The Fate: Book 1: Tournament Wysteria

by Ko, John

  Thank goodness. She stares at the older boy, wondering just what to do now. It was easy enough to follow Fate this far. But sneaking past the gate that he and the procession of Glissade entered is a whole other matter. She mustn’t be discovered.

  Enada made it more than clear that she is not supposed to make any contact with her first master until the games are officially done and over with. I am not a distraction! And never would be! she thinks, trying not to fume at the memory of the Master of the Dark Wind’s words.

  The older boy is actually cringing at her. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s not you, even though you almost just messed everything up … I guess you were just trying to help him.”

  He smiles weakly at that.

  “They went in there—Fate and the Glissade,” she tells him. “I was planning on waiting to see if they would come back out this way as well.” Ieiri doesn’t want to admit it, but bypassing this particular gate without the use of any Techs was proving difficult even for her. Sure, she could do it if she really tried, but what if she missed something, just like the daft boy had almost missed the Tech-detecting Rune.

  Along with the Rune, there are inscriptions on each bar of the iron-gate. And for the life of her she hasn’t been able to figure out which are meant to be decorative and which may be for real.

  Wake Avenoy is no longer cringing and instead inspecting the gate for himself. “Hmm, each of these bars is made of a different metal. These two are blue-steel, that one is black-iron … I see blood-iron and ones made of plain old metals as well. I don’t know what the inscriptions mean, though. Do you?”

  She shakes her head reluctantly.

  When he looks up at her, he looks a different sort of afraid. “I think he needs us right now. I don’t know why for sure, but I feel it. Fate needs us with him right now.”

  She feels it, too.

  Chapter 58

  SENSE

  [Upper Saranghae]

  The Glissade were indeed in Upper Saranghae, but now they are long gone. The direction they were last seen heading suggests Middle Saranghae as their next destination.

  Sense walks with purpose, hoping that Wake’s having better luck than he is. He activates his gauntlet. Wake is somewhere up ahead, with someone who is using a Hand of Fate, as well—someone he does not recognize.

  It’s not too surprising to find another Gauntlet-User within the capital. On more than one occasion he’s felt the presence of other Hand of Fate users during his time here—even from the palace itself. Right now, he can even feel the other members of the Team, though they are much farther away and spread all throughout the city. He can almost feel the urgency in their movements. Sense quickens his pace—he still can’t feel the Captain, however.

  Phenry Street is the most empty of a street he’s seen since arriving in the capital. The one man he finds walking about is full of complaints of how the Sitters had asked the stores on the small street to close early today. Sense asks which exact section was closed off. The answer confirms his suspicions. Worst of all, he can’t feel Wake anymore. He’s taken off his gauntlet.

  Of all times, why did they have to show up now? There must be some reason. He doesn’t believe in coincidence. The Glissade are unlike any of the other races. They cannot be Teared. Glissade’s Curse, it is called. But, still, they are held in the highest regard within the Tournament of Tears. Of all nations, they are the only to be truly neutral. Because of this, they are often brought in as arbitrators in Tear-related disputes.

  The Slithering Men have always been a source of interest to Sense. In some strange way, he’s always related to them—interested and a part of something, but at the same time apart. They observe, but are not able to participate themselves. Just like me.

  He’s read every book, scroll and article he could find on the only truly neutral race during his time at the Great Library. He found the subject of Challenges of Honor to be of particular interest. Very few nations made mention of these challenges in their histories. The first documented account of a challenge in Wysteria is only a dozen and a half years old, though since that time, they have become relatively frequent. By now there couldn’t possibly be a soul in all the Three Kingdoms who hasn’t heard of their ludicrous challenges. Everyone knows well enough to avoid them, he thinks. That is, everyone except for …

  “Rope! For goodness sake, does anyone have a rope?” yells someone, pounding on a door at the end of the street. Thank goodness! It’s Wake.

