Young Writers Society

She was back in Styrka.

It had been two years since Rieka had left the borders of her only home and ventured into Arlan, ostracized and alone. As the days passed, any hope of once again visiting Aryotsk or climbing the Kiertsk mountains lessened until nothing remained but the phantom of what she once was and what she could’ve been.

After two years of creating elaborate delusions of returning, she finally had. Only, she wasn’t walking into open arms. She was sneaking like a thief in the forest.

Rieka set her jaw as she peered down the mountain slope to the capital of Styrka nestled in the valley. Silence blanketed her companions as they stared—in awe, no doubt—though other emotions churned in her gut. Emotions that she couldn’t place name to. Nostalgia? Grief? Comfort?

Rieka scowled, shaking her head. She was being ridiculous. It was just another city—one she intended to infiltrate. It didn’t matter that vibrant wildflowers bloomed on the outskirts. It didn’t matter that the great lake within the city’s center reflected the morning sky with a clarity beyond that of a mirror. It didn’t matter that the mountains surrounding the valley were snow-capped and jagged, a sharp contrast from the smooth river cutting through, feeding the land.

What did matter, Rieka reminded herself, was the Aryotsk fortress. The thick stone walls encompassed the city, smooth and utterly impenetrable. The main quarters of the fortress stood tall at the face of the capital, its iron gates closed from any intruders, friendly or otherwise. It was as intimidating now as it had been those years ago when she had first set her eyes upon it. No wealth or beauty was marked upon its walls, only strength and hostility. The prince was a fool to believe they could infiltrate it.

She shot a glance his way, finding his face pale, orange freckles stark across his cheeks. She suspected he wasn’t marvelling at the beauty of the city.

“I suppose this is Aryotsk,” Ren commented. He grinned, his hands shifting on the reins of his horse. “Well, our deaths were bound to happen soon anyway.”

“We won’t die,” Kai said. Though he said the words with fervor, his brows were furrowed in concern.

“When I said you Styrkish were paranoid, I hadn’t realized how correct I was,” Ren muttered, his fingers tapping lightly against his thighs.

“The city is completely walled in,” the prince said. A statement and a question. She supposed he hadn’t learned that tidbit of information from his fancy tutors.

“Yes,” Rieka confirmed. “And identification is checked at the gate.”

The prince shifted nervously at the revelation. Rieka couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction as he realized how unrealistic his goals were. She had told him infiltration of the fortress was impossible. It was about time he gave up on his delusional hopes.

Yet, instead of dejected words of surrender, the prince set his jaw and said, “Let’s go.”

…

Rieka’s irritation began like an itch in the back of her mind. It started when she first heard the prince’s ridiculous plan that was certifiably the product of a fool. From there, the itch only grew when she had been ordered—ordered—to crouch in the shadows of the trees lining an off-beaten path. Now, she remained crouched after what felt like hours, her muscles cramping and her empty stomach aching.

Rieka’s hand flitted to her pocket where she kept her steak knife. She paused, finding her pocket empty. Shit. She had left it with the horses, meaning she had left it with Amani, Shadya, and Zain, her sole weapon, gone to begin travelling along the outskirts of Aryotsk.

That itch of anger grew, her lips twisting in a scowl.

“Did you account for no one showing up in this elaborate plan of yours?” Rieka hissed to the prince beside her.

He didn’t bother meeting her eyes as he continued staring out over the narrow road. “Someone will travel through,” he said, his voice soft.

Rieka rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Perhaps growing up with the world on a silver platter gave the prince the idea that everything would work out in the end. Rieka knew differently.

“It’s midday,” she pointed out. “There aren’t many travellers outside the city at that time.”

The prince nodded vaguely, though he clearly wasn’t listening. Or he didn’t care. Rieka bristled, opening her mouth to snap out an insult.

“Remember,” the prince said before she could speak. He turned to Ren and Kai on her other side. “Only say the Styrkish words we told you. No need to speak more than what’s necessary.”

