Chapter 12: Blood and Anger

  Rewe’s gaze washed over the battle scene. The decks of both ships were smashed together, rigging tangled and a sheen of red foam lapping from the sea. Salt and iron dominated the smell, and beyond the ever shrinking pockets of fighting, Rewe spotted the last true bastion of the enemy.

  The two ships had collided at an angle, leaving a wedge of sea between the stern of both vessels, and there, across the gap was the enemy’s captain. He stood tall with a feathered hat and beside him a man, or perhaps a boy, stood dressed in dark leathers not unlike the Black Scorpions assassins. What courage was left in the enemies ranks were attempting to regroup with the duo, while Rewe’s own thugs couldn’t break their defenses.

  The assassin’s curbed blade sang through the air with a literal melodic whistle, a signature feature of the famed yexara blades of the Ashishian desert. In return, blood spurted and criminals yelped at the cutting swings. Laughs of morale broke from the enemy captain’s lips as he too swung his blade in defiance of Rewe’s assault.

  Anger seeped into Rewe’s veins and her teeth clenched. With a numb jaw and her fists white against the haft of her axe, the terrifying scourge of the sea kicked off into a sprint. Wood creaked underneath and water hissed in the air. Wind cut at Rewe’s eyes and the world turned to blur as she charged. The iron of some enemy soldier came in from the left but Rewe ducked under it and ran by the fool, catching him along the way with the beard of her axe. Screaming trailed behind her as she dragged the bloodied soul into her charge. Another enemy, and Rewe swung her captive forward.

  A cleaver ripped into the man’s skull as horror etched on the wielder's face, he had cut his ally, but before the terror could drop, Rewe was leaping forward.

  Smaller than the man, Rewe jumped up head first, slamming into his jaw. Blood popped from the man’s mouth and as he fell backward, Marrower came in at an arc, equal parts hacking and crushing through his ribcage and slamming him into the deck. Rewe felt her anger flare and she knew all eyes were on her. Let them come.

  Confidence and overwhelming bloodlust splashed with each step as Rewe continued her bloodied advance. Enemy sailors fell as quickly as they came and limbs littered the way until the edge of the boat came quickly at hand. With nothing but the wedge of sea to bar Rewe from the enemy stern and captain, the warrior jumped.

  Rewe’s boots slammed onto the deck of the enemy ship. Surprised faces looked behind trembling weapons, but Rewe was already on the move again. Two strikes was all it took to clear the scum away from her path and in a final burst of speed, Rewe narrowed in on the enemy captain.

  The captain’s laugh was gone and his eyes widened in fear. He struck out with his blade but Rewe pushed past it with ease, fury burning in her chest. Her axe swung behind her, knocking away an interloper before resting on her shoulder. Rewe’s fist shot out at the same time and crashed into the captain’s mouth, shattering his teeth. Her hand slipped purposely off his face and let her elbow come slamming in after as she stepped into the blow, crushing his nose. The captain reeled, but Rewe shrugged her axe off her shoulder and hooked it behind his leg, flipping him to the watery deck with a bang.

  The fighting had died down now. Rewe’s thugs were winning the fray and the enemy captain laid on the deck sputtering red from every hole in his face. The warrior placed her boot on the man’s face and pressed her weight down slowly. Her fury turned dead and her eyes stared at the man with a cold hate.

  The yexara blade whistled, forcing Rewe to leap back from the captain. The assassin stood there now, his will not yet broken. A cruel smile broke Rewe’s lips. “I’ll show you mercy,” she said, “if you snap your sword.” She knew what she was asking, she knew that the people of Ashishia believed the souls of their ancestors lived in the family blade.

  Without answering, without hesitation, the young man rushed Rewe and she felt her anger bubble up again. A whistle swung from the assassin, a duck from Rewe. A stab from the assassin, but Rewe was already on his flank, teeth bared. Hate was in her blood, it was so natural now. The young man’s eyes widened as Rewe slammed into him, Marrower glinting in the sun, ready to catch his falling body on its edge.

  “Please,” the word was mouthed on the boy, and for a second, just a fraction of a second, Rewe felt…

  “Guh!” Beetle gulped a heavy breath. She was laying in her bed. Her palm came up to slap her forehead, some sort of distraction from her beating heart. “I’m Beetle,” she practiced. “I’m Beetle.” Even still, an ember from the dream seemed to stick in her throat, some sort of frustration or maybe irritation, or perhaps the seed of anger.

  There was a knock on the door and Beetle turned her head to look at it. Crocodile’s voice came grinding through. “Hey, Monkey, you alive in there?”

  “Yeah,” Beetle croaked through her sleep.

  “Want breakfast with me?”

  “Human food or Verdokian?” Beetle asked.

  A grunt. “It’s the same thing, jackass.” The tone was playful.

  “I’ll be right out.” A small curve found Beetle’s face. She was upset, still, and that heat hadn’t left her, but she was glad that if Rewe had enemies everywhere, at least Beetle had a friend.

  “Oh,” Crocodile’s voice was fading as if he was walking away from the door. “I invited that Jacob kid as well, figure we can get the details on your upcoming fight.”

  “You’re the best, Croc.”

  Nothing but a distant laugh.

  ***

  Just like the rest of Crocodile’s house, his dining room looked like it was the scene of a brawl. Gouges were taken out of the wall and scratches nicked the furniture. The Verdokian himself sat at the head of the short table while Granny refilled his bowl with some sort of thick oatmeal which sort of seeped through his big teeth. Jacob sat by him, noticeably silent as the big Gladiator waited for his seconds.

