Call to Arms (The Girl In The Arena Book 1) (16 page)

She lay down, and covered herself completely with the grass and moss that she had plucked. She also covered her pack, which she secured to herself with the rope that tied around her simple black robe.

She had thought that she would never sleep. It was terrifying out there in the bog: small animals whistled and cried, predatory birds flew overhead, but she was young and resilient and the day had been long and terrifying and her body demanded rest. She did sleep, curled up there in the wild with her arms around her pack and moss as a pillow.

In that fashion the three days since she had left the city passed. She ran as fast and far as she could, always keeping one eye out for the soldiers and always making sure to stay within an easy distance of some place that could shelter her.

She skirted around the largest section of the woods, knowing that the soldiers were going through with a fine tooth comb. All of the outlying farms between the city itself and the woods had been checked and even the ones within the environs of the woods had been searched thoroughly.

She foraged for food rather than approach a farm to an attempt to trade. At that moment she was perched in a high tree top munching on a dense and nutritious lichen as well as a few raw mushrooms and some strips of jerky that Hector had placed in her pack.

The sun was warm and bright. Her mood however was far from bright; she was worried about the Outlaws in the woods. If the soldiers were searching for her they would have no mercy and while she knew that most of those who were in the woods were capable of hiding in plain sight, much as she and her father had been, some of them were new refugees to the woods and those would be the ones who would not survive.

That brought home to her again just how many people had died because of her actions. How many more would die because of her?

She couldn’t dwell on that and she knew it but it was hard not to. To stop those thoughts she turned her attention to the landline below her, looking for the small strip of sand that would lead her toward the post road.

She knew that the soldiers would not go that way; they would know that she would not dare it. Why would she dare it, the Old Post Road was home to nothing more than that lonely outpost and the great sprawling desert beyond it.

Those vast wastelands that held nothing, nothing but shifting sands and certain death.

That was exactly where she was headed though, even though she thought it was beyond foolish. Why would Praxis send her there? What was it about the sword that he insisted that she had to have? She supposed it didn’t really matter, there was nowhere else for her to go and if there really was war breaking out in the city and if there really was a sword that could cause the Outlaws to rally and join the fight then she was going to go try to find it.

Over the last few days it had occurred to her what Praxis had been trying to tell her was very simple. If the Outlaws truly wanted to be free than they had to fight along with the citizens of the Aretula. It wasn’t enough to run away, and to hide in the woods — not anymore.

Nemia had asked her, that day they had met, why it was that Outlaws were afraid to fight for the freedom that they deserved. At the time that had made Reena very angry because she had taken it as an insult. It was an insult, but it was also the truth. Outlaws ran, and they needed to fight. It was time to stop running.

Not that she could afford to stop running anytime soon. The soldiers were still after her, and there were days when she barely missed them, and they her. She was starving for food that was not cold or raw and she was tired of sleeping for a few hours at a time and running again.

As young and strong as she was, as used to roughing it as she was, this was all taking a toll on her. She had not realized until just now how close to the edge she had been the entire time she’d been in the city. The constant strain and struggle, the training and fighting in the arena — all of that had changed her in a way that she could not express. Even if she could have expressed it, there was nobody to talk to about it. She was alone, and she was likely to remain alone for a good long time yet.

There was no putting it off anymore, she had to get going. The outpost was a half a day’s walk, if she started out now she could make it before dark. She found a good place to stake the place out and watch them until morning, or even longer if she had to enter she could figure out how best to approach them.

This was the trickiest part of her journey because from here on out there would be no shelter. Everywhere she went she could be seen. If she was not careful she would be seen and that would mean her death.

She came out of the tree slowly, looking around her and sniffing the air like a wild animal. All of her senses were on high alert as she began to walk towards the strip of sand that would lead her to the outpost.

Being afraid had become almost a way of life at that point, and the fear helped to keep her senses sharp. Still, no matter how sharp her senses were if the soldiers spotted her there would be nowhere to go.

Every step she took was a test of her courage and by the time she reached the strip of sand that would lead her down to where she needed to go she was running, all thoughts of stealth forgotten.

She was just a young girl and she was afraid. She was caught up in things that she could not understand, was a part of things that she could not explain but she did know that if she was not careful everything she cared about would be turned to dust.

Praxis, Octavia and Hector. Why had she let herself be, close to them? She asked herself that every single day. Now she had not just her father to worry about, but them as well. Not only was she terribly afraid that the people who would have been in the cart with her, the people whose lives she had not yet fought for, had been killed in retribution for her escape.

She did not even consider that at first, but after she had woken up that first morning out there in the peat bogs that thought had hit home so hard that she had almost screamed out loud.

She had spent the entire second day zigzagging across the woods. Clinging to the edges so as not to lure the soldiers in further. The woods made her think about Deal. Had he made it home? Was he safe? Was anybody safe?

She had spent most of that morning and afternoon on the run, but after narrowly avoiding the soldiers for the third time she decided to go to ground. She found an empty fox den and curled up into it. The whole den smelled rank and wild, but that was a good thing. The soldiers did have dogs after all, and the smell had helped disguise her from them.

