Chapter XIX - Prey of Hawks

Forgiveness had been earned by her. Old men like Wymmel seemingly liked to make others work so they could be forgiven, which was exactly what Amixia—unfortunately—experienced for herself. Double the ingots mended was the task, which might not seem like a lot—and those days, it wasn’t—but the efforts required of her to finalize that task had been massive. Proudness basically wrapped Wymmel like a blanket the moment she was done, which Amixia couldn’t help but be joyous because of it. Lately, even blacksmithing was becoming less of a burden. That dream had been abandoned by her for some time now. Sparring was the main reason she was still a part of the shop, lazugs coming second and third… the people. Her brethren. Time spent alongside them gave Amixia a sense of belonging. A community. Nakol had always been her home, but these days… her home grew. Blossoming like a flower. Most notably, she was also blossoming herself.

With the sun retreating slowly but steadily, its light shining less brilliantly than usual, Wymmel and herself were once again dueling in the shop’s courtyard. Sweat dripped from them both like rain during a storm, which Amixia was familiar with, but Wymmel seemed dumbfounded by the effort he was forced to put into their spars.

He stood, leaning on his blade, catching his breath while looking at her with widened eyes. “You’re… fast.”

She chuckled and raised to her feet, using the blade as her support. “You’re… slow. The age I presume,” she said with a wink.

Bouncing The Needle up and down, it occurred to her that the blade felt weightless. Not something out of the ordinary; ever since they started, the blade she received wasn’t particularly heavy. That being said, Amixia could still feel something back then, her arm still had to strain to maneuver it. These days, her blade moved so smoothly, using it felt like the fluttering of a bird’s wings. As if The Needle was a part of her. One and the same.

“Ready to go again?” she asked, standing with her back straight.

Wymmel chuckled and shook his head. “We’ve… been doing this for some time now, child.”

“There’s still time. If you’re not afraid, that is,” she said, smirking.

He gripped the hilt, dug his sword out of the ground and dashed towards her. “Get ready!”

Amixia was ready. Readier than she could have anticipated. Both her hands clutched fiercely the hilt of her blade and it made contact with Wymmel’s with a loud clang. Pressure came down on her, heavy, strong, but she resisted. Pushing back, Wymmel’s blade came to the side and she struck again, aiming for his armor’s chestpiece. Armor was a far stretch; protection was minimum, but there. Both of them wore thick leathery garments, and while still capable of being cut through, they withheld impressively. Far more than they needed.

He noticed her attack and met her blade, then Amixia engaged in a flurry of strikes, forcing him to step backwards. Speed is her ally in all circumstances; the more she uses it, the harder it becomes for Wymmel to keep track of her. Sacrificing strength for agility was something she understood must do if she wanted to have a chance. Her blade swung upwards and Wymmel met her below his torso. His elderly eyes were sparkling with anticipation, as if inviting her to continue, teasing her to press forward. Amixia’s nose crinkled as she swiveled and met his blade to the side, before turning on the other side and being blocked again.

“Call me impressed, child,” he said with a groan. “A few more sessions and I believe you’ll be able to train a whole army.”

Amixia snorted. “Barely anyone in Faye thinks of an army with anticipation. Too busy to work the fields for that.”

“You sound like that’s an issue.”

“It… is when there’s no one to defend said fields. Or anything else for that matter.”

Glinting in the light, Wymmel’s blade pressed down fiercely on hers, forcing Amixia to depart and catch her breath.

“So your belief is wrong. I could train someone, I just don’t have anyone who’s interested,” she replied nonchalantly. Sword fighting was to blame for that, for with each new success, progress and growth, she felt like there was no obstacle that could hold her in place anymore.

Wymmel sighed. “It was merely a gag. Don’t consider yourself so knowledgeable, child. A real fight—one where your opponent isn’t putting on an act—would make you question that confidence.”

While she felt a little bitter in his words, Wymmel wasn’t wrong. Paladon’s soldiers still posed a threat beyond what Amixia knew was possible. No amount of confidence could win a fight against them, not when they had the Eledon. Narrowing her eyebrows, she instinctively touched her necklace—a habit she recently picked up. Rubbing the stone in her fingers, thoughts washed over her like a high wave smashes against rocks. Skill-wise she felt potent. Is that potency enough? Clearly not. Damnable Matriarchy and their whole idea of dismantling Faye’s army. Fighters were needed when such a dangerous force walked their lands and they were nowhere to be found.

“I suppose,” she began with a deep sigh, “you’re right. Although I wish that wasn’t the case.”