  “I found out where they went,” Wake tells him as he leads them hurriedly through the night. “And, boy, do I have a surprise for you … You’ll never believe what else I found.”

  Now’s not the time for mysteries, Sense wants to say, but he doesn’t have the breath to spare. He barely manages just keeping up, and is more than thankful when they come to a stop before a narrow slit between buildings.

  Wake leads them into the moonlit alley and soon they come upon a large gate. It is made up of seven metal bars, each as tall as three full-grown men. They seem almost unconnected except by a single bar at the bottom and a larger, thick beam at the top. A chain sprouts from it, disappearing into the night sky. There is a Rune of Tech detection set into the ground and more markings all over the gate.

  “I’m back,” Wake whispers. “And I brought some help.”

  “Is there somebody else here?” Sense asks. “We should be more quiet.”

  “You’re right, strategist,” a girl’s voice whispers directly into his ear. It takes all his self-control to keep from jumping out of his pants. He turns around to face a grinning Wake and a more shadowy figure. Short and slight, with hair as dark as night, garbed in well-fitted yet flowing black, she is unmistakably Azurian. And not just any Azurian, but one of their legendary warriors of stealth, a real-life … Sense begins to think before she asks him in a voice so soft that it makes the world stop to listen, even his own thoughts. “Strategist, do you know who I am?”

  He does. “Ieiri Skyshadow, highest-ranked youth in the Three Kingdoms, representing the Slate by way of Neverfall, Student of Fate … and his girlfriend.”

  “Well met, Arthur Bannister Jr., otherwise known as Sense,” she says. Her smile is small but pleasant. “I can see why at least you were chosen.”

  “Oh, well, I guess that’s Sense for you,” Wake says, scratching away at the back of his head bashfully.

  “Did you find a rope?” she asks.

  “No, unfortunately not. There’s not one store open along this whole street, but Sense is better than any rope.”

  The strategist is already studying the gate with greater scrutiny. “It is a good thing you two deactivated your gauntlets. There’s more than just the Rune of Detection you’ve obviously noticed. Any Tear activity beyond this point would’ve alerted whoever is trying to keep us out,” he says, pointing to a row of shards embedded near the foot of the wall on the far side. The surprised look on their faces reveal they hadn’t noticed.

  “The rope would’ve been noticed as well, at least if you tried to throw it over the gate. That beam is pressurized. If so much as a bird lands on the gate, those inside would be alerted. Very tricky, indeed,” Sense says. “But not totally impassable.”

  “See, I told you the rope was a dumb idea,” Ieiri growls at Wake.

  “At least I had an idea and it led to me bringing back Sense,” he retorts.

  Sense can’t help but chuckle. “What are you laughing at?” they both ask him.

  “I’m sorry, guys. Are you sure you two just met?” Sense asks them. They look back at him, equally confused and annoyed. They bicker worse than an old married couple, he thinks before deciding it’s probably better to move on.

  “From what I can see, this gate is almost like a test. It’s designed to be difficult to pass. But if they truly wanted to keep people out, there are many more effective and simpler ways they could have set this up.

  “As long as we keep to only touching the plain old metal bars near the middle and don’t to
uch the top beam, we can climb it. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure Wake is capable of climbing to the top using just the two bars. Once you get as high as you can, I want you to brace yourself tight; steady enough so that Ieiri can climb over you and use you almost like a step to get over the beam without touching it. Do you think you two can do that?”

  “I think so,” Wake says. “It doesn’t sound very comfortable—being a stepping stone.”

  Ieiri looks at him in disgust. “Comfort is the dream killer.”

  “You … you’re the dream killer,” Wake mutters defensively.

  Sense tries not to laugh too loudly.

  Wake climbs the two bars until just short of the top and Ieiri climbs after him. She uses his head as a step and leaps over to the other side. She disappears into the darkness and a moment later the gate begins to rise. A short celebration ensues when they join her on the other side. But that ends as soon as they notice the set of stairs that leads down into the darkness.

