The Fall Of The Tribes

by Philip Read

  The hilt is longer than is usual even for longswords for more gripping options. The sword ending with a round pummel. The hilt is encased in a strong woody material that is then wrapped in katari metal fibres and finally wrapped in one of those water resistant hides from lizards found in the Dawn.

  Yes I know that particular set of 16 swords well, I coveted them once upon a time. But considered it far above my station to acquire.

  I’m also in a kilt, having gotten used to the freedom of movement a hakama provides. But still wearing a loincloth underneath. The feeling of venerability I get from fighting with my balls in the air never having had subsided.

  Our audience consists of at least a 100 people. Where some of them came from I have no idea but they definitely weren’t in that meeting up stairs. I look at Victor with respect. I’ve never liked him personally, he was too arrogant, too loud, too gook looking, too liked by women, too good a fighter, too everything.

  Definitely someone with the potential to become a ‘overpowered little shit.’ And killing him would be a great blow to the tribes. I look to ma, da, uncle Brian and Aunt Helen.

  “I’m not sure we should do this.” I say quietly but apparently not quietly enough as a few snickers can be heard from some of the closest individuals.

  A look from da silences most of them but its Tosting who gives me all his attention.

  “Why not my boy? It isn’t like any of the spawn of Billiard to avoid a fight?” He asks loudly. Too loudly for this to remain a private conversation. I sigh, resigning myself to talking for everyone to hear.

  “I am yet unsure of my control and I don’t have any animosity towards Victor,” not anymore anyways. “I don’t want to kill him.”

  Laughter rings out from most of the audience. Bringing in more of a crowd of the curious to see what all the fuss is about. Victor is grinning as well but it isn’t one of his old annoying grins, he seems more mature. Or at least I’m less annoyed by him now, less threatened.

  “Don’t worry young man. So long as you don’t take his head we can restore him.” The pompously beautiful male fae says coolly. I’m not so sure about that, if zanpakutō‘s can inflict damage to the soul…

  “At least let me use my spiritual weapon to his spiritual weapon. It will be more fair if I don’t use my nodachi.” I say looking at Seiji.

  He shakes his head ‘no’. “The point of this is to demonstrate the superiority of a soul forged weapon.” He says quietly.

  “Enough of this. Face me or not, I have other things I could be doing. There are women to plow and less hesitant warriors to fight.” Victor says loudly to snickering and grins from some of his friends. Yep, still arrogant.

  “Very well then.” I say unbuckling my zanpakutō from my back and unwrapping the covering quickly.

  The sight is appreciated by the few dwarves that grunt in acknowledgement. I hesitate again to unsheathed it. I can use the weapon almost as well sheathed as a bludgeon, as I can naked as a sword. But to unsheath it will likely lead to Victor’s death, regardless of what the fae says.

  I can feel the growing excitement from my zanpakutō. She is eager either way. I sigh and unsheathed the blade and it rings slightly in the air. Moving into the circle of the sand to face my opponent. The bastard is lucky I don’t use an iaido on him.

  I sigh and take my stance, Hassō-no-kamae, the tree stance. With the left foot forward and sword held high above the right shoulder. A stance I know no one present besides the Brave has ever seen before, this is basically bullying on my part.

  Victor surprises me by taking on a stance I’ve never seen before either. Balancing some of the blade on his vambraces as the tip faces forward, facing me. His right elbow straight as he holds the sword.The only thing moving his feet as he circles me slowly.

  I grin, infected by the mood of my still slightly ringing blade. But its a very low frequency sound, something I’m sure I’m the only one that can hear.

  I stay still, facing where he was before he began flanking me. In this stance I am confident nothing I see coming can reach me. Though I don’t have a lot of power behind the initial strike or block in this stance. I can be anywhere in an instance, so there is no need to readjust my position.

  Victor moves, sending sand flying behind his back foot with the power and acceleration of his move. His blade cutting air where I should be as I slide under and up. Facing away from him as I take a few casual steps forward, my blade ringing happily in a frequency only I can hear.

  Everyone is silent, many wondering what just happened. Tosting just grunts as blood gushes out of Victor’s side in a delayed reaction. A surgical slice starting from the tip of his hip bone and ending right bellow the rib cage. Cutting through muscle and soft tissue with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

  A wound that would kill any normal person without healing. As I’m sure he now only has one kidney but the injury automatically sends Victor into the Rage with a bellowing ROAR!

  I grin, the fight will be a bit more interesting now.

  *

  I swing and start spinning, already moving before our blades connect. And they do to a light ringing but I hardly feel the impact. My elbow connects with his as he blocks the path my pummel would have taken to bash into him.

  He pulls in and grips the double edged sword somehow without cutting himself as we test each others strength a split second. But he is in the Rage and I am not, a contest of strength I will not win. Jumping up with knees coming almost to my chest I push off his blade with mine.

  Using the momentum to move away even as his sword swing towards me. I block and vault over the strike using the momentum momentum to move myself where I want to go. Not going against it as my feet touch the ground to two successive strikes and two successful parries on my part.

