Becca Fox
ASTA AND THE BARBARIANS
For my mom. Look! I finally wrote some historical fiction for you… Well, sort of.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There have been so many instrumental people who have helped me through this journey. My big sister, my first editor, my biggest fan, my fellow brainstormer, my faithful cheerleader; she was there from the very beginning. I could never thank her enough for her time, her patience, and her unwavering desire to see me succeed. If I publish any more books, it will be because of her.
My husband isn’t much of a reader but he continues to lend an ear or give advice whenever I ask for it. I appreciate him so much.
Mom and Dad supported me, even though fantasy isn’t their cup of tea. I couldn’t have asked for greater parents.
I can’t leave out the faceless beta readers, the priceless critiquers who took the time to read my sample chapters and give me good advice. I learned so much from them.
Of course, I have to thank the wonderful people of Tirgearr Publishing. Without them, this book wouldn’t be in anyone’s hands but mine.
Lastly, I’d like to thank the authors of my youth: J.K. Rowling, Sarah Dessen, Patrick Ness, Rick Riordan, Cassandra Clare, Kelley Armstrong, Suzanne Collins, Kristen Cashore, Brandon Sanderson. They were my first teachers, my inspiration. I’ll never forget their words. Thanks for giving me so many different worlds to escape to and so many great friends.
PART I
DIVINE INTERVENTION
Chapter One
General Halvar placed a hand on my shoulder as the ship pulled into the harbor. “Welcome home, Asta.”
I winced at his touch.
“Do you remember why I brought you here?” he asked.
I looked up at the land mass before us.
Holger, the Island of Spears. I knew only rumors about this country. Their warriors couldn’t be defeated in battle, their population was larger than any other nation, and their schools offered the best curriculums. I used to think of it as a massive piece of land floating in the middle of the ocean, with foreboding clouds constantly roiling above. I used to have such an active imagination.
The actual island was far smaller than I pictured. I could see the whole of it with a turn of my head. Food vendors along the pier called out to passersby, women shopped, children played and weaved around horse-drawn carriages. Laughter drew my gaze to a couple attempting to take a schooner out to open waters. Fishing ships heavily laden with full nets pulled in beside us. I could smell the dead fish from my place on the poop deck.
I swallowed the bile traveling up my throat. “I’ve been chosen for a special task.”
“That’s right.” The general finally released my shoulder and stepped around me. His mismatched eyes, one misty white and the other gleaming like liquid copper, bored into mine. “Are you ready?”
I cowered out of habit, but straightened when I realized what I was doing. “Yes, sir.”
A grin stretched the burned side of the general’s face. “Praise be to Dotharr.”
“Praise be to Dotharr,” I said.
“Shall we?”
I stared at the elbow he offered me for a moment, entertaining fantasies about grabbing it and tossing the general overboard. I forced myself to take the elbow and follow him across the main deck instead. He waited patiently while I lifted the skirt of my dress and stepped onto the gangplank. After two weeks of suffering in men’s clothing, I had been given a bath and a new dress this morning. It didn’t make up for what had been done to me, but I couldn’t help feeling slightly grateful. Suddenly, I was a lady again and not a prisoner. Letters along the ship’s hull caught my eye: The Great Disaster.
I remembered everything then with a sudden clarity that made me gasp. My family. My home in Kenshore. The raid. The fires. Being dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the ruins of my town and onto this vessel. I tore my gaze from the hull and blinked away tears.
“Something wrong?” the general asked.
I swallowed hard. “I was simply admiring the ship from this new vantage point, sir.”
The double-masted ship was painted red-brown, with cream-colored sails and a single red flag. A wooden carving of a scantily-clad woman with a devilish smile and an outstretched sword clung to the bow. The seamen scurried up the ratlines to secure the sails while the copper-eyed warriors clamored down the gangplank. I shied away from them as they passed.
The noises of the city and the light of the sun made my head pound. I kept my sensitive eyes half-lidded and fixed on the planks of wood that made up the pier. I had gotten into the habit of breathing through my mouth to avoid overwhelming my nose on the ship, but the open air helped minimize the potency of the different odors wafting toward me.
“Dotharr’s blessings might seem even more burdensome the deeper into the city we go,” General Halvar said. “But you’ll learn to better control your abilities at Dotharr’s Academy.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The last two men to disembark from the ship stopped beside us.
“Asta, you remember Tarben and Manning?” the general said, gesturing to each as he named them. “They will be your personal guards while I’m away.”
“D-Do I need protecting, sir?”
General Halvar chuckled. “You’re the first woman and outsider to be chosen by our Heavenly Master of Warriors. Until you’ve learned how to use your new abilities to properly defend yourself, you will most definitely need protecting. Come along now.”
I pursed my lips. Or you want to be sure I don’t try to commit suicide again.
An enormous carriage waited for us at the end of the dock. The driver leapt from his seat to open the door for the general.
Halvar helped me into the carriage before joining me. “To Dotharr’s Academy.”
One of my guards sat on my other side. The second sat with the driver up front. Then we were off. The air carried the scents of sweat, horse, earth, and smoke. I tugged the sleeve of my dress down over my palm and pressed it against my face, hoping the subtle perfumes the material had been washed with would dampen the intensity of everything else. The clopping of horse hooves, the shouts of vendors calling attention to their goods, the laughter of children chasing each other across the street, and even the grumblings of the men cleaning up after the horses assaulted me. If I tried to focus on any one detail, I felt that my head would explode. I allowed myself to become lost in all the sensory information to spare myself a headache. It worked for the most part.
There was very little green here. We stopped at a crossroads and there was a small park to my left, but it was nothing compared to the forests of Kenshore. My chest ached with longing and grief. We whisked by structures of marble, brick, and bath stone. Everything was so fine here, so modern and clean, compared to my home. General Halvar pointed out historical landmarks and spoke about them at length, as if giving me a tour. I nodded a lot, but hardly lifted my gaze from my shoes.
At last, the carriage stopped. The general climbed out and then turned to help me. I took in the grouping of buildings that was Dotharr’s Academy. It had high cement walls, with block letters and numbers along the top of each building, cobblestone walkways, and a fountain. Groups of young men walked around, journeying to their classes. Armed guards were posted along the walls.