7 days before the War
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Ayla knew the island as well as she knew the cabin she lived in. The red alder trees near the western coast always shed the best firewood. She finished her chores in record time and set her bundles of wood down outside the open door. The whole cabin smelled like cinnamon and fennel seed. Her dad must still be cooking.
She peeked into the kitchen, her dad standing over their old stove. He dipped his finger into the pot for several seconds and then put it in his mouth before he nodded. She smiled and said, “I’m back, Dad.”
He glanced over his shoulder and then smiled big and bright, lines by his eyes, teeth white. “When’d you get so fast, kid?” he said. Several stains colored his white apron, a souvenir her uncle had bought him from a human boutique shop. “I’m not even half-way done with dinner.”
“Well…” she said as she crossed the hardwood floor from the hallway to her dad. “I wanted to save some time for other things.”
She leaned forward over the pot, but her dad covered her eyes.
“Certainly you didn't want to spend extra time watching me cook,” he said with a low chuckle.
His cold hand smelled like soil after rain. She still wasn’t used to the damp decaying smell. The odor used to make her wince away from him, but she’d learned to suppress it.
“No cheating,” he said, pulling her away and then uncovering her eyes. “I want your birthday dinner to be a surprise. Nice try, sweetie.”
She could smell caraway seed and aniseed without having to see if it was rice pudding or not. “I thought maybe I'd pick up some extra ingredients...” Ayla moved away from his side and opened the refrigerator. “For dinner,” she added.
He chuckled. “You’re cute.” He patted the bun on her head keeping her hair out of her face and off of her neck.
She frowned and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know her plan already, did he?
“Sure. Pick up what you want. You’ve got two hours.”
“Two hours?” she asked. Ayla wrinkled her nose and shut the refrigerator door. It took almost an hour and a half to make a round trip to the northern tip of the island, where the door to Ekarkara hid in a rocky cliff. “How am I supposed to shop and wish Loran a happy…”
“…birthday?” he finished for her with a big grin. He tugged on her bun before turning back to the stove. “You’ll figure it out.”
How did he always know what she was going to do? Ayla didn’t want to be late, but she didn’t want to cut her time short in Ekarkara, either.
“You’re sure I can’t have a bit more time?” she asked, just in case. “It’s my birthday.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the head. “I’ll cry if you’re late. It’s my birthday, too.”
His brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight through the kitchen window, a harrowing comparison to the grey magic that had rolled in their depths eleven years before. She tucked the image away into the back of her mind with the mention of their shared birthday because they were the last issues she wanted to think about right now.
“Fine, you win. Only because I never want you to cry…” She gave him a hug, but peeked sideways into the pot on the stove. She smirked.
It was rice pudding. Her favorite.
He pulled away from her and grinned, sharp features softening into round cheeks. “Hurry on home to me, dear.”
Ayla waved as she headed back to the hall. “See you in two hours!”
She reached the northern tip of the island in thirty minutes. She climbed up Eagle Cliff’s lenient slope with magic she willed into her muscles. Rich pine lingered in the sea air as she made her way to the door that led to Ekarkara—a city existing on a reflection of the island she lived on. She didn’t understand the mechanics, but the staircase that wound down into the cliff always opened to the same spot she started in except in a seemingly different world. A world where mageians like her lived among therians like Loran.
She wanted to get there faster.
Ayla’s palms grazed over the rock of the cliff and pressed into a small raindrop symbol. A door caved into the mountain and slid to the right. Darkness invited her in.
She hurried down the spiral staircase. Cold mist clung to her body as she headed into the heart of the cliff. Half-way down, a disorienting motion moved over her limbs as her body’s natural sense of direction reversed. She stopped for a second and touched a hand to the smooth stone wall to keep from tripping, but a smile slid on her face. That movement let her know she’d arrived.
She climbed down the second leg of the stairs. At the end, light slipped through the bottom of another door, the same raindrop symbol in the center. Ayla pressed into it and waited with bated breath as the door slid to the right again.
She stepped forward into the sunlight to a panoramic view of the island and the blue waters of the Sound. Stairs carved in the stone led away from the cliff into the ancient forest below. The luscious, green trees were enormous, towering at least two times higher than the trees in the human world she’d been in.
Ayla’s smile didn’t fade.
