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Turning Points

Will Battles: Chapter 15

By Kristen SladePublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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(picture from PNG images)

Jistan felt the resistance on his sword as it passed through flesh and muscle before getting caught in bone. This wasn’t how he had imagined battle, where the warrior lays about him with his mighty sword, slashing and slicing through bodies with a terrible grace. Instead, he was often forced to rip his sword free when it got caught, and the blows rarely sliced clean through.

He jerked his sword back towards him, leaving the Delani man to collapse, his head still attached by several inches of flesh on one side.

He turned away, trying to force down his nausea. Killing never got any easier. It didn’t matter that these creatures were supposedly not human-they looked human. Except for those blank gazes, so devoid of passion or fear…

Something slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. He managed to turn his blade to the side, avoiding dropping it or skewering himself. His side ached from where the blast of Pulse had struck him. He knew to recognize different forms of Pulse by now and could usually determine the relative strength of the user. This Delani wasn’t particularly weak, but they were unpracticed. The most skilled of the Delani could send a blast of Wind Pulse so concentrated that it acted like an arrow, tearing through a specific section of armor or skin rather than simply blowing a person over.

He rolled awkwardly to his feet, ignoring his aches and fatigue. Even the briefest hesitation would get him killed. He sent out a blast of Will towards a nearby Delani that had turned to look at him, shoving with all of his desperation, his strongest emotion currently.

The Delani let out a shriek, falling to their knees and clasping their head between two long, sinuous hands. That was very unusual. The Delani very rarely made more noise than the occasional grunt. Jistan didn’t think he had even heard orders being passed among their ranks. But that scream-it was unnervingly human. He shuddered, looking away as the Delani collapsed onto their side. This one was female. Or, well, he assumed it was female. He supposed he couldn’t be sure, since Delani anatomy could be complete different from his expectation. That’s what he had to tell himself so as not to feel completely disconcerted while cutting through what appeared to be a young girl. As far as anyone could tell, Delani either had no gender or no regard for gender, for they all dressed the same and participated equally in battles. The Manicoti only used women in battle if they had immense Will power, and then only after intense physical training.

The next several hours were a hazy blur of slicing, mind strikes, dodging, and resting. He vaguely remembered being pulled out of the fray at two different points, someone else rushing in to fill his spot. Someone had forced him to drink stale water and checked him over for wounds. Then he returned to the killing.

The Delani eventually pulled out. Neither side had gained any advantage, and supposedly neither had taken high casualties. However, the number of bodies strewn about seemed to bely that report. Jistan turned away, but the death was everywhere. He wished he could just go numb. Sometimes that happened during the battle, but it usually faded quickly afterwards. He heard that it was the opposite for many others. He wasn’t sure if he envied them or not. It would be nice not to have to feel this guilt, this pain, this sickness. Then again, if he felt this way during the battle, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to fight.

Sackrin found him standing amidst the field of blood and death. The Delani blood was slightly darker and thicker than the human blood, looking more viscous as it dripped from wounds and pooled on the ground, not soaking in as quickly as it should.

“Our Unit is moving out,” Sackrin said, voice firm but quiet. “Get in line, soldier.”

Jistan didn’t question the order. This wasn’t his father right now. This was a Mind Scythe Unit Captain, and he would not be disobeyed.

***

Joree paced back and forth between two tall trees. He and the Delani had retreated to a wooded area near an empty farm on the outskirts of Ranteel. Joree wanted to plan. So far, he hadn’t brewed up anything but a headache.

“We can’t just walk in,” he said aloud, spinning on one heel and striding back the other direction. “And I doubt we could sneak in unnoticed. Even if we could, I’m sure security is just as tight keeping people inside, if not more so. And I have no idea where my mother would be. Searching the whole city from south to north would be ridiculous. Besides which…what on Nakadun are you doing?”

The last comment was addressed to his companion, who was sitting on the ground with a long stick. Somehow, she had gotten ahold of his knife and was whittling away at the stick. She’d been fiddling with that all morning while he paced and planned, giving no indication of her reaction to the situation.

As if in response, she bent the stick, head cocked slightly to the side. Instead of snapping, the wood curved. Joree blinked. Where had she gotten wood that bent like that? He stepped towards her, curious. She looked up at him blankly, and then went back to work without a sound. He noticed another piece of wood laying beside her, this one thin and straight. She pulled a small ball of cord out from underneath her left thigh. Joree started.

“Hey,” he protested. “Did you get that out of my supply pack?”

She started to uncoil it, giving it a tug. It was strong cord, meant to bear weight. She rubbed one of her eyes with the back of her empty hand. Was she…tired? She picked up a small, sharp tipped stone that she seemed to have carved into shape-which would have seriously dulled his knife-and began to tie it to the end of the straight stick.

