Warrior of the Wild(9)

Last and most importantly, I slide my ax through the sheath on my back.

I check and double-check everything. Ensure that all is secure, tight, and comfortable.

At a knock on my door, my heart skips a beat. I know it can’t be Irrenia. She said the previous night that she was to go see patients until the time of my trial.

It’s Father.

He strides into my room and looks me over from head to toe, hands hidden behind his back.

When he finishes his assessment, he nods to himself. “Your eye is better. Irrenia did fine work. And I’m proud of you, Rasmira. You will do splendidly today. Let us forget last night’s escapade ever happened.”

I bet Torrin wishes he’d extend the same sentiment to him.

“It is customary for family members to bestow a gift after you complete your trial, but I wish to give you mine now.”

He shows me what he’d been hiding behind his back.

There’s no other word for it. The ax is beautiful. I take it in my hands to inspect it. The iron has been polished until it shines. It is a bit heavier than my first ax, the shaft as long as one of my legs. But the weight is perfectly balanced. The double ax heads are wickedly sharp, ready to cut through flesh as effortlessly as a fish skims through water. Etched into the blades are a series of swirling knots, alluring and intricate. Some of the designs morph into dragon-like figures; others take the shape of birds.

Black leather coats the handle, giving me a perfect grip.

“It’s exquisite,” I say. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part. The bladesmith has added a new feature.” Father extends his hand, reaching for a notch I hadn’t noticed along the handle. He presses it down.

A metal spike springs from the tip of the shaft, right in between the blades.

I gasp in excitement. “This is wonderful.”

“Only the best for my daughter.”

I set the ax down to grip my father in a hug. He pats my shoulder once before holding me back at arm’s length. Warriors do not embrace. Men do not like long hugs.

For the hundredth time, I wonder why I can’t be a warrior and a woman.

But I don’t let Father see my disappointment. I lift my old ax from my back and replace it with the new one.

“It looks good on you,” Father says. “Now come. We’re due at the amphitheater.”

We jog past many townsfolk on their way to the trial: miners with soot-stained hands, broad-shouldered builders, hunters with throwing hatchets hanging off belts at their waists, jewelers wearing their best pieces as advertisements, healers heavy-laden with slings of bandages, ointments, and other remedies.

Today no one has to work. Today is a day of trial, and all the apprentices who have turned eighteen throughout the year will get to partake in the individual trials of their trades. The whole village shows up for the warrior test—even those who don’t have children participating. Simply put, ours is the most exciting to watch.

I’m sure my mother would prefer to stay home, but she wouldn’t dare disappoint Father by not showing up to give her support.

An arena is located on the most eastern edge of the village. An amphitheater was carved out of rock hundreds of years ago; in the center rests a maze built of rock and metal.

Most of the village has already gathered. Old men with metal staffs hobble up the stairs. Children cling to their mothers, anxious over the close proximity of the wild resting beyond the inna trees. Warriors who have already passed their trials stand guard at the tree line and around the maze, ready to step in should any of the beasts inside get loose.

I should probably be nervous, but I’m not. I have fought the ziken before during training exercises. And it’s hard to be scared with the heavy weight of an ax against my back.

Father separates from me once we reach the ground level of the maze to talk with Master Burkin about the trial. As I watch him go, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Irrenia is waving wildly to get my attention from up in the amphitheater seats. I return the gesture, happy that she’s here. Mother and the rest of my sisters are there as well, seated beside her. Salvanya and her husband, Ugatos, stand and offer brief waves. Tormosa, Ashari, and Alara stand as well to show their support, and the latter puts her fingers to her lips to give off a loud whistle. Only Mother is seated and purposefully looking away from me.

Someone nudges my shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” Torrin asks.

“Torrin, I’m so sorry. How are you feeling?” His eyes are rimmed with sleepless red, and his body sags with exhaustion.

“Never better,” he says, completely undaunted. “Think nothing of yesterday. I’d do it again to spend more time with you.”

My face warms at the words. I answer his initial question. “I’m not nervous. Are you?”

“Of course. Everyone’s watching. Your father’s watching.”

I know he says this because my father is the most important man in the village, but part of me hopes it is also because he plans to court me after the trial and he wants to make a good impression. Especially after last night.

I remember my resolve to kiss him after the trial, and my heart does a flip in my chest. It must be a private moment. I don’t think I’m brave enough to kiss him in front of the others. And if he rejects me, then I don’t want anyone to witness that, either.