Nightblade

by Jason Howard

  After a long day of physical training, they came home and Elias made them study books about magic. He especially wanted them to be able to defend themselves against magical attacks using Willpower.

  “Why do we call it channeling?” Zac asked during one of their study sessions.

  They were sitting under a willow tree, sunlight streaming through the dangling limbs, lush grass under them as they sat in the lotus position.

  Elias replied, “Because when you use magic you become a conduit for the energy that already exists in the universe. You tap into the flow of certain elements. For example, with power magic, the only one I can use, I can feel the power of a nearby flame, and I can tap into that power, magnify it and turn the flame into a fireball. If there is no flame, I can take the heat from the sun and channel that into a fireball as well. Even the moonlight works, although it won’t be as strong. That’s how all magic works. We are not actually casting the spell, we are tapping into powers far greater than ourselves.”

  “You’re a lot smarter than you look,” Zac said.

  Elias cuffed him for the backhanded compliment, but he was smiling.

  After studying, Elias would make them spend hours meditating, then test their abilities on with tasks like trying to get a cup to float, or trying to resist a minor wind spell he channeled at them. Zac was especially frustrated with this part of the training. Artem seemed to have a talent for channeling magic on himself, although he showed only minor ability for channeling at objects or other people. Zac showed no Genuity for magic at all. Elias informed him that most of Ascadell’s population couldn’t channel magic, and that it wasn’t something to worry about, he could overcome it with his martial skills and Willpower.

  As Artem improved a little each day at certain spells, Zac tried fruitlessly to do simple things. Elias told Zac that it wasn’t a waste, at least he would be certain if he had any Genuity after the training—but that wasn’t very comforting as he sat cross-legged and a mug stared back at him for hours, not even budging.

  Zac’s anger grew every day, but Elias told him to calm down and clear his head. Eventually, Elias tried to comfort Zac by saying that even the majority of people that could do magic would never be very good at it, it was extremely hard work to train and maintain channeling skill and power.

  “You have an incredible talent for fighting. From now on we’ll focus on that. That and developing your Willpower by through meditation and some mental exercises I’ll develop for you.”

  Zac nodded, glad that he wouldn’t have to stare at any more mugs. “Why are we learning about magic anyway? We can’t use it in the tournament.”

  “That’s true. But I want you both to know everything there is to know about combat. A warrior should be well rounded. Even the skills you don’t use directly will help you understand who you are as a fighter. You need to discover your style, not just learn a bunch of skills. And you never know what lies ahead, you may find yourself fighting someone that can channel powerful magic one day. You’ll be ready.”

  So the days passed. Every morning the crisp air and the mountain trail greeted them. After the run they trained, their bodies screaming in pain for hours. Every evening they spent quiet hours in concentration, stretching and meditating. Every night Artem and Zac talked in their bunks, sore, but relaxed and happy.

  Somehow Zac knew he should savor this simple time. Maybe it was some glint of premonition he’d felt while meditating. Or maybe it was simply that he was wise to the fickle way of the world, having gone through the horrors of slavery after being plucked from his home country. Either way, he knew that he should feel and see everything as clearly as he could and treasure every moment.

  Usually he slept well, and woke up feeling refreshed. But sometimes he would fall asleep thinking of the Elias’s friend, Tristan, and how he had come into the bar with those purple-glazed eyes. Those eyes, sunken into that scared face. Those eyes stared at Zac in his dreams like they were trying to tell him something.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cream crusts

  A Sal Zeronian delicacy of cinnamon powdered pie crust wrapped around a pocket of delicious vanilla cream.

  Three days before First Blood, Elias told them that their training was over. He said the best thing they could do now was to rest and gently practice their techniques. He also said they should find something relaxing to do in the city.

