by Paul Heisel
The spirits laughed at her. She didn’t break the binding and one of the spirits told her that she was the wrong one. She tried one more time with the same result, they continued laughing and berating, telling her that Caleth was doomed and would die, and there was nothing she could do about it. Djaa was going to be victorious. Tears came. She failed everyone, including the man she loved. She put aside the sacks of rice she had brought with her, picked up the lantern, and headed to the entrance. It was a shock to her that in a short time Caleth would be dead, then after that, Feln would be dead as well. Two of her best friends would be gone within moments of each other, and she failed to prevent it. She bypassed the guards, skirting to the side when she saw Qio approaching the entrance to the Crypt of Warlords. He looked determined, and she figured it had to do with her. Her breath held so the steamy exhales wouldn’t betray her, she jogged across the exposed stones and picked the safest path through the ice and snow.
She became visible once it was safe to do so. She went behind the pavilions, away from the crowds and the Crypt of Warlords. Thoughts were lost to her fears; they were going to be dead – Caleth and Feln would die soon. She stayed behind the pavilions and tents, ignoring the festivities around her. Her whole world was spinning and this damn belt wouldn’t help her! There was crusty, deep snow here for her to trudge through, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be alone. To her right was the back of the Emperor’s pavilion, to the left were short rolling hills still covered with snow. She circled behind the Emperor’s pavilion, Shisaru’s and Ashimo’s, came into the main pavilion and stopped. The crowds were gathering to participate, waiting for the final bout to begin. The administrators were preparing. From the Safun pavilion came Caleth and Feln, both heading with their protectors to the pillars and the golden circle. Feln looked at her and she shook her head. Tears came. They rushed together.
“I love you, no matter what happens,” Feln said.
“I couldn’t get inside the Crypt.”
“Things will work out. Caleth knows there are others helping Djaa. With that knowledge, he may be able defend himself from whatever is in there.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
They kissed one last time. Feln parted and rejoined the contingent where Caleth and Djaa were brought forth and put in the circle. The administrator began his speech. Owori tried to listen, but nothing made sense to her – the words were jumbled – it was like her ears weren’t working. She didn’t want this to begin. She needed more time. How could she get more time?
“Excuse me,” a voice said.
Owori felt a sting on her hand, the only exposed part of her body save for her face. As she turned, the strength rushed out of her body and two men grabbed her, holding her body up. A black blanket went over her red robe. She tried to push them away, but her muscles weren’t working correctly. Calling forth her magic, she tried to fling one of them to the side, but it only moved him an inch. They propped her up and helped her walk through the surging crowd toward the Shisaru area until her legs gave out completely, dragging her then, and with everyone’s attention on what was happening, no one noticed them taking her away. She was aware of what was going on, but couldn’t move, couldn’t prevent them from doing whatever they intended to do. They were taking her toward one of the small makeshift tents erected near the family pavilions to keep provisions safe from the weather.
They took her inside. It was void of people, but not empty. There was a small table two feet square and small wooden chairs, wooden boxes and chests filled with clothing, boots, and coats – a storage tent. One of the men struck her across the face and let her crash to the ground. She lay there, paralyzed, looking up at the two Furies she had strung up at the Sode manor. They were bruised and cut, looking satisfied that they found her. Owori knew she should have killed them.
“She’s resisting the poison,” one said, his eyes black from his broken nose. “It’s never worked this slowly.”
“Kill her and let’s get out of here,” the other said. “We’re not supposed to be here.”
A thin long knife slipped out of a sheath.
Owori tried to use her magic, pleading it to work.
This was it, she was going to die.
There was a sudden flood of power through her body as she watched the knife point come down at her. All pain and barriers to her magic were thrown aside in an instant and her muscles responded to her will, as did her magic. She immobilized the two Furies, shaping her shield to contain them. Additional magic flowed from the belt while her inherent magic amplified it. She made the magic shield smaller, squeezing the two Furies and crushing their bodies. Blood came out of their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths. Their bones snapped and skulls collapsed, and she didn’t stop until every bit of life in their bodies was destroyed. The magic held them there, the horrific mess hiding any expression they may have made. She cast them aside in a pile, came to her feet, and flew out of the tent.
