The Search for Terror (ONC 2021)

Chapter 3

      When Amaia had finally broken away from Issar, it had been morning—at least by the clock's definition—and she'd dragged herself back to her bedroom on the pretence she'd be able to sleep. 

      Instead, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, making faces where there were none out of the rough-textured paint. Slowly, the brush strokes depicted figures, a scene unravelling above as people clad in heavy gear stormed across rolling hills. Ahead of them, much further in the distance, a cluster of towering houses stood in defence. Archers readied their bows and aimed at the army marching still miles away, and it was only then that Amaia realised she'd imagined the army on foot to be the good guys, and that they stood no chance in this scenario. 

      The scene disappeared and she was left staring at a plain ceiling once more. 

      A deep sigh rattled her chest. She thought about swinging her legs out of bed, grabbing paper, sitting at her desk, and devising a plan for Saqat to consider using for the Haglaiya intelligence mission. 

      Ten minutes later, she realised it had all been in her head and she'd never actually moved. 

      Forcing herself to repeat her actions in the real world, Amaia sat up and turned to place her feet on the floor. Despite having had no sleep, she was pretty blurry-eyed. Or perhaps it was because she'd had no sleep. Amaia reached down beside her feet, sliding her hand under the bed until her fingertips brushed the cool metal coil of her spiral sketchbook. 

      She was no artist by the popular meaning, though she considered her battle strategies quite picturesque. It was satisfying to flick through each page each time she went to use the book and to acknowledge and reminisce about the stories every rough-sketch map told. All the victories. 

      The small squares of paper that fit between the loops of metal down the spine were sheetless in some places, the remains of those plans that had resulted in losses, trapped between happier pages.

      And then a clean, blank page slapped her in the face.

      It was awful, the sight of something completely empty, waiting for that first mark to give it personality, character. And it had to be perfect. The pencil clinked against the metal holder as she plucked it from its family. Between her fingers, the pencil remained stationary for a moment, unsure what to do first. Tap, tap, tap, as the pencil knocked gently against the table. She didn't mind if it broke them, as she'd requested many spares for that exact reason. She'd considered stopping, but the tapping helped her think. 

      Sure enough, the plan followed and moved her hand as though it were not hers but the future's. As though it belonged to the battle that had not yet happened. 

      Battle. 

      No, this was all to avoid a battle, she reminded herself.

      "Join me where I can see you," Amaia said, projecting her voice behind her, "Your unseen presence makes me uncomfortable. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck wanting to slay you." 

      Steps echoed around the room as her company came to stand by her side. Saqat Ayad stood with posture so stiff Amaia imagined his spine snapping, just like that. "Another raid? My queen, you must inform us of these before sending us out the door with a copy of the plan." 

      The use of 'queen' still caused a dispute within herself. She was no queen; her mother had been Queen. 

      "Queen Goldmorn?"

      She could see her mother sat on the throne, see her smiling and climbing down from the mass of gold with loving eyes and an eagerness to hear the news being brought to her. The people, her people, smiling back. Beside her sat the king, a smile just as safe and welcoming reflected on his warm face. 

      "Amaia."

      The hard wood below her arms shocked her, the chair rigid below her, the throne gone in place of a bedroom much too large for a child. A child who had been thrust upon the throne by the loss of her parents. A child who had been assumed capable of passing off her uncle's death as just another piece of small talk. A child who had been given an adult's role, and she had loved her uncle so very much. "I'm informing you now. Take the plans and memorise them, organise your men and set off at once, wake them if you must." Rising from her seat, she was a foot shorter than her leading warrior but her will towered over him. "See to it that no amount of terror should ever come from Haglaiya, now or later." She didn't make eye contact, but she could feel his confused, perhaps concerned, gaze on her. "Go." He did. 

      Deep breath in, deep breath out. Placing the pencil back in the holder, Amaia nodded. She was meant to see her uncle again, and now she'd only manage that in death. She was meant to end a reign of terror, so she'd do it before it started. 

      If life kept changing the rules, she would change the game. 

      Changing out of her night clothes with what she considered to be record speed, Amaia walked straight out her bedroom without so much as looking back at the door to check it had closed. 

      She was back in the throne room before she could contemplate the appropriateness of her latest decision. She didn't even hear the door to her secret room open and close. The purple pen was back in her hand before her diagram was fully realised, the whiteboard streaked with the remnants of the old notes and drawings wiped from existence by hasty movements. 

      Lines unfolded before her as her hand mapped out the borders between countries, wound the rivers through them, and stacked mountains on top of mountains. 

      Swapping to the black pen, she carefully added the shapes of all the buildings she knew, the guard posts cross-hatched and the castles coloured in bold. Small blue circles and formation shapes arranged themselves across the map with tactical skill. Orange arrows moved between them, deciding their movements. 

      Amaia took a step back. She smiled. It felt wicked to smile at such a thing as battle plans that, on one side or another, would likely lead to death, but this was necessary. To take control of her neighbours' countries before they could bring terror to hers. 

      Besides, death seemed such a trivial thing now. If her uncle could die and it change nothing, then so could those who stood in the way of peace. 

      Her eyes tracked the 2D soldiers across the wall, her mind playing devil's advocate until the plan was fool proof.