King Tides Curse

by C J Timms

  ‘A glimpse of your ultimate goal.’ Chancellor Helios yelled from the front, interrupting Swan. The island-turtle framed Helios, swaying atop two kayaks, legs splayed, held in place by his assistants. ‘But to get there, you have an exam to pass.’

  The candidates gathered around Helios. Clusters of people had gathered, pre-made alliances perhaps? The bulk of the crowd was Ionhome residents and a few rare discovered talents from Earth. Amongst the humans though there were rock golems from Strata, their kayaks riding low in the water. There were graceful Paramourans with their bronzed skin and pointed ears. The Paramourans seemed distracted, eyes focused elsewhere. Battering at each others kayaks were short stubby goblins and large lizard-like Komodo’s from Locomotyr. Beastfolk from Wyldhome showed hints of animal in their features, a pair of women with cat ears and tails gleamed with flashy jewellery as they jostled each other for position.

  He relaxed his gaze into the coronal spectrum, got a sense of the Vibe. He was the only one with Deep Script. On the island something flashed blue, a faint spark catching his eye. A trick of the light? There shouldn’t be Deep Script at the heart of a University.

  The Chancellor swept his hands wide from astride the two kayaks. His hands started to glow a warm yellow, and then he slammed his hands together. A massive glowing chisel appeared before him. He thrust his hands outward, and the chisel cracked into the air. In front of Helios, the air warped, and jagged cracks appeared in reality. A portal the height of two men appeared between the school and them. The blue smoke of the Penumbra rolled off the edges of the reality fracture.

  ‘The entrance exam is a grand island maze, a separate pocket dimension the school has constructed. You must pass through the challenges in the pocket dimension to enter the University. Your failsafe jackets…’ he gestured to the black padded vests they wore ‘…will automatically teleport you out if you are about to die. Death in the maze however will mean failure on the entrance exam.

  Now there are five hundred of you here. The school only has spots for two hundred.’

  On their vests, red numbers flashed into being and spooled rapidly upwards from zero to two-hundred.

  ‘You will be inserted into the maze at random starting points. The first two hundred to the exit portal atop the maze will welcome. The rest of you, well you are welcome to try again next year’ Chancellor Helios smiled. Gale thought of the stacked coins from the entrance exam fee. He didn’t have the luxury of trying again next year. He needed to get in now. For answers about his family. Before the Rust Knight found him.

  ‘Finally, since we have so many of you, I have made some personal changes this year. Fracturesmiths must make personal sacrifices for the good of the people. Your priority is to fix the fracture, not getting paid or getting done on time. This maze will demand the best from you, demand perfection from you. This is Ionhome University, victory at any cost.’

  Gale was stuck near the back of the pack of kayaks as groups began to move through the portal. Giltynan was sitting near the doorway, checking names off. Gale stared at the magnificent island-turtle lazily floating in front of him and grinned. ‘Find the University, become a fracturesmith.’

  Last into the breach, Gale’s kayak slid towards the portal. Right as he hit the event horizon, Giltynan coughed, and something silver shot into the back of his Safeguard. Gale stumbled as the world broke around him.

  Gale/Swan - Unlikely allies

  Many have been broken simply preparing for the university’s exam, never mind taking it. The fact they charge through the nose for ‘the privilege’ only rubs salt in the wounds.

  The journal of Grimace the Heretic

  Gale fell through the sky into the tropical blue water. His sturdy boots crunched into a multicoloured coral reef. The reef lay only a few centimetres beneath the waterline, breaching the surface in small paths. The coral shifted from bleached bone-white to vibrant greens, reds and blues. Small fish flitted away from his impact and ripples shot outwards on the surface.

  Rising out of the water ahead of him was a massive island. Jungle terrain mixed with icy peaks in a blur of impossible landscape. Like a twisted mirror of the island-turtle, the base of this island was sheer black cliffs that rose into rocky trails. A scraggly band of sand on the shore, a thin, bitter thing, abutted the looming black cliffs. The path to the peak was a confusing mash of pathways, staircases and twisting architecture. Tracks zigzagged and even rose into the air like great loops. Three-quarters of the way to the top of the peak a second moat-like ring of water formed a barrier to the final stage. At the top, a glowing golden beacon marked the endpoint.