  My opponent is fast, my opponent is stronger, each strike a decisive blow. His moves full of strength and Rage as he roars and springs and sounds and reaches forward and steps back and strikes forward again. Even in the Rage the skill he has built through the years hasn’t left him. He is more focused in his strikes, used to opponents that bow, cower or break under his strikes I parry them.

  Taking the energy out of them or using the energy to my own devices. Either using it to move to a certain spot faster. Dodge a follow up, jump, spin, twist. My body always in motion, I as flexible in positioning as my nodachi. He is good though, and in the Rage we could gone on like this for another hour.

  I admire that he managed to fight even when at close range with a weapon with a length comparative to my own. Something I struggled under painful tutelage to learn. I think I’ve put on enough of a show now. Time to finish this.

  I move back but he chases me with a burst of speed, I put my heel down and do a jumping slash aimed at his forehead. He parries but the power and force of the strike had my entire body weight, arm power and moment behind it. A heavy blow that would have bowed any opponent not in the berserker rage.

  His doesn’t recover in time from the blow and my foot smashes into his face angering him further as a clean swing cuts the air where my head just ducked from. I’m twisted completely around by the reverse momentum of the kick and push off my feet hard towards him.

  Bumping into his chest and being completely in his guard as I parry down the point coming at me while simultaneously shoving my pummel hard under his ribs. My leg wraps around his as I lower my center of gravity and send an elbow as his rib. His knee connects with my thigh hard as my head connects with his chin.

  I push of the sand and duck and roll forward, the sound of his blade cutting strands of my hair all I hear as I get up with my nodachi already blocking a strike. Using a hand on the hilt and another on the blunt side of the blade to stop the strength of a 280 pound Barbarian berserker in the Rage swinging a long sword with all the momentum the powerful and precise weapon can master.

  The force multiplied many times over as he grips his sword further back for the swing. Using his sword as a lever with his hands as
the fulcrum.

  I stop it cold and barely feel the vibrations as my nodachi rings slightly louder for an instance. The force of the strike taken and nullified by my nodachi, this is true zanjutsu.

  I grin, she has wanted to do that for a while now. See how much direct force she can take without me feeling the brunt of it. This is too slow still though.

  I move left then right then left yet only moving less than 3cm’s forward. I strike and sparks appear and strike again from another angle and more sparks, and again more sparks as he stumbles back a few steps struggling to keep up, not fast enough. I call my Rage from my zanpakutō on reflex in its full force…

  *

  And that’s all I remember as I stand in the sand surrounded by Barbarian warriors shielding the bloody remains of what used to be Victor. I can still feel the Rage within me as I gaze at all of them coldly. I feel great, I feel unbridled for the first time in my life as I loosen my shoulders.

  Wondering which I should kill first, I’m a weapon. A cold, clean weapon that will show them the truth of the martial path. I will cleave them until they understand-

  “Sachihiro.” Ma’s voice says and its as though I’ve been yanked by a leash tied around my neck.

  I step back and breath as colours start filtering back into the world slowly. I hadn’t even realized I am seeing everything in shades of silver and grey until this moment. I close my eyes tight then turn to face a stern looking Divina in all her glory.

  “That is enough for now don’t you think?” She asks rhetorically in that tone that brooks no argument.

  “Yes ma.” We say and I suddenly separate from my blade as we become individuals again and colour fully returns.

  It seems even my disembodied soul remembers that tone and is still cowed by it.

  “Come.” She says walking away, a path opening for her and I follow. Scooping up my sheath as I go but keeping my blade naked.

  There is no way I’m enduring a tongue lashing alone.

  Chapter 16

  Carmella

  I am building an extra-dimensional room in one of the basements of my new manor. Or at least I’m helping Abbanat build one by anchoring his work in the room. Holding it still as he weaves the casting, and spells necessary to expend the room to accommodate enough space for a thousand people.

  My part in the process isn’t all that taxing but I know Abbanat is sweating profusely in concentration under his coat. He has only been a practitioner of dimensional magic for 70 years. Not long enough for it to come as second nature, but long enough that I trust it won’t collapse with me inside and suck me into a vortex.

  Many a fae has disappeared, leaving only traces of a collapsed dimension behind never to be seen or heard from again. So I ensured everyone of my people in the manor knows not to disturb Abbanat and I at this time. Nor let any other person disturb us unless death is eminent.

  Which is why I’m so surprised by the sudden appearance of Nadim on my basement staircase that I immediately effect a force field around Abbanat and myself. Standing and charging my horns as they begin to glow slightly and a scintillating appearance of power fills the basement foyer.

  Seeing my reaction Nadim bows low and signals through telepathy that all is well. I send my senses out to investigate and find nothing amiss. All the rooms within the manor are as they should be, all my servants and retainers are still decorating or going about their business.

  The manor grounds seem fine, the bees I’ve invited to live with me have selected a tree to build a colony in. The elder oak I personally planted and nourished with mana will Awaken in only a hundred years. The wards I have set against spirits, daemons, wraiths, unknown guests or illusion haven’t been triggered.

