Exordium

by Tyson Jordan

  “It’s about recognising how that matter is held together by bonds, but those bonds follow rules, and one of them is that they can be made to break,” he continued, clenching his fist and bringing it back, poised to strike.

  “It’s not my fist that’s doing the breaking here, it’s my will, and my will can act on them because of my Sight. I can see them, you know. See the Bonds holding everything together. And because of that, I can command them. I want them to break!” Stannum drove his fist deep into the iron slab and a powerful tremor filled the room, leaving the many Initiates struck speechless.

  The instructor withdrew his fist from the newly made crater in the dark grey metal, unhurt and uninterested in the cheering from the students all around him. The iron had collapsed entirely beneath the impact, and I stared at the new cavern, suddenly reminded of my father, who had mastered the Bonds. Stannum, as impressive as he seemed, was no comparison to him.

  “You’ve heard all that before, Fortuna. We’ve been over this time and time again, and you should know by now that you’re not like your dad.” My eyes widened at the mention, and Stannum stared back at me, unimpressed. I clenched my jaw and turned my sight to the slab, taking a sharp breath.

  See the Bonds … I stared at the iron slab, the lustreless metal revealing none of its secrets to me. A disgusted grunt rumbled in Stannum’s throat.

  See the Bonds … I closed my fist and narrowed my eyes, feeling my heart rate quicken in anticipation. Stannum shook his head, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore him.

  See the Bonds … and break them! I drove my fist forward into the slab with the vague hope that I could finally see them like so many of my peers could.

  My attempt, as always, was a dismal failure. The iron reverberated slightly in indifference to my effort as I felt my knuckles crack beneath the weight of my own blow, and a sharp pain began throbbing in my fist. I held my ruined hand gingerly, seeing the blood seep out from the broken skin on my knuckles, and I knew immediately that it was broken.

  “Get out,” the instructor barked as he left me to attend to other tasks, and I staggered to the nearest infirmary in shame and embarrassment. A Guild Physician saw to my injury, aggravated that his time should be spent on such a minor and preventable inconvenience, and I winced as the bones were deftly reset and cemented in place by an injection of some miraculous medicine whose composition I did not understand.

  I flexed my fingers as I left, trying to ignore the curious itching beneath my skin and the hot, dull ache in my wrist as I returned to my room for the night, vainly hoping to put another failure behind me.

  4

  Affinity

  My alarm’s harsh screech pierced my ears, and my eyes bolted open. I grumbled discontentedly and slammed it with the same heavy hand as always. My daily routine had begun.

  I stood from the bed, rubbing my eyes and stretching, trying to shake my muscles free of atrophy. Hopefully I won’t see Bir’ Nak and Jaf’ Rah today , I thought as I struggled to pull on a cumbersome black boot. I shot a quick glance in the mirror at my predictably tousled mess of brown hair, and under my eyes, noticed the outline of two dark half circles on skin that seemed to be more pallid than usual. I looked back at my bunk, its coarse yet warm twisted sheets tempting me back to sleep, but there were other matters that required my attention.

  I skipped the morning meal of algae as usual and began walking towards the Guild Coliseum, one of the few sources of entertainment in the Guild, where Initiates, Sentries, Sentinels, and even the great Centurions were welcome to test themselves against one another in combat. The Coliseum was located at the highest level of the Guild’s centre, but not so distant from the living quarters.

  While spending time in various quick shafts, the words of other Initiates found me and I listened, as I usually did.

  “Can you believe that the Godsend is finally here?” One shorter paunchy man spoke excitedly. I couldn’t help but groan, much to the chagrin of the other students. At least talk about something interesting.

  “Well, we don’t know that for sure.” At least the round man’s counterpart had some common sense, or at least an open mind. He continued. “But still, it’s going to be great to see her fight! She’s in the Coliseum this morning, and whenever she’s not there, she’s putting the instructors to shame! Godsend or not, Argenta’s amazing, isn’t she?” The sound of Argenta’s name made my ears prick up, and my trip to the Coliseum, once out of boredom, was now being taken out of a sudden curiosity. I wanted to judge her for myself.

