Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain

“It’s going to pass,” Vedoran said.

“No it’s not,” Ashok said, and just in that breath, the cloaker tucked into itself. In the sudden absence of wind, it plummeted straight at them.

“Duck,” Ashok said, and released one end of the chain. It sailed over Vedoran’s head and snapped taut inches from the cloaker’s flesh.

Quickly, Ashok jerked the chain back and grabbed the other handgrip out of the air. Vedoran took out a small belt dagger, threw it, and missed. The cloaker angled out of reach beneath the bridge.

“Which way is it coming up?” Ashok demanded.

“I don’t know. Stop looking down,” Vedoran told him. “You’ll get dizzy.”

He was right. Ashok swayed on his feet. He stepped back and felt his heel go off the edge. Jerking in a breath, he righted himself. So close to the edge, but he kept his balance. He was in control. Ashok’s heart raced in exhilaration.

The cloaker appeared again from the opposite side of the bridge, spread its wings, and covered Vedoran like a curtain. To his great credit, the shadar-kai didn’t struggle. Such an action would have certainly sent him off the bridge. Instead, he dropped to his knees, then to his stomach, pinning the cloaker under his weight. Surprised by the move, the creature came loose, its flesh folds hanging over the side of the bridge.

Vedoran skidded back, his boots kicking the thing away as it tried to grab for him. The cloaker folded in on itself and dropped over the side of the bridge before Ashok could get to it.

“Are you all right?” Ashok called to Vedoran. They were over twenty feet apart on the bridge.

Vedoran jerked a nod. “This isn’t done,” he said. “It’ll come back for another pass.”

Judging by his expression, Ashok knew retreat wasn’t an option for Vedoran either. He held his chain, thinking.

“Can you hold my weight?” he said finally, coming forward.

Vedoran looked him over. Ashok knew what he saw: an underfed body, wiry muscle, and bone. But he was tall, and the tension would be incredible.

“I can,” Vedoran said. “Do you trust me?”

Ashok smiled and shook his head.

Vedoran held out a hand. “Do it,” he said.

Ashok threw the chain.

The cloaker unfolded beneath them, caught an updraft, and flew straight at Vedoran. When he saw it coming, Ashok sprinted across the bridge, closed the distance between himself and Vedoran, and jumped over the side just before he would have plowed into the shadar-kai.

His momentum carried him headfirst over the cloaker’s body, out of reach of its bony claws. He held the other end of the chain in both hands as the inertia pulled him down.

The cloaker, its attention fixed on Ashok’s plummeting form, didn’t notice the chain unfurling above it.

Ashok angled his body, trying to turn his fall into a swing to lessen the impact. It didn’t help. When the chain jerked taut, the jarring pain traveled up his arms and into his shoulders. He heard the crack as his left shoulder dislocated, and felt the brilliant explosion of agony. He ground his teeth, absorbed the pain, and concentrated on his grip. Above him, Vedoran grunted, his boots skidding across stone. But he’d been right-he was strong enough to hold Ashok.

The cloaker was not so fortunate. Barbed spikes descended, tore flesh, and trapped the struggling monster against the bridge with the chain. Vedoran pulled his end toward himself, and together with Ashok’s weight, the barbs cut the cloaker in half.

Two pieces of ichor-dripping mass fell past where Ashok hung. They landed on an invisible platform fifteen feet below: the second bridge.

Ashok looked up at Vedoran. Color suffused the shadar-kai’s powder gray skin. His black eyes glimmered like wet onyx.

“Well done,” Ashok said.

Vedoran nodded. “You as well,” he replied. He looked past Ashok, down to the second bridge. “Are you ready for me to let go?”

Ashok glanced down at the thin strip of bridge below him, invisible but for the cloaker corpse marking how far the drop truly was. The curved stone tusks were everywhere, waiting to impale him if he fell too far to either side of the bridge. Excitement bloomed anew, working right off the fire from the battle.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Ashok dangled from a thread, a thought between life and death, yet he’d never felt more connected to the world. He was aware of everything: the wind pulling him back and forth, the city breathing around him. All of it yanked into focus as if outlined in crystal. He felt everything, yet there was no pain. Even the roaring fire in his shoulder seemed dim compared to what he experienced in that breath.

Vedoran let go. The air left Ashok’s lungs, and for the shortest space, he hung in midair. The chain sang, metal against metal. Ashok fell, his eyes closed, trusting the slender thread to hold him.

Training for Ashok, Vedoran, and the other recruits, began shortly after the first bell of the day-the Monril bell, Ashok learned. He remembered Cree had said Ikemmu marked six intervals of the day with the bells. He learned them quickly: Monril, Diteen, Trimmer, Tet, Pendron, and Exeden. Sleep, for the shadar-kai, was accomplished in six groups in the time between bells. When Ashok rolled off his cot he felt awake and on edge-he’d rested enough to stay alert, but his muscles had had no chance to become lethargic.

Morningfeast was served in an open, communal hall at the mid-level of the barracks by a team of young humans. Sweat glistened off their pale skin as they ladled a sweet stew into bowls for the lines of shadar-kai that came through the hall. Ashok was still fascinated by the skin of the other races-light or dark, they virtually glowed.

“Ready for some play?” Cree asked Ashok as he was leaving the hall. Cree and Chanoch were practically vibrating as they exited the tower with a cluster of other shadar-kai men and women, all in a similar state of agitation.

They walked out into the training yard and immediately formed up into lines as they had the previous day. Ashok took up a position in the back row next to Skagi and Cree. Vedoran stood two rows ahead of them.

A shadar-kai Ashok didn’t recognize stood in the shadow of the tower next to a weapon rack of spears. When the recruits stood in their lines, he stepped forward. A pair of tattoos in the shape of serpents traced the muscles up each of his long arms.

“I am Jamet,” the shadar-kai said, addressing them. His voice was a soft rasp, as if his throat had been ravaged by thirst. “I am your teacher. I have not the tongue for speeches as the Watching Blade does, but mark me well: what I lack in voice I more than make up for with these.” He took a spear from the rack and held it crosswise above his head. “The spear, the sword, the club,” he continued. “They will be your arms, your nerves-every part of you will defer to their guidance in battle, save one.” He tapped his temple. “Fight with your head,” he said. His hand slid down to cover his chest, his heart. “This belongs to Tempus. He will take care of the rest.”

Jamet walked up and down the lines of men and women, pausing every so often to scrutinize the recruits. On his last pass, he stopped in front of Ashok. He picked up a bit of Ashok’s chain dangling from his belt. Ashok followed his movements but made no reaction.

“Those of you who come to us bearing your own weapons”-Jamet pitched his voice to carry to the rest of the recruits-“prepare to unlearn everything you’ve learned up to this point. I’m going to show you new ways of fighting.” He held a length of chain up in front of Ashok. “These links are loose, rusted,” he said. “They need to be repaired.”

Ashok didn’t disagree. “I have no talent for the forge,” he replied.