“They’ll accept,” Jake said confidently. “They’ll want it to look like they’re swatting another fly away.”
“The sooner the better,” Fusar said, looking at Jake with a sinking feeling.
“Hey,” he said, laying an arm across her shoulders. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”
Fusar smiled, but couldn’t keep her sadness out of it.
“If you do,” she said, “I’ll fucking piss on your grave.”
Jake laughed out loud and Mandie snorted.
“Then I’ll be extra careful. Jaj piss smells awful.”
Fusar punched him in the arm.
“We should make contact with Anscha,” Jake said seriously. “The sooner the paladin legions can be mobilized, the better.”
The rear wall turned out to be a conference call unit. Fusar pinged the military moon and was pleasantly surprised to see she already had a Clan symbol under her name along with the title of Clan Protector, the highest individual Barras honor. A coms officer answered the call and within a minute Fusar was talking to a stern General.
She filled him in on the ever-changing situation on Ebessa. General Teronde had the look of a man who really wanted to let his troops loose but had zero confidence in Fusar’s Imperial challenge.
“The best I can do is put out a general call for base-run maneuvers,” Teronde said. “I can get three-quarters of the fleet together. More and we’ll raise suspicion on both sides. As for the legions, I’ll put out a soft call that something is up. Always helps to prepare the path ahead.”
“We appreciate that, General,” Jake said, clearly admiring Teronde’s practical bent. “We’ll be going to war tomorrow, I can guarantee that.”
“I can’t deny you’ve raised an old man’s hopes,” Teronde said. “But know this: I will not commit treason of any kind. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Jaj General who will.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less, General,” Jake said respectfully. “I don’t work with traitors myself.”
“Then we are clear,” Teronde said. “We shall talk tomorrow. Provided you are still in a position to contact me.”
The com link died. Fusar looked at Jake - those last words had sent chills down her spine.
“Too much talking,” Jake said brightly. “I need some training. Can you two help?”
Even though she was bone tired, Fusar agreed. Her quiet moments were steadily filling with images of Jake’s impending Trial anyway. So she chose a passive, undemanding role out in the Barras training yard - she strapped herself with sparring pads while Jack and Mandie beat the shit out of her.
After learning how to stand and service her friends’ attacks, she actually found the session a brilliant diversion. Jake only finished when he was drenched in sweat and unable to raise his arms. Dinner was served in Dunsilade Hall, where the off-worlders were able to chat with other members of the Clan.
The air of despondency that had pervaded the estate since Yerto’s failed Challenge was now infused with guarded hope. No one in their right mind could possibly be confident about the second challenge - not when one of the best paladins around had been so summarily defeated - but stranger things had happened.
Fusar enjoyed her hearty meal of roasted venison and succulent beets, happy to swap stories of hunting bravery out on the veldt. No one seemed particularly interested in referring to the Challenge on the morrow, which helped maintain a warm, amiable atmosphere.
As cups of steaming home range chai were passed round, a coms officer announced that Fusar’s Challenge had been accepted without reserve. Clan representatives were required to report to the Round Pit at 0900 the next day. Fusar didn’t feel any better - in fact, the news only sharpened her scything nerves.
Once everyone was full and languidly considering turning in for the night, Mandie exchanged a glance with Jake and asked Fusar if she could accompany them to the library. Curious, Fusar obliged. The Barras Clan library was a tasteful, wood-paneled chamber on the ground floor. The walls overflowed with books and projection files, all maintained with loving care.
Fusar sat with her friends in the center of the room. Mandie placed a slim projection file on the antique table before them.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she began slowly, “but we took the liberty of searching for records bearing your name.”
Fusar blinked - this was completely unexpected. She knew Jake and Mandie had her best interests at heart, but this was a dangerous game. For starters, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know about her family history. In time, it was only natural that she explore that particular path, but right now she had other things to worry about.
“Guys, I really appreciate this, but -”
“We may not get another chance,” Jake said with uncharacteristic gravity. “You’re like family to me. I was curious.”
