Unbound
Chapter 1: Fool, Magician, Hierophant, Justice
For as long as most mon in Kalos could remember, fighting outside of one's species was rarely a friendly act. While motley camps of fighting-types sparred for fun or to blow off steam after long days of laboring, hunting, or traveling, and friendly psychic pokemon who had mastered a new technique sometimes spread their knowledge to other species through literal mental struggles, the very idea of not fighting to kill or escape another mon was practically unthinkable to most.
Litleo cubs wrestled with their den-mates to hone their hunting skills, or for the fun of it. Noivern played with their chicks once they learned how to fly, gently buffeting their young noibats with their cries. Even the eternally-lonely phantump played their own version of hide-and-seek, where the seeker fired confuse rays at anyone they found. Although they didn't know it, all of them were practicing skills that could mean the difference between life and death, or decorporialization. When the time came to call upon them, it would no longer be a game.
So, when a flock of smug black bird mon swarmed over Kalos, inviting anyone they found to a tournament in a place called Lumiose City, there were mixed responses. Many were disturbed. A few were curious. Only those who had read time-worn texts rescued from the ruins that dotted the land, and the fighting-type mon whose vocabulary still included words like "gym leader" and "elite four", understood that tournaments were nothing new. But not even King Leopold's library in the Parfum Palace or all the grimoires hidden in the Great Tree of Laverre had anything to say about the grand prize: an "undifferentiated" mega-stone.
"Alright! Who wants to take on me?" The speaker was Longwisp, a young mawile from the southern coast of Kalos. Although she was only two feet tall, she was easily the loudest mon in line. Her voice echoed off the rolling hills of the Versant Plains and she hopped as high as she could, trying to spot a worthy opponent.
The first mon in line behind her was Matsuba, a seven-foot tall hariyama who was gracious enough to step out of the way so she could properly mad-dog the rest of the line. Matsuba chuckled quietly behind one of his gigantic hands. Longwisp ignored him.
When she and her partner, Fogscale, first met him, the sun was just clearing the distant hills and the sky was still orange, illuminating the fringes of thick, coarse fur around his midsection. At the time, she imagined making a lightly armored cloak out of one of those fringes. But now the sun was at its peak, and Matsuba seemed as though he could have been an honorary krookodile, if not a mawile. Thus, taking his fur was out of the question: among her tribe, there was no greater humiliation than having a part of oneself made into a trophy.
Instead, her eyes were locked on a four-armed monster wearing a stupid olive laurel and a belt, surrounded by a dozen other fighting types. With a little reworking, the big guy's belt buckle would make a nice buckler.
At this point, it was only a matter of getting the monster's attention properly.
"Hey, you! Craghead!"
Twelve pairs of eyes looked in her direction, completely stunned. The monster twitched irritably, but ignored her.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you, Craghead! My name's Longwisp from Glittering Cave and I'm going to take your belt!"
The fighting type mon crossed his four arms and flashed a winning smile as he turned to face her. "The name's not 'Craghead,' Runt. It's Nox Quarta. And as for taking my belt, I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."
His companions burst out laughing. One with a jagged brown crest and round, red hands patted him on the back. Nox arched his heavy brow, daring her to make the next move.
She gladly obliged. "I don't think you know what you're getting into. My tribe has roamed all over this land for centuries, seeking its treasures and returning victorious. There is nothing beyond our reach."
Four-arms smiled again. "That's funny, Runt. Real funny. You say you come from a tribe of pillaging warriors, but I've never seen such a strange-looking mon as you." His posse applauded, but he quieted them with a wave of his hands.
"I suppose it's proper," he continued. "You'll never see another mon like me as long as you live. Many springs ago, when I was a machoke, I sought to train for five nights without rest. On the fourth night, a storm brewed above my camp in the mountains." From his proud gestures, Longwisp could tell that he'd told this story many times, building his showmanship with each successive telling.
"Although the storm roared around me, I did not falter for a second! Although a lightning bolt pierced my very being, I rose up even stronger, in the form you see now, strong and complete!" The rest of his group erupted in shouts and fight songs. He soaked up their praise before turning back to her. "Since I became what my legends call a 'machamp,' I have never lost a battle. And why should I? I faced the power of a storm head-on, and made it a part of me. There is nothing you can do to me now, Runt."
