Hope Sundered

With Sekka leading the way, the Jitsa delegation left the protective caverns beneath Hernok’s Falls and ventured south, staying parallel to the River Kysh. The surroundings were familiar to Keila, as they were retracing the way they’d come from Sekka’s hunting camp where she’d first met him.

She continued to converse in Nokri, growing more confident as she learned new words and phrases. The others humored her, correcting her from time to time and answering her many questions concerning vocabulary with vast reserves of patience and encouragement.

She noticed the dramatic difference in the way they treated her from their initial meeting. She couldn’t tell if it was a result of her confirmed matronage or the enthusiasm with which she embraced their culture.

Ekard was miserable, feeling even more alienated as Keila’s fluency increased. She made efforts to include him, offering to teach what she was learning. He fumbled, failed, and gave up, resigning himself to ignorance.

They set up camp early, which afforded Keila an opportunity to practice shooting while running at Forizu’s makeshift archery range. It took several passes before she managed to hit even one of the targets, but he urged her to continue, offering a barrage of encouraging tips and observations.

After the evening meal he approached her. “Stand up and draw your knife.”

She hesitated and looked to Sekka, who smiled and nodded. Forizu repeated himself. Reluctantly she rose and drew her boot knife, never taking her eyes off the gruff hunter.

“Now strike me,” he ordered.

“Is he serious?” she asked, looking again to her half-brother. Still smiling, Sekka motioned for her to attack.

“What did he say Keila?” Ekard asked from behind her, reaching for his own blade.

“Do not interfere,” Sekka warned him in choppy Avelirian, his smile swallowed by a glare within the blink of an eye.

“Strike me,” Forizu insisted.

“Why?” Keila shot back. “Is this some kind of ritual?”

Forizu sighed with exasperation and looked to Sekka, his eyes pleading for help.

“It’s ok, Keila,” Sekka assured her. “Do as he asks.”

“What are they saying?” Ekard cried in frustration.

“It’s fine, Ekard,” Keila said, as much to quiet her own misgivings as his. With no other option, she lunged out with her knife aimed at Forizu’s abdomen. He twisted and caught her wrist. When she tried to pull back, she couldn’t; his grip was an iron shackle. He wasn’t hurting her but he held her fast, preventing her from escaping.

“Maker’s mercy, what’s going on?” Ekard begged as he looked back and forth between her and a stone-faced Sekka, who’s scowl made it clear Ekard would regret standing up.

“You’re exceptional with a bow,” Forizu told her. “And you’re a clever fighter, but Qorio nearly killed you because you’re not strong enough. If you can’t be stronger than your enemy, you must be faster and more agile. I will show you.”

He let go of her wrist and stepped back. Likewise, Keila took a cautious step back and flexed her arm, more from embarrassment than any discomfort. She looked again at Sekka, afraid to find him laughing, but received a supportive nod and a hopeful smile.

“Now I will attack you,” Forizu announced. He held up his open hand. “This will be my knife. Defend me with your own.”

“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” she replied with a skeptical eyebrow arching high.

Forizu merely smirked. Then he lunged for her throat with his hand outstretched and flat, mimicking a blade. Keila’s knife shot up to block. This is absurd; if the maniac gets maimed, so be it.

But his hand wasn’t there. A heartbeat later she felt a slap on her left leg, just above the knee.

Forizu stepped back. “I deceived you with speed, and now you’re cut. Your leg is bleeding and will soon fail to support you. You’ll become even slower, even weaker.”

“Why not just go for the kill?”

“The kill isn’t always available. You would’ve blocked my direct attack and returned an attack of your own. A Nokri warrior is patient. You wait for an opportunity or create one, but never risk yourself unless you have no other choice.”

She grinned. “Perhaps I just need a bigger weapon.”

He frowned. “The weapon doesn’t matter. I can kill you with a rock if I know where and when to strike.”

He attacked again with several short thrusts aimed at her vital areas. Marshalling all of her knowledge from her father’s teachings, she attempted to block each one, falling for feints so close they convinced her of their genuine threat, demanding her full commitment.

With each move she fell further behind. The last attack landed as a slap across her right leg, just below the hip. He tucked and rolled past her as he struck, coming to his feet behind her.

“And now you’re disabled,” he said. “Even if you’re still standing, you can’t turn fast enough to defend your back. You won’t be able to stop my next attack, if I choose to do so. If I don’t, you’ll still bleed to death. Either way you die.”