“I hardly think ‘stop’ and ‘out’ provide enough context for a robbery,” Ren commented dryly, rubbing his nose with his thumb.

“No. But a sword does,” Rieka said, jerking her chin to the weapon lying in Kai’s lap. Kai glanced down at it, his jaw clenching.

Ren grimaced, following Kai’s gaze. “I’m a thief, not a robber,” he muttered apprehensively, his eyes darting to the prince.

“Oh, because there’s such a difference,” Rieka grumbled.

“There is,” he assured. “Thieving is refined. It takes skill. Robbing is brute force and barbarism.”

Rieka scoffed. “Thieving is the cowards’ robbing. I’ll take your place, if you are such a coward. I know the language, anyway. It makes more sense.”

“No,” the prince said, his quiet voice drawing all eyes to him. He gnawed at his lip, the skin red and inflamed. “You can’t be seen by the merchant,” he said, meeting Rieka’s eyes.

“And do tell, why not?” she mocked.

“Because if the merchant finds a way to report the robbery to the officials, anyone with your appearance will be suspected, taking away the freedom of freely moving about the city.”

Rieka pursed her lips, jerking her gaze away. He was right, though she supposed there was a first for everything. Being the only Styrkish of the bunch, if she lost the ability to move freely among the other citizens, their task would be all the more impossible.

“Right,” Ren said. “So send me instead, because who cares if I’m wanted for robbing a poor merchant?”

“Exactly,” Rieka said, patting his back. He stumbled forward from the force of it. “No one cares.”

Ren gave her a look, turning dramatically back to the road with a huff. Just as he settled into sulking, his expression went blank and he leaned forward. Rieka followed his gaze to the two merchants appearing on the road.

The mule-pulled wagon was piled with what looked to be ten tall barrels. At the head of the wagon was an old man, the skin on his face drooping with age and exhaustion, and beside him was likely his son, the boy’s eyes hollow with dark circles pooled beneath.

“Now,” the prince murmured so softly Rieka almost missed it. Kai and Ren broke from the trees and started towards the men.

“Osta!” Kai said, lifting his sword. His attempts at asserting authority fell through as the blade seemed to wobble in his grasp and his voice gasped out weakly. Rieka lifted her brow, unimpressed.

The merchant pulled the reins to his mule, halting his wagon. His son went instantly alert, eyes wide and spine straight while his father merely lifted his brows in a look of exhaustion.

“Izut!” Kai said, stepping closer. Rieka cringed at the awful pronunciation.

The man slowly released his reins and stepped from the cart, followed by his son. The boy had to reach out a hand to steady the man’s shaking legs. The man was far older than she had originally thought, possibly a grandfather rather than a father.

Kai’s sword began to dip as he came to the same realization. Rieka shook her head at his idiocy. While robbing an old man and his grandson wasn’t ideal—especially an old man that clearly needed the money he would receive upon selling whatever was in his barrels—Kai forgot the men were Styrkish. Frail or not, the man undoubtedly had a weapon on his person and knew how to use it. And while it was two against two, Ren was hardly a contributor in battle.

Just as she had predicted, both the old man and the boy reached for their pockets with surprising speed. Rieka opened her mouth to shout a warning, but before the words could leave her lips, Kai flipped his sword in hand, swinging his arm until the blunt end of the hilt collided with the old man’s temple. The man dropped to the ground like a stone.

The boy yelped, backing away as he brandished a knife. “Osta!” he shouted, his eyes narrowing with rage.

Kai sighed heavily, clearly not wanting to engage in combat. Rieka rolled her eyes. Kai was letting his guilt and feelings get in the way. The robbery had already begun, and showing cowardice and apprehension now was idiotic.

The boy lunged, knife outheld. He got all of a step before Kai used the flat edge of his blade to whack the boy’s wrist, sending the knife soaring. Before the boy could scramble away, Kai twirled his sword and struck the boy’s temple with the hilt. The boy fell as heavily as his grandfather had.

