by Mike Truk
Whatever Morgana was planning, it was going to have to be a whole different league of punishment if it was going to make a mark.
Resolved, I arose and waded back to the pool’s steps. Valeria was lying on Little Meow’s table, attended by both healers. Imogen and Brielle were facing each other intently at the room’s end with the look of gunslingers about to throw down.
“Ladies?” I picked up a towel and moved their way. “What’s going on?”
“Shush,” said Brielle.
Imogen licked her lower lip, eyes narrowed, then jerked her hand up to fling a levenbolt at Brielle, the attack no wider than a pencil. It flashed across the space between them.
Brielle cursed, flickers of crimson and yellow began to manifest around her, but not in time. The levenbolt played across her chest and shoulder, and she cried out in pain, the ward collapsing.
“Fuck!” Brielle shook her arm out, then took to rubbing it. “Damn you to the shadiest pit in Ghogiel!”
“Tough words,” said Imogen, smiling sweetly. “But you’re all bark and no bite, princess.”
“Yeah? Try this, then. My turn.”
“You guys think this the best way to, ah, train?” I asked.
Neither responded. Imogen bent her knees and raised her hand, narrowing her eyes once more behind her circular glasses.
Brielle inhaled deeply, and I saw her mouth the words to the Vam Mantra. Her energy grew more collected, more centered. Flicker-fast, she raised her hand and unleashed a gout of flame directly from her palm.
My eyes widened in shock as the fire streamlined, narrowing at its far tip into a tendril, the rushing whoof of it blasting hot air over me.
Imogen grimaced as blue light flickered up around her, forming an inchoate sphere, which held for several seconds before fragmenting. The shards flared white as they faded away, and Imogen’s flames licked over her black and white outfit.
“Ha!” shouted Brielle, then darted forward. “Imogen?”
I saw why she was concerned - Imogen’s French maid’s uniform had caught fire. She spent a moment smacking at the flames licking up her skirt, then realized her shoulder was aflame. With a cry, she ran and jumped into the pool, raising a large splash as her skirt ballooned out around her.
Brielle and I rushed to the pool’s edge as she came up spluttering, grasping at her glasses, which were about to fall off her pert nose.
“Are you all right?” asked Brielle, crouching down to extend her hand.
“Fine,” growled Imogen, accepting the help and rising out of the water. Her uniform hung limply from her svelte frame.
“You guys are crazy,” I said. “That’s no way to practice. You should -”
“My turn,” said Imogen, moving back to her original spot, streams of water running down from her soaked dress. She flipped her sodden braids behind her back and glared at Brielle.
“Fine with me,” said Brielle, returning to her spot as well.
“Nobody’s listening to me,” I said.
“Ready?”
“Aw,” said Brielle. “Don’t get mad because you tasted a little of my heat.”
The tiniest of lightning bolts flickered across Imogen’s glasses, causing their lenses to turn opaque.
“Brielle, watch out!” I shouted a moment before a lightning bolt leaped from Imogen’s gloved palm to arc toward the princess.
Brielle grimaced, crossed both forearms into an “X” before her, and summoned a scintillating sphere just in time. Its surface was deep crimson swirled through with an imperial yellow, as if a perfect ball of flame had manifested about her.
Imogen’s levenbolt played over the surface, not giving up, probing and leaping, shooting off side-tendrils like a plasma ball lamp.
I could just make out Brielle’s expression within - the ferocity of her focus, the effort it was taking her to keep the ward up. Then I saw her grin, uncross one arm, and point her palm at Imogen.
“Head’s up!” she cried out, and fire roared forth, hosing out as if from a literal flame thrower. It plunged through Imogen’s levenbolt, spraying forth with a roar of its own to engulf Imogen.
Imogen cried out in frustration and uppercut the air with a clenched fist, summoning her ward just in time; the ball of intense blue coalesced a split second before the flames hit her. The fire wrapped around the front half of her ward, bathing it in an unending deluge of fiery hell.
