by Tyson Jordan
While rummaging through another case, I was gladdened by the sight of two steel bracers that had suffered only minor damage during their time here. They were black fingerless gloves that had been crudely strapped to heavy plates of steel which would cover my forearms and the backs of my hands well.
Their counterparts, hardened combat boots that reached nearly to my knees, sat next to them. I pulled them on immediately, but noticed that the clasps were broken. Cursing in disappointment, I looked back in the trunk to see six ancient locks, made from beaten brass, and a small, bent key. Further inspection revealed an inscription on the key, which commanded, “Do not lose.” Feeding the locks through the broken clasps, I noisily secured the boots onto my feet and dropped the key in my back pocket.
With my defences prepared as best as I could manage, I turned my eyes to the walls, searching for a weapon. There were a few broad swords, meant for Erdesons, but none of them spoke to me. Some were badly cracked and barely worth their place on the rack, while others were much too light, lacking in any meaningful heft or reach. There was little choice to be had, however, and I walked resignedly towards the best of them, a thin blade with a large pommel. Just as I reached out for it, something on the ground caught my eye. Buried in the space between an armour case and the wall was another blade that had fallen from its place.
Grunting, I pulled the case away from the wall and reached down to see the sword. It was a two-handed great sword, an executioner’s blade that lacked any semblance of elegance. This was a cumbersome thing, heavy with cracked, dark steel, and its simplicity made me smile. It was ugly, its many scars and chips weighted with a long and bloody history. I grasped its black hilt and inspected it more closely, seeing the many dents in the brass hilt. The cross guard had been crudely inscribed with the name Demonbite , and I knew I had found my weapon.
With that, I swallowed deeply and walked to the arena entrance. A round, red button protruded from the wall, and I pressed it with the palm of my hand. A harsh buzzing filled the air, and beyond, I could hear faint but growing chatter from the masses as the door swung wide. An announcer fed the crowd, his echoing voice reverberating off every surface. I walked forward, letting his voice grow louder.
“Now, Initiates, Sentries, Sentinels, and Centurions! Now is the time you’ve been waiting for!” An eruption of clapping hands and cries of joy soon followed. A blast of warm air struck me in the face, and I blinked, walking forward slowly. The light of the holographic sands, of the arena and the crowd, soon enveloped me, and I squinted, letting my eyes adjust.
An official was there, tucked away in shadow a few steps away from the light. He stopped my advance with a firm hand on my shoulder and muttered, “Let the crowd get worked up before you go in.” I sighed, knowing what further waiting would do to my disposition.
“Here is where she’s proven herself time and again against foes of impossible stature! She’s felled the most skilled Erdechildren, the fiercest Bra’ Hca, the most cunning of Ocean Dwellers! Please give this woman, your saviour, your Godsend, your greatest gratitude! I give you … Argenta Behemot!” As expected, shouts of delirious approval followed. The mention of the Godsend curled my lips into a scowl, almost as much as those so willing to stake their lives on legend. Far across the sand I could see her, walking forward solemnly with a katana firmly in hand.
“And now, the one who dares to risk life and limb in the pursuit of glory, the one who may dethrone the Godsend himself, the unknown warrior … Zircon Fortuna!” I stepped forward with Demonbite hefted over my shoulder. A few smatterings of applause followed, mixed with murmurs of confusion and doubt. Their approval, or rather, their lack thereof, did not faze me. I stepped forward to face my opponent, walking slowly to understand the curious density and resistance of the artificial sand beneath my heels.
The woman before me was tall, slightly more so than I, and leanly built. Her long black hair was tied back tightly, close to her head, and she wore no armour. Her clothing was kept simple and could not be mistaken for any form of protection; formfitting tan leggings and a violet jerkin would offer no resistance to her movement. She gripped the haft of her long curved sword tightly with hands wrapped in black leather gloves. We stared at each other in silence, the mob and even the announcer hanging in anticipation.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” I asked plainly. I did not know Argenta in any personal fashion, yet I disliked her all the same.