  Ieiri goes on ahead. Every once in a while, Sense can almost make her out, but only when she passes directly beneath one of the torches set into the wall.

  The tunnel is dark and long, with a gentle downward slope. Ieiri moves quickly, checking every nook, cranny, and crevice they pass. Wake looks wide-eyed and sweaty. Sense just tries to keep up.

  The corridor continues on; torch after passing torch are the only signs of their progress. Eventually, the tunnel opens up and voices can be heard in the distance. Ieiri motions for them to stop and disappears into the darkness. When she returns, she whispers so closely to his ear that her lips are almost brushing them. “Follow me exactly. Move as I move.”

  Easier said than done, Sense thinks. A shorts ways more and she gets down onto her belly, inching her way towards the voices growing louder in the darkness.

  Now that they are closer, he can tell it’s predominantly just one voice and though he can’t make out what it says, its tone is calm and reassuring. Every once in a while the voice stops, and its words are repeated by a chorus of others. It sounds like some sort of ceremony.

  In the far distance he can make out the tunnel’s end and the two Slithering Men who stand guard before a huge but plain set of doors. They would be able to see us too if we weren’t on our bellies.

  The voice stops and a new voice answers. It’s the Captain, he thinks, happy and worried at the same time. He can’t make out what he’s saying, but it’s definitely Fate.

  Doors line each side of this section of the hall. Ieiri disappears into one of them and they follow behind her, still crawling on their bellies. Now, we’re slithering men too, he thinks as he nudges the door closed behind him.

  There is no telling if he’s entering a ballroom or a closet in the pitch black. But a hand grabs his own and pulls him up to his feet. It guides him along gently until they come to a stop at a wall. There is an opening there. It is far too small for them to pass, but from it echoes the voices. This must be some sort of air hole or vent that connects closer to where the Captain is.

  “ … the sins of the father?” the voice asks.

  “I will, sir,” the Fate says.

  “The son of Beck Songjinn seeks his redemption,” a chorus repeats.

  “And for whom do you quest?” the voice asks.

  “I am here in the name of the Three Kingdoms of Wysteria.”

  “The burden of one is unbearable, but the burden of a nation will crush you. This is assured. Still, do you wish to continue?”

  “Yes, sir, let the burden try to crush me,” the Fate says. “For I am here to crush that burden.”

  “Well said, hero,” the voice says. “But failure of such a Challenge does not come without consequence. Are you willing to accept such a fate?”

  “I am, sir.”

  Then there is silence. “Do you understand what’s going on?” Wake whispers in one ear. “What burden do they want him to take on?” Ieiri whispers in the other.

  “I’m not sure,” is all Sense has for an answer. Already, this is far different from what he expected. Burdens? Consequences? There was no mention of those things in any Challenge I’ve ever heard of.

  As far as he knows, there were many Challenges of Honor issued in the past decade—all of them outrageous, none of them ever taken seriously. Everyone’s always treated the Challenges as a novelty, but this … this seems serious.

  A large bell rings in the other room. The voice continues, “Before Honor comes Redemption. The Challenge of Redemption is sought.”

  “Redemption before Honor,” the chorus chants.

  “To redeem thy name and that of your father, you must conquer the final game without stepping out onto the battlefield.”

  “Conquer without might,” the chorus chants.

  “To claim your honor, you must tell no soul of our meeting tonight or what it is you attempt.”

  “Gain trust without words,” the chorus echoes.

  “Your punishment for failure is that you will never fight again.”

  “Fail and give up your greatest joy,” the chorus says almost sadly.

  “The Challenges have already begun,” the voice says kindly. “May good fortune shine down upon you.”

  There is applause and the sound of shuffling. I wonder if Fate’s father had something to do with the incident twelve years ago, the event that no one speaks of, Sense thinks to himself.