The administrator was still giving his speech. She didn’t need to look to see what was happening, as her magic could sense Caleth and Djaa facing each other. They hadn’t gone into the Crypt of Warlords, not yet, so she still had time. Without thinking, she blinked and was running, dodging groups of people and obstacles that blurred as she went by. Ahead of her the two guards were impassive, their attention on what was happening at the pillars and inside the golden circle. She went by them with but a whisper of a sound. Inside the dark Crypt, she could see well enough, the magic changing her vision so it was sharper and working in the blackness. Her body was electrified and her mind was buzzing, she had so many profound feelings and sideways thoughts bombarding her consciousness that it was difficult for her live in the moment. Her mind was working ahead, planning for what she would find beyond the barrier. She had broken the binding and accessed the power off the Most Favored belt, now she was one with it, and could use it to help Caleth. It was clear to her the threat of death, self-preservation, had broken the binding and made the belt act on her behalf. Or her magic had acted and forced the belt to act. Whichever the case, she was unbound, free, and would be able to enter the Crypt of Warlords and keep Djaa from having assistance.
Her whole body was alive, not one part of her hurt nor did she feel fatigued, it was as if her physical being had been reborn through the magic. She moved swiftly down through the Crypt, barely aware of her surroundings. There was light here, and in her haste, the presence of a lit lantern didn’t register until she saw Qio. The Fury was in front of the portal waiting for her. He reacted to her presence by taking a defensive stance – he was here to prevent her from going into blackness beyond the Crypt of Warlords. In the span of those seconds it occurred to her that Qio was helping the unmarked Furies, but that made no sense at all. Why go through such elaborate means to assassinate the Emperor if you had a loyal Fury right next to him who could strike by devious means? No, he was here to stop her. Owori came to a halt.
“Qio, I don’t have time to explain this,” she said. “I need to go through that portal and make sure the fight is fair.”
“Yuki told me you would try to interfere,” Qio said. “He suspects you had a part in the fire at the Sode manner as well. Turn back, you may still be able to salvage your life. Going further only reinforces the suspicion. They will execute you!”
“You have to let me by or I will move you out of the way.”
“Members of the Sode family are friends with the Emperor! This must stop! If the other families found out that the Emperor’s Fury was using her magic to guide the selection of Warlord, there would be civil war!”
“I’m not using my magic to help select the Warlord,” she said. “I’m trying to keep the Sode family from cheating. What would the other families say if I brought back proof that the Sode family was interfering?”
“There would be war,” he said, his tone flat.
“I promise you, I won’t alter the course of the fight. You have my word as a friend. I need to make sure Djaa doesn’t receive assist
ance or the Most Favored of Safun will be dead.”
“I can’t let you pass,” he said.
“Who do you serve?” she asked.
“The Warlord of Pyndira. I’m bound to the Warlord.”
“Is this what you want? To serve a Warlord who cheated his way into the position? Do you want to serve a Warlord that you will not be able to trust? Who won’t do what is best for the Empire?”
“If you’re so sure about this, then take me with you,” he said. “I’ll be a witness to all of this and I’ll make sure you are true to your word and don’t interfere.”
“You can’t go in,” she told him, trying to think of a way to explain this. “I’ve been trying to get inside and the spirits won’t let me. I’ve finally figured out how to do it. Now step aside.”
“This is your last…”
Owori pushed him out of the way with a flick of her wrist, the magic sliding him away from the portal. He brought forth his cold and frost in response, but it couldn’t penetrate her shield. She focused and kept the spray of ice at a distance. “If you don’t stop, you’ll seal yourself in your ice!” The magic abated. She pushed him farther away, knocked him over, and dove headfirst into the black portal.