  Artem, Zac, and Althos went out, first buying a few steaming pieces of rotisseried lamb meat, which they devoured as they walked. They were walking through Sal Zerone’s bustling Center Square which had been the starting point for the First Blood trials. All around the square, horse drawn carriages clatted across cobblestones, but the square itself was peaceful. They saw a troupe of acrobats and dancers performing. One did a triple backflip over seven of his stooped friends. He landed gracefully and bowed to the crowd. Zac threw a few coins into the acrobat’s bucket as he hollered his approval. The acrobat thanked him.

  After the acrobats dispersed, Zac and Artem saw a vendor walking along with cream crusts.

  “I’m still a little hungry,” Zac said.

  ‘Get some more then!’ Althos replied, hoping Zac would give him a few more bites.

  Artem laughed and said, “You’re always hungry, my friend.”

  “Well, I ate gruel and rice all my life, what do you expect? I’m making up for it now.”

  “You’re going to make up for it until your heart gives in.”

  “Not the worst way to go if you ask me. You want one?”

  ‘I’ll take one,’ Althos thought to him.

  “You already had three!” Zac protested without looking down. “Go catch a deer or something.”

  Artem shook his head. Zac read something on his face and said, “What’s wrong?”

  Artem shrugged and said, “I don’t want you to spend any more coin on me.”

  “It’s no problem. Don’t forget, I stole all my money from that bilcher, Apollo.”

  “Yes, but how will I pay you back for—”

  “I’ve got you.”

  Zac returned with the cream crusts for both of them, and they found a bench.

  “Don’t worry about money, we’re going to destroy this tournament, and then we’ll be rolling in it,” Zac said between bites. “I’ll cover you till then.”

  Artem protested, but again, Zac told him to knock it off. He put a hand on his shoulder and added, “Before I make you.”

  “Our sparring sessions would deem that impossible,” Artem retorted.

  “That’s sparring. I fight different when it’s real. Trickery and cheap shots.”

  Artem said, “Fine, you may have this one. I do not want to embarrass you in front of all these people.”

  Zac laughed derisively, partially muffled by his mouthful of food. He sobered a moment later, and asked, “What are those kids saying?”

  There were a half a dozen kids, and they were dancing in a little line in front of a doll. They had been doing a handshake game just moments before. They were maybe eight or nine years old. They said, in their shrill and energetic little voices:

  Purple seep, purple sight

  Sleep happy

  Sleep light

  But close your eyes tight

  You don’t

  He might

  Take all of your sight

  You’ll scream

  You’ll fight

  But sleep three nights

  You’ll have

  His blight

  A slave of the night

  He wins

  Despite

  Your gods and your might

  Purple seep, purple sight

  Sleep happy

  Sleep light

  But close your eyes tight

  Zac said to Artem, “Are they singing about the—”

  “Yes,” said an old woman who had quietly sat at the bench next to theirs.

  He turned in surprise. He recognized the old woman as the mother of the little blonde haired
boy in the group of children. The woman had the same vivid green eyes, although the rest of her features were haggard and strained.

  She said, “They’re singing about Soulbane.”

  “Don’t you think . . . they should be singing about happier stuff,” Zac said, unable shake his uneasiness at watching the kids giggle and sing happily about death and Soulbane.

  She shrugged. “Children . . . that’s how they deal with it. They don’t understand the nature of their emotions, it’s all blurred—fear is happiness, happiness is sadness . . . my son, you see him there? He lost his father and his little sister to Soulbane. She was only a year old.”

  “It can infect kids that young?”

  The old lady nodded. “I can tell you’re not from here. And I can tell that you don’t really understand how widespread Soulbane is. It’s a lot worse than the king or anyone else let’s on. Business as usual in the city. People still go to work. People still go to the bars. We still smile, and talk, and do our daily errands . . . but we all think about it. If Lanthos doesn’t stop it soon, we’ll all be mindless, soulless . . .”

  She trailed off.

  Zac felt like she’d slipped cold ice down his spine. He said, “The little one . . . where did she go?”

  “The king’s men took her.”

  “What?”

  “They said they would try to cure her. I think they wanted to try some experiments on her. It didn’t work—they gave her back to us. They said that Roen is to blame. But that’s . . .”

