by E E Rawls
BRANGOR POSITIONED himself before the grand gate of the second arena. “The accuracy trial is this: Navigate through the obstacle course environments and strike down one of the cardboard villains, then return here with the villain in tow. But harm even one civilian, and you fail instantly. When you become Draevs, you’ll be facing all sorts of environments while tracking down criminals—this is giving you a taste of that.” Brangor’s mustache curled with a dark grin. “There are only fifteen villains in the obstacle course, which means only fifteen of you can pass.”
Aken flexed his fingers.
The Master had them line up in rows, and then he opened the gate: Steep roofs and balconies rose, facing them on the other side. Aken had to look hard to make sure it wasn’t part of their real city but a recreation.
“No maiming or killing each other, and no harming cardboard civilians—those are the only rules.”
Aken lowered into a crouch, ready to sprint. Hercule did the same. Bak’s legs made a sand tail.
“Ready—Set—Get your backsides out there!”
The group charged forward as one mass. Aken sprinted to get ahead, then had to slow to climb over a balcony. He jumped from building roof to roof.
He glanced left and right: Some students were lagging behind, but the older ones traveled with ease in wide jumps that carried them across several buildings at once, using the Leaping Technique he hadn’t learned yet.
“Thirteen villains left!” shouted a speaker device from the arena walls.
Aken shook his head, reminding himself this wasn’t a foot race, but a race to find the villains. He peered down an alley as he vaulted across.
There, a cardboard person! He halted when his shoes touched the opposite roof, and spun around, readying a clay bird, shifting to throw the bird at the target.
The cardboard moved mechanically, painted in a dress and gray hair. An old lady. Aken just managed to stop himself from hurting the civilian cardboard. Another student wasn’t so lucky, though, as the boy lunged at the old lady without thinking, and realized too late his mistake.
“You’re out!” came the speaker voice, and the student hung his head.
Aken continued along the rooftops, spotting nothing but civilians as he went, until suddenly the roofs fell away to a stretch of open swamp.
He halted and got out Limitless, and rode the swallow low over the green-tinted water. He glimpsed Bakoa, with his legs a sand tail, gliding through the tall swamp grasses. Those who could were using their Abilities to navigate the environment. Aken pushed the swallow faster.
A figure rose from the grasses: another civilian. He’d almost took it out.
“No luck, eh?”
Aken glanced down to see Denim running over the swamp, the water freezing beneath his shoes with each step. Aken didn’t bother to reply.
Another cardboard rose inside a thicket of reeds, painted in dark clothes and shifty eyes, a dagger in one hand.
A villain! Aken dipped Limitless into a dive. Denim saw the cardboard figure too.
“Oh no you don’t!” Denim charged.
Limitless swooped over the villain. Aken caught it by the neck, hoisting it up. But then the villain tugged down. Aken looked to see Denim holding onto its feet and pulling. “You’ll tear it. Go find your own!”
“It’s not against the rules to steal one. Anything goes!” Denim shouted and yanked.
Aken gripped the cardboard hard as he could. Limitless flapped higher and higher, as the other boy held on like a tick.
Denim tried swinging the villain back and forth, and he formed an ice spear in his hand and threw it. Aken ducked his head to the right.
The cardboard suddenly tore from Aken’s hands, and Denim fell into the green water, as a buff vempar ripped the villain away from them both.
Aken righted himself, but the vempar had already dashed off into a jungle—the next environment. He steered Limitless into the moss-covered trees, as Denim splashed and hollered in rage.
“Seven villains left!” announced the speaker.
Vines, moss and shafts of light through the jungle canopy made it hard to see. Aken slowed the bird down and hopped off. The jungle was too thick to fly while keeping an eye on the ground. He jumped over logs, and shoved foliage aside in a hurry.
