The Fate: Book 1: Tournament Wysteria

by Ko, John

  What angers Riser the most is that Wake and even Sensei are doing their part. Surprisingly, the young clerk figured out a way to neutralize the Fate for a full five-count. And they all know Wake is capable of making short work of any Healer. It should be enough.

  In this scenario, it is Riser’s responsibility to take out the other side’s Shield. It’s as simple as that. If she could just do her part, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. Wake could take out Monster if he just got the chance. Sense could neutralize Fate during crucial moments. If only she could do her part. “Argghh!”

  “Hello over there,” the Fate calls out to them. “Shall we break for lunch?”

  “No, thanks,” the three reply in unison.

  “One mind, one voice. Good for you,” the Fate says, leading the other two away, along with their music. Shine yells something about bringing them back some food when they return.

  “It’s not your fault, Riser,” Wake says.

  “Who says it’s my fault?” she screams.

  The two boys cringe once again. “Sorry, I just meant …”

  “What he is trying to say is …” Sensei tries to explain more tactfully. “It must be frustrating teaming up with us. No one person can break through their combo. We have to find some way to combo, too.

  “And I have just the idea,” Sensei says. “It’s a little tricky, but I think you two can pull it off.”

  “Don’t think just because you brought us back some food that we’re going to take it easy on you,” Riser shouts to the other group. Monster mumbles something, Shine apologizes, and the Fate smiles back. Riser gets mad.

  “3, 2, 1 … Go!”

  Riser draws Ehecthal and charges in. Shine Grabs the Sun as Monster places his hand upon her back, and chants “Still the Flame,” paralyzing her in place. He picks her up and positions her between him and the charging Daughter.

  Wake slides to flank them. The Fate intercepts as expected. Sensei steps forward and holds out both hands. “Green Art: Vine Lash,” he says. A writhing tendril sprouts forth from each palm. They seem to grow forever, a surging green, thicker than the clerk’s own arms.

  Even in mid-air, the Fate manages to change direction. But the vines do so as well, grasping first a stray arm, the second wrapping tightly around his waist.

  Riser bounces off Shine’s Orb. Monster swings her around to deflect Wake’s attack a moment later.

  Four more seconds until Fate is free. It’s now or never, Riser thinks, landing beside Wake as planned. She hears him intone, “Water Grab: Riser’s Channel.” A tunnel of Water forms in front of her, just large enough for her to slither through, but she doesn’t have to do that. She kneels low and launches herself, shrieking, “Sing, Ehecthal!” She shoots through the narrow opening. With her Winds funneled and focused, she flies faster than she ever has before. Her sword stretched before her, she screams, “Dual Combo: Jetstream!”

  As her blade meets the Sun Orb, she feels it sink deep, deeper than ever. But just as every time before, it does not pass. The Daughter ricochets backwards, landing roughly on her backside. The Fate charges her before she even stops bouncing. And once again she finds herself cursing the Loser’s Ball surrounding her.

  “It didn’t work,” Riser says flatly, trying to control her frustration. She knows her group is doing all they can. They are closer than ever, but …

  “Guys, I got it!” Sensei says, looking up from his calculations. “All you have to do is spin.”

  “Spin?” the Daughter asks in disbelief. “This isn’t for show. This is serious. If we lose one more time … I’m going to lose it. You two better start running …” This is unacceptable.

  “Don’t worry, we will get it this time,” Wake says. “I think I understand, Sensei. She was close. If the next time she adds a rotation while maintaining the same speed, the force of the attack may be just enough to break through Shine’s Sun Orb.”

  “Exactly! With this slight adjustment, Jetstream should have enough force to break through.”

  “What the hail are you guys talking about?” Riser asks. “Sensei, have you gone mad too?”

  “It’s simple. Force equals Mass times Acceleration,” Sensei explains. “If you can maintain the same speed, but add a spin, you’ll increase the distance that your sword travels, thereby …”

  Riser turns her back to the clerk and faces Wake. “Please explain in Common.”

  “If you spin, but don’t slow down, your attack will hit harder.”

  “Really?”

  “It will. Imagine, just the very tip of Ehecthal as you sail through the air. That’s where you’re putting all your weight behind during that attack, right?” Wake asks the nodding Daughter.

  “Pretend there’s an imaginary line that follows the tip of your sword. For your regular attack, it’s a straight line, but if you spin, the line is a spiral.” Riser nods in understanding.

  “If you straighten that line out, it’s longer. If it takes you the same amount of time to travel those two lines, it’s going faster, see?”

  “And I’ll hit harder! That makes total sense.” She looks over at Sensei and whaps him upside the head, “You need to learn how to communicate more clearly. Good idea, though.” The young clerk smiles and rubs the back of his head.

  They execute the plan exactly as before. The other group responds in kind. This time around, just as the Daughter enters the tunnel of Water, she begins to spin. As the tip of her blade meets the Sun Orb, she shatters the Light. Before her opponents can respond, she’s onto Verse Two. Wake and Sensei clean up.