  No matter how much he searched or who he asked, he was never able to find out a single piece of information of that fateful day. All he knows for sure is the Three Kingdoms were banned from the International Tournament of Tears shortly thereafter. Could these Challenges somehow be related to that? he wonders. It has to be.

  “Fate, may I have word?” the voice from before asks. Though the tone is much more hushed, it is even clearer. What luck. They must have moved closer to the vent.

  “Yes, High Lord Jhezza, it would be my honor,” Fate says.

  “Among my people, there is an oath that we hold sacred above all others. It is a pact of loyalty that will tie our destinies until the end of days. I have been watching you since before you could walk and have admired the man you have become. I wish to take this oath with you.”

  “I will be honored to take this oath,” Fate says. “Is it right to take it before I have completed my Challenges though?”

  “As in all things there are benefits and drawbacks to when the oath is taken. But this will in no way influence the outcome of your Challenges,” the Glissade says. “As for myself, I am willing to accept the risks. Shall we continue?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Glissade clears his throat and speaks loudly. “I come before you as Jhezza, son of Adzz. The paths we have traveled are our own, but let our ways become one. From this day forth, I shall witness the world through your eyes and listen to its song through your ears. In turn, I will pledge my entirety in support of your dreams. Do you accept me, Fate of lost name?”

  “I do,” the Fate says.

  “Now we are united. And I will never betray you as long as you stay true.”

  The door behind the eavesdropping trio bursts open and light fills the room. In the doorway is the silhouette of a Slithering Man, spear in hand. “What are you two doing in here? Guards!”

  Two? is Sense’s first thought. His question is quickly answered when he finds only Wake at his side. Ieiri must have hidden in time, he thinks, trying not to look around. Now, how to get me and Wake out of here in one piece?

  The Glissade in the doorway is as tall as Wake and in many ways similar to an ordinary man, all except for the trail of cloth that flows behind him, almost like the train of a long gown. Except that underneath the trailing fabric, Sense can make out its thick tail, which undulates to the Slithering Man’s every movement. But Glissade are supposed to be taller than most ordinary humans. His features are also smoother, less refined. Could he be younger, like us? Sense wonders.

  “Guards!” the Glissade yells out once more.

  “W
ait,” Sense says, standing up. The Glissade youth stares at him for a moment before yelling a third time.

  Stay calm, define the situation … what is important right now? The Glissade in the doorway is not his enemy. They don’t mean each other harm. If only he could get the Glissade to understand that.

  “We mean no harm. We were just worried about our friend and Captain, the Fate,” Sense tries to tell him. That at least stops the Glissade’s shouts for the guards. But now the spear is pointed directly at Sense. What to do? What to do?

  The Glissade youth looks at him expectantly and the words that come out of his mouth surprise Sense as much as anyone. “I come before you as Sense, son of Arthur Bannister, Sr. The paths we have traveled are our own, but let our ways become one. From this day forth, I shall witness the world through your eyes and listen to its song through your ears. In turn, I will pledge my entirety in support of your dreams. Do you accept me, Glissade?”

  The Glissade youth looks at him for what seems an eternity before finally bursting into laughter. The clanking of armor grows closer, but before the guards arrive, the young Glissade closes the door behind him.

  “Zzan? Are you in there? Did you call for us?” the guards ask from the other side of the door.

  The young Glissade lowers his spear and places his hand on the wall. Something clicks and a light turns on in the center of the room. He’s no longer laughing, but instead staring intently at Sense.

  Finally, he answers. “My apologies, it seems to have been just a couple of rats. Two of the biggest rats I have ever seen, but just rats, nonetheless.”

  Grumbling can be heard on the other side and then the sound of clanking armor moving away.

  The Glissade that the guards called Zzan speaks. “How can a human see through a Glissade’s eyes or listen through his ears?” He laughs again. Behind him a shadow grows and suddenly, Ieiri is behind him, claws outstretched.

  “No, stop!” Sense says.