by Jeff Gunzel
The crowd here was mostly children cheering and clapping every time the golden knight pressed the attack, while booing loudly with their thumbs down each time the dark knight did. Eric only watched for a minute, admiring the dance for what it was, but he had to keep moving on to the next area. He had made a promise to a friend, which he intended to keep.
It was hard to approach the roped-off circle. The crowd here was densely packed in, waving their arms and cheering. When Lord Pike stepped into the homemade ring, which was nothing more than a series of posts dug into the ground with two ropes that attached them all, wild clapping and whistling followed. He waited a moment to let the crowd settle. When it appeared they were not going to calm down any time soon, he gestured with his hands, palms facing down to try to quiet what was increasingly becoming a mob. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a booming voice to try to overpower the many that were still hooting and whistling, “we now present our annual quarterstaff competition.”
The now re-energized crowd boomed with applause and shouting.
Lord Pike tried his best to talk over them. “We have a special challenge lined up this year, unlike any show we have ever done.”
That did the trick. After the collective shocked sound of air being taken in by everyone at once, it seemed as if you could hear a pin drop.
“In this corner I present the challengers, Amos, Brant and Cory Brendon—the Brendon brothers.”
Confused clapping began slowly as three enormous young boys stepped under the ropes. All three were blond and muscular, with very similar faces. It was clear they were brothers, possibly triplets. Each held a staff of his own. To make matters even more confusing, they were each shirtless and wearing the exact same loose brown pants, making them look identical.
Lord Pike continued, “In this corner I present the defending champion, who has agreed to fight all three challengers at once. I present the champion...Jacob Couture.”
What? Eric thought. Is he crazy? The collective gasp from the crowd echoed his thoughts.
Just then, Jacob climbed under the other side of the rope with his staff in hand. Arrogantly, he leaned on the rope with one elbow as he began whispering in the ear of a young girl just outside of the makeshift ring. Then, after giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, which made the poor girl turn ten shades of red, he slowly stepped to the center of the ring with his staff held loosely over one shoulder. He then looked each opponent directly in the eye one at a time, holding each gaze for several seconds, bringing a collective gasp from the crowd. Finally, he slowly drifted back to his corner, twirling his staff above his head with skill and grace.
Lord Pike shuffled back to the center of the ring wearing a sheepish grin. “The rules are the same as every year. Three knockdowns or a knockout wins the match. Wait for the bell, boys, and let me get out of the way.”
A little chuckle rippled through the crowd as the lord hurried out of the roped-off area. The bell rang with a single hollow clang.
Jacob charged to the center of the ring before coming to a dead stop. He then dropped down to one knee, keeping his staff pointed right at the brothers. He resembled a coiled snake waiting to strike.
The three opponents looked a bit confused. They had been warned of Jacob’s skill, but his aggression made no sense. He had taken the center of the ring before any of them had even moved, even though he was outnumbered. However, he looked defensive now in that low stance, waiting for one of them to make a move.
The brother in the middle did, but regretted it almost immediately. Charging forward with his staff held high, he brought it down hard at Jacob’s head. Jacob simply caught the blow using the middle of his staff, then immediately struck the head of his large but slow pursuer with the right, then with the left side of his staff.
The big man staggered back a step, just in time to take blows to his left knee, his right knee, then an upward slash to his lower jaw, all in a fraction of a second. The challenger was unconscious before he ever hit the ground. The other two, realizing how desperate the situation had just become, jumped over their fallen brother and rushed Jacob from both sides. He recognized the flanking tactic and quickly put his back to the ropes to keep his assailants at least mostly in front of him. He found out quickly that the girls behind him were no less aggressive as they groped and pinched away, but he needed to hold this position.
The two brothers were not without skill, attacking at high then low intervals to try to break through his guard, but Jacob blocked every blow with ease, whirling his staff back and forth, high and low, solidly parrying every blow. Suddenly, he lunged forward, using his staff to pole vault, splitting the two as he soared through the air.
Jacob kicked the one on the right squarely in the nose as he his flight reached its zenith. The roar of the crowd was deafening now as Jacob turned on the other opponent, unleashing a furious barrage of twirling attacks both high and low, each landing so squarely that the man just dropped to the ground, curling up into a defensive ball and covering his head and the back of his neck with his hands. None of the blows were delivered with devastating power, but the speed and accuracy were so ferocious that the attacker felt completely overwhelmed.
The successful assault happened so fast that the last brother, who had now recovered from the kick to the nose, had no time to react. Jacob whirled around and pointed his staff at the last threat, who gripped his own weapon close to his body in a purely defensive fashion as he backed away slowly.
Jacob waved his free hand in an upward motion as he began to play the crowd. The mob cheered wildly as he arrogantly egged them on.
The final competitor just threw his staff on the ground and scrambled away under the ropes. As the mob cheered, Jacob did a slow victory lap around the ring, twirling his staff in the air. He loved the attention, and was not going to give this up easy.
Eric watched in amazement with a huge smile on his face.
