‘I think it’s great,’ Williams smiled broadly as he began to eat his meal.
‘You would,’ the general returned.
‘Think about our sports. No matter how safe we make them, people occasionally drop off.’
‘Yes but they’re generally not swinging swords as thick as my arm at each other,’ the general raised his hand in the air to prove his point.
‘How long do you think it’ll take for the masked guy to be crushed?’ Williams smiled.
‘I think he’ll be fine, considering his apprentice did fairly well,’ Hanniver defended Níurthan.
‘And we saw who was going to win that from the start. All it took was to wait for the little guy to stop squirming.’
‘Speed sometimes is more important than strength,’ The Brigadier countered.
‘Yeah, but if you’re gonna rely on it alone than you also need to outlast your opponent. That big lionman guy, he is like a machine, just keeps chugging along.’
‘Well, we’ll wait and see. I bet you 700 credits the human wins,’
‘You’re on Brigadier, prepare your transfer now, because there’s no way that stick can beat a mountain!’
The hour of the battle brought revived excitement. It was the moment the natives had waited for, to see the masked monk fight. His battles were legendary, his skill said to be the greatest in the land. Even with the arena booked out people flooded the streets with officials on stands, relaying the event. The royal pavilion guests made their way to their seats. The humans sat with their droids and guards flanked them. Dominic and Kíe’arathorne stood together; practically jumping with anticipation. The entire crowd seemed to be on edge waiting for the champion to appear.
Da’forlongdinda stood in the middle. Patiently waiting for his opponent and after some time Níurthan stepped out from the combatant’s doors. The crowd erupted, the roar deafening as they waved their flags and cheered the human on. At the selection rack he removed his hooded cloak for the first time. This momentarily quietened the crowd as the Kerwin monks rarely removed their cloaks, even while fighting. They often used them as an improvised weapon; cleverly manipulating it. Níurthan’s mask glimmered in the Sun’s light; His black bandana did not cover the entire back of his head; revealing brown-blonde hair where his skull met his neck. He no longer wore the Orders standard chainmail shirt, taking it off sometime before entering the arena. He also unclipped his belt and lifted his Kerwin straight blade, placing it on the table. Lastly he took off his black fabric tunic; revealing his pale southern skin and a fairly thin but lean body.
He walked out to the centre of the arena, where his armoured opponent stood; his great figure overshadowing the human. Shayne could just make out the scars across the back of the monk’s head; just behind his left ear, marks like an animal’s claw with most of the scarring hidden by the head covering. His back also looked strange, as if he was double jointed in the shoulder blades. When he moved his arms in a certain way they stuck out a little giving a slightly unnatural look, in fact every part of him looked out of place, but Shayne could not place it, perhaps it was just the presence of a tall blonde man in a sea of shorter dark-skinned humans.
‘He has a tattoo,’ the droid informed. Shayne stiffened at the remark.
‘Where?’ the general asked with confusion on his face. He bobbed his head around, unable to see anything.
‘Upon his neck,’ the droid informed.
‘I don’t see anything,’ Hanniver said as he squinted his eyes, he placed raised a pair of binocu-glasses on, clicking the sides to increase the magnification for a clearer look, but he still could not see anything.
‘It’s in ultraviolet, UVA-B spectrum class.’
‘What?’ the general looked perplexed as he looked across at the robot.
‘It’s in the same characters as the throne room. I can show you,’ the robot informed.
‘After,’ he dismissed as he waited for the fight to being.
The Nakádaese champion smiled at the pale skinned human before him, standing only in pants and soft leather boots. The lionman then bowed and broke from the circle; he walked across to the main weapons rack where he took both his twin blades and placed them reverently upon the table; next to the Kerwin sword. He also unbuckled the few bits of armour he had, lastly taking off his Champions helmet. He then returned to the centre, as bare as the human, and his tail casually sweeping the air around it.
They both stood before the UeVarda; looking up at him. The King rose from his seat and placed his hands on the railing before him.