Looking across Ekarkara always rekindled the memory of her first visit to the city with her dad and mom when she was two. Her dad told her it was his greatest achievement and her younger self asked if he’d made it out of confusion. Ayla could still remember the sound of her mother laughing, like soft waves against the sand. Magic enhanced her memory, but that’s all she could remember. It was enough.
The packed market moved in an uncoordinated mass of tanned bodies and luscious silken clothes. The heat hung above dark heads like a death wish. She weaved between people, keeping her eyes down but her ears open to the low mumbling of the crowd.
Everyone was talking about the War. She didn’t want to hear it.
A woman with caramel-colored skin stopped her. The golden coin bracelets clinked against each other. Ayla looked at her rounded face and tried to connect a name to it. Ninve? Ninwa?
“Ayla,” she said, her smile revealing teeth with a slight yellow tint. “Have you heard anything about the War?” Her words had a clear ring.
Ayla shook her head. She didn’t have the time to stop to make conversation.
“Let me know if you do,” she said with a smile. Her dark maroon eyes brightened.
“I will.”
The lady moved away. Maybe her name was Nisha? Her hips swayed, golden coins rattling as she joined another woman with long, black hair.
Ayla smiled at them both before slipping between two men with dark, coarse shirts.
As she moved in the crowd down the street, she stopped noticing faces and paid more attention to the vibrant and embroidered clothes draped around the mageian and therian women. Some wore the color of the sea while others wore the color of the trees. They wore gold coins around their necks and their waists. They looked like a beautiful painting against the colored carts lining the street.
Over the chatting crowd, vendors tried to make sure anyone within five meters knew about the newest fruits, silkiest robes, and oldest books available today. Cumin, nutmeg, and allspice mixed with the sea salt air and rich pine. She wanted to buy it all, but she didn’t have time. It was unfortunate.
“Apples, oranges, bananas!” a vendor a few carts down called over the crowd. “600 zuzu each! Special low price for today only!” He had a thick accent, his letters rolling over his tongue more than normal. Therians who hadn’t grown up in Ekarkara tended to sound just like that.
She burrowed between bodies to the wooden cart he stood behind. A couple was debating on how many bananas to purchase as she palmed an apple. Ayla tossed it up in the air and caught it. It was a bright green, lighter than fresh leaves on the trees. She was tempted to take a bite out of it.
“You like apples?” the vendor asked.
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He had stepped next to her and she hadn’t realized. He had a coarse beard and very light, cream colored eyes. He smiled, his teeth slightly larger than normal.
The first rule of the market was to never show interest in the products.
“No,” Ayla said and put the apple back in its bin, clustered together with its brother and sister apples. “It looked bruised.”
The vender’s bushy eyebrows shot up and his nostrils flared. “My apples are the best apples in the city,” he said, his tongue slurring his words together. He put his fists on his hips. The therian’s belly spilled over the wide cloth belt at his waist.
“I’ll give you them for 500 zuzu each,” he said, frown lines in his forehead. “Special low price for you.”
The second rule of the market was that it was stupid to engage in bargaining with vendors. The cart she usually went to always gave her 100 zuzu off the normal price. If anyone wanted a lower price, they had to trick the vendor into lowering it or become friendly with the vendor. Ayla would have to trick this one because she didn’t have enough zuzu to buy what she wanted. She also didn’t have enough time to find her usual vendor.
Ayla picked a basket from the bottom of the cart with a sigh. She grabbed an apple, carefully examining for even a spot of brown on its smooth, green skin. The therian vendor watched her, licking his lips. He smiled with yellow teeth.
She set it back down and then glanced at his light eyes. His face fell. Shame landed on a vendor who couldn’t make a sale to a girl like her: young, mageian, and alone.
“I think I’ll just go to my usual cart.”
“400!” he said. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar.
She smiled. That would be enough. “Okay. I’ll take three.”
“Perfect,” he said, a wolfish grin coming over his face. His pride must still be intact. “Make sure to stop by again, okay?”
Ayla reached out and filled the basket before she paid him for the produce with two gold coins—one 1000-piece and one 200-piece. She swung the basket over her shoulder, thanked him, and left for Loran’s house.
Ayla glanced at the sky—seven degrees after high sun. She only had time enough for the sun to move eight more degrees before she’d be late. She’d have to move faster.
Ayla ran along the dirt path and then turned down the trail leading to Loran’s house. Twigs snapped and rocks crumbled under her steps, cold magic padding her bare feet. A few people heading toward the market waved at her.