Jacob was able to see his friend through the boisterous crowd, and flashed him a quick wink followed by and ear-to-ear grin. He had certainly made his point this day.
* * *
Later in the evening, the streets began to thin out a bit. Many of the folk who were just visitors tonight had eaten their fill and watched a competition they would all be talking about for years to come. Now it was time to go.
Mothers carrying sleeping children worn out from a full day of celebration loaded their precious bundles into their wagons. Husbands with their arms around their wives headed back to the harsh life they were able to forget about for one day. But for many, the night was not yet over. A final dance had been arranged more for the locals, but anyone who felt like dancing was invited.
There were a series of poles set up in the middle of the main street. They had been there the whole day, but now their true intent was revealed as colorful streamers were now being attached to the tops of each one. The reds, yellows and blues matched well with the streamers that were already hanging throughout the town, as well as the street lanterns whose shades had been tinted all different colors just for tonight. Musicians lined the streets and began playing a lively tune. The sounds of crumhorns, lutes and drums filled the air while the gentle breeze seemed to make the streamers dance on their own.
Eric and Jacob were the first two to each grab a streamer. That was initiative enough for all, because many immediately followed their lead. Once a hand had graced every ribbon, the whirling dance began. Blue over yellow, red over blue, girl over boy, boy over girl. The girls pranced in one direction while the boys skipped in the other. Over then under then over again, the streamers wove a beautiful striped pattern down the poles as the circle began to tighten. Closer and closer everyone got to each other, laughing as they all became embraced in a big hug, then reversed direction and did the same dance to unwind the poles once again. On and on it went as the celebration wound down.
The musicians were still playing softly late into the evening as couples danced slowly together in the streets, alone in their own p
rivate world and lost in each other’s eyes.
Eric and Jacob sat on a bench in silence, both feeling very peaceful and just taking in the atmosphere.
Then, suddenly, Jacob elbowed Eric in the ribs several times. “It looks like you have an admirer,” he said in a playful whisper.
Eric looked up and saw the girl he was referring to across the street. A long black robe with the hood pulled back revealed a very pretty face with long blonde hair and green eyes. Her full lips were a deep blood red, which was a stark contrast to her fair skin. She was staring a hole right through Eric as she smiled.
“Go,” Jacob said, trying to push him right off the bench.
“Oh, uh...yeah...sure,” he stammered as he awkwardly stood up. Eric tugged at his shirt nervously as he slowly crossed the street with his head down. As he got closer to her, he realized she had not taken her eyes off him once. “Uh...hi, uh,” he mumbled as he ground one foot repeatedly into the street, as if killing a bug, while his hands remained clasped behind his back.
“Hello, Eric Aethello,” she said with a huge grin as she tilted her head so far to the side it almost touched her shoulder.
“Uh...how did you—” Eric stuttered as his eyes bulged.
“All the girls know who the blacksmith of Bryer is,” she said as she rocked her whole body back and forth, pointing one shoulder forward, then the other, then back again in a playful nervous dance. Then she stood on the tips of her toes as she put her face close to his. “My name’s Aena. Will you dance with me?” she whispered in his ear.
The two of them stared at each other unblinking without saying a word for what seemed like minutes, then they walked out into the street and began to dance slowly. They held each other close and talked well into the morning hours. Of course, the musicians had left hours earlier, but that did not stop them from dancing. They were the last two off the street in the morning when she returned with Eric back to his home.
Chapter 5
Dragot walked across the smooth jet-black marble that covered every inch of his personalized tower of horrors. His walk was even slower than usual as he passed the flickering torches on the walls, which were replaced daily by the briggits.
The small creatures darted back and forth as they engaged in menial tasks. However, not even the slightest footsteps could ever be heard, as if they just floated along without ever touching the floor. It seemed no stranger than their faces were never seen under those brown hoods.
Dragot’s thoughts drifted as he gracefully stepped down the spiraling staircase. His large, yellow, catlike eyes darted about as his mind raced. His slow movements would seem to disagree with the speed of his thoughts as he continued to put one foot in front of the other, as if each subtle movement deserved to be rewarded with a brief rest.
He continued to contemplate how much he hated humans. Their smell, the way they walked, talked, breathed...loved! Their very existence was insulting, and he planned to do something about that. The irony was not lost on him, however. He was fully aware that he was half human—the half that he loathed. He embraced every part of his very being that was his demon half, the durable half that had allowed him nearly eternal life; the half that didn’t have the weaknesses of love or compassion, that did not serve as a roadblock to the real joys of existence: power, dominance, and complete and total control. Not the power you achieved because you climbed some sort of invisible moral ladder, thus earning the respect and confidence of your peers, people who in turn would follow you because they believed you were a natural commander. Oh, no...power was there to be taken. Leaders were not made...they were born.
He marched all the way down the steps to the lower level of the tower, through a large metal door and then yet another made of thick oak, until he found what he was seeking. Entering the enormous room, moans and groaning could be heard echoing off the stone walls.
