Day 9 of the War
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Dark clouds covered the morning sky. The view behind Ohorshina at lunch looked like an endless sea of snow. Ashor kept quiet by her side as they ate. Zalyn dropped a spoonful of yogurt onto her first flatbread, still untouched from when he’d set it on her plate when lunch started. He grabbed a few strawberries and sprinkled them on top.
“You said you’d eat,” he said, his tone gentle. His hand fell onto her lower back.
“I…” Ayla stopped herself. She couldn’t tell him she didn’t care if she ate or not. “I’m not feeling well.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, pulling her fur tighter around her body.
A frown creased his forehead. He reached up and touched her cheek with his palm. “You don’t feel too warm. Are you just getting nervous?”
“Yes.” Her answer sounded too quick to be real, but she hoped he would take it anyway. “I’m nervous.” She couldn’t tell him that her dad had disappeared from the face of the earth for a second time, leaving her alone… again.
He nodded, his fingertips rubbing a circle into the skin of her back. “Nothing wrong with that. Eating might help you feel better, though.”
She released a breath. Why did he have to be so nice? She hadn’t expected him to be anything other than chauvinistic and self-centered. She was glad she’d been wrong, but would it be fine if she got closer to him? She didn’t need another life on the line after her dad, Loran, and Ashor.
He lifted his hand to her cheek again, cupping the side of her face. He leaned close to her, his breath tickling her nose. “Please, Ayla?”
She sucked in a breath, making sure it didn’t sound shaky, as she rolled the flatbread and took a bite. He smiled, dimples in his cheeks. It was probably too late to not care.
“Thank you.”
She finished two flatbreads before the servants replaced the food with coffee and tea. Zalyn poured her a cup of a mint tea and set it down in front of her. She started sipping at it when Ohorshina tapped her own cup with a spoon.
“Today is Elunu 18th,” she said, her voice clear and pristine. Her long, braided hair sat across her shoulder and fell next to her arm against her white fur shawl. “The first round will begin with Anu’s competitors Banipal, Sanhareb, and Ardan. You will meet in the arena at high sun to fight for Anu’s treasured weapon, the Sturdy Sword, forged out of the bull horn of the Bull-men.”
Ayla felt her throat dry. Naramsin’s mother must’ve wielded it last.
“You are welcome to stay here until the battle begins,” Ohorshina continued. Her eyes softened, her pink lips lifting into a small smile. “All competitors are required to sit in their designated areas in the stands. Those competing today will join their trainers in their waiting rooms. Please enjoy your tea.”
The mageians shifted in their seats, anxious for the fight. Arden stood and left the room, two other therians following him. Probably to get in some last minute training. Banipal and Sanhareb thought their win was a sure thing—they wouldn’t bother leaving until the last minute. She couldn’t help but think they were idiots. Neither of them had ever fought a therian before, and yet they assumed they could kill one.
Their arrogance would backfire on them.
Today, someone would die. She wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to care. None of them had a good reason to fight. They just wanted to win for the glory of it all. Ayla couldn’t care less about that—she wanted her dad back.
The therians had all left by the time Banipal and Sanhareb stood from the table. Diyalam gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Zalyn nodded at them both—some silent wish of luck. Their eyes fell to her, a silence filling the room.
“Good luck,” she said, staring into the black eyes. She didn’t mean it.
Banipal grinned. “Won’t need it, sweetheart.” He bent down and gave her a hug with one arm. He smelled like char. “But I appreciate it. I’ll take luck from a pretty girl.”
Sanhareb nodded at her. “Thanks. We’ll be the first two to show the therians what they’re up against.” He clapped a hand on Banipal’s shoulder and smirked.
“Let’s start off with a win!” Banipal said, the veins in his neck bulging.
Ayla forced a smile on her face as everyone else laughed and clapped at his declaration. The two competitors led the group of mageians to the western quarter. They waved before disappearing behind the doors to their waiting rooms. They all herded toward the stands and sat in a booth in the front row of the western side of the arena. The College of Cardinals sat to their left, dressed in purple velvet robes.
She did not look at her uncle.
Ohorshina stood from her seat in the empty front row of the northern quarter. “Welcome to the 14th Akkadian War.”
The mageians and therians cheered, the screams piercing into her ears like a million needles. What was this? Humans cheered like this for their favorite pop idol. Therians and mageians cheered for a death match?
She felt disgusted.