“I have given you the same vague memory as many others. Should I treat you with greater attention?” There was no contempt in her words, only indifference. It was that aloof, dismissive nature that gritted my teeth and heated my face. My anxiety began to fade, being replaced by a growing flush of anger.
“Oh, don’t worry. Once I’m done, you’ll have a much clearer picture of me.” My temper began to rise, and with it my confidence.
“Your vain attempts at threat give me only advantage, and should you ask yourself why, you must realise you understand nothing.” As before, there was little emotion in her voice, only the objective statement of fact. I squeezed Demonbite , reassuring myself.
“I understand whose blood flows in my veins. To him you would have been less than nothing.”
“Is that what that rag is around your forehead—the keepsake of a dead titan? Are you truly your father’s son, or are you some mere pretender, clutching at a delusion?” Her words became barbs, and my grip tightened.
“Shut up.” Her insult was unbearable. My breathing quickened, and I could see a glimmer of inspiration in Argenta’s green eyes.
“Did I strike a nerve? Are you attached to him, his memory? Was he a good father before he died?”
“I told you to shut up!” With that, I grasped my sword with both hands and brought it down toward Argenta’s head. I cared little for her skill and even less for her words. She would not escape me.
There was a clash and twisting of metal as my sword was parried, deflected down to the sand below. I inhaled sharply to ready another attack, but a hard fist struck me in the face, stinging me deeply. I staggered back in surprise at the curiously excessive strength of the blow.
I readied my sword again, holding it before me in a low guard, and Argenta advanced. My muscles tensed and instinct carried my weapon in a horizontal curve, aimed at her chest. She ducked my sword with ease and brought her katana down, forcing my blade into the confined desert once again. She did not relinquish her grip and I was paralysed before her, my body turned to the side.
“This childishness you call swordplay will not serve you here.” Her voice remained barbarous in its objectivity, revealing no arrogance. I bared my teeth and recognised this as my first, and probably only, opportunity to strike.
I released my sword, letting the brass hilt fall. I saw a momentary lapse in composure in her eyes, and it brought me great satisfaction. Twisting my body, I ferociously hurled my fist into my opponent’s face. The impact was loud and powerful, and I thought my bracer’s meeting with her face had broken her jaw. She stumbled backward in a mix of surprise and pain, pausing for only a moment, and lifted her gaze to meet mine.
The red signs of swelling were already showing on her left cheek, but beyond that, Argenta was unhurt and unimpressed. Her green eyes glittered, revealing offended condescension, while I struggled to understand what had happened. How? That would have flattened anyone else.
“I sincerely hope for your sake that you have planned beyond this little outburst.” I did not reply. I retrieved Demonbite from its resting place and clutched it tightly.
“No? This will be over soon; you need not worry.” With that, Argenta was on me, and I felt the terror of her effortless assault, my defences meaning nothing before her. Every successful parry or counterattack only served her needs, and I realised that she was controlling not only her sword but mine as well, just as I had seen in her footage. It was futile to resist her, and my attacks were at best ineffective, clumsy strokes that cleaved only air.
My stubborn
ness only intensified her attack. Soon Argenta mixed her fists and feet with her relentless edge, spinning and striking my joints, bringing me to my knees. My nose suffered a single blow that rendered it bloody and swollen, leaving my vision stinging with tears. The cheering of the mob was nearly as relentless as my opponent. I forced myself to my feet time and again, baring my teeth and seething.
It did not take long before she began to cut me. At first the wounds were only superficial, and I understood her intent. She wanted me to forfeit, either to save myself great injury or to save her this effort. It was impossible. She could see my intentions as well, to stand against her and emerge victorious, but that victory was merely a delusion. I thought I saw a look of regret in her narrow green eyes, if only for a moment, as she whirled behind me. I had no time to react to the blade that pierced the flesh of my upper arm. Too much crimson heat poured from the wound, and my left arm hung useless at my side. I howled in agony.
