Chapter 16

The Undying Fire and the Wild Rose

Save for a few geezards, Thalassa and Gerra met no hostilities until they reached the nearest forest. They only had to slay one of the legless lizards before the rest comically fled, slithering away like bloated serpents.

Thalassa felt great to have her Kotetsu back in her hand, even though she was just as deadly without it. Now well within the forest, they were fatigued after more than twelve hours on their feet, having continued moving throughout the night lest they be spotted easier by Esthar patrols. They decided to stop once they had reached a spacious enough clearing at dawn, intending to remain there until last light. Then they would press on to Damian's location. Gerra cooked some dried cod fillets over a fire to go with some bread rations, saving their new geezards steaks for later. Thalassa used Carbuncle to purify some water from a stream.

There had been a bit of an awkward silence between them since the night Gerra had drunkenly, but impressively, sang in front of the crew. After finishing his tankard, he had passed Thalassa on the way out of the mess, guardedly asking her if she had fancied a nightcap in their cabin. It had confirmed that the former Sorceress' Knight was attracted to her, and Thalassa had hesitated before giving him a firm, 'Sleep well, Gerra.' The next morning, when Gerra was nursing a hangover with half a tankard of ale, Thalassa had allowed that she did consider him handsome. Despite him being over ten years her senior. But she was still finding the whole situation too surreal. Gerra was displaced in time. He did not belong here.

On the calm night prior to that, they had been out on deck. Gerra had been drinking from a small bottle of whiskey he had won in a poker game, enjoying the pleasant breeze. Thalassa noticed that he seemed to heavily drink most nights if he did not deem himself to be in any immediate danger. He likely would have had a similar attitude to self-security as a gladiator.

With a pall of silence prevailing over the cooking fire, Thalassa had finally decided to ask Gerra more about how he had come to be Ultimecia's Knight.

Gerra waited for his entrance to the coliseum to open. Hyperion was in his right hand, and he had a heater shield engraved with the image of Phoenix on his left arm. His toned torso was bare but had been partially covered in scarlet body paint – the colour in tribute to the Empress' attire – by the slaves in the chambers below. He wore nothing else other than black combat trousers and matching boots.

As soon as the trellis grate opened, Gerra walked briskly through, not wanting to appear in any way hesitant to the Empress. Firion approached across the sand from the opposite side of the coliseum, his spear and round shield at the ready, striding as boldly as Gerra. There were four more grates at each corner of the arena, concealing awful fiends that would be released if the two of them strayed too close.

Gerra looked for the Empress on the marble dais to his right. Her six male Praetorians stood to her left, the six women to her right, each as still as the gargoyle statues throughout the stands. The only one of the Twelve that Gerra knew by name was Vargas, identifiable by his khopesh. At eighteen namedays, Gerra had never seen Sorceress Ultimecia in the flesh before this tournament, but accounts of her image had proven true. From the unashamed way she flaunted her only partially covered breasts, to her sculpted long legs, to her glorious raven wings, to her peculiar horn-like hair and her bestial feet.

Once Gerra had won, he would climb the dais, take a knee before that dark throne, and look into those glowing, yellow eyes as she Knighted him.

Gerra turned back to his best friend. His only friend, in earnest. Firion, whom Gerra had first met as a boy in the mines, was the same age. He had very light blond hair, almost white, and always covered most of it with a bandanna. Sheathed at his waist were a xiphos and a dagger. On one defined pectoral was a tattoo of a wild rose, which was also the moniker he was known by.

They had long since accepted the inevitable outcome here, that only one of them would be leaving the arena alive. Only one could achieve the highest honour a man could have in this harsh realm, becoming a Knight to the last living Sorceress. Gerra would have preferred it if Firion had been eliminated by someone else, but it was not to be. Maybe it was better this way. If Gerra were to die, he supposed it would be okay if his only friend was the one to kill him. He would be shamed in defeat before the Empress, anyway. He hoped that Firion felt the same way.

They stopped about five yards from each other, as was the custom. At the sound of a horn, they turned to the Empress, raised their weapons, and bowed. Gerra could not see Ultimecia's expression from this distance, only the cat-like glow of her eyes. The Empress spoke, her voice heard all around the arena, instantly silencing the bloodthirsty crowd.

'We have reached the final! Two of the most robust young gladiators, the bonds of friendship forged in childhood, now as close as brothers! Both have prevailed over three would-be champions and must now face one another! The Undying Fire, Gerra, who has impressed many with his inherited Hyperion, painting the sands red and ripping through his opponents like a bloodhound. And the Wild Rose, Firion, master of the spear and short sword, akin to the hoplites once loyal my mother, Sorceress Adel, and my grandfather, Emperor Axtius! Alas, only one can become my Knight! Let it begin!'