Spirits were pleading with her not to come through, others were snickering as if it were a cruel joke. The pleading turned to panicked screams and the snickering became insults commingled with laughter. She wasn’t sure what was happening. The nothingness enveloped her and she felt as if she was swimming against a strong current, not with her arms and legs, but with her mind and magic. Why were they trying to keep her out? What was going on? Voices told her that she was the wrong Fury. She was the wrong unbound Fury. The laughing ones provoked her into coming through, yes, come through and see what happens. They were yelling at her that she was a disgrace to all Furies and should be destroyed. The blackness persisted, as did the resistance to entering. What remained was a barrier in her way, a semi-solid door between her and her destination. Owori pressed harder with her magic, and it felt like whatever was opposing her was ripping. With reckless energy, she continued and tore at the barrier in front of her. The blackness fell away, weakened for a split second, and with one final effort she pushed through the tear. The voices became silent. She landed on green and yellow grass, tumbling down from a small ridge. She was up on her feet immediately – she didn’t know how much time she had. In the distance, she could see hills and burrows covered with the same yellowing grass. To her left was a higher ridge curving along her vision, she had fallen from it, and it looked to be a natural barrier but it wasn’t so high that she couldn’t climb it if she needed to. To the right were low flat hills that extended into a blurry distance, it looked like a painting, a fabrication. There was an open area large enough to accommodate a small skirmish. Spirits were lined up there, floating, waiting. She could see Caleth and Djaa facing each other. She heard a tinny voice in her head. It is done.
She blinked and ran forward, not sure what she would find or see in the next moments. She wondered if the spirits who lobbied so hard against her entering would fight to stop her. Should she let Caleth and Djaa know that she was here? To make sure they knew the fight would be fair? Or would that cause Djaa’s help to come after her? As she ran, she felt the energy returning that she had lost tearing into the barrier, gaining strength through her newfound magic. Ahead Caleth and Djaa were listening to the spirits and between the two was a table. She could see there were knives on it and both selected two to fight with. The final battle for the Warlord of Pyndira would be a knife fight. The table disappeared.
Owori remained invisible, watching and waiting.
#
Being swept into the Crypt of Warlords was a familiar sensation and after the initial shock, Caleth regained his wits. Across from him was Djaa, silent, unmoving – motionless as a predator waiting for prey to wander by. The spirits floated out of their burrows to greet them. What the spirits had to say wouldn’t be different. Caleth waited for them to approach, keeping his insides calm. The diaphanous mists melded in more substantial forms, representations of their past physical bodies.
“You two of Malurrion are who remains through tests of battle, endurance, and strength,” the spirit said. “Only one of you can become the Warlord of Pyndira. Only one of you can be victorious today. Caleth, you have been impressive, fighting well enough to beat each of your opponents. Your skills and preparation have served you. As Warlord, you will make decisions based on what makes sense and what is best for the Empire. Djaa, you have been ruthless and brutal, killing each of your opponents though it was not required. Your skills are equal to Caleth. As Warlord, you will be unparalleled in your pursuit of your goals and you won’t waiver from your prescribed path. Both of you have been here before and know the rules. There are no rules for this fight. We will be the judge of who is victorious, so do not stop until we have declared a winner.”
A table appeared between the two combatants. On the wood surface was a collection of various knives; thin, stout, jagged edges, and small curved blades were represented.
“I know you have assistance,” Caleth told Djaa as he came forward to the table. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I’ll be watching out for it.”
“You’ll never see it coming,” Djaa said. “Take your weapons and let’s get this started.”
Caleth took thick stout knives used for hunting. They would be heavier, but better out in the open as opposed to close quarters. Djaa took similar blades. It was evenly matched. The table remained until the two stepped away, then it faded away into the ether. Caleth wondered if he could find a more defensible spot to engage Djaa, one where his helpers couldn’t get behind him. Before he could consider his options, Djaa started the battle with a feint and a countermove that nearly caught him unprepared.
#
Owori was close by, hidden and invisible, waiting for Djaa’s helper or helpers to appear. She figured the assistance would come from over one of the hills. If it were two helpers, the three of them could engage Caleth and tire him, then finish him. The cohort was most likely a Fury and that meant magic in various forms could be used. She had to be ready for anything and be ready to act without hesitation.
Djaa first strike nearly caught Caleth off guard, the thick blade just missing the dodging Caleth by scant inches. Djaa came at Caleth and danced to the side, swiping with the knife. More composed now, Caleth blocked the blows, retreated, and set his feet for Djaa’s attack. They fought for a minute, both unwilling to press the offensive too firmly. Caleth then went after Djaa with a ferocious series of preplanned attacks, leaving a shallow cut on Djaa’s arm. Without warning an invisible force propelled Caleth and he flew backwards on the grass. Owori tensed as a man appeared out of thin air.
