Chapter 9 Food, Warm Clothes, Blanket
Food, Warm Clothes, Blanket
“Witchlords must be treated with the utmost reverence. The sacrifice they pay to keep the common lands safe is immeasurable. No wives. No children. How could there be? They are confined within the walls as are the vermin.”
— Marker Dane, Lord of Lawship
Stone faced, I stood on the field. Vibrations of chatter above numbed my mind. Beck and Charles were next to me, deadly silent.
It was supposed to be a reprieve to watch the game and have some drinks afterwards.
Never did I imagine I would be participating.
The deadliest Dark Natured I knew were on the opposing teams, murder in their eyes.
They would kill for a chance to release their Nature, but they would slaughter everything in their path for gold.
Beck was the only hope we had, realistically speaking. Maybe he could sneak his way to another team's base and take their orb? If he were able to hold his shadows for long enough, he would be near impossible to catch. Charles and I could stay and protect our orb, or at least attempt to.
Strategizing for this game was insanity. I just needed to survive, and preferably avoid injury. I wouldn’t last the rest of winter if I couldn’t work. Trying to win would get me killed.
But what if it could also save me? Food, warm clothes, blankets.
Lord Ansel leisurely guided us to our assigned base, his broad shoulders relaxed and hands still in his pockets.
He did this. For whatever reason, he thought it would be amusing for us to get absolutely demolished. Or maybe he wanted me dead. Perhaps for using my Nature, or potentially, my attitude.
“Lovely little team we have, huh?” Beck mused. Charles had already gone through several stages of grief and anger, finally settling on exuding a gag-inducing display of confidence at being chosen.
“Of course er team is lovely! I werz picked! I am the best!”
I was ready to kick him in the back of his bald green head.
“You three will win,” Lord Ansel ordered as we reached our base, marked with a Silver Circle painted on the grass. It was on the far side of the field, with one tree blocking the crowd from a full visual of us.
“How does one suppose we do that? Hm, Witchlord?” Beck cooed with a feline smile.
“Don’t lose.”
My veins throbbed, the darkness inside eager to be released. I shoved away the urge. I would find a way to survive without using my Nature. Vomiting all over myself again was not an option.
“Charles and I stay here, while Beck goes to retrieve an orb,” I said. “Then we’ll be done with this.”
Lord Ansel’s eyes twinkled. “Is that the best idea you have, Blackheart?”
My best idea was to smack that twinkle right into oblivion, but it would be logistically difficult at the moment, since his parents must have descended from giants.
“It’s the only idea I’ve heard,” I shot back, crossing my arms. Waiting to hear anything better.
“Charles stays here. Beck will protect what needs to be protected. Blackheart, you go get the orb,” Lord Ansel declared.
Beck opened his mouth, but ultimately closed it.
“Do you wish for me to die, my lord?” I whispered. How was I supposed to steal an orb from someone’s hands? It was a game to him, but it was our lives. Could he be so offended about me not wanting to sleep in his home?
“You are only incapable of what you believe to be impossible. Gather yourselves,” Lord Ansel said, catching a swarming insect between two fingers and zapping it with a lightning touch.
My stomach churned. Would Lord Ansel bet against his own team?
As the rest of them moved to the center of our base, I stood frozen in place.
Lord Ansel turned around.
“Eeeee-lor-ah is scared! Scared for game! Scared for game!” Charles jeered. Beck smacked him in the back of his empty head. The Imp scowled.
Lord Ansel’s gaze darkened as he strode towards me. My throat became tight as he seized me by the collar of my shirt, leaning down and pulling me close enough that my ear hovered just below his mouth.
“Don’t be scared, Blackheart. They’re watching you,” he whispered sharply. It felt more like a threat than any sort of encouragement. He pulled away, locking his eyes with mine. It was cruel for them to be such a beautiful, light blue.
It didn’t matter that he’d offered me warmth that night. It didn’t matter that he’d told me of Charles’ dream or offered me a place to stay. He chose to be a Witchlord. I was sentenced to life in this prison, and he enforced that of his own volition.
Lord Ansel could do so much good with his Nature, especially with how well he was able to wield it, and yet he chose this.
“I’m not scared,” I lied, shouldering myself out of his grip.
My fists curled as I entered the base. Maybe I was afraid, but that did not mean my opponents should feel safe.
I am a Blackheart. I am dangerous.
As we waited for the game to officially begin, I scanned the bits of the field that were actually visible. There were no indicators of where the other two bases were, but the arena was only so big, with only so many trees and hills to hide behind. Finding them wouldn’t be the challenge.