  As a soldier, I had always been rather skilled with the broad sword, deftly swinging my blade as if it were a part of my arm. However, in the fire of combat—or sparring sessions, to be more accurate—my emotions often took control, leaving me vulnerable all too many times as I wildly slashed and hacked away. Sometimes these angry assaults proved to be advantageous against less skilled opponents, those who were easily intimidated. This loss of control happened often, more often than I would have liked or could have helped. Holding a blade made me think of my father, which in turn brought on the memories of Erasure.

  Cobalt the Conqueror was what they called him. He was a legend in the Guild, his service record and notable exploits all well documented. Many knew of him, but none knew him. I had always looked up to him, despite his unfathomable strength making him as admirable as it did unapproachable. He rose early each morning to train himself, to hone his abilities.

  I hated my father. He never treated me as though I was his son. Instead, he treated me like one of his comrades, and that was at the best of times. His criticisms were harsh and unrelenting, and he had neither time nor patience for my childish desires. Often, he left me to fend for myself in our small apartment while he left for the front lines to butcher Malinvicta, sometimes for months at a time. He was never there for me, and told me little of my long-dead mother. He never did a thing for me, except blast me from the surface of Erde so that I could become his replacement. The War was all that he cared about; the War was all he needed and wanted out of life.

  “So did you hear that the Specimen Facility has been broken into again?” The clear voice of a slender man on my right snapped my focus away from my father, and I listened intently.

  “Seriously? What’d the thief make off with this time?” the shorter, chubbier male on his left replied as he leaned back on the quick shaft’s polymer wall.

  “Two more Alphas.” The response was serious.

  “Demon dogs again, huh? If this keeps up there won’t be anything left for us to study!”

  “Yeah, true. Granted, if I had the means I’d probably do the same thing. The guy is probably getting a head start on his improvement.”

  “True enough.”

  I recalled the lectures we had received in previous years regarding the Favour of the Gods. The main incentive for joining the Guild, beyond a desire to protect or to serve or to be given political privilege, was to become more powerful. Kyrosya and Drakannas, Gods of Good and of Heroes, granted those who aided their cause a Favour—a bolstered strength, stamina, and speed. The best way to do this was to kill Malinvicta, naturally. However, as simple as it seemed, there were of course problems. The Affliction was one of them, and the other was that guns would yield no results whatsoever.

  The madness of using melee weapons was justified by the fact that in the earliest days of the War, the gods decreed that to be recognised as a soldier worthy of their blessing you had to fight on their terms, with bow, spear, sword, and shield. Guns were evil; they were symbols of a desire to lead a life of convenience, so they could not be condoned. Needless to say, many Centurions still used guns frequently in the War, out of understandable but nevertheless condemnable fear.

  Many great scholars who were once Guild Centurions themselves attempted to scientifically theorise causes for the Favour, attempted to find some reason for the increases in speed and strength and skill that came with employing obsolete tactics. A few ideas and beliefs spread and ran their cours
e, but none were as compelling or effective as the concept that the gods themselves granted their blessing to those who served them.

  I arrived at the Coliseum soon enough, and I stepped out into a glorious piece of architecture. The arena was filled to capacity, with over five thousand Initiates and Centurions uncomfortably packed into tiered rows of seating. There was a constant clamour in the seating areas; indeed, the cheering and crying out for fan favourites never ceased. Rarely did I join my peers in their excitement, however. I attended for a different reason.

  My father was a born warrior. He was peerless and incomparable, and sitting in the Coliseum, viewing and critiquing the participants in the sand below, somehow left me feeling closer to him. It was a place where a man like him would have thrived, although there were no records of his participation in any Guild-sanctioned battles. He must have been aware of his superiority to his peers, aware of the pointlessness of testing sloppy, undisciplined soldiers. Nevertheless, feeling the charge in the air of a contest of strength and wit left me wondering if he had ever felt the same way.

