PodCastle

* Author : Jen Brown
* Narrator : C. L. Clark
* Host : Emmalia Harrington
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
Discuss on Forums



Originally published in FIYAH.


Rated PG.
While Dragons Claim the Sky
By Jen Brown
[Note: This is Part 2 of a two-part novelette. Please visit last week’s post to read Part 1.]
When marble cracks, it isn’t loud — or at least, not in the way I thought it’d be. Thera the Thrasher demonstrated this by cleaving her warhammer into the space where Myra’d lain moments ago. Instead of shattering, the veiny rock split with a squelch that came from sliding against itself; too dense to crumble, yet still capable of being broken.
That rockface would’ve been Myra, had she not pitched away at the last second. Clambering up, she swayed gracelessly, swiping away the blood marring her chin.
She could’ve been killed.
That thought haunted me while I watched her match from a cramped stadium seat, wedged in between two bettors who could only complain about how boring the ‘underlands scruff’ were.
“How long?” I choked out to man one on my left. “How long have they been fighting?” I’d arrived minutes ago.
“Half an hour,” he grumbled. “Abyss and shit, let’s end it already. We’re all really here to see Giralt the Grand, am I right?”
He elbowed my side just as Myra rolled from another of Thera’s crushing blows — but this time her shield split, leaving her gasping for breath and clutching her side. I shot up, fighting nausea.
Myra was losing. She might actually die here, among uncaring skyfolk, before I’d gotten a chance to —
“Finally!” screamed the woman on my right.
With a deft foot sweep, Thera pinned Myra’s weakened form with ease. Abandoning my seat, I practically vaulted the stadium stairs while the crowd roared anew. I had to get to her.
Then, everything shifted in the span of a blink. Thrusting sharply, Myra rammed her knee into Thera’s spine. Off guard from the unexpected blow, Thera wobbled right into her grip, allowing Myra to slash up against the arm pinning her throat; then low as Thera staggered backward, welling her shin red.
It was a game of quickness after that, one that ended with Myra smashing her mailed boot into Thera’s chest plate. Despite tepid applause, Myra shouted when the Empress called it, laugh-jogging to the preparatory tent as if her life hadn’t been in danger.
Though when she saw me enter, her excitement dimmed.
“There’s the non-believer,” Myra called loudly. “Convinced yet?”
My lungs were still convulsing, breaths coming hurried. “Convinced? You could’ve died!”
“It’s called a feint.” Myra rolled her eyes, though the left one had already grown puffy. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be heading toward the cloud ferries by now?”
I deserved her ire, even if it stung. “Not without apologizing.” Though washrags littered the competitor’s tent, I tore cloth from my good trousers; pressed in close to hold it against the cuts peppering her chin. “I’m so sorry, Myra. For judging you unfairly. For doubting you.”
Myra’s jaw quivered, but she didn’t back away. “Fine. Apology done. You going now?”
“No,” I shot back. “Because I’m stronger than you think, and I’m not leaving until I find my way into the coif program.”