“Enough!” I shouted, feeling panicked, too easily envisioning both women being electrocuted and burned to death. “Stop!”
Imogen held her clenched fist upright as if drawing back on a mass of reins, keeping a carriage’s team of horses in line. She strode forward, other hand extended, levenbolt still flittering and leaping around Brielle’s ward.
Brielle began to advance as well, shoulders hunched, hair falling before her face, eyes lighting up with a fiery brilliance I’d never seen before. The intensity of her attack grew, the pressure the flames exerted on the ward rising and rising.
“What are they doing?” I heard Valeria shout, and saw her on the pool’s far edge. “Noah, stop them!”
“I can’t!” Should I side-swipe them with enough power to knock them both off their balance? But if I only distracted one, that would prove fatal.
Both women were pushing toward each other, wards shimmering and deforming before the attacks, but somehow holding in place.
“Give it up!” shouted Brielle, her voice nearly lost over the roar of her continuing flames.
“Don’t make me laugh!” Imogen shouted right back.
The air tasted like cinders and ozone. The hairs along the backs of my arms and the nape of my neck were prickling. I had to narrow my eyes against the continued brilliance of the lightning bolt and the stream of flame. I could barely make out the twin wards as both women struggled toward each other, fighting for each step as if wading through a raging river.
Then I heard Brielle laugh, a mad, exhilarated sound, pure delight and surprise. The strength of her flames doubled, growing in such volume that the excess blew right past the sides of Imogen’s ward and streamed a dozen yards to hit the rear wall.
Imogen screamed in something akin to fury or defiance. A dozen levenbolts surged forth to join the first, leaping outward to dive down like knives at Brielle’s ward, stabbing repeatedly.
They were so close now their wards were almost touching, a couple of feet apart, then only a foot between the blue and crimson. The wards were so deformed now by the intensity of the attacks that I didn’t see how they could hold.
Six inches.
Both women were shouting, screaming with the sheer intensity of their focus, leaning forward as if into hurricane-force winds. Imogen’s braids whipped about her like twin snakes; Brielle’s hair was a wicked mane that seemed to have a life of its own.
One inch.
The wards touched.
The women slowed, then stopped, as if they each had a shoulder to a vehicle stuck in deep mud, ground to a halt.
Then, their screams rising to a crescendo, they crouched, flexed, and forced their way closer. Flames boiled off Imogen’s ward to scorch the ceiling and blacken the walls and floor. A dozen levenbolts scored deep grooves in Brielle’s ward.
Closer. One step. A second.
And then, simultaneously, both wards collapsed, both attacks died, and Brielle and Imogen staggered forth into each other’s arms. Laughing helplessly, they collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the ground, chests heaving, their whole bodies shaking from the effort.
The last curlicue of flame died away, and I was left to gape, my vision crisscrossed by the searing after-images of dozens of levenbolts and fireballs.
“You’re both mad,” I said, undone by wonder and shock.
Brielle and Imogen were still gasping for breath and trying to laugh at once.
“That was better than sex,” said Brielle weakly, staring straight up at the ceiling, then frowning. “Most sex.”
Imogen cracked up, covered her face with bot
h hands. She turned onto her side to try rising, and failed. “What the… where did… all that power…?”
Brielle straightened out, staring up still at the ceiling, her face covered in a mess of her hair. Eyes wide, she shook her head slowly from side to side. “I’ve no idea. But it felt so good. I’ve never been able to channel without my sword. Never. What was that?”
“And you guys held both your wards,” I said, moving closer. “Despite the insanely dangerous way you guys were attacking each other.”
“I never doubted,” said Imogen, rising to sit at last, steam emanating from her sodden outfit. “Never felt a moment’s doubt that I could hold the ward. It was like something clicked, a tap was turned, and I could just flood my ward with as much power as I needed…”
“Same,” said Brielle, turning to look at her. “It was something in how you were challenging me, provoking me, but I still felt safe, as if I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me, couldn’t hurt me…”
“Yeah,” agreed Imogen pensively. “And it was so exhilarating.” She turned suddenly to me. “Noah, you have to try it.”