  I found my seat in time to hear the announcer begin her enthusiastic and theatrical introduction. She began, “Honoured Initiates and Centurions, today’s festivities are as exciting as ever! For your perusal and entertainment, we have an earth-shaking match between Guild Initiate Bir’ Nak and the one and only Lanthanein the Tempest!” The crowd’s cheers were a deafening, high-pitched shriek that left my ears sore. My interest had been piqued by Bir’ Nak’s presence in the Coliseum, but also by an opponent who was a mystery to me, some Erdeson worthy of a title but nevertheless idiotic to challenge a Bra’ Hca.

  “Before we move on to our main event, Initiates and Centurions, I have news for you that will exhilarate you like you have never felt before! In three all-too-long days, Guild Initiate Argenta Behemot will once again prove herself in the arena sand!”

  The crowd’s cheering before was a mere trickle, a creek, compared to the deluge, the bursting dam of amazed chanting, “Argenta! Argenta!”

  “The wait may be terrible, but today’s match-up will quench your thirst for combat! This battle will remind you of what you may one day aspire to, or even surpass! As Initiates and Centurions all, this clash will remind you of why we live!” Charisma was clearly the strong suit of the nameless, faceless announcer. Her voice was compelling, echoing through the square arena from unseen speakers. Her every sentence was ended with further cheering.

  “Now without further ado, I give to you your combatants! From the jungles of Rck’ Hara comes a Bra’ Hca of rippling physique and ferocious temperament! I give to you Bir’ Nak in his premiere match!” From the far entrance, across the arena floor below, emerged Bir’ Nak himself. He was shirtless, showing off the impossible muscle mass and stature of his species, showcasing how he was a greater-than-prime specimen. His skin, dark grey and thoroughly cracked, was thick enough to turn aside a blade, and despite the great size of his people, he and his kin were faster on land than any Erdechild or Ocean Dweller.

  “Our next combatant is an Erdeson, decorated and honoured. Born in the heart of what was once Erde’s Burning Sea, I give to you Guild Sentinel Lanthanein Isana, or, as many of you may know him, Lanthanein the Tempest!” From the shadowy entrance closest to us walked a small man who would have barely reached my shoulder. He was lanky and dark, with a shaven head and a jaw that seemed to be permanently clenched. He held a javelin in his right hand, its leather thong wrapped loosely around his forearm. The Guild Emblem, that familiar small circular badge emblazoned with a kite shield, was tied to him by heavy gold chains wrapped around his upper left arm. His stature was unimpressive, and most of the spectators groaned in disappointment. The fight had already been decided, it seemed.

  I stared down at the unimposing figure as the camera drones deployed from the edges of the arena, revealing his face to the uppermost levels of the Coliseum. His eyes were hard and did not waver at the sight of Bir’ Nak, who roared and preened for the mob, revelling in their cheers. I could not help but wonder at this man’s intent, facing a Bra’ Hca in single combat, especially given their penchant for finding glory in violence.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, honour the combatants, honour the Guild, and honour what we all—” The announcer was abruptly cut off. Lanthanein had looked up and to his left at a skybox which hung gloomily in a corner, away from the light. The announcer’s location had been presented to the world. He made a gesture with his hand, waving towards the commentator impatiently.

  “It seems our competitor has something to say! There! What say you, Lanthanein? Do you forfeit, seeing the impossible size of your terrifying opponent?”

  “No. No armour.”

  He’s suicidal.

  “You … you what …?” The announcer’s confidence and charisma evaporated, taking the perpetual clamour of the stadium with them. Lanthanein repeated himself, shaking his head this time, then turned to face his enemy.

  “You … heard it here first! Lanthanein will not be fighting with his armour on today! He wishes to boast—”

  “I’m not doing this to brag.” The thought of it seemed to disgust him. The massive displays that hung from the ceiling, facing all sides of the Coliseum, gave a clear picture of the two participants. Lanthanein’s eyes were curiously green-grey in colour, and they remained fixated on Bir’ Nak, who shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

  “Lanthanein, you certainly seem to be … a man of few words! If not for pride, then why fight without armour? Why fight with a mere fraction of your Sentinel power?” The announcer was barely able to put a spin on her brief, biting words.