The room was the shape of a giant cylinder, with prison-like cages all along the circumference embedded into the stone, each containing thin, naked humans ambling around mindlessly. Looking up, using the light of the many lit torches spaced around the room’s walls, one could see that there were many floors to this circular room. Each floor contained at least twenty cells, and it continued upward as far as the eye can see.
The room completely defied physics, given the limited size of the tower, but this was no ordinary tower. Dragot’s plans had been centuries in the making, and the mysterious tower had been designed with the capability to aid in those plans. The human he had killed earlier was a fresh capture, brought to the tower mere months earlier by one of his many spies placed around Tarmerria. Those were his favorites to play with. They were cultured and actually believed their existence had meaning. They would beg for their lives. Some would even offer bribes in the heat of the moment, trying to extend their lives by mere minutes, even offering family members as compensation the more desperate they became. The very idea that a human could offer him something he didn’t already have or couldn’t easily get amused him, but that’s why they were his favorites. They had survival instincts and would cling to any hope, no matter how implausible, right up until the end. Their deaths were far more entertaining than those of the domesticated cattle walled up in these cages.
For years, human specimens had been brought back to the black crystal tower for experimentation. These were used to find out just what mental and physical limits were wired into the inferior beings. It turned out the flesh bags were more resilient than Dragot had first thought. Their minds were strong and determined as long as they had some form of hope. This was key. Give one of these lesser beings a reason to live, no matter how trivial that reason was, and they would continue to amaze with their survival spirit.
One experiment he used often was to chain one hand and one foot to a stone wall. He would then give them a dull blade and make his usual deal: “Cut yourself free before I count to ten and you may leave. If I reach ten and you are not free, I will kill you here and now.” The second part of the promise was all too real.
Of course, Dragot would never actually free one of the maggots. This was the equivalent of making a deal with a bug crawling on a tree. But that was never the point. The experiments were to see their psychological limits. Of course they were never able to cut off both limbs in time, and some part of them must have known he would not let them go even if they did. But this is what made the results so fascinating. They always tried...always! Without fail. They cut away as fast as they could, screaming through the pain but never stopping. The key was to make them feel as though they had a chance.
Dragot had to admit, the results were unbelievable. Even more astounding were their physical limits. Of course these experiments were brutal, but they were necessary in order to understand his enemy. It turned out humans did not need anywhere near the total amount of nutrition to survive as he was led to believe. The scouting reports had their gluttonous eating habits as being much higher that what was actually required. One could go days without water and weeks without food, although these numbers were greatly accelerated as conditions became more extreme.
Yet, pure physical punishment was the most primal of all the experiments used to determine the limits of their bodies. These results were...fascinating. If puncture wounds were placed throughout the body but vital organs were avoided, the subject could still live for many days as long as they were not allowed to bleed to death.
Dragot learned that human bodies could take incredible amounts of punishment as long as those few vital areas were avoided. They would eventually die of shock, but that took days. These experiments had been conducted years and years ago, and on the rare occasion he dabbled in the science now, it was purely for entertainment. The knowledge had already been documented, hence it was decided they would make excellent soldiers—once all the free will had been extracted from them, of course. That was the real reason for the domestic stock now kept in the cells. They were fed every day and kept in relatively good health, all things considered.
&n
bsp; These tame humans were several generations removed from the originals captured hundreds of years earlier. Like any farm animal, they were bred and born into a world of complete domestication. Women were kept in a breeding room, where their only job was quite simple. The majority of the men stayed in the cells. The important thing was they had very little spirit left. This was key if they were to be useful.
As Dragot continued through the dark room, thin arms reached out to him as he passed by the ground-level cells. The sickly sweet smell of unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air. As the moaning continued, he could not help but think about how different these humans were to any involved in a real society. They were so simple and primal. Not even the use of language or any real forms of communication were used, even though they were the exact same race. This was an unintended outcome to an experiment that was nothing more than an accident. If you take an animal away from its habitat at birth and raise the beast with no outside influence, it still retains at least some of the animal instincts it was born with. A tiger is still a tiger, and could never be fully trusted not to hurt anyone, but it seems human instincts are nonexistent. They are completely shaped by their environment. That is, they react and adapt to the only reality they know. The perfect pets!
Dragot laughed to himself as he continued on to the huge wooden door on the other side of the chamber. No one was ever allowed to enter here. If a briggit were ever caught even looking into this room, his suffering would be unimaginable.
This chamber remained sacred, and was for Dragot’s eyes only. The room was in the shape of an octagon. The flat sides of the wall retained that shape until they reached the ceiling, which curled up into a dome. The center of the dome had a large green sphere hanging on a thick golden line. The floor was consistent to the rest of the tower, with shiny black marble that always appeared as though it had just been polished. There were lines of gold trim starting at each corner of the octagon that followed up the sides of the walls and met at the green sphere. The walls themselves were deep red. Dark blood appeared to be running down the sides of the walls constantly in a never-ending supply. A dim, distant light appeared to be moving around behind the walls, making one side appear almost black and the other a light red. Then the mysterious light would move behind the other wall and give the reverse effect, as if the room appeared to be living.