“Are you planning on stabbing people?” Joree asked, faintly amused. And maybe a little concerned.

From an almost invisible pocket in her worn pants, she pulled another cord. This one was thin and white. When she pulled it, it stretched. He watched as she moved deftly, pulling the short cord between the two ends of the flexible stick, forming…a bow.

“Bow and arrow,” he said softly. He smiled appreciatively. “You know how to use that?”

She picked up the arrow and stood, then spun and, in one fluid motion, pulled the bow up, arrow to her cheek, and released. The arrow sailed through the air and slammed into a tree fifty paces away.

“Well, alright then,” Joree said.

***

Aniah awoke, and the headache still hadn’t left. However, she could move her limbs without too much effort and her brain didn’t feel quite so foggy. Most glorious of all, she could feel her Will again. It seemed a little weak, the same way a muscle was weak after intense overuse, but its presence gave her immense comfort.

She could open her eyes now. She was in a small, square room with off-white walls, one door near her feet. Her bed was barely large enough to hold her body, more of a cot really. She noticed, with some discomfort, that she was wearing only a loose white undershirt and baggy shorts that reached to mid-thigh. She was quite certain this was not what she had been wearing before, because she would never be caught dead wearing such an atrocious outfit.

Her memories were returning steadily. She had been sent out to find and capture the fugitive Delani. Joree too, if he was with the creature. But something had gone wrong. She couldn’t exactly remember what…

The door opened and she jumped. Then she cursed inwardly. Should’ve pretended to be asleep. Too late now.

A short, middle-aged man with a square jaw and broad shoulders stepped in. His dark eyes were intimidating, but his expression wasn’t harsh.

“Awake at last!” he said, tone friendly. She immediately disliked him. “Excellent. Someone very important has been eager to meet with you.”

She glared at him. His accent was annoying. He couldn’t say the ‘r’ sound, so it came out more as a breathy ‘h’. And he was too…happy. Kidnappers weren’t supposed to be happy. Satisfied, perhaps, or pleased, in a sinister I’m-going-to-enjoy-cutting-off-each-of-your-toes sort of way.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. She could feel the Will power inside of her. It was faint, but it would be plenty to send this old crony to his knees. She focused all her Will onto him, lashing out with all her strength.

He gave no response. She stiffened. She was certain she had felt the power rush out of her. There was no mistaking it. It wasn’t as if her Will was gone, it simply hadn’t worked. Her mind went reeling. How-how could this be?

The man seemed to sense her confusion, and he smiled. In it, she saw a bit of that sinister pleasure she had expected.

“I should have mentioned,” he said smoothly. “There is no need for you to expend your energy on me. It will not be effective. Now, come along.”

With no other choice, Aniah allowed herself to be led, hands manacled in front of her, down several empty hallways. She was surprised at how quiet everything was. While in her room the past couple of days, she had heard plenty of people bustling about and talking outside her door. Now, the place seemed vacant.

She was led down a set of stairs and into a dark room. Without another word, her guide shoved a sack over her head. She protested loudly, but he quietly and calmly said he would have to gag her if she did not cooperate.

She let him lead her blindly for what felt like hours. They turned and twisted and walked and walked and walked. She was starting to feel very dizzy. Her body didn’t respond quite right, as if she had been drugged. She probably had been.

Finally, she was pulled to a stop. She stumbled forward a step and someone grabbed her arm to steady her. Then the bag was removed.

She stood in an enormous room shaped like a half-sphere. About halfway up the curved walls, stained glass windows ran all around the room. A glittering chandelier caught the light and cast crystalline sparkles across the marble floor and the golden fixture in the center of the room. An ornate throne. On it, a tall man dressed all in black, nearly every inch of skin covered except for his hands, neck, and face. A black circlet stood out on his stark blond hair.

He smiled at her as she walked in, the smile of a predator. “Ah, Areniah of Manicot. I am glad to see you have recovered. I apologize, the soldiers can be a bit…over-eager.” His voice was the soothing hum of a burrow sliver, luring in prey with its calming vibrations.

She clenched her jaw, trying to remain strong. She was strong. Her mother could take her complaints to the Flames. Aniah was strong enough to handle anything. She raised her chin.

“And who are you?” she demanded, putting as much royal sneer into her voice as she could muster.

The man’s thick eyebrows shot up over stormy grey eyes. “You haven’t guessed?” She tried not to feel stupid. What had she missed?

He smiled patronizingly. “Why, I am King Abicotta of Kritose. And I am very pleased to finally meet you.”

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About the Creator

Kristen Slade

Hey all! I am a graduate from BYU in Provo with a masters in PE. I have a passion for the outdoors, physical activity, sports, and health, but I also love writing! I love my parents and all eleven of my siblings!

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