Warrior of the Wild(35)

Wait a moment.

I let myself down from the tree and stalk toward the barrier. I pause at the tree line when I remember the ziken is still inside. With my new idea pounding within my head, I wait for the beast to finish its meal and run off. I can’t very well do battle with it when Peruxolo could overhear at any moment.

When it’s safe, I take careful steps toward the god’s lair. I watch my feet to ensure I don’t overturn rocks or give any hint that I’m here. It’s overkill, I’m sure. If he didn’t hear the ziken chomping outside his threshold, he won’t hear me. But I can’t help it. I have no doubt that if he catches me, he will kill me. Mercy is not a concept Peruxolo has been known to show anyone, and he never breaks his word. I remember all too clearly what he promised if I returned to this spot.

When at last I step up to the barrier, I reach out. But this time I press my forearm flat against it and try bending my wrist in half. My fingers go over, but my arm stays firmly in place. I try the same tactic, this time with my torso, bending at the neck.

My head goes through, but not my body.

Not where I’m covered in armor.

In metal.

With two fingers, I find the seam on my forearm and slide the metal from the leather. One sheet from the top and one sheet from the bottom. Then I try pressing my arm against the barrier.

It goes through.

But I’m halted at the upper arm, where more armor rests within the seams of my clothing.

A small laugh escapes my lips. I slam a hand over my mouth, but as I look up to check the gap, I realize it’s too late.

Peruxolo is already there, watching me. Either he can sense when my metal is near, or the timing was simply not with me.

Ice seems to wash through me, starting at my head and falling to my toes. I drop my forearm guards to the ground and take a slow step back.

“You again,” he says. “Do you not remember what I told you would happen if you returned?” He takes slow steps toward me, and for every advance he makes, I mirror it with a retreat.

“I do.”

“And you came anyway. Why?”

I cannot lie. The goddess forbids it. I can’t risk her anger when I’ve already failed my trial. My options are to not answer or to answer truthfully. I have no doubt that silence will result in a speedy death. But answering—talking—it might distract him while I think of something.

“I have to kill you,” I say.

A breath of a laugh brushes out of that hood. “You’ve been watching me. And I suppose the first time we met you were—what? Looking for a weakness?”

I hate how he says everything, as if reading the thoughts right from my mind.

“Did you find one?” he asks, and he somehow manages to make the question sound condescending, as if he knows I didn’t. Or maybe he knows that he doesn’t have one. Because he is in fact unbeatable.

“I’ve only ever killed to survive,” I say. “I’ve killed animals to eat and animals that meant me harm. But I’m making an exception where you’re concerned. You’re my mattugr. I have to kill you if I want to go home.”

At my last statement, Peruxolo throws back his hood.

It’s the same face I’ve seen many times before, when I don’t think he knew I was looking. Blond locks, high cheekbones, blue eyes.

“You dare to challenge a god?”

I wonder why he bothered to throw back his hood. Seeing his face only humanizes him, makes it easy for me to confuse him for an ordinary man, gives me courage I didn’t know I had.

“I dare,” I say.

He spreads his empty hands out wide. “Very well, then. Take your best shot.”

I hesitate, not for fear this time, but because he hasn’t drawn his ax. Something about striking an unarmed opponent feels wrong.

But then I remember the face of that girl who lay unconscious in the back of the wagon train. I remember how Peruxolo put his fingers on her face, turning her this way and that, inspecting her as one might a piece of jewelry before deciding whether or not to purchase it. I remember the hungry faces of the children in my village. The dead, bleeding village leader who couldn’t scrounge up enough gems to satisfy Peruxolo’s greed.

Those memories give me the strength to charge. Ax arced over my shoulder, ready to swing, I hurl myself at Peruxolo, sprinting full speed.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t cringe, doesn’t blink as I get close and swing.

My ax connects with air, solid air, before ricocheting backward and throwing my balance off kilter. I barely manage to find my feet, to spin back around and take another swing, as if catching the god off guard might make a difference.

It doesn’t.

My ax bounces off nothing. It doesn’t even come close to striking the god.

“Pathetic,” Peruxolo says. “The mortals sent a little girl to kill me. Though, if I’m your mattugr, they didn’t expect you to succeed. They sent you to die. I won’t play executioner at your village’s behest, but I can hardly let you live after you’ve come here with the intent to kill your god.”

“You’re not my god. Rexasena is the true goddess over all the world. You are just some foul being who was granted too much power.”

“I’m done with you now,” he says, and he flicks his wrist in my direction.

I don’t think, I just move. I throw myself off to the side as soon as I see the beginnings of the same motion he used on the village leader he killed with one sweep of his hand.