by Nick Martell
“Thousands have died because of the rebellion.”
Domet stood slowly, shaking out his legs once he was standing. “And thousands more will die if the nobility begin to fight against each other. Hollow used to rely on the Kingman family to curb the ambition of the nobility, and focus on the greater good. That won’t be the case this time. But that’s a problem for another day, and there’s work to be done, Michael. I’ve already heard that you made a good first impression on the nobility when you were at Ryder Keep. Several small fortunes were made betting on you. But we need even better results in the second event.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Domet drained the bottle and left it on the steps. “The second event is a hunt. I have no idea what you’ll be hunting, but in case it’s something exotic, it’s best if you’re prepared.”
“You’re finally going to teach me?”
“Yes,” Domet said dryly. “It’s time you learned how to use Fabrications.”
THE RAVEN
We descended the stone stairs slowly and carefully, trying not to fall over our own feet in the dim light or slam into the other patrons. Charles Domet pulled and pushed me away from the crowds of flushed nobles, directing me toward a corner.
My head spun, and I had to grab the nearby railing and reorient myself. We had gone underground, only to emerge on top of an old building reinforced with scraps of metal and wood. Stalactites hung from the ceiling and stalagmites popped up from the natural ground around the ruins. The air was damp, and there was only enough light to see the immediate area, with movement just out of sight in the gloom. When I finally got my bearings, I looked down.
It was less a building, more an underground arena. The open square at the bottom of the long, slick walls was paved in broken stone slabs, many splintered upward like blooming flowers, and surrounded by a moat of cloudy, stagnant water that looked green in this light. The stained floor had seen its fair share of blood, and the audience gathered on balconies surrounding it, the rich and the poor rubbing shoulders, all drinking and hollering for entertainment.
Domet rested his elbows against the stone railings. “Have you heard of this place?”
I shook my head as I watched two plainly dressed men clink their glasses in a toast and drink. I thought I knew the unsupervised side of Hollow, but I’d never heard of an underground arena and was fairly annoyed I didn’t know about this place before. I could’ve made a fortune fighting, or at least a fortune getting beaten up.
“This is the Shattered Stones,” he said. “It was built over Wolven King ruins and has a fabled history drowned in blood. A prince died here once. We’re lucky there’s an event today— you’ll learn a lot. Pay attention and answer my questions when I ask them. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“I’m not some moonstruck fool.”
“That’s yet to be proven.” Domet took a sip from his flask. “It’s about to begin. Don’t miss anything.”
A man dressed exuberantly in blue and gold walked out onto the balcony that projected over the arena. His natural voice boomed out: “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Shattered Stones! Today we have a rare treat for you: a Raven Bloodbath!”
The audience hooted and howled with excitement, pounding their feet against the wooden floors until they vibrated. As the announcer waited for things to calm down, I asked, “What’s a Raven Bloodbath?”
“The final test for those who seek to become a Raven for the king. This is where they are born. In the darkness, surrounded by bloodlust.”
That sounded too poetic to be true. Before I could ask another question, the announcer continued, “You know the stakes, now let me introduce you to the combatants! First, the defending champion, hailing from the darkest pits of Goldono, a criminal who has clipped the wings of three other would-be Ravens: the Fletcher!”
A lanky copper-skinned man stamped through one of the entranceways and into the arena. Half of his chest was covered with metal, with the rest covered in thick black body hair. A huge red scar ran from his chin down to his navel, and he dragged a great battle-ax behind him, the metal screech filling the arena. The Fletcher ignored the cheering crowd and licked his lips, eyeing the other doorway.
“Tell me his first mistake,” Domet ordered.
After a pause, I answered, “He’s dragging his ax along the floor. One side of it is probably duller than the other.”
His calm nod was the only response I got as the announcer continued. “And now the challenger herself, Chloe Mason!”
I remembered Chloe. She’d been in the shrine when I visited with Domet. She’d been surprisingly delicate, and we’d made some snide remarks at each other. Nothing too serious or noteworthy.
If I hadn’t heard her name, I would never have known it was her.
Her face was gaunt, eyes sunken, and her skin seemed to hang from her face. She was thinner and stumbling, barely able to walk in a straight line as she dragged her bare feet across the ground, the shattered stones cutting them to ribbons, blood documenting her path. Behind her came an armored woman, three peacock feathers woven into her hair.
“What happened to her?”
“The Ravens’ test,” Domet said flatly. “This is the final portion. In preparation for this, they endure so much hazard and torture that most call it inhumane. The candidates are kept in cells in complete darkness without food or water between tests. If they give up, go mad, or die, they fail.”
“Why would someone do that to themselves?” I asked, thinking of Naomi’s file.
Chloe was stopping every few steps to catch her breath. She looked barely alive, a skeleton wearing clothes. She was willing to do this for the chance to risk her life for a city… for a king she owed nothing to. It made me uneasy.
“Does she have any chance? That man is twice her size and he’s breathing without pain. Is this designed so that she’ll fail?”
“No,” he said. “She’s expected to win. That’s today’s lesson. By the end of this fight, Michael, you will see the strength of a Fabricator. Watch and learn.”
