Chapter Nine: Secrets of Dark
Remona awoke sweating that morning, her dreams . . . weren't really hers. She couldn't help but wonder if she was going crazy. She rose from bed, threw on some clothes, and turned to her dresser to retrieve her silky hair ties. What she saw surprised her, to say the least.
A sword, one of the most beautiful that she had ever seen, was lying on her dresser top. She rushed over and began to examine the blade with her dark eyes, still refusing to believe that she wasn't dreaming. She extended her hands and reached out to touch the immaculate-looking object, but a strong sense of caution welled up inside of her skeptical mind, forbidding her. After all, she hadn't the slightest idea where this weapon had come from. She took another look at the sword, then made to edge away from her dresser, stirring the still bedroom air. A piece of her stationary paper fell onto the bare, wooden floor, a message written in a strange hand upon it.
The sword was mine, it's a girt to you. Use it well. Show me what you can do
Remona stood equally, if not more confused than she had been before. No one she knew owned a sword, save the blacksmith, and he didn't know where Remona lived. Who would give her such a gift? Who could afford a blade such as this? She'd never seen its equal. And what did the note mean, use it well?
Remona remained still, eyeing the weapon for several minutes afterward, until at last curiosity got the better of her. She reached out and grasped the weapon around it's intricate handle. The sword, which had appeared to be quite heavy was in fact, surprisingly light. Remona held perfectly still, expecting something out of the ordinary to happen. When it did not, Remona put the sword in her sash, walked the rest of the distance to her nightstand and placed her choker on. She figured that her grandmother would want her to wear it for good luck. Remona also grabbed her bag of crystal coins and left the house into town. She already knew what her first use of the sword would be.
The town square was packed with people as Remona arrived; a grand arena had been prepared the previous night to accommodate for one of Dennigrad's biggest events: the Annual Battle Competition. Several of the city's residents had gathered around the raised, square fighting arena and were stirring with excitement as Remona continued by.
"Soa, this is going to be great! They say the turnout is the largest of any year they've ever had!" a husky man with a brown mustache remarked to his friend.
"Yes. I heard there were over 100 contestants!" he man replied.
Remona was somewhat surprised. "Over 100 . . .Wow," she thought to herself as she made her way to the registration tables at the front of the arena.
A shrewd old man in a rather frumpy hat holding a quill eyed her as she approached.
"I'd like to register for the tournament please," Remona said simply.
The man lifted up the rim of his hat to an odd angle and glanced at her skeptically.
"The tournament is no place for amateurs, or young women, Miss," he said bluntly.
Remona rolled her eyes. "You let me be the judge of that," she replied in confidence. The registration clerk just shrugged.
"If you say so, Miss. If you get bloodied up don't expect anyone to feel sorry for you. Now then, first, I'll need you name, Miss and he division you wish to compete under," the older man replied in somewhat of a rude tone.
"Division? What do you mean, division?" Remona asked, a puzzled look coming to her face momentarily.
"You've obviously never entered a battle tournament, have you? We have three divisions: polearm weaponry, ranged weaponry, and melee weaponry," he informed snidely.
"Look, I don't need your attitude, mister. Just put the name Remona Nightlark under the melee division," she shot back in annoyance. Even here strangers looked down upon her.
"There's a ten coin fee, Miss," the clerk stated bluntly, and without a word Remona handed him the money. "Right then, Miss Nightlark. The melee tent is the center one to your right, but before you can compete in your first match, you must have your weapon checked for magical or mechanical enhancements. Good day," he said flatly and pointed o a white tent twenty feet away.
Remona sighed as she walked over to the tent, pulled the flap aside, and entered. There were many rows of worn wooden benches, all lined with men. There was not a single other woman present. Many of the men were dressed in heavy armor and carried a ragged and unrefined appearance. A few even looked up at her and shouted out cat-calls and various profanities. Remona kept her head high in dignity and seated herself on a mostly empty bench near the back. There, she waited silently for the tournament to begin and as boredom set in, she took to gazing around herself.
