Page 17 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Seventeen

Sava

Sava had no need to enlist since he was already commander, midya in fact, of one of the archer divisions. The chief was also automatically enlisted by default and had to publicly opt out if they couldn’t fight a war that they themselves had declared. His father, Thriman, on the other hand, had to fill out the paperwork.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you not to do that,” Phramanka said as she worked on her tapestry in the sitting room. It was a family portrait of the three of them that she’d been chipping away at, off and on, for the last five years. With the sun going down, the room was lit by the warm glow of the fireplace and a handful of lanterns.

Thriman snorted, sharpening his sword. “Like I’m going to let the two of you fight without me.”

“Fine, then. Sava?”

He paused in cleaning his flute. “Ye-es?”

“Since your father’s being stubborn, perhaps you should stay behind so the Bvamso family doesn’t completely die out in one war.”

Sava froze. Swallowed. She might as well have carved open his chest and removed every vital organ within. “Ma, please don’t ask me to stay behind again.”

She cursed and abandoned her tapestry, putting her hands on his shoulders, leaning down as he sat cross-legged on a cushion. “I’m sorry. But as much as we don’t want you to be miserable, we do want you to live. You’re strong enough to heal from a wound like that.”

He highly doubted that. Two years ago, he’d lost Myrta, the woman he’d been making wedding plans with, and it’d felt like losing a limb. He was only now starting to truly look ahead, to perhaps find a new love.

“Is that an order, chief?” he asked coldly.

Phramanka’s mouth thinned. “No. You’re not a poor enough soldier to justify such an order.”

“We could keep some extra archers behind to look after the town…” Thriman suggested.

“Baba,” Sava hissed.

Thriman shrugged. “I’m just saying. Your mother and I are old. If we don’t die in this war, we get to look forward to rotting away in our beds, pissing ourselves, and forgetting our own names.”

“You’re barely fifty.”

“Point still stands.”

“You’re not allowed to die in this war, dear,” Phramanka said tiredly.

“Aw.”

The tension broke, as it always did. Thriman shot Sava a sneaky wink, and he relaxed.

Napha, one of the family’s servants, cleared her throat at the doorway. “The Pinnsviri family is at the door.”

“All of them?” Phramanka asked incredulously.

“Master Pabu, his son Veta, and Veta’s daughter Bhayana.”

The chief’s face soured.

“Perhaps you’re sick or busy?” Sava suggested. He didn’t want to deal with these people, either.

She gave an annoyed huff, blowing gray bangs away from her face. “No. Whatever they’re about to complain about, I’d rather deal with it now before it festers. Send them in.”

Napha quickly obeyed, going back to the front door and leading the three Pinnsviris into the sitting room. She did not offer them refreshments, nor did Phramanka demand it.

Sava watched the elderly Master Pabu carefully as he limped in on his cane. His health had fluctuated wildly the last few months, some days so frail it was a wonder he still breathed, other days he barely needed the cane at all. Haz had told Sava that Pabu regularly summoned Khana to replenish his health, for free no less.

Pabu slowly, delicately, sat himself on a cushion across from Phramanka. Veta, who was around Thriman’s age, sat on his right, and a scowling Bhayana on his left. They all had the signature Pinnsviri dark eyes and sharp noses, though Veta was more box-shaped than his bone-thin father and slender daughter.

“I hear we’ve recruited enough people to fill all seven battalions,” Pabu said in his rasping, weathered voice.

The Blue and Yellow battalions were the only two that were in use full-time, in peace and in war, mostly patrolling the mountains and protecting all Ghuran settlements. But in times of active war, Red, Black, Purple, Orange, and Green battalions were filled, almost always made up of temporary recruits. Battalions were then broken into companies, and those were broken even further into units. Sava was a midya of a Blue company, in part due to experience, but largely because of his family. Since a chief could only be elected from an Old Family, it was preferable to give members as much leadership experience as possible.

“We have,” Phramanka confirmed. “Almost every family has enlisted at least one person to fight, most two or three.”

“We heard that you were assigning midyas their companies.”

“I am not. I keep that decision to the maverstis,” Phramanka corrected.

“Do you?” Bhayana challenged. “I’m told I’m to lead one of the Red companies.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Red battalion is full of Reguallians!” Bhayana spat. “They’re literally naming one of the companies the Frog Company. It’s an insult.”

Sava stiffened. It was true that Red and Orange were almost exclusively Reguallian, a decision made on purpose to minimize any remaining language barriers (but also because Blue and Yellow simply refused to have “empire scum” within their ranks). The Red battalion’s maversti was Thulu Bhalu, one of the Seven Family Masters, and Sava had asked him to keep Khana and Haz together as a favor, at least through training.

