The transmission ends abruptly and the figure fades. I scratch my head in confusion. Aida and Remus are silent, but their faces are astonished at this new puzzle piece. Aida replays the message.
What is going on? Whoever sent this is no friend of the Remnant, yet they intended for it to remain in secret. The Remnant is unaware of the dealings this person has been doing. It even seems like this person wants to stop Centum’s plan from coming to fruition. But there are still so many questions. Uniting the Outlanders, stopping Centum’s darkness, and the Crimsons failing to yield. I see there’s much more conflict brewing than I originally thought.
Aida examines the image one last time before deactivating it. She puts a finger to her chin in thought before saying, “Every time we think we’re close to finding the answer, some new wildcard gets thrown our way.”
“Wildcard—” Remus grunts in amusement. I think he likes the use of the word. “Outlander— Army—”
I cross my arms and consider his statement. The message did mention something about uniting the Outland clans. But I’ve never thought the Outlanders were numerous enough to form an army.
Aida regards me warily, her thick lips purse. “So what does this mean, Sarina?” she asks, trying to figure out why I confided in them. “Why show this to us?”
I place my hands on my hips. My left hand brushes against the spear clipped to my belt. “You’ve both been set on helping me since the day we met,” I say. “I haven’t exactly shown you the gratitude you deserve. I had a hard time believing that you genuinely cared about what happened to me. I suppose you could consider that holoprojector as something of an olive branch.”
Remus smiles thinly under his beard. His eyes beam with admiration and acceptance. If there’s one thing I can take away from him, it’s that he’s loyal no matter what. He didn’t care that I’d abused their trust, he’s just happy to see my willingness to finally trust them.
Aida remains stern for a time. Her eyes are skeptical, and she cocks her head with dubiousness. “I find it hard to believe someone can have a change of heart so quickly,” she says.
She locks glances with Remus for a moment before looking directly into mine. Suspicion fades and she smiles lightly. “But, I’m a forgiving person. Just, try not to doubt our intentions, will you? We want to help.”
“Oh, you can definitely count on me wanting your help. I’m going to need it.”
Almost naturally, we embrace simultaneously. She pats my back and I smile. It seems so easy. Just a few words and a gesture of trust place me back in their graces. But, I suppose that’s what friends do. Trust unconditionally.
Chapter 33: Tálir
Murky Feelings
I DON’T NEED YOU to defend me, Tálir, the words echo. I still feel the bruise pulsing on my left eye.
Something is different about my focus today. It’s more potent and more precise. Perhaps due to the intense anger I feel. My attention has focused on nothing but my frustration towards Sarina since Abrax and I started practicing this morning. The old man does a variant of one handed exercises to keep himself limber—though he refrains from actually using magic. While our kryo ammunitions are still adequate, Abrax wants to start conserving until we encounter another kryo mound. But who knows when we’ll find one.
There’s a snap, and I reload my right gauntlet. Using several stances, I accustom myself to the Shield Form while instinctively learning to alternate which gauntlet the magic generates from. A combination of left arm Shield and right arm Stream works into the exercise. Outputs for the Shield vary from 30% to 40%. Streams are now consistently holding at 25%, and I berate myself for ever thinking it was hard.
More intense Shield applications involve using the Form as a melee weapon. My kryo output would need to remain at 50% for that to work, however. Abrax recited the rules of Form II almost an hour ago. Shield can only block Stream and mundane weapons, it cannot be thrown as a large Discus, and it’s the second fastest Form to drain kryos. I suppose magic flaming swords can be blocked to some degree as well, but I don’t push that subject.
A haze forms over my field of vision as I concentrate on the magic. Intense heat burns in my head and chest. I channel it into each move, and the release it brings is satisfying. Yet, something seems off to the energy and I can’t place my finger on it. I reload the kryo in my left gauntlet. Forceful steps resound in the muddy water of the swamp, and I think Abrax finally takes note.
“Lad, this entire swamp is getting hotter with all that anger boiling within you,” he comments dryly. “What’s the problem?”
The tense silence that follows is only interrupted by the screeches of avians and the croaking of toads. I look over at him askance—my body tense with frustration.
I say nothing but I continue to fume with animosity. Not just towards Sarina’s impudence, but to Abrax’s admission to knowing who Sarina was all along. I stare at the murky ground, my eyes full of resentment.
My silence is cut short by the sudden impact of a Stream blast that emits from the old man’s fingertips. Even without the helmet, he’s able to flawlessly channel the stun blast at 25%.
And it hurts.
I’m instantly thrown from my feet and sent sailing two meters before landing in the murky waters. Mud splashes over my helmet and chest as I make impact. A stinging sensation emanates from within my chest. I can feel my pride taking a beating as well. My head sits up from the mud and I see Abrax rise from his perch.