Impressive, Longwisp thought, but she didn't bat an eye. "It sounds like you need new material. My tribes legends tell us that no mon is invincible, and that everything can be taken away." Her false face sniggered like dead leaves scraping across stones. "If I defeat you, Nox Quarta," she asked, "will your power become mine?"
"'Will your power become mine'?" He repeated mockingly. "What a dumb question. Sounds like you weren't listening to my story." He shrugged and threw his top pair of arms above his head. "I guess I'll tell you again, little thief: my strength comes from my own achievements. You can't steal it, and you can't do anything else to me."
"I'll show you what I can do!" she snarled, taking a step towards him. Her false face was already whipping around, biting the air.
Nox drew back for a moment, but composed himself and took on a narrow stance. "I assume this isn't going to be a sparring match, then," he joked, but she was done talking. Her blood pounded in her ears like fifty pairs of feet stamping out a hunting dance in a pitch-black cave, but this was nothing like hunting. There was no need to be stealthy now, no need for restraint. She'd dodge every blow from those overly-large arms and -
A heavy brown tail swept her back before she'd gone three paces. She struggled, but a huge, clawed hand gripped her shoulder gently, but firmly. Kicking and thrashing her false face from side to side, she whirled around. "Stay out of this, Fogscale!" Her false face was practically vibrating with rage as she stared into the krokorok's eyes. Heavy jaws clamped down on his armored tail, but he didn't even feel it.
"Easy, Longwisp," he said. "I thought you'd back down, but I guess I thought wrong."
"You're damn right you thought wrong! Now let me go!"
"Looks like I was right, Runt!" Nox called. "The belt is still mine!"
Fogscale whipped around and locked eyes with the machamp, letting out a rumbling, bone-chilling growl before turning back to Longwisp. "You're causing a scene. Best to bury your scales for now, you know?"
She shot him a sidelong glance. Fogscale was only a few springs older than her, but he was even taller than some of the krookodiles in his clan. When he bent down to talk to her, Longwisp was still only half his height. If she could cause a scene by challenging someone to a fight, he'd already caused a scene with his presence alone.
Fogscale came from a clan of krookodile that called the sandy terraced canyons outside Glittering Cave their home. Although they hunted rhyhorn, helioptile, and other mon in the canyons, the Spikes Passage Clan and the Tribe of the Glittering Cave formed a pact long ago to respect each other's territory and to come to their neighbor's aid in times of need.
However, what began centuries ago as a rigid agreement evolved into a respectful friendship. Many of Longwisp's fondest memories were lit by the brilliant sun and the face of the full moon above the Spikes Passage, like learning how to lure dwebble out of their shells, watching her grandfather read Fogscale's future in the cracks in the deepest cavern walls, or simply sitting with him and watching the wind sweep plumes of dust off of cliffs in the distance, carrying it out to sea.
Looking back, her favorite memories of him were the ones where he wasn't talking.
She jabbed a finger in his general direction. "I'd like to see you bury your scales. I can't back down now!"
"First, that's an expression of speech. Second, these fights aren't like what we're used to. The murkrow from the beach said that killing other mon in the tournament is forbidden, remember?"
"I wasn't going to kill him," she muttered. "Probably not. I just wanted that buckle."
He cocked his head. "Wasn't the mega-stone going to be your treasure? If your sense of pride is really that wounded, I'll help you, but we'll be wasting energy when we should be resting."
Longwisp groaned. Rest. If there was one thing the Spikes Passage Clan prioritized, it was rest. They slept during the day, they slept during the night, and they even took naps while they were hunting. Although they were some of her favorite mon in the world, ambush hunters could be so lazy.
"I just wanted to make an impression. You know - let them know who I am?"
"I think you succeeded. Wouldn't you rather be remembered for winning than for being a loudmouth who lost before we even got into the city?"
Longwisp was about to answer with a genius comeback, but caught herself. The krokorok had a point. She looked up at his smug, smiling face, irritable but calm. "We're going to win anyways," she muttered. "Why do you have to be so boring?"
He shrugged his heavy shoulders and chuckled. "It's what I do."
Longwisp glanced back over her shoulder. Nox and his entourage seemed to have forgotten about her already, or at least pointedly ignoring her. They were standing in a tight circle now, cheering and jeering as they passed around a huge clay jug and took turns taking longer and longer drinks from it.
She glowered at them, but Fogscale nudged her with his tail again and she looked away.
