Rise of the Retics

by T J Lantz

  With that final image, Tyranna’s mind went blank, except for two simple thoughts, swim to the boat and water is good. From the coast, the four men were far too busy enjoying seeing the last living tree-ent burn to notice the happy little sturgeon swimming off toward the horizon and her freedom.

  Chapter 8

  And the Crowd Goes Wild

  Jaxon

  Rosehaven: Wrong Way Arena

  October 17, 1503

  Jaxon didn’t expect the stadium crowd to be quite so large. As Sheriff Quicktrigger and Rigby escorted him into the gigantic stone arena, he noticed that almost every seat in the lower tier was filled— it seemed like half the city had shown up to watch him. He couldn’t believe it!

  Startlingly loud boos and horrific insults filled the air as he took his first steps onto the sandy floor of the stadium. Catcalls and chants of “half-blood”, “human scum”, and “damned demon” flooded down from the stands and showered Jaxon’s ears. As he looked up at row upon row of seats filled with angry, screaming “fans,” it made Jaxon feel special to know he could invoke such a strong response in people he barely knew.

  Jaxon did find the screaming strange in one way, however. Normally, if someone on the street had insulted him in such a manner, he would have been fuming with anger and plotting his revenge against them, but here it was different. Here their insults made him feel powerful and strong. It was almost like he had already won just by showing up. Standing on that arena floor, he would have been content to just bask in their hatred all night and lap it up accordingly. The attention made him feel alive.

  As the crowd continued to shower him with their ridicule and anger, Jaxon took in his surroundings. The arena had been modeled after the Coliseum in Rome, though not nearly as large. It seated about ten thousand spectators in an upper and a lower tier. There were always plenty of seats to accommodate Rosehaven’s eight thousand citizens with room to spare.. Despite its reduced size, the stadium, known commonly to the townsfolk as Wrong Way Arena,[16] mimicked Rome’s architectural masterpiece in almost every other way.

  The oval structure was surrounded on all sides by raised seating, with personal boxes for important members of society. The sand covered floor hid entrances to underground rooms and tunnels, from which participants in the stadium activities could make an entrance. It was mostly used as a simple path to take a prisoner from a holding cell underneath the ground to the arena where his punishment would occur. Usually that meant a beheading, but sometimes the crowd would get a treat and there would be a nice hanging. They were far less messy and much more appropriate for a family outing.

  Jaxon wasn’t picky when it came to his executions. He truly enjoyed seeing both, though he technically was never actually “allowed” to be there, as per William’s ridiculous rules. Luckily, that never actually stopped him from attending. He especially liked the moment right before the executioner would carry out the sentence when the creature would beg for their life. He always found that part hysterical with the weeping and the crying. Sometimes they would even wet themselves, and everyone would laugh so hard.

  Jaxon knew today’s activities were a bit different than that, however, as the arena was being used for the trial itself. It was a much rarer event that he had never seen before.

  As was ancient custom in Rosehaven, any person either criminally wronged or accused of a crime had the right to request a trial-by-combat, as the Forest Folk did in his case. He, as the defender, would now get the chance to prove his innocence in front of the entire community by besting his accuser in a battle of arms. When he won, he was free to go. If somehow the laws of the universe suddenly changed and he managed to lose, the Lord Protector would declare his punishment right then and there.

  As the accuser, the Forest Folk’s champion, Samantha Bushytail, was likely in one of the rooms below, preparing her battle strategy. Jaxon figured that was a complete waste of time. This was a day to be savored and enjoyed, not wasted in a dank, dark room planning for a fight that was little more than a formality.

  It was at that moment that Jaxon noticed his foster father was in attendance, just like he said he would be. It was just like him to keep his promises.

  What he didn’t understand though, was why William was sitting alone, high up in the top tier away from everyone. He was usually a very social creature, and people around the island were always stopping to say hello.

