by Ko, John
As they writhed closer, he realized they were not snakes followed by ruby-scaled tails, but more akin to falling stars chased by flickering trails. The hisses were not from the forked tongues of a myriad of serpents, but the sizzle of scorching fire. He had seen a star fall once, but never tens of thousands as he now did.
“Their adversaries had acquired some horrible dark sorcery, one capable of raining down endless bolts of fire, and in doing so creating hell on earth. His army had been prepared for the depths of depravity, the atrocities known as war, but in no way were they prepared to dance the inferno. Their only hope was to retreat or face a death of searing agony. So he gave the order.
“Hundreds of thousands of his mighty army, an army who once united had never known defeat, ran from the blazing ruin. In the madness that ensued, men threw down their weapons, trampled their own brothers: anything to get away from the promise of burning alive.
“All except for one unruly group, who instead marched silent past the fleeing—towards fiery death itself. This battle had been too important to allow the defiant ones to take a valuable position near the vanguard. They had been positioned as far to the rear as possible and only then did they take their place at the fore.
“After he could run no more, the leader looked back to see what remained of the battlefield. They were at it again. He should have known the men and women of that unit would not follow his last command, even if it was one meant to save their very lives. And he thanked them for it, because for every moment they held the enemy at bay, it meant hundreds more would escape. Still, all was lost. The only thing left was to save as many as he could.
“Night fell before the leader was satisfied they had fled far enough to lick their wounds. It was then he received the unbelievable news: the small band of warriors left behind had neither retreated nor fallen, but instead still fought on within the flaming battlefield. Now that he had led what remained of his army to safety, the leader rode back to see to those he had left behind.
“He did not truly believe to find them still standing, and even when he saw the sight with his own eyes he could scarcely believe. There, where he had left them half a day before, the defiant still stood. From so far, they seemed a tiny ring of pebbles and the enemy a scarlet sea.
“The fighters who had always refused to listen, now refused to fall. Wave after wave of soldier and flame crashed down upon them. But the surge of the scarlet sea could not pull the insignificant pebbles under. The mighty tidal waves accomplished the opposite—they drove the pebbles deeper into the sand. The ring remained unbroken.
“The insolent soldiers had not stayed behind in a final act of sacrifice: they had stayed behind to win the war. They fought shoulder-to-shoulder, outnumbered by more than even the learned leader could calculate. Refusing to burn, defying death because if one were to fall, who would watch his brother’s back? They continued to fight, not realizing the ridiculousness of their actions, and in doing so, moments crept into minutes, minutes became hours, and day had become night.
“Even so far from the heart of the battle, the leader could feel the heat coming from the flaming battlefield. How did they still stand?
“Then he noticed what was not. Neither was there smoke, nor ash, nor the foul smell of burning. How could this be? He strode forward into the flames to find out for himself. He felt the heat upon his face. The hairs on his arms singed and his armor threatened to cook him alive. But when he threw off his armor, he found the hairs on his arms untouched and his skin not even flush.
“The leader finally began to understand. This really was a strange, new magic. One based on belief more than anything else.
“He gave no command, but drew his sword and charged into the madness. And soon so did the others that had gathered to see if the absurd rumor was true, that the fight was still on. Words of their actions quickly spread, drawing more and more back to the battlefield.
“Now it was the enemy who could not believe. Every advantage had been theirs. Victory should have been claimed long ago, but it was not. After everything they had thrown at the impudent army, they had not been able to break them. The oppressors realized they would never break them, and in doing so their ferocity faded and fear crept in to replace it.
“As more of the leader’s army returned to the battlefield, it became obvious that the pebbles would outlast the ocean. The tide had turned and now receded back to the mountain. Victory was theirs at long last!
“But even the defiant could only defy that which cannot be defied for so long. When the leader came upon the ones who stayed behind, he found many pale and cold. Before his very eyes, the ones too far gone began to stiffen where they stood. The early stages of death were ignored, but the third could not be denied. ‘Til this day they stand there still, a ring of ragged statues with contentment drawn on their faces.
“Afterward, those few of the defiant to have survived were asked the source of their courage. How did they do it? How did they know?
“The answer was simple. They had decided even before stepping onto the battlefield that their fate would be to win that day. For them, there was no other option. Once their minds were set, nothing, not the fires of hell or enemies endlessly streaming, could change their will. Even death was made to wait its turn.
“After hearing this, the other soldiers began referring to their headstrong heroes as their Fates.”
“Isn’t that the story of how the Conqueror took Ver?” Sensei asks, breaking the silence. The clerk was paying rapt attention, even taking notes in his little notebook.
“I believe people call it that. But I do not know why. They only fought to free themselves once and for all and nothing else. When they learned the truth of the Mines of Ver and of the special stones found within, they had no choice but to stay and defend them.
“After the War to End All Wars, the leader sent most of his army home, all except for the surviving Fates. With them he remained behind.