‘Today we have standing before us two mighty warriors of Dífrun: Níurthan of the Kerwin Order, trained in several martial art forms from across the lands, he stands as the third time champion, and his challenger, Da’forlongdinda of the tribe of Narluok representing the Fa’Orian motherland, Nakáda. With the blessings of the Kéaran and by the power of the seven, may your mane grow long and may the greatest warrior prevail. Let the battle begin.’ The crowd roared as the two finalist bowed to him and then to each other. The bell sounded, beginning the fight but both contestants remained still has they faced each other. The human showed no fear; he stood calmly in his fighting stance, with the true discipline of the Kerwin. Da’forlongdinda appeared calm, but there was anxiety deep within him. His brown eyes keenly watched the human before him, waiting for him to make his first attack. The mask hid the monk’s eyes so the lionman could not possibly predict his movements. A nervous feeling settled over him as Níurthan remained perfectly still and the crowd became unnaturally silent. His eyes narrowed as he realised the man would not move until he did. Da’forlongdinda twisted on the balls of his feet, preparing for a power leap that only a lionman could perform. He waited a moment longer, trying to distil the uncertainty of his timing. He then leapt with incredible speed, but the monk side-stepped the attack, with a simple fluid movement. With a few simple steps he returned to his stance as if nothing had happened.
Da’forlongdinda spun around with his arms raised in a defensive position, startled by the monk’s casual ease. He then leapt forward again and performed a roundhouse kick, but the monk once again avoided it; leaning backwards just enough for his foot to breeze pass. The crowd all released a sigh of relief. The lionman; irritated, performed a series of attacks, fighting in the traditional Nakádanese art form. The monk backed up as he avoided the attacks, each swing from the lionman was avoided by the closest of margins. Da’forlongdinda attacked again and again with the grace and simplicity of their martial arts, each time missing until he had the monk backed against a wooden pillar. Shayne leaned forward, afraid that the monk had lost his advantage. The lionman smiled as he struck out but Níurthan bent down and deflected his blow. Stunned Da’forlongdinda instantly followed up with the exact same attack. The monk grabbed his wrist and rolled underneath him; bringing his great arm with him. The lionman subconsciously allowed himself to be manipulated before he caught himself and used his strength to break the wrist lock. Níurthan did not miss a moment. The instant his opponent stiffened he jumped upon his back and ran a few steps and leaped up onto the pole. Balancing on top he looked down at his opponent; waiting for the lionman to make the next move. Da’forlongdinda looked up at the nimble monk for a moment. He grabbed the pole in irritation when he realised he was hesitating. He growled as he pulled back with all his might, forcing the wooden pillar from its earthly foundation. Níurthan leaped to another pole as it gave way, the Nakadanesse stepped to the side as it crashed down to the ground.
The lionman paused for a moment as the human stood calmly upon the top of the pillar, a slight smile printed across his lips as he waited. Da’forlongdinda looked around as he contemplated his next move, spotting a nearby low pillar he then turned and ran up and leaped onto it; leaping from pole-to-pole, jumping with a skill and softness that seemed impossible for his size. Níurthan also started jumping from pole-to-pole. Each on the other side of the arena they made their way to a series of platforms at the other end. The
monk made it to the most central platform first, which had a weapons rack on it and there he waited. Da’forlongdinda caught up and made the last leap but he lost his footing, he felt himself slipping over the edge, Níurthan quickly stepped across and grabbed his arm, correcting his opponents footing.
The crowd erupted with applause. The moment the lionman regained his balance they began to duel, jumping from platform-to-platform and pillar-to-pillar, exchanging attacks. But no matter how hard the lionman tired he could not land a single blow and the monk had no fatigue. Níurthan made each of his blow count, hitting the creature in places that would hurt, but still his attacks seemed to have only minimal impact. They continued on until they made it to the lower platform they started on. The monk was now mixing all of the art forms into one, confusing the lionman with their different properties. Da’forlongdinda did not know how to react and found himself on the defensive. Finally, in a desperate act he picked up a fighting staff from the weapons rack and began to counter and attack the monk with it; pushing him backwards, but after a few thrusts and swings Níurthan grabbed the staff between the two large hands of the lionman and with lightning reflexes the monk lifted his entire body; allowing the Nakadanesse to take his weight. He then twisted around in mid-air and with all his might he kicked the lionman in the chest and flipped out of the way. The blow was so powerful that the staff was ripped out of his hands and Da’forlongdinda recoiled back, falling from the platform and landing heavily on the ground.