  Jaxon figured he was having a bad day, though he couldn’t figure out what about today could possibly be bad. Things seemed so glorious and wonderful. Sure, the crowd might be booing and angry at him now, but that was just part of the fun. Anyway, once he showed them the power of the Underworld that ran through his veins, the audience would have no choice but to cheer him as a hero. That was just how these things worked.

  Despite his confidence that he would win over the crowd, Jaxon was a bit nervous when he saw that the Lord Protector himself was occupying his personal viewing box. As usual, he was flanked by the captain of his guard, Alastar Bushytail.

  Lord Protector Laszlo was a very tall and very aged gentleman, with long gray hair that shone like a treasure chest filled with silver coins in the afternoon sun. The great sorcerer had been in charge of Rosehaven since its inception and was hardly ever seen out of his tower anymore.

  “Strange that they would all take time out of their day just to see a little girl get hurt,” Jaxon said to Rigby as her head whirled around the arena in astonishment of the crowd. “These people must be truly sick—just here to see violence and bloodshed. “You know, Rigby, if I make her yield quick, we can probably make it home for lunch. I’m willing to bet Saan is baking me a victory cake right now. I really hope it’s not terrible.”

  The crowd booed harder. It was as if they could see the arrogance radiating off the demon-blooded child. Jaxon’s long pointed tail began to flop around a bit behind him, as it always did when he got excited. He lived for this kind of attention—it didn’t matter if it was for good things or bad. Bad just always seemed easier to obtain.

  “Jaxon, stop talking to the dog and listen up here,” snapped the sheriff. “I’ve never seen this Samantha girl train, but if her father has been teaching her it’s likely their styles match. That crazy sword swingin’ squirrel has always been a fan of fightin’ with two blades at once. No shield, no armor . . . he thinks they are for the weak. He prefers to parry and deflect blows, while striking faster than his opponent can counter. What weapons has Sir William trained you in?”

  Jaxon didn’t respond. He wasn’t fully paying attention to the sheriff, as he was too busy waving and blowing kisses to the crowd to see just how angry he could get them.

  “Ah weapons,” he responded after a moment. “No weapons really. William barely trusted me with a dinner fork. He did show me a bit of his crag-maga though. I could probably snap her neck with ease. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just punch her around a bit . . . knock those big bucked teeth right down her throat.” Jaxon smiled as he imagined Samantha completely toothless. Her image looked much older in his head, like a really hairy grandmother trying to gum down her food.

  “Boy, if you expect to live through this, then when that damn whistle blows and that little lady comes out to gut you, you kneel, you yield, and you beg her mercy. If not, we might be carryin’ ya out in a box today.”

  Jaxon brushed off the sheriff’s advice. He didn’t understand why Quicktrigger was so afraid that he would get hurt. He kept missing the point . . . the fight was against a girl. Jaxon wondered if he should tie one of his hands behind his back to make it fairer for her. Or, perhaps, even blindfold himself—at least then he would have a slight challenge.

  “Ok, Sheriff, I get it. I get it . . . Thank you for the advice, but I’ll be fine. Could you do me one favor though. Please let Saan know that I’d like my cake to be chocolate. I’d hate for her to get it wrong. She made me coconut pie for my birthday last year and I still haven’t forgiven her. I don’t understand what she was thinking. No one in the
ir right mind would eat a coconut pie when there was the option of chocolate cake available. Right, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff Quicktrigger threw his hands up in the air, cursed under his breath, and stormed out of the arena.

  “I guess he doesn’t like chocolate,” Jaxon said to his canine sidekick. “I always knew he was strange. Well, Rigby, guess you better head out too. Rules say it’s just me in here. Though to be honest, I’m not sure why. You ate the orange too.”

  Rigby gave Jaxon a sideways glance before stepping out of the arena and leaving Jaxon alone to face his fate.