I mustered what little strength I had left. I leapt back a few paces, and the lean woman before me shook her head. “You must realise you cannot do this.” I spat a thick mix of blood and saliva, swearing loudly.
Before me, above me, and all around me were innumerable lights, wired and powered by the endless electricity offered by the Guild’s core. I loosened the grip on my heavy sword, letting it slide from my left hand. It was good to shed its weight, if only for a while, and I closed my eyes. Breathing slowly and deeply, I remembered Innatus’s words, what he had said of the backbone of this world, of the Spheres, of Substance.
I opened my eyes and once again saw the nature of the world before me. It was a mist-filled place, illuminated only by the joyous chatter of countless golden Spheres. There were so many, travelling in beautiful circuits that fuelled the lights that were so grey and dull. Argenta’s lithe form was a silhouette cast in red flame.
I willed the Spheres towards me with all the Feeling I could muster. Their path to my hand was slow and erratic, and I demanded their presence, dominating them. They flowed towards me in a thick stream of yellow light, and I smiled as they drew near. I could feel their warmth, the tingle of their touch, and their power. My hair stood on end and my fist blackened, crackling with light. I smiled and relinquished the fog to face my opponent.
I drew my hand back, letting wild arcs of lightning leap into the air. I felt invincible, and I drew ready to release my strength, to at last demonstrate my might and to bring the myth of the Godsend crashing down.
It was then that everything went terribly wrong.
I felt a strange chill at first, which started deep within my chest and spread outward, enveloping my arms and hands, my legs and feet, and my face. Shivers soon followed, and they grew into near convulsions. My pale skin bordered on blue and white, and I could not help but crouch, hoping to preserve some semblance of heat. My concentration broken, many of the Spheres began to flee, leaving behind an unpredictable mass of useless sparks.
It was Argenta. She was standing much like I had been a moment before with her grasp stretched out before her, stern and remorseful. The heat was draining from my body quickly and I could not speak. I slumped to my knees, hoping to preserve what little lightning I could in my fist.
“You surprise me, Zirconium. Few can see the Spheres at all, and fewer still can gather them. Who taught you to see them?” I grimaced. I could see a brilliant flame growing in her hand, pulsing rhythmically and dancing up her arm.
Even as a small boy, I understood the meaning of pride. I could have and should have given up then, but I refused, out of some bizarre sense of pride and a need to satisfy my long-dead father. Spurned onward, I pushed the dwindling lightning towards the warrior before me. Exasperated, Argenta replied in kind, and her fire met my electricity. Fragmented golden glass littered the air, doing nothing to slow the brilliant flames.
I was struck in the chest, my body’s heat returned to me tenfold, and the world plunged into blackness.
19
Pride’s Purchase
“Zircon? Can you open your eyes?” The words had a murky quality to them as they blurred hazily in my ears. I groaned audibly as my aching muscles and bruises made their presence known. Opening my eyes slowly, I was bombarded by light, and squinted with little effect.
“What … what happened?” I struggled to ask, as though my mind had not yet been roused from some deep slumber. My head began to pound tremendously, and I rubbed my eyes.
“You very stupidly challenged a talented Initiate to a fight for reasons that I’ll never understand.” The voice gained some clarity, and I looked past the edge of the white infirmary bed to see Guild Physician Ceres. “And to make matters even better for you, that Initiate just so happened to see the Waves.”
“The Waves … what?” I struggled instinctively to sit up, and I felt frustrated hands push me down on the bed.
Her voice turned to anger as she cried out, “Do you think this is a game? Are you somehow unaware of our resource shortage? Do you really think that I want to spend my time tending to this nonsense?” I gave no answer.
The physician left the room then, showing no concern for my state, and the events that had brought me to this place slowly revealed themselves as I inspected my battered frame more closely, unsure of what I would find.