He sheathed his blade and walked towards her. “I know. I didn’t mean for my words to come out as they did, but it’s… the truth.”

“I’m… aware. Unfortunately,” she replied, sheathing The Needle down her thigh. Turning and glancing around, heaviness pressed down on her eyes like an overcrowded tree branch. “Becoming a warrior is unachievable. At least here. At least… for me.”

Wymmel frowned. “Now, now… I didn’t mean for your confidence to completely vanish,” he reached Amixia and placed a heavy, yet warm hand on her shoulder. “Just don’t go overboard. It won’t do any good to you.”

She shrugged. “Isn’t there anyone with whom I can… fight? Really fight I mean? To actually test my knowledge?”

“I… don’t know, child. Perhaps the Hawks know something about this? They’re oddly interested in soldiers and such.”

Amixia perked up at him with squinted eyes. “I’d rather fight a tree than ask a Hawk for help.”

He puffed his cheeks. “I suppose you’re right.”

Nearby chatter increased in intensity and soon enough, shouts urged her to glance in their direction. Under the sloping roof of a tavern, a few men were arguing, ale in hands, one of them gesturing so wildly it was pouring everywhere. Wymmel and her approached the courtyard’s fence and noticed one of the men—the fattest among them—pushing another into the alley and smashing a mug across his face. Amixia gasped and tensed, Wymmel watching in disbelief as the situation exploded into a mess of yells and shouts, garments tugged and fists shown. Jumping over the fence, blade still at her side, she approached steadily in the hope that she could at least find out what was happening if not intervene. Rippling garments told her that Wymmel was following close behind.

“You’ve got a death wish or something? Want me to smash you as well?” asked the fat man while looking at another peasant.

Tension flew in the air, noticeable not only on all of their faces, but also in their movements. The one who started it all had bulging veins around his eyes and the look of a hissing cat; his body looked like an overfilled barrel. About six men in total were involved in the squabble, the ones attacked were two frail, old men, eyes widened with fear.

“W-what did… we even do to you?” asked one of the older men.

The fat one snorted and glanced at his friends, chuckles arising. “You really want me to smash you, eh? Talking about Mother when I’m enjoying my nice ale, that’s what you did!”

As Amixia joined them, the fat one acknowledged her like some sort of prize. “What’s you girl doing here? Want to join for some ale?”

She frowned and gestured for the man on the ground. “I want to know what your problem is.”

“Oh this?” he asked, pointing. “Tired of hearing about those blasted women and their invisible lady. Tired of it all I tell you.”

Laughs emerged from their twisted mouths and Amixia tensed. Wymmel arrived and helped the felled peasant to his feet, his face drowning in shock.

The second older man gasped. “The M-mother sees this! Sees this! What you’ve done here i-”

“You really want me to smash your skull?” the fat man asked, leaning in menacingly. “Away with you now!”

Hatred brewed in them, their eyes like flames. Amixia’s eyebrows pressed together, hand on hilt. There were four of them, none looked particularly strong or capable of fighting. Two of them were taller and somewhat leaner, while the fatter one had a companion of his own. Garments like those of peasants, the similarities between the two sides stopped there. This much hatred for the Mother and the Matriarchy is something that doesn’t exist in Faye. Shouldn’t exist at least. Whirling, Amixia looked at the two elders who still looked shaken from their encounter.

“Are you alright?” she asked the one who was struck, leaning closer.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The elder nodded quickly, breathing heavily. “Y-yes… I am. They… they started it! Me and my brother merely wanted some time to un-unwind and th-they…” he said, pointing a finger towards the attackers.

Whooshing behind her made Amixia’s hand grip the hilt harder. Fastened movement came down on her and the shadow of a lifted arm forced her to turn, blade unsheathed. With a few steps taken back, the elders and Wymmel pushed further away, Amixia met the attackers blade first as the one who first struck held a mug high.

“I… suggest you put that down!” she said with a growl.

Tension boiled in their bodies and they all gazed at her with scowls. A shiver crawled on her back, their eyes penetrating her as if watching through a holed leaf. Doubt struck her; what if they decide to attack? Could she stand her ground? Could she come out on top? Blade as thin as hers could still do damage, the question is if she’s quick enough. Four against one are odds hard to beat, and the way they regarded her body said a lot about what they were thinking. Both hands on hilt, she steadied herself, trying to push against the uncertainty.

“Now!” she yelled.

The attacker gritted his teeth. “I’d smash your face and make it one with the gr-”

“Now!” she shouted, stabbing her blade forward.

