by J. T. Wright
Maven hadn’t given Trent a choice when she imposed Fairy Cloak upon him. Neither was she given a choice now. Before she could protest or shriek, Maven was drawn back into the Fountain statue and contained. She would remain there until a new Keeper took charge of the Garden. She would only leave her stone tomb at that Keeper’s behest.
No Fairy’s wings had ever been used as a reagent in an Alchemist's potions. In the future, Adventurers would come to the repurposed Garden to Harvest the wings of the Fairy Queen. A Trial with a unique ingredient was always popular.
Chapter 15
Tersa discovered the fountain at the center of the Garden with her shins. Eyes covered, face stained with tears, snot bubbling from her nostrils, Tersa gave a startled, pained yelp as her shin connected with the edge of the fountain’s basin. With mouth open, she tripped and fell headlong into the waist-deep pool.
Thrashing about and gasping for air, Tersa promptly inhaled the ice-cold liquid. Her body hit the stone bottom, and she quickly gathered her legs beneath her. Pushing up, she rose out of the water, spluttering and coughing.
Standing in the pool, chilled to the bone, Tersa was shocked out of her frenzy. For a time, she even forgot what had caused the panic-stricken rush that ended with her impromptu bath. Shivering and trying to make her lungs function correctly, she looked about at her surroundings, but all she saw was mist, water, and stone. An impenetrable fog hung about her.
She had escaped! Tersa wasn’t sure what this new part of the Trial had in store, but it had to be better, much better, than the Fairy infested area where she had started. Her teeth chattered, and she hugged her arms to her torso. This place was safer, but it was cold, so cold. Cold enough that she would bet it was harmful. But as long as there were no Fairies, no Fey to chew on her face and gnaw on her bones…
The fog parted. Tersa’s relief at having escaped was short-lived. Turning in a slow circle, she saw that her pursuers had her surrounded. She flinched, certain one of the Fey had crept close when she saw the statue of Maven behind her.
Hundreds of Fairies lingered at the edge of the fountain. Their faces were twisted in hate, and they brandished weapons menacingly, but they kept their distance and made no attack. The fountain was a safe haven for the girl. That was how Tersa saw it. The Fey had no power here! Cold aside, she thought it was the most wonderful fountain in the world!
But the Fey didn’t leave. They had her trapped, and Fairies were patient. Tersa had two choices, face them or slowly freeze to death. Or rather, those were the options she gave herself.
Queen Maven’s subjects had no interest in the Guard Recruit. Unlike the Keeper, these Fairies respected the rules. They had never shared Maven’s interests or sadistic pleasures. They were merely playing the role Tersa had designed for them. It was a role they were tired of, but one they would keep until the girl had her moment of clarity.
“What? What'd ya want from me?” Tersa sobbed loudly and hiccupped. “I'm… I'm sorry! Sorry for the flowers and the net! I'm sorry I'm stupid! I didn’t hurt you! Why are you so angry!”
This was how Gran Cromwen’s tales ended. Screaming for mercy, the foul-mouthed wretch of a sniveling child would be torn limb from limb. There was only one part of Tersa’s predicament that didn’t match up. In the stories Gran Cromwen told, the girl broke a plate, spilled a glass of beer, talked back to her elders, or in some way offended the Fey. Tersa hadn’t done any of those things!
The Fairies had only been mildly upset when she crushed the flower. She had barely implemented The Plan when they attacked outright. She hadn’t swung her net. She hadn’t hit them or crushed anything. She had probably stepped on lots of plants while running, but that came after. Why were they so angry?
“Oh!” Another hiccup. Tersa’s arms fell to her sides. It wasn’t obvious when she flushed, her face couldn’t get any redder than it already was. Tersa turned Enraging Aura off.
Trilling gentle whistles of reproach, the Fey put their bows and spears away. Each and every one of them dropped a curtsy or bobbed a bow to their victim. Then they were gone. The center of the Garden was Maven’s. The Queen’s subjects never came here willingly. They wouldn’t tarry now.