There were two students he spotted who had caught villains, and they were being attacked by others trying to steal them. Aken moved on, peering around boulders and any hiding places. Someone passed him by, with another villain in hand. Aken couldn’t turn back—the villains back at the roofs and swamp would have all been found by now. He pressed on, pushing back a tall bush, and came out into a field of snow and tombstones—vents in the high walls of the arena blowing fake snow down around him.
“Four villains left!”
Aken raised an arm to shield his eyes, and peered through the blizzard as he moved forward in a crouch through the cemetery. This was his last chance, here or never. From the looks of it, not many students had reached the snow environment yet.
He skirted around a mausoleum and spotted three civilian cardboards moving mechanically along a snow-covered path. Their clothes were thick, hoods and a hat concealed their faces. Hands gloved, carrying a purse. One carrying a suitcase that was cracked open at the top and showing gold pieces inside. That was a strange thing to have one of the figures carry.
He inched forward, and that’s when a dagger became visible in the cardboard man’s coat.
Aken darted forward, bypassing the other two cardboard people, and grabbed the villain. With Limitless, he carried his prize up through the snowy air before any competitors could see.
“One villain left!” crowed the speaker.
Aken still had to get the villain to the gate and out the arena to win.
The snow, and then the jungle leaves, provided some cover, but once he emerged into the open sky over the swamp and rooftops, the many students who were still searching desperately for a villain began chasing after him.
“He has the last one!”
“Knock him out of the sky!”
Projectiles of rock, ice, wood and more tried to strike him down. He took evasive maneuvers—flying in a zigzag pattern, keeping Limitless high and moving fast towards the gate.
A spear almost ripped the villain out of his hand. He glanced over a shoulder to spot a boy flying after him. The boy held onto the pole of some flying device, as its wood propellers spun and buzzed, his Ability manipulating the wood. He threw another spear at Aken, and Aken dove to the left to avoid it, then quickly rose high as students below sought to grab him.
Reaching into his pocket, Aken pulled out a stash of clay birds. He tossed them one after another, and activated the essence stored inside. A chain of lava explosions filled the air in a trail behind him, knocking his pursuers back.
He urged Limitless forward in a wing sprint for the gate, pouring every ounce of energy and will-power into the bird. The gate drew closer, and Limitless began to descend as his essence started fading. He leaped off the bird, landing on the last rooftop, and dashed for the gate.
He barely made it through and out as the flock of students followed on his heels.
“All of the villains have been brought back!” announced Master Brangor. “Aken-Shou is the last to win round two.”
The losers cursed, some collapsing, some kicking at the dirt.
Master Brangor clapped his hands together, loud as thunder. “You fifteen winners, follow me! The rest of you can either leave or continue watching.”
Aken sat on his knees on the ground, catching his breath, and pocketing shrunken Limitless.
“Awesome, you won too!” Bak slapped his back.
“You made it?” Aken said, incredulous. “You too, Hercule?” The noble sniffed, as if there were never any doubt he would.
They followed the winning group over to the next arena, and he spotted Cy and Zartin following with the crowd of onlookers to watch the final trial.
Bars hoisted high on poles abo
ve the dirt floor space of the next, smaller arena glinted in the sun. And nearby, large watermelons were stacked in a pyramid. Master Brangor strode over to pat one of the massive fruits. “The endurance trial is this: Whoever can hold these watermelons the longest wins a spot in the Festival Duel.”
Students shared looks, and some laughed.
“Think that’s easy, do you?” Brangor’s thick mustache and beard twitched. “Then try holding them on your stomach while hanging upside down by your knees from these here bars.” He waved at the high bars, and the laughter ceased. There was nothing that looked easy about that.
“Contestants, line up and grab a watermelon!”
They stood in line; each picked up a watermelon that was almost half their size. Aken hefted his, and waited under one of the parallel bars until all fifteen students were ready. When Master Brangor gave the signal, they each climbed a rope to reach the bars, and positioned their knees to grip the metal before hanging upside down. They curled their torsos, shifting the large watermelons so that it rested on their stomachs, forming an almost sling with their bodies to keep the fruit in place.