Fusar looked at Jake from across the table. He was set to risk his life for her tomorrow. Not just her, but every Jaj. The least she could do was indulge his curiosity. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?
“I don’t need the projection file,” Fusar said. “Just tell me.”
Jake looked at Mandie.
“You’re from Anscha,” the mercenary said gently. “Merchant class. Your parents had only one child. They often took you on recycling runs to a back-ended neutron star used for landfill. During one of these runs you were attacked by pirates. According to the ship’s log, now on file in an Encyclopedia of Shipping Disasters we found here, the pirates boarded unexpectedly, killing your father and taking you with them. Distraught, your mother followed the pirate vessel, ignoring survivor protocol.”
Mandie’s eyes flickered. Jake had to look away.
“The pirates shot her down near the Tranda system and continued on their way. They were a human band running off Oorsk. Someone from St Fidelis must’ve found you there.”
Fusar didn’t feel particularly overwrought but tears rolled steadily down her face.
“What’s my name?” she asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
“Majesta,” Jake said quietly. “Fusar Majesta.”
68
Fusar made sure she was up with the dawn. She hadn’t slept at all well, despite, or perhaps because of, her physical and mental exhaustion. She just couldn’t get Jake out of her mind. There was every chance he was going to die - only a miracle could save him.
The discovery of her former life had been confronting and heartbreaking, and she needed time to process that too. Hidden amongst all the pain was a curious sense of relief. She was profoundly glad she hadn’t been given away like she was trash. The monks at St Fidelis liked to tell her she was, as if they were doing her a favor by taking her in.
The knowledge that she’d come from a normal family, a family that had fought for her, restored solidity to her sense of self. She’d never know her parents and that was cause for grief, but at least she could make sense of the tragedy that gave birth to her troubled childhood.
Fusar found Jake in the hall destroying a bowl of semela. True to form when danger was imminent, the duellist was positively buoyant, joking around like he was going on an adventure. How he did that would always be a mystery to her.
She supposed it was a result of enduring so many life or death situations. Jake was a born scrapper. And yet by his own admission this scenario was different. His obsession with helping Fusar was a crusade that might very well be his last. For the first time in his life he was supporting a cause beyond himself, and that put him at risk.
Still, she wasn’t about to ruin his mood or disturb whatever mindset he’d adopted. Mandie joined them for breakfast and seemed just as pensive as Fusar. Of course, she stood to lose a lover in just a few hours. Fusar could empathize more than the mercenary knew.
The cruiser had been prepped early and was waiting for them. Fusar would’ve preferred to limit the traveling party to just three, but of course most of the Clan insisted on lending their support. Fusar found it curious that the Clan had, to a man, a
ccepted her into the fold without question.
Word of her successful hunt had spread far and wide. Almost every sky-blue Jaj that appeared up that gangway felt the need to congratulate her again. It simply proved yet again that actions not only spoke louder than words, they spoke louder than money, power, influence. Fusar was an orphaned nobody a day ago, now she rode high at the head of one of the Great Clans.
Increasingly nervous, Fusar took several deep breaths and focused on the rising hum of the propulsion bulb. Jake occasionally reached over to pat her leg reassuringly and crack some lame joke, but all that did was fill her heart to bursting point. She didn’t want him to die. He’d been her first and strongest ally. A dear friend. To lose him today would be like losing her right arm. She didn’t dare think what she might do if Jake fell.
The Barras Clan would probably be disbanded completely and its members thrown into prison for treason. Two consecutive Trials were technically legal, but they were definitely pushing the boundaries of acceptable behavior. It was lucky that the Emperor was prone to displays of force. Hopefully his hubris would be his downfall.
A chime resonated throughout the cabin - the cruiser had begun its descent. Fusar was glad for the distraction. She played a few word games with Jake and Mandie to lighten the mood and pass the last few nerve-wracking minutes.
As the cruiser touched down, Fusar noticed the various open plazas of the Zigurat were filled with people. She exchanged a nervous glance with Jake.