For the most part, most of the men in the tent sat around idly, much as she did, as he tent swiftly started to fill. However normal the occasion though, Remona did note one oddity. There was a man, standing the in the back of the tent in a corner, completely isolated from the masses. He had wispy, long platinum-colored hair tied in a ponytail that reached his shoulders. His attire consisted of a black muscle shirt and black leather pants that were decorated with ornate, silver swirls and lines. At his waist he wore a heavy leather belt supporting a silver and black- handled sword. His ears, Remona noticed, were slightly pointed, so she assumed that the stranger could probably hear very well. His face, she found, was ovalish and his features were long, but rounded at the ends. His skin was a beautiful, but pale ivory, too pale to be human.
At that moment, the man seemed to have sensed her gaze upon him, and in turn, brought his silvery eyes to meet hers. In this moment, Remona had another vision, or rather, a mere flash of one. A man, with a similar face, identical eyes, shorter hair, and a devilish grin was wielding a sword towards her. Remona only received a brief taste of an emotion, anger, before she quickly turned away back into her own reality. Remona immediately tore her gaze from the man and noticed immediately that someone was approaching her. She glanced up. A woman, with pinkish-red hair dangling loosely at her shoulders and a muscular build hailed her in greeting.
"Hi there! This seat taken?" she asked. Remona shook her head, loosing some of her chestnut brown hairs into her face. The woman seated herself beside Remona nonchalantly, kicking up her feet on an empty bench in front of them. She appeared to several years older than Remona herself, in her early thirties, and carried a large, two-handed battle axe with her.
"You're a new face. First year in the tournament?" she asked casually.
"Yes," Remona answered simply, unsure of the newcomer's intentions.
"Ah. A woman and a melee fighter! You don't see many of that combination anymore. Say, that a rapier you have, isn't it?"
Remona nodded and faced the stranger.
"And a sword-fighter to be more precise! I prefer the axe myself, but one weapon or the other is an equal match for another if the wielders have the same amount of skill. Say, what's your name anyway?" the woman asked. It was a harmless enough question.
"Remona Nightlark," she replied.
"Would you be the daughter of head bishop Henry Nightlark?" the woman asked, ignorant to the nerve she had just struck.
"Yes," Remona said stiffly, but the stranger didn't seem to notice her discomfort.
"Odd. I didn't know he bishop had a daughter."
"You wouldn't," Remona growled as fire flared, subdued, behind her eyes. This time, the lady sensed that he had touched upon a sensitive subject so she tactfully changed topics.
"Well, it's good to meet you, Remona. The name's Angelina Barstripe," she introduced, grabbing Remona's hand in a hardy shake. Remona's moodiness lingered for a few moments, but she returned the gesture.
"So Angelina, how many years have you been in the tournament?" the teenager asked curiously.
"Hmm, well . . .let's see," she replied, mumbling to herself and ticking off unseen experiences on her fingers. "I think, this year included, would be seven. Why?"
"So you know many of the people here, don't you?" Remona asked.
"Yes, why? Some man catch your fancy?" she laughed affably.
"No, but I did want to know who that man in the corner is," Remona replied quietly. Angelina cast a glance over in that direction.
"Oh . . .well, I don't really know much about him except that his name is Leon, and he came to town a few days ago. Folks say he's a cold-blooded killer and a wicked swordsman. . . .quite frankly, a lot of us are scared to death of him. He's one of those winglies. . ." Angelina explained in a hushed tone.
"A Wingly? They allowed him to enter? Winglies are generally faster than humans. It'll be a wonder if anyone can block his attacks," Remona remarked in contemplation. Before she had a chance to expand on the thought, a short man in imperial Deningrad colors entered the tent with a scroll of parchment, causing the noisy room to fall silent.
"Ah hem! Welcome one and all, warriors of Endiness, to the Annual Battle Competition! As you all know, this is the melee division, so anyone who believes themselves to be in the wrong division, leave now. Okay, before the tournament begins, and I'm sure you were all made aware of this at registration, all of your weapons must be inspected. But before that, I am required to read off the rules of this competition. They are as follows:
1. There is to be no blood drawn. Any wound that is opened upon your enemy will result in disqualification.
2. In the interest of public safety, if you exceed the boundary lines of the arena you will be disqualified.
3. Physical, hand-to-hand combat is not permitted. This is a weapons only tournament.
4. Victory is achieved in three ways: disarming your opponent, pinning your opponent in a vital area, or knocking your opponent down.