Rieka’s brows creeped slowly to her hairline. Well… she supposed Kai wasn’t useless after all.

Shoving herself from the trees, Rieka shook out her limbs until she came to stand beside Kai, staring down at the unconscious men. A small gash was carved into the old one’s left temple, another in the boy’s right. Scarlet blood trailed over their pale skin into the dirt.

“I had to,” Kai muttered in defense, his brows furrowed.

Ren stepped over the unconscious boy to retrieve the fallen knife, the blade the size of Rieka’s thumb. He turned to face Kai and brandished the small knife as though he were battling. “Ooh,” he crooned. “Menacing.”

Kai’s jaw clenched and he sheathed his sword with a violent snap.

“You knocked them out cold,” Rieka commented, cocking her head as she examined the men, their bodies bent at awkward angles.

“I only meant to incapacitate them,” Kai explained abashedly.

Rieka shrugged. “Job accomplished.” Turning away from the men, she faced the cart full of barrels. “So, are we just going to stand here or are we going to actually do what we came here to do?”

…

After hiding the merchants among the pine trees along the road, Rieka and the others returned to the cart, peering down at the identification papers Ren had retrieved. The yellowed parchment was a long sheet with embossed patterns along the edges and a stamp certifying their Styrkish citizenship. Then, attached at the bottom was another sheet indicating their license to trade in Aryotsk.

“Viktor and Ivan Petska,” Rieka read. Her lip curled as she glanced at the others. “How are the prince and I going to pass off as…” she lifted the papers to read, “a seventy-two year old man and sixteen-year-old boy?”

Ren snatched the papers from her hand and spread them upon the wooden cart. “You won’t. We just need to adjust the names, physical appearances, and birth dates.” He lifted a hand to snap his fingers at the prince, not bothering to look up. “Paper and pen?”

The prince blinked before ruffling through his bag, procuring the items. Ren shoved them into Rieka’s hands and waved a hand. “Write your’s and the prince’s physical description here in Styrkish as well as the Styrkish alphabet.”

Rieka furrowed her brows though obliged, scrawling the sharp letters onto the blank paper. When she finished, Ren examined them, comparing it to the previously existing identification forms.

He took the pen from her and leaned close, touching it to the forms where Rieka indicated the areas that needed to change. The ink bled into the paper, beginning to connect the loops of letters and rounding sharp edges. Each adjustment was exact, keeping most of the letter intact and only adding where it was necessary. A few appeared smudged, but after scrubbing the blotches with his thumb, the document only looked to be worn.

When he finished, Ren grinned, lifting the newly adjusted documents. “There,” he announced dramatically. “You are now… I don’t know the names, I can’t read Styrkish, but you are now a sixteen-year-old boy and twenty-two year old woman.”

“Rieka doesn’t look twenty-two,” Kai commented, looking her over.

She scowled, glaring at him.

“Oh, I know,” Ren chirped, smirking. “But it was easier to make the year match that age than anything younger.”

Kai shrugged, easily appeased. “So, now what?”

Rieka’s irritation was momentarily forgotten, and she grinned wickedly. “Now we have some fun.”

…

“This is your idea of fun?” Ren squeaked, peering into the stained recesses of an empty barrel. It had been filled with thick, pungent fish, which they had dumped onto the now relatively empty wagon.

Rieka looked over the wagon, her lip curling with distaste. She had insisted that riding into the city with such a low stock would be suspicious, but Kai refused to leave the men with nothing. Meaning all the barrels but two were hidden in the woods by their unconscious forms along with a few extra gold coins for ‘compensation’.

She turned back to the barrel before them, the prince’s bag already stowed inside.

“Yes,” she told Ren. “Anything that brings you pain brings me joy.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” he murmured, his face turning a distinctive shade of green.

“Well,” she prompted. “In you go.”

Ren sighed, shaking his head. He placed one leg within the barrel, his lips pursing in disgust. “The worst things always happen to me,” he muttered, before placing his other leg within.