“The Legacy of Ver was one of bloodshed. The Legacy of the Conqueror, however, would be one of peace. For many years, the leader maintained a harmonious existence between most nations, but he knew it to be temporary. As his own end drew near, he realized that war would someday return.
“He needed to name an heir, but he knew of none strong enough to maintain the peace, nor would he damn anyone to such a position. Even more so, he realized he needed to end the cycle.
“After much consideration, the leader announced that he would adopt all the world and all those who wished could claim their birthright: a Tearstone and a chance to sit his throne. Anyone who wished to do so would have to prove their worth through a tournament of skill and courage. Thus the Legacy of the Conqueror was born and the foundation of the Tournament of Tears set.”
“Most of that isn’t in any history book I’ve ever read,” says Wake. “Where did you hear that story?”
“The ‘Final Battle’ used to be one of my favorite bedtimes stories. I would ask my Old Man to tell me that story every night.”
“Why don’t the history books mention Fates?” the doubt-prone Half-Orc asks.
“I guess over the years the names of those involved became unimportant, but that does not mean their ideals just disappeared. They just changed with the times. The Daughters of Enyo, my village, and even your Order train in the Old Style, which is based on The Way of the Fates,” the Captain explains.
“I always wondered what they called the Old Style when it was new,” Wake says. It’s been over three hundred years and even the Conqueror’s name has been forgotten. No wonder we don’t remember the names of those who helped him. But that story …
“How could a story like that be forgotten?” Wake says softly.
“That is a good question.” The Fate looks down at his gauntlet. “But by the time we are done, we will make sure everyone remembers. Even more, we will give them an even better story, one no one will ever forget.”
Chapter 14
BROTHER MONSTER
; [Practice Field behind The Clerk’s Dormitory, Greenwood]
Brother Monster finds them to be a peculiar lot. The tall girl has the look of some young Queen, one who has been tricked otherwise. Her brother looks everywhere all at once, except at you. When Sensei told him he was raised at the Great Library at the Crossroads, it seemed more than fitting. Their leader is a naïve fool—of that, there is no doubt. And the last … well, she is a Daughter, true and true, stepped straight out a dream. A crude and obnoxious dream.
Despite how different each is, they get along so well it surprises him to learn they only met just days before. They try to make him feel welcome, but the feeling doesn’t come easily.
“Monster, these are for you.” The Fate hands him a pair of blackened gauntlets. He accepts them with reluctance. They’re heavy as iron, but rough and porous, like some sort of black rock or … Coal, he thinks, wrinkling his nose at the stench. They stink like a newly put out fire. A scent he’s always found particularly offensive.
“No, thank you.” The Half-Orc tries to hand them back. “I can’t use these. My vow keeps me from using any item crafted for warfare; armor or weapon.”
“No worries, I will never ask you to break your vow,” the Fate says, refusing to accept their return. “You use a knife when you cook, do you not?”
“That’s different.”
“They are both just things, objects that may be used to create or destroy. It is the owner who decides which. Think of these gauntlets as some sort of tool, one that you will use to help us with. When you wear them you will be able to feel where we are and to a certain extent how we all fare.”
Monster stares at the pair of armored gloves not liking them one bit. He tries them on with a sigh. To his surprise, they fit his large hands quite well.
“I added some links to them last night.” The Fate inspects the fit. “It seems I guessed correctly on your size. Thank goodness, because I was just about out of burnt iron.”
“They stink.”
“I guess they do, but you are just going to have to get used to it. Shine and Sensei are new to theirs, also.”
“Are you going to insist on calling me that?” Rachel asks, flexing her own gauntlet. She is all Sun and her glove golden. He wishes he had been born attuned to Sun or Earth, Water or Wind: anything but Fire. Even Blood would’ve been better.
“Sorry, that is just what comes out of my mouth when I think of you,” the Fate says, smirking unabashedly.
“I don’t know, Shine. I think the name fits you well,” her brother chimes in, visibly annoying his sister.
“I guess so, Wade,” Rachel shoots back. It’s hard to learn anyone’s name, as it seems as though they all have at least two. Everyone only calls Monster by one.
“Apologies, Riser, I know this is all old news to you,” the Fate tells the Daughter.
“Not at all, Oppa. I’ve always liked that story.”
“Still, you have heard all this several times before,” Fate tells her. “How about you go over the next part, The Fate’s Oath?” He’s not so foolish as he may appear, the Half-Orc realizes. At least, he recognized just how restless she was becoming.
“Yeah, sure, I should’ve been Captain anyway,” she says, leaping to her feet. Monster doubts that. Better to follow a fool than a brute.
She leans over and asks the bard, “Play something new … something a little more epic.” To the other’s surprise, the guitarist proves to know more than one song.
Esperanza Enyo clears her throat and recites:
“To look back with no regret, I choose what is right.
This is my Will.
To impose my Will upon all that oppose it,
That is my Way.
To Shape the World, with my Will and my Way,
This is my Fate.”
“That’s the Fate’s Oath. It sounds good and all, but what exactly does it mean?” Riser asks, but doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. “The first line, ‘To look back with no regret, I choose what is right’ is the hardest to answer.”