Does everyone understand?" the announcer read aloud.
There was much nodding and murmuring of consent among the crowd.
"Good. Let's try to keep this clean folks. We don't want any deaths today. The first matches in arenas one, two, and three are: Holdt vs. Mowie, ring one. Cowmar vs. Patricks in ring two and Barstripe vs. Wells in ring three," he called and beckoned those individuals forth.
"Guess that's me," Angelina grinned and picked up her axe from its resting place on the floor.
"Hey, good luck," Remona said to her she turned to leave.
"You too. Hope to meet you out there."
More than an hour passed, with various people being called to matches, and roughly half of the contestants returning to the tent every so often. Remona could hear the dull roar of the large crowd outside cheering in an uproar as he announcer re-entered the room for what seemed like the hundredth time. Out of the corner of her eye Remona could see the wingly, Leon, staring at her. She hoped she'd be called next, if nothing else just to avoid Leon's icy gaze.
"Okay, ring one, Dolores vs. Vintmast, ring two, Verumes vs. Earns, and ring three Jimpson vs. Nighlark."
Remona glanced up in surprise from where she had been fidgeting uncomfortably with her sash. Her name had just been called. It was her turn to fight. She rose to her feet and was also surprised to find the silver-haired man named Leon had risen also. The usher bade them to follow him, and the six contestants exited the large, white tent only to enter a small blue one somewhere to the right of the arena.
Inside was Librarian Ute, standing next to a large machine.
"I'll take your weapons, contestants," he said, almost interestedly. The first two contestants handed over their weapons and librarian Ute put them on a sort of conveyor belt that passed them under the middle and through the machine. As each one passed through a green light would appear at the top of the machine. Remona perceived this to be the okay that the contestants were looking for when they were both given back their weapons and allowed to exit for their match.
Remona watched them go, and a doubting thought that she had been trying to shove to the back of her mind kept resurfacing. She was beginning to worry. The thought occurred to her that she didn't exactly know where her weapon had come from or if it did, in fact, have any sort of enhancements. She suddenly cursed herself for being stupid, but not soon enough. Librarian Ute motioned for her and the man in front of her to hand him their weapons. What else could she do? Remona grudgingly handed her gleaming, blue blade to the librarian, whom gave her an odd look. Leon, too, seemed to express a keen interest in her blade and gave it a calculating glance from where he stood behind her.
Ute put the first man's club in he machine and moments later the light flashed green and his weapon was cleared. Remona stood rigid as her sword passed through the innards of the contraption. The light turned red and Remona flinched. Librarian Ute was about to say something, but the light mechanism suddenly wavered and turned a brilliant green. The old bookkeeper blinked.
"Well, that's odd. It's never done that before . . .Miss Nightlark, I'm afraid I'll have to--"
"--don't bother. The blade was forged from a platinum shade. Platinum reacts with Wingossam metal. Is that machine made with Wingossam?" came the strong, smooth, and apathetic voice of Leon.
Ute turned and stared at him. "Why, yes it is. I had forgotten. But wingossam is a wingly metal and therefore humans are still being taught about it. Why do you say that?"
Leon remained emotionless. "Because my blade is also made out of platinum and I am a wingly," he said bluntly. "If you don't believe me, go get some sample metals and run them through," he added.
The librarian nodded. "I will do that, just to be sure. I will ask you three to wait here," he requested, and left.
The other man with the club gazed at Remona's sword suspiciously, and then at Remona.
"Tryin to cheat are ya? Well girlie, you'd probably need all the power you can get to play with us big boys. Anyhow, seeing as this purdy blade is expensive, how did a little girl like you get it?" he asked as he went to grasp its handle.
In a series of swift, almost undetectable motions, Leon drew his sword, stepped over to the man, and slapped his hand with the flat side of his sword.