  The more my senses quest out and find nothing to justify the intrusions the more the atmosphere within the basement gets stifling for Nadim as my anger at his intrusion grows. But Nadim is almost 2000 years old and would not encroach on my hospitality without good cause.

  I look at him as he stands straight and faces me. He stands 1.9m tall, average height for a Sidhe. His skin tone is the same as the humans but his skin glitters from within in a beautiful imitation of star light. I know his naked body intimately as we had our little affair over 800 years ago.

  So I know his entire body glitters in accordance with the constellations of winter. His horns are white and thick, curving backwards from his forehead and twisting slightly in a spiral protecting his mind from ever being possessed and displaying his age for those with eyes to see. Also serving as an extra reserve for pure elemental ether.

  Horns may be shaped anyway a Sidhe or even some baseborn fae like. But the thickness or length cannot be fully controlled, resulting in them being good indicators of age or natural talent. But even as thick as his horns are, we both know they are hallow inside.

  While I like to disguise my power and age and have directed most of their growth internally when I couldn’t curtail it all together. He knows I could punish him for the next two decades for his current slight, he know how thickly dense my horns truly are though they may seem short. Which means though this issue he has brought may not be life threatening, its important.

  My power subsides, Abbanat none the wiser as he still concentrates on nothing but the dimension. Nadim nods and steps forward.

  “I have discovered something new.”

  “What is it?” I ask. For us to discovering new things is a novelty but it still doesn’t justify the potential calamity he could have caused.

  “A new type of magic.” He says sternly. Now he has my attention for it is known that there is no new magic to the fae, the oldest humanoid race on Gaia.

  “Tell me.”

  He nods seriously, “It seems the as yet theorized soul magic truly exists.”

  I digest that for a moment, Nadim waiting patiently before continuing.

  “I have just been to a healing session in which absolute restore could not rid the boy of the scares inflicted by a weapon forged using parts of the wielders soul. Even with everything we know of healing the boy is yet to wake.

  “The healers have no idea what is wrong with him. But I was personality at the meeting with the vampires as they discussed trading soul forged weapons for celestial ore.”

  I nod, taking it all in. This is a type of magic our people have been unable to acquire. A fickle magic we have been unsure of whether it can be wielded by humanoids. The few creatures known to wield it extremely dangerous as soul wounds take a very long time to recover from.

  Though, everyone that fully recovers always seems to be stronger for having survived. Theories of how soul magic could be used to strengthen fae that have plateaued in their power growth have never been fully tested. Theories that requirements for Ascension are based on the weight of a person’s soul more than on personal power.

  How else to explain how scholars, alchemists, philosophers, and craftsmen Ascend. Surely no-ones level of craftsmanship could be so inspired and profound that they qualify to Ascend to a higher level of reality by the mere weight of their skill. Their souls have to have enough depth as well.

  Or at least that’s the prevailing theory amongst scholars that have taken up the topic of Ascension amongst our people. Almost all the fae become scholars for at least a part of their lives. No one can live as long as we do without pursuing a topic of interest to immerse themselves in. Mine being Gaia the world itself, but I dabble in soul research.

  How to make permanent structures or how to claim a territory without staying on it a century or more. How her nature acknowledges claimants and the magic inherent in being accept by Gaia. The physical and spirit creatures that Gaia manifests to encourage balance and challenge the species on her. Her rate of growth and restoration of mined minerals, these questions I have been dedicated to answering but I could easily switch focus to my secondary interest.

  “I haven’t been paying attention to the humans these past few months. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.” I say taking a seat
on a sofa indicating for Nadim to do like wise.

  Chapter 17

  Celphata

  I was one of the first ten thousand spirits to cross to the mortal realm when the Progenitors had their little spat several thousand years ago. It was just after I had finished my mandatory stint as a mortal before being reincarnated with my memories of all my mortal lives in my true form.

  I had lived my first life as an orphan girl that was raped when I was 14 and again at 15. I slit my first throat at 18 and became a cutpurse, an occasional whore but mainly a knife for hire.

  I died before I reached the age of 24 years from a knife between the shoulder blades. I never saw who did it nor why.

  Then I lived as a boy who grew up with a father, two mother’s and six other siblings. We were poor but not destitute, our ways simple. We were tied to the land and occasionally nomadic.

  My village would just up and leave and that was that. I became a spear warrior and a hunter. A great honour among my people and my brother’s and I did our family proud during great bison hunts. Most bison herds in those days had large numbers of Awakened and were very dangerous.

  Our family became known and sought out for our expertise.

  The bison migrated during the great famine though and our villages had to move again. Along the way my two younger sistered died and father became ill. We had to settle where we were as the rest of the village left us behind to fend for ourselves. It was our way.

  By that point I had two wives of my own and sent them ahead with our children and the rest of the village. I died with a spear in hand defending mother from a saber tooth at the age of 31.

  I then lived as a girl in a matriarchal society where women were honoured and respected and revered. Where we learnt wisdom, compassion and how to take care of our men from a young age. At the age of 16 I got to chose two men that were to be my guards and husbands. Under my care and protection from spiritual, mental and attacks of the soul. They would be my guards against all physical threats.