The Conqueror

Chapter II: Testing

Mera felt like an idiot. She'd fainted at the door to the testing chamber. She was assured, multiple times, that it wasn't a big deal, but she felt like an idiot. From what she gathered, she had woken up in the infirmary, nearly twenty minutes after being brought there by Pheos and another senior Council Member. She hurried to get out of the bed, ignoring the advice that she rest a few more minutes to get her bearings. As she'd hoped (prayed, actually), they were still ready and willing to administer the testing.

As amends for actually passing out at the door to the testing chamber, she screamed her way through all of the testing. She scored high, if not amazing, marks in every area. It took her only a single hour to complete a testing routine that normally took upwards of five. Upon finishing what seemed to be the final test, a test of magic, she let the Faroke branch of power subside within her, and straightened her posture.

"Impressive," came the appraisal of Mera's favourite Council Member, No'ua Bir. The elderly woman clapped her hands together delightedly. "Where did you learn that final technique?"

At the risk of sounding too proud of herself, Mera smiled and said, "I developed it myself just recently, Ma'am."

No'ua raised her eyebrows and made an extra note in a notebook. Mentally, Mera thrust a joyous fist into the air.

"Now," came Pheos' sombre voice from the far end of the long chamber. "Trainee Mera. You have passed all tests which shall qualify you to become one of the Sheikah of the Faroke clan—Except one."

What? Mera stared at him, inexplicably nervous all of the sudden—Though she was confident that she wasn't about to pass out.

"You have shown prowess in strength, in skill, in magic, and in mind. Now you must demonstrate that you are truly ready. You must overcome your own weaknesses—and your own strengths. To truly be one of the Faroke Sheikah, Mera, you must truly show the courage of the Goddess Farore. You must banish all outside influences that endanger your connection with the Goddess of Wind and Courage. You must conquer your inner darkness. You must become one with Farore. Do you understand what I have said to you, Mera?"

Mera nodded. "I do, sir. What is the test?"

Pheos raised a hand. Mera sensed the Faroke branch of power welling up within him, and knew that he was preparing to use the Farore's Wind teleportation spell. She wasn't expecting him to use it on her, though. Just before the testing chamber's vanished, she thought she heard a whispered, echoing, "Good luck."

- - -

She stood on a tiny island in the middle of a foggy, calm sea. On the island with her stood a single lonely palm tree. In the distance, on either side of her, Mera could see two more islands, each of which bore a single rusty door in a brick wall. She couldn't see what lay beyond those doors, but they were small islands. It couldn't be much. Unless they led underground—but still, it would take a lot of skilled construction to build anything useful underwater.

"Outside influences and inner darkness," Mera muttered. "Well, I'm not catching any hints of an inner darkness, so there must be outside influences here. Unless I'm interpreting it all wrong." She thought for several moments. "Overcome my own weaknesses, and my strengths?" Mera continued to ponder. "'Become one with Farore.' That won't be a problem," she said, calling a brief flare of power into her right arm, and allowing the wind to blast forward over the water.

Something struck her as odd, but it took her nearly a minute of intense thought before she realized what it was. She had released the wind over the water—and yet the water hadn't shown any effect. No ripples, no waves, no movement at all. She knelt down and poked it—and felt cold stone, perfectly dry, beneath her fingertips. She snorted and stood up. She took a step onto it and there did not seem to be any water there. So she confidently strode toward the first of the two rusty doors. She didn't have to go far before she saw that it had iron bars across it. When she turned around, disappointed, she froze upon seeing a perfect reflection of herself standing there, about three yards away.

Perfect, that is, except for one detail. The girl—her skin, her hair, her eyes, her clothing, everything about her—was entirely black, like shadows ripped from the deepest reaches of the Shadow Temple. Mera raised a hand and waved experimentally. The mirror image waved back.

"'Conquer your inner darkness,'" Mera said with a chuckle and a smile. "I get it now. All right, Cliché of the Year. Sorry, but you've got to go." Wishing she'd brought that fantastic épée, she instead drew a lovely short sword that had been given to her for testing. It really wasn't anything special. It wasn't made of anything expensive, and it didn't bear the markings of any craftsmen. But it was expertly crafted (and maintained), and it had an excellent balance. Fit her hand nicely, too.

Surprise, surprise, it turned out the Shadow Mera had a similar blade tucked away for just such an occasion. She brandished it in a reflected mimic of Mera's own posture.

Keeping the sword in a casual but prepared position, Mera walked toward the Shadow Mera until their faces were inches apart.

"What are you?" Mera murmured, and saw a silent imitation on the Shadow Mera's lips. "Well," Mera said flatly, "I'm getting tired of all this preliminary garbage." As she finished talking, she winked inconspicuously.