“Child!” said Wymmel, a mix between fear and command in his voice.

The elders retreated further, their garments fluttering. More fayes joined and Amixia regarded them in the corners of her eyes, gasps, chatter and frowned faces overshadowing the usual annoying happiness they had. Voices nearby recognized her as being the one who struck the soldier back in the arena and she huffed a sigh through her nose. Becoming known as the girl who attacked a defenseless man was irritating, because that wasn’t the case. Speaking on matters fayes don’t understand nor wish to is a problem that nobody bothered to solve, and is now one she’s dealing with. By Mother’s name!

The attacker’s eyes still watched her like devouring flames. “Y-you… look at you! Stupid girl! I can strangle you with my own hands! What do you hope to do to me?”

Frowning, Amixia felt fear slam her like a wooden door. Suddenly, past memories returned, forcing her mouth to fall open. With widened eyes, she noticed his boiling face, the bulging veins around his eyes, on the forehead and even on the arms. All her courage was beginning to vanish like smoke, the image of the man in front twisting into that of a man from the past. A monster. The hilt began to shake and her eyes shifted onto it, her palms quivering like they were freezing. Chuckles came from the group in front and Amixia glanced at them, the dread still there, still seeping into her.

“Look at you, girl! Trembling like a wet mutt! Stop embarrassing yourself and put down that excuse of a blade.”

A surge of rage built up inside her, fear being overpowered like the wicked Hawks beat down on their poor laborers. Visions of her monstrous father being pierced by her blade teased her into striking. Through gritting teeth, the sound of her leathery hilt being pressed on, all she ever desired was to attack. To wipe away that disgusting smirk from his face. From all their faces. For every single one of them was a twisted version of her father. Her eyebrows began to ache under the force with which she was joining them together and she finally took a few steps forward.

A palm gripped her arm, tugging her backwards. The warmness of it made Amixia’s rage begin to diminish, the men before her no longer resembling that one particular man.

“That’s enough, child!” Wymmel said, putting his free hand across her shoulder.

Just as the sun pushes away the darkness, so too did Wymmel’s hands push away the fury within her. With a long, relieving sigh, Amixia sheathed back her blade. Glancing behind, she caught a glimpse of the elders standing under a sloping roof, unkempt leaves obstructing a clear vision of them. They seemed relieved now, the experience put behind. If it wasn’t for her father, she most likely wouldn’t have had the strength to calm down.

Amixia shivered, her eyes locked on the ground. Did she really call Wymmel… her father? Why? And why did it feel so… peaceful to name him as such?

Footsteps approached; heavy and commanding. Turning to meet them, a figure passed through a crowd, its head covered under an elegant hat. A Hawk. Walking like a boasting horse, he emerged and opened his arms wide.

“What is this… ruckus? Another matriarchal event that we’re all needed to attend?” he asked in a voice like that of an aristocratic crow.

Squinting her eyes, the presence of him urging her to allow a tree to crush her, Amixia noticed the man’s face: cold like the river’s water, cunning like a fox. If someone wishes to be told he or she is beautiful and for it to be the most hideous lie, they most certainly would ask such a question of him. Dressed far above the necessities and status of a peasant, the Hawk gazed around like everyone was supposed to acknowledge his sickening presence with a bow.

“I see not. I only see a girl and a few gentlemen having a bit of an… altercation? What about?” he asked as if he actually cared.

“Lord Broan.” the attacker said, almost reverently. Her frowning eyes latched onto him. “Nothing to trouble you, lord. Everything has been… sorted out.” he said with a glance in her direction, disdain splattering her.

“Really? Lord?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Oh?” the Hawk asked, slowly tilting his head towards her. “Is the man in the wrong for respecting me? Considering—of course—my status?”

Power clothed him like an invisible robe, noticeable in every single thing he did or displayed. Painful to watch such a man and painful still to be around him. Approaching, Amixia’s gaze shifted onto him, her eyes bathing him in fire. Words were on the verge of streaming down her lips, but Wymmel’s grip intensified. Already she caused a scene, there was no point in doing it again. Not with her… father around. So she chose to sigh and shut her eyes.

“Great choice!” the Hawk said mockingly. “Precisely what I want to see when walking by you. Great, great choice! Now… this,” he circled his arm, “buffoonery can cease. Return to whatever it is you’re good at doing girl and leave these… fine gentlemen to enjoy their ales.”