Once both Kai and Ren were in their barrels, Rieka took great pleasure in throwing fish atop their hunched forms. The second the slimy fish came in contact with Ren, he gagged with such a fervor, she wondered if he had truly emptied the contents of his stomach. The thought was more pleasing than Rieka had expected.

Ren had fit easily enough, thin and short as he was, but it took several shoves until she could sufficiently cover Kai’s form with fish and secure the lid.

Once they were both hidden, Rieka took her place beside the prince and he snapped the reins, spurring the wagon into action. Within seconds, she shoved him aside and took over.

“You drive the wagon like a prince,” she told him.

He blushed furiously, his lips pursing. “I didn’t realize there was a princely way to drive a wagon.”

“I hadn’t thought so either, but somehow you managed.”

The prince scowled at the road as they lugged along, the barrels a nervous weight behind them.

As they rode, Rieka’s hand drifted to the forged identification papers in her pocket. The last time she had been within Styrka, she had held similar papers, though hers were legitimate. Instead of using them to enter the gates of Aryotsk, she had watched them burn before she left.

Rieka shoved the thought away, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needed to focus. Thinking of her life two years ago was a waste of time.

She turned her eyes back to the road as the wagon turned around the bend, the gate of Aryotsk coming into view. The wheels reverberated against the wooden platforms of the bridge that arched over the Dzraye River, and Rieka couldn’t help but marvel at the clear waters. Fed from the melted snow caps of the Kiertsk Mountains, it had been her favorite place as a child. The fresh water tasted far better than any of the musty shit she could scrounge up in Reindale.

Rieka focused on the tall, iron gate and the four guards stationed before it. She had little doubt more guards were posted on the towers surrounding the gate, their eyes sharp upon the road. Styrka was never negligent in their securities. It was why their military power far succeeded any other kingdom.

The gate itself towered above them, made of thick iron poles. Each pole was welded so close together, only a small glimmer of light could be seen between the cracks. Though there was no clear way to open it from the outside, on the other side of the wall would be a wheel that once turned, would draw the gate up.

A muffled curse sounded behind her, and Rieka twisted in her seat to poke one of the barrels. “Shut up, fishy,” she hissed. With one final curse, Ren fell silent.

“I do the talking,” Rieka reminded the prince as they neared the front gate. While he spoke Styrkish—taught by his many tutors within his pretentious palace—his Arlanian accent was obvious through each stiff word.

The prince only nodded faintly, his face paling as he craned his neck to examine the looming fortress. She should’ve been satisfied by his fear—a realization that she was, in fact, correct in saying infiltrating the fortress was impossible—but it was overshadowed by nerves as the cart pulled to a stop.

“Identification,” a guard drawled, stepping forward beside Rieka. He held out a thick hand, his eyes glazed with boredom. One thumb was tucked into his chest plate, and he leaned heavily upon his right leg.

That armor… Thick furs cloaked his shoulders, overlapping with the tops of his smooth, iron chest plate, the metal thick and unyielding. Suddenly, her vulnerability in nothing but a wool coat and trousers was blatantly apparent. She didn’t even have a weapon. Not that it would do her any good, she supposed, as she counted the wide array of weapons in her vicinity, all of them against her should she prove a threat.

Her eyes drifted to the battle axe peeking over the guard’s shoulders. Her hands itched to hold its leather hilt in her palms. To swing it and feel the wind slice beneath the blade. To—

“Identification?” the guard repeated, thick, blonde brows furrowing as he scrutinized her.

Clearing her throat, Rieka dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out hers and the prince’s papers. “Here,” she said.

She sucked in a breath and held it as the guard unfolded the documents and examined them. She silently prayed to the stars that Ren’s forgery would go unnoticed.

“Ivan and… Vikila Peshka?” the guard read, his brows raising.

Rieka opened her mouth to answer, then paused. She was going to murder Ren. She had been so focused on his forgery she hadn’t read the new name he had given her. Out of all the options, he had transformed Viktor into Vikila?