When the cheers quieted, Ohorshina continued. “Today is the first day of the first round. The three competitors created by Anu, the god of heaven and the King of gods, will step into this arena today to fight for the honor of wielding his treasured weapon, the Sturdy Sword. When the sun reaches its highest peak in the sky, the battle will begin.”
The cheers thundered around again. Ayla swallowed against the pressure in her ears. Zalyn reached over and took her hand, a small smile lifting his lips. He turned back to the arena. She studied his profile. He hadn’t shaved.
Was he worried about them?
The arena quieted as if they’d reached the eye of a storm. The sun peaked out from the clouds and glimmered across the freshly fallen snow from the night before on the arena floor. Grinding filled the calm air as the doors of the waiting rooms lifted.
“Presenting mageian Banipal Balou.”
He waved, the mageians cheering as he faced his back to the therian side. He soaked in the attention with a wide smile. He wore black velvet and a black belt, matching fur boots crunching into the snow. She watched his display of arrogance with narrowed eyes.
“Mageian Sanhareb Malek.”
The screams continued as Sanhareb’s form walked across the stadium, joining Banipal on their way to the middle of the arena. He dressed in similar attire to his training partner. Sanhareb tied his hair back and lifted a hand to the crowd. His body looked tense, ready for a fight. Ayla doubted he really was.
“And therian Arden Zebari.”
The mageians quieted in an instant. The distant chants and cheers of the therians filled the stadium in their absence. He walked straight toward them as if on the prowl. He wore no shoes and no shirt, just a low-sitting pair of black velvet pants.
“How do you think they’ll fare?” she whispered to Zalyn.
“They’ve been training for this since they were born,” he said. His bloodshot eyes remained fixated on the arena. “There’s no way they can lose.”
She let out a breath, hoping they would be for his sake. Were any of the mageians prepared to see anyone die? Did they realize between Banipal and Sanhareb, only one could win?
“Please join each other in the middle of the stadium,” Ohorshina said. She continued when they faced each other, Banipal and Sanhareb standing side-by-side and Arden standing ten paces away. “May Anu be with you.”
Arden charged forward, his hand twisting into a mess of black fur. Sanhareb dropped into a fighting stance and blocked Arden’s first punch, Banipal behind him and waiting for the perfect moment. A smile grew onto Arden’s golden face, his lips stretching into his dark beard, as his foot connected with Sanhareb’s thigh.
His knee buckled under the blow and Arden tore his claws through his face in one clean swipe. Sanhareb’s body fell forward into the snow with a loud thud. Arden lifted his leg and slammed it down on his head. Sanhareb’s skull cracked, the noise sending the therians roaring across the arena.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Ashor clasped her knee. A shiver moved down Ayla’s spine, her heart shrinking in her chest for a moment. Blood stained the snow around Sanhareb’s locks of hair. The Maleks had lost two competitors fifteen years ago, and now they’d lost another—killed within moments.
Clouds of freezing air swirled from Banipal’s mouth as he stared between Sanhareb’s fallen body and Arden. He growled, stalking toward him with stiff shoulders, closing the distance between them. Arden cracked his neck and hopped between his feet. His other hand twisted into a black paw, outfitted with sharp claws.
Zalyn squeezed her other hand. Ashor’s legs jittered next to hers. She searched for words to calm them both, but couldn’t find anything beyond a bunch of lies.
Another burst of cheering erupted from the therians. Banipal kicked toward Arden’s head, but he brought his block up in time. The therian gritted his teeth against the force, pushed to the side like a piece of wood. As Banipal retracted his leg, Arden moved in with swift feet, landing a punch to his shoulder before Banipal lifted his guard and blocked the second punch to his face.
Blood seeped from his shoulder as he lifted his leg up again. Arden dodged backward, but the tip of Banipal’s foot socked him in the cheek. Arden’s leg drove toward Banipal’s hip as he moved away, catching his elbow instead. He grimaced as the two pulled away.
They kept a five-step distance between them as they circled each other, bouncing on their toes. Banipal closed the distance and went for a kick to the ribs. Arden took it with a pained expression, stepping forward into a powerful punch aimed at Banipal’s face.
Banipal raised is guard, but the therian’s fist crushed through it. The mageian staggered back, blood trickling from his nose, before he was back on his toes and prowling around Arden.
“He’ll find the perfect chance,” Zalyn whispered. “He likes to kill in a one-hit punch…”
“But he’s not punching He’s not thinking,” Ashor said, his voice sounding clipped and angry. “He’s never fought a therian. He thinks that his kicks will give him an advantage.”