“You’re pathetic, Tálir,” Abrax scoffs as he scratches his beard. “You’re sulking like a child because she hurt your pride. If you possessed even a shred of discipline, you’d get past this easily and focus on your training. But instead, you keep your head in your ass, and let has-beens like me and Spud kick your ass into the muck. You could’ve bested him if you were smart about it. But no, your brashness got in the way. If I hadn’t been there, he would’ve fried your sorry ass and left your corpse to rot in those catacombs.”
I sit up and wipe the mud from my visor. While he can’t see my face, I’m sure he can sense my humiliation. Because he’s right.
After weeks of training, I have yet to channel at 100% output. Let alone master any part of the final Forms. Due to these failures, I had almost been killed by Septem as well. Despite how confident I am with my abilities, Abrax and Septem have showed me just how inferior I am. I feel humiliated, helpless as I sit in the mud. Stinging pain still wells in my chest. But through the pain, I feel the heat of my anger slowly working in my chest—and it begins pumping into my veins like fire.
The fury stems from more than just the pain. It’s spurred by degradation and inadequacy. How can I continue to let the old man get the better of me if I’m to master the suit? How can I possibly live up to my father’s legacy? And the answer is a simple one.
Shaking off the effects of the Stream, I get to my feet as quickly as I can. The sound of sloshing water echoes through the trees. Mud is flecked all across my armor, and swamp water casually drips from various parts of my body.
Abrax regards me stonily, and sizes me up with a look as if he’s analyzing what I’m about to do.
“If you want to live up to the Maven legacy, you’ve got to learn that nothing ever comes from acting out of hotheadedness or foolish pride,” he says. “Those from my old Order know more about the armor and kryos than you can hope to perceive, and if you pick irrational fights you’ll lose. Brashness leads to failure. You. Will. Lose.”
Under the helmet, I flash a cold look at Abrax. Snapping my right arm forward, I release a retaliatory Stream towards his head. The five emerald beams fountain from my fingertips and hurl towards the old man’s face at an incredible speed. Unsurprisingly, he tilts his head slightly and the bolts strike the tree behind him. Faster than I anticipated, he sends another blast my way as he slowly begins to advance on me. There’s calm focus in his eyes.
Dodging the blast by sidestepping away, I reload my gauntlet and try to focus my suit’
s energy to 50%. I want to test myself through experience, not regimented training. The only way I’ll learn is to test myself against an opponent.
Abrax is an effective teacher, but he has failed to be a true mentor. A Suzerain is supposed to test their se’bau in more ways than one. The old man’s style has been practice, listen, lecture, and then practice. It’s too repetitive. His lessons are controlled, regimented, and stagnant. I desire more challenge than just focusing harder.
So if he won’t take up the task, I’ll have to force him to.
Using both hands, I send two Streams towards Abrax—my feet splashing against water and mud as I pivot. In response, Abrax forms a Shield about three meters in diameter over his left arm. The Streams collide with the Shield with a loud bang and send spouts of emerald sparks—illuminating the area briefly with an eerie glow. Abrax doesn’t pause, and continues to gingerly advance as I continue to evade him around the perimeter of our training area.
Minding my past mistakes, I choose to think strategically. The frustration is still present, but it doesn’t inhibit my mind. I have to show him that I’m not just brash during a fight. Minding my kryo usage, I keep sending short and controlled Streams at him for any sign of weakness.
Then, I spot one.
Abrax is so focused on advancing that he’s forgotten how taxing the Shield is without reloading. A large reservoir has been built up in that section of his armor. The right amount of magic could overload the system and disable the Shield, for a short time. All I need to do is focus on a more intense Form. The Discus.
My HUD reads Kryo Charge: 57% while the output is currently 36%. I strain my focus, letting my building anger climb. I release a Stream. The beams arc in the air and slam into the Shield, but only cause a shower of sparks to erupt. I curse in irritation. Still, the blast is strong enough to stop him in mid stride for a few seconds—buying me time.
It needs more intensity, I tell myself. My face burns with vexation as I concentrate to focus the intensity to 39% before releasing the energy. Still nothing.
43% before unleashing another tangle of emerald fire. Nothing.
C’mon, I say to myself. C’mon!
Abrax is barely three meters from me and about to ram me head on with the Shield as my anger takes hold. Veins in my temple throb and my face burns. My eyes widen and I let out a savage yell as I suddenly focus the charge to 50%. Without thinking, I fling my right arm forward like I’m throwing a ball. Materializing in my hand is a rotating disk of energy that hurls towards Abrax. My mouth is agape.
The resulting impact of the Discus generates a green flash that lingers in my vision for a few seconds. As it wears off, I see the results of my attack. Almost as if it’s made of solid material, the energy Shield cracks and shatters like a pane of glass.
Silence elapses for a brief moment. My heart jumps in excitement. Satisfaction then creeps up in me as I see Abrax frozen in astonishment, but it’s short lived. With the last bit his kryo can provide, he flicks his index finger and sends a Stream speeding towards my helmeted face. There’s a flash of light and then all goes dark.
◆◆◆
There’s a disappointed look on his face as an emerald haze surrounds him. Father stares towards me, his helmet retracted. His dark eyes are solemn and his auburn hair is tied in a knot. From under his beard, I see him frown. It’s the same as before.