Lord Ansel created our team's orb with ease, a storm tapped inside of a light blue sphere the size of my palm. It was remarkably different from others I had seen in the past. A Dreamsoul’s, while the other teams would have signature balls of light from the Lyonheart Witchlords.
“It’s not uh… er—heavy!” Charles marveled, grasping the orb.
The king and his council would never approve, but I skipped the prayer to Fate and instead sent one to the Mother of Moons that Charles wouldn’t lose our orb.
He was sneaky when he wanted to be, and a pain in the ass.
Hopefully, he’d use those skills for good.
“Remember, don’t lose,” was the last bit of shitty guidance from Lord Ansel as he left us at our base.
My chest ached. I wasn’t ready.
Hardly a minute later, a loud horn echoed through the field.
Begin.
Charles gripped the storm orb tightly between his long, warted fingers, and gave us a promising nod. Beck wasted no time moving, trusting me to follow. Sighing, I reluctantly left Charles to guard our base and hurried to catch up.
The warm light above dimmed to a deep blue, while fog rapidly spread across the field.
“Splendid,” Beck mumbled. It wouldn’t be easy to navigate. The Witchlords had made sure of that.
“Don’t poison me when I touch you,” Beck warned. “I’m going to guide us.”
If only he knew I was more afraid of using my Nature than he was of feeling its wrath. I nodded, letting him grab my wrist.
We sprinted through the fog. My heart pounded in my chest as I spent every second anticipating running into an opponent.
As we traversed the field, the roar of the crowd fell away, almost as if muted. Beck’s nature took over, shadowing us. Our footsteps made no sound. Our clothes, devoid of any rustling.
It was only for a moment, but he’d still used his nature far longer than I could have.
I panted as I leaned my back against a tree. Beck hooked an arm around my shoulder and held a finger to his lips.
Lyander, a Stonesender, was just ahead. He wore a dark blue shirt and had spiky brown hair that pointed towards the rapidly darkening sky. As he snuck up to invade a base, his steps were sly enough not to attract the attention of the brutish Blackheart who guarded it.
I knew him, too. Aeri. Neither of them had any idea that Beck and I were watching.
“Keep an eye on them. I’ll be back after finding the other bases,” Beck said into my ear. He was gone faster than a penniless father.
Lyander charged towards the brute when he wasn’t looking. As Aeri turned his head, Lyander’s hands released a burst of pebbles directed at the orb in the Blackheart's grasp.
It was either a friendly approach, a warning, or a lack of ability. Nevertheless, the orb was knocked from Aeri’s grip and sent rolling down the hill. He let out a guttural growl that promised no less than a brawl.
The orb was for taking, and I had empty hands.
Aeri ran at Lyander, muscles rippling and veins bulging. Lyander was ready, his arms shaking as rocks exploded from his palms, building a barrier between them. The Blackheart hardly slowed down, pushing right through the wall until his fist connected with Lyander’s pale cheek.
Mother of Moons.
Their attention was focused on killing each other rather than the glowing, pulsating orb in the grass. Waiting for me. I bolted before I could change my mind.
I’d moved approximately ten feet before making the mistake of glancing back. Lyander stood over Aeri’s body, suffocating the Blackheart on a necklace of rocks as he clawed at his throat.
Then Lyander spotted me, murder in his eyes.
My stomach fell through my ass as he realized where the orb was.
“Don't be scared,” Lord Ansel had said. Yeah, well, he wasn’t the one out here. Fear kept one foot in front of the other as I swept up the orb and ran straight into the fog. Through the blur, it seemed to separate, making a path for me and swallowing the world behind.
Looking back was not an option, and there was no use in worrying about where I was going. The only footsteps I heard were my own. It was as if Lyander had given up. But that couldn’t be possible—
“Where are you going?” Beck asked, running up next to me.
“Where were you?” I rasped, trying to hand off the orb. He refused to take it.
“Doing my part. Sucks though, I liked Lyander.” Beck tugged my arm, pulling me behind another tree. He closed his eyes, as if he could barely stand to use his Nature any longer, yet I felt our presence once again become silent.
I swallowed as the realization hit: he’d killed Lyander.
Beck shadowed us from a passing Flamecastor. She stumbled a little, radiating with heat, and her bloody leg slowing her down.
The Flamecastor stopped and turned around again, a fiery silhouette in the fog.
She was lost.