  Beetle let her wooden spoon tap her bowl, having eaten most of her gruel already. “Say, Crocodile,” she broke the mood. “Why is your house trashed?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “What do you mean?” Crocodile turned from Granny after thanking her.

  Beetle shot a breath through her nose, “The place looks like someone let loose one of those sicklecoat beasts in here.”

  “You know,” Crocodile said between slurps, “back in Verdokia, the king’s throne is cut with one slash from every blade his army holds, the thing is a mess of splinters.”

  “You saying you have an army?” Beetle offered an unamused glance.

  “He’s saying he has no excuse for practicing indoors like a lughead,” Granny snapped as she walked over to Jacob. “Dear, what’s the matter? Do you not like your food?”

  Jacob looked up at Granny and shook his head. “No, it’s-”

  “Then eat, boy! You’re bones!”

  Jacob heeded the woman’s words and stuffed a spoon into his mouth. “Mmm!” He exaggerated towards Granny. The housekeeper gave him a half smile and walked off to bring her pots to the kitchen.

  “Hey!” Beetle caught the quartermaster’s attention. “Tell me about my opponent.”

  “I don’t think I should,” Jacob said meekly.

  Beetle squinted, “What!?”

  “Hey, woah!” Crocodile took even more offense, “then why bother coming and eating my food?”

  “I just needed to ask Rewe something,” Jacob insisted.

  “Beetle,” Beetle corrected.

  “Or Monkey,” Crocodile added.

  “Beetle,” Jacob nodded. “Did you kill Lord Gallo?”

  Beetle dropped her spoon. “Gallo?” She nearly forgot about that creep. “What? No!”

  “So it was the Duchess,” Jacob mumbled. He stood up, forcing all eyes on him. “That’s all I really wanted to ask.” With little else he started to walk away from the table.

  “Kid, at least tell us a little about the opponent!” Crocodile hollered.

  Jacob scooted closer to the exit. “I’ll tell you this, he is a Harnian.”

  “Void,” Beetle swore. “First you set me up against a Verdokian, now a Harnian.”

  “A real Harnian?” Crocodile sat up straight.

  “Horns and everything,” Jacob waved. “I’d say good luck, but…”

  Beetle crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, whatever,” she put forward aloofness in spite of the sudden anxiety, “beat it.”

  Jacob didn’t have to be told twice. Without missing a beat, the quartermaster left. Crocodile turned to Beetle and hushed, calm once again. “Sorry about that, Monkey. Guess you have your work cut out for you.”

  Beetle sat in frustrated silence for a moment, thinking about Maelys setting her up and then on her dream. She leaned back and let out a sigh to the ceiling. “You know I used to be a great fighter,” the words were alien to her, but she knew it was true. “I bet Rewe could take down a Harnian with ease.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Crocodile said, his voice turning serious. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” Beetle said. “I’m just frustrated. Trapped on Perdi no matter what deal or direction I take. Trapped, trapped, trapped.” She drummed her fingers on the table.

  “You sure it’s Perdi that has you trapped?” Crocodile mused. “Believe it or not, most people come here to find something.”

  “Even those dragged here against their will?” Beetle glanced at the Verdokian.

  “Nah, but they still find something, that’s for sure,” Crocodile answered.

  “Why did you come?” Beetle asked.

  “Do you know what a brood is in Verdokia?” Crocodile asked.

  “Tell me.”

  The gladiator leaned back in his chair, matching Beetle’s stature. “All the hatchlings of the same year, of the same territory are grouped together,” he started. “Around the third year, we fight, and we fight, and whoever is the last one standing becomes the Broodmaster. A good position, really.” Crocodile’s eyes glazed. “You get your pick of anything, even the crown if you’re the best of the best. Sure, some hatchlings don’t make it out, but most leave with little more than hurt egos and some flesh wounds.” His eyes met Beetle’s “I was the first to be defeated and unfortunately, that’s one of the instances you wish you died instead when you want to live in Verdokia. The rare honor of being the Broodbastard.”

  “Broodbastard, huh?” Beetle mulled over his words.

  “Yup!” Crocodile nodded. “So I decided to become the best fighter I could be, and what better place than the infamous arena of Yenellii. When I’m bored of that, I’ll head home and kick some skulls in until everyone forgets the Broodbastard thing I had on my head.” He chuckled. “Well, that’s why I’m here. I guess now you gotta ask yourself, why the void are you still here?”

  “I made a deal with Maelys.”

  “Beyond that, Monkey,” Crocodile sat up. “Are you looking for your memories, or are you looking for something else?”

  “Something else?” Beetle raised a brow.

  Crocodile shrugged. “It’s just a suggestion, after all, you’re the one who isn’t going by their name even after remembering it.”

  “You aren’t going by your real name either,” Beetle chided.

  Crocodile gave her a sober look. “Because I am ashamed of it.”

  The two stared at each other for a while. It wasn’t clear to Beetle if Crocodile was really ashamed of his name, or if he just called her out on a level she wasn’t expecting. Either which way, the seed in her throat was still on fire from her dream, and an anger was brewing in her gut. Rewe was a person full of hate, a hate which fueled the strength behind her axe. Beetle was just confused.

  “You got six days,” Crocodile suddenly said. “To figure out a way to beat a Harnian.”

  “Best get to it then,” Beetle stood up.