Chapter 24: Terra

We beeline toward the three raised, circular arenas in the center of the courtyard, each of them ringed with several rows of suspended cords, each with two sets of steps—on opposite sides from one another. Hopefully the rope has some give to it, or it’ll be hard to get in, even with the steps.

One of them is larger and raised slightly higher than the others. We reach the base of it just as the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon. It baffles me that so many citizens have traveled through the night just to see a sequence of fights.

I wonder at the reason behind the three different arenas, but before I can ask Jesse, Duncan walks up the steps of the largest platform, swings between the middle and top rope, and stands up straight. The crowd quickly falls silent.

“It's my pleasure to welcome you to the Sterling Unit Ascension. We weren't planning to host this for several more weeks, but I'm sure you'll all join me in welcoming my recently returned daughter, Alora Sterling.”

Murmurs rise from the crowd, and heads turn sharply in my direction. My father gestures and I climb up onto the dais, shifting the flexible cord to stand next to him. Jesse follows me up, taking a place on my other side. Even here on this platform, they're placing themselves in protective positions. Their message is clear.

In spite of their show of family support, there are at least as many scowls as welcoming smiles directed at me.

“I imagine most of you were as surprised as I was to hear that Alora’s alive—and perhaps more shocked to discover that she can Lift. My wife apparently felt that the best way to keep Alora safe from the radical position taken by the Followers of Amun was to hide her existence entirely.”

He pauses for a moment, allowing the gathered citizens to murmur.

“As you all know, Amun would have murdered my daughter outright when I discovered she could Lift at the age of one. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen, and I won’t deny that I wanted to prevent the confrontation as long as possible. But my wife took my reticence one step further—and sacrificed her own life to hide Alora. From Amun. From Isis. And even from me.” His face is open, and his sorrow is clear for any to see.

He allows them another moment or two for murmuring.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all about Alora’s abilities—but I thought them well and truly gone. I won’t lie and say I’m not delighted to discover she’s not only alive, but that she’s home. The time has now come for her to rejoin her family, and that means that I expect all of you to defend her.” His eyes are sad. “I don’t make this request of you lightly. It has always been the position of the Followers of Isis that women deserve our protection, our devotion, and our dedication. We believe that their inability to Lift makes them more vulnerable and therefore more in need of our help. It does not, however, mean they are less valuable.”

Duncan pauses.

“I’m sure many of you would protect Alora with no other reason or incentive, but my daughter, as you will see shortly, is fierce in her own right. She is strong, as you might expect of the Warden foretold by our oldest prophecy. Her return was a promise given to all of us by Mother Terra herself, and now that she’s here, Alora will not cower or hide. Yesterday, exhausted from a long journey, she nevertheless challenged my first in command when he threatened me, unwittingly sparking this Ascension. She did that to defend a father she doesn’t even know, and now, today, she stands before you, prepared to show that she is ready to fight with us against any of our mutual foes.”

My dad's eyes dart to my hair, his eyes widening as if he’s signaling me. It must be time. I Lift my hair into a dozen small sections, braiding each one together at the same time. I do this every day, so it moves along quickly. I braid those braids together and then wrap it all into a bun on the back of my head before Binding it in place. The early morning light is dim enough that the light spilling outward from my eyes makes it obvious that I’m Lifting.

After a few seconds, cheers erupt from small patches around the courtyard, and unless I’m mistaken, many of the people shouting are women. The men gathered, the soldiers, may not know what to think about me, but it's clear they respect my dad. His idea to show them I can Bind adeptly was a good one. Which means that Jesse was right, too. This very public fight matters.

No matter my total lack of experience and training, I can't lose entirely, not if I want their support.

“Today's first match will be between our newest applicant, Alora Sterling, and the Unit Leader in position thirteen, Flynn Preston.”

Duncan steps out of the ring, and Jesse reaches over and pats me on the shoulder before he swings out, too. When I turn back to face the center of the ring, unsure what to expect, a tall, almost grizzled man swings into the ring. He spits, and it lands on the ground just outside of the ring. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and looks at me questioningly. I'm at a loss. I have no idea what this man wants, but he looks nothing like any nobleman I’ve seen. Every man in Martin’s troupe had better manners than he does.

“Are you going to choose a weapon, or were you waiting for them to bring you a selection on a platter, adorned with little bows?”

“Right.” I need to choose a weapon, because I'm the challenger. I really should’ve listened a little closer to what Duncan and Jesse were saying at breakfast. I do recall something about selecting a category of weapon.