“Yes,” Rieka finally gritted out. “I was named after my mother.”

The guard nodded slowly, handing back the papers. “Interesting name.” Ren was a dead man.

“Not that interesting,” she snapped. “Now, if you could hurry, I have some fish to sell.”

The guard shrugged, moving around the side of the cart. “Low stock,” he commented.

“Bad yield,” she responded dryly, her stomach twisting as he pried open one of the lids. He cringed away from the pungent stench of fish that wafted to greet him.

“Clear!” he shouted, waving a hand to the guards beside the gate. After a few more signals, that lever on the other side was pulled and the iron gates began to creak open.

Rieka lifted her chin and kept her eyes ahead as she snapped the reins, urging the mule through the gates. She sucked in a breath, holding it tight in her chest. She was sure that any moment a guard would shout, halting them. Any moment, they would be discovered.

Then, they were through the gates and the metal began to groan behind them, closing once more.

Rieka’s breath flooded from her in a rush. It had worked. The prince’s delusional, ridiculous plan had worked—

Her thoughts fell away as the city came into view.

Aryotsk had been the last of Styrka she had seen those two years ago. She had forgotten just how magnificent it was. Despite being surrounded by stone, the city managed to display color on every corner with banners dancing in the wind and clothes strung upon lines between buildings. With the light breezes rolling from the mountain slopes, the air was clean and fresh, scented with pine, snow, and food sold by vendors.

The further in their wagon rolled, the more populated the city became. Vendors called out from their wagons, peddling their wares in hopes of gaining some last needed coin before winter came. As they rode alongside the Adrazhe Lake, she spotted sailboats floating on its gentle waters, fishing before the last of the daylight winked out.

It was everything she remembered yet so much more. She had missed it. Aryotsk hadn’t been her city, but she had seen it as a home nonetheless. The minute she had entered its walls, she had fallen in love. With the scents, the sights, the sounds… She hadn’t allowed herself to focus on how much of a loss leaving it had been.

But now… She wasn’t there to once again enjoy the wonders the city had to offer. She wasn’t there to feast and drink with family and friends. She was there to lie and steal from one of the places she had once called home. While it was no longer her home, she still felt as though she were betraying it.

Rieka shook her head. If she were betraying Styrka, it was only because it had betrayed her first.

But, no. That wasn’t right. Rieka had never been betrayed. She was only treated as she had deserved. Now, she was living up to the disgrace she had been labeled as.

The gold, Rieka reminded herself. That large, insurmountable sum of gold that would change everything. That was her only chance, now, for a life without running.

“Stop here,” the prince muttered.

Rieka turned to survey the square, her brows lowering. It was packed with vendors and shoppers, eyes meeting them at every turn. He was a fool to have them stop there. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he had already hopped from the wagon, walking around the side to grab the barrels. With a muttered curse, she followed him, knowing damn well he was too weak to lift them alone.

As they both stooped to grab the barrel containing Ren, she hissed, “I don’t know what your plan is, prince, but I doubt it’s a good one.”

The prince sent her an anxious look but didn’t respond. On the count of three, they hefted the barrel and set it upon the cobblestone street. The sound of sliding fish and uttered curses resounded from within. Rieka gave the barrel a kick. “Damned fish,” she said, her voice loud enough for Ren to hear. The thought of his outrage was enough to draw a small grin to her face.

The second barrel proved far more difficult to lift and Rieka damned Kai for whatever monstrous amounts of food he ate. Once they had gotten the barrels to the ground, both Rieka and the prince were panting, sweat beading beneath her layers of clothes.

“So what now?” Rieka huffed, her eyes darting to the strolling shoppers.

The prince nodded to the tavern behind them. “I’ll pretend to set up shop here while you go in.”

Rieka arched a brow. “Go in and do what?”

The prince glanced from the barrels to her before leaning forward and telling her his plan.

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