Bastial Frenzy (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 4) (59 page)

Reela furrowed her brow and asked softly, “Do you want me to?”

“I just want you to do whatever you want to do.”

“That’s not fair,” Reela complained.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not doing what you
want. You’re doing what you know is best. I don’t know if you’re capable of doing anything but.” She sounded irritated.

“I’m sorry,” Cleve said, unsure what else to say.

“I shouldn’t blame you,” she said, her tone forgiving.

Cleve expected her to say something else, but she’d fallen silent.

As Cleve drifted toward sleep, Reela’s loud exhaling caused his eyes to open.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “My answer is still the same as it was two days ago.”

“Did you get a chance to tell Effie today?”

“No, well…I suppose I had many chances, but I just couldn’t. I did tell my mother, though. She was…worried.”

“But did she understand?”

“Yes,” Reela said. “It’s the right thing to do, as much as she hates it.”

“I think you should’ve told Effie today. It would’ve given her the chance to think about coming.”

Reela shook her head, which was burrowed in the nook of Cleve’s arm. “I know her too well to do that to her. The choice would torment her, and ultimately she would feel guilty when she chose to stay. This way, at least she can blame me instead of herself.” Reela’s wavering voice made it seem as if she was on the verge of tears. “Tomorrow is going to be hard enough as it is. Let’s not get into it now.”

When Cleve rose the next morning, he went to Terren’s house to say his last goodbye.

“Will I see you again?” his uncle asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cleve said.

Terren showed a sad smile. “You still don’t know when to lie.”

They hugged. “Thank you again, Terren,” Cleve said, clinging to his uncle tightly.

“Let’s try this once more—I will see you again, right?”

“You will.”

They let go and just looked at each other. Then Terren clasped his shoulder and nodded. Cleve left before the sadness swelling in his chest rose any higher and caused tears to fall.

The rest of his roommates were up by the time he returned. He brought his bags to the front.

Effie and Steffen saw him and came closer. The three of them stood in silence.

“How long will you be there?” Steffen asked.

“Not long,” Cleve lied.

Steffen nodded solemnly to show he understood the real answer.

Effie squeezed Cleve, wrapping her arms around his torso. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me too,” he answered truthfully.

Vithos came through the front door, bags in hand. “Ready we leave?”

Effie gasped. “You’re going with Cleve? But…I didn’t think you would leave Reela.”

Then Reela came out of her room carrying her own bags. She set them down and gave a sad look to Effie, her eyes glistening.

Effie’s head tilted. “You’re leaving?” she whispered painfully.

A single tear came down Reela’s cheek. “I wanted to tell you earlier.”

“No, Reela,” Effie said, shaking her head. “No…” A choke interrupted her.

“There’s still a war to fight,” Reela said.

“You’re really leaving?” Effie started to cry.

Reela nodded. “I can’t stay here when I know what Cleve will be doing in Greenedge to protect us. I have to go with him.”

Effie’s crying worsened, but she continued to hold Reela with her eyes. Reela carried her bags to the front and set them down beside Cleve’s. Then she turned to Effie, who wouldn’t look away yet couldn’t seem to move.

“You didn’t even ask if I wanted to come,” Effie muttered.

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated just because I’m leaving. I know you would rather stay here.”

“Of course I would. I thought you would also. You’re really…?” A weep interrupted her.

Reela came close, and they held each other. “I love you, Eff. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made. But I can’t let Cleve fight alone when I’m able to join him.”

Effie cried hard onto Reela’s shoulder. As she wept, she practically shouted, “But the war is over! We can finally go back to normal.”

“Not yet,” Cleve answered, knowing Effie must hate him in that moment for taking Reela. Guilt twisted in his stomach. “Ovira isn’t safe from the Takarys or anyone else from Greenedge wishing to flee the continent because of the desmarls. Any of the powerful armies there could come here.”

Effie ran at him, fury burning in her eyes. “And you think you’re going to save the world?” She started to strike his arm, pounding furiously. “There’s nothing you can do there! You’re an idiot!”

Steffen put his arm on Effie’s shoulder, using his other hand to move between her flailing fists and Cleve’s turned shoulder. “I know you don’t mean that, Effie,” he said.

She sank to her knees, weeping.

Steffen rubbed his hand on her back. “We have a lot to do here too. We’ll be leaving for Sumar in a couple of days. Alex is coming with us.”

Reela crouched over Effie and helped her up so they could hug.

“I love you too,” Effie said. “I’m sorry.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cleve. I know you’re doing the right thing. If anyone can save the world”—a weep stopped her for a breath—“it’s you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Cleve told her.

Effie parted from Reela and embraced Cleve tightly. He gladly hugged her back.

When they finished, Effie ran her hand down Reela’s hair. “Should I come with you to the docks?”

Reela wiped away a tear, but more continued to fall. “Stay here. I want to remember you and Steffen just like this, standing in our home, all of us together. I’ll remember this image every time I think of both of you.”

At that, Steffen began to cry with them.

As Cleve, Reela, and Vithos approached their boat, Reela stroked Nulya’s mane and asked, “How did Terren take all of this?”

“Fine,” Cleve said.

“He’s proud of you, isn’t he?” Reela asked, smiling.

Cleve would’ve given a humble answer. But knowing Reela, he figured there was no point. She’d see through it.

“Very,” he said.

“I bet he asked how long you would be gone. Then—when you gave the truth—he said you should’ve lied.”

For a moment, her accuracy frightened him, but it was gone in a blink. “What am I thinking right now, then?” Cleve taunted, gazing at her lips.