I raised both hands. “No thanks.”
“No,” said Brielle, deadly earnest and sitting up. “You have to try it. It makes sense!” She looked at Imogen. “You see it? Practicing a ward without being attacked is like…” She paused, casting around for a metaphor. “Like trying to have sex without being penetrated.”
“Yes,” said Imogen, then waved her hand irritably. “I mean, to the concept, not the metaphor. Because if you’re being attacked by someone you love -”
“Oh, stop,” said Brielle.
Imogen scowled at her. “If you’re being attacked by someone you love, then your ward is… in a weird way… bolstered by their love, or your knowledge of their love. Your sense of self-worth is increased by the bond between the two of you, the safety you feel, which allows you to amplify your ward endlessly. Yes! Noah! Your turn.”
“You’re going to blast me with your levenbolts and you’re asking me to stand still?”
“No,” said Imogen, climbing to her feet. “I’m going to blast you with my levenbolts and you’re going to raise your ward to match it. Now, go stand where Brielle was.”
“Now?” I looked to Valeria for help. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.” She adjusted her glasses, smoothed down her sodden dress, then moved to where she’d stood before. “Now.”
“Fuck.” I dragged myself to where Imogen had positioned herself before. “Fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuck.”
“A model student,” said Brielle, moving to sit by the pool’s edge and wrapping her arms around her knees.
“You guys sure this is… safe?” asked Emma from the far side of the room.
“Yeah,” said Brielle nonchalantly. “Maybe? Probably.”
I took a deep breath. Imogen was staring at me with absolute focus. Her very conviction helped steady my nerves. “So I raise my ward first?”
“Wait for it.” She tugged at the hems of each glove, rolled out her shoulders, bent her knees slightly, and ground the ball of her forward foot into the floor, as if seeking just the right purchase. “I’ll flick a bolt at you. Nothing serious. Get your ward up the moment you see it coming.”
“It’s lightning,” I said. “It comes at me at the speed of light. I can’t see it coming.”
“Yes, you can. Not stop whining. It’s very unattractive.”
I sighed, sinking into my own battle stance. “I’m going to die for the sake of being hot.”
“Get ready,” said Imogen.
Vam Mantra time? Vam Mantra time.
All creation in a drop of water, I thought, and the acidic tension in my gut lessened, the panicky feeling that had me wanting to breath faster subsiding. All creation before me.
Distractions faded away. There was only Imogen, her posture, the tension running through her frame, the energy gathering in her palm.
I sank into silence, into a pool of calm certainty. I could do this. I could anticipate her attack. I’d once dueled Neveah with the Vam and impressed her.
First Prism, too. Brielle and Imogen had gone the distance, charging their attacks and wards with ever more power. I could use a little refinement. Deep in my reservoir, I began to cycle my power into Muladhara, continuously refining it, purifying it, intensifying its potency.
I could do this.
I could do this.
I watched Imogen inhale, how her chin dipped just a fraction.
Priyam Mantra. I layered it over the First Prism, dropping it into the calm ocean that was the Vam.
Om nashta vahkaya prim; om nashta vahkaya priyam;
I walk in the fires of existence; I walk in the fires of destruction.
I siphoned just enough of the hyper-purified magic that was coming forth from Muladhara and the First Prism into a tapered readiness, the magic ready to be harnessed, hovering between simply floating within my reservoir and being unleashed in the form of my ward.
Flickers of brilliance manifested in Imogen’s palm.
There was no time for thought. I manifested my ward, pushing forth my sense of self-love, my right to be protected, defended from the attacks of the world.
But this wasn’t any attack.
This was coming from Imogen.
A flash of memory - Imogen and I declaring our eternal love for each other in that basement under Tagimron after defeating the Death’s Head inspector. The moment that had set the golden cord between us within my reservoir onto a fire that would never die out. The universe blowing out around us, revolving around our love, the falling of walls, the undying bonding of two poor souls in this vast and cruel world.