He was broad-shouldered, bare-chested, and had a dragon tattoo covering his upper body. He wore fighting pants that had seen better days and had light leather boots. He had a shorter version of a katana, a ninjato, at the ready. Physically, the Fury looked formidable. He moved forward at a casual pace, twirling the ninjato in his nimble hand as if he had all the time in the world. Caleth was on the ground, digging in his heels to get away. He was pinned on the ground while the Fury was coming at him. There was no time to intercept the Fury despite his casual pace. Owori shot out her magic and sent the Fury skidding across the grass to give Caleth time to stand up. She was visible now and removed her Dragonblades in a smooth motion. They were already glowing hot red and violent green, ready for battle. She was going to close the distance and protect Caleth until she was sure the Fury would not be a factor in the fight.
“Owori!” Caleth called out, a warning, not a greeting. Finally, he was able to get to his feet.
She twisted defensively. A man was beside her and she constructed her shield, hoping it would impede whatever was coming at her. It was another Fury, in fact it looked like the same Fury, rushing at her with a blade extended. Twins. The magic made the Fury slip to the side, enough of a deviati
on so she could defend with the Dragonblades. An unexpected force threw her sideways and off balance. She twisted again to defend with the blades but had to keep her balance, then felt a sting on her thigh as the Fury’s blade found her flesh. She went to the ground and brought forth her magic in a torrent and directed all of it at the Furies.
Both Furies were in a crouch, using their magic as she was, the opposite forces hammering against each other. She kept pressing harder, hoping one of them would weaken. The one farthest away, Kitasu, stood up and started toward Owori. The nearer one, Mitasu, directed his magic at the grass, tearing it asunder and throwing dirt, rocks, and sod at her. Her shield came up and blocked the hail of earth, but her attack on them dissipated. The debris obscured her sight and without a second thought she blinked and ran backwards with shield extended, the cloud of dirt expanding all around. When the dust subsided she turned, fully expecting to see the two Furies on her heels. They weren’t. Kitasu was swiping at the air with his blade, guessing where Owori could be. Mitasu was sending out waves of magic, blasting empty air. He stopped wasting his magic and took up a defensive position.
“Wound him,” Kitasu commanded. He blinked.
Mitasu headed toward Caleth, who was fending off blows from Djaa. The Fury got closer. Owori ran, knowing they would hear her, but she had to make sure the Fury didn’t make it to Caleth. This called for her Dragonblades and her physical skills, which she was certain the two Furies weren’t prepared for. She neared Mitasu and became visible, striking at him with the blades. His senses and magic saved him from death, the blades raked down his shoulders and didn’t flay him open as intended. Mitasu fell to the side, momentarily dazed by his wounds.
She blinked.
Kitasu appeared and was upon her, and the ninjato sliced across her arm. She avoided the blow with her speed and magic, barely, and instantly she could feel the small wound being healed by the Most Favored belt. If they carried on in this manner, though, they would best her eventually, she realized that now. These Furies were experienced at fighting and blinking, and she didn’t doubt for a moment they didn’t know what the other was thinking. She was near Caleth now, walking silently so the other Furies couldn’t find her. He was faring well against Djaa, who was content to defend until his helpers arrived. Around them the spirits floated, watching and not making comment or taking action. They were going to let this unfold. From her vantage point, she could see blood flowing from Mitasu’s back and he was writhing in pain. Kitasu was nowhere to be seen. She figured they were hoping she would attack and try to finish him, which meant Kitasu was waiting for her near his brother. Moments passed then Mitasu vanished. Owori stood still, knowing they couldn’t detect her if she didn’t move, just as she couldn’t detect them. They were going after Caleth, she was sure of it, and he wasn’t safe with them lurking. Caleth and Djaa were circling each other, both drenched with sweat. They were tiring. One of the spirits drifted through the area, causing them to pause their deadly dance, and the tinny voice said aloud, “Balance.”