  A mountain to climb and no allies to help him there, Gale faced long odds.

  The easy way was for quitters.

  Three hundred metres of water and reef separated Gale from the island. Gale’s Safeguard hissed and fizzled, silver sparks danced over it. Gale whacked the Safeguard with his hand, and it blipped at him, the silver sparks fading. What had Giltynan done to it? The red light showing the number 200 still worked but everything else was running haywire. Had Giltynan disabled the safety net? Had he made this life or death for Gale?

  Prick.

  A cluster of students landed around him, smacking into reef and water. They all drew weapons. Gale summoned his harpoon and took a defensive stance. Gale’s chest tightened, was this shit worth dying for?

  ‘Owww…me pluggers,’ yelled Titus to Gale’s left. Titus gripped his foot and his shredded thongs, hopping on one foot on the coral. A fireball flew at Titus, and he dived into the current. A strong tide ripped Titus down the coastline.

  There was no cover out here. Gale needed to get to the beach. He dropped low, throwing a bubble of water around himself. A shimmering purple heat wave crackled against his shield, boiling the water off. Alisdair grinned at him from closer to shore, heat rising from his hands, not fire, just waves of shimmering superheated air. A group of four others moved around him, guarding his flanks. A student nearby was struck by a fireball and disappeared in a blue flash. They blinked out of existence, the safe-guard kicking in and turfing them out.

  The fewer people in the race, the less to beat to the finish.

  ‘Wait for it,’ he muttered.

  Alisdair and his team ran towards the shore, feet pounding into the deeper water. Missiles flew, the other students raced along the partially submerged coral towards the nearest island. He saw the runty looking kid, Yip, nearby. Yip was the only other one remaining stationary, crouched and whispering under his breath. A brown leather-bound journal floated over his shoulder, a levitating pen scratching away in the journal.

  Books and ledgers exploded out of the Yip’s coat. They flew in circles, orbiting Yip in overlapping rings. Pens unclipped themselves from his pockets and began scribbling in the books, sketching the island, the reef, the other students. A stray fireball flew at him, and a book swooped down to intercept it, exploding in flames. Gale glimpsed the book cover, ‘My Lady is the Sea’, a trashy romance novel. The book cover featured a pirate with an open cut shirt and a damsel with a low cut dress. It crashed down into the ocean, no real loss to humanity.

  Yip was barely over four foot, barely filling out his tattered brown cloak. His pale skin scattered with blotchy brown-black marks, the marks of the salt-stained, supposedly bad luck. He had a large nose, knobbly knees and eyes that raced around his surroundings, capturing every detail. The other students had given him a wide berth, one making a hand sign to ward off evil. Gale gave Yip a slight nod which the other returned without taking his eyes off the water. Waiting for the same thing Gale was.

  A turtle’s head, large as a camper van, broke through the water. The turtle broke through the bone-white coral reef and snagged a student. The turtle hurled them in the air, crunching down on them. A blue light flared as a Safeguard pulled the student from the maze. A second student was snagged off the path, then a third. Around him, the students were chewed up and spat out by the system. The entrance exam was a brutal one. Alisdair, un
fortunately, ran through unharmed.

  It clicked in Gale’s head. He saw the pattern. He looked over at the runt, weighed the odds, the way the runt had seen through his deception. He heard Ironchurch’s words in his head. You’ll want a few mates to guard your back.

  ‘The blue path, the deeper water.’ Gale called out to Yip. He’d seen Alisdair’s team take that route and combined with the pattern of those snagged by turtles he’d put it together. ‘You’ve got to go through the deepest path to get to the island. Stay out of the shallows.’

  Alisdair had seemed to know that already. Well, when all your family had sat an exam before you had a few advantages.

  Yip nodded, consulting the sketches in his floating journals. Yip sent one of his books flying overhead to map the coral. Then together they dashed forward, sticking to the deeper water.