My clothing had been cut away, naturally, and I stared down at my own chest, which had been hastily covered with a glistening gel, tinted blue, that tingled as I breathed. Beneath it I could see my blistered skin, reddened and occasionally bloody, repairing itself rapidly. The sight of the orange, piercing light that had burst forth from Argenta’s hands invaded my mind, and I turned my sight to my left arm. Newly acquired scars had formed symmetrically on either side of my bicep, which twinged in great protest as I attempted to move my arm. In spite of her anger, the physician had done her work and done it well.
I sunk back into the bed, my utter failure weighing heavily upon me in tandem with the disgust of my father, and closed my eyes, unsure of how to proceed. Pursuing further conflict with Argenta was impossible for more than one reason, naturally, and instead of denouncing her alleged divinity, I had only reinforced it; the thought of hearing further adoration of her in the corridors of the Guild forced me to scowl. In self pity, I stared at the white ceiling of the infirmary for quite some time, hoping to blot out my regrets.
The next room was barred from me by a simple pane of engineered glass, and my eyes drifted through it, taking in the sights of sterile medical equipment and the bustle of overburdened medical workers. Ceres reappeared, her long blonde hair tied tightly behind her head, and gave me a hard look that mostly concealed her contempt.
She spoke with an expressionless voice. “There’s a visitor here to see you. You’re free to go when you feel able.” With that, she disappeared through the adjacent doorway, no doubt to offer her services to any number of waiting patients. I did not answer her, and instead turned my head, looking beyond the medical displays and equipment stationed on the walls, before I heard the same door slide open.
In strolled Janus, his hands in his pockets, with a bemused look on his face. I frowned at him in considerable irritation, my eyes widened and my fists clenched, and he raised his hands in mock protest. He stood next to the bed and laughed. “They removed those bracers you were wearing but they couldn’t get your boots off!”
Remembering the key in my back pocket, I reached underneath me, hoping it was still there. I breathed a sigh of relief and winced as I leaned forward, fumbling with the locks and failing to ignore the burning of my upper arm. I had little to say to him, although I knew my anger was both misplaced and poorly justified.
“Look, if you’re that angry about the whole thing, maybe you should have just quit. I didn’t force you into any of it.” He was right, naturally, and the accountability for my situation was mine and mine alone. What could have been a simple practical joke, a minor inconvenience, had been made into something much more dangerous, entirely by my own design. One of the locks
popped successfully, and I grasped the heavy metal rectangle with my right hand, jerking it free from its buckle.
“I know. I didn’t. I wanted to prove something. Obviously … I failed.” In frustration, I jammed the bent key into another lock and began twisting it, grunting at its obstinance.
“Prove something? What’s that? That Argenta isn’t our saviour?” I gave a slight nod at that, and Janus continued. “Did you hear the crowd when you nearly broke her jaw? Some people almost died from the shock!” I did not smile at this news. My defeat remained absolute, and my friend could no doubt see and sense my shame.
“I know who’s been breaking into the specimen lab, you know.” Janus grinned, and I understood his meaning immediately. I leaned back, the key still in my hand, and saw the satisfaction in his face.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” My question was rhetorical.
“Yeah, it’s her all right. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it before. She’s faster and stronger,” my aching body attested to Janus’s words, “than she was a few months ago, and the Favour by break-in seems a hell of a lot more likely than any sort of divinity.” Despite my disdain for Argenta, the thought made too much sense to be false.
“So what can we do about it?” I was eager, hoping to use this to our advantage, to achieve my goal. Janus’s words were less than encouraging.
“At this point? Absolutely nothing. Who would believe us anyway? I’m a delinquent and you’re a recluse. She’s the Godsend to these people, Zircon. She’s infallible here.” I leaned back, resting my head in my hands, and hoped to see faults in his reasoning. There were none. I resumed my work on the locks, swearing under my breath at their less-than-desirable condition.
“Now a better question would be why she’s doing this.” My concentration shifted and the answer was readily apparent, or at least I thought so.