“Deeds have a power of their own around here,” he said with a shrug. “The healthy orphan girl who hunted a fen snake is just the kind of figure to capture imaginations. These people have been waitin’ a long time for you.”
Fusar shivered. Just because Jake’s words rang true didn’t mean she wanted to hear them. Looking at the milling crowds, she wondered if they were Great Clan folk or regular people off the streets of Ebessa.
The aft gangway was lowered and Fusar was given pride of position. Flanked by Jake and Mandie, she made her way into the sunlight with a fiercely beating heart. A cheer went up immediately. The curious throng had to he held back by paladin troops. The way to the Round Pit had been cleared, and Fusar tried to walk with dignity and composure as she threaded a sea of Jaj.
Were they there for her, or was there a political angle to this? Emperor Silvius wasn’t exactly unpopular, but the scourge of the XX-toxin had affected all levels of society. Perhaps folks just wanted a glimpse of the girl who was fast becoming a legend.
In any case, the pervasive hum of anticipation was almost overwhelming. Fusar looked wide-eyed at Jake, who was taking it all in his stride with an easy grin. She loved him more than ever at that moment. She ached just to be with him. She pined for a lightness of being she knew she’d never have.
The Round Pit was filled to overflowing with Great Clan dignitaries. The Emperor and his retinue were already present in the front row, probably to intimidate the challengers. Haggard and drawn, Yerto Barras sat by his side. Fusar locked eyes with him and nodded. She must have looked more confident than she felt because he seemed to brighten a little.
“This is where I split,” Jake said as he was ushered onto a drop shaft by an Imperial guard. His attempt at frivolity didn’t quite work this time.
Breaking down, Fusar grabbed his hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Jake,” she said. “Surely there’s another way.”
“I’m a killer, Fusar,” Jake said in a serious tone. “I might pretend to be something else, but killing’s what I do best. The sooner you accept who I really am, the better.”
“You’re not a killer to me,” Fusar said stubbornly. “You make me feel safe.”
“Then I’m getting rusty,” Jake said, with the barest hint of a smile.
Fusar’s heart collapsed. She used every ounce of willpower she had left to resist sobbing in his arms.
“See you soon,” she said, drawing herself away. She couldn’t look at him as he descended into the pit facility. Mandie took her hand and lead them both to their seats. She’d already said her goodbyes to Jake in private and had now assumed the stern visage of a soldier. Fusar was grateful for that - she would need to draw on that strength during the fight.
The Emperor stood and held a calloused hand in the air.
“Friends of the Empire,” he said with a smug grin. “We gather today to honor tradition above all things. The Barras Clan has the right to challenge a second time. Some say the Clan’s luster is diminished in doing so. I say the opposite - I admire their guts. I admire their persistence. Let it never be said that Emperor Silvius closes his door on his people. I’m here. I’m listening. But it is my Champion who will decide. Let the Trial begin.”
Silence greeted the Emperor’s speech. Fusar felt physically sickened by it. It was equal parts false modesty, veiled threat and barely disguised hubris. Several Senators were glancing in her direction. The only way to describe those looks was curiosity leavened by pity. After all, a second consecutive Imperial challenge reeked of desperation.
Holding Mandie’s hand, Fusar leaned forward as the pit doors opened. Gyra Fashiel lumbered through with confident purpose. Fusar could barely watch as the freakishly large Jaj woman stretched her legs. Jake stepped through his door quickly, like he didn’t want to waste time. It was probably a wise policy against Gyra, who could absorb plenty of damage and wear her opponents down.
The fighters squared off at a distance, watching carefully for an opening. Jake wore the calm grin of a man who had stared death in the face countless times. Dressed in his Trial loincloth, he looked leaner than a junkyard dog.
The weapon cavities in the wall looked as impenetrable as ever. Fusar felt angry just looking at them. Their sole purpose appeared to be the mockery of whoever came up against Gyra Fashiel.