"Mr. Earns, I would not touch another's possessions uninvited, it is not polite. Furthermore, do not impugn a lady's honor, for it shows you have none," he stated without raising his tone.
Mr. Earns backed away slowly from Leon, keeping his eyes averted like a dog that had just lost the challenge for Alpha male, as he exited the tent. Sheathing his weapon, Leon turned to Remona.
"It's a beautiful sword, Miss. The bearer of that kind of blade has quite a potential," he remarked cryptically.
Remona raised an eyebrow, then lowered her own gaze. Leon's eyes where like staring into a pool of liquid mercury.
"Thank you," she replied quietly, unsure of how to respond. She retrieved her weapon just as Librarian Ute re-entered the room.
"Where's Mr. Earns? Oh well. I did a quick reference on your claim, sir, and found it true. You're free to go, Remona," he said plainly.
Remona cast Leon one last glance before leaving the tent and walking up to the third square of the three-square arena. She ventured up the stairs after giving her name to the guard and found her opponent, Frank Jimpson already waiting for her with a steel mace in hand. There was a silence from the spectators as the match was announced. Remona rotated her shoulders, a clear sign of her anticipation. Whatever came next would come, she knew. However that did nothing to ease the tension or relax her nerves. She took a deep breath and steadied herself as the match was started.
The man, Jimpson, dressed in platemail armor charged her vigorously and swung his mace. She ducked instantly and managed a broad-sided sweep of her sword to the back of the man's knees. He stumbled, but didn't fall. Jimpson thrust the edge of his mace downward to pin her, but Remona rolled aside in plenty of time. She sprung to her feet again, just in time to parry an overhead strike. The mace smashed heavily down upon the thin rapier, causing a hollow clang to reverberate through the air. Vibrations ran down the length of Remona's arms , but surprisingly the sword held strong. It showed no signs of breaking, not even a scratch.
Instinctively sensing an opportunity, Remona swiftly arced her sword to the right, knocking her opponent's weapon hand away. She pivoted on her feet, twirling behind him, and used the flat side of her sword to once more deliver a sweep to the back of Jimpson's plated knees. She then flipped her wrist, effectively turning the sword over and slapped the other flat edge of her blade against her opponent's back. The armor-clad competitor lost his balance as his knees buckled and he hunched forward, falling flat on his face. The match was announced over with Remona as the victor. She sighed in relief. The first match was over and she had won. Circumstances were already looking up.
After taking a moment to help her opponent return to his feet, Remona proceeded back to the melee tent to await her next match. Upon her return, she found Angelina Barstripe to be there also, so she sat herself down and took a moment to unwind by talking to her. Like Remona, Angelina had won her first match by way of knockdown. The two sat in waiting and making small talk for the better part of an hour before Remona's second match was called. This time, she had been pitted against a man named Suso, the wielded twin sickles in the first arena.
Making her way to the first arena, Remona suddenly became aware of how many people were actually watching the tournament. Before, she had been to concentrated her first match to attentively give the matter any serious thought. She gazed around as she mounted the steps, scanning the crowd for anyone she might recognize. She identified four faces off to her far left that she wished she hadn't seen. Donaven and his gang watched her every move like hungry wolves from their places at the edge of the crowd. They seemed genuinely surprised to see her.
Ignoring them, Remona walked calmly into the ring, her pre-match jitters already beginning to fade. She had tougher fights than this everyday in alleyways, she reminded herself. The thought was soothing, and cleared her head. The announcer's voice sounded out clearly through the area, signaling the match's beginning. Remona politely shook her opponent's hand. The man, Suso, Remona observed, was rather skinny and had blazing red hair.
The match began and this time, Remona found herself acting as the aggressor. She agilely jumped to the side and feigned a thrust into Suso's sides. As expected, he expected the attack and made to block with one hand, exposing his other. One clean swipe from Remona's rapier found the silver sickle hurling through the air. While this occurrence helped tediously, the match was not yet over, as Suso still retained one weapon.
