So I wreak havoc.
I put the faces of those whom I despise most across them. This one’s Torrin. That one’s Havard. Father, Mother, the council. Mother again. And again. And again. Her face is everywhere. That satisfied smirk, showing the pleasure she feels knowing she will never have to look upon my face again.
My chest heaves from the want of air. More of it. Faster. My thoughts are spinning.
Now that I’ve dispatched over half their numbers, a few of the ziken finally look up from the body before them. Oh goddess, I think it’s human. I’m certain it’s dead, but the muscles still twitch from all the fresh venom trapped within.
My foot steps on something that is distinctly not a rock, and I risk a glance down. It’s another battle-ax.
With my free hand, I lift the weapon from the ground. It feels heavier in my less dominant hand, but still right. An ax always feels good within my grasp.
Two ziken leap at me, red blood dripping from their maws. I bring both axes down, embedding the blades into their skulls. I pull the right ax out and use it to decapitate the other beast. Then I bring both axes down on the other one’s head.
More ziken follow. I spin and twist, duck, thrust. My boots make a squeaking noise as they skim across a blood-soaked stone.
I cross my arms and launch outward with my double axes, severing two heads simultaneously with the movement.
That’s all of them.
I drop the metal from my hands, the weight of the axes suddenly too much to bear. Sinking to my knees, I take in the flailing body before me.
It’s a boy.
He looks my age, maybe a little older.
He lies on his stomach, the back of his shirt ripped open to expose skin covered in bites. Blood drips steadily down his sides to the ground. Were he still alive, he would be in unbearable pain, especially with the way his body contracts where all those wounds are. Ziken venom truly is a nightmare.
His hair is a deep brown with lighter streaks glinting in the sunlight as his head twitches. His eyes are closed, and the cheek I can see is covered in scratches, likely from flailing against the rocks beneath him.
His eyelids slam open, and I leap backward with an “Ah!”
I try to reassure myself it’s just the venom controlling the body, when he lets out a groan.
Blue eyes flick to me, and that’s when I finally move.
I vault to the ground, place the stranger’s head on my lap so it can’t sustain any further damage, and wait with him for the venom to cease its course.
His arms flail uncontrollably. A fist flies at my thigh, but I don’t move. It’s not his fault.
I don’t know what I’m doing. A group of boys is what landed me out in the wild in the first place. They can’t be trusted. I blame Irrenia for my urge to help him. It’s what she would do. I can only imagine her disappointment in me if I left him to die in the wild when I could have helped.
It must be at least another five minutes before his muscles calm. I brush a spot of dirt near his eye away.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
A pause. “No.”
Obviously. Stupid question.
“Hold on,” I say. As gently as I can, I lower his head to the ground. In the next moment, I dig into my pack for Irrenia’s salve. When the canister is in my hand, I say, “I’m going to rub this on your back.”
I pop off the lid and dip my fingers into the brown liquid.
“What is it? It reeks,” he says.
“It should help.”
“Should?”
“I haven’t actually used it before.”
He thinks a moment. “Do it.”
I start with the biggest of the bites, one near the center of his back, where a good chunk of flesh is missing.
As soon as my fingers touch the wound, he lets out a growl.
“Sorry!” But I don’t let up. I rub the ointment in faster. How much does it need? The stranger tries to throw me off, but I hold him down with my knees against his lower back, where the bites are fewer, and begin to rub more of Irrenia’s gift into the next wound.
Only a few seconds pass before he relaxes underneath me. I watch in wonder as his skin begins to reknit together, even re-form in places. It pains me to see that half the ointment is already gone, but I can’t bring myself to stop helping someone in need. It’s what Irrenia would do.
“What is your name?” he asks.
“You first,” I say as I continue rubbing the foul-smelling cure into his skin.
“Soren.”
“I’m Rasmira.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“You should be thanking my sister. She’s the one who made this miraculous ointment.”
He lets out a labored breath as my fingers brush against another wound. “But she’s not the one who fought off a dozen beasts that tried to devour me.”
I raise a brow.
“I saw most of your fight before I passed out,” Soren explains. “You’re incredible with an ax.”
The praise makes me uncomfortable, so instead of thanking him, I say, “You must be terrible with one.”
A short laugh escapes his lips. “Not usually, but when it’s one against twelve…”
“What are you even doing out here?”
“I live out here. The wild has been my home for a year.”
“A year!” I exclaim. So that means … “You were exiled after last year’s trial.”
For some reason, he grins at me. “And you must be this year’s failure.”
I wince and withdraw my hand now that Soren’s back is mostly healed. I place my focus on returning the lid to the canister. Three-fourths of the salve is now gone. I didn’t regret helping him until his last comment, however.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Too soon. I’m an idiot.”
“Almost a dead idiot.” I rise and wipe my hands off on my pants.
Soren tries to get his hands underneath himself to push onto his feet. He rises maybe an inch before falling back down.
“Do you think you could help me stand?” he asks.
“Roll onto your back.”
He grimaces.
“Your skin has healed over,” I say.
“What? How? I thought you gave me something to numb the pain.”
I tell him about Irrenia’s experiments with ziken blood. When I finish, he dares to roll onto his back.
“She sounds amazing,” he says.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “She is.” I hold down my hand to him, and he takes it. Once on his feet, I let go, but he sways to one side. I throw Soren’s arm over my shoulder to ground him.
“Side effect of your magical cream?” he asks.
“I don’t think so. You lost some blood. It’s made you light-headed, and you’re likely exhausted from your ordeal.”
“And you’re not?”
Truth be told, I feel ready to sleep for a hundred years, but having someone else to take care of is giving me the strength to go on. I answer with a shrug.
“This way,” Soren says. “I have shelter.”
We walk side by side. I hadn’t realized when he was on the ground, but he’s barely an inch taller than I am. Something tells me it’s never been a problem, however. Any other girl would think him handsome with his bright blue eyes, strong jaw, and long black lashes. But not me. I will never think of a boy that way ever again.
“So, Rasmira,” he says. “Do you have a boy waiting for you back home?”
I drop him.
All the air leaves him as he crashes to the ground. I hadn’t meant to let go of him, but the question was so startling, so painful, and Torrin’s face worked its way to the front of my mind.
“Ow,” Soren moans.
I reach down to help him back up, shaking brown eyes from my thoughts. “Sorry. That was an accident.”
He clings to me with more strength this time, as though he doesn’t trust me to hold on to him. “What, did you trip?”
“Something like that.” It’s such a bland response to get around telling a lie. He probably sees right through, and I expect him to call me out on it.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Soren says instead.
This time, my tone turns harsh. “No, I didn’t.”
He may be injured, but at least he’s not stupid. Soren takes that for the dismissal it is, and only points if I start going in the wrong direction.
“Should have kept better track of the days,” he says as we veer around a large boulder a few minutes later.