“That’s comforting,” she mumbled, tucking her embarrassment beneath her sarcasm as she replaced an auburn strand of hair behind her ear. It galled her to know both Ekard and Sekka had just witnessed her spectacular failure. How could she command the respect of either the Avelirians or Nokri if she couldn’t fight alongside them?

“You’re the daughter of my queen, and so you’re also my queen,” Forizu said, echoing Sekka’s words from days before. His stare was intense, boring past her eyes and into her soul. “I offer my life to protect you, but I can’t protect two queens at the same time. If you’re to defend yourself, you must think like a Nokri, move like a Nokri, and fight like a Nokri.”

Keila choked down her pride long enough to consider the stern warrior’s words. He was trying to help her, not humiliate her. Though fuming, she clasped her hands together and nodded. “You honor me. Please continue.”

Forizu smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him do so. The simple gesture was so profound it seemed to change his entire appearance and caught her off guard. In that brief glimpse she saw a genuine kindness peek out from behind his fierce façade.

He returned to his position in front of her. “You attack this time, but first, look for weakness. The body has many vulnerable places. A hit doesn’t have to be impressive, only certain.”

She nodded as she listened, thinking about the many places on the body where a hit would be painful enough to prevent an opponent from continuing. She sheathed her knife and held up her hand as her weapon. He nodded and waved her on.

She lunged for his face, and as his right hand came up to block, she retracted and swung down fast. The tips of her fingers brushed against his exposed armpit. She tucked into a forward roll, just missing his backhand against her shoulders.

She came to her feet and spun to greet a grinning opponent. Sekka was clapping. Even Ekard had relaxed and looked impressed.

“Well done,” Forizu congratulated her, letting his right arm hang limp. “I can no longer swing a weapon. Now you have time to work for the kill.”

“But what if my enemy tries to run?”

He stared at her. She assumed she didn’t use the correct wording, so she thought for a moment before rephrasing. He cut her off in mid-sentence. “I understood what you said. I don’t understand your point.”

“If my enemy escapes, I don’t get the kill.”

“Neither does your enemy. You win the fight.”

“It’s not a win if he escapes! He lives to heal and fight again!”

“Why does that matter? There will always be another fight. We hope and pray for them to be few and far between, but they’ll come regardless. This is life, my queen, which is why we must be ready at all times.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There won’t be another fight if all your enemies are dead!”

“We only kill if we must. The goal is survival.”

“Survival isn’t enough!”

He sighed. His face softened with empathy; another side of the proud warrior she had yet to see. “I understand your desire for vengeance, but it’s more weakness than strength. It blinds you to the fight. You know of my past, yes?”

“Mother told me you were a spy.”

“I was there when Sekka denounced the Moesa and killed his father. Many of my kin died that day as well. I was outraged, so I volunteered to kill him, but when my chance came, I was more focused on claiming justice than defeating my opponent. I was spared in order to learn the truth, but from what you’ve shared, the Azrahterans will not be so merciful.”

“Which is exactly why we have to kill every last one of them!”

Forizu turned to Sekka. “She doesn’t understand.”

“Peace, my sister,” Sekka said, rising from his seat on the ground to join them. “Clear your mind of pain and reflect on your fight with Forizu.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the hunter. His strong hands felt safe, like her father’s had.

She exhaled her frustration in a sharp huff and stared at the warrior. Forizu’s eyes were intense as always, but they carried more concern than anger.

“Another breath, deeper this time,” Sekka instructed. She complied. “Now, look at Forizu. See him as a whole.” He paused to allow her to reflect. “Now consider the Azrahteran army as a whole. They are one enemy, larger than you, stronger than you.”

“I know that already.”

“Hush.” Sekka’s tone was gentle but firm. She was taken aback momentarily. He was her half-brother, but he was also the queen’s son, and the hunters’ captain. “Now, consider Forizu again. How did he defeat you? How did you defeat him?”

She thought for a moment, as much to calm her bubbling anger as to ponder the questions. “One carefully measured blow at a time,” she answered, realizing the point the two warriors were eager to make.

“And what matters more than killing all of the invaders?”

Keila’s sharp exhale signaled her surrender. “Saving Wyndham.”

Sekka and Forizu exchanged triumphant smiles. “Long live our queen,” Sekka said with pride, planting a soft kiss on the back of her head.