He swung his silver sickle, aiming to catch Remona's throat, but she caught her blade on his in an excellent parry. However, Suso did not withdraw this time, like Remona expected, but continued pressing forward, driving her own blade closer to her face. He was trying to pin her at a vital point with her own weapon and with her worst enemies watching . . . .
"Give up, miss?" he taunted with a gruff voice. That wasn't going to happen. She would not expose any type of weakness to the Knight Dodgers or give them any failure to taunt.
"No," Remona replied and gave into his force, allowing him to push her backwards just enough toward the ring's edge for her to swiftly yield aside and watch Suso go stumbling over the arena's railing. His own movement had encouraged him out of bound, into the crowd, which hastily parted aside to avoid any injury. The end bell was sounded, with Remona the victor once again. She could hear the announcer hailing her strategy as "immensely clever" as she returned yet again to the melee tent.
Angelina wasn't there when Remona returned, but the wingly, Leon, was. Seeing him in the tournament really was a shock to Remona. She was surprised that winglies seemed to be becoming more and more open with humans, despite all of the profound racism still going on. She shot him a mere glance, to where he was polishing his blade. Two more hours passed and the sun passed into the middle of the sky, signaling the arrival of midday. The once fully populated tent had been reduced to one eighth of its original capacity. There was a roar from the crowd outside, followed by a round of thunderous applause. She guessed that the current rounded of matched had ended. Sure enough, Angelina and several other contestants returned to the tent, with the short announcer following closely behind them.
"Congratulations to all of you; you have just become contestants in the semi-finals! Matches will begin momentarily. Bik vs. Weathermac, Austin vs. Verumes, and Barstripe vs. Nightlark,".
Remona turned to Angelina, whom sat beside her. The older woman was already staring at her.
"Ah. Well I guess it's going to be you and me, Remona," she said with a friendly grin. Remona was slightly taken back, she really didn't want to fight Angelina. She sighed inwardly. Well, it was a tournament after all. She'd have ended up fighting her one way or the other if she wanted to win. And that was what Remona was there for, to win. In a way she was relieved. In the end, if she lost this round, it would be to an honorable acquaintance.
"Shall we?" Remona asked with a mischievous smile as the announcer lead the competitors forward.
At the third arena again, the match was called and instead of shaking Angelina's hand, Remona instead gave her a formal bow, a sign of higher respect. Angelina laughed good naturedly.
"You don't have to do that, we're on the level you and I," she said with a smile and returned the gesture. "Good luck kiddo," she added with an amicable whisper.
The bell to begin the match rang out clearly, and for a moment Remona and Angelina remained starring at each other, calculating and analyzing. Remona could already tell that Angelina wouldn't be similar to her last two opponents. Unlike the last two that used purely brute strength, Angelina was already planning ahead, strategizing. . . .
Suddenly, without warning, the red-headed warrior sprang forth, axe on high. Remona raised her sword and parried, but Angelina was quick to refold and swung her axe, aimed at Remona's mid-section.
The teenager bridged over backwards, letting the axe slice sir over her stomach. If Remona could only use her feet, she would have been able to kick Angelina's axe loose, but the rules forbade any such action. Angelina brought her axe back overhead with a circular motion and sliced downward. Remona kicked her legs upward from where she bent over arched, letting the axe blade pass between her legs, hitting the ground. Remona finished her round off, putting herself back on her feet.
While Angelina had paused to bring her axe up from the ground, Remona threw an offensive technique of her own; she lunged towards Angelina and threw a piercing stab aimed for her opponent's heart, which the older woman quickly blocked away with a downward stripe. The red-haired Angelina quickly used a blunt-sided strike to try and take Remona's legs out from under her, but the teenager jumped, tucking her knees and landed gracefully.
Remona swung her sapphire blade towards Angelina, whom dealt the sword a crushing blow as edge caught on edge and Remona had to grasp her sword with all of her strength just to keep it from eluding her hand. The effort it took just to hold her sword had left her open in a T-shaped position and Angelina was striking to pin. Remona cringed, but in one last desperate movement, she dove under Angelina's body pressed her sword horizontally against the older woman's throat.