  Riser sheathes Ehecthal and places her hands on her hips. She throws her head back and cackles. This may be the final touch that I have been searching for. I think I can finish ‘that’ now.

  Chapter 40

  SIR GROCK

  [Main Street, Greenwood]

  The rain falls in waves. Ever so often, an errant sunbeam peeks through the morning gloom to remind everyone that the sun is indeed still there. It’s enough to keep the streets of Greenwood clear of all but the bravest fools. Not that Grock Hardrime would ever be considered either: brave or a fool. A true gentleman has time for neither.

  Short and proper, he walks purposefully through the downpour under the protection of a baby blue parasol. His associate lumbers behind, face fully pelted.

  “You should have taken the pink one,” he calls back to his traveling companion. His eyes twinkle at the thought, the dreaded Scourge Kutz under such a thing. Unfortunately for anyone old enough to regret their youth, the stores in town are stocked against them.

  The large barn of a man snorts in reply.

  Grock stops to laugh in the rain. He likes to give The Scourge a hard time but realizes if the rain truly bothered him, Grock wouldn’t be the one with the umbrella. Kutz grins to himself as if thinking the very same thing. But the large man’s grin turns into a squint as he peers down the road ahead.

  The skies choose that moment to clear, revealing an upside down boy hurrying towards them. Upon reaching them, he promptly flips upright and begs their pardon before jumping back onto his hands and taking off once again.

  “Just a moment, young man!” This may be just the type of lad we’re looking for.

  The upside down boy pauses, then scampers back towards them, legs flailing like bent straws in the wind. He flips upright just before losing his balance. He grins wildly and bows deeply.

  “Young man, may I ask why you are walking on your hands in the middle of the rain?”

  “Yes, you may,” the boy says. “I do so because it is faster than actually walking and I promised my mother to never run in the rain.”

  Grock chortles at the young man’s exquisite sense of humor. “Are you a performer perhaps?”

  “Hmm … I believe so. I performed a Calling without even knowing it,” the boy replies.

  This “Calling’ must be the name of a Wysterian Play. He also highlighted his alliterative boast with mock humbleness, Grock thinks, clapping his h
ands together. A well developed wit and the dexterity of an acrobat. What’s a talent like this doing in a backwater town like this?

  “Bravo. You must be a clown of rather high-rank?” the elderly gentleman asks.

  “I am called that often, yes,” the boy replies. “Though my friends call me Fate.”

  “Well, Fate, My name is Grock. And I am here on other business but normally I manage talent of your caliber. May I ask who you studied under?”

  “The Old Man is my master. People such as yourself usually call him Claw.”

  Hmm … a clown named Claw? Doesn’t ring a bell. “I’m afraid to say I haven’t heard of your master, though I must admit it’s been quite some time since I’ve delved into the world of clownery.”

  “You were once a clown?” the Fate asks him.

  “A lifetime ago I studied to be one, yes. Grand times, those were,” Grock tells the boy. “But that was a very long time ago.”

  Kutz clears his throat. The rain has stopped, but it’s no time for chitchat.

  “But back to the matter at hand,” Grock says, “By chance have you seen any pretty girls around town carrying a large wooden case?”

  “I know a very nice girl who often carries a large wooden case which holds her brushes, and I have another friend who never goes anywhere without his guitar, which he also carries in a case.”

  “This girl … are you sure all she carries in this case are brushes?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. Shine’s a master of the Long Brush. If you would like to see her work, you can find an example of it hanging outside the Stewards and Raiders Inn located not too far south of the Lobby.”

  That can’t be her. “Thank you. And this guitarist fellow you mentioned; could you tell me a little about him, as well?”

  “Well, Pooh’s a little fellow. He is mostly quiet, but get him alone and he will talk forever,” the Fate says. “He is also is very regular, if you know what I mean? That is how he got his name.”

  “Interesting,” Grock says. “Guitars are rather uncommon around these parts. Do you happen to know where your friend came by his?”

  “It was his father’s.”

  “Ah, very well,” the gentleman says in disappointment. “Thank you so very much for your time, young man. I won’t hold you back from your training any longer. If you ever find yourself looking for representation, please look me up.” Grock hands him his calling card. In a sense he is relieved to find out that the guitar the boy spoke of couldn’t possibly be Desi Derata.

  Chapter 41

  SENSE

  [Behind the Stewards & Raiders Inn, Greenwood]

  “What’s that, Sense?” the Fate asks. The Captain started calling him that at some point and now they all are. He likes being Fate-named. Sense looks down at the small metal box on his lap. It has a couple of adjustable knobs, several buttons, a slider, and even a small set of keys akin to that of a piano.

  “It’s my Echo Box,” Sense tells him. “In case I get tired of talking with just the drum, I can use this.” By now, everyone has picked out a favorite beat. They range from a simple broken one for the Captain to a complicated, evolving one for Wake. When he plays any of his teammates’ favorite beats, they know he is speaking to or about them. But it is getting to the point where just the drum is not enough. So he’s been working on this.