Smirking lines began to form on her face and resisting them was futile. Thankfully the snorting was under control. Speaking of buffoonery when there were no bigger, obvious buffoons in all of Faye apart from them. The Matriarchy managed to create monsters through all their economic goals. Monsters that are becoming a problem impossible to ignore anymore, and still they were left in peace. Peasants were beginning to question the Matriarchy and the Mother, a scene which she noticed back at the arena and now here. In all the years these women led Faye, no one openly addressed the Mother with such contempt. Never. And the Hawks… had no problem with it whatsoever.

Amixia chose silence, no more words deserved to be wasted on such a taint on their city. As he walked by, the Hawk’s eyes pierced her like hungry arrows before turning nonchalantly and striding towards a slithering path, homes and businesses joined together like a wall of colors. Suppressed mocking words forced her head to shift, the men of before sitting down and looking at her, ale dripping down the corners of their mouths. In the meantime more joined them, growing from four to ten, the story of what happened being told to the newcomers and laughs emerging soon after.

“Let’s leave. You’ve made your point,” Wymmel said, patting her arms.

“Not enough,” she replied and turned away from their taunting gazes. “Every inch of my body said to strike him down.”

“Child, stop this! Stop with this… thirst for violence,” he said, his voice sounding like a choir of frustrated sighs. “Blades don’t solve issues, they create them. Could you honestly say that if you were to strike him, you would have felt better?”

“We’re never going to find out now, are we?”

“This behavior of yours will cause more problems than solve!” he snapped, forcing Amixia to stop in her tracks. “Your… way of seeing things is beyond flawed and it’s beginning to take a toll on me,” he said, his irritation hitting her like a gust.

Frowning, Wymmel’s words began flooding her mind. Each new sparring session brought more confidence to her, a feeling she never… truly felt throughout her life. It made her desire for more. The duel she and the soldier had back in the arena allowed Amixia to tap into that power that she… so longed for. Ever since then, she craved it like an infant longing for milk. But was it right of her to do so? The cost of attaining that level of strength and keeping it meant to upset Wymmel. To trouble… her father.

She grimaced, the word father weighing her down like an anvil wrapped around her neck. He was doing everything in his power to give her what she desired and her payment for that was… this. Refusing to listen. Acting as if her blade can get her where she wants to be. Treating violence as a means of punishment.

He adjusted his voice and paced towards her. “Child… I… I love you. But I cannot be a part of this. I cannot stand and watch you fall into this… insatiable thirst for brutality. I’m… sorry.”

Amixia shrugged, an invisible force pressing down on her eyes. “I understand, Wymmel. I… it’s… not that easy. This blade is my path towards a goal I’ve long… dreamed of,” she said, putting a hand on her blade’s hilt.

“That goal of yours is—sadly—wrong in a multitude of ways. Using the knowledge you gain to perpetuate violence is a certain ticket towards the bastille,” he stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “I advise you to use that knowledge to protect those in need. If you know there’s no soldiers in Faye… why not be the protector they need?”

Lifting her head sluggishly, she looked in his eyes. “I… don’t know what that would entail. Besides… Hawks are the ones fayes need to be protected from!”

“Listen,” he began, gripping her face. “I understand you don’t like Hawks; me neither. But they’re… a part of us, whether we want to accept it or not.” he looked beyond her. “Those men that attacked the elders are also… part of Faye. Strangely against the Matriarchy, true, but they are still peasants. Whatever has them so riled up will most certainly diminish.”

“And… what if it doesn’t? What if there’s more like them? And more people will suffer because of them?”

“Then… we’ll allow the Matriarchy's power to judge them for their actions. Murder is not a punishment.”

“The bastille is?” she asked, feeling a scoff fighting to emerge.

“I… do believe so, yes. I do believe it is.” he replied with a few nods.

Amixia sighed and wrapped her arms around his chest. “I… hope you’re right, Wymmel. I really do.”

Wymmel kissed her head. “Have faith, child. Give the Matriarchy the credit they deserve. Whatever will happen… they’ll take care of it.”

Head dug into him, Amixia’s mind wandered, eventually landing on the Hawk of before. Defiance and mockery were like pillars that supported him. Not to mention the way the group of peasants spoke to him as he joined. How could someone look at a Hawk—the embodiment of wickedness in Faye—and… revere him? See him as more than a gross bundle of dazzling garments? The muscles in her jaw began to clench, the fury returning with newfound strength. Gripping the Eledon and rubbing it, the idea of becoming a protector became more and more alluring. There had to be someone to stand between peasants and the Hawks and Amixia… will be that someone.