Wisdomatch - Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

            On this historic day, we declare the Wisdomatch, a tradition that has been buried for more than three centuries, unearthed!

            One representative from every borough in Faceria will face challenges from the four elemental Eminences: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. The person who bests in the most number of challenges shall be declared the winner.

            This decennial tournament is open to anyone of any age, with the prize of a chest full of gold!

            Listed below are the rudimentary rules and guidelines.

            “What does rudimentary even mean?” I ask, waving the scroll in my hand. Do these Eminences think that the people who would care to join their contest are as educated as them?

            “Rudimentary. Elementary. Simple,” Vic answers as he continues reading his copy. “Please tell me you’re not planning to Enlist.”

            “Why not? The prize is gold, Vic. A chest full of it!”

            “The prize is gold, but the price may be your life!” He passes his scroll to the man behind him as another snatches mine.        “I’ve read about this in history books, Astrid. The reason they discontinued this competition is because the last time they held it, all the participants died!”

            “And who says I’ll die? Seriously, your disbelief in my capabilities hurts,” I say, clutching my chest.

            “I believe you can st—” he looks gingerly around us, “—do our job well, but not this. The Wisdomatch is too dangerous.”

            “No danger is too much for a desperate man,” I say.

            “Here. Keep it,” he says.

            The yawning man standing beside us forgets to close his mouth when he sees the brimming coin bag.

            I jam the bag back into Vic’s windbreaker. “Keep that in there, you lunatic!” I hiss. “And even if I accept that, I’ll still be in debt with Helen. Do you want me to work as one of her harlots?”

            He grabs my arm. “If that will keep you from doing this—”

            “Don’t say it.” I avert my gaze. “Wow, I can’t believe... Leave me. Now.”

            His hand tightens around my arm, like he’s pleading for the last time, before letting go and walking away.

—

            “Grandpa?” I call out, walking to the bedroom and hiding my last coin bag under my thin, lumpy mattress. I’d shortened our list of debts before coming home.

            “In here, Princess.”

            I go out the door between our two cots, to the humble patio, and find my Grandpa sitting in his dusty club chair. I raise his frail, wrinkled hand to my forehead before perching on the armrest. “Have you been up for a while? Have you taken your herbs?”

            “One doesn’t notice time when he merely exists as he watches life go by,” he answers meekly, staring down with his lackluster green eyes at the Divider, a wide saltwater river that cuts a quarter of our town right in the middle.

            We are on the eastern half, scattered with similar thatched huts and where the air is never fresh enough, like every bit of it has already been inhaled at some point before.

            On the other side of the Divider opposite us, not just in location but in every littlest way possible, is the hill that Vic and I visited last night: the West, home of the Windbags. The higher up you hike in there, the bigger the mansions are, but each is complete with numerous porches and cared-for lawns. They sit there, taunting us with what they have and what we don’t.

            I didn’t know my hand has tightened on the armrest until he clamps down his on it.

            “Yes, yes, I’ve taken the bitter things. How was work?” he asks.

            “Same as usual,” I say. “Lark got me and Vic to... supervise his new goods. He gave us a bonus for doing a great job.”

            “Did he really?” Grandpa snickers. “I thought Lark would never outgrow his greed.”

            “Who knew, huh?” Who knew he could actually become greedier than he already is? “Oh, and I bought some of that cocoa bread you love. Let me get them from the kit—”

            A loud bang makes both of us jump in our seats.

            “Stay here, Gran.” I rush back inside and see five Bluecoats in the kitchen. The door that I entered through just a few minutes ago now lies on the hardpack ground. “Which deity gave you the right to—”

            “I gave them the right.”

            The Bluecoats make way for Dudley Martell, North Borough’s abominated mayor, who’s wearing his favorite pink robe secured at his wide hip by a thick strip of pink silk lace. Curly, red hair reaches his shoulders.

            My heartbeat quickens. Just the sight of his face is already an ill omen. “I would have been happy to be honored with your inspiring presence, Mayor, had you not broken down my door.”

            “I am not here to be inspiring. I am here to seek justice.” His wide set eyes, dark as mine, wander around. “I expected something more from the house of a former mayor,” he mumbles.

            “We don’t keep anything that isn’t of use,” I say, raising my chin.

            A smile appears on his plump face. “I can see that.”

            I think of the only weapon in the house: a butcher’s knife resting inside a drawer right beside me. What delight it would give me to cut out Dud’s entrails.

            “I don’t believe seeking justice includes insulting someone else’s home, Dudley.” Grandpa appears by the doorway opening to our bedroom, leaning on his scratched cane and beckoning me to come to him.

            “Yes, yes. Forgive me, Sire Vann. Just let me get my business here done with,” Dud says, mocking him with a bow before looking at me, and if not for Grandpa, I would have run away right then. “Seize the girl.”

            “Wait.” Grandpa pulls me behind him. “What is her charge?” he asks in an authoritative voice, sterner than the one he’d used to scold me when I was little.

            “Theft. Of my black diamond, no less,” Dud says.

            Gran turns to me, question and shock clear on his livened face.

            I could have been caught with the diamond, but I still wouldn’t be able to confess. Not in front of Grandpa. Not in front of the man who believed that he’d been successful at instilling his own sense of honor in the girl he picked up from the riverbank sixteen years ago.

            I can face anyone’s shame, even my own, but not his.

            “I assure you, Sire, the information came from a most reliable source,” Dud says. “Well, are you waiting for me to drag her out on my own?” he asks the Bluecoats. “Seize her!”

            The men do as he said, grabbing my wrists and pulling me out towards the bustling street. I glance back at Grandpa and immediately regret it because on his pale, withered face is something worse than disgust or anger.

            Helplessness.

            The Bluecoat squad waiting outside clears a way through the throng of curious onlookers. I don’t know how I walk with my knees turned to liquid, but I do. I force myself to face reality, the consequence of my actions, because I have no choice. If I flee, Dud will turn on Grandpa.

            And that will never be how I repay all the kindness he’s shown me.

            “Astrid!”

            At the sound of his voice—like fire in the harshest winter—I struggle against the hands holding me back and see Vic as tries to push past the line of guards to my right, but their trained bodies are too much for his bones. I’m glad he’s here, even if we’d argued just a few hours ago.

            Suddenly, the marching stops. Dudley has raised a hand, looking at Vic.

            “Ah, if it isn’t our lovely informant.”