Ayla shook her head. That couldn’t be more wrong.
“That’s how we were taught,” Zalyn whispered back. His eyes cut into Ashor.
Arden rushed forward, his legs transforming in a black trickle of smoke into two powerful legs of a predator, black fur glistening. Banipal staggered back, his feet planting into the snow, as he dodged Arden’s first clawed punch. He lifted his leg, drilling his foot into his liver and blocking Arden’s second punch.
“This is it!” Zalyn’s back straightened before he leaned forward against the railing. He held her hand with both of his own, his pulse against her skin like a rockslide.
Banipal switched feet and kicked Arden in the temple. Arden’s head blew sideways, as if sliced from his neck. The mageians exploded into delayed cheers and applause while Arden drove his fist forward and into Banipal’s nose. They quieted.
Banipal fell backward. Zalyn’s back thudded against the wooden booth, his jaw slackened. The therians jumped from their seats in a surge of ecstatic shouts as Zalyn swore.
Arden walked over to Banipal’s unconscious body, bent over, and drilled his paw into his chest. The therian crowd lifted banners, blowing horns from the stands. The mageians silenced, frozen and stunned. Ashor’s legs were motionless beside her, his hand cold on her leg.
Ohorshina stood, lifting her hands for silence. The therian cheers grew faint as she announced, “The winner is therian Arden Zebari.” They erupted again. The stands thundered across the expanse of the stadium, vibrating in Ayla’s bones.
The priestess walked down a pair of stairs connected to her booth. A guard at the bottom lifted a long sword that looked nearly as long as her arm span. She took it before she walked across the snow-covered arena to Arden as the sun caught his sweat. The scabbard shined like silver, curving at the point at one end. The hilt of the sword looked like an ebony crown.
Ohorshina stopped in front of Arden and then knelt on one knee, holding the sword up for the therian to take. “I present to you the Sturdy Sword.”
He took it in one hand and unsheathed it with the other. The blade glinted in the sun as he drove it into the air with a loud roar.
Ashor hung his head and Zalyn lifted her hand to his eyes, tipping his head back to the sky. She stared into the arena, numb and yet more aware than she’d ever been. They’d never seen Banipal or Sanhareb again. Just like she’d never see her dad again unless she was as coldhearted as Arden.
#
Her maids served dinner in silence, leaving the tray on her table and leaving without saying a single word. She sat on her bed, crossed-legged, clasping her ankles.
She didn’t know what to do.
Her dad was gone. She didn’t know why or how, but he wasn’t here. Had Ereshkigal lied to her? She bit her bottom lip. Had she been completely tricked by the goddess of the underworld into a deal that would provided her with no benefit?
She swallowed as darkness enveloped her room, the sun to the west finishing its descent across the sky. She closed her eyes, wondering if sleep would come to her tonight.
A soft knock drew her attention, her eyes snapping open. She rushed to the door as she heard Loran call her name in a whisper. He smiled when she opened the door, tears swelling over her eyelashes.
His smile faded. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping in. He took her arm and pressed his lips into her wrist in one swift motion before he closed the door and set his candle on her desk. He enveloped her in his arms. “Were they your friends?”
She shook her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. She never knew how good it felt to be in his embrace.
“Then why’re you crying?” He petted her hair with soft strokes, resting his chin on the top of her head.
She shook her head more. She couldn’t tell him about her dad. She’d have to tell him everything. He’d know she’d been lying to him since she was five. He’d hate her. She rather keep lying that have his hatred.
He pulled back, his hands sliding to the sides of her face. Shadows caught his entire face except a sliver of his bottom lip.
“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, lowering her head so she didn’t have to look in his eyes.
He dropped a hand to her chin and lifted it. “Ayla, tell me what’s wrong. I promise I’ll comfort you in any way I can.”
“I can’t. You’ll—” Her heart quivered at the thought. “You’ll hate me.”
“I’d never hate you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.
She swallowed against his fresh water scent. She wished she could see the color of his eyes, if only to memorize them before he started looking at her in abhorrence. “You will.”
“Why can’t you tell me?” he asked. Silence stretched between them infinitum.
She closed her eyes. Her heart ached between the moments he waited for her, his warmth spreading across her body like the sun. What could she do? She’d wanted to tell him the truth from the beginning, but after lying for so long...
“Ayla,” he pleaded.