Angelina instantly felt the presence of Remona's sword, dropped her axe, and put her hands up in surrender. The bell sounded and Remona removed her blade and took a step back. At first, Angelina quickly grasped her throat in reflex to check for damage and then sighed in relief as Remona retrieved, then handed her back her axe.
Remona suspected that Angelina might be sore with her for winning, but the red-head smiled and pulled her into a hug.
"Soa, girlie that was an impressive fight and a good move! I must admitt, I thought I had you," she laughed good-naturedly.
"So did I," Remona confessed as the match was called and the two women left the arena. As they walked down the entrance stairway, Remona's high spirits suddenly died.
There, upon a high balcony overlooking the arena stood a regal woman, adorned in teal clothing with a crown set upon her head. Beside her stood a grey-haired woman in a plain dress, and three blonde women. One wore robes, another donned a blue dress with a blue hat, and the last, standing beside them like a white sentinel, wore armor. Remona may have been poor and from an under-educated area, but she would have been a complete fool if she couldn't recognize them. The woman in teal was Queen Theresa , the ruler of all Mille Seseu. Beside her stood the four sacred sisters, Luanna, Wink, Setite, and Miranda.
However, the presence of these women was not the cause of Remona's current distaste. The source of her enmity was the man standing beside them in deep teal and white robes. In addition to the robes, he wore a tall hat embroidered with a golden tree, and held in his hands a golden staff. He was the head bishop of Deningrad, and her father, Henry Nightlark.
So, she thought to herself, he has time to watch a sword tournament but not to come celebrate his own daughter's birthday? Remona's heart filled itself with rage as she stared at him. For moments she let her eyes burn holes into the sight of him, as if willing him to catch fire. She was distracted only when she thought she saw Sister Miranda looking at her. Another displaced feeling washed over her. She felt as if she somehow knew the sacred sister, and yet, she had never been formally introduced.
"Is somethin' wrong Remona?" Angelina asked, noting Remona's hesitation.
"No, it just more of something's not right either," she answered more curtly than she'd intended.
Angelina took the opportunity to change the subject again.
"Well, I can see why you might feel that way. That fellow, Leon . . . The way he fights is unnatural . . ." she commented.
"Unnatural? What do you mean? He's probably really fast since he's a wingly, but nothing too fancy," Remona calculated.
Angelina coughed in protest.
"You've never seen one of his matches have you? Oh girlie . . . He moves so fast you almost can't see him, and so far, not one of his opponents has been able to hit him. . . "
Remona starred at Angelina, unbelieving. "That's absurd! No one moves that fast!"
"I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. He knocked a man named Ted out cold in one blow, without drawing any blood! No wonder people are afraid of him. Oh Remona, I'm scared for you if you're not."
Remona closed her eyes, focused. "We'll see," she said, trying not to let her mind fill with doubt. "It's all over if you lose in your head first," she thought to herself.
Two matches and two disarms later, Remona entered the finals. Five contestants now remained from the original seventy and the day was nearing dusk when the first match was called. Two men Remona didn't know were up first; only one arena was being used for the final rounds.
She saw no signs of Leon, and was soon in the white tent all alone as all of the contestants took their turns in battle except her. It was almost as if Remona was isolated in another dimension, until a loud cheer rose from the crowd, blotting out the commentator's message. Moments later the imperial announcer came in and called for her.
"Miss Nightlark you've been called to the championship match," he said calmly, making Remona's heart skip a beat.
"The final match?" she asked in disbelief. She'd never dreamed she get this far. "Sir, whom am I to fight?" she asked again, but in her heart she already knew the answer.
"Sir Leon Verumez. Good luck miss, you're going to need it," he replied as Remona went out to the arena with her heart racing. Everyone was watching this match . . . And she knew without any doubt that Leon was a powerful opponent.
She shiver slightly as she entered onto the platform and was met by the wingly, Leon's steely silver eyes. Remona took her stance, and the world seemed to stand still as all sound but that of the bell faded. She only had time to blink before something she couldn't see rammed her backwards with tremendous force. Remona leaned over and hurled up spit, but no blood. She was suddenly aware of being hit hard again, broadside this time, with something made of metal. She stumbled, but didn't fall.
