Against the Wind

21.1 || Amina

Pain was a familiar art to Amina. It had always been Isra's primary instrument of teaching: how to cause it, how to escape it, and—most importantly—how to take it and keep fighting, without tears or complaint. The final lesson was by far the hardest to master. Amina had been slapped and kicked and thrown to the ground more times than she could count, most often for running her mouth on topics Isra deemed inappropriate.

Spite had sharpened Amina's tongue after years of back-and-forth. She hated her mentor for her callousness, for her ruthless teaching, yet she could feel a begrudging respect rising within her core at this moment. Ruthlessness was keeping her alive.

Blood and dirt streaked her cheek, an ugly red smeared in the corner of her eye that burned thrice as much as sand. The same shade scrubbed the stone beneath her like warpaint. Teeth bared, she shoved up off the ground to fire a snarl at the Feralites, shrinking inward as they closed in as a semi-circle of claws and scraggly fur.

They crawled over the benches and tables with bowls cracking underfoot, smearing their contents across the ragged wood, all inclinations of civilised behaviour forgotten the moment Amina had been thrown from her seat. Shards of her own half-empty bowl traced an arc across the grimy floor. The handful of minutes for which this room had been a dining hall were only a faded memory; now, this place was nothing but a fighting ring, a lawless reflection of the arena she should've earned her mage's cloak in. Her side ached, an undercurrent to the race of her heart, but it was easier not to fear now.

Practice drove her to her feet. She wiped the blood from her face and spat. "Is that all you've got?"

A growl thundered in her ear, too little warning to act on before a kick to her knees sent her sprawling once again. Thick, smokey fur lined the face that loomed over her, seamlessly blending with the Feralite's matted curls and spreading much further and wilder to coat his bare chest. Bile singed the back of Amina's throat. As he crouched to snatch her arm, she ducked, stomach pressed flat to the stone, then lunged for the silver tail protruding from his patchwork shorts. It was greasy beneath her palm. The sensation grated and slithered under her skin like an acidic slime, difficult to ignore, but she fought a shudder and yanked hard.

He toppled with a yelp, kicking and squirming so fiercely it was hard to tell how he landed. His claws whistled past her ear as she rolled. Streaks of silver flashed at the edges of her vision, blurred by endless movement, until she flung a kick that connected with something hard and hairy. There was a whimper, and the pursuit stopped.

She had perhaps a second to recover her breath. Then a foot slammed down on her chest, much too heavy to be human. She wheezed and snapped at the air, lungs dented, folding into a barely-effective dodge on instinct alone. Her knees pulled underneath her. Get up, her mind berated, slippery fingers picking at her limbs. Get up.

She raised her head only to have it smacked back down. A dissonant thud met her skull and drained the world of clarity. Tall shadows loomed above, figures blending to clusters of faded colour, strung together by laughter and the furious ringing in her ears. She couldn't hear herself shout. The sound popped anyway, satisfying and enticing, as she clawed at the stone.

Get up.

She flipped onto her back and kicked out, grinning when she heard a sound of pain echo, then onto her side to rise again. She got halfway up this time before an arm swung into her face and a hand yanked her skirt until it tore and she was back where she'd begun, slipping in her own blood. She swung a punch that met air. Someone caught her arm instead. Another gripped her opposing wrist, and though she wrestled and dragged her heels raw across the relentless sand-covered rock, she could not break free.

They hauled her up higher than she wanted to be, with her toes scratching helplessly at ground too far away to stand on. She squirmed anyway, buzzing inside, still gasping for air. A face puzzled together by ashy flesh and hard yellow scales appeared in front of her, showing off a pair of curved, discoloured fangs. A narrow tongue slid across them, dripping saliva.