  Gale skated across the water using his Script. Yip, however, was light on his feet, skipping across the water like a stone throw across a still pond. Then Yip melted into a murky, brown blur. The murky blur streamed across impassable tracts reforming on the other sides. Murkystepping, he’d heard it called. An old Volkstorm island technique. Useful for getting out of a barfight gone wrong.

  Gale charged out of the water onto the sand of the beach and collapsed. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out. First step successful, he was a bloody genius. Then he vomited onto the sand. Ten Weetbix had been a mistake.

  ‘Excellent idea, get it up now.’ Yip said. ‘Don’t want to chuck on the harder challenges.’

  Gale pushed himself off the beach and caught sight of his faltering Safeguard. The image of the giant turtle snapping up a student fresh in his mind. Was he down for this? He could retake the test next year with a proper Safeguard. He spat to the side, no way they’d let him try again. Gale wiped his mouth off with a hand and looked forwards.

  Ahead of them, the cliffs split into a thin canyon. A pack of candidates charged headlong into the canyon. Alisdair was just ducking in and looked back. Alisdair summoned a giant fist of sand on the beach, and the middle finger cranked upwards.

  ‘I’m gonna wipe the floor with that bastard.’ Gale said.

  ‘I can get on board with that.’ Said Yip.

  Gale held out a hand. Yip ignored the hand, and Gale realised, belatedly, it was still vomit stained.

  Yip sized him up. ‘You, I can work with. You seem like a guy with a plan. You seem like someone who…’ Yip clicked his finger and a veritable library of books, graphs and documents sprang up around him ‘…appreciates a good spreadsheet.’

  Yip’s books zoomed around Gale, focusing in on his Safeguard where faint silver sparks still danced. Yip said nothing, just raised an eyebrow. He turned to the canyon opening.

  ‘Don’t fall behind.’

  Jane Swan lumbered forward in her heavy armour, her shoulder-length hair tied back in a bun, her beautiful Lorna Jane activewear still shit-stained from the Gryphon. Gale Knott was going to pay for that, if she ever found him in this cluster-fuck of a maze.

  Luckily she wore activewear for practicality, not its looks. The tight lycra was still easy to move in and reinforced by script-enhanced thread. Although really, wasn’t all activewear magical?

  She rolled her right shoulder, her old burn aching, and she tried to re-align the armour pieces. Better than focusing on her ‘exam buddy’.

  Sterling Secondus looked comfortable as sin in his casual wear, tight polo shirt and skinny jeans. Sterling was a wiry looking twenty year old with perfectly styled hair and a moustache coiffed out into two handles, no beard. He carried a sword with a golden scabbard tied to his belt. His house crest was emblazoned on his shirt, a worn-out shirt with a symbol of a pen and scroll surrounded by a silver leaf pattern.

  The walkway in front of them just looked so mundane. Swan and Sterling had struggled through an underwater tunnel, fighting off giant crabs, up through caves to reach this cobbled walkway. To one side lay a grassy lawn and to the other a library. A series of empty desks and stands stood a silent vigil down the walkway. Towering stacks of pamphlets and posters, four times her height, swayed in a light breeze, threatening to topple in the wind. The walls of the canyon still formed a boundary at the edges. About one hundred metres down the path, Swan could see the exit.

  Sterling shrugged, ‘Let's move Swan, I want that spot in House Laurels. I’m not getting stuck in Baxtro.’

  Swan put a hand to Sterling’s arm, she couldn’t see a trap, but it was so obviously a trap. Sterling took her hand, carefully put it away from him and wiped off some residual gryphon shit.

  He edged ahead and winked back at her.

  ‘Keep up with me Swan, wouldn’t want dad’s money to go to waste.’

  Swan narrowed her eyes and placed her hand on her blade. ‘Dickhead.’

  ‘Swear jar’, Sterling said and held out a mason jar bearing her dad’s handwriting. Jacobian Swan was determined to make her into a real noble. Helicopter parenting from another reality. Swan rolled her eyes and condensed a small amount of her Script into a physical coin, she grunted as she felt her energy sag, then dropped the coin into the jar.