  Jaxon took a glance around the stadium, trying to figure out where the weapons were that he was supposed to use. To his left was a large open chamber that extended back into the wall and formed the foundation for the raised seating. As he entered the room, he knew he was in the right place. Everywhere he looked—the walls, tables and floors—was covered with some kind of armament. Swords, axes, and spears were strewn about with every type of armor one could imagine from leather vests to full plate. The choices were endless! After a few minutes of perusing the armory room, Jaxon decided to go with a Spartan look, as they were the only humans he had ever truly had any respect for. He loved that they killed their weak children at birth—it seemed so pragmatic and logical to him. Only the strongest should be allowed to survive. Just like today.

  He chose a strong bronze breastplate and helm, as well as a large bronze shield that he could barely lift. The armor looked unworn and had no scratches or dents. “I’m sure I’ll be able to return this in the same way,” he said aloud. For his weapon, he picked the longest spear he could find, at least twice his own length. The iron tip looked sharp enough to skewer an elephant. Though Jaxon knew that purposeful killing was forbidden in the arena, he also was aware that accidents tended to happen . . . often.

  Satisfied that he looked great in his shiny bronze armor, Jaxon went to present himself to his fans. He decided to roll the humungous round shield out like a wheel, as it was very heavy and he wanted to save his energy for the fight. Jaxon wasn’t sure why, but apparently the crowd found this quite funny, as their chorus of boos turned into a mixture of chuckles. Jaxon shrugged. He didn’t think he would ever understand these people.

  As the accused, he had the right of defense, meaning that he would get the opportunity to set himself on the battle field before his opponent emerged. He searched for the best spot. He wanted everyone in the arena to be able to see him at all times. He decided to wait directly in the center of the grounds, so there weren’t any obstacles to impede the crowd’s viewpoint of his victory.

  As he stood there waiting, sinking slightly into the sandy floor under the weight of the unfamiliar armor, Jaxon began to get very excited. The crowd, if possible, seemed to get even louder and more offensive with their language. A few pieces of rotten fruit and vegetables flew from the stands and landed near his feet. Jaxon laughed, drawing energy off the hatred of the crowd. This must have been what the demons felt like when they first defeated the Florensians—powerful, brave, and noble.

  Suddenly the crowd roared and every spectator was on their feet. Cheers and applause erupted throughout the entire stadium as a tiny dark figure strode up onto the battlefield from a wooden trap door on the far western side of the arena.

  Jaxon stared toward her, but found himself struggling to see through the glare of the sun. “Hmmm, smart move picking that side to come up, with the sun at your back,” Jaxon said as the small furry black object bounded toward him with speed he didn’t know any creature could possess. Within seconds she had turned the hundred-meter gap between them into a ten-meter one.

  For the first time Jaxon could get a clear view of his opponent. Unlike her father, who was gray from head to paws, the majority of Samantha’s fur was jet black, with only small patches of gray around her muzzle and under her tail. She was much smaller than Jaxon, no more than three feet tall at full height. She carried two short, thin blades each with an ornate silver basket handle. Neither sword was more than a foot long, but looked much larger next to Samantha’s small frame. As far as Jaxon could see she donned no armor. Instead she wore a loose fitting, light lavender colored dress, with matching laced leather greaves. A similar colored string tied her black mane back behind her head.

  As Samantha neared him, Jaxon mustered all his strength to ready his shield and spear against the charging squirrel. As she reached the edge of his spear length he thrust, hoping to catch her quick and end the fight as fast as it started, but Samantha’s incredible quickness kept her safe from harm as she easily sidestepped the spear tip and continued toward Jaxon’s body. As she reached him he braced his shoulder against the back of the shield to accept the blow and hopefully knock her back, but the determined black squirrel never stopped moving. Like a ballerina performing for the audience, she leapt straight up in the air just a fraction of a second before she reached the shield, using the giant bronze disc as a springboard to greater heights. Samantha twisted and turned her small body in a somersault inches above Jaxon’s head as he clumsily tried to readjust his weapons.

  He had no chance of matching her speed as she landed directly behind him and disarmed his spear with a quick flick of her well sharpened sword. Jaxon was barely able to swing the shield between him and Samantha’s second sword as it rushed toward his chest, deflecting it aside just enough to keep him safe and living for a moment longer.