Tersa waited for a few minutes after the Fairies left just to be sure. Her numb toes and cramping legs didn’t allow her to dawdle long. Once she was quite certain the Fey were gone, Tersa hurriedly climbed out of the ice-cold water. She stuck close to the edge of the fountain while the balmy warmth of the Garden banished her chills. The fountain was both a danger and a sanctuary to her.
Alone now, Tersa stripped down to her smallclothes and wrung out her soaked tunic and trousers. She dumped the water from her boots and laid everything out to dry. She was tempted to lie down and rest, but she kept to her feet just in case the Fey returned, and she had to dive back into the fountain.
She felt vulnerable, standing unarmed and nearly naked in a Trial. She still didn’t know what was expected of her in the Garden. The one thing she had tried ended badly, leading to her current circumstances. She tried to draw comfort from the warm flat stones beneath her frozen feet, but it was slow coming.
It didn’t help that one Fairy remained. This one was still and silent and clearly not living, but her eyes were cold, cruel, and watchful. Tersa forced herself to face the fountain’s statue. Maybe there was a clue there, but if there was, Tersa couldn’t spot it.
Tersa quivered in a way that had nothing to do with cold or her undressed state. The statue’s eyes and smile were exactly like Gran Cromwen had described. Whomever this stone carving was supposed to represent, they were precisely the type of Fey that dipped young girls into boiling cauldrons.
“What am I supposed to do here?” Tersa asked, summoning all her courage. Her voice was soft and broken, barely a whisper. She didn’t have much courage left.
“The price has been paid. What clarity do you need?”
Tersa crouched, covering her head with her arms as if expecting a blow. The words were spoken lightly, and they didn’t come from the fountain. They came from all around and echoed mysteriously. Tersa peeked about, expecting to see a dozen winged figures surrounding her.
There was nothing there. Tersa straightened from her crouch. What clarity did she need? None! Tersa was perfectly happy with her life, thank you, and piss off! The question that needed to be asked was, why was she in this hell hole!?
The answer was Sergeant Cullen! He had sent her here, driven her here, with threats of being cast out of her home, out of the Guard. All because she had finally found a Specialization! She was a Brute. Cullen didn’t like that. This Trial was probably some kind of twisted punishment!
Only Cullen wasn’t like that. He had sent her here for a reason. She hated to admit it, but Cullen’s punishments were never without cause. He thought there was something wrong with her Class. Damned if Tersa could see what, though.
“Why shouldn’t I be a Brute? Brutes are strong,” Tersa muttered to herself and kicked at the ground, an action she immediately regretted. The feeling had returned to her toes, and slamming them against stone was a bad idea.
“Brutes are strong. They grow quickly and have simple needs for leveling. They are also lazy, unthinking, and wild. They are limited. Brutes follow a closed path. They will never advance. Someday, if you train diligently, you may be a Blood Drenched Brute. That is all. Is that what you want?”
“You’re wrong!” Tersa denied angrily. The Garden's words made little sense to her. She was going to accomplish great things! She would get an Advanced Class; the voice had to be lying!
“Brute is not gained through Skills or training. It is a Specialization made available by one’s actions. Look into the fountain, child.”
Tersa balked. She wasn’t going to be ordered about by a wispy pansy with no body!
“Look, child!”
Seeing Tersa’s reluctance the Garden’s voice grew implacable. Due to Maven’s pact, the Garden of Clarity was a unique Trial in many ways. It interacted with c
hallengers when their issues were called for, but never as directly as it was doing now. Maven’s removal of Terah’s mark had opened a window. All this stubborn girl had to do was crawl through. Instead, she was resisting!
Quite against her own will, Tersa looked down. She recognized the coolness to the Garden’s voice. That was the tone a Corporal took, right before putting the boot to a mouthy Recruit.
The waters of the fountain had turned from placid blue to darkest black. In its rippling surface, images appeared. Images or visions that Tersa knew well. There was Trent, bleeding, while fending off an attack. There was Orion, grimacing as he cast a spell. Many scenes appeared, and Tersa recognized nearly all of them. They were all pictures of her experiences in the Land of the Undying Lord.