Imogen was attacking me, but I had nothing to fear. She couldn’t hurt me, would never harm me.
In the weirdest, most perverse way possible, she unleashed her love upon me - testing me, raising me, refining me for my own betterment.
My sense of being loved swelled, doubled, and became tangible, bursting forth from within me into the form of a platinum gold sphere just as a levenbolt exploded forth from her palm. It arched across the air, prickling over my sphere.
Imogen grinned, eyes alight with approval and love.
I laughed. “You girls might have been onto something.”
“We’re not done yet,” said Imogen, raising her other palm.
“Hold up,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, and a second levenbolt leaped forth to join the first, trailing sparks as it worked its way over my ward.
I felt the pressure, the onslaught of her magic pressing on my own, felt the desire to take a step back, to retreat before it.
Instead, I inhaled deeply, embraced the Vam, and poured more of my Priyam Mantra power into the ward, bolstering it.
Levenbolts played over my ward, crackling and probing, but instead of warping my ward, it expanded, swelling out a yard, gleaming with impossible beauty.
“That all you got?” asked Brielle, grinning with predatory amusement. “You all tapped out, Imogen?”
“Just getting started.” Imogen shook out her shoulders, deepened her stance, then let it rip.
Her twin levenbolts merged, grew, and became the tree trunk of blinding white light I’d seen her use in times of crisis.
It was like being hit by a battering ram; something a dozen yards long, a yard thick, and topped with a huge iron visage of a snarling wolf. Her levenbolt slammed into my ward and drove me back, my feet sliding across the marble, failing to find traction. I grimaced and leaned into the blow and the flow of her magic, and all I could think was, Good god, she uses this on our foes? How the fuck do they ever get back up?
There was no end to her attack. It just kept coming, overwhelming, and I saw my ward begin to fracture. Thin, hairline cracks leaped across its surface, the area before me blanked out by the sheer brilliance of the lightning, so I had to narrow my eyes and look away, or be blinded.
I stumbled, leaned into the attack further, and fou
nd my footing. The moment I did, the pressure intensified, nearly blowing me right off my feet. But I grimaced, dug deep, and dropped the Priyam altogether. There was no time for reserve, for carefully calibrated usage.
The moment the Priyam fell away, I felt my ultra-refined magic came flooding forth, a torrent from my sanctum. My ward sealed over and grew hermetically closed, the glow of its golden surface matching that of the levenbolt.
And damn me, if they hadn’t been right - this was fucking exhilarating. The roar of magic flooding out from my core was stupendous, and I felt like a flag in a hurricane, about to be torn free of all creation by the power coursing through me.
I straightened. Pushing my shoulders back, I took a step forward.
The levenbolts split into a dozen, then two dozen attacks, each as thick as my wrist, each leaping and gouging at my ward. I laughed, felt the golden filament within my core resonate like a plucked violin string, and took another step forward.
“Push him, Imogen!” I heard Brielle say.
“I am!”
“Then move over. I’ll help.”
I could barely see them over the brightness of the levenbolts, but a moment later, the air exploded fiery red as Brielle unleashed her own attack upon my ward.
It buckled. I was slammed down to one knee, feeling as if I couldn’t breathe. The pressure was enormous, bottom of the Marianna Trench enormous. I couldn’t think, and felt the Vam begin to fracture, knowing that if I lost it, I was done for.
But no.
This was Brielle attacking me.
A thousand memories flickered through my mind. Her love, her ardor, her peerless, ferocious dedication to my cause, to myself.
Brielle. My love.
My ward settled, filling back out into a perfect sphere. With sweat coursing down the sides of my face, I rose back to my feet.
“Fuck!” I heard Brielle shout. “How is he doing this?”
I couldn’t help it - I grinned, and on impulse opened my arms wide as if to embrace their attacks. In opening myself to them, my ward grew even stronger. Something there. An acceptance that led to strength. I thought of them both - my love for them, the moments we’d shared together, the countless times we’d saved each other's lives, and the amount of magic I needed to hold up my ward grew less.