Bastial Steel (32 page)

“Come on,” she urged.

He continued, giving another glance to the legless man to his side. He seemed to be looking right through Cleve.

Azaylee continued to motion for Cleve to come toward her until he was close enough to touch. She stood, and his heart shook. With both hands, she grabbed his head.

Paralyzed with fear, no thoughts came. He was hers in that moment; he could feel it. All his strength was gone. Not ready for this, his diminutive wall had crumbled. He was an empty shell, and she’d already cracked him open.

“And why would you ask if I’m an Elf?” Azaylee said in a threatening tone, not even pretending to hide the importance of the question. “Have you heard anything about me before?”

“No. But I know Elves who are very powerful psychics.”

She parted her hair to show her round Human ears. “I’m no Elf, but I do respect them greatly.”

She released her grasp on him. Cleve nearly fell stepping away from her, tripping over nothing. He felt his thoughts returning, filling him back with strength in the same way a meal does to satisfy a famished body.

“Most people don’t even believe in psyche, and here you’ve figured out I’m a psychic within the first moment of your trial.”

So the trial has started?

Azaylee was waiting for his reply, tilting her head as if expecting him to answer a specific question.

But he had one of his own for her. “Why did you take Jaffo’s finger?”

“Why do you think you can ask the questions here?”

Cleve decided to be honest, figuring perhaps that was the reason Jaffo had lost his finger—lying.

“Because you haven’t told me not to ask a question, and I’m not familiar with the rules.”

She didn’t find any entertainment in his answer, her mouth twisting in disapproval. “There are no rules, just decisions—my decisions. And now I have decided that you will not ask any more questions.” She leaned forward, waiting.

“Fine,” Cleve said.

Leaning back, she continued. “Jaffo lost his finger because he tried to hide the truth, something you will not do, correct?”

“There’s no truth I’d wish to hide.”

“Not about what happened last night, but I have some other questions that need answering now…after your ‘Elf’ comment.”

Cleve sighed, figuring he could’ve been out of here already if he’d kept his mouth shut like he usually did.
It’s Jessend’s fault
, he told himself.
My barrier’s been down for so long, I tend to let out thoughts and curiosities I never used to.

He wanted to put all the blame on her, but really he knew he should be thanking the Princess. Life had only gotten easier since their talks. He’d never realized how much of a burden holding back his emotions had been until he was able to let them out.

“Tell me everything you know about me,” Azaylee said. She gestured at the seat next to Cleve, inviting him with her hand to sit. He did, taking out his sword to rest on his lap as he spoke.

“You’re the leader of this village, and no one seems to oppose you. You take people’s fingers if you decide to, so it seems to me you can really do anything you want, probably through the use of psyche.” Cleve couldn’t think of anything else, so he stopped.

“Do you sing?” Her tone made Cleve exceedingly curious. Her question was asked with a rising pitch, as if the answer to it wasn’t important. But clearly it was, for it had nothing to do with what they were just talking about.

“Or,” she continued, “do you know a lot of songs?”

“I don’t,” Cleve admitted. “The only song I’ve heard that you would know is
Come Home
, but I don’t even know the words.”

Her eyes squinted in disbelief. “I can tell you’re being honest, but I don’t understand how it’s possible? Even a child knows more than one song.”

“I’m not from here. I came across the Starving Ocean from Kyrro.”

She licked her lips as she leaned back, her genuine smile returning. “Then that’s all I need to know about that.”

Cleve couldn’t figure out why songs would be important to Azaylee, but clearly they were. She even seemed relieved to change the subject.

“Jaffo already told me what happened yesterday. You won’t be punished for defending yourself, but there’s something I want to know. You’ve chosen Goldram’s side in this war even though you’re from the continent of Ovira. What’s your reasoning for this?”

Cleve remembered this village had no association with Zav or any other kingdom. So why was she curious? He almost asked, but he didn’t feel it wise to go against her rule of no questions.

“I’ve seen what Waywen and Presoren tried to do. They used spies in an attempt to kill the Kings of Zav and Goldram, along with a young child. It would’ve worked too, if I hadn’t stopped them. It was then that I knew my side had been chosen…at least while I’m here.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going back to Kyrro as soon as possible. My home is there, and a war is being fought.”

Someone knocked on the door. Jek’s voice followed it. “Cleve, everything alright in there?”

Azaylee jumped to her feet, nearly growling with anger.

“Everything’s fine!” Cleve called, before Azaylee could erupt. “Stay away from the door.”

With her hands wrapped around the armrests of her chair, she stood and looked like she was undecided about what she wanted to do.

Cleve was relieved when only silence followed, and she slowly sat back down.

“You make it seem as if Presoren and Waywen are the only territories to use spies and kill children,” she said with some disdain. “But every kingdom is the same. We’ve had attackers from Zav, Presoren, even a group from Waywen years ago. Considering how far north they are, we were dumbfounded they had any interest in this village until we found out later about their alliance with Presoren just south of us.” She flipped some of her curly golden hair over her shoulder. “We defended ourselves each time, but many lives were lost.”

“What do Presoren and Waywen want in this war?” The moment his question escaped his lips, Cleve cursed himself aloud. “I apologize. I momentarily forgot your rule.”

She stood again, her grip tightening on the armrests of her chair. Cleve stood as well, taking a step back.

His old fear of psychics returned in that moment, making him feel like a child at the mercy of a full-grown man. Although, this was no man before him, but a woman more than twice his age and half his weight.