Now it seemed there was a chance that Bhayana was going to be their commanding officer.

“Well then, this should be an excellent learning experience for you,” Phramanka said. “Perhaps you’ll discover more about them and become more empathetic.”

“Phramanka, please,” Veta said smoothly. “Surely you realize what an affront this is to our family.”

“There is no insult except that which you’ve made up in your own heads. The Reguallian refugees know what we’re fighting better than any of us. I daresay they’ll fight harder than our full-time soldiers.”

“Do you get joy out of belittling my family?” Pabu asked.

“Haz enlisted a few days ago and will almost certainly be in Red,” Sava cut in. “Placing Bhayana as his superior officer is a clear conflict of interest.”

Phramanka grunted.

“I think you were right about exposing her to Reguallians though,” Thriman mused. “So long as it’s not the same company as Hasyamin.”

Bhayana glared at him, but Pabu quelled her with a hand on her leg. “My granddaughter is trying to make a fresh start. It’s very difficult when she keeps getting dragged down by her past.”

“Besides, the Cila boy flaunted a potential courtship with her, and then started courting a Bhalu,” Veta grumbled. “All because of those… nasty rumors.”

Sava hadn’t heard anything about that, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Before Haz, Bhayana bounced between courtships like a stone skipping water. Since her trial, she hadn’t been able to win anyone’s affections.

“Probably for the best. We can’t always marry within the Old Families, or we’d be inbred lumps,” Phramanka said. “I will ensure that Bhayana’s company does not include Hasyamin, but you will remain within the Red battalion. If not to learn humility, then at least to learn respect.”

Bhayana sputtered.

“Chief, please reconsider…” Veta tried.

“My decision is final. If there’s nothing else, get out of my house.”

Veta huffed and helped his father stand. The three of them, slowly, left.

Thriman waited until they were gone to smirk at Sava. “You know, if you’re looking for a new relationship, I hear Bhayana’s available.”

Sava kicked him, sending him laughing to the floor.

“Where are you going?” Phramanka asked the next day.

“Into town,” Sava replied smoothly from the doorstep. The morning was crisp and clear, and he wanted tea and conversation before diving back into work.

“Where in town?”

Damn.

“…the inn,” he confessed.

“I told you to stay away from the witch.”

“You said nothing about Haz,” Sava weakly defended. Phramanka glared at him. He sighed. “All right, yes, you did say so. But I disagreed with that order. I just wanted to make sure my friend was all right, and that no abuse was happening to Khana.”

“I thought you trusted Hasyamin.”

“I do. And his father and grandmother. But the rest of the town… You know Pabu’s only alive because he summons Khana to heal him, and half the town has asked her to do the same. She’s either too nice or too scared to say no, or to charge them.”

Phramanka huffed and motioned for Sava to come closer. Confused, he obliged and let her fix the wolf cloak that had gone askew on his shoulders. “You,” she said, “are a disobedient little twit.”

He smiled. “Only sometimes.”

“Bring me back some of that good chuta.”

He kissed her cheek and practically skipped down the mountain. The whole town was abuzz. Military training would begin next week, once all the details of who was going to what unit, company, and battalion were finalized. There’d be a lot of gossip, vying, and favors.

“Neta!” he cheered, spotting her pale gray, black-dotted snow leopard cloak and joining her side of the road.

“Sava,” she greeted. Despite having known each other since childhood, and teaching him sign language as she courted Athicha, she had always intimidated him. There was an intensity there that made him think of an approaching avalanche, unstoppable and burying everything in its path.

“How’s the unit?” He tried to keep his voice purely curious. Any time he had expressed true concern, she’d always brushed it off.

“Boring,” she said. “No one’s tried to punch or stab anyone yet.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get promoted to serji. It’s about time for that, anyway.”

She snorted. “My midya turned me down when I asked for it.”

Sava frowned. It’d taken him less than a week to learn the incalculable value of good under-officers. Maybe his view was simply colored by knowing her for so long, but he’d have killed to have a serji like Neta in his ranks. Unfortunately, she wasn’t an archer.

“I’ll just have to wait until a few officers start dropping in battle,” she finished with a grim smirk.

Ah, yes. There was that intensity. There was nothing malicious to it; Neta would rather chop off her own hand than kill her way to the top. But Sava had no doubt that she would have a battalion under her command by the time she was done with this life, if not the entire mountain range. Why nobody would help her with this was beyond him.

“Neta, if you don’t get promoted soon, then it’ll mean everyone in the militia has collectively lost their brains,” he said seriously.

She blinked.

“You seem surprised,” he teased.

“Only by hearing someone else say it out loud.” She motioned to the bag she carried. “I need to get this to my mother.”