Jake suddenly feinted right, but Gyra didn’t seem to notice. He retracted quickly, but her straight-line style of fighting seemed to worry him. She seemed to invite flanking attacks just so she could launch devastating counters of her own. A fighter needed to be lightning quick to escape her long reach.
Keen to get things started, Jake executed a complicated feint that saw him twisting into Gyra’s left flank. She issued a perfectly placed counter without thinking twice. Jake was caught flush in the nose by a short arm jab that didn’t look like much, but could’ve easily sent his nasal bone through the back of his skull.
He staggered back, clearly swimming in pain but unwilling to let it show. He never let it show. Must’ve been something rough nuts like him were taught from an early age. Ignoring the blood cascading from his nose over his mouth, Jack tried another tack, drawing Gyra forward in the hope she’d commit to a full-blooded attack. She eventually did, launching a round-arm kill punch that Jake avoided with little difficulty. On his way out, however, she deftly tripped him.
“Get out of there, Jake!” Fusar found herself screaming.
But it was too late. Gyra’s huge fist came thundering down into the small of his back, which caused him to spasm uncontrollably. Fusar couldn’t breathe as Gyra stepped back to allow everyone to watch Jake’s life-threatening malaise. The spasms continued for horrible seconds before Jake rolled over and appeared to get his body under control.
Fusar was clenching her fists so hard she almost drew blood. Across the pit, Yerto Barras looked at her sadly and shook his head. Jake stood groggily and needed a moment to work out where his opponent was standing. Gyra laughed theatrically and squared up once again. Jake was content to edge around the edge of the pit, his eyes darting to the weapon cavities.
Fusar felt like screaming at him - didn’t he tell her that those weapons were fool’s gold? He seemed pre-occupied with one cavity in particular. Gyra lost patience and advanced aggressively, pinning Jake against the wall. Fusar was sure her nerves would give out - this was the moment, surely. Gyra stood over Jake and landed a brutal uppercut to his midriff. That was at least two broken ribs right there.
The hideous Jaj woman follow
ed up with a contemptuous back-hand slap that sent Jake spinning across the floor. As the duellist lilted back and forth, hopelessly disoriented, Gyra moved in for the coup de grace. Her fist spat like a cobra at Jake’s forehead. He felt backwards, ricocheting off the wall to land face first on the stone floor.
Fusar sagged back into the terrace.
“Jake …”
It was Mandie, unable to comprehend what was happening. Fusar wrapped the mercenary in her arms as they watched Jake’s death throes together. Gyra lifted one of the duellist’s limp arms, waggled it a little for effect, threw it back with disgust. She bellowed to the crowd, trying to draw a little bloodlust. She got nothing. Everyone was deathly silent, as if their collective hope had been slaughtered.
But then someone began pointing excitedly. Jake was getting up. He spat a gob of blood and sported an ugly purple bruise on his forehead, but he seemed much sharper than before. Had it all been a ruse? Saluting to Fusar and Mandie, the duellist rushed over to a weapon cavity on the far side and plunged his hand through the energy field. The crowd gasped as Jake cried out in agony. Fusar blinked as if she’d stepped into an alternate reality. What the fuck was he doing?
Jack removed his arm from the field as Gyra bore down on him. A weapon clattered to the floor and the duellist’s hand was hanging by a thread of skin.
“Jake!” Fusar screamed.
Sweaty and pale, Jake rolled away from Gyra, losing his hand completely in the desperate action. It sat on the pit floor like a nightmarish spider. Gyra grunted in frustration, hounding Jake across the pit. The duellist frantically tore away his loincloth and wrapped it around his bloody stump. Using his teeth he managed to secure it a half-second before Gyra was upon him.
She swung with both fists, but Jake side-stepped at the very last moment and darted in between her left arm and the wall, buying himself precious seconds. Already his makeshift bandage was soaked in blood. Fusar prayed to every deity she knew that his wound coagulated quickly. Jake tucked his injured arm under his left armpit, wincing from what must have been tremendous pain. The situation was so extreme that his nakedness seemed like a background detail.
Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera Page 48