Remona looked around the arena for Leon, but did not see him. A silver-black blur caught her eye just as she was slapped hard across her sword hand. Remona clung tightly to her blade, despite the pain and grimaced as she saw the blur revert around for another strike.
The teenage girl swiped at air with her blade, just in time to bring Leon to a stand still long enough for her to make a jab at him. He dodged easily.
"Too slow," he taunted and charged her again.
Remona cried out in pain as she went flying through the air and the ground zoomed toward her. He was too fast . . . She'd never stood a chance of even hitting him. All she had to do was land and the match would be over . . .but with it went her chance to improve her grandmother's life. . . Remona found that she was actually staring up at her father as she fell through what seemed like eternity. He looked back at her from the balcony railing with eyes devoid of love. . .it became instantaneously clear to Remona that she would never be able to trust him, and the only one able to help her grandmother would be her . . .
A new, rising fury took hold of the teen and she managed to land on her feet at the last second. This wingly would not defeat her.
Leon's face came back into view as his sword locked on her own, halting his movement. A blue glow was cast around the two swords; Remona had no clue where it came from. Leon seemed somewhat surprised she'd parried his attack, but his surprise soon gave way to a grin as he darted backwards and circled toward her again.
This time, however, Remona gave the fight, the tournament, and the world no second thought. There was only Leon and herself, and as she focused, the blur took on a clear shape. Leon was rushing towards her, his sword pulled back in preparation to strike. He was going to pin his blade against her heart . . .
Remona saw him begin to move and dropped to one knee, thrusting her sword out. She was not expecting him to drop to his knee also. . . She caught a brief flash of the look in his eyes; he was just as surprised as she was. Remona suddenly felt a sharp pain in her side. With her free hand she grasped the ache and found her hand to be covered in a thin line of blood. Leon's sword hand put a slash in her tank top and her top layer of skin.
Had she won? He drew her blood . . .he should be disqualified. The thought kept running through her mind, so she was shocked to see her own blade's tip stained red. Leon too was bleeding from a cut on his side where his own shirt had been ripped.
For a moment the two just starred at each other in silence, even as the commentator called the match's end. Both had been disqualified for drawing blood. Leon and Remona had unintentionally risen at the same time, and in so doing, the fluid blood ran down each of their swords and the two, twin drops fell down to the arena floor, mixed together. The dripping sound caught the attention of both Leon and Remona, whom locked eyes again. Leon plunged his icy pools of silver into Remona's own sapphires. He spoke in a hushed voice so none but her could hear.
"Ah. This is not the first time human and wingly blood has been spilled together, nor will it be the last. You're the first adversary who's ever managed to hit me. Well fought miss Nightlark, darkness dragoon."
"Excuse me? What are you talking about?" Remona whispered back in confusion, although with the roar of the crowd, no one but him would have heard her anyway.
Leon said not a word, but made to touch the stone in her choker. Remona pulled away mistrusting.
"It's really quite pointless to deny it. I already know. Anyway, my lady, it's been a pleasure, but seeing as we're short on time, I'll be strait to the point. Do inform the divine dragoon that his crime will not go unchallenged and that he might as well face me. Farewell," he said curtly and before anyone could say anything else, he disappeared in a shower of sparkling dust.
Remona sighed. What in devildom was he talking about? The teenager decided to shake it off and leave the platform. She didn't like all those eyes upon her, they made her feel exposed.
Remona couldn't bring herself to watch the awards ceremony; she had still failed despite all her efforts. Since both she and Leon had broken the rules, the third placeman had won by default. She flinched as she realized she was still bleeding and decided going home would be her best option.
Going home unimpeded, however, was not an option. The teenager was particularly troubled by the fact that all manners of people began calling out to her, trying to talk with her, or ask her what happened as she attempted to leave. She felt slightly dizzy, but was thankful as a strong hand grasped her arm and pulled her back into balance. Glancing over, Remona found two familiar faces near. The woman who held her upright was none other than Angelina Barstripe and the other, with a long, worried face was her grandmother, Aggie.
