The Kingmaker Contest Page 11

  “Question Her I never did,” Nagima replied. “Let Her die She knew I would. Understood She did: no one else was able.”

  “Understand I can, if help me you will,” Dak said.

  Nagima took a moment. “Understand you must, that better than us She knows. Simple the concept, but hard the faith to commit.”

  “Hey!” Theo shouted from up the hill. “I’m forging forward with or without you two.”

  “Sides you must choose,” Nagima said before leaving Dak at the bottom and bolting up the side of the valley to catch up to Theo.

  Dak stood in the graveyard of crates for a moment, but eventually followed Theo and Nagima. “The Mother I choose,” he said when he reached them. “Know I do not if you are the Mother’s true voice, but never could Onqul or Jaina be. Clear is that at least.”

  They switched back and forth over the loose rocks as they climbed from the lowest point of their journey to the highest. There was no worn path to follow, but Nagima knew where to safely step. Theo kept a close look at her feet and made sure to follow her steps exactly.

  Nagima took them around a ridge at the midpoint of the massive peak. They looked out over the lower mountains of the range, covered in autumn trees flowing down as far as they could see. Paths along the peaks jutted out from the trees, and narrow passages connected the large and small groves that made up the land the Sigandar claimed as theirs. When the ridge came to an end, Theo looked at the steep drop down. “Don’t tell me. This time we dive off with our eyes closed.”

  “Discovered the plan you have!” Dak laughed. “Climbing the Sigandar love, but love bravery more.” Then with a wink he added, “Hold your breath, I hear it helps.”

  Theo’s heart was suddenly racing. “He can’t be serious!” Theo’s eyes pleaded with Nagima.

  Dak laughed and Nagima shook her head. She pointed to the handholds carved in the rock face. “Climb we will,” she responded. “Thankful you should be. Harsh is the spine of the mountain if its secrets you know not. Make easy our remaining journey this climb will.”

  “At least Dak seems in a better mood about going,” said Theo.

  “Going I am?” inquired Dak.

  “Again with this?” said Nagima, clearly annoyed. “In the valley you should have stayed, if like this you insist on being.

  “My decision this is, correct?” Dak protested. “Or push me off you plan to?”

  “Going I am,” Nagima announced. She put her hands on the ground and rubbed the dirt into her skin to help with her grip. She leapt into the air—for a moment, nothing but a perilous drop below her—and grabbed onto the handholds and footholds of the rock face. She swung around like a monkey, disappearing from view as she followed the curve of the mountain. Her hand popped back into view and she waved at them. “Theo,” she yelled, invisible around the bend. “My hand you must reach out and grab!”

  Theo jumped up and down and took some deep breaths. I can do this, he reassured himself as he put his hands into the dirt just like Nagima. He put a foot onto the first foothold and stretched out for Nagima’s hand, but it was slightly out of reach from his cautious position. “Hurry, Theo!” Nagima shouted.

  Theo grabbed the first handhold. “Just be quiet. I’m climbing at my pace.” When he used to climb at the palace, he had always taken his time. A meticulous and slow effort that had little chance in leading to a fall. He stretched, grabbed the second handhold, shifted his left foot to the second foothold, then moved his right foot to the first foothold; there was no longer ground beneath him.

  “My hand you will grab!” Nagima shouted. Theo shifted his feet and hands over another notch, and grabbed Nagima’s hand in the process. He straddled the center of the curve. He could see Dak back where he’d started, and Nagima at the other end. Her arm was hooked around a root that protruded from the mountain, with one foot on a wide path that led away from the cliff, and her other foot in the last foothold of the rock face as she stretched to hold Theo’s hand.

  “There you stop,” Nagima commanded as she shoved Theo’s hand into a well-worn handhold.

  “What?” Theo exclaimed. “I’m in a very precarious position. Pull me over!”

  “Stretch to Dak you must,” said Nagima. “Help him we will if he is to continue with us.”

  Dak leaned against the wall with one foot on the path and the other in the first foothold, stretching out his long arm as far as he could. Theo stretched back, but they were a few inches off.