Beautiful. There had been no reaction to—and no imitation of—the gesture. So at least Mera knew she wasn't fighting a mirror image of herself. She hopped backward and, with no effort at a salute, thrust the sword experimentally, down toward the shadow's legs. She didn't try to cut her opponent, and didn't even come close, but the gesture was mirrored with a much more enthusiastic stab that grazed her left shin.

"I don't think so," Mera said. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to wash these things? I was playing nice, but all bets are off." And she stabbed, skilfully danced to the side of the mirroring thrust, and sliced upward to cut at the shadow's exposed arm. With a quick downward slash to match, she effectively disabled the shadow's arm.

Apparently, the shadow had also decided that all bets were off, because she now came at Mera with no attempt to imitate the Sheikah trainee. Mera ducked under a crazed swing of the dark sword but screamed as the back swing sliced across her lower ribcage, then sent a quick blast of hurricane-strength wind at the shadow, using the Faroke power swelling within her. Then she tapered off the rest of the power by pouring some of the excess into her blade. As the shadow came at her once again, Mera prayed that she'd be able to pull off her special technique.

Mera pulled the sword back, continued to drain power into the sword, and finally ripped it horizontally with all of her might. The blade extended so far that it twanged off the walls of the seemingly endless room. Her goal, though, was soundly accomplished; the shadow had been completely halved. It spilled a black substance out over the floor for an instant before it burst into purple flame and vanished.

As soon as the shadow had disappeared, Mera fell to her knees and grasped at the wound in her side. Her hand came away wet with blood. The green fabric over the wound looked black with the soaked-in blood, and the gash through the fabric revealed a wound worse than Mera could ever remember seeing at the Académie.

There was so much blood on her hands. Was it really all hers? That shadow chick had disappeared. Mera touched the wound again. So much blood, just flowing. Was she stuck here? How could she get out? Wasn't her fight the test? It seemed like the room was fading. Why wasn't her blood mixing with the water? Oh, she'd forgotten. There was no water. Just all this blood. How did they make the ground look like water? And what was with the two doors? Why was she bleeding so much? It hadn't felt like such a bad injury when she'd been cut…

"Mera?"

"She's injured."

"She may be wounded, but she has passed the test."

"Wounded? She's got a hole in her stomach. Fetch me some bandages. Is there a Nayrusé or Disai Sheikah in the vicinity?"

"I think Rak was here a few minutes ago. I'll see if I can't find him."

"Mera? Can you hear me?"

I don't mind blood, really, I don't. It's just that there's so much of it. Oh... Nn... Nngh... Oh, please, don't let the world spin like that again...

"You'll be fine. Rak is here. Rak, she's injured, and it's a pretty decent slice. You know what to do."

"Sure thing. Just relax, Mera, if you can hear me."

That's very warm. It kind of tingles. I feel like I'm drifting again. Why do I feel like I'm drifting? I don't want to drift. This isn't cool. Amrick isn't going to want to date a girl who keeps drifting like this. Am I going to pass out again?

Mera heard a startled laugh.

"Well, Din's magic tends to be warm. You're drifting because you've lost a lot of blood. I don't think you'll pass out, but I can safely say you'll survive. And I don't know what kind of advice to give you about Amrick."

Oops. Did I say that out loud? Man, did you see all that blood? It was like… A lot of blood. Like, a lot. A lot of blood. I don't think I've ever seen that much blood in one place before. I cut myself with a knife, once. Not on purpose. I was making something. Maybe just a sandwich. But I cut myself. I bled. But not this much. This is a lot of blood. That girl can really swing a sword.

Mera smiled weakly and let out a laugh.

Not as good as me, though. Did you see me nail her? Packed that sword full of the Sacred Wind, and pow, she ate it like nothing. I won, I think. Did I win? I did hear someone say I passed the test. That means I won! That's awesome. But not if I pass out. What will it look like if I win and then I pass out? I should wait till later. Then I'll pass out. Or just wait till dark, and I can go to sleep. Sleep sounds nice. There was so much blood.

"Yes, you won," and the voice sounded mildly amused.

I know your voice. You're Rak. I like you. You're cool. How come I can't see you?

"Don't worry about it. Try to keep quiet. Breathe slowly and evenly. In… and out. In… and out. That's good, Mera. Keep doing that. Don't talk. Don't think, if you can help it. Just breathe evenly, and the Disai healing magic will flow through you swiftly and quickly. You'll be up in fifteen minutes, if you keep this up. Good girl, just breathe slowly and evenly."

This is really boring. Fifteen minutes?

"Yes, fifteen minutes. I'm sorry. Come on, just breathe. And breathe. And breathe. Good."