By the time Chloe reached her mark, the crowd had grown restless and hungry for violence. People came here to see blood, and if they didn’t get it soon, the loser would lose more to quench the crowd’s thirst.
The announcer cleared his throat and began to rile up the crowd. “Who’s ready to see a Raven Bloodbath?” The crowd started to pound their feet against the floor again. “The rules of the battle are simple: the winner is the first to spill their opponent’s blood over the shattered stones! No ring-outs, no tapping out, no nothing but the sweet sight of blood hitting the floor will do! Let the Raven Bloodbath begin!”
Fletcher lifted the great ax above his head and swiped at Chloe. She swayed to the right, the steel just missing her. The clang of the metal echoed through the arena as Fletcher continued to lift the ax, then bring it down. Chloe began circling him, dodging every attack, but never making one of her own. It almost seemed like they were dancing.
“Clever girl,” Domet said, leaning toward the arena. “Tell me what she’s doing.”
The dance continued, Chloe circling as the Fletcher kept driving forward. If any of his blows landed, he would cut her in half. The Shattered Stones arena was already covered in their bloody footprints. “She’s wearing him out.”
“She’s already exhausted—tiring him won’t help her. Try again.”
I rubbed the spot where my ring should have been and watched closely. When he wasn’t putting all his strength into lifting his ax, Fletcher always dragged it along the floor, and he seemed reluctant to swing it left or right, preferring to let gravity drag the ax down toward her. “The ax is too heavy for him,” I said. “He shouldn’t be using the weapon.”
Domet gave me a curt nod. “If he were using any other weapon, this fight would be over. She knows that, but he doesn’t. What would you do with that knowledge if you were she?”
Chloe was faster than the enemy, but weaker. If she was hit, eve
n once, it was over, and she was unarmed. “Do you know what her Fabrication specialty is?”
“Lightning.”
“Why not just hit him with a bolt of lightning to the chest, then? One and done.”
Chloe continued to dance around Fletcher. He was slowly beginning to drive her toward the water. There might be no ring-outs, but it was unlikely she had the strength to swim if she fell in.
“And expose what type of Fabricator she is? First lesson.” Domet turned to me, dragging the side of his palm along the stone barrier. “Less than a quarter of the Hollow population are Fabricators, and among those who are, maybe half are skilled. What can you gather from that information?”
“That there’s a woman down there fighting for her life?” I said. Domet gave me a flat look. “I don’t know.”
He sighed and returned to the fight. “Knowledge is power when it comes to Fabricators. Knowing your opponent is a Fabricator is one power, and knowing what kind of Fabricator they are is another. Spellborns, in particular, will avoid revealing their ability for as long as possible and then overwhelm their opponent when they have an opening.”
“Spellborn?”
He made a disapproving noise. “That’s a lesson you’re not ready for yet. Prove to me that this wasn’t a mistake agreeing to teach you. Tell me what she’s doing right.”
I paused. “She’s remaining calm.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because when Fabricators get emotional and they use Fabrications, they risk snapping.”
“Which is?”
“An overemotional state of heightened Fabricator ability that leads to an increase in memory loss. It almost always happens before someone becomes a Forgotten.”
“Good. You do know something. But the fight isn’t over yet. Pay attention.”
Chloe had been driven to the edge of the arena, swaying left and right to avoid the ax. She had yet to fight back. Teetering on the edge, she spun, dragging her foot over the water before bringing it up and kicking it at Fletcher’s face. He flinched, then snarled as a few droplets of water ran down his cheeks. That was when Chloe attacked.
Her arms electrified with a snap. Whap. Whap. Whap. Three arcs of lightning hit Fletcher, forcing him backwards. His great ax clanked to the ground as the metal hit stone and Chloe pressed her advantage, life returning to her face every time a bolt of lightning hit. Whap. Whap. Whap. Whap. Fletcher had his forearms across his face.
That wouldn’t save him.
Whap. Whap. Now Fletcher was at the edge of the arena, slightly shaking from the lightning strikes. Something was wrong, though; he was acting as if he hadn’t felt pain before, cowering almost theatrically.
With his heels over the water, Fletcher gave a grin and began his counterassault. He smacked his open palm against the bare side of his chest. Instantly, his body began to harden, condensing and toning as if he were shaped out of metal. Every scrap of fat on Fletcher turned into straight, lean muscle. The crowd’s hollering took on a new, louder pitch than before as Chloe’s face fell. With every pounding footstep he took toward her, the crowd grew more and more bloodthirsty.
“Fletcher’s a Metal Fabricator,” I muttered.
“And a strong one,” Domet said. “Our potential Raven underestimated him and showed her cards too soon.”
Chloe was being forced back again, Fletcher moving step by slow step toward her, baring his teeth. When she was close enough, she began to kick more water onto the arena, mixing with the blood that already covered the shattered stones. But with a body reinforced by metal, Fletcher didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Any idea what she’s doing, Michael?”
Obviously it had something to do with her Fabrication and the water she was splashing onto the arena. But it wouldn’t mean much unless she somehow got him to deactivate his Fabrications. Reinforcer Fabricators relied on their improved ability to withstand pain when their Fabrications were activated. A little lightning wouldn’t hurt him now, so I had no idea what she was trying to do, and didn’t respond to Domet’s question.