  “I’m putting a lot of trust in you,” Dak said.

  “I’m ready,” returned Theo. Dak moved quickly, shifting his feet down the footholds, the weighted flaps of leather around the ankles of Dak’s shoes tapping slightly against the rock as he moved. Theo grabbed Dak’s arm firmly. Dak jabbed his short arm into a handhold and used every muscle he had—they were spasming from the strain—to press against the handhold and keep balanced.

  Nagima pulled Theo’s hand from his handhold and tugged him along. “Move!” she shouted. Theo shuffled from one foothold to the next with one hand held by Nagima’s and the other squeezing Dak’s arm—only his feet touched the mountain. Dak stepped seamlessly after Theo.

  Nagima kept her arm hooked in the tree root and pressed her body against the mountainside, giving Theo and Dak space behind her on the path, while keeping a tight grip on Theo’s hand. Theo put his first foot on the path and felt relieved, but in that moment of relief his focus slipped. Theo’s feet tripped over themselves in the transition and Dak slammed into his back. Theo stumbled, and both he and Dak fell backwards away from the mountain.

  Nagima was pulled down. Her belly slammed on the path and it took everything she had to hold her grip on Theo and the mountainside root. Her muscles flexed and shook from the tension. She let out a reflexive guttural scream.

  Swinging down, Dak and Theo hit hard against the mountain as Nagima kept them from plummeting to their deaths. Theo was digging his nails into Dak’s skin and muscle with such force he swore he was feeling bone. Dak was in pain, but all he could do was pray that Theo never stopped squeezing. Nagima pulled. “Strength has been sapped from me,” she said, voice wavering.

  Dak put his feet against the mountain wall. “Believe in you I do!” Dak shouted up to Nagima. “Theo, we are going to walk out of here. Get your feet on the mountain.” Theo put his feet, like Dak’s, on the rockface. “All you have you must give us,” Dak dictated to Nagima assuredly. “Now!”

  Nagima pulled with every ounce of strength she had. Dak and Theo’s feet found just enough leverage in the uneven mountain rock to manage the few grueling steps. Theo pulled his leg over the edge. “I’ve got it,” he told Nagima, and she released his hand. He grabbed onto the ground and pulled himself further onto the path, still desperately clinging to Dak with his other hand.

  Nagima didn’t even take a breath, immediately stretching down to her limit to grab under Dak’s armpit. With one final burst, Nagima and Theo lifted Dak enough for him to lift his leg onto the path. Dak rolled over on top of Theo’s legs, and, when Nagima released her throbbing arm from the life-saving tree root, she flopped over onto both of them. Theo squeezed them tight. Dak and Nagima squeezed back, their embrace lasting for five glorious, life-affirming seconds that felt more like five minutes, the world reborn in their collective near-death experience.

  Theo yelled, “Woohooo!” which echoed back off the mountain walls. Nagima and Dak couldn’t help but laugh and shout to the sky after him. Theo got to his feet and offered his hands to Dak and Nagima. Nagima grabbed Theo’s outstretched arm and pulled herself up, but Dak ignored the help and managed it himself. Theo saw the blood embedded in his fingernails and reached for Dak’s forearm. “Nagima should have a look at those,” he said, gawking at the five deep gashes.

  “Nah,” replied Dak, pulling his arm away from Theo. “I don’t really feel anything around there.” He brushed passed Theo and Nagima. “I’m fine.”

  As the path continued around the mountain, Theo’s eyes widened. “Iro
nhead!” he exclaimed. The sprawling forests below them spotted the mountain terrain as far as they could see. All the forests, passages, and paths converged at one of the largest groves, which abruptly ended with a sharp line of trees and opened up to a massive field of short grass. On the far end of the grass field were the great doors to the mountain fortress, Ironhead. The doors were wide open as thousands poured out, joining thousands more already in the field, funneling into the wooden stands erected for the Contest of Kings. At that distance, everything and everyone looked like wooden children’s toys—shaped but with no detail.

  “Worth the journey is this view alone,” said Nagima breathlessly.