  She was allowed to rant about her family. She was one of them. Sterling however had no right to do so. They did have a lot riding on this though and time was ticking. She looked at the Safeguard still set at 200. Swan took a deep breath and pushed ahead onto the walkway waiting for the poison darts, a pit trap or magical fire. Nothing happened.

  They edged past the first empty stand. Swan relaxed her shoulders, and her hand loosened off the Slagblade.

  A hand grabbed her arm, and a clipboard appeared in front of her face. Red bubbling type font read ‘Zasterix explained - the REAL truth.’ A ghostly looking twenty-something college student pulled on her arm, aggravating the old burn.

  Swan spun, breaking the hold and ripped the Slagblade from its sheath. A twisted, melted slag in rough shape, it was ugly, but it got the job done. The Slagblade was strength over beauty, function over form. The Slagblade was the only thing to come out of ‘the character-building incident’ as her father still called it. Ever the optimist was her father, that was how he’d built his little empire.

  Optimism seemed to be this student's go-to as well. The ghostly looking student brandished a clipboard and pamphlets like a shield. The student had a blurriness at the edges, something off about her smile. ‘We’re having a meeting in the quad at ten, won’t you join us?’

  Swan’s eyes flicked to Sterling moving down the walkway. Sterling had kept moving forwards although he had drawn his golden sword. Sterling’s sword had gold leaf and writing curling down its length. Useless as tits on a bull, Swan thought. I mean, who makes a sword out of gold for frak's sake. The damn thing would bend in its first real fight.

  ‘Ah no thanks, I’m in a rush right now.’ Swan said.

  ‘Ah well, why don’t I just take down your email and you can go on our mailing list?’ The student pressed forward. ‘Or just follow us on the gram…you’ve got the gram don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said a voice from behind Swan. Swan spun and kept them both in her peripheries. The new voice belonged to a male with crocs, a fedora and baggy pants. ‘She’ll want to join the comrades alliance. We’re meeting today. We have a barbecue with the Socialist Society. Did you know that true socialism has never been tried?’ The male pressed forward, and his form flickered, just for a moment.

  A dozen more forms flickered around Swan, swamping her in a sea of clipboards. A swarm of self-righteous pricks crushed inwards, each with their own poorly considered sting.

  ‘The student debt crisis, what does it mean for you?’

  ‘Join the temple of Canute, be purified and saved.’

  ‘Sea levels are rising, and our island neighbours are being washed away.’

  ‘The fracturesmiths, friend or foe?’

  ‘The plight of the fathomless, end the war!’

  ‘Who was Addison really?’

  ‘Tickets for Law Rev
ue on sale, ten for the price of nine.’

  ‘Stand Unbroken, build the wall.’

  Swan swung out with the Slagblade in a circle and cut through the first petitioner. The optimistic girl exploded into a whirlwind of pamphlets and leaflets. The others flinched backwards and hunched over, bearing fangs. Swan brought the Slagblade up into a ready stance.

  Time to crack some heads together.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Everyone has a right to free speech.’

  ‘We’ll go on hunger strike just you watch’.

  The remaining petitioners opened their jaws impossibly wide and lunged at her.

  Swan smashed her sword into a teetering column of pamphlets, and it came crashing down. The world became a maelstrom of scattered leaflets and melee combat. Swan brought the Slagblade around and cut down two of the ghouls. More rushed in to fill the gaps. A ghoul got through her stance and bit into the activewear on her left arm. She headbutted the ghoul and shoved it away with a roar.

  ‘This is new season LORNA JANE. This is high performance wear.’

  Swan glanced to Sterling in between swings. Sterling looked to the path upwards, down at his family’s blade and put his hand to his noble crest. He looked back at Swan.

  ‘Sorry.’ Sterling shrugged and left her behind.

  ‘Ratshit bastard,’ Swan cursed. A lump broke off the Slagblade as she clashed with a particularly tough clipboard. The crack sealed over, partially liquid metal folding into place. The ghouls tightened the circle, and she put a hand to her arm laceration. She felt a terrible heat building in her,thattechnique itched to be used. Images of twisting platinum, silver and gold flying into the sky flashed in her mind. She took a deep breath and reached out. A single drop of molten metal rolled off the Slagblade and…