“Right. And Neta? If you run into any more issues, you can always come to me. I know you can handle yourself, but you don’t have to.”

She smiled, punching him in the shoulder. “Worry about your own company and unit, Sava. I can handle mine.”

He frowned, watching her go. That woman was confusing. The only reason he hesitated in calling her a true friend was because she would always do things like that: pulling away whenever he tried to be sincere.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. Neta could handle herself. He had other friends in need of him.

The inn was rarely busy in the early afternoon. At most there’d be a couple of regulars sipping tea and talking to each other while the staff cleaned and prepared for the next rush.

As Sava took off his boots, Khana sewed a dull green dress by the light of the fire, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Across from her, Athicha worked on a bone carving, beaded hair falling over their face.

Sava grinned, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. “Oh, good, you two have met.”

Khana looked up and gave a sheepish smile. “Oh, they’re your friend? Sorry, I can’t say we’ve met . They don’t talk much. But Haz said your name was Athicha?”

Athicha nodded. Then reached up and tugged down their scarf. Khana’s eyes popped at the long, thick scar across their neck.

Sava cleared his throat. At Athicha’s nod, he explained, “The Tlapharians over the mountains have never liked us. Their hunters often clashed with ours, which would usually escalate into a skirmish or minor war. At least, until the Reguallians drew their attention.”

Khana’s hands twitched. “Maybe I can–”

Athicha shook their head and signed, Scar. No heal. Sava translated.

She gave an annoyed frown. “Magic ignores many rules, you know.”

Athicha laughed, which was a hoarse, almost whispered sound. Khana smiled, obviously pleased. They signed, and Sava translated, “Save the energy for something more life-or-death.”

She huffed, making a final stitch on her dress. “Fine.”

“That’s new,” he commented.

“One of the farmers asked me to heal her daughter from fever last week. She gave me this in return. I just have to make a few adjustments.”

That made Sava breathe a little easier. His people were stubborn, he knew that, so it was nice to see them slowly come around to their witch neighbor.

“Did you want your tea?” she offered.

“Please. And Haz, if he’s in.”

Khana quickly disappeared and came back with tea set in hand and Haz in tow. His friend grinned. “I’m not calling you midya until I get my armor, at least.”

“Fortunately for both of our sanities, you and I are in completely different battalions,” Sava retorted.

“Aw, I’m going to get a grump, aren’t I?”

“Possibly. You almost got Bhayana.”

Khana sucked in a breath, studying Haz, who went eerily calm. Athicha narrowed their eyes.

“She’s going to be in Red Battalion, same as you, and holds the midya rank,” Sava said apologetically. “But we’ve made sure that she’s not going to be your direct commander. You’ll be in different companies.”

“Well… small mercies,” Haz said, pouring the tea.

Khana frowned. “You don’t have to tell me, but what, exactly, did Bhayana–”

“Khana!” Amati called from upstairs. “Help me with this bedding!”

“Never mind,” she murmured, once again setting aside her sewing and carefully stepping around them to reach the stairs.

Sava bit his lip, watching her hurry away. Her hair almost reached her shoulders; he wondered how it would look braided with Ghuran beads. “I was surprised you both enlisted. You haven’t shown much interest in the military, and Khana looked terrified when she came to town hall.”

Haz winced. “Yeah… I think that was my fault.”

Sava frowned.

“I like the inn and all,” Haz explained. “But I can’t sit still while everyone goes to war. I enlisted so my life would at least have some meaning.” He said it with a self-deprecating chuckle, but it made Sava frown.

Athicha signed, Good tea, good meaning.

“Yeah, because that’s going to keep us safe and prosperous. Oversteeped tea.”

Before either of them could argue further, Haz continued, “I think Khana enlisted to keep an eye on me. Mimi mentioned talking to her and… yeah.”

“Ah.” Sava studied the dark surface of his cup. “Most soldiers I know don’t enlist because of ‘higher meaning.’ Most do it for money, plain and simple. But a lot of them signed up because of their friends or family. They didn’t like the thought of them being in danger alone.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Haz asked.

Athicha snapped their fingers, drawing attention, and signed, Witch always scared. Jumpy. She calm with you. Every time.

“Exactly. You’re Khana’s closest friend here,” Sava stressed. “She doesn’t strike me as the type of person to take that lightly.”

Haz scratched the back of his neck. “No, she isn’t. That’s part of what makes her so adorable.”

Sava almost choked. “Adorable?!”

“Like a baby bear. One of these days she’s going to be deadly, but until then she’s just… cute.” Haz grinned. “I can’t wait.”

Sava tried not to let his heart drop. “I… didn’t know you felt that way about her.”