She wanted to groan, but only scrunched her eyes closed. “My dad has been living with me for ten years.”
His next breath didn’t come. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice strained.
She pulled him closer. “My mom and dad made a deal with Ereshkigal when they were murdered.” It spilled out of her and she couldn’t stop it. Finally, she could tell him the truth—everything—but the possibility that it would break their friendship loomed over her head. “They gave her their magic so one of them could remain on earth to raise me. My dad went. He’s been living with me ever since. He trained me.”
He released a staggering breath against her chest and over the top of her hair. “I see.”
“I haven’t been living with Maron. He rarely trained me.” She swallowed. She knew he wouldn’t be happy. But it hurt more than she had bargained for. Everything was hurting more than she could’ve imagined. “After I visited you on our birthday, I came home to an empty house.” Her voice broke as her emotions overwhelmed her.
The memories flooded through her head. He tucked her head into the nook of his neck, rocking her back and forth as sobs quaked through her body. Everything seemed so much clearer now, in hindsight. How she’d been manipulated. Where she’d gone wrong. And admitting it to Loran, to all people, was torment.
“E-Ereshkigal was there.” She tried to continue through the sobs and memories because she had to finish telling him at the very least. “I thought she’d taken him back. S-she offered me a deal.”
Loran tightened his embrace. “What’d she offer you?”
“If I w-won and gave up my m-magic, she’d allow him to s-stay on earth…”
He inhaled sharply against her, his chest lifting her head into his neck. He exhaled at a slow pace and swallowed. “Everything will be fine, Ayla,” he said, his voice even but hoarse.
“Ereshkigal promised he’d be here for the War, but he’s not. He’s gone.” She clutched the fur of his cloak in her hands and forced her slick eyelids together. “He’s not here!”
“Did Ereshkigal promise he’d be here for the War?” he asked, stroking a hand along the waves in her hair. “Or did she just offer you the deal, Ayla?”
“S-she…” Her eyes snapped open, yet remained unfocused. She remembered her meeting with the gods. “She just offered it…” A wave of cold dread sunk into her head and snaked down to her toes. “Enki asked me that.” She blinked against his neck, hot tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto his skin.
“What’d he ask?” He swallowed again. His hand stopped, his fingers sunk into her hair.
She fought against a whine threatening her throat. “He asked what Ereshkigal had told me.” Her heart thumped in her chest, aware of her own mistake. “She never mentioned how soon his deal would expire. She—she tri-tricked me…”
He hunched over her, his head falling next to hers. He whispered, the words swimming into her ear. “You didn’t extend his deal…”
“What am I going to do?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he said. He pulled back, cupping her face again and bending over to look her in the eyes. “There’s nothing you can do but fight, now.”
“I—” She let out a breath, closing her eyes against the nearness of his face. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“You don’t have to.” He pulled away, placing a hand under her arm on her back and bending down to lift her knees from under her. He carried her down to her bed, stepping onto the frame embedded into the floor and then kneeling down to set her on the blankets.
“They’ll die anyway,” she said, recalling the answers to the questions her dad had asked.
“But it won’t be because you killed them,” he said. He leaned closer to her, his knees sinking into the mattress by her hip. “They will die because they lost to a greater fighter.”
“That’s not a good way to die.”
“It’s a noble way. It’s the only option we’ve got.” His hand lifted to her face, his finger running down her slick cheek. “Until the last battle, you must win, Ayla.”
“Loran.” She looked up into the shadows resting under his eyebrows. “You made a deal with Ereshkigal, too.”
He shook his head. Strands of his messy hair slid across her forehead. “I did,” he said, “but it means nothing to me.” He put his fingers to her shoulder and pressed her backward. “You need to sleep, Ayla.”
“Are you going to leave?” She grabbed onto the front of his cloak and pulled. “Please stay, Loran. Please.”
His nose touched against hers, warm to the touch. His hand lifted and slipped into her hair as his head tilted toward hers. His breath against her lips. Her heart throbbed against her throat. His lips. She wanted to feel his lips. She let in a breath through her mouth, tasting summer rain.
“I’ll stay until sunrise,” he said, his lips brushing against her nose. He moved away from her, sinking into the bed next to her and laying on his side. He slipped an arm under her head, as he would when he was younger.
She curled into him, enjoying the warmth of his body. Her lids felt heavy. She moved an arm under his cloak, over his hip, and gripped the back of his shirt. “Never leave me, Loran.”
“I won’t.”