I glance at Jesse, who tosses his head toward a rack a few feet from the arena. Weapons are arranged on it into sections, with a variety of bladed options available like knives, swords, axes, and machetes. Next to that is an entirely separate section of stick-shaped objects. Bows, staffs, rods, and the like. Finally, there’s also an array of projectile weapons like slingshots, bows and arrows, throwing stars etcetera. I have no idea how I’d possibly use these weapons in a small arena.

Something Jesse mentioned floats to the surface. Flynn. Flynn. I focus—he said staffs, I think. He said to choose staffs with him? I think. Gosh, you’d think he’d have been more clear on what I should choose for the very first fight. The bladed weapons glimmer in their cases and I imagine them slicing through flesh and bone. The very idea of using a sharpened blade turns my stomach. “I’ll choose staffs and rods.”

“Non-bladed, close combat weapons.” Flynn smiles.

Jesse groans.

Whoops. As if his groan calls it to mind, I recall my brother warning me that this guy handles a staff with skill and ease. Flynn holds a hand out over the ropes of the ring and a delicate woman in a beautiful yellow dress hands him an ornately carved staff. He tosses it from hand to hand and rolls his shoulders.

Jesse hops back into the ring with a fairly thick rod in hand. He passes it to me and whispers, “I said anything but the staff. Flynn grew up in a rough neighborhood and couldn’t afford a nice weapon until he joined the Unit. He’s tough, and he's getting older, but he's still fast. Really fast.”

“I don't know how to use a sword, either. And I'm good with a staff.” I refuse to give up before I start.

Jesse sighs. “Try to stay out of his reach. He'll wear himself out if you defend long enough. Then go for it.”

I nod, trying to listen better this time. Wear him out. Defend defend defend. Then attack. As if I know how to do any of that.

“Wait!” I spin around to face Jesse as he exits the arena. “What ends the match? I don't have to kill him, right?” How did this not come up before?

He smacks his forehead with his palm. “I told you that if someone loses, they go home, implying they’re alive. Please don't kill anyone!” He grits his teeth. “Hold him against the mat for a count of three and you win.”

I look right into his dark blue eyes and whisper, “I can’t do this.”

He grins and swings down to the ground without missing a beat. “Yes, you can.” He pats my ankle from under the wire. “You’re a Sterling. You were born to do this.” I turn just in time for Duncan to Lift a flag.

“On my mark,” Duncan says. “Three, two, one.” The flag falls and Flynn raises his staff, and then he's spinning toward me, and I'm out of time.

I throw up my staff to block, expecting it to be similar to my performance with Thomas.

But I’m clearly an idiot—this is nothing like a rehearsed performance.

Flynn's staff moves faster than Thomas’ staff ever did, much faster, so fast I almost can't follow the movements. I block him once, twice, but each blow sends shock waves through my arms. I try to block a third time, but I'm too slow. His staff, which seems to slow down right before it hits me so I can see that it's carved with the faces of angry animals, slams into my right shoulder and my right hand goes numb. I drop the staff Jesse gave me and it rolls nearly to the edge of the platform. Flynn doesn’t waste any time. He sweeps his angry animal stick under my feet. I try to leap over it, but again, I'm too slow. Before I process what has happened, my head’s cracking against the ground and my eyes are looking upward into the clear, early-morning sky.

A few remaining stars twinkle at me as if to say good morning.

It’s a terrible morning. Stupid stars.

The fall knocks the breath from me and in that space when I believe I might never be able to breathe again, my brain churns furiously. Jesse believed in me, my dad believed in me, and I believed in my abilities, and here I am, flat on my back. I need to show the crowd that I'm worth fighting for, and convince them that I’m worth saving. Instead, I've perfectly showcased how pathetic I am. I hear someone above me say “One.” I have until three to get up. Except I can't make my arms and legs move.

Even my lungs seem to have quit.

Somehow, in the absence of control over my body, something else takes over. It feels like it does in the show, when the blindfold has been placed on my face. I feel Flynn, his staff pressed down over my chest, his frame bending over me. Except there's no blindfold. I shift my eyes to Flynn's and hate the triumph I see written in them.

His eyes are mean, and I hate him.

I Lift his staff first and fling it a dozen feet up in the air, Binding it in place far out of reach.

He stumbles backward, startled by the light shining from my eyes. I try to sit up, but my right shoulder screams and my legs throb across the backs of my calves. I force myself up just as someone says “Three.” I look around to see whether I've already lost.

Am I too late?