Chapter Five Fiernara, of the Wild and Pure #3
The sentari roared as it closed in, paws smashing against platform after platform.
Just before its smoke-writhing maw crashed into her, Lythlet sprinted off the ledge.
She flew through the air, then wrapped her limbs around the thick bamboo pole.
It lurched forward, swaying precariously and groaning like a wounded beast. She thought of climbing higher but wasn’t sure if she could: the common minstra poles she’d scaled before were thin and elegant, but these yutrela poles were thick enough to feel as though she were awkwardly embracing a large fellow.
Swaying to and fro, she saw the sentari leaping to join her on the bamboo, but it slipped, failing to find purchase, and crashed to the ground.
Good riddance .
It lay there, panting hard. The tip of its pink tongue flopped out of its mouth.
It’s smaller again , she thought, perplexed. Why does it keep shrinking and growing in turns? There must be a pattern somewhere, but what?
The sentari rose, sluggishly, teeth and tongue peeking out from the smoke. It faced her, and though it had no expression she could decipher, something in its bearing made it look exhausted.
To her relief, it turned away from her, likely deciding climbing bamboo poles was beyond its abilities. Instead, it looked around and caught sight of Desil still poised on a ledge. It lumbered toward him, every step looking like a miserable slog.
The sentari seemed so small and weak then that Lythlet almost pitied it. “Give it a quick death, Desil.”
He nodded, sword ready to strike. He crouched by the platform’s edge, waiting for it to draw close enough for him to jump down and behead it in one clean swipe.
But as the sentari approached Desil, a slow, uneasy step from it became a steady footfall, then a heavy stride, then a mighty leap.
It grew again , she thought in horror as its squirming smoke swelled in wild, flaring bulges.
Restored to full strength, the sentari leaped up at Desil. He stabbed his blade into the beast’s head, coming away bloodless. The falling beast then snagged at the hem of Desil’s trousers, pulling him off the ledge.
He yelled as he crashed onto the ground, sword tumbling far out of his grasp. With a swift hind kick, the sentari sent it farther away, and jumped on him.
The cords of Desil’s muscles bulged as he gripped the beast by the neck and slammed it into the wall, pulling it off him.
Rising to his feet, he balled his fists before him, brawler’s instinct kicking in.
The sentari made several attempts to latch onto him, but he wrestled it off every time, slamming it down into the ground, up against the wall, into the edge of a low platform.
But this will be the first fight he cannot win, Lythlet thought, not against a beast impenetrable by blade, let alone bare fist.
Then, witnessing the harsh baltascar light falling and fading over them as Desil attempted to retrieve his sword from the shade of a platform, only to be blocked by the beast, her eyes widened. The pattern had unraveled before her.
“Keep it out of the shadows, Desil!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “It fades slowly under the sun and grows quickly under shadow.”
That explained why the beast had been enormous during its debut—it had just come out of a dark, shadowy corridor.
Prolonged exposure to the baltascar lights had made it shrink over time.
But then Master Dothilos had issued the order for more lights to be switched on—which made little sense at first, until she realized the baltascar bulbs were all positioned right above the bamboo ledges on the wall, their shadows to be thrown out at steeper angles to cast a far-reaching darkness over the arena.
Chasing her on the topmost ledges where there hadn’t been shade had made it smaller, but now on the ground with plenty of patches of darkness to recover in, it was at full strength.
“Bring it toward me,” she shouted, waving at Desil. There was a ring of undisturbed light just outside the yutrela poles, which only cast their shadows toward the inner circle.
Desil nodded and ran toward it, baiting the sentari into following him.
He’ll finish this easily , Lythlet thought, relieved. As long as it was kept under the sun—or rather, the baltascar lights—the sentari would weaken to the point a blade could penetrate its smoke. Desil was strong enough that even with a bit of shadow cloaking the sentari, he’d be able to pierce it.
Except, she realized then, that Desil still hadn’t retrieved his sword. The sentari had been intelligent enough to block him every time he tried to scrabble for it.
“Take my spear,” she shouted, stretching it out toward him.
But the sentari turned and nipped at it, almost wrenching it from her grasp. Desil choked it backward in time, and Lythlet retracted the weapon.
“It’s too clever, Lytha,” Desil shouted, kicking the beast to the ground with his boot. “It’ll just steal the spear away.”