Haz gave him a confused look, then quickly stifled a laugh as his eyes bugged out of his skull. “No, not like that! Not my type! She’s my friend. I see her almost as a sister. No naked shenanigans are ever going to happen.”

Sava huffed. “Well, it wouldn’t have surprised me. She’s about the furthest thing from Bhayana.”

“Very different from Myrta, too.”

Ah, shit.

Sava drank some tea to buy himself time. Athicha grinned.

“Not in a bad way,” Haz continued. “I just can’t see Khana getting drunk and throwing snowballs at Old Family members who annoy her. And I’ve tried to get her to laugh at my impeccable humor, but, apparently, she doesn’t share Myrta’s good tastes.”

Both fighters, Athicha pointed out. Just different ways.

Sava sighed, now out of tea. “Myrta was… we fell together quickly. She enjoyed life to the fullest, and everything seemed… more, around her. I liked that. I liked how she never held back. That came from confidence. Inner strength. Khana has that too, it’s just… quieter. I didn’t really notice her at first, but the more she’s here, the more I see it.”

Haz tipped his head in agreement. “I’m happy for you. Every time I think about getting back into courting, I always shy away from it.”

Fine, Athicha stressed. No race. You grieve.

He made a face. “Did you get some rotten tea, Athi? Because I’m not the one whose lover died.”

“You can grieve yourself,” Sava said quietly. “The person you were before Bhayana got her claws into you. That’s worth crying over.”

Haz looked away. “How did we get from me teasing you about your obvious crush to you both making me feel feelings? I’m outnumbered. This is unfair.”

We have many talents, Athicha quipped.

Sava chuckled. “Honestly, Haz, I don’t know if I’m ready for another courtship, either. So, if you could refrain from telling Khana anything…”

“Lips are sealed.” Haz nudged him. “But try to survive this war so you have the option.”

“An attempt will be made,” he promised. “Want to tease Athicha over their relationship with Neta, instead?”

The archer squawked and smacked Sava with a cushion. Haz burst out laughing.

Athicha sobered. Regualli Leopard serji now?

“I don’t know,” Sava admitted. “We’ve filled out all the battalions, so there’s going to be a round of promotions in the coming days.”

He didn’t have to worry about that because Blue Battalion was always fully stocked. He pitied the newly appointed Red, Green, Orange, Purple, and Black midyas, though. That was a lot of decision-making and arguing.

“If they have any sense, they’ll promote her,” he said.

Athicha nodded, but Haz snorted. “Sure. That’ll be the day.”

“You haven’t seen her fight.”

“Don’t have to. She’s Reguallian. They won’t promote her.”

Athicha scowled as Sava frowned. “What do you mean?”

Haz rolled his eyes. “I mean that only a handful of Reguallians and Tlapharians have been promoted to serji since my grandmother came here, and that number goes down every time we fight because people are idiots and think we’ll betray our home to the empire. Also, the Old Families tend to hoard all the powerful positions for themselves. You might be willing to share, but a lot of people get overlooked because a bear or eagle or porcupine wants to play soldier instead.”

Sava’s frown deepened. “But Neta is Cituva.”

“Not really. That family hates her. Everyone knows that. So, anyone who promotes her is going to get the entire Cituva family pissed at them. Who’s going to risk that?”

Fuck .

He dropped his head in his hands. “Ugh. I’m an idiot.”

“They might let her be serji later in the war,” Haz offered. “Or after, if she fights really well and there aren’t any other options. But after that? No Reguallian has ever become midya or above. A lot of us didn’t even want to become soldiers. I overheard a dozen customers the other day talking about how they weren’t going to enlist because that one man – Soril? Xopil? The one who Khana healed– got stabbed. For what? Not being Ghuran.”

Sava never truly forgot that his friend was a quarter Reguallian, even if Haz looked Ghuran. But it was easy to forget that Haz’s life was so much more difficult because of his bloodline, the way Sava’s was easier for the same reason.

Athicha snapped their fingers, getting their attention. Singing Wolf Old Family. You ask favor?

He sighed. “I already did that to get Haz and Khana in the same unit.”

“Really?” Haz asked, delighted.

“She asked.”

He should’ve called the favor to make Neta serji two years ago, but he’d been so clouded with grief that everything else faded away.

“If Neta’s Reguallian, her best bet would be Red,” he mused. “Thulu Bhalu’s the maversti…”

Bear Master like Regualli? Athicha asked.

Haz shrugged. “Eh… I haven’t heard that he dislikes us.”

“My mother likes him,” Sava added. “Says he’s pragmatic, practical, and not easily swayed.”

That last one might cause problems, but Sava was growing more confident.

He downed his tea and stood. “Excuse me, friends. I need to run an errand.”