Bastial Steel (30 page)

Cleve looked to the guilty man behind him to find his eyes low, avoiding. “Someone who later died to my sword,” Cleve lied for him. He found no reason why an accident should haunt this man’s life.

“That’s not true!” It was the stupid girl shouting now. Cleve had never wanted to strike a girl before, but it took all his strength not to kick her in her mouth, which was so conveniently right by his foot.

“Who then?” the man with the knife asked her. “Was it one of these two?” Lightning struck as he gestured the weapon at Cleve and Jek.

“No,” the girl answered.

“It was Enri,” the guilty man blurted. The girl gasped and spun to face him. He put his hand up to stop her. “We can discuss this more later, but these men are right. All they did was defend themselves. You know what the plan was,” the guilty man told the remaining sentry. “They didn’t want to come with us, and a battle ensued. They’ve broken none of our rules.”

“You can speak to Azaylee on their behalf?”

“I can.”

“I can as well,” the girl chimed in.

“No need for that,” the guard told her. “Now let’s get out of this weather before we all freeze.” He closed the gate and bolted it shut after Cleve and Jek dismounted and led their horses through.

The girl ran ahead, probably to check on the boy, wherever he was.

The sentry put away his knife. “Follow me,” he told Cleve and Jek.

They shared a glance first, Cleve wondering if it would be better to stay or leave this village and look for shelter.

“What do you want to do?” Jek asked him.

“You still can’t leave,” the guilty man said. “Not until the trial is done.”

“Then, I guess we’ll stay,” Cleve said. He figured they could fight their way out, but the thought of spilling more blood, along with the hours it would take searching for cover from the hail, made the decision easy.

Jek seemed curious about the village, shining his wand in every direction as they pulled their horses along and followed the man who’d accidentally stabbed the boy.

“My name is Jaffo,” he told them.

“Jek, and that’s Cleve,” Jek said, needing to shout to be heard. “Fight a lot of people before you learn their name, Jaffo?” The mage seemed exasperated.

Jaffo didn’t answer.

Jek went back to looking at the various houses they passed. It was hard to ignore the heavy awkwardness that was growing worse in the silence. Just a short while ago, the man leading them through this village was trying to kill them. Even worse, Cleve and Jek had killed his comrades.

What does he think of us?
But Cleve couldn’t even figure out what he thought of Jaffo or the people in this village.
Perhaps once this hail stops beating down on me, I can think straight.

“Where are you taking us?” Cleve asked.

“To my house,” Jaffo said. “I have a barn for your horses.”

“Then what?” Cleve asked.

“Then we talk.”

They were silent until they reached their destination.

Inside the barn, Jek investigated each wall carefully using the light from his wand. He looked in every crevice as if expecting to find someone hiding. He was mumbling something to himself about being forced to kill people, his tone still infuriated.

Cleve told Nulya he would be back in the morning and reluctantly left, eager to learn more about this trial they seemed destined to be part of.

Jaffo locked the barn door and led them to his house.

Jek kept pushing Bastial Energy through his wand to make it glow white until Jaffo lit a lamp.

“I need to find out if Olmi is alive,” Jaffo said, taking his sword from its sheath and setting it on a nearby table.

“Olmi is the boy?” Jek asked.

“The one I stabbed, yes.” Jaffo rubbed the back of his neck and bent to look out the window.

In the light, Cleve could see that Jaffo was not nearly as old as Enri, the man who’d led the attempted kidnapping on Cleve and Jek. Jaffo seemed to be in his mid-twenties, with hair that hung down to his shoulders like Rek, except Jaffo’s was black instead of brown.

He was about Jek’s size, average build and height. Though his features were so rough in comparison to the mage they made Cleve feel his eyes were running down sandpaper when he glimpsed the man. Thick stubble lined his cheeks and neck. He had wide lips, a wide nose, even wide eyes.

“Thank you for lying for me,” Jaffo told Cleve. “Although I’m not sure I can contain the truth during the trial.”

“People always need someone to blame,” Cleve said. “I thought it would be better for it to be a dead man.”

“It would,” Jaffo agreed. “But I can’t pass my own guilt off as easily as blame, especially if the boy dies.” Jaffo took a slow breath, then lifted his gaze. “I would offer a towel, but we’re going back out there to visit Olmi. Leave your weapons here.”

Jek put his wand on the table, but Cleve didn’t move. He met Jaffo’s eyes.

“My sword stays with me.”

Hail slamming against the windows grew louder with a gust of wind. Then it faded back to its usual drumming, making the silence between Cleve and Jaffo noticeably heavy, like a weight pressed down.

“I won’t leave you in my house alone,” Jaffo said. “And the chemist won’t let you bring it in with you.”

“Then I’ll wait outside.”

“You’re a stubborn one…but fine. Let’s go.”

Each man lifted his coat over his head, meager protection against the unrelenting frozen pebbles falling from the sky. The light from lamps within the houses did little to break through the darkness of the storm. Without the Bastial light from Jek’s hand, they wouldn’t even have been able to see their feet.

When they reached the building of the chemist, Cleve could hear crying from within.
It’s the girl,
he realized.
The one who wouldn’t stop weeping.

Jaffo opened the door first, letting himself in. Jek followed, while Cleve waited at the window, watching the conversation ensue.

The chemist was in a long gray coat, not unlike the chemists Cleve had seen in Welson Kimard’s castle in Kyrro. On a bedded table was the boy, lying lifelessly. His shirt had been removed. Cleve found it on the floor, soaking up a puddle of blood.

There was an older woman there as well. The boy’s mother, Cleve figured. She and the girl were embracing each other. Jaffo and the chemist were sharing words, each of their expressions solemn.

