As Radyn lifted today’s weapon above his head, he wondered whether he preferred the maniblade or the hoe in his hands. The hoe was a symbol of stability, of a future in which parents didn’t worry whether their city would have enough food to feed their children or not. It represented routine, both of the daily variety and of the seasonal, and it was safe. Outside of exhaustion or carelessness, a person with a hoe in their hands was almost certain to return to their family’s dinner table as the sun went down.
Maniblades represented chaos and the uncertainty of the future. They were a necessary tool in a world where both monsters and enemies roamed freely. A Manirah had their own daily routine, training body, mind, and spirit to enact the will of the clan. They weren’t guaranteed the farmer’s evening return, but in exchange they enjoyed honor, privilege, and the knowledge they fought for a future in which hoes far outnumbered maniblades.
Radyn was all too aware of the shortcomings of both hoe and maniblade, having lived both as a farmer and as a Manirah. Depending on the day, he longed for one or the other, but he knew himself well enough now to know the longing would pass, soon to be replaced by its opposite.
He laughed bitterly to himself. Fortunately, he didn’t have to choose anymore. Thanks to his poor choices and Miranda’s boundless estimate of his abilities, he served as both farmer and Manirah, laboring in two roles but enjoying the benefits of neither. He would have complained, but it was suitable punishment for failing Firestone and his clan. It didn’t matter if he fought with hoe or sword, but he’d do everything in his power to protect Underhill.
He brought the hoe down, breaking up the resilient clump of soil that stood in his way. Then he angled the hoe and dug a furrow he’d soon fill with the seed Miranda had somehow acquired. Seed that rightfully belonged to the cities, but Miranda claimed they wouldn’t even notice it was missing.
Having seen firsthand some of what passed for security and logistics within the cities, Radyn guessed she spoke truthfully, which only frustrated him more. How much more would the cities be capable of if the people and systems they relied on did as they were supposed to? How many more people would be alive today? He suspected the number was even higher than he would guess.
Another clump of soil broke under his wrath, and something about the act must have caught Jarrod’s attention, because the boy asked, “You have a fight with Aria this morning?”
Radyn snapped his head around and stopped the growl before it escaped his throat. Jarrod held up his hands and took a step back. “Didn’t mean anything by it. You’re just attacking that dirt like it owes you something.”
Radyn’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the shaft of the hoe, but only for a moment. After all these years, Elora’s training still held, and he breathed out his frustrations and forced himself to observe Jarrod.
Radyn labeled him a boy, but that wasn’t accurate or fair to the young man. Jarrod was only a few years younger than Radyn, perhaps about eighteen or nineteen, if he was forced to guess. What separated them wasn’t years, but experience. Jarrod and his girlfriend had fled their city six months ago because their parents hadn’t wanted them to get married, and in an act of true love that was as reckless as it was stupid, they’d decided to join the soulkeepers on the surface. Radyn still hadn’t figured out why someone would rather risk almost certain death instead of a family’s disapproving stares, but he was hardly knowledgeable about family affairs. His own hadn’t stuck around long enough for him to learn.
Jarrod was an easygoing sort, and one of the few that regularly volunteered to work with Radyn, and Radyn still hadn’t figured out if it was some sort of misplaced hero worship or something else. Most days they worked well together, but Jarrod had either never heard of or had completely forgotten what personal privacy meant, and sometimes he pushed too far into Radyn’s life.
Today, Radyn’s observation bore quick fruit. He and Aria never fought in public and rarely even in private, so it was a strange guess to leap to. But Jarrod’s hair, which was usually washed and combed in the morning, was messier than usual, and the lines under his eyes made Radyn think the boy hadn’t slept much the night before.
“No, not a fight,” Radyn said. He gestured to their field, which was closer in size to a large garden than a true field, but they had to start somewhere. “Just one of those days when I’m frustrated about our slow progress. You and Isabel doing well?”
His answer wasn’t entirely truthful, but it wasn’t a lie, either, and Jarrod’s reaction to Radyn’s question convinced him he’d aimed his own guess well. His face fell, as though he’d just gotten the news there’d be no rations for the week.
“Not as well as I wish we were. Both of us expected something different when we came down here, and it’s wearing on us. Last night Isabel asked if maybe we’d made a mistake, and I’ll confess I didn’t take it well.”
Radyn grunted. “If the soulkeepers were truly honest when talking to people in the cities, no one would join.”
