Page 75 of Warrior of the Wild
When I chop through my last piece of wood, I look over at Soren’s pile. He still has five large rounds to get through.
I won.
I beat Soren.
And I beat Torrin’s memory.
I’m getting my life back.
“I’ll just add my clothes to your dirty pile, then,” I say with a grin.
Soren stares at my mouth for just a beat longer than necessary, but before I can do anything about it, he says, “Or maybe we could just slip everything into Iric’s pile.”
“Are you kidding? Iric hasn’t laundered his clothes in weeks.”
“Good point,” Soren says. “Fine. You win this time, but next time we’re raising the stakes.”
“Loser does laundry for a month?” I ask.
“Laundryandcooking.”
“Better sharpen your ax before then.”
“Oh, I will.”
Soren and I stack the wood in the storage shed, until the large space is fit to bursting. There’s something so satisfying about staring at the work I’ve done and knowing how it will keep me alive for the next several months.
Just as we finish loading in the last of it, Iric races up one of the trails, holding long metal rods in his hands. “I’ve done it. I know how we’re going to kill the hyggja!”
“Are thosespears?” Soren asks, eyeing the weapons.
Iric comes to a stop in front of us. “Yes! I’ve just finished them.”
“How is falling back on flimsy weaponry going to help us?”
“We can’t very well kill the water beast with axes! We’d never be able to throw or swing them through the water. But spears can be thrown from above the water. They can impale things beneath it! They may be older weapons, but they have their purposes!” Iric points to a space on one of the spears just beneath the sharp tip. “We can attach the end of a length of rope here, so after we cast a throw, we can haul the spear back to us and throw again.”
Iric looks from Soren to me and back again, a boyish hope spread across his face.
“I think it’s brilliant,” I say.
“But spears?” Soren asks.
“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to help us with the hyggja,” Iric snaps. “Raz and I can go home, and you can climb the mountain on your own.”
“Fat chance,” Soren says. “I’m in, but I have no idea how to use a spear.”
“Good thing we have nothing but time out here to practice.”
IN THE WASHING POOLS,we hold our breath under the water, challenging each other to see who can withstand the longest.
Surprisingly, Iric always wins. But then, he is the one who has the most riding on this.
We practice with Iric’s spears, throwing them both while above the water and while in it. It’s different than throwing an ax or throwing a rock. While the ax was meant to turn end over end when thrown, a spear is supposed to cut through the air like a bird. Straight, unwavering.
It’s difficult. My wrist always wants to snap at the last moment, and I have to force it to be still, to let my fingers release the rod while holding my arm straight, but after a while, I get the hang of it.
Soren, however, is abysmal at it, and he has no problem letting his frustration show.
