The Trials of Ascension

Prologue – Ara

Prologue – AraWhy must boys always argue?

“THAT’S A LIE!” NARCYZ SHOUTED across the tent in his typical morning spat. Over the course of our journey, his hair had grown oddly long for a Krowikie warrior and its brown curls contrasted with his reddened face.

Bidaês huffed and crossed his arms as he lounged in Narcyz’s cot, infuriating him on purpose. “If it were, you’d be dead.”

Ever since we’d reached the camp where Bidaês’s Simukie clan had joined with the Zurgowie—-the nomadic people my family had left four years before—-the two boys had been at each other’s throats. Our group had traveled with the clans for only a week, but it had seemed an eternity of them trying to size each other up.

I wished Otylia was there instead of trapped in the underworld of Nawia. She would’ve ended their quarrels or ended them. It was hard to know which I preferred.

Having heard enough of the boys’ arguing, I leaped up from my cot and snatched my bow and quiver from the edge of the rounded tent. There was no real reason for me to carry my weapons when the two clans had guards everywhere, but after our trip through the Mangled Woods and witnessing my best friend’s death, it was the only thing that gave me some semblance of control.

“If you two are going to spend the whole day arguing again, maybe use swords and spears,” I said, pushing open the flap at the tent’s entrance and allowing the late morning light to spew through the gap. “Neither of your tongues are persuasive.”

Bidaês grinned—the smile of a prince, or as close to it as a nomadic clan could ever get. He was the eldest grandson of Marzban Katiôn of Simuk, the kinder of the two clan leaders who had greeted us near the border of the Mangled Woods. Unlike most tribes, the Simukie appointed the youngest male in the bloodline as the heir. That was his brother, Zakir, and Bidaês stunk of jealousy.

“If Narcyz was any good with his spear, then he wouldn’t already be shunned by every girl in both of the clans,” Bidaês said as he ran his hand through his curled black hair. He was paler than my, and most clansmen’s, earthen skin, and his hair formed a striking contrast that most Simukie girls fawned over.

I had no desire to watch them brawl, so I stepped outside as the sound of Narcyz smacking Bidaês slipped through the tent’s flap. I sighed. Boys.

The sun’s heat bared down upon me as I shielded my eyes. All around, the camp was bustling as we prepared to continue our march west, through the mountain range the Krowikie had named Perun’s Crown. The Narrow Pass in Astiwie lands was where my family had crossed from the world we’d known into the one I now called home. It was an arduous trek with so many people but possible, unlike the sections of the mountains farther south and the Mangled Woods in the north. Today, we started the climb.

Riders, both men and women, patrolled through the camp with their cavalry swords hung at their sides. As much as I hadn’t missed the wars of my people, it was refreshing to be among my old clan’s warrior women. The Krowikie were strong, but a girl with a bow or sword was dangerous to them. They’d never experienced wars on the steppes. Anyone who could hold a weapon was another rider in Zurgowie ranks.

I wound my way toward the outskirts of camp, where Wacław would surely be kneeling among the grasses by a tree, praying to his gods.

Outside the negotiations with the marzban and high priestess, our resident demon had become reclusive once we’d reached the clans. He hadn’t returned to our group’s tent last night. I couldn’t blame him. Each day I had wept when I found myself alone, so instead of searching for solitude, I ran from it.

The thought of his gods still disturbed me. We hadn’t told either of the clan leaders what we’d faced only days before reaching them. It was hard enough for me to grasp what I had been through. Obviously, Jaryło existed, as did at least Marzanna and Dziewanna. Did that make my clan’s gods false, or were these simply our own in a different tongue?

I shook my head. Those questions were best answered by a priest or multiple mugs of oskoła. Unfortunately, I had neither. Any Zurgowie priestess who heard our story would scold me for associating with a demon, and our people didn’t have alcohol except a fermented milk I despised. So, my mind toiled, sober and without guidance.

“Ara!”

I tore myself from my daze. Zakir, Bidaês’s younger brother, trotted toward me on a bay Anshayman steppe horse, its short legs carrying its sturdy body as it stopped in front of me. With the slim, narrow-shouldered boy on its back, it seemed more like a bull than a horse. “Your brother doesn’t understand who to start a fight with,” I said.

The ends of Zakir’s mouth curled for only a moment, but I had learned quickly that I would never get a real smile out of him. He was a timid alchemist who was fascinated with making my arrows more effective. Apparently, I was the only one willing to listen to his ideas, and based on the dark rings under his downturned eyes, he’d been hard at work.

“Bidaês has his ways,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice. “Would you like to see what I discovered?”

I nodded. While Bidaês was a stubborn, annoying pony, his brother was a steady workhorse, gentle even at his most excited. The little smile returned to his face as he extended his hand and helped me mount the horse behind him. His tent was near the edge of camp, and I never minded riding instead of walking.

Unlike Zakir’s demeanor, his workspace was scattered. Clay jars full of bubbling liquids covered the cloth mats he traveled with in lieu of tables. I kept my distance when we entered the tent. “Are any of these potions able to make my arrows pierce a demon?”

Curiosity flickered across his eyes, the gold of sand in the summer’s heat. He shook his head and grabbed a capped jar with green liquid within. “The creatures your people call demons aren’t my business. Why do you ask?”

Memories of the zmory crawling up the ridge toward Otylia and me flashed through my mind. I shuddered, forcing them away. “No reason. What did you wish to show me?”

Any hint of his suspicion disappeared as he shook the jar and opened it, releasing a putrid smell that stung my nostrils. He didn’t seem to notice. “A new poison.”

I coughed and stepped away from the vile odor. “And why would I need that?”

“You’re a huntress, and this can bring down any animal with the slightest prick, I hope. Shouldn’t ruin the meat either…” He c****d his head to the side. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am, but this is… surprising. Are you claiming I’m not a good enough shot to kill a deer without poison?”

“No! I… I…” He covered the jar again and turned away, babbling under his breath.

I swooped in to intercept the poison. “It’ll be of great use. Thank you.”

With a bow of his head, he allowed me to take it. “My pleasure, huntress.”

A galloping horse approached from outside. I slipped the poison into my bag, offered Zakir a smile, and slid through the flap to see Xobas. He’d hastily thrown on his leather Simukie vest and thin, open-front jacket, but his stallion was golden in the sunlight. “Commander Xobas,” I said. “What has you so active this early?”

“It’s Wacław. A patrol found him lying by an oak and can’t wake him.”

“Alunam’s wraiths…” I cursed. “All right, let’s go find him.”

I mounted the horse behind Xobas and only caught a glimpse of Zakir’s disappointed face before we took off in a storm of dust.