Jarrod chuckled, but only for a moment, his gloom too thick to be pierced by Radyn’s halfhearted attempts at humor. “Do you think we made a mistake coming here?”
Radyn bit back his first retort. Jarrod and Isabel had arrived with an impressive lack of skills, but both had worked hard to make up for their lack. Yes, it had probably been a mistake for them to move to the surface, but that didn’t mean it had to be a mistake to stay.
“You two are really interested in starting a family soon, right?” he asked.
Jarrod nodded. “We’ve been trying for almost a month.”
Radyn flinched, still not used to Jarrod’s unguarded openness, then continued. “Then staying down here is for the best. The soulkeepers may have spoken too kindly about daily life on the surface, but they didn’t lie about what matters.”
Jarrod looked to the sky, as though he expected to find a city floating above his head. “The cities’ Engines are failing.”
Radyn nodded. “It doesn’t seem like it now, but there will come a time when you’ll know that coming here early was the best decision you ever made.”
Jarrod considered this for a moment, then grinned. “Thanks, Radyn.”
“You’re welcome.”
They hefted their hoes and returned to their labors, but it wasn’t long before movement in the distance caught Radyn’s eye. He looked up from the field and saw a clump of grass a few hundred paces away moving against the wind. As he watched, he caught the slightest flicker of a tail. He swore softly to himself, then spoke quietly.
“Jarrod, you’re going to want to get back to Underhill as quick as you can.”
For a moment he feared his warning hadn’t been heard, but then he saw that Jarrod had been listening. Instead of running, he was standing tall in the grass, looking for whatever danger had prompted Radyn’s orders. Repeating the instruction would do no good, as Jarrod had a stubborn streak when it came to being told what to do, which was probably one of the reasons he was down here in the first place.
“Banti. To the west, about three hundred paces. I can’t tell how many, but more than one.”
Jarrod paled even as his eyes searched the western grasses. From the way his gaze kept moving, Radyn knew Jarrod hadn’t seen them.
The banti had more wisdom than Jarrod, or at least had senses honed enough that they knew when they’d been spotted. A pair burst forward, still not directly visible, but they carved a path through the tall grass that left no doubt as to their location and their destination.
Jarrod froze in place, his feet rooted to the ground more deeply than the wheat they soon hoped to plant. Not that running would have made much of a difference. Radyn didn’t think that even he could outrun one of the predators long enough to reach safety.
He dropped his hoe, and his hand went to his side, where Elora’s maniblade was clipped to his waist. One practiced motion freed the blade, and with a thought he connected to the shard within. The blade sprang to life, and Radyn tapped into the shards in his body to extend the weapon an extra foot. He stepped between Jarrod and the banti, and his first cut went clean through the nearest predator.
His blade bit into the soil, but he twisted his wrists and cut again, slicing lengthwise across the second banti. It died without a sound, the parts of its corpse coming to a rest only a pace beyond Radyn. He checked both corpses to ensure they were well and truly dead before letting his maniblade vanish.
Banti were nasty creatures, something between a snake and a lizard and with an unpleasant temperament to boot. They preferred to slither along the ground like a snake, and they could move with impressive quickness, as he’d just witnessed. If the need arose, they unfolded their powerful legs and leaped into the air. They weren’t that hard to kill, but they sometimes clung stubbornly to life, crawling for several paces even after a lethal blow.
These two were dead, though, so he didn’t have to worry about a bite from their poisoned fangs. One nip from them was enough to fell a full-grown man in a matter of minutes.
Jarrod was about to congratulate him, but before he could finish opening his mouth, Radyn held up a hand. Thankfully the brief ambush had successfully convinced Jarrod to pay full attention, and he shut his jaw without a sound.
Banti hunted in packs, and Radyn had never come across a pack of less than four. Not that such a pack couldn’t exist, but Radyn’s hairs still stood on end, his body aware of a danger he hadn’t yet consciously observed. He reconnected with the shards in his body and slowly turned in a circle, stretching his senses to their limit.
He swore again. Not just a pack, but a large one. They’d been advancing slowly, possibly nearing the two farmers all morning. The two to the west had gotten too eager and moved too quickly. Radyn silently thanked them for the warning. Three approached from the south, two more from the north, and two big ones blocked their retreat to the east.
Alone, Radyn wouldn’t have worried much about the pack. He could have rushed the three, then picked off the remaining four without too much trouble. Protecting Jarrod meant he couldn’t roam far, though. If the banti pulled him more than a handful of paces away, Jarrod would fall to a poisoned fang within moments. The boy was about as good in a fight as an old dry stick, but once the thought occurred to him, Radyn reconsidered.