  “Hope I do that the view was not the only reason we took the path we did,” said Dak, only half joking. He wandered away from Nagima and Theo, and looked over the forests instead of at the fortress.

  Nagima walked to the edge of mountain. “The moment to move will reveal itself.” She sat down and dangled her feet off the edge. “Wait for fewer soldiers we should. Walk only two hours to the field.”

  “We should just go now,” Theo replied. “There are so many people, we could blend in.”

  Nagima pointed to her face. “Stand out in any crowd of your people I will.”

  “You're no threat to them,” Theo said. “You're just one Sigandar. Losik will be so elated you safely returned me that he will do anything to assist you.”

  “Shiny armor I see. Soldiers everywhere. Shoot me on sight they will. For now,” she patted the ground next to her. “This ritual they perform, you will explain it to me.”

  “When the contest concludes,” Theo said, in his attempt at a firm and commanding tone. “We go down there.”

  “See we will when that hour arrives,” Nagima replied.

  Theo sighed and took a seat, relenting as he concluded he had little chance to change Nagima’s mind. “Thousands of years ago,” Theo began, “Drasque, our first king, gathered all of his sons and announced that his oldest son would not be given the throne when the King died, despite what the oldest son had been told since his birth. Instead, all his sons would have to renounce the throne or fight to the death for it—immediately—but it wouldn’t be an ordinary fight. They would have to fight blindfolded, with a shroud of iron over their heads that dulled all of their senses.”

  “Why so elaborate did he make the contest?” Nagima asked.

  “Most scholars believe he wanted to ensure his youngest son became king,” Theo answered, “Drasque’s youngest son—also named Drasque—was thought to be the King’s favorite and, despite being just a teenage boy, managed to beat everyone easily. So easily, in fact, rumors quickly spread of a secret training ritual, where the young Drasque was given specialized instruction regarding the unique parameters of the forthcoming contest.”

  “The king Drasque was. Why the throne he did not simply give to the youngest son?” asked Nagima.

  “That has been much deliberated,” Theo said. “I subscribe to the theory that Drasque wanted his young son to earn the respect of his people, instead of being handed the throne in a sudden divisive change—but no one has any real idea why Drasque loved his youngest son so much, or what were his true motivations. Now this contest ensures succession. Anyone of Royal blood can enter, and the winner becomes second in line, ready to be crowned the moment the king dies.” A trumpet bellowed in the field, but overlapping it was another trumpet blast, coming from the sprawling forests beneath them.

  “What noise was that?” asked Nagima, immediately on edge.

  “Initially I thought it was the starting trumpet, but now I’m not certain.”

  Dak was running toward them. “Onqul! Through the forest she has come,” he panted, pointing at the trees in the valley. Several hundred feet below them they easily saw—through holes between the branches of the trees’ canopy—dozens of Sigandar warriors creeping slowly with their weapons drawn. The fire dripping from the wounds all over their bodies made them stand out in the shade of the trees far below. Above the canopy, a few purple phoenixes suddenly dove in one coordinated swoop, dipping beneath the tree cover for an unseen attack.

  “What are they doing?” asked Theo.

  “Taking out the guard towers she is,” replied Nagima, distracted. “Guiding her the Mother’s visions most certainly are.”

  “Certain how can you be?” questioned Dak.

  “The trumpeting!” exclaimed Nagima, clapping her hands as she put the pieces together. “The sound that came second must be the signaling of Onqul’s attack from the forest tower. Purposefully she did this.”

  “Simple coincidence,” replied Theo. But at that moment another trumpet blared from the field, and was matched again with a second, nearly perfectly overlapping, trumpeting from the forest.

  “Coincidence I think this is not,” said Nagima. “Timing her attacks Onqul certainly is.”

  “How could she force those warning trumpets to be aligned with the contest trumpets?” Theo asked.

  “Only the Mother has vision enough for attacks to be so perfectly timed,” replied Nagima.

  The Sigandar moved closer to the tree line at the edge of the field, and a few warriors—blades readied—slit the throats of the Royal Guard soldiers who were distracted by the sounds of the contest instead of monitoring the tree line as they should have been.

