Bloodfall Arena Read online

  Bloodfall Arena

  Blood Magic Series, Volume 1

  J.A. Ludwig

  Published by Babylon Books, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by J.A. Ludwig

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Bloodfall Arena (Blood Magic Series, #1)

  Peace Broken

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  The Arena

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  The Brüdel

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  The Fires of Hope

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sign up for J.A. Ludwig's Mailing List

  For my family, who saw many versions of this story and pushed me to publish

  And the amazing group of women who inspire me every day, the Princess Cottage

  Peace Broken

  Chapter 1

  Pounding. Loud pounding reverberates inside her head and right leg, making her foot spasm.

  Aya opens her eyes, damp with sweat.

  A breeze through an open window makes her shiver. She reaches for her blanket but can’t find it. Sitting up, her eyes search the small room, wincing at the morning light. A corner of the blanket has spilled onto the floor. She grabs the heavy cloth and pulls it up.

  Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

  Wrapping the soothing blanket around her, she tries to remember why she’s awake. She had a strange dream...frighteningly realistic. Fragments of it flash in her mind.

  She’d been climbing a tree. Not a full-grown tree, but it still stood tall. She remembers reaching for a branch, but the one beneath her feet cracked. She fell, the world rushing by, and when she hit the ground...intense pain from her right leg. She still feels it, her leg twitching even more at the thought.

  Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

  She stares at the front door, realizing the pounding is not in her head but real. Someone is at her door. Listening carefully, she hears a faint voice.

  “Aya! Please, wake up!”

  She moves to the edge of her bed and stands. Her right leg locks uncomfortably, tingling. She takes in a sharp breath.

  “Just a dream.” She throws her blanket onto the bed and rubs her leg, the numbness fading. Taking a few careful steps to ensure her leg is able to support her weight, she struggles to the door.

  Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, th– Grabbing the handle, she opens the door mid-pound, startling the one responsible.

  “Aya! Thank the gods!” The young man at the door breathes quickly, sweat rolling down his forehead. He must have run from the village, a decent distance.

  “What is it, Lane?” Aya’s voice comes out harsher than she intends.

  Lane’s eyes don’t focus on any one thing. He shifts his weight from side to side constantly. “You’re needed in the village. Elder Mircien sent me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Aya leans against the doorframe, her right leg’s numbness turning to aching. “Do I have time to put clothes on? I’m a little underdressed.”

  Lane eyes her nightgown, the sweat causing the cloth to cling to her body and leave little to the imagination. He quickly looks away and nods. “They need you immediately, but I think you have time to dress.”

  “It won’t take long. Wait for me here.” She prepares to close the door but hesitates. “And no peeking.”

  “Right,” he says as she closes the door. “But you aren’t going to take long, are you?”

  Aya doesn’t answer. She pulls off the sweaty nightgown and throws it into a basket of varied cloths.

  Why is Elder Mircien calling her? Her mind races with scenarios, ranging from simple to dramatic. It couldn’t be something small, she would’ve fetched me herself. Something urgent enough to send Lane.

  Why her and not someone else? Unless they needed her to—

  “You promised you wouldn’t call me for that anymore,” Aya says to herself, as though Elder Mircien were here.

  She wipes a wet towel over her body to remove the sweat and stink. She grabs a clean pair of trousers and a shirt. Over the shirt she puts on a short tunic, tying it tight. She pulls her hair back, pinning it out of her way.

  Pulling her boots on, she stops at a small table by the door. Sitting on top is a small drawing of three figures, her mother and father holding a young Aya between them. A gift from an artist who passed through the village many years past.

  Smiling, Aya touches the picture with the tips of her fingers. Hanging on the corner of the portrait is a woven bracelet made of four different colored silks—green for the earth, blue for the sea, white for the sky, and red for the sun. It was the last gift her parents gave her before they died, a treasure they’d brought from their homeland when they settled here.

  Another treasure sits on the table in front of the portrait. A dagger made of black metal, a gift her father gave her in case she ever needed protection. She rarely wears it out of the house, but today she feels the need to hide it in her boot.

  “Aya, we should be going,” Lane calls through the door. “Elder Mircien may send someone else if we don’t get to the village soon.”

  Grabbing the silk bracelet, Aya ties it securely to her wrist and opens the door. “All right, all right. I’m ready.”

  Shutting the door behind her, Aya takes a deep breath of the morning air. Lane is already walking away, eager to return to the village.

  Light from the risen sun sparkles off the dew-covered leaves and grass. Birds fly happily from tree to tree, their songs filling the air. Smaller animals scurry across the ground, including a family of lidae. The mother hurries her young pups with her long tail, gently pushing them into the brush. go about their business, stopping only as the two walk past. Aya f
ollows Lane down the small path.