It didn’t matter. He could feel her ready to strike, a snake coiling back before a lunge. She lifted her hand, pointing, her sharp nails stained red by some substance Cleve wasn’t familiar with.

“Let it be the last time you
forget
my rules if you want to leave with all your fingers. Now sit.”

With a surge of psyche like a gust of wind, his body screamed at him to be seated. His knees gave out and he fell back into the chair, utter satisfaction for following the order rippling through his body.

Then it passed, and the fear returned. His nerves were back on edge, ready to protect him from an unknown force that could attack at any moment.

Unable to relax, he sat forward, gripping the handle of his weapon firmly.

“Everyone wants the same thing,” Azaylee said. “Bastial steel. Nothing is more valuable in this world than a rare and deadly weapon.”

“So you think psychics would be treated differently,” Cleve couldn’t help but comment.

“There’s a major difference between a Bastial steel sword and a psychic,” Azaylee said. “My kind is not understood. People fear what they cannot see, what they cannot touch, what they cannot feel, and what they cannot hear. Psyche is all four of these things combined. Bastial steel is none of them.”

Cleve understood, for it was that exact reason he had feared psyche so much. He used to think of it like an invisible tidal wave, a force of power crashing down on him so strong and quick, there was no hope of defending against it. But instead of his body being crushed, it would reach into the depths of his mind, pushing out all his secrets and fears until he was empty.

“Bastial steel should’ve been used to fight the desmarls.” Azaylee looked as if she wanted to spit. “Instead, Danvell Takary used it to further his wealth and power. Greed…” She shook her head. “Greed doesn’t go well with Bastial steel, and ten years later, Greenedge is still driven to war by the combination of both.”

She pointed at Cleve’s lap. “You’ve felt the power in your own hands. Yet, you sit there and judge others for going to war over it—I can feel these thoughts steaming off you.”

“I agree with you,” Cleve said. “The weapons should be used against the desmarls, not against each other.”

“But would you give your weapon to someone else to use against the desmarls?”

Cleve wanted to tell her he would, but he knew he’d be lying. “I need the weapon to protect myself and my home. The use I make of it is just as important as fighting the desmarls.”

“Just as important
to you
,” Azaylee corrected. “Everyone shares this same thought. Don’t you see? You’re just like us and everyone else involved in this war. My villagers want the weapons for their own reasons, but I can assure you they believe their reasons to be just as important as your reasons.”

She stood, walking toward Cleve. “There’s a common belief shared among many in Greenedge. People say that good deeds will bring forth rewards and bad deeds will be punished. It’s such a popular belief, there’s even a phrase for it: ‘the cycle’. But what people who believe this don’t realize is that, if ‘the cycle’ really existed, it would have to follow some sort of universal law of morality controlled by some higher force than man. It would mean there were definitive rights and wrongs in the world, each deed categorized as one or the other and punished appropriately.”

Azaylee continued to approach Cleve as she spoke. “But everyone knows there’s no universal law of morality. Justice is decided by people—the punishments and rewards we invoke on one another. When I ask if someone believes in a universal law of morality, meaning every action is either right or wrong and will be punished or rewarded appropriately by a force outside the control of man, they always say they do not. But then, if I ask them if they believe in ‘the cycle,’ many will say they do!” She was nearly shouting. “That’s because people often haven’t taken the time to actually consider what they’re really saying they believe in. To say ‘the cycle’ exists is to say there is a universal law of morality.”

She scoffed. “People are fools, and you are as well if you think you can use that sword for
good
.” She practically spat the word. “There’s no good! There’s just
is
.”

She was nearly to Cleve by then, and he jumped from his seat when he saw she wasn’t stopping. He backed up to keep his distance. But Azaylee followed, even picking up her pace.

“You’re an honest man,” she said. “Strong in your beliefs. But you still have a lot to learn about right and wrong. I think you’ve either forgotten how young you are or you haven’t truly realized it. What’s your age?”

“Seventeen,” Cleve answered, nearly pushed to the door now.

“Take my advice, Cleve. Run home to Kyrro and don’t come back. The worst years of Greenedge are yet to come.”

Cleve had his back against the door. With his sword in hand, he contemplated raising it to fend her off but knew it would be little use against her psyche.

She reached out her hand, pressing her palm against his cheek. Pain swelled into his body, causing his grip to loosen and his sword to fall. He refrained from screaming, not wanting to startle Jek into making the situation worse.

Instead, he whimpered like a sniveling child, falling to his knees. “Stop,” he managed to get out.

He didn’t fight the psyche, not then. He wasn’t prepared for this and couldn’t ignore the pain enough to get his mental wall up.

“Tell one person a single detail about me, and this pain you feel will be bliss compared to what I have prepared for you. Understand?”

“Yes!” Cleve would’ve said anything to make it stop.

She let go of him, his whole body puddled to the floor.

“Get up,” she said, unlatching the door and nudging him with her foot. “And get out.”

By the time Cleve was up, the door was open and Jek was staring in with wide eyes. “Cleve—”

“I’m fine,” Cleve interrupted, sheathing his weapon and putting up his hands to show he still had all his fingers.

Jek let out a breath of relief.

But then Azaylee told Jek it was his turn, and Cleve saw him stiffening once again.

Chapter 27

Cleve paced in front of the door until he no longer felt the rapid heartbeats against his chest, then he sat.

Jaffo was gone, the trail of blood he’d left already joining the other stains along the stone walkway to the exit.
She puts no effort into cleaning up their blood, probably enjoys seeing it as she busies herself in this tower during the day…doing who knows what.

Though he’d just sat, Cleve couldn’t sit any longer.