  The other Sigandar shot arrows into the air, perfectly aimed through gaps in the canopy, flying impossibly high. “From the crates those arrows came,” said Dak quietly.

  Each arrow split into two arrows as it soared up in the air. Those arrows continued to split, joined by the continuous fire of the archers, until the sky seemed as if it could fit no more. The arrows began to fall to the ground, some catching fire as they fell—each arrow following its own unique trajectory, targeting something or someone specific.

  “So many arrows,” Dak said, shock growing on his face. “To enchant those would have taken years. Known you must have, Nagima.”

  “About the arrows I knew,” Nagima replied. “Made many over the years I did. Onqul having knowledge, I did not know. Not until the crates we saw.” Theo walked away and Nagima followed him. “Precautionary the arrows were—”

  “A precaution in case you needed to destroy my people!” Theo interrupted. “You should've told us what was inside those crates. We could have helped stop them.”

  “Your uncontrolled attack you would have unleashed upon them?” gasped Nagima. “If so powerful you are, then something right now you do.”

  Theo was angry and confused. He watched the chaos unfolding below him. There was so much panic and fire and destruction, but Theo’s heart was unchanged. He didn’t feel his power bubbling up. “It must be proximity related. I don’t know how to control my power, but I can coax it out if I get closer.” Theo started to run down the path.

  Nagima sprinted after him and grabbed his arm. “Stop,” she said. “Decimating my people are yours. Yes, enchanted many arrows I did, with possibility to use against the Empire—but never advocated for their use did I. Go together we will if so strongly you feel, but even if we run, long will it take to get to the battle. Little hope we have, fast enough to help we will not likely be.”

  “We could have helped them, Nagima.” Theo’s voice was thick with emotion.

  “Think I did not how Onqul would use the arrows. Sorry I am for not telling you.”

  “I’m going to help them if I can,” said Theo.

  “Join you I will.”

  “Come I will too,” added Dak. “I guess.”

  They ran down the mountain through a narrow and steep path that led to the tree line. They saw bodies from both sides—first sprinkling, then littering the forest—during the endless run, and as they approached the tree line they could see thousands of dead filling the field outside of the fortress.

  Never stopping, they got to the field as quickly as they could—still taking well over an hour—but the battle was long over. Some of the wood structures that made up the contest
arena had burnt down completely and were crackling with embers, and others were still actively in flames. Theo saw royals that he had met dead on the ground: aristocrats who passed through Rigol from time to time. Tears started to well in his eyes, but a soft, muffled beating distracted him. Theo walked toward the battlefield. “Do you hear that?”

  “Theo,” Nagima said, pulling her hood over her head to conceal her complexion. “Move we must.”

  The muffled beating grew louder—it was like a heartbeat, but it wasn’t any of theirs. Theo could feel his heartbeat slowing to match the pace of the other. It felt as if his heart was being pressed from all sides, like little hands were trying to force his heart into a box that was too small. It didn't hurt badly, but he could physically feel the pressure. “Someone is out there.”

  “Dead they are,” said Dak with a scoff. “Waste your time do not.”

  “No, listen,” Theo said. “Can you hear that?”

  “Wind I hear,” Nagima said cautiously.

  Theo slipped between an enormous mound of bodies and the crackling embers of one of the stands and continued right into the battlefield of sand until he stopped in front of a small pile of bodies. Several contest fighters had fallen on top of each other in the panic and were tangled up in each other’s legs and arms, with arrows piercing many of the gaps in their armor. “Someone is alive in here.”

  “Put them out of their misery you should if someone actually is alive in there,” said Dak.

  Theo started moving the bodies around, untangling their limbs. There were four fighters. Theo pointed at one of the bodies at the bottom of the pile. “He’s alive.”

  “Moved he has not, nor given any signal of life,” said Nagima gently, pulling her hood down further.

  “He is giving us a signal,” Theo insisted. “Can’t you hear his heartbeat?” Theo bent down but struggled to untangle the bodies by himself. “We have to help him.”

  Nagima bent down to help Theo. “Help you will I.” They reverently moved a few bodies from the depressing pile.