  He presses a key and the box emits a wavering note. “I’ll also be able to give more detailed information with the different sounds it can create. It can also play back anything I record—like an echo.”

  With a couple of finishing touches and the assistance of Poe and Desi, he’s unveiling it to everyone today.

  “So I guess you can boss us around even more with that,” Riser says with a grin. She leans over and musses up his hair. “It’s sure to help us reign victorious.”

  Sense finishes off his apple, core and all. He inspects the stem between his fingers before deciding there’s nothing left to eat.

  Poe makes a sound of disgust. Sense looks at the bard and says, “I can’t help it. I love apples. Sweet ones, sour ones, red ones, green ones. I prefer crispy, but I’ll eat a mushy one, too.”

  Poe shakes his head and shrugs with his palms held forward.

  Sense has no problem reading the bard at this point. “Why? Well, because they taste good of course. Besides, they don’t allow apples anywhere near the Library.”

  The bard nods slightly, a sign for him to continue his explanation.

  “I guess it’s really the Crossroads, the area where the Library is built, that doesn’t allow them. Apparently many of the native town folk are allergic to apples or something.

  “So how did I start liking apples in the first place? Well, that’s a good question. I always remember the taste of my first apple, but who gave it to me …” Sense’s memory is usually perfect. It’s odd that he hasn’t thought of this in so long, but all of a sudden, the memory comes flooding back.

  “I must have been very young. I think back then they hadn’t diagnosed my condition, so I still used to run and play with the other kids. Fall was just beginning, and I was playing with some of the other kids from the library near the main road. I remember Bennet was there; he was always there.”

  Poe shrugs and rapidly waves his hand to get on with the story.

  “Anyway, I remember it started to rain that day. And it must have been Fall, because it was just starting to get cold. I remember everyone running back inside, but I happened to see this little old lady making her way down the road. She just looked so frail. And the way she was walking, so slow it was almost painful to watch. She didn’t have an umbrella or even something to keep her head dry. I remember feeling really bad for her, so I ran up to her and threw my scarf around her head.”

  Poe looks at him, probably wondering what this has to do with why the clerk likes apples.

  “Well, about a month later there’s a knock at my door. My mother answers and it’s the little old lady. She came back to return my scarf and to thank me. She was actually very scary looking now that I think about it, but she must have been pretty nice. I remember she pulled out this apple, the first I had ever seen. She cut it in half, straight through the core and shared it with me. It was so delicious. I never tasted anything so sweet and tart and juicy and crisp. It was really good.

  “I’ve never had another apple as good as that one. Honestly, every apple I eat is like a ghost of that one. They never taste as good as that first one, but they remind me of it, I guess.”

  Poe looks at him crossly, like his story wasn’t worth listening to.

  “You asked,” the young clerk answers. “The funny thing was that it was so good I ate the stem and all. I remember the scary looking lady suddenly looking scarier. Or maybe she was just scared. She must have been worried that I’d choke. She even stuck her bony little fingers down my throat, but I had already swallowed it all.

  “She just stared at me for a while after that. Then she started laughing. She didn’t stop. She laughed all the way out the door and down the road.

  “I wonder why I never thought of that story until just now though?” Sense asks himself quietly.

  Poe stopped listening a little while ago and is already fiddling with the Echo Box.

  One of these days, though, I’m going to find an apple as good as that one. Shiny and gold just like that first one. In his mind he can still picture how it reflected every flame that swayed in the hearth that night. It’s enough to make his heart start to ache.

  Chapter 42

  BROTHER MONSTER

  [Road to the City of Saranghae, Capital of Three Kingdoms of Wysteria]

  As he watches the small town of Greenwood disappear behind him, he can’t help but think of the day he left the Sanctuary. This is different, though. He never looked back as he walked away from his first home. But really, what’s different is that I’m no longer alone.

  To his right, Esperanza and Rachel play a guessing game involving flowers. The Daughter picks whatever she find
s growing along the roadside, and Rachel tries to guess its name by scent alone. Spikey sniffs them from Rachel’s shoulder, as well. Every once in a while, the chipmunk takes one and shoves it into his mouth.

  On the cart behind him, Poe strums away. Whenever they hit a bump in the road, the bard flicks the Half-Orc with his little, switch-like Reed and laughs. Monster growls back at him, which just makes the bard laugh all the more. Still, Poe goes out of his way to play the old hymns, the Half-Orc’s favorites. And when he works up a sweat, Poe comes and wipes his brow since he needs both hands to pull the cart.

  To his left, Wake riddles the Fate with impossible questions. “If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one about to hear it, does it make a sound?”

  “What is sound?” the Fate asks back. Wake thinks on it a moment and moves to the next.

  “What came first, the chicken or the egg?”

  “If I showed you a chicken and told you it did not come from an egg would it still be a chicken?” the Fate asks back. “If not, then the egg came first.”

  “If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?”

  “The past, because anything else I can change already.”

  “What is the meaning of life?”