As she passed by each house, anticipation rolled out of the doors. Everyone was waiting for the arrival of a trainer. One day a year, on her birthday, Ekarkara was tight with tension. The date wasn’t coincidental. The trainers came to pick up the competitors for the War, but the competitors weren’t picked at random. They were hand-crafted and born on the same day.
Ayla never allowed useless fear to get in the way of having a good time and she wasn’t going to start today. Loran felt the same way.
The Amedi house loomed over its neighboring houses in the distance and sat across from the only empty house in Ekarkara. It had been her house before the last War. Her family name, Elias, labeled a gold plate by the front door. She couldn’t remember living in it, but she remembered visiting Loran every day when he was still a puppy. Now he looked as human as she did.
Ayla ran until she got to the Amedi house. She stopped a few feet away with a frown. The door was closed—the only door she’d seen closed since she got here. She approached, trying to control her breathing, and assessed the big house, blocks of rooms sitting on top of each other without any design. Blue fabric billowed in the wind in a second story window.
She was about to knock on the front door when it opened. Loran’s mom covered her mouth with a warm hand and pulled her inside with a gentle tug. Ayla frowned as Pejna closed the door without a noise and then put a finger to her own lips, shaking her head. Black wisps of hair caressed her cheeks. Her dancing eyes were a cream even lighter than the vendor she’d met.
Ayla’s heart thudded in her chest as Pejna pressed her into the corner by the door. The dark house smelled like decaying leaves. She could hear a shrill voice in the living room and glanced at the stone ceiling. Who was up there?
Pejna pressed her hands to Ayla’s ears and looked over her shoulder toward the stairs in the left corner of the room. Ayla held her breath. Why didn’t Pejna want her to hear what was going on?
Ayla closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She wanted to listen in. Was Loran up there? She nudged the magic under her eyelids, icy cold, toward her ears. If she wasn’t careful, Pejna would see the magic crawling along her skin and she’d make Ayla leave.
“You want a lot of things, right?” Ayla heard the shrill voice like a whisper from across the room. “You want to keep your mother safe and happy—the poor thing lost her husband after all. And you want to keep your friends cheerful. I’m sure you want them all to live long and prosperous lives.”
“I do want those things.”
It was Loran. He was upstairs. Ayla’s heart thudded. Pejna looked down at her, eyes narrowing, and she cupped her hands over Ayla’s ears to block out the voices more.
The woman continued, voice muffled, “And you want to protect Ayla, right? Keep her from competing.”
Ayla fought her gasp. Who was this woman?
She couldn’t hear what the woman was saying—it was too faint for even magic-enhanced hearing to catch. Loran’s voice didn’t reach her ears either. Ayla kept pressing, wishing her magic could do more, begging it to hear what they were saying.
Was the woman talking about competing in the War? It was unlikely for the War to happen again so soon. It only occurred once a century and her dad had competed just sixteen years before. What was going on?
Ayla didn’t have to worry about the War… Right?
“Okay,” he said.
Ayla frowned. Her heart threw itself up her throat. What?
“Deal?” the woman asked.
“Deal,” he said.
Suddenly, the house warmed with spring air. Pejna moved her hands from Ayla’s ears and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The older woman pulled her close before she reached over and opened the door.
“Ayla,” she said. Her voice wavered, but it wasn’t very noticeable. “Isn’t it a bit late?”
Ayla swallowed from her spot in the corner. Pejna glanced at her and smiled—tried to smile. She was trying to make it seem like Ayla had just arrived at the house. She had to play along.
“I—Yeah.” Ayla let out a breath, trying to calm herself. If she didn’t and Loran came down, he’d know something was up—he’d know she’d heard something she wasn’t supposed to. Loran was like an older brother, obnoxious, all-knowing, and completely predictable.
Ayla swallowed her heart back to her chest. “I’m in a hurry. Is Loran here?”
Pejna turned her head toward the stairs. “Loran!” she called. She turned back to Ayla. “Why don’t you come inside?” she asked. After a few moments, she shut the door.
Ayla had to hand it to Pejna. She possessed a talent for tricking her son. Ayla wished she had it, too.
Ayla heard Loran’s feet moving across the ceiling before the stairs creaked and he appeared at the top. He hurried down and smiled.