Níurthan limped to the edge, with the wooden stick in his hand he looked down at his opponent. The lionmen lay still for a moment in shock; he then slowly raised himself into a sitting position while holding the back of his head; wincing at the pain. The crowd all jumped and cheered as the monk stood in victory.
Da’forlongdinda forced himself to stand, swaying slightly he formally bowed to the human. Níurthan returned the gesture; he then leaped to a lower pole and slid down to the ground. The applause continued as he made his way to the centre of the arena and saluted the king who came down from his seat and presented the monk with the Belt of Elió. He then grasped the human in friendship before he performed the Afradian greeting; taking the human’s head in one hand they embraced with their foreheads touching. He then lifted the monks arm in victory.
Afterwards as they made their way back to the palace Dominic turned to Omer and said, ‘Remind me not to pick a fight with that guy. The lionman is fine, but not that monk.’
Kíe’arathorne laughed at him and said in return, ‘I wouldn’t fight either. If I was to fight I’d like it to be a dog, a very small dog,’ he made a short length with his hands.
‘You’re a cruel man!’ Omar pushed the journeyman. ‘Beating up on puppies,’ they made their way to the palace where they changed into casual dress.
Kíe’arathorne waved them goodbye as he continued up the road to the Teaching Halls. He called out, ‘See you at the gather.’
While they made their way up the road the general handed a flat screen computer to Shayne. ‘What does that say?’
Shayne looked upon the characters drawn on the computer, ‘I don’t know. This is Kadalian.’
‘Isn’t that lionman teaching you to write?’ he gestured towards Kíe’arathorne who was making his way towards the halls.
‘Not this language, this is a different language. It’s ancient and only a few can speak and read it, like Latin I guess.’
‘Can the lionman talk it?’
‘I believe so,’ Shayne returned the tablet to the general, ‘or you could ask any high ranked person, but I’m not sure if any would tell us. From what I can gather it’s kind of a secret language.’
The night ended in celebrations with the musicians singing to the crowd at the gather-square. A great bonfire burned in the middle where people sang and danced the entire night. Kíe’arathorne joined them at the same table they were at previously; though this time the Earthmen were guarded by the Imperial Shytardas and not the city guard. One of the Masters had already turned the fight into a song and sung it proudly at the night.
Níurthan and Da’forlongdinda sat at the table of honour with the king. The lionman took to the monk with such admiration. Respect displayed to the human by a Nakádanese was almost unheard of outside of Isradia, but those of great honour and strength have always been respected by them, even their greatest enemies in the past were revered on some level.
As the night wore on Shayne showed Kíe’arathorne the runes; drawing them into his wristcom. The journeyman looked up at Shayne, a wide grin upon his face. He leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Shayne looked down at the characters and then back to the lionman with unrestrained wonder. Kíe’arathorne beamed with pleasure, he then nodded to the human and they returned to the festivities.
The Earthmen were ordered to bed just before midnight; the general announced they were to return to the settlement early the next day. Shayne made himself ready for bed and lay upon it with his window open, allowing a cool breeze to pass through his bed hangings. The base sounds of the drums rolled over into his room, providing a hypnotic rhythm that he eventually drifted to sleep to.
***
He stood at the foundations of the great tower. An eagle glided high above. He brought his eyes down to the ancient doors that were broken and corroded. A gap in the rotted wood was wide enough for him to squeeze through. It was dark and musty inside but he could see everything and before him was a set of stairs. He saw the back of the man with long silver hair holding out a staff, a blue light began to shine from its tip, illuminating a short distance around him. The stranger’s attention was drawn to a dark place of the tower, his head was turned and he looked intently out at nothing. He then turned his attention to the stairs before him and with a flick of his cloak he made his way up them. Shayne followed him; stepping quickly to keep up, but as he reached the staircase all he could see was the retreating glow of the blue light. Shayne tried to climb faster to catch the man but the light was always just out of reach; continuously flooding the stairs before him and threatening to leave him in darkness.
Shayne started to run; often stumbling as he forever made his way upwards, passing countless rooms as he ascended but no matter how fast he ran the flickering light remained the same. Finally, exhausted and out of breath he reached the top. Shayne rested a moment upon that final landing before bringing himself to push the only door before him.