“Shine says to not call them lines but queues, or you sound like a crybaby,” the Fate says.
“No, only lines that you wait in are called queues!” Shine tells him. “Not lines in an oath, or Prismatic Lines for the matter. You call those Lines, okay?”
“Oh, okay.”
“As I was saying, the first line is the most difficult to understand. It has a different meaning to all who take the Oath. It’s not just about what would make you happy or content right now or even a year from now, but when all is said and done. What is it that you dream of above all other dreams?”
The Daughter turns to the Half-Orc, “You, Monster, what is it that you ultimately fight for?”
Why is she picking on me? Monster snorts. “I don’t fight for anything. I have always followed one path, with one goal. I choose to walk the Path of Peace. I do this to show the world what any Man or Orc is truly capable of.”
Riser stares at him in disgust. “So be it, Faintheart.”
“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand,” he says. The Daughter leans over and pinches his arm hard. “What was that for?”
“It’s just what cowards like you deserve.”
Monster doesn’t know what to make of it. It kind of hurt, but … He rubs the spot where she pinched him. It feels warm.
Chapter 15
RACHEL
[Practice Field behind The Clerk’s Dormitory, Greenwood]
“What about you, Unnie?” the Daughter asks Rachel.
“Unnie?”
“It’s what Daughters call older sisters.”
Rachel beams, then frowns as she tries to find an answer to the question. Up until now, her only wish had been to get into school. But she knows that isn’t the answer. What really came to mind was something that is always on her mind: a Tear’s Memory.
It’s a rare gift among Criers, the ability to store what they see in a Shard. Reminiscers, they’re called, the lucky few who can record and share their experiences with others. Every tourney would have at least a couple, and through them sights could be seen again. Even by a blind girl.
The only true sights Rachel has ever seen were the memories of others. And those sights were more fantastic than anything she could have ever imagined. She even started her own Tear Memory Fan Club while away on Service. She wonders how the younger members are doing now. Next year, a couple of them would be embarking on their own first Tour.
“I can see it on your face, don’t deny it!” Riser says. “If you could have one wish, no matter how crazy it may sound, no matter how impossible—what would it be?”
Rachel just shakes her head. I can’t …
“Be brave, Unnie. Are we not worthy to share your dreams?”
“I want … I want to be a hero in a Tear Memory.” Shine can’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “Like Lady Seo, Rizky V, Kai Abdul … I can still remember the first time I saw their matches, how they made me feel—even the looks on their faces. Those were my first true glimpses of the world.” And what I saw was wondrous.
“I didn’t just watch the Memories. I was there with them. I lived them.”
Once she admits it to herself, it becomes painfully obvious. How could she not see it before? Because it is too much for someone like me to ask for.
She doesn’t want to go to school to get a Tear Pet just so she can see, but so she can see to fight. Shame fills her, and she feels the utter fool at admitting it to herself, let alone out loud. But no one laughed.
Spikey climbs up her long, pale cloak and nuzzles her flush cheek. It makes her feel almost brave. There’s no stopping the words now.
“My whole world is based on the Memories of others. When I close my eyes and imagine you, Riser. I see a combination of Lena and Priss; dazzling and daring in their leather armor—that fierce look of challenge in their eyes,” Rachel tells the Daughter. “I want to be in a Memory like theirs. One that inspires everyone who watches, lik
e all the great ones that have inspired me.”
A hand is on her shoulder. Wake, he heard it all. He must think I’m a fool, too. She grabs his hand thankfully, realizing he never would.
“They do say I resemble the Pristine One. And that is truly a worthy goal, Unnie.” The Daughter thumps her chest. “I will watch your Will come to fruition. I pledge this before Enyo, and in doing so we are Sisters Sworn.”
“Esperanza, thank you.” I’ve just met her and she’s so good to me. All of them are. “I guess I am one too …”
“What do you mean, Sis?”
“A babo.” She sniffles and smiles.
“What about you, Sensei. What is your greatest desire?”
“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure,” he says. “All I really know is, I’m tired of being last. Being first sounds nice … or even better yet, being the first to do something new. Now, that sounds really nice.”
“That’s not bad. Being first is always good,” Riser says, pacing back and forth. “But you need to be more specific.”
“I do not think he has to. He wants to be first, not in one thing, but in those things that really matter.” The Fate finally speaks up. “Is that not true, Sensei?”
“I guess …” the strategist admits.
“I like it. That’s pretty a good one too, Sensei!” exclaims Riser.
Enthused by her teammates’ declarations, Esperanza addresses the last one. “So what about you, Mad One? What do the demented dream?”
Wake, of course, has no answer at all.
“You cannot just ask someone like him a question like that,” the Fate tells the Daughter. “Besides, I fought him already. I already know his Will …”
“He wants to not be a waste,” the Fate tells them.
“What? How’d …” Wake asks incredulously. “I never said anything like …” And then he goes quiet.