“If your watermelon falls, you fail; plain and simple. The last two boys left are the winners,” thundered Brangor gruffly.
Aken hugged the huge watermelon to his stomach. This was a test to push every leg and abdomen muscle to the maximum; and after twenty minutes passed, students were quivering against the heavy strain as their bodies fought to hold on.
After another twenty minutes, he heard several watermelons hit the ground in a burst. Those who failed dropped down, panting, slick with sweat.
Aken shifted the watermelon against him, holding tighter.
An hour passed, and more fell. Hercule dropped out, his shirt soaked and legs trembling as he stalked off.
Aken’s thighs and knees burned as if on fire, and the hot sun beat down on the arena. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging, as he tried to blink them away. The watermelon was getting more slippery in his arms, the weight of it crushing his stomach muscles with each passing minute.
He had to hold out. Failure was not an option.
More students began dropping like flies. Aken gritted his teeth against the pain, summoning every ounce of stubbornness inside him.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Master Brangor finally blared, “Six contestants left!”
Aken turned his head, neck muscles stinging, to see who was left: smiling Bakoa, Doughboy, a grim reaper-like boy, a buff student, and a gnarly-looking kid. “Better up the task, or we’ll be waiting here all day!” said Brangor with an eagerness that made them all shudder.
Aken tried to watch as Brangor picked up another watermelon and tossed it to land on Doughboy’s stomach. The large boy grunted but held both heavy fruits. Brangor proceeded to toss one to each of the remaining boys, and when the second watermelon fell onto Aken, atop the one he was already struggling to hold, he almost dropped both.
Lifting his chin back to give more room, he shifted the watermelons so that they were side by side on his stomach and cupped by both his arms. The weight was nearly unbearable.
Failure was not an option.
Aken gripped the fruit, his stomach feeling as if it were being crushed and split in two, knees burning so hot it felt like they might tear off at any second.
“I can’t anymore.” Bak dropped down, off to his right.
Four students were left to beat.
The gnarly boy snarled before throwing his watermelons down.
Three students left to beat.
Doughboy wasn’t budging, and the grim reaper looked calm and steady. The buff boy sneered his way, “Give it up. You don’t have what it takes for the Duel.”
Aken shifted his focus to the sky and to hugging the fruit tightly.
“Come on, stop putting yourself through pain,” the buff student continued. “Nobody wants to see a loser and a chubby boy in the Duel. People cheer for muscle and good looks, something fine they can admire.”
The biceps in Aken’s arms twitched.
Master Brangor approached once more. “You lot have ridiculous stamina.” He began gathering more watermelons. It was a struggle not to groan and give up. Brangor had to use a ladder to place a third large fruit on top the two Doughboy already had. Amazingly, the heavy boy did nothing more but grunt.
“You’re a bunch of sissies!” the buff kept saying. Until a third watermelon hit his stomach and he crashed to the ground with a whump!
Aken didn’t have the strength to laugh, tightening his abdomen further, stretching beyond his capacity, as Brangor plopped a third watermelon ontop the other two.
Aken’s neck quivered and his breath wheezed as the huge melons, each almost half his size, threatened to rip his arms.
The sun inched across the sky. He tried to hold on, even as every part of him screamed pain and the watermelons slipped bit by bit. Doughboy and the grim reaper were still there. Aken’s top melon began to slide.
He dug his fingernails into the rinds, and gathered the last ounce of strength he had, and stretched his neck the highest it could go, halting the watermelon’s slide with his chin.
One minute passed.
Two minutes.
His body was fire.
He couldn’t hold on, yet the stubbornness inside refused to let go of this one chance to help Cyrus and to make people acknowledge him as a Draev Guardian.
Something hit the ground, and for a moment his heart stopped, thinking one of his watermelons had fallen, but then the grim reaper guy grumbled and dropped down.
“That’s a wrap! The winners are decided,” boomed Brangor. “Aken-Shou and Doughboy will be this year’s Swan Festival duelists!”