She had not bothered pulling concealing branches or stones over the entrance because if she had she would’ve suffocated within the small little lair.
Because of that she had watched the soldiers as they went by and her heart had nearly stopped several times as they had gotten so incredibly close to her. One soldier had even pointed out the small den but all the others had laughed and said that nobody could fit inside that hole and if they had they would never make it back out.

Reena was not so sure they were wrong. The scat in front of the den was fresh as were the bones lying about. It was clear that this can was not unused even if it was empty. The foxes would be returning soon and as the day wore on she began to wonder if she would make it out of the den before that happened.

Evening finally settled over the world and the soldiers were several miles away by then, far enough that she felt confident in climbing out of the hole. She could smell their gamy musk all over her but she knew that afforded her even more protection than just protection from the soldiers. It would help protect her from some of the other predators in the woods as well.

Her feet pounded against the sand and her breath hissed in and out of her lungs. A stitch began in her side but she kept on going. Sweat stung her face and dripped into her eyes.

The building looked oddly empty. That surprised her, it was supposed to be an outpost for the last bastion of civilization left in the entire world so where were the people that should have been there?

The wooden structure sagged to one side and the steps leading to the door were covered with sand. More piles of sand had drifted up along the foundation, almost concealing it from view. The wooden shutters were broken, and hung in disrepair. One of the shutters banged loudly in the sour – smelling wind coming from the desert.

Was she in the wrong place? She didn’t think so. To her left lay the Old Post Road. This was the only building for miles and she knew that. She had never dared get this close to that building before; she had seen it for the tops of trees and from hilltops but she had never seen it this close and he gave her the absolute shivers.

There was something wrong here, very definitely wrong here, but she didn’t know what it was. There was a smell in the air that she could identify though — it was death. It was old death, but it was still death. Her feet stilled on the path and she turned around, scanning the area behind her. Had the soldiers come? Had they killed everybody within the outpost? That did not seem possible and besides there was no blood in the air.

The arena had taught her all too well what fresh blood newly spilled smelled like and that smell was not there.

She went to the door and raised a hand to knock but let her hand drop as the wind pushed the door open slightly, causing it to creak and groan noisily. She took a hesitant step inside the building, pushing the door open slightly as she went so that she could peer around it.

At first all she could make out was the beds stacked against the wall bunk style. There was a large table in the middle of the floor with benches around it, probably the area where the soldiers who had been here had sat to have their meals. There was a fireplace, but it was dead and empty. Not even ashes remained inside of it.

The door swung shut behind her, slamming hard against the frame. Reena jumped and spun around, her hand going to her blade but there was nobody there. Her breath was a hard heavy gasp and she could not comprehend what she saw behind her.

The man was old. He was beyond old, he was ancient. His body was bent over, almost doubled. He had no hair left and his eyeballs bulged out of the sockets, red veins traced their way across the yellowed eyeballs.

“Who are you?”

His voice was a harsh caw, it sounded like the cry of a crow. Reena shuddered all over but she answered him, “my name is Reena. Praxis sent me.”

“I know no Praxis.”

He was mad, completely and totally mad. There was no doubting that just as there was no doubting whatever had happened here, he had had some hand in it. Where were the soldiers? Who was this man?

“Praxis sent me. He said that I must make you give me a sword.”

The man began to cackle, there was no other word for it. She supposed that could have been laughter but it sounded like nothing so much as a cackle. “Oh, you’ve been sent on a quest.”

“The quest?”

“Yes, what have you brought me to trade for the sword, my little pretty one?”

Reena was absolutely revolted by the man. She was smart enough to be afraid too. He obviously had nothing to lose by killing her and might not even remember if he did so. There was no telling what a man with his mental condition might do.

She started to open her pack to dig out something within it to try to trade before she remembered that Praxis had told her to give him nothing, to insist that they gave for the sword for no trade.

She straightened her shoulders in her back and hugged her pack more tightly. “I will give you nothing for it. The sword is supposed to be given to me. Praxis sent me for it, now give me the sword.”

“No.”

If she got out of here alive, she was going to kill Praxis! What was he doing sending her to this crazy man? Had she come to the wrong building? Was she lost? Was she sleeping and this was a spooky dream?

“Where are the soldiers?”

“I killed them.”

Okay, that answered that question. “Why would you do that, old man?”

“I wanted this place. They only trade out the soldiers every few years you know, they sit here getting that — laughing and gambling and Jim whatever it is they doing here at night. I was tired of sleeping in the desert. I was tired of the sun.”

Horror struck her and struck her hard. “You slept in the desert?”

“Oh yes, I lived in the desert all my life…” He grinned at her, exposing gums splotched with rot and the occasional jagged tooth.

“But that’s impossible. Nobody can live in the desert.”

“You can if you have to. There are Outlaws and then there are Outlaws.”

“What kind of Outlaw would have to live in the desert?”

The old man wagged his finger at her. His nail was long, yellow and incredibly thick. It looked like he could cut through skin and bone with it. “Are you telling me I’m a liar?”

“No, I would never call you a liar.”

“Do you really want to know what kind of Outlaw would live in the desert?”

She was pretty sure she didn’t. She had a feeling that whatever he had done, it had put him outside the boundaries of other humans. “No,” her voice had no strength in it and her hands fluttered up in front of her chest in an involuntary motion, a wordless plea. She did want to know.

He cackled again, flashing those diseased and rotted gums at her again. “The kind that comes from the other direction.”