The kull tryouts consisted of three tests: a test of physical endurance, a test of weapon proficiency determined by a tournament of duels, and a test of windship knowledge that culminated in a windship race around the Grankull. Kai was optimistically hopeful for the latter, but the other two . . . were a work in progress.
Swords clashed, and the blow echoed down Kai’s arms, so hard the scimitar twisted from Kai’s grasp and went spinning toward the deck.
Kai shook out the lingering pain in his arms and rolled his shoulders. He attempted to catch his breath on his knees and pressed a hand to the painful stitch in his side.
“No break.” Rasia slapped him on the butt with the flat side of her blade. Kai grunted and waddled bruised and sore legs over toward the fallen sword.
When Kai wasn’t spending every vibration of the day getting the shit knocked out of him, or “sparring” as Rasia called it, she drilled him through various kull exercises. Even though Kai had maintained his routine of morning laps from the gorge, he felt ill-prepared for Rasia’s grueling training regimen. More than once, Kai thought he was going to hack out a lung or stop breathing. Somehow, he wasn’t dead yet.
Honestly, Kai wasn’t sure he’d made up his mind about the kull tryouts. He felt like a windchime at times, sometimes blowing in Zephyr’s direction when it came to tempering his expectations, and at other times he was wrapped up in Rasia’s can-do-anything attitude. He felt one strong wind from being jostled solidly to one side or the other.
Kai bit down on a wince as he reached for the fallen sword, then paused and looked toward the hatch, half-expecting Zephyr to appear up the ladder. The lake was still messing with him. Kai didn’t know why, but he kept sensing a third presence on the windship.
Kai noted the lengthening shadow crossing the deck and barely evaded the attack Rasia launched at him from behind. Rasia never gave him time to think.
Rasia came up with her sword, and Kai defended to the right. He stumbled to the left. Blocked right. Slashed horizontal. Blood splattered the air.
Kai stared at the cut on Rasia’s arm.
Any other time he would have considered it a victory, but Rasia herself had paused. She pressed a hand flat to her chest, to the shroud-wrap because she didn’t bother wearing a shirt while sparring.
“Rasia?”
Rasia gave a hard swallow, then bit out. “Fifty push-ups.”
Automatically, Kai dropped to the deck at the command. Kai pushed his wobbly arms underneath him. Sweat dropped from his nose when he raised himself to the height of the first push-up.
Rasia rushed across the deck and threw up over the railing.
Kai stopped.
Kai didn’t miss the perplexed expression that crossed Rasia’s face as she wiped at her mouth. She hid it quickly and narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Fifty push-ups.”
Kai tried to focus on the second push-up, but his mind was a wreck now. He was concerned. Ship sickness wasn’t normal for Rasia, not for someone practically born on one. She threw up yesterday too, around dinner, when he cooked their last supply of sausages. She complained the soup had smelled wrong, but Kai had found none of the ingredients spoiled.
Kai tried to remember all the potential illnesses he’d read of in the temple, but what stuck in his mind the most was the image of his tah, shroud to her mouth, the first blinks pregnant with Rae.
Rasia gurgled water and spat the taste of vomit out over the railing. Kai looked at Rasia, at her bare abdomen, overcome with dawning horror. He’d gone from trapped within his own dreams to spiraling down a horrific nightmare.
“Rasia, you’re pregnant.”
Rasia looked at him and laughed, tossing her hair with the movement. She said dismissively, “I’m not fucking pregnant.”
Kai dropped to the deck, no longer focused on the push-ups anymore. He did the math in his head. He was unconscious for four whole days. Two days since leaving Zephyr atop the mountain. Fifteen days in total since they left the gorge behind. Her deathsblood should have come by now.
“You missed your deathsblood,” Kai said.
Rasia opened her mouth to argue, then her face narrowed in calculation. She counted her fingers. “That doesn’t mean anything. I could be late.”
The third presence. The third presence. The third presence.
“Rasia, I know like how I know the Elder songs, like how I know the wind currents, or the breath of you. I know.”
Finally, finally, Rasia doubled over in realization, punched by it. The crippling blow blasted through her denial and left her trembling in shock.
One word spat repeatedly from her lips.