  “What?” Zac asked, avoiding the question that blared in his mind. If they gave the girl back to you . . . and she’s still infected . . . you must have a little, purple eyed child locked up in your home. How can you stand it? Or did you end her misery. Oh, Father and Mother God help you.

  She looked up at him and her perceptive eyes seemed to read his thoughts. He felt guilty and tried to hide his pity for her.

  “Bareloth is the real enemy. He’s the puppetmaster. And if the stories aren’t exaggerated, then he’s godlike.”

  “It’s a fable—of course it’s exaggerated, if it’s even true,” Zac said.

  She didn’t smile or blink. “He’s real.”

  “How do you know?” Zac didn’t say the rest of what he was thinking, because he didn’t want to offend her—Bareloth is from an ancient fairy tale, he can’t be real. It’s more likely that Roen is using him to sow fear and confusion about what’s going on.

  The old lady was silent, watching her young son sing, “Sleep happy, sleep light . . .”

  Then she said, “You know what my daughter’s first word was?”

  “Uhh . . .” Zac hesitated, startled by the strange question.

  “Bareloth.”

  His eyebrows raised a little and his lips tightened. He felt so sorry for her. Every wrinkle in her face was dug in by the stress she was under, and her pallid skin was drained of life. He couldn’t imagine the weight that had crushed her every time she had looked into the purpled eyes of her daughter. Unless she had ended her daughter’s life, and then she would only see those purpled eyes in her dreams . . .

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, feeling that the words were inadequate.

  The old lady gave him a tiny, forlorn smile. “It’s not your fault. You two are warriors aren’t you? My husband was one too, I can tell by the way you . . . I can tell. Fight hard for us, okay?”

  Zac nodded and said, with a note of pride, “We’re actually entering First Blood.”

  He suddenly felt embarrassed. He was proudly announcing that he was entering a fighter’s tournament to a lady that had recently lost two members of her family to Soulbane.

  She nodded and said, “First Blood. My boy will see you there, he’s going with his uncle.”

  Zac was surprised, and she saw this. “First Blood is a good distraction from everything. It’s exactly what we need—and Lanthos knows that. That’s why he didn’t cancel it when he got the reports of the many losses from Soulbane. Lanthos is a good king, although he’s powerless to stop what is coming.”

  “What’s coming?” Zac asked.

  She gestured around at the park, at the people walking, enjoying the fresh air. “Everything will fall apart soon.”

  She said it matter-of-factly. He wanted to disagree, but then wondered, as he looked at the bustling city folk, how many were thinking about Soulbane. How many were burying that worry below a façade of normalcy? Zac looked back at the old lady, whose face had hardened into a statuesque mask, all emotion gone. The lady nodded to him, offered him a small, practiced smile, stood, and called out the name of her son. He separated himself from the playing children. She took his small hand in hers, and they walked away.

  Suddenly, the cream crusts, the sunlight, and the beautiful park—it all seemed cold. Fragile. Fake.

  “Let’s . . . head out of the city and practice some drills,” Zac finally said. He wanted to be away from the city, away from all these people, who could be infected already, could be just one sunset away from the first dream, and three away from their last.

  Artem nodded, and the two got up, tossing what remained of their cream crusts into the nearest trash barrel.

  ***

  The night before First Blood, Zac and Artem stayed up talking in their bunks, energized by their anticipation.

  “We might have to fight each other though,” Zac said. “You’ll destroy me.”

  Artem wondered if he could really defeat Zac. Zac didn’t have the skills . . . but he had a fury Artem had never seen in a warrior before.

  Artem stared up at the bottom of Zac’s bunk.

  “It would be a good battle, that is the only certainty,” Artem said.

  The bedsprings above Artem creaked as Zac rolled over. Artem still couldn’t get used to the idea of a bunk bed. At his village they had either cots or hammocks—they didn’t have to worry about a bed falling on them! He’d chosen the bottom because he definitely didn’t like the idea of sleeping on the top bunk, where he could roll right off.