Though many of the mon that had gathered looked comfortable while they waited, or even bored, Longwisp was restless. The sun was too bright, the ground was too flat, her feet were sore, her false face was getting heavy, and she felt as small as a diglett, which was the worst. She'd nearly been stepped on twice: once by a slimy, lavender dragon who accidentally bowled Longwisp over with her tail while explaining the concept of a "line" and left her covered in a thick, sticky ooze that had taken hours to get out of her fur, and again by Matsuba, who made even Fogscale look like a hatchling. Although he'd picked her up and apologized profusely, the thought of fighting a mon who could hold her in the palm of his hand gave her pause.
Of course, mawile weren't even close to the tallest things in their caves. The kangaskhan mothers who lived with her tribe were just as tall as Matsuba, and even a small krookodile was roughly twice the size of the tallest mawile, but Longwisp couldn't remember another time where she had ever felt so small. It was like she'd shrunk herself like one of the clefairy that lived in the mountains. If her competition was large enough to send her sprawling so casually, did they have a hope of winning? Or would she be better off taking her journey somewhere else?
At the beginning of their tenth spring, all young mawile of the Glittering Cave tribe left to witness the wonders and dangers of the outside world, returning with proof of their adventures. Many journeyed to the east, where the wooded shoreline turned to sand, cliffs with no caves towered high above, strange caves with pointed peaks dotted the seashore, and the waters teemed with ravenous sea monsters. Bands of young mawile camped on the shore for weeks on end, wading neck-deep in hopes of luring out a gyarados or a large sharpedo, whose jaws would be made into masks and armor for its slayer's false face.
Others, like her father and mother, went inland. The world beyond their mountains was a strange and wondrous place, filled with monsters as ferocious as any in the sea, treasures more powerful than bones and fins, and lands that writhed with magic.
When her father left, he wandered north until he reached a land of deep, filthy water and dead trees. Following a flickering blue flame that led him safely through the swamp, he stopped beneath the shadow of a mountainous tree that had swallowed an entire palace. A passage opened for him in its trunk, and he entered. Inside, however, was a witch who tried to kill him to use his fur and false face in her spells.
The witch was powerful, but he managed to survive by catching her off guard and snatching away a painted seal that hung on a chain from her left ear. The source of her power taken away, she could do nothing to stop him from escaping.
When he returned, he wore the slip of parchment on the right side of his head, tucked into a headband. "The way the witch was wearing it didn't do her much good," he often joked, "so I'll see if this way works out better for me."
Her mother had traveled even further, to a land of howling wind and snow where beasts as large as boulders plowed effortlessly through the drifts.
It was by chance alone that she stumbled across a cave as deep and winding as their own. But unlike the dark, protective embrace of her home, the cave was a world of fearful white and blue, and home to a white-furred monster with a beard of ice that stalked her through the tunnels. Deep inside, she found a sky-blue chunk of ice that could not break or melt. With her false face and the claw of ice as her weapons, she turned to face the monster. By the next spring, she triumphantly returned to Glittering Cave wearing a heavy, white skin and clutching the translucent blue claw, which she wore to every hunting dance.
Everyone in her tribe wore their treasures proudly. Some were merely for decoration. Others served as weapons, armor, or tools. All of them, however, were symbols of wisdom, power, and survival. They were proof that the tribe member had struggled against the world outside, and prevailed. The greater the challenge, the greater the story.
She could already see herself returning triumphant with Fogscale at her side and a rock as big as her false face in her hands. The surface of the stone would flicker and shine in the light of a bonfire as she told the rest of her tribe about the fights she braved. Everyone's eyes would be on her as she held the stone high and the cave echoed with joyous cheers and roars. The smell of cooking ryhorn meat would fill the tunnels for days as the tribe celebrated her coming-of-age.
When the celebration was done, everything would change. She could visit Fogscale's clan whenever she wanted and the elders would teach her to read the future in the stones and the stars. Her mother, father, and the rest of the tribe would teach her how to be a healer, a hunter, an ambassador - anything. Her future was as bright as the stone in her imagination.
She couldn't run away.
"Longwisp? You okay?" Fogscale asked quietly. "What are you gnawing on?"
"'What am I gnawing on'?" she repeated. "You have the weirdest sayings sometimes."
"You know what I mean. What are you thinking about?"
She laughed a little. "Winning, of course."