Two men stood in the last room; waiting for him. The blue light from the silver haired man faintly lit their faces, giving them an eerie and frightening look. The black haired man stepped forward.
‘Time to wake up Afrada ala Hama,’ and with the motion of his hand the roof of the tower broke open and a great dragon appeared. Its massive head snapped at Shayne where it roared with all the anger in the world. Shayne recoiled in horror and slipped as he felt the floor give way underneath him, he reached out as he fell, but no one reached out to save him.
***
Shayne cried out. He grasped the back of his head which burned with an intense pain. He got up rubbing it. The pain soon subsided as if nothing had happened. Once again he found himself sitting upon the end of the bed; leaning upon his knees he thought for a moment. He knew exactly what the hour was without checking. After a moment’s reflection he put on pants and a black singlet-shirt, and headed for the guestroom door. He opened it carefully; peering out he saw that both the guards posted at his door were nowhere to be seen. He stepped out cautiously, looking about him but no one was present. He took the opportunity to make his way down the hallway towards the throne room. As he descended the stairs a middle aged human came out of a room, being a day of celebration many people were still about. The servant was momentarily startled at the sight of Shayne but then his eyes glazed over; he hunched over and continued on as if under a spell. Shayne watched the man shuffle along; a grey dog followed him with the same dreamy expression upon its face. Shayne continued on; the palace seemed almost deserted and the few guards he
saw displayed the same sightless gaze, they glanced past him as if he was never there.
Two shytardas guarded the Palace’s main entrance; as he approached they opened the door for him; though they did not see him in their dreamy state. Shayne stepped out into the night. He could hear the music playing; mixed in with the faint sound of the waterfall. Looking over at the temple he sometimes saw a flicker of embers rise high in the air. Guards moved about, but their vigil seemed broken; they did not seem to see anything around them yet they continued patrolling. Shayne made his way to the great metal gates of the tower. He felt a faint stirring in the pit of his stomach and wondered if it was fear. The tower guards stood tall with their white cloaks draped over one shoulder and sharp halberds in their other hand. They looked oddly at Shayne at first wondering why he approached them but they too descended into the strange hypnosis as they opened the gates for him. He made his way up the steps of the building. The sense of déjà vu grew within him and he hesitated a moment, but then he remembered the words of Pan’arden that night along the road to Kérith-Árim.
“The importance that the teachers give to the laws is in its foundations, and that is to look at all possibilities without prejudice, then to set out to find which is the truth, even if the answer leads to the one you do not wish.”
Shayne placed his hands on the great iron doors expecting them to resist his push, but they effortlessly slid open, as if his very will commanded them.
The doors were aligned with the moon; it filled the room briefly with its weak light before slowly closing behind, leaving him in complete darkness. He opened his wristcom, the faint light of the computer lit up a small area. He pressed a few commands and closed the lid. A stronger light appeared from the small display, bright enough to allow him to explore. Just like his dreams there was a door entering a stairwell straight ahead. He followed them up. Patterns carved into the stone walls followed him up. Several lines glided along the stairwell, erupting in places in swirls and circles, it was more detailed than the pattern rings of the Teachers Halls, more involved, more beautiful and again it reminded Shayne of colliding quantum particles. As he steadily made his way up he occasionally stopped and shined his light into the many rooms; revealing strange wonders in the limited light available: Masses of books and study-spaces, Rooms for sleeping and rooms for teaching, ancient machinery of the likes Shayne had never seen before. Eventually he grew tired, puffing from the effort so he decided to investigate one of the rooms as he rested. He stood in what looked like a workshop. What drew him into this particular room over the others was a great wooden glider suspended by chains from the roof, it reminded him of Leonardo da Vinci’s flying machine, but the frame was less heavy looking and the wingspan greater, it was driven by a gear system where the arms rested. As he stepped amongst the artefacts he saw many other curious things, most of which had no sense of familiarity. As he slowly walked around the benches he paused and picked something up that attracted his attention; it was old matchlock pistol. There were a couple of them upon the bench, but they had been tampered with, someone in the past had decided to make them inoperable. He reluctantly put the weapon down and left the room to continue up the steps. Twice he was forced to stop as he climbed and he had to sit to catch his breath.
The Book of Ominiue: Starborn Page 39