  “Why did Mircien send for me? Couldn’t she find anyone else in the village for whatever she needs?”

  “I don’t know. All she said was she needed you.”

  “But why? What happened?”

  “I don’t know. She approached me at the village center and ordered me to fetch you.”

  Aya raises an eyebrow. “Ordered you?”

  “Asked me. She asked me to fetch you.” Lane keeps his eyes ahead, never looking at Aya or meeting her eyes.

  Her suspicions grow, as well as the ache in her right leg. The path makes a sharp descent and the tops of houses appear through the trees.

  Oula Village comes into full sight, resting at the bottom of Foula Valley. The valley stretches for many days in both directions and provides the little village ample protection from the lands beyond the surrounding mountains. Wildflowers bloom amongst the trees, covering the forest floor in a wild cache of colors. Insects fly greedily from one promising bloom to the next and the scent of flowers fill the air.

  To the north of the village flows the river Garen, a great source of fish and fresh water. Since the village is half a day’s walk from the river, most villagers draw their water from wells spread throughout.

  Aya’s house is outside the village, a choice she’d made after her mother and father died. She stayed with Elder Mircien until she could take care of herself. The villagers have always been kind to her. She appreciated their warmth after her parents’ deaths but couldn’t stand to see their faces fill with pity for her.

  Aya and Lane enter the village and pass the houses quickly. Villagers doing their morning chores glance up at the two passing by. When they see Aya, their eyes widen. She purposefully avoids the gazes, knowing how she’ll be greeted.

  “Aya! Lane!” The village elder, Mircien Alluvia, bustles towards them. Her short, gray hair is barely visible poking from under the braided cloth wound around her head. Her gray eyes are sunken, and a dark spot is visible on her cheek. A slight hunch makes her appear shorter than she actually is but doesn’t diminish her graceful elegance.

  “Good morning, Elder Mircien.” Aya gives her a slight nod, but her smile falters.

  “I hate bothering you so early this morning with unpleasant things, but we need your help.” She waves away Lane, who eagerly accepts the dismissal. He disappears among the homes as Mircien places a hand on Aya’s arm and leads her into the village.

  With Lane gone, Aya drops the formalities and pulls away from Mircien. “You need my help or my kind of help?”

  “I specifically sent Lane to fetch you because he didn’t see the...unpleasantness. His lack of knowledge was the only way to get you here.”

  So, this is exactly what Aya feared. “I hope it isn’t too unpleasant. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “It’s about one of the children, Petri. A group of them were playing by a growing sapling. Petri climbed it and fell when one of the larger branches broke beneath him.”

  Aya’s dream flashes before her eyes and her right leg aches. “Truly?”

  “His mother believes he may have broken his leg.”

  Aya plays with the silk bracelet on her wrist. “I’ve never dealt with anything more complicated than a finger. Have you had Iria look at him?”

  “Petri’s mother specifically asked for you, my dear. We should hurry. We’ve wasted too much time.” Mircien gently pulls her forward.

  Aya’s mind races. Her nightmare had to be a coincidence...right?

  “Did you have the nightmares again?” Mircien’s voice breaks her thoughts. “The ones with the...what do you call them?”

  “Ever-watching shadows.” She swallows a lump in her throat. “No. I had a different nightmare last night. It felt too real.”

  Mircien shakes her head. “I don’t understand why you won’t accept Iria’s sleeping balm. I assure you it works quite well, speaking as one who uses it for the nights Iria’s snoring becomes unbearable.”

  “Falling asleep isn’t the issue. It’s the dreams.” She wants to tell her about this morning’s dream but can’t bring herself to speak the words.

  They pass two houses built close together, revealing a gathering of villagers beyond. Loud cries of pain reach Aya’s ears and she prepares herself for whatever horror waits for her.

  Chapter 2

  Clearing a path through the small crowd, Mircien keeps Aya close. The villagers watch her, the pitying look she hates filling their eyes. She avoids the stares, instead focusing on a group of children standing off to the side. Most have their hands in their pockets, while one has hers in her mouth. Her eyes are red, and tears dry on her cheeks.

  They stare with wide eyes at the boy cradled in his mother’s arms. The woman holds her son tightly, being extra careful not to touch his right leg. It’s bent at an odd angle at the knee, aiming to the right. Swelling around the knee and several cuts discolor the skin, a nasty bruise growing.

  Aya grabs Mircien’s shoulder and leans close to her ear. “You told me you thought it was broken. It’s almost twisted off!”

  She places a hand on hers. “If I told you what it looked like, you might not have come.”