He'd rather have the stick by his side.
“Radyn?” Jarrod asked.
“We’re surrounded,” Radyn said.
Except that wasn’t quite true. The west was open, even though it only led them farther away from the meager safety of Underhill. Still, it was better than nothing.
“When I tell you to, I want you to run west as fast as you can. Don’t look back, no matter what sounds you hear. Run as fast as you can for as far as you can, and only stop when I call for you.”
Jarrod shook his head. “You can’t fight seven banti on your own.”
“I have a better chance than if I have to protect you too.”
He didn’t miss the hurt in Jarrod’s eyes, but they didn’t have time for kindness. The kid could swing a hoe well enough, but he was nothing except dead weight Radyn had to carry in a fight. It would be all Radyn could do to keep that metaphor from becoming a reality.
He hated Jarrod, then, for being so weak in a place that required strength. Because he couldn’t protect himself, he risked both their lives. Radyn breathed out his frustration again. There was no point, and especially not now.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
Jarrod swallowed hard and nodded, and Radyn turned south, connecting with all his shards but letting the maniblade sleep a while longer. The three banti approaching from the south were the closest, and their numbers and distance away made them the obvious first target.
“Run now,” Radyn said.
Jarrod only hesitated a moment, but before Radyn could fear he was stuck for good, he took off, feet churning through the tall grass. Radyn launched himself south, and the banti responded instantly. The three south came for him, and the other four chased after Jarrod.
Radyn’s maniblade came to life with a hum of power, longer now than before. He cut through the first banti before it came close, the second as it lunged for his lower leg, then snapped the blade up as the third shot out of the grass and aimed for his neck. His cut passed through the banti’s scaled flesh with ease, and he stepped to the side to avoid any flying parts. One of its claws, not realizing it was supposed to be dead, reached out for him, but he’d put just enough distance between them, and the sharp claws passed harmlessly by.
He turned before the jumping banti’s body hit the ground. Four banti closed on Jarrod, from the north and east, and Radyn joined the chase, the song of the Engine flooding through his muscles. Their relative angles meant Radyn had a chance to save Jarrod, but it would be close.
He intersected the banti chasing Jarrod from the east first, and their attention was so focused on their prey that they didn’t notice Radyn’s arrival. His maniblade flashed twice, cutting grass and banti alike. He sprinted past without checking to see if they’d died. The cuts only cost him a step, but it was enough to keep Radyn from reaching Jarrod in time.
The banti closest to Jarrod leapt first, but Jarrod either saw or sensed it, for he leaped to the side before its jaws could close around the back of his neck. It ran its sharp claws across his back in revenge, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t even turn around. He just kept running, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The second banti had a better angle and leaped straight at Jarrod. Radyn extended his maniblade even further, stretching it to the limit his will and shards allowed. He was a step too far away to land a killing blow, so he slapped at the banti with the flat of his blade.
The blow landed, though not well. Still, it was enough to knock the banti off its killing line, and its jaws snapped closed on nothing at all.
Then Radyn was between the two banti and Jarrod, and despite their anger, his maniblade cut through scale and spine with ease. They fell still, and he cut each once more to ensure they stayed dead.
Finally he allowed himself a deep breath. “Jarrod! You can stop!”
Jarrod ran a few more paces, then stumbled to a stop. He bent over and put his hands on his knees. Radyn gave him time to recover, and eventually Jarrod shuffled back to him. The young man was clearly in pain, but he did his best not to show it. Jarrod looked down at the two dead banti, then said, “You got the rest?”
“I did.”
“Thanks. I didn’t realize you could kill so many banti.”
Half a dozen responses warred within Radyn, but he chose the most generous. “I couldn’t have gotten them without you. Your running pulled four after you.”
Jarrod straightened at that, and some of the color returned to his face.
Radyn tilted his head east, toward the field and Underhill. “Come on. Let’s get you home before those cuts get infected.”
He let Jarrod set the pace, only pausing to ensure all the banti were good and dead. His maniblade had done its work well, but his spirits fell when they came upon the small field they’d been working. The banti that had worked their way around them had churned up the fields with their claws, and most of Radyn’s work would have to be redone tomorrow.
He grunted, but thankfully Jarrod was so focused on walking straight he didn’t notice.
He was farmer and Manirah, but as he looked at Jarrod’s torn up back and their destroyed field, he couldn’t help but think he was failing at both.