Images of the wounded boy jumped into Cleve’s mind.
“Please, I don’t want to die!”
He’d been so desperate for help, gasping, pleading.

He died scared,
Cleve said to himself.
The worst way to go.
He felt gripping sadness take hold of his stomach. More thoughts sprouted up from wherever they dwelled—the other men he’d killed, gone, dead. He’d taken their lives.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the same remorse for them as he did when thinking of the gasping boy.

Those were grown man who made a choice to attack—the wrong choice.
But the boy was just stupid, acting without thought as boys often do.
He doesn’t deserve to die for one mistake.

Cleve had made many mistakes himself. He could’ve been killed or imprisoned just for continuing to use the bow, but he’d gotten lucky.

Not this boy. There was no luck for him.

Jek tried to say something to the girl and the boy’s mother. He lowered his head.
An apology,
Cleve realized.

The sadness within Cleve began spreading, tugging on his heart.
Why must death always remind me of my parents?
But then he thought of Jessend beside him. He thought of her touch, of holding her tightly against his body as they drifted in and out of sleep and spoke of feelings and memories he’d thought had been lost over the years.

A warmth—strength—started fighting the sadness. He took a breath. Although he was shaky from oncoming shivers, he could feel his resolve coming back.

Life goes on. Death either makes us weaker or stronger, and I’m not going to let it weaken me any longer.
It had taken so long for Cleve to realize that grief was only a temporary weakness, but he was relieved it finally had happened.

Suddenly, old conversations about his parents with his uncle, Terren, began to make sense.

After Cleve’s parents had died, Cleve had caught his uncle crying when the tough warrior thought he was alone. But moments later, Terren had come into Cleve’s room, and there were no signs of his recent sadness, of his recent weakness. He’d knelt down and reassured Cleve that everything would be fine, his expression strong and confident.

Cleve had never been able to change the way he felt about his parents’ passing, and it made him believe Terren was simply a good actor. But he realized now that Terren wasn’t acting at all. The death of Terren’s brother—Cleve’s father—really didn’t mean the end of life for the rest of them, as Terren would insist when Cleve was unwilling to eat.

Yes, it hurt. Certainly, it had made Terren feel like curling up in bed all day and weeping like Cleve had done. But with strength, this stark grief was accepted.

Cleve never had accepted the grief before.
I’d always buried it. I couldn’t live with it, so I tried to ignore it. But it’s possible to live with grief. In fact, that’s the only way to deal with it. We must accept it and go on.

He looked at the young girl and the boy’s mother for what he knew would be the last time.

And now they’ll have to live with it as well. It might take some time, but they’ll learn how to do it.

Cleve sank down to sit against the exterior wall of the building as he waited. He let his eyelids close and tried to think of the brilliant green of Reela’s eyes that always made a surge of heat swarm through his body from his heart.

He wondered what she was doing in this moment.

He tried to imagine what it was, but without a single clue to go on, he found it to be impossible. Too much could’ve happened since he’d left to even guess.

Cleve refrained from wondering if it was possible that she could be dead already…too late. The thought was there, and a dry swallow forced its way down his throat.

I need to get home. I just need to get home.
Terren, Reela, even Steffen. That’s where he belonged.

A few minutes later, Jek came out. Cleve stood to face him, each of them shielding their scalps with coats.

“Probably better that you didn’t come in,” Jek said. “Not a good scene in there.”

“I got the general idea,” Cleve said. “Is the lie going to keep up—that his grandfather was the one to stab him by accident?”

“It seems so. Definitely easier that way.” Jek peered in through the window. “Though, the girl might bring out the truth later. She was unusually mute just now.”

The door opened, and Jaffo came out. He said nothing, but his expression was clear: He was done.

As they walked back to his house, Jaffo stood between Cleve and Jek, his pace slower than Cleve would’ve liked, as if Jaffo wanted to torture himself by staying out in the weather longer than necessary.

“Is the trial tomorrow?” Cleve asked.

“Yes. You’ll see the village leader, Azaylee. She’ll ask you some questions and then decide your punishment.”

“What kind of punishments are usually given?” Cleve asked.

“She takes fingers, sometimes more. But you shouldn’t worry.”

Cleve remembered a conversation he’d had with Effie, how she’d told him how much she hated it when people told her not to worry. He’d never understood her issue with it until now—with his fingers at stake.

Cleve felt as though he would’ve been better off without Jaffo’s advice.
Or if I’d never asked,
he realized.

So he remained silent until they reached Jaffo’s home, unwilling to learn anymore about the trial except for when it was scheduled.

“It’ll be first thing in the morning,” Jaffo said. “And don’t try to leave before it. Azaylee won’t like that.”

Cleve had been out in the rain so long, the frustration of the day was starting to get to him.
Azaylee won’t like that.
He was imitating Jaffo in his mind with a contemptuous cadence, his inner child lashing out. He took a breath to relax and looked to Jek to see how this fared with him.

The mage already had his eyes on Cleve, his head lowered with his eyebrows raised. Clearly, he was just as annoyed.

Inside, Jaffo kicked off his boots, hung his jacket over a chair, and retrieved three towels from the next room. “We don’t have an inn or anything like that here. Though, most of us have an extra bed for the occasional visitor from other parts of the village. You can share it.”

“I’ll just take the floor near the fire,” Jek muttered, kneeling down in front of the hearth. “I would just get the sheets bloody.”

“Are you injured?” Jaffo asked.

“No. Never mind,” Jek pointed his wand toward the logs to start them ablaze. Jaffo stood there with his arms folded. Cleve wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it was surely something.