Aken let the watermelons fall and his body drop to the ground. He panted against the dirt. It hurt his cheeks to grin as he raised his arms in victory. Doughboy broke one of the melons open and began eating it.
Brangor clapped a hand on both their backs as the onlookers cheered. “That’s some fine monster-sized stamina you’ve got. Put on a good show for the city, tomorrow!”
Chants for Doughboy filled the training arena as he and Aken wobbled out. The crowd flowed down from the bleachers, filling the lawn. Aken stood catching his breath, then weaved through the crowd. Students either glared or ignored him. His ears caught a few drifting comments:
“Why couldn’t it have been someone more worthy of facing Doughboy?”
“I know right? Not some troubled Scourgeblood. The Festival Duel is ruined now.”
Scourgeblood...
Something inside Aken twisted.
CYRUS CHEERED, AND Bakoa gave a slap to Aken’s shoulder. “You did it! You held out against all of them and won!” Cyrus could feel her face beaming, unable to contain her elation.
Aken gave a partial smile and rubbed his shoulder, not as enthusiastic as she’d expected him to be.
Harlow regrouped and headed back to the school, its soaring spires reflecting sunlight. They passed lawn tables, and at one of them sat Mamoru, at work finishing the hat of a pretty doll. Other dolls, dragon toys and puppets were grouped in boxes at his feet.
He noticed their questioning looks, and flicked his wrist. Amber strings floated from his fingertips to touch the doll and make it walk. “They’re for charity—children who don’t have the luxury of toys.”
Cyrus fingered the doll’s pretty shoe, as it curtsied. “It’s lovely. I wish I could make things like this.”
Zartanian took a seat, fascination filling his winter-ice eyes. Beside him, Hercule craned his neck to get a better look, and Bakoa hovered over Mamoru’s shoulder to watch. A line of students leaving the arena also paused to see. Mamoru was one of those cool artist types, though Cyrus could tell he was uncomfortable with the growing crowd.
Cyrus turned to ask Aken something. He’d been unusually silent, his mouth twisted to the side and chin perched on folded arms. He looked cross, though she couldn’t imagine why.
“You do c
harity work?” Cyrus talked to Mamoru instead. “That’s very kind of you, very thoughtful. I’m sure it means a lot to the children.”
Mamoru smiled but kept his gaze on the doll. “I’m simply doing my share to help out. Children in need shouldn’t be forgotten.”
Suddenly Aken’s hand slapped down on the table. “I’ll do charity work, too,” he declared.
Every Harlow head turned.
“I will. Really! I’ll...” Aken paused a moment, “make sculptures out of clay. Yeah. I’m good at that.”
Hercule snorted in aversion. “Who would want those?”
Aken glowered. “Pardon me for not being blessed with wealth, like you. I’d buy up a toy store and groceries to give to the poor, if I had been. How many children’s meals could that tie of yours buy?”
Steam rose from Hercule’s ears.
Cyrus intervened before things could worsen. “Do you think the kitchens are still open? I could use another lunch after all of that climbing,” she said.
Hercule rose and stalked away.
“Aken, congratulations on winning a spot in the Festival Duel,” Mamoru nodded to him.
Aken turned his face to the side. “Thanks.”
Mamoru shared a look with Cyrus, and she shrugged.
Chapter 29
The sun lowered, casting gold hues through the clouds over the city, while Aken-Shou wandered the narrower streets beyond Draevensett. He didn’t bother to look up as the swallows careened in graceful bliss above the rooftops.
His shoe kicked a lose pebble, sending it skipping through a crossroads. He made an irritated sound through his teeth, and several passersby eyed him.
Make them pay...
Something whispered from the back of his head, the madman in his cage, the darkness scratching at the door’s lock.
No one cares about you. Make them pay. You did it once; you can do it again...
“No, I won’t do it!” Aken snarled, clutching the sides of his head. He must have said it too loud—people were keeping at a distance.
His mind fell quiet, and he raised his head.