  ‘I’m not feeling too well,’ Althos thought to Zac.

  The bed creaked as Zac sat up. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m feeling a little queasy. I think I ate too much. I sort of tricked this elk into . . . well I was hungry so I killed an elk.’

  Zac chuckled. ‘So you ate too fast? When are you going to learn?’

  “Are you talking to Althos?” Artem asked.

  He told Artem about Althos’s problem—Artem laughed.

  “I know something that can help. There’s a plant common in these forests that can be crushed up and eaten to calm the stomach,” Artem said.

  They got out of bed. They didn’t want to wake Elias, so they were quiet—although Zac knew they would have to yell at the top of their lungs to wake him up. He had been out drinking, and probably boozed a little in his bed so that he could get to sleep. He called it his sleep swig.

  Zac had smiled weakly at the joke and turned away so that Elias wouldn’t see his sad eyes. If Zac or Artem ever showed their distaste with his over-the-top drinking, he would quickly sour and threaten to kick them out of his house. They both owed him too much to argue, so they just let him have his ways, even though they were clearly ruining him.

  The night’s quiet was occasionally joined by a yell or a laugh, at one point they even heard the clopping of a horse’s trot, though Zac couldn’t see where it was. Maybe it was just a street over, the sound winding through a narrow alley.

  Once outside of the city, the silence was thick and choking. Only the occasional chirp of a cicada broke it, and then it swept back in around them like a river. Althos was in a small clearing with Hessia. Hessia bristled when she first saw them approach, but when she recognized them she nickered a greeting. Zac reached for her, but she turned away dismissively. Zac chuckled, then walked to Althos and rubbed his head. Althos was clammy and feverish. ‘You really did yourself in this time, huh?’ Zac asked.

  Althos nodded. His dr
ooping eyes made Zac laugh. ‘What’s Artem doing?’

  Althos asked.

  Zac turned and saw Artem looking through the shrubs at the edge of the clearing. Artem’s hand was lit up with a light spell. His spellwork gave Zac a pang of jealousy.

  ‘He’s looking for a remedy for your stomach. He says that there is a pretty common—there, looks like he’s got it.’

  Artem walked over to them with a large flat leaf that was glossy in the moonlight. He knelt, folded the leaf, and started grinding it between two stones. Then he fed Althos the crumbled pieces.

  “Feel anything?” Artem asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Zac shook his head, and Artem said it would probably take some time to kick in.

  ‘I want to see you fight tomorrow,’ Althos thought to Zac.

  ‘Yeah? Don’t worry, Ultimber owes me for helping him arrest Cera, so we’ll make sure you can sit right next to Elias.’

  Althos perked up a little at this, and told Zac, a few times in a row, that this was a good idea. Zac pictured Althos taking up the space of a few men on the benches of the coliseum and smiled.

  After the three talked awhile, Althos felt better and they left him behind in the clearing with Hessia, who knickered at them.

  ‘Oh, so you act all stuck up and ignore us until it’s time for us to leave, huh?’ Zac asked.

  Hessia snorted and started grazing on the cool grass.

  ***

  Elias was awake when they got back. He had a bottle in hand and an empty glass on the table. “Fellas,” he said with a nod.

  “Can’t sleep?” Zac said.

  “Take a seat,” he said, lackadaisically gesturing at them.

  They sat and he took a swig from his bottle. “I think I’m worried about tomorrow. You know, it’s the first time I’ve been . . . well I usually try to avoid big events like this. And it’s been awhile since I’ve done something serious. Not that I’m doing anything, you two are the ones fighting, but I trained you and . . . I want you to do well. This is going to be very serious—you two know that, right? Some of the best mercenaries and warriors in the country are going to try and rip your hearts out. I know you’ll both do fine, but you’ll have to do more than fine to place in the top thirty and be part of the victor’s circle. And you may sustain severe injuries that can’t be permanently healed. Are you both sure you’re willing to shoulder that possibility?”