Only, they were wrong. They weren’t how Tersa remembered them. She saw herself fighting heroically, throwing herself against hordes of foes, but the look on her face was foreign. She didn’t wear the calm, determined expression she had always pictured for herself, but a rage-filled scowl. Her attacks were blunt and ineffective; she could be overrun at any time.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t because Trent always stepped between her and the blade that reached for her. The spear meant for her back pierced her friend’s shoulder. The teeth snapping at her throat were broken by Trent’s sword. She saw Trent save her time and time again as she fought against hopeless odds, and every time, her actions exposed him to another cut. He was knocked down and trampled. If not for Orion’s sheltering presence and healing, he would have died, and she would never have noticed, as she blindly swung her mace.
There were also scenes before Orion joined the pair. Trent standing over her sleeping form, battling Skeletons and Zombies as he kicked and yelled for her to wake up. She never did. She slept unconcerned and then threw herself against the enemy without a second thought. Trent or Orion collected wounds meant for her each time.
“That’s…. That’s not how it was!” Tersa had pulled her own weight! She had! She bashed, smashed, and killed more than anyone! If not for her…
“This is the truth, child,” the Garden informed her. “Your denials are meaningless. Do not fool yourself any longer. Instead, tell me, why? What prompted your actions?”
“I…I have to be the best… I need to be strong. I want to be…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
The Garden knew. The images of her struggles in the last Trial faded away. In their place, a single, giant form strode forward. Brimming with confidence, wearing the uniform of the Guard like he had been born in it, Sergeant Cullen appeared, holding a double-bladed battle axe in one hand. Tersa had only ever seen that axe once, briefly, but it complimented the Sergeant in a way no other weapon could. Its aura of strength and reliability matched Cullen in every way.
The fountain didn’t seem big enough to contain the image of the Sergeant. Tersa half expected him to step out of the water and berate her for being out of uniform. He was confident, capable, fearless, everything she wanted to be, and knew she was not.
“This is what you seek.” The Garden drew her out of her reverie. “But this is what you are becoming.”
The picture of Cullen shattered. Replacing the Sergeant, a small man stood, with his shoulders slumped, looking about with covetous eyes. Tersa had never been tall, and this man was only a few inches taller than she. Greasy hair and a day’s worth of stubble decorated a pinched face with a mean mouth. The man carried no weapon, but his hands were balled as if he wanted to strike the world itself.
Where Cullen was confident, this man was sly. Where Cullen was barely contained righteous anger, the smaller man was entitled and bitter. Greed and arrogance hung about the man like a suit of old clothes. Tersa could smell the booze on his breath. She could feel his palm striking her, and she remembered her own bewilderment at the slap. Cullen might cuff a Recruit, might smack the back of their head if they weren’t paying attention, or stepped out of line. This smaller man delivered punches and kicks without warning, for no reason at all.
Tersa knew in her heart that she wanted to become like Cullen. She knew it as well as she knew that she wanted nothing to do with the man she saw in the fountain. Cullen was a Hero. That man, Liam Cromwen, her father, was a… he was…
“He’s a Brute?” Tersa trembled, stumbling backward. She had to get away from what the fountain was showing her. She had thought Liam was a thief! She thought…
“Does he carry the Class?” The Garden spoke soothingly. “Doubtful. I only know what you know child. I can’t speak to his Class. But in your memories, your actions resemble his, not the other’s.”
Tersa’s arms crossed under her breasts. She felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Being tossed headfirst back into the fountain’s waters would warm her. “I won’t… I can’t be like him! I can’t! What do I do? Help me!”
“The price has been paid, child. What is it you want?”
The name of a Class popped into Tersa’s shaken mind. She had only heard it once. Not long after Cullen had donned his black armor, and taken up his axe, she had heard it. Lieutenant Ali-something had mentioned it to that Adventurer. Just a few words before Cullen had shut him up, but Tersa had heard.
“Dread Naught,” she whispered, clutching her torso. “I want to be a Dread Naught!”
For the first time since being tasked to work with Maven, the Spirit of the Garden was amazed. It had seen a lot of overreaching Awakeneds in its time, but this was more than it expected. The girl wanted a Legendary Class? Bold, but foolish. Classes like Dread Naught were more than the Spirit could offer and much more than the child had earned.