“This.” Reela set down her bags, wrapped her arms around his neck, and went to her toes so they could kiss.

After, Reela touched his cheek, her eyes holding sadness. “Rek would be proud also.”

Cleve nodded.

“Is that…?” Vithos asked. “I forget word.” He was pointing at Mmzaza, who was quickly approaching.

“Our captain,” Cleve answered. “Yes, it is.”

Mmzaza laughed as he came close. “Ho ho, and where’s the woman you brought for Captain Mmzaza?”

Cleve ignored his joke. “Mmzaza, this is Vithos.”

“Aren’t you pretty!” Mmzaza told him. “Slap some tips on you and you’d be more beautiful than half the women I’ve bedded.”

Vithos surprised Cleve by laughing.

“Finally,” the captain exclaimed, “someone with some humor! I’ve been stuck with this dull bastard too many times now.” He pointed at Cleve with his thumb. “You and I will have some fun.” Mmzaza wrapped his arm around Vithos’ shoulders and started toward the boat. “You like jokes?”

“I very much like jokes,” Vithos said.

“Ho ho ho! Have you heard the one about the man with old britches?”

Cleve stopped listening. He was focused on Reela. She’d turned around to look back toward Oakshen and the Academy.

“I’m really going to miss Kyrro and everyone in it…especially Effie.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Cleve said hesitantly.

Reela took his hand. Her expression said the words she’d already repeated before.

She’s not going to change her mind,
Cleve reminded himself.

Vithos’ loud laughter drew his focus.

“Saggy testicles!” Vithos shouted, continuing to laugh. “I understand!”

Cleve grumbled. “I think the trip there is going to be worse than the war itself. I don’t know if I could endure it without you.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that.” She hooked her free arm around Cleve’s. “Let’s not keep your friend waiting for his cure any longer.”

Chapter 45

Meanwhile, across the Starving Ocean…

Since the creation of the sport, a shotmarl match had never been canceled. Wind, rain, snow, it didn’t matter. The competitors fought until the game was over. Even during the Bastial Steel War, shotmarl games brought citizens of enemy territories together in one stadium.

The championship match of the season was about to begin between Goldram and Waywen. Within the walls of Goldram’s stadium, the rest of the world momentarily was forgotten. Rivalry could be felt in the air, but it was of a competitive nature. There was no craving for blood, no thirst to fight, at least not among the audience. All they wanted was for their team to win.

As the opposing players lined up and bowed to each other, horns and strings came together to introduce the tension and importance of this championship match. Those who’d paid for a seat in the glorious stadium could feel their worries being forgotten. There was no war here, and there never would be.

But then Elves started entering the arena. The audience stood, many confused, some already angry. For most, it was the first time seeing an Elf in person. Besides disrupting the match, what were they doing walking between the players?

The music ground to a halt. Guards of Goldram ran from their posts along the walls to intervene. But the Elves simply held out their palms and the guards fell. Suddenly it was clear. Everyone in the stadium could feel it. The Elves weren’t here for shotmarl like everyone else. They were bringing the outside world into the stadium. The war finally had breached through.

The players broke from their lines to fight the Elves. But as quickly as the guards, they fell and writhed on the ground.

The crowd gasped. Deep in their hearts, they knew they were witnessing something that would change Greenedge forever. This was psyche, true psyche. With an eerie calm washing over the audience as they shushed each other, they watched the Elves take the center of the arena.

One with gray hair falling neatly down his back came forward and raised his hand. “Some of you may have heard of me!” he bellowed. “My name is Fatholl. I’m a psychic, and I’ll be ridding this continent of desmarls.”

Nothing but silence followed his statement.

He smiled wickedly. “Too scared for applause…understandable. Though, once I control the four territories you hail from, I’ll expect more gratitude.”

No one dared say a word. Even the children in the audience could feel something dreadful coming.

“We Elves are not that different from you Humans. We want what you do…a peaceful continent, safety for our children and for our children’s children. Unfortunately, sometimes we need to be violent to ensure our safety. I’m sure all of you understand. Would you not fight a man twice your size if he posed a danger to your child?”

Fatholl didn’t expect a response, though he waited anyway. He knew these Humans needed time to prepare for what he’d really come to say. Certain news needed to be complemented by setting the right mood. And this was no ordinary news. He was about to change Greenedge in one day.

He could feel their anticipation.

“A storm approaches. All of you will need shelter to survive it. Hiding in your homes may protect you in the beginning, but your walls and roofs will collapse eventually. If you wish to live, you must join me, for only I know where the storm will strike and when. Even your kings aren’t safe. In this moment, they’re being killed.”

The rogue Elf almost lost the audience from the eruption of frightened murmurs. But then he silenced them with his hands.

“Remember my name, for every conversation you have after today will be about me.”

Fatholl smiled as he walked out of the arena casually, enjoying the sweet sound of the worried crowd. His group of psychics followed him without a single man or woman trying to stop them.

King Danvell Takary of Goldram had sent his men all over Greenedge to learn what they could of Fatholl and his growing army of psychics. He’d begun this process the day after Cleve Polken left, for it was that same day when he first learned about Fatholl.

His men all came back with the same information. “Fatholl’s army is never in one location,” they told him. “It’s spread out among Greenedge. They recruit people one by one. It’s said they seek out those that share their opinion.”

This was when Danvell’s men always became reticent, unwilling to say more until forced.

“What’s this opinion?” Danvell would ask, eventually expecting the same answer, as it always came.