It's getting warm again. I like it. I think I might just pass out on purpose. It's very comfy right here. I'm on a floor, aren't I? It's very comfy. Probably because I still feel like I'm drifting. Ooh, that's very warm.

"Her breathing is becoming more regular. Her speech isn't slurring as much, either. Just a few more minutes, and she won't need me anymore. Mera? Just keep this up for a few more minutes."

A warm tingling sensation grew ever hotter in Mera's belly where she'd been cut, until it was almost unbearable. Then it faded like nothing, and the wound felt frozen. Suddenly aware of her situation, she sat bolt upright—and bit back a scream as she did so. Rak, still knelt over her, caught her and easily lowered her back down. She saw that her shirt had been removed (but not her bandeaux), her wound dressed; and as she'd shot upright, blood had once again begun to seep through the bandages.

"Come on, Mera," he said. "Just rest for a minute, okay? This isn't a skinned elbow or a paper cut. You need to be careful with it." He pressed a hand to the bandage, and the warmness grew again. The visible blood dried quickly, while the pain in the wound itself faded almost instantaneously. He kept the hand there for nearly another two minutes, eyes closed, canting intently, and when he'd finished, he removed the bandage completely. There was a positively disgusting scar there, but no actual broken skin. He assured her that the scar would fade within hours.

Mera finally took the time to look about, and saw that she, Rak, and No'ua were the only people left in the room.

"Well, you passed," No'ua said with a chuckle, "but I don't think anybody will let you live this down for a long time to come."

- - -

Mera rubbed absentmindedly at her scar for the entire trek back to her apartment. It seemed Rak was right. By the time she reached her own door, the scar was half as obvious as it had been when the bandage had been removed. Mera pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

"Hey, pretty lady," came a familiar and not unwelcome voice as she shut the door. She turned to see Amrick sitting on the side of her bed. He had an obvious but not bulky bandage across his neck, as if his jugular vein had been nicked, and a black eye. Mera didn't need to ask.

"Testing," he said proudly. "I passed. I heard about you. Nice souvenir," he said, pointing to her scar. She shook her head.

"I'm so tired," Mera said, and laid face-down on the bed. She buried her face in the pillow.

"Hey," Amrick said softly. Mera turned her head to look at him. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Like I said. Just dead tired."

Amrick smiled. "Don't you want to hear about the battle scars from my test?" he said, baring his throat.

"Let me guess," Mera said. "You punched him in the face, then you tried for an overly ambitious move and nearly got your own head cut off. Then you realized what you were fighting and managed to finish the fight without another serious injury."

He laughed out loud and nodded. "More or less."

Mera rolled onto her back and sat up lazily. With an uncharacteristically playful giggle, she grabbed Amrick's hand and pulled him toward her. She pulled him a little further than she'd intended, but wasn't about to remedy the mistake when she found herself face to face with Amrick, her breasts against his chest, one of his arms 'accidentally' draped across her back, both of her eyes locked onto both of his.

"You shouldn't tease like this," Amrick said. "It's unprofessional." His voice cracked audibly.

She moved her face even closer to his and murmured, "Would it be more professional if I jumped on top of you right now?"

There was a long pause, and Amrick smiled. "If I said yes, would you do it?"

"Don't say anything," Mera murmured, falling back into the pillow. "I've had a day full of people talking and talking and talking, but saying nothing. Let your hands do the talking. Let your eyes do the talking."

"I've got a better idea," Amrick said. He slid down to lie beside her and let his arm fall across her back, holding her close. "Why don't we just let our hearts have a nice, long conversation, so we can hear what they have to say? We might learn something new."

Mera stared at him for a few seconds, then inclined her head to kiss him—briefly—on the lips. "Like what?"

"Like the fact that I don't just care about your lips, or your body, or your sexy eyes. Like how much I adore your personality, your sense of humour, your sense of ethics—I don't just like you for your body, Mera, as much as I act the part of the typical, sex-crazed man. I lo—" He broke off in the middle of the word and closed his eyes as if embarrassed.

"What?" Mera prompted.

"Nothing," Amrick murmured.

Mera was silent. "Amrick," she said after a long time.

"What?"

"...Nothing," she said quietly. Amrick pulled her close, then, and kissed her. When he finally broke the kiss, Mere's eyes were closed. She almost seemed to be crying. Amrick held her close until she fell asleep. Then he quietly gathered what few things he had brought with him, and left.

El apunte de escritor!

"The note of the writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrrrrrb!)

Keski here again, spell-checking for Bard as well as commenting on these chapters, which I wrote millions of years ago. This is it, above! This is the scene where Bard wanted Mera and Amrick to have sex! XD

And THAT'S why you should be grateful that he's not actually writing the narrative.

I suppose I should admit that I felt a somewhat guilty pleasure when Mera got shanked. Bwa ha ha ha.