Chapter 2: Caught in the Act
956 Words
Selmas kicks at his assailant, but doesn't manage to make contact. “Let go!"
There's a familiar snort from above him. “Don't waste your energy. You can't hurt me, even on an off-day."
Selmas glares at Byrin, who is holding him by his shirt. It's an awkward position, because Selmas is taller than him, so his toes are folded onto the ground, but Byrin is strong enough to support the extra height. “Did you see yourself out there? It is an off-day."
His cousin gasps, affronted. “I killed seven today. Seven."
“Last time you got twelve."
“Oh." Byrin drops him. Selmas stumbles when his feet make contact with the ground, but he manages to stay standing. “I guess it was an off day."
Selmas rolls his eyes. “You—"
His sentence cuts off as he's shoved unceremoniously back into the bush, landing on his rear end. His notebook bounces away and he has to pat around in the dirt to find it.
“Byrin," he groans, “What are you—"
Byrin kicks him. “Chief Izalia! Hello. You were… really great, today."
The Chieftain does not sound amused. “Where is he?"
“What?" Byrin asks. “Who?"
Their Chieftain sighs. “You are not subtle, Rin-an."
Selmas freezes. Cautiously, he peers out of the bush to see the Chieftain looking directly back at him. Her clothing is gritty with sand, but her hair is still hanging thick and neat in a plait down her back, jewelry interwoven into it to show her status. Her daughter, Gwynfor, stands slightly behind her, glaring at Byrin. Gwynfor is almost a mirror-image of her mother; a proud, straight nose, full lips, and coarse, dark hair. The muscles underneath her brown skin are prominent, her body trained nearly to perfection.
“I was talking to myself!" Byrin says unconvincingly. “Just myself!"
“So you were just manifesting Selmas from your subconscious?" Gwynfor demands.
“Who's Selmas?"
“Oh my gods," Gwynfor says.
The Chieftain hushes her, then turns back to Selmas' bush. “Selm-an, come out, please."
Selmas groans inwardly, and then slowly stands, keeping his eyes down. “Chief Izalia."
“You were supposed to remain within the defense lines," the Chieftain says. “You do know where the defense lines are, don't you?"
“Within fifty feet of the furthest Ban tree," Selmas recites dutifully. “I was out before the battle began. I couldn't get to the defense lines in time, so I hid."
“Right next to the beach?"
“Um," Selmas says, “Yes?"
The Chieftain does not look impressed. “Selm-an. You know that it is dangerous for you to be outside of the village when we are fighting. You don't have the same abilities that the Warriors do."
“Abilities," Selmas says.
“That's what she said," Gwynfor says.
Her mother throws her a look. “Gwynfor. Gather the Warriors."
Gwynfor doesn't look pleased to be ordered away, but she goes.
“Should I—" Byrin yelps as Gwynfor returns just long enough to grab his arm and drag him off through the sand. “Hey! Ow!"
Selmas frowns after them, trying not to look at the Chieftain, who is still wearing her face of displeasure.
“I took notes," he mutters.
The Chieftain sighs, which doesn't help Selmas feel any better. “You don't need to be taking notes, Selmas. There is nothing to take notes on. Our people will continue the way they always have."
“But what if we could be better?" Selmas asks. He holds up his notebook. “I've been keeping track of everything, every battle. We're good, yes, but we could be—"
“We're already the best!" the Chieftain exclaims. She inhales deeply, visibly trying to keep from being agitated. “There is no need for change. We thrive on the rules and customs of our tribe. Our ancestors left us with all the knowledge we need. You are not a fighter, Selm-an. You are not even a scholar."
“I could be," Selmas says. “I just need—"
Byrin jogs back up to them. “Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but—"
“Stay away from the battlefields," the Chieftain orders.
Selmas scowls. “You can't stop me."
“Selmas—" Byrin says.
“I do not order this for my gain, but for yours," the Chieftain says. “If you can't follow the most basic directions, you will never be a Warrior."
“Chief—"
“I won't be, regardless!" Selmas exclaims. “At least let me do what I am good at!"
“You will stay inside the defense lines," the Chieftain orders, her dark hair flying at her waist. “I will not tell you again."
“I—"
“Stop!" Byrin yells. “Chief, we have a problem."
“Rin-an," the Chieftain says, “If this is not an actual problem—"
“It is," Byrin says, his voice uncharacteristically concerned as he points down the beach.
Selmas follows his line of sight, just in time to see one of their own Warriors sink the head of an arrow into Gwynfor's arm. The Chieftain's daughter yowls, backing away to clutch at the injury. Two other Warriors dart in, trying to wrangle the assailant back, but he's frothing with rage and throws them off easily, his strength heightened by Battlelust.
“He should have been released by now," the Chieftain says.
“Well," Byrin says, “He's not."
The two of them run toward the group that is slowly amassing to try and slow their clan member down, and Selmas, stupidly, follows.
- Writer