“Hey, Ayla,” he said, his voice deep. His dark hair was messy, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. He did that when he was nervous.
Pejna gave Ayla a quick smile, a little hug, and headed upstairs. She placed a hearty pat on Loran’s arm as she passed him.
“She’s in a hurry,” his mom said, “if you didn’t hear. Better be quick about wishing her a happy birthday.”
Loran rolled his eyes as his mom laughed her way up the stairs. Ayla wondered how she could pretend nothing had just happened. She watched the woman’s curvy figure until she disappeared to the second floor.
“Couldn’t go back home without saying bye?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face. He wore a sleeveless shirt tucked into a traditional belt. A light perspiration glistened across his muscular arms.
“Let me correct you,” she said. “I couldn’t leave without saying happy birthday.” She smiled up to his vibrant blue eyes and hoped she looked normal. It was hard to trick a boy who could see magic jumping off her skin when she was nervous or upset.
His angular face softened as he returned her smile. “Celebrating with your dad again this year?”
“Yeah, of course. Nothing like partying with a dead man.” She tried to laugh. His joke always felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. Loran didn’t actually know she was celebrating with her dad. He couldn’t know.
It was a secret only a few people carried. Her dad didn’t want Loran to be one of them.
She continued, “It’s too bad you can’t visit and celebrate with me instead.”
He shrugged. His shirt rippled against his lean body. “Maybe someday.” Ayla lowered her eyes—he’d said that every year for the past eight years.
Loran chuckled, a rhythm that reminded her of a steady flowing river trickling over rocks. She looked at him as he leaned toward her, her eyes falling on the small bump on his nose she’d given him when she was twelve. He smelled like air before rain, as always.
Loran whispered, “Well, happy birthday, anyway.”
His eyes sparkled as he pressed his lips to her cheeks. She felt them flush as he moved away. The big grin on his face told her that he could see it and it was only a matter of seconds before he’d tease her. Why was the kissing a tradition? She hated it—sort of.
“Even after sixteen years,” he said as he straightened up, “you still blush the same color.” Loran brushed away some hair from her face. “Your magic is an even prettier shade, though.”
She rolled her eyes and took a breath to calm her nerves, shoving his hand away from her face. “I’m glad one of us can tell.”
He laughed and messed up the bun on the top of her head. “Have a safe journey home, Ayla.”
Ayla swatted at his bigger hands. “As always,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Loran’s mouth opened with a smirk in the corner of his lips, but it lowered—his lips closing together and his teeth clinking. Ayla watched his face harden.
“Yeah.” A dimple appeared on his right cheek. “Bye.”
The color of his eyes rippled like rain against a puddle, magic swam against her skin, and a twinge pulled at her face as if the veins in her cheeks had shriveled up.
There was something tight and foreign about his features she couldn’t place. She’d seen him every day for the past eight years, yet she didn’t understand his taut jaw, his seeping magic, or the storm in his eyes. He was always relaxed, in control, and calm, just like his magic.
“You’re going to be late,” he said, his eyebrows raising a fraction.
She took a few steps back. Why had their conversation turned out like this?
“Yes, thanks,” she said and tried to smile as she waved an arm to wave.
His shoulders were rigid as he waved back. Ayla opened the door and sprinted out. Did his reaction have to do with the conversation she’d tried to overhear?
She raced back through the trails again toward the cliff that’d take her back to the human world and to her cabin on Cypress Island. She wondered about the deal he’d made, but she’d have to wait for tomorrow to ask.
Ayla almost tripped over her own feet—Loran hadn’t promised he’d see her tomorrow. He always did. They always said it—every day for the last eight years.
Maybe he was worried about the War, like the rest of the mageians and therians in Ekarkara. It was something to be concerned about, but after sixteen years, she’d grown tired of the whole idea. If the War happened, she’d be in it, and that was it. Her and those twenty others.
Had Loran not promised to see her tomorrow because the War was going to happen this year? If it was, why did he know when she didn’t?
The War couldn’t be this year. He would’ve told her and she would’ve probably known by now, too. There had to be something else bothering him. If he didn’t tell her by the end of the week, she’d give him the silent treatment. Always worked.
She called on the cold of her magic to seep back into her muscles. Either way, she really needed to make it home on time. Her dad possessed a killer pout. She pushed Loran out of her mind and set her legs in her icy magic.