When Fletcher had her cornered, he threw a punch at her. She dodged it, only to misjudge the distance, lose her balance, slip, and then fall into the murky green water. At the sound of the splash, the announcer screamed, “The Raven is down! The Raven is down! Has Fletcher done it again? Will we see another Raven’s wings clipped here tonight?”
The bubbles on the surface of the water dwindled away, Chloe nowhere to be seen. Fletcher knelt over the edge and, like a bear trying to catch a fish, stuck his hand into the cloudy water in search of his prey. Two hands emerged from the water, grabbed Fletcher’s toned wrist, and dragged him into it. The Metal Fabricator sank into the water. There was no chance he would float.
Silence hung over the arena, the audience holding its breath, waiting for one of them to emerge.
It was Chloe who, drenched from head to toe, put her hands on the edge of the arena first. With shaking arms she hauled herself back into the arena, wet clothes clinging to her, and staggered to her feet. She held an electrified hand over the water as Fletcher surfaced, no longer using his Fabrications.
The crowd began to chant, “Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!”
Chloe turned to the Raven that had escorted her out to the arena. She was met with a curt nod.
I looked away.
Fletcher’s screams were deafening until they simply stopped, an interlude before the cheering.
The crowd began to holler and clap in earnest as the announcer took the stage. “It seems we have a victor! And the king has his newest Raven: Chloe Mason!”
Chloe went to her knees, dripping wet, in exhaustion. She wept as a Raven bound a peacock feather into her hair and helped her up so she could bask in her victory.
“She won.”
“She did,” Domet said. “Can you guess why I brought you here today?”
“I don’t know. This hasn’t helped me learn how to use Fabrications at all.”
“Hasn’t it? All Fabricators can do is transform energy from one form to another. Fire Fabricators nowadays have the same power as they did decades ago. I’m sure Fletcher has faced Lightning Fabricators before. So why did he lose when he was clearly the healthier and stronger of the two?”
“Chloe was smarter.”
“Yes!” he shouted, slamming his fist down. “And that, Michael, is always the answer. Good Fabricators know how to shoot fire out of their hands, or call down lightning, or cloud memories, but great Fabricators can make a Fire Fabricator burn himself.”
“So if I’m going to use Fabrications, I have to be smart?” I clarified.
“Not smart. Clever. You need to learn how to think and fight like a Fabricator. Never reveal your Fabrication unnecessarily, be three steps ahead of the opponents you know about, and two ahead of the dozen that you don’t. It’s the long con that wins in the end, Michael. The people who do things worth remembering are the ones willing to wait decades to achieve it. That is what I’m trying to teach you today: How to use them doesn’t mean how to summon the skill. It means how to wield it once you have. It means balancing every strike with knowing the potential cost.”
“So what if I know the principles of war, if I don’t know how to wield the weapons?”
“It’s better to learn the rules than suffer the consequences for breaking them, Michael. You can’t ask for forgiveness with this.”
“But how do I actually use Fabrications?”
Domet tapped his cane on the floor. “Let’s get out of here. This place is too stuffy for me.”
As we left the Shattered Stones, I looked down over the arena. Chloe was crying into her hands, the peacock feather bright against her wet tangles of black hair. I hoped she was happy, having accomplished her dream. For a second I thought I saw Gwen in the crowds, gloved and with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, but the woman was gone when I looked again—and if I didn’t know about this place, Gwen couldn’t either.
The
narrow stone steps weren’t nearly as bad going up as they had been coming down. With one hand on the cool wall, I made my way up into the cold autumn breeze and the turning leaves.
* * *
Domet and I walked side by side toward his house.
“Teaching you how to use Fabrications isn’t as simple as waving a wand, muttering certain words, or moving your hands in a certain way. It’s a physical process within your body,” he began. “And everyone’s body responds and acts differently depending on what their specialization is.”
“So where do I begin?”
“Well,” Domet said, “there are certain things we can gather based on what’s happened in the past. Combat Fabrications are the most visual in nature and are hard to miss when used involuntarily, so, since you’ve not done anything extraordinary in a fight so far, we can assume you’re not one. By the same measure, you probably don’t have a Reinforcer Fabrication like Smoke, Metal, or Sand.”
With a hand on his chin, Domet continued to ramble. “There’s a chance you could be a Light or Darkness Fabricator and showing it in a very obscure way. You could have a rare Fabricator specialization like Shadow. That would be much harder to determine.”
“What’s a Shadow Fabricator?”
“They have the ability to copy, essentially. Shadow Fabricators can mimic another Fabricator’s specialization after coming in physical contact with them.”
That sounded like a power that I could use to protect everyone I cared about. It would be impossible to know how to counter me if I could steal my opponent’s specialization and use it against them.
“How would I be able to tell if I was a Shadow Fabricator?”
Domet stopped and held out his wrist. “Steal my specialization.”
I gripped his wrist and waited. And waited. And waited. “Am I supposed to feel something?”
“Is your body doing anything differently?”