“What?” I plead, my voice echoing. “Father what have I done to displease you?”
Silence punctuates my words. I move towards him, and his eyes stare ahead. But there’s… something else. Stepping to the side, I realize his eyes don’t follow me. He’s not looking at me after all.
Slowly, I turn around to see what he’s looking at. Some distance away from me stands a tall figure. Garbed in full, dazzling Maven armor, the figure he stares at wears a long, golden cape. I begin to step towards the figure, but it vanishes in a wisp of green vapor.
Darkness descends over my eyes.
◆◆◆
“That seems a bit… extreme. Wouldn’t you say?” someone asks as I slowly regain consciousness.
The kryo vision replays in the back of my mind, but I force myself to ignore it… for now. I can feel a burning right behind my forehead—a hangover from the Hells. Even my eyes throb as I attempt to open them.
I’m propped up against what feels like a rotting tree trunk, my rear seated on some leather padding. I also notice that someone has retracted my helmet, for a breeze touches my cheek. As my eyes open, I see Sarina seated close to me while Abrax stands a meter away—his left hand on his hip. He bears a look of wry amusement as Sarina looks at him with perturbation. What is she doing here?
“Trial by fire,” he says to her. “It’s what he seemingly wanted. That’s how any of us truly learn any hard lesson. Besides, brash actions only lead to half-victories in the best case. He just ended up with the worst case.”
“I thought this was just about using the suit,” Sarina replies quickly. “This sounds more like indoctrination.”
“Yeah, it does,” I grumble as I sit up straighter.
Their heads snap to look at me. Sarina flashes a faint smirk while Abrax looks stern. ”I’m convinced that you like taking these beatings, Tálir,” he says in a mocking voice. “You keep picking fights you can’t win, and you take the hits every time. If you keep this up, you’ll get yourself killed. A Maven Knight uses collected focus, not furious concentration.”
“Is that concern I hear in your voice, old man?” I retort, rubbing my head. “I’m touched. But you saw that! Using that bit of heated focus allowed me to use the Discus Form!”
“You used your rage for concentration, not the calm focus of a Maven,” Abrax says dangerously. “Yes, that kind of power can grant you brief surges of power. But that’s all they are. Brief!”
I glower. “But it worked!” I say even as his dark face contorts in concern. “I broke your Shield like it was nothing! You should be proud!”
“I want you to learn. Not just about how to be a Maven, but also how to act like one.” The old man says with a pained voice. “Being hotheaded won’t help you if you want to be one. Using an emotional focus is not how a Maven channels their magic.”
“You’re just as hotheaded as I am, Abrax!” I say, leaning forward and scowling at him. “You can’t really preach to me when you have the same faults.”
I can see solemnity in his features. I think this might be the first time I’ve been able to strike an effective blow against him. But it doesn’t ring with victory.
“You’re right,” he nods rather gravely, closing his eyes. “But I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to follow my path. I failed not just the Maven legacy, but myself as well. I fell from grace with such finality; I never thought I’d be able to atone for my failure. But if I can properly show someone what it means to inherit that legacy, then maybe I’ll find some redemption.”
His sincerity takes me by surprise, and I feel rather shameful for challenging him.
Speechless, I reflect on the gravity of Abrax’s sudden explanation. I’m his legacy. His last chance to redeem himself in his own eyes for failing the Maven Knights. My anger suddenly turns to pity as I look at him. He’s chosen me as a successor of sorts—an heir to his myth. A true se’bau. I feel both honored and dreadful, for he’s putting a lot of faith in me.
I know I can’t disappoint him; I can’t let his faith be for nothing. But am I ready? Certainly not, but I know I have to try. A surge of inspired determinism hits me, and I realize what is required of me.
I have to train harder than anyone he’s ever seen if I’m to honor his legacy as a Maven, I think. I owe him that.
A moment passes when I don’t say anything. Avians chirp while toads croak, filling the air with a soft chorus. The sun has come out and it’s bright against the cloudless sky above the fog and trees.
“I had no idea you took this that seriously, Abrax,” I say sincerely. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll trai
n diligently until I surpass any others you’ve trained. I will be your true se’bau. And I won’t fail you.”
The old man looks surprised, like he’s never been taken so seriously before in his life. For a split second, I see a faint grin and his eyes light up with pride. Then it’s gone.
“You’re not getting off the hook after that little speech, Tálir,” he grumbles in his usual demeanor. “So don’t try that emotional focus shit again.”
Reluctantly, I nod. I’ll do my best, but I’m unsure of how well I can keep my emotions in check. Punctuating my point, I look at Sarina and a churning storm of anger forms in my stomach. My left eye is still bruised from Devin’s assault.
So I struggle to remain objective. “What, do you like seeing me get my ass kicked?” I ask coldly, mirroring her tone from earlier. “I suppose that’s fair entertainment for someone like you.”
The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1) Page 26