palms open.
”
She turns back to the box and pulls out two small clutches of tiny arrows,
“
There are your bolts, in case you want to fire off something you can see. They are just like regular bow arrows, just smaller.
”
She loops the clutches to each side of my belt and stands back to admire me.
“
Stand up straight. Try to look menacing.
”

I drop a foot behind me and pull my shoulders back, chin tucked a little into my neck, and clench my fists, slightly bowing out my elbows.

“
Very nice. What a pretty picture of a warrior you make,
”
Loshee laughs.
“
Let
’
s go try em out, wanna?
”

Loshee stands me in the ready vestibule right in front of the simulator door just off the main hall.

“
The door will open as soon as I run the program. Zink is going through it with you. He could use the practice.
”
She starts climbing the stairs to the control nest at the top of the room, spotting Zink just as he enters the ready vestibule.
“
Here he is! Keep each other company while I set the course,
”
she says as Zink walks up to me carrying a short sword with a golden hilt designed like a snake that curls around his hand and a shield attached to his arm. His legs, which stick out from under the shield, are completely bare. Ink envelopes everything from the tops of his feet up to the edges of his tight shorts. I had always thought of Zink as a slow learner because I had only ever seen the two or three tattoos on his upper body, but his lower limbs are just as tightly patterned as any of the other Unspokens
’
upper torsos.

“
Quit staring at my legs, Keres. You
’
re embarrassing yourself,
”
Zink teases, waving his sword hand to get my attention.

“
Sorry, I
’
m just surprised,
”
I stammer.

“
That I have legs?
”

“
That you have ink.
”

“
They are all for healing and protection. I can
’
t seem to master the concept of offensive magus,
”
he says, shuffling his bizarre shoes that expose the ink over the tops of his feet.

“
I don
’
t have anything except for an arm and shoulder,
”
I say, squatting down to have a closer look at his legs. The ink wraps all the way around them, and I resist the urge to run a finger along the patterns to see what they do.

“
Uh, Keres. Could you stop?
”

“
What?
”
I look up at him to see an expression of extreme discomfort. He squirms under my gaze.

“
Looking at my legs like that. It
’
s weird.
”

“
Right. Sure,
”
I blush as I stand up.
“
See what Loshee made me?
”
I say, thrusting my wristbows under his nose in an attempt to alleviate his discomfort and my embarrassment.

He admires them for a minute, then says, as if to reassure me,
“
Juwas is making pants for me ya know. They just aren
’
t ready yet. I don
’
t want to wear these,
”
he says, pulling at the tight shorts.

“
Of course. Who would want to run through a combat simulator in their underwear?
”
I say with a wink.

He turns bright red and tries to make his shield cover as much of his lower half as possible, but the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a smile.

“
You should be preparing for battle, not thinking about what I
’
m wearing,
”
he says, utterly failing at a half-hearted attempt to be serious.

“
Or not wearing,
”
I say, laughing.

As we double over in laughter, the combat simulator doors slide open with a scraping noise and a rumbling bang. Instantly, we are in battle stance and step over the threshold. I know the simulator is running a program based on past scavenges, but this realistic atmosphere is not what I was expecting. It
’
s not grinding gears and smoke of the target range, but solid wood and stone. A rocky forest blanketed in thick snow greets us, icicles hanging from the trees. The air is dry and cold. We can see our breath forming little frosty clouds. The snow crunches under our feet and I can hear birds in the trees. Moonlight bounces off the ice, making everything sparkle. It
’
s smoke and mirrors I know, but it
’
s breathtaking how beautiful the world is. Zink prods me forward and we walk carefully into the trees, trying to muffle our footfall.

Our objective is to retrieve a plant root marked on our map and get back to the doors, unhurt and within a certain amount of time. I use the magpies tattooed around my wrist to throw a guide to the roots
’
location. The bird that springs from my palm flies straight forward, banks toward the right, then goes out of sight. Zink and I keep our weapons at the ready and follow in the direction of the magpie.

We walk uninterrupted for what feels like hours, building the tension to an absolute breaking point. Our muscles go taut with every change in wind direction, every new sound or smell. I can see the outlines of Zink
’
s calves and thigh muscles flexing in the blueish light cast by the moon. The movement makes his tattoos look alive. I have to constantly force myself to look around me instead of down at his legs. Just when we spot my glowing magus magpie a hundred yards away pecking around some brown stocks with curled-in yellow leaves shooting up through the snow, Zink drops to the ground with a hard thud. I whirl around on the spot, aiming my wristbows wildly, looking for whatever hit Zink.

“
Are you hurt?
”
I ask, panting, not taking my eyes off the trees.

“
No, it was huge though. What was it?
”
he stands up and we put our backs together, still raking the trees with our eyes. A slight movement just inside my line of peripheral vision makes me jerk my wristbows on the spot.

“
There, behind that elm,
”
I say.

“
I have something over here too,
”
he whispers back.

“
Wait for them to come at us? Or should be go after them?
”

“
Well, it didn
’
t hurt me. I guess we move on? Why kill something that just wants to mess with us?
”
he says.

While I can
’
t deny his logic, I also can
’
t shake the feeling that this is a bad choice. But I nod in agreement, since he has been doing this longer than me. Wristbows still locked on the spot where I saw movement, we slowly back away from the area. We inch our way to the brown stocks and the magpie magus dissipates in a wisp of smoke.
“
I
’
ll cover, you collect,
”
I tell Zink.

He kneels down in the snow, his bare knees disappearing in the fluffy white banks, and starts to dig around the brown stocks carefully. I do not take my eyes off the woods surrounding us, my heart beating in triple overtime while the strings on my wristbows mimic its quick pace. I hear a snort to my left and swing around, winding up a force push magus, when my eyes land on a tiny pink piglet. For a moment I want to lower my arms and coo at his sweet wiggly nose and curly tail. In that fraction of a second, the piglet
’
s mother comes rampaging down the slope, sending snow and rocks flying in all directions. She is the size of a horse, wiry hair bristling all over her body, and black tusks as long as an elephant
’
s. I step in front of Zink, put aside the force push, not wanting to hurt the piglet, and pull out a metal cage of red light from the fishing net tattoo on my arm, trapping the mother and piglet together. At the same time, Zink has switched positions and is now sitting with the soles of his feet pressed together, his hands hovering above the tattoos on his thighs.

“
I can set up a shield but it will make it impossible for you to fire at anything,
”
he says.
“
It will also make it hard to leave once we are ready, especially if the animals hang around.
”

“
It
’
s fine, I have it. Just get the roots and let
’
s go.
”
The mother boar is ramming into the walls of my cage and I have no idea how permanent it is. It hadn
’
t occurred to me that my magus would ever need to last more than a few minutes. The red light of the cage begins to flash each time the boar slams into it. The squeals of the piglet are starting to cut deeply into my brain. It sounds like a human infant in pain.