Then I’ll kill it myself . We’ll wait for its shadow to fade enough for me to pierce its flesh .
But two things made her heart sink: the sentari was doubling its attempts on Desil, snarling nastily as it swiped its exposed claws at him, and Desil’s steps were turning sluggish, wearied by their prolonged game of chase.
They’re both on their last legs—and the beast is turning fiercer, giving one last fight before it dies, while Desil isn’t going to last much longer.
We can’t wait until the sentari’s shadows fade enough to show its flesh.
But striking now would be pointless—I need something to put more pressure behind my strike to break its shadow.
An idea took root as she stared up at the height of the yutrela poles.
“Eight seconds of control over the cosmoscape,” she recounted from the tale of Atena.
It was a wild bet to make, especially when Master Dothilos himself couldn’t confirm if the legend of the yutrela was true, but she decided it was a bet she had to make.
She had to figure out a way to climb to the top, despite how much more unwieldy it was than the minstra bamboo she was used to, despite the fact she had to somehow hold on to her spear throughout her ascent. Or, she realized, she could make the spear work to her benefit.
She turned the haft horizontal and arranged it behind the bamboo pole.
Then tock! —she tucked her spear into the nearest notch above and hoisted herself upwards with her weapon as leverage.
Tock, tock, tock , drummed her spear against the bamboo, a metronome setting the rhythm for her ascent.
The tempo hastened as she adjusted to the shifting weight of the bamboo.
Up and up she went, childhood memories calming her adrenaline.
Funeral bells were ringing, the mystic drums banging, the mourning company praying for the white wind to guide the spirit of the deceased to the afterlife.
She would be paid a few pennies after a funeral, sometimes even a full dumasi coin if it were a richer family.
How much could she earn today if she put on a good show?
Pum, pum, pum, went the death drum of her memories, pum, pum, pum.
The bottom of her boots caught neatly in the notches of the tree, and soon she reached the summit of the yutrela, flat at the top and just wide enough for her to squeeze both boots on it, surrounded by scant leaves clinging onto life.
She balanced herself upright on the trembling bamboo, standing in the zenith of the roofless arena.
She could see all of Inejio laid out before her like a living map, baltascar-laden pillars bookmarking the overrun ruins of her ancestors for leagues around.
There she stood, caught between the world of her forgotten lowborn ancestors and the world of the thriving highborn.
A wave of surprise washed over the spectators below, their loud murmurs reaching Lythlet’s ears.
“Well, would you look at that? Who would’ve thought our little bookkeeper would have such a knack for climbing trees? The last reported conquessor to fully scale the yutrela was six decades ago. Hoo-rah! ” Master Dothilos roared, leading them in a round of cheers.
Ordinarily, Lythlet would have shrunk her shoulders at so many strangers paying attention to her at once, but something else preoccupied her mind.
What am I meant to pray for? She stamped one foot on the flat summit, gauging if any new sensations overcame her.
She’d stolen an abridged version of the tale of Atena, and it had simply summarized that portion of the huntress’s adventure with a worthless ‘ she lifted her heart to the heavens, and the heavens responded in kind ’ .
Desperate, Lythlet steepled her hands together, clapping thrice. Please reveal unto me the map of the cosmoscape, O Great Divine.
Nothing.
Pretty please , she tried once more, feeling very silly.
She felt perfectly normal, and that was a perfectly horrid thing to be at the moment. If she leaped down now with her spear, she would most certainly have enough thrust behind her to penetrate the sentari’s shadowy shield, but she’d be crushed on the ground upon impact as well.
Desil hadn’t even noticed what she’d accomplished. The sentari kept him busy, darting around. Then it sprang for his side in one tremendous blow, and he fell to his knees. He raised his fists, but the beast’s mouthless snout smashed against his face. A muffled scream reached Lythlet’s ears.
Desil’s fist bounced uselessly off the sentari’s neck, and his fingers tried gripping at its head to pull it off. But the sentari stayed steady, leeching off his face, and within moments, Desil’s arms fell slack by his side.
Spare him—take my life if you must! she thought, gripped with sheer panic at the sight. Spear in hand, she shifted her weight to spring through the air, ready to fling herself at the sentari with no care for what would happen afterwards.
In that moment, the heavens took hold of her.