“This is not impossible.” Maven would have loved to see the Garden squirm. It didn’t want to discourage the girl, but it was reeling from her request. Fortunately, Maven was caught up in problems of her own.
“But not now. You will have to experience a great deal more if you wish to become a Dread Naught. Today, I can offer two paths which are suitable for you to follow. Look into the fountain again.”
Tersa tiptoed forward. The image of her father was gone. Her own picture, two actually, had returned to the fountain. She placed her hands on the edge of the basin and leaned forward to examine her images closely.
In one, she stood tall and fierce. It was hard to judge her precise height, but she was taller than Trent! In the first image, a winged helmet adorned her head, and heavy plate armor covered her body. The armor was white with blue accents, and it shone brilliantly. She held a spear in her hand, and she wielded it with a skill that she never imagined she could possess. She danced and twirled, unencumbered by the plate armor, her weapon slaying untold numbers of invisible enemies.
In the second image, she wore unremarkable grey leather. Her head was uncovered, her long red hair pulled back into a tail. A one-handed axe with a single curved blade was swinging in her right hand while her left carried a wooden shield bound in strips of metal. At first, this axe-wielding Tersa looked as skilled as the spear carrier. The axe reminded her of Cullen’s Peacemaker, and it called to Tersa!
Then disaster struck. An unseen opponent knocked the axe from the moving picture’s hand. Instead of rushing forward to claim it, the leather-clad Tersa twisted and ducked to the side. She hurled her shield like a discus as she did.
That settled it. It was just an image, but Tersa’s ears heard Cullen’s bellows. A shield can be a weapon! You never throw away your weapon! Tersa was smarter than that! Choosing the axe was asking for an ass chewing!
Having made her decision, Tersa’s mouth opened to scornfully announce her choice. Then it shut. The axe wielder wasn’t done. The leather-clad warrior’s hands drew two rods from her belt. If the weapons had a name besides rod, Tersa couldn’t put her finger on it. Rod was the only word that came to mind looking at the items her image held. Rod didn’t do the weapons justice. Their craftsmanship was obvious. Two feet long from crystal pommel and leather-wrapped hilt to rounded tip, the rods were made of a dark met
al that seemed to capture the light around them. If the second image was less fearsome than the first while swinging an axe, her skill soared with these clubs in her hands.
Her feet blurred, and with elegant movements, Tersa with clubs shamed the warrior with the spear. She was a hurricane, unstoppable, a force of nature. The natural phenomenon that she had become was emphasized by lightning that swirled about her and occasionally leaped from the tips of her weapons as she thrust and bashed.
Tersa’s eyes gleamed as she watched. The image recovered its axe. A foot flicked the weapon into the air. With one smooth motion, the image sheathed a rod and caught the axe. The lightning about her intensified as she continued her assault. She was almost entirely offense, despite the leather armor providing less protection than her spear-carrying counterpart.
The axe split the air, and in its wake, the rod cast lightning and wind. In the scenes the fountain displayed of her memories, Tersa had been filled with unrestrained rage. The axe wielder held none of that. She was professional. She was strength incarnate funneled into furious battle. She was magnificent!
“That one! I want that one!” Tersa’s finger jabbed at the axe wielder. The weapon was perfect! The style was amazing! She would be invincible!
“Storm Bringer? Are you certain, child? There’s no…”
“This one!” Tersa leaned forward to slap at the surface of the water. Stupid voice in the air! Why wouldn’t it listen? She should already have her new Class! Her glorious new Class! Storm Bringer? The Duchess Aldross was called the Sorceress of Storms. Was Tersa’s new Class a Mage type? That would be so great!
Tersa almost missed the Garden’s next words. She was caught up, imagining all the Spells she would learn. Trent would help her practice them. Trent was great for practicing Spells with!
“Alright, child. If that’s what you want.” the Garden was uncertain if it was making the right choice. It was supposed to bring clarity to its challengers. This child seemed manic in her glee. However, the price had been paid.