  Harnessing all the strength he had left in his body Jaxon violently swung the shield in an arc, but he was too late, Samantha had already tumbled back and was preparing her next charge. For the first time all day, Jaxon realized that this girl was going to kill him. The crowd roared, screaming their support for Samantha as she charged in a spinning flurry of sword strikes and swinging kicks. Jaxon did his best to make himself small behind his protective disc, but each blow from the inexhaustible squirrel sent sharp pains up and down his arm muscles. With each swing his grip loosened slightly more, until finally, with one mighty kick Samantha had sent the shield flying to the ground and Jaxon tumbling onto his backside. Panic overtook Jaxon as he raised his two thin red arms in front of his face, as if they would somehow be able to shield him from the thrust of her menacing swords.

  He wanted to yell, “Yield!” He wanted to scream it out as loud as he could so that she would have to stop and spare his life. He knew she wasn’t supposed to purposely kill him, but the loud supportive screams of the crowd assured him that the arena was set up for that very reason. They wanted him dead, all of them—the Florensians, the market sellers, all the citizens of Rosehaven . . . maybe even the Hoofstomps. For years, he had been nothing but trouble—a walking, talking, mixed-blooded symbol of the evil that they all lived here to avoid. Part human, part demon . . . the worst of both worlds. In the split second before his heart was pierced through, Jaxon was taken by a flood of emotion. First was anger at himself for being so hated. Next, resentment at his parents for creating him and sending him to this place. Than embarrassment at his worthlessness as a person. Finally, sorrow that his life was over before it even really began. The mixture of emotions spun inside him like a tornado wanting to rip out of his skin.

  The steel of Samantha’s blade felt like a shard of ice as it plunged through his chest. The cold pain was a stark contrast to the rest of his body as Jaxon felt like his blood was burning. It was as if an inferno was traveling from his brain, down his spine, and out his extremities.

  With a final rush of emotion, Jaxon let out a scream that his father could have heard all the way down in the Underworld. His extremities began to burn like he had placed them in a roaring fire, yet without the pain. He looked down. His hands were engulfed in flame, and his fingers engorged and clawed like a full-blood demon. He couldn’t look away, his mind mesmerized by the dancing flame, when suddenly his body convulsed. He closed his eyes tight as he spewed forth uncontrollable flame, like a dormant volcano waking from eons of sleep.

  Exhausted, he slumped over and waited to die.


  It was at that point Jaxon noticed that he had not been the only one screaming. He opened his eyes slightly, fighting to adjust to the light after having them clenched so tightly closed. Samantha Bushytail danced around in front of him. This, however, was not the dance of a victorious swordsman. It was the little seen dance of a young squirrel-kin whose tail was just lit on fire.

  Jaxon couldn’t help but smile as he looked back and forth from the sword plunged shallowly into his chest to the black mound of fur rolling desperately in the sand screaming, “I yield!”

  Chapter 9

  The wild rover

  Tyranna

  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

  October 27, 1503

  The world rocked back and forth beneath Tyranna’s viciously sore body as she awoke. The bed beneath her was a welcome comfort and of far better quality than she was used to back at the monastery. She could stay wrapped up in the warm blanket forever.

  Except that her stomach wanted nothing more than to expel every ounce of content it had in it.

  It reminded her of the time Brother Richard had convinced her that, “a little wine is good for a growing girl.” She had to admit, the initial experience had been quite interesting. She had danced with anyone and anything that would dance back. It was great until the next morning. Her sickness had convinced her that wine could wait until she was in her thirties.

  She could see that she was in a small bedroom that only had a tiny round window for light. Everything around her—the floor, the bed, the cabinets, the table—was made of a light, sandy colored oak that was faded from age. The furniture was very small, like it was made for children far younger than her. There was a stack of books on the table, but she could not understand any of the writing on the bindings.