  Lowering her voice so only the elder can hear, Aya whispers, “You wanted to get me in front of a crowd so I couldn’t refuse. I don’t know if I can do anything to help.”

  “If anyone can help the boy now, it’s you. It definitely wouldn’t have been Iria. He may have taught you all he knew, but he simply doesn’t have your gift.”

  Taking a deep, calming breath, Aya kneels beside the mother and child, her right leg tingling, reminding her of the dream. The villagers move closer to get a better look as she reaches for Petri’s leg. Her hand stops above, and she locks eyes with the boy’s mother.

  “Please hold him tightly, Zuri. I can’t do anything with the leg bent in the wrong position. This will hurt.”

  Petri’s mother nods and squeezes her son. His cries are muffled, but Aya knows it’ll only last for a moment. She returns her attention to the injury and places her shaking hands on the leg. Taking a deep breath, she grips the leg tightly.

  Memories flood her. She remembers Iria, the village’s true healer, spending hours, sometimes even days, teaching Aya everything he knew about natural healing. She remembers visiting those with broken bones and helping reset the bones while Iria explained how they connected at joints. Lessons Mircien encouraged due to Aya’s gift.

  Releasing her breath, Aya forcibly twists Petri’s leg back into the normal position. Feeling the bones beneath her hands sends a small wave of nausea through her, but Aya is able to keep her expression steady. A trick, Iria assured her, that would only be needed until the hundredth time.

  Zuri has trouble holding Petri completely still and his strong leg kicks at Aya. It makes contact with the side of her abdomen and she’s knocked back, gasping in shock. His shrieks of pain intensify, sending an audible gasp rippling through those standing around.

  “I need him to stay as still as possible while I heal him,” Aya says, surprised at how calm her voice sounds.

  Zuri nods again, unable to speak as tears roll down her cheeks. She strokes her son’s hair, whispering soothing words, but when Aya moves closer the boy’s struggles intensify. Petri’s father, Ervine, kneels down and helps hold Petri steady. His clenched jaw shows the pain he feels at seeing his son this way, but he keeps a firm grip to show his trust in Aya.

  Placing both hands on the broken leg, Aya closes her eyes and does her best to block the world out. Petri’s cries of pain and fear fade as she reaches deep inside. A calming sensation fills her as she taps into her gift, the magic she inherited from her parents. The magic only she holds, no one else.

  Warmth gathers in her chest and she concentrates on it. She imagines it moving down her arms and into Petri’s leg, feeling it move inside him.

  Images fill her mind.

  Petri’s leg appears clearly, even with her eyes closed. The boy’s clothes and sk
in fade away, revealing the injury. Bones are broken but resetting the position of the leg has placed them where they need to be. Muscles are bruised, and two are detached from the bone. Tendons are torn and the knee is still dislocated.

  She remembers Iria’s lessons, the hand-drawn diagrams of what people look like beneath the skin. She remembers the old skeleton in Iria’s home and learning every bone on it. She remembers dark nights after an older villager passed on, secretly watching Iria carefully pull the skin away and display the muscles, tendons, veins, arteries, organs, and nerves.

  Pain shoots up her arms and into her chest, bringing her back to the task before her. The pain is normal. She’s learned that it only means her magic is working. As she heals Petri, the pain from the injury transfers to her briefly. She focuses on the pain, forcing it away. Once it fades, the person she’s working on no longer feels it.

  Aya concentrates on one issue at a time. Repair the bone before reattaching the muscle. The dislocated knee is next, moving it back into its proper position before she fixes the tendons. Blood flow returns to normal and she searches for anything she may have overlooked, but she’s confident she won’t find anything.

  An ice-cold feeling rises amongst the warmth in her chest. She recognizes it and knows she must finish quickly. Her magic is done; if she pushes any further...

  She pulls her magic from Petri’s leg and feels it quickly disperse inside her, sending the coldness away. Opening her eyes, Aya winces at the now blinding sunlight. Her eyes are always highly sensitive and her head foggy after using her magic. She blinks a few times until her eyesight returns to normal, stabilizing herself. Her mind clears and she carefully turns her head.

  She isn’t sure when the boy stopped crying, but Petri’s eyes are now filled with wonder. He sits up, his parents releasing him, and stares at his leg. Aya smiles with relief.

  The leg is fully healed, not even a bruise left behind. Aya sits back on her heels, removing her hands from Petri. The young boy moves carefully, amazement filling him.

  Zuri moves quickly, grabbing Aya’s hands before she moves too far away. The tears are much heavier now, tears of joy. “Thank you, Healer! Thank you.” Petri’s mother gasps between heavy sobs and places her forehead on Aya’s hands.