  “I fight for principle. I fight to strain and strengthen myself. Pride is a sin, as ordained by my passive and silent God, Kyrosya.” Again, his words were stern and spoken with a squared jaw.

  “What say you, Bir’ Nak?” The announcer had clearly decided to remove the focus from Lanthanein. His words had left all of the spectators, myself included, confused to say the least. Silence turned to puzzled murmurs.

  “Bah! I don’t care! Let the little thin skin ,” the slur sent a wave of revulsion through many of us, “throw his life away! It’s his choice and his consequences to deal with!” Bir’ Nak’s voice was a grating gravel that reminded me of the constant punishment he dealt. As impossible as it was, with Lanthanein so completely handicapping himself, I still hoped for a tempestuous victory.

  “You heard it, folks, the terms have been agreed upon! Now to honour our Guild, our creed, and all that we do across our Two Worlds,” the commentator taunted the masses with a pause, “ begin !” I did not join in with the raucous masses around me and instead sat quietly with a critical eye.

  Bir’ Nak rushed in, his aggression and ferocity terrifying. It was not a cry that we heard, but a roar as he brought a hulking, predatory hand back, ready to clutch Lanthanein’s skull and shatter it effortlessly. Lanthanein stood resolutely, upright, and gracefully leapt high into the air, higher than any Erdeson should have reached, letting Bir’ Nak pass harmlessly and clumsily, floundering in sprays of holographic sand as he struggled to turn and face his opponent. Bir’ Nak attempted the same tactic once more, only to be greeted with the same result.

  Cheering turned to loud, low, and leering laughter, cackling and sporadic bouts that filled the arena and the ears of the increasingly frustrated beast beneath. His muscles rippled, his teeth bared, and he howled as Lanthanein, firm and straight-standing, faced him unafraid.

  Who are you, Lanthanein?

  The Sentinel beneath had grown tired of his game, of eluding a predator that had only one strategy, and he gripped his javelin tightly. He brought it above his right shoulder and stepped forward with his left foot, ready to hurl it. Bir’ Nak scoffed, knowing that his natural armour would shield him from such an assault.

  It was then that I saw a miracle. Lanthanein bared his teeth, and his eyes flashed potent and domineering. His javelin glittered faintly for a moment, almost imperceptibly, then its
long, silvery form blackened into a silhouette of its former self, surrounded by jagged, erratic gold. Lanthanein had grasped lightning itself.

  Bir’ Nak looked suddenly panicked, not understanding what had happened. He sees the Spheres … I marvelled at the sight of his javelin, now a crackling and fearsome weapon that Lanthanein raised above his shoulder, slowly and deliberately. Before Bir’ Nak had the chance to react, Lanthanein hurled the thunderbolt at him, striking him squarely in the chest.

  The Bra’ Hca’s form crumpled to the holographic sand below as the lightning died, leaving behind the silver dart, stuck deeply into his flesh. Surrounding the wound was flesh that more closely resembled smouldering charcoal than the familiar grey skin, orange embers pulsating ominously within the ruined tissue. My antagonist rolled to his side. The spear was plunged deep enough to remain firmly rooted as he fell.

  Lanthanein stepped through the sand, exhaling as his body’s tension slowly left him. The forum was silent once again, although this was a different silence, one marked by a mix of surprise and horror and even concern for the monstrous figure that had been so handily beaten. Lanthanein gripped the handle of the javelin tightly and, with a clean jerk, removed it from the chest of his opponent, setting free a small spurt of black blood. He turned to the crowd and, with his voice amplified as before, spoke. “He is still alive. I did not kill him as I could have. This Bra’ Hca was foolish to step into the arena with me, and so this will be a lesson to him.” The dark figure’s eyes rolled sideways for a moment, watching the hurried Guild Physicians, and he left the arena. The mob followed suit, and a great many pockets of excited chatter opened.

  Bir’ Nak’s fate was unknown to me, and I found it strange that I was even concerned. He had always harassed me and taken pleasure in my misery, yet he did not deserve what Lanthanein the Tempest, that master of electrokinesis, had given him. I wondered when he had discovered his Affinity for such a destructive gift, and when I would discover my own.