"Okay there kid?" Angelina asked, her own voice laced with some concern.
"I think so. It's just a scratch," Remona assured, trying hard not to look into her grandmother's eyes. Not only had she worried her, but she didn't have anything to show for that worry either.
"I'm sorry grandma," she began, regret filling into her heart, "I shouldn't have gotten carried away," Remona apologized.
"Oh angel, I'm not upset, I'm so proud of you! You did so well," Aggie comforted.
Angelina laughed her good-natured laugh "This your grandma? No wonder she looked so worried. She won't admit it but you scared us half to death! But maybe I should have had more confidence in you. You came out of that last fight with nothing but a scratch. You're amazing girl!" Angelina said with a smile.
Remona grinned somewhat. Well, if nothing else, it appeared as though she might have made a new friend. "Amazing huh? Well right now I feel pretty low," the teenager admitted.
"You shouldn't. How bout this? I'll walk with you a while, just so that you're back on your feet," Angelina offered.
"Are you sure? I think I can manage on my own," Remona insisted, somewhat surprised.
"It's no trouble," Angelina assured.
"Well then, Miss Barstripe was it? We'd be grateful if you did," Aggie replied, "Let's go home Remona, and get you cleaned up," she said with a soft smile. Angelina nodded.
"Right then, off we go," the older fighter stated and began gently leading Remona forward.
Remona took to feeling a little relieved. The feeling was short-lived. Not three paces forward and the crowd parted aside, revealing the Arch Bishop of Deningrad to be approaching them. His well-to-do robes swayed gently behind him, a subtle, harmless sound, but one that hurt Remona's ears.
He stopped just a few feet shy of them, and Remona felt her face twist uncontrollably into a scowl.
"Ah there you are, Aggie. I was just out to ask you if I might spend the evening with my daughter tonight," he asked courteously. To Remona his tone might as well have been as fake as a merchant claiming a pebble was a pearl.
Aggie Cloudseeker considered the man carefully for a few moments. She studied his face, then Remona's. She could tell how much resentment Remona felt for her father and how apathetic he sounded towards her. He hadn't changed, and deep in her heart Aggie knew Remona's feelings to have truth behind them. Henry Nightlark might as well have been a stranger asking to take away her granddaughter for the evening. What had happened to him? He hadn't always been this way.
Aggie decided that it didn't matter anyway. For reasons she would never understand, Henry was the way he was and that wasn't going to change. What could he have possibly wanted with Remona? To never speak to her, to turn her away, then all of a sudden he wanted to see her? It put an ill feeling in the old woman's stomach, but because of his station she dared not refuse him. While Henry certainly didn't help their situation, he certainly could make it worse for them if they displeased him.
"I don't know Henry, she's had a long day, and she's injured. Won't you at least let her go home and rest some?" the old woman tried.
The Arch Bishop raised an eyebrow. "The matter is of import," he said simply. Remona shot her grandmother a look that begged her to say 'no'. She was going to tell him herself, when seeing this, Aggie interrupted.
"I suppose if you must, Henry, though I would plead of you to keep it short if you can. She is after all, your daughter," she said uncertainly, as if to remind him of the latter fact.
Remona suddenly felt very betrayed, but realized shortly afterwards why her grandmother had done such a thing. Refusing him, as the head of the church, would make people question them. It would draw too much unwanted attention to them and their circumstances. If the people were going to see a problem with the arch bishop and his family, most certainly they would side with the head of their church. That, and if she ignored this 'request' her father, god only knew, might actually punish them somehow. God already knew that he had more concern for his church pews than he did for them.
"Good, good. We'll depart now then. Come along, Remona," he said curtly.
Though her mind knew what she was supposed to do, Remona's body defied it's will and remained rooted to the spot.
"I'm sorry Remona, but he is your father. Please just go and don't make a scene," her grandmother pleaded in a whisper.
"For you. And only for you," Remona answered bitterly and fell into step behind her father whom was already making his way ahead of her, back through the crowd.