The crowd erupted as the two gladiators turned back to one another. They both knelt and dried their hands with the sand, then got back to their feet.

'May the best man win, Brother,' Firion said.

Gerra just nodded, the sentimental term – oft used by gladiators – affecting him more than he had though it would.

And that was that. Firion's spear was eight feet long with a leaf-shaped head. He thrust and swung to keep Gerra at bay, who knocked it aside or swerved out of its deadly line. Every early attempt to get within the spear was met with Firion measuredly backing up and swinging to the side. Gerra would catch the cut on his shield, or the flat of his gunblade, and they would be back to square one. This dance lasted for a few minutes, and some of the crowd began to grow impatient. Hyperion was loaded with blanks, as bullets were forbidden on the sands, as was body armour. An honest melee would determine the better man here, and there could be no missteps.

Gerra knew he was going to have to take a risk if he were to break the stalemate. He duped Firion into thrusting for his abdomen, then dropped his shield and pounced forward, grabbing the retracting spear before its end. Immediately swinging down on the shaft, Gerra pulled Hyperion's trigger and broke it in two, to a chorus of cheers from the fevered spectators.

Firion made no outward expression as he immediately drew his xiphos, which was two feet long and widened in a leaf shape toward the tip. Gerra kept the spearhead in his left hand, raising Hyperion with his right. For a couple of seconds neither of them moved, then Firion went on the offensive with a rapid flurry of strikes that pushed Gerra back toward the far side of the arena. Away from the Empress. Wanting to keep the broken spear for when he had an opening, Gerra blocked with his gunblade. As soon as Firion paused, he scored a firm roundhouse kick into his friend's side. Firion grunted as it made clean contact under his sword arm and leapt back.

Behind Gerra, there was a sudden blaring noise as a large grate opened. Out came Catoblepas, a hulking beast captured by the Empress decades before, and fabled to be the king of all behemoths. It was twelve feet high, and twenty feet from head to tail. It had obsidian skin with blood red stripes, a shaggy white main and a spiked tail. Its horns were jagged and black, lightning shaped and red on their tips. Its deadly teeth were pointed, also red.

With an enraged bellow, Catoblepas charged for them. They both backed up until the chain of the giant collar around its neck went taut. It snarled at them as it sought to break the restraint, saliva dampening the sand, but the enchanted chain held. Gerra lunged at Firion, who raised his shield in the nick of time. The Undying Fire pressed his attack, pushing the Wild Rose to the opposite corner of Catoblepas. This time the grate opened early.

A giant emerged, another one of Ultimecia's pets. This mutant had once commanded the iron giants that rode the Lunar Cry over Timber, a hundred years ago. As the iron giants had laid siege to Sequoia, the Empress had departed her castle to lead her forces against the Lunarians herself. A century after its defeat, the Red Giant was now her puppet. Six metres high and almost half as wide, it was covered in head to toe in its impenetrable ruby-red armour. An enormous sword was held in its right gauntlet with scary ease, and the ground shook as it lumbered forward. The Red Giant's head, by comparison, was tiny, adorned with one of Ultimecia's slave diadems. It had pointed ears and its lamp-like eyes beheld them without expression.

Firion aimed a desperation low blow at Gerra, but his groin was cupped inside the cargos. Although it still ached dully from the very firm kick. After blocking Gerra's overhand, Firion immediately threw his left shoulder out and drove his shield into Gerra's face. This gave Firion enough room to dart away from the Red Giant, who had begun to swing its terrible sword. With a flat edge, it appeared more like a club as the point sailed about a metre away from Gerra. On the recovery, the red giant stood motionlessly, paying no heed to the roaring Behemoth King to his right.

The two gladiators resumed their spectacle with renewed vigour, gradually moving toward the Empress, where there were no more grates. Neither contestant had any desire to see what emerged from the remaining two corners.

Finally, the Wild Rose fell. When Gerra got inside Firion's shield and unwound with a firm backhand, the fair-haired gladiator stopped it with his sword. But Gerra lunged with the spear end still in his left hand, cutting cleanly through the tattooed rose on Firion's chest, rending the breastbone. With a pained cry, his friend dropped, his sword falling to the sand. The crowd gave a thunderous roar as Firion lay eagle spread with blood seeping from his wound, and started chanting, 'Kill! Kill! Kill!'

Gerra looked up to the dais and made eye contact with the Empress. With a smile of what might have been approval, she nodded once. The Wild Rose gazed up at the stars, perhaps the last thing he wanted to see as the life slowly left his body. Though when the Undying Fire stepped forward, Firion made eye contact with him.

'I'll await you... in the Netherworld... Brother,' Firion breathed.

Firion looked back to the stars. Taking Hyperion with both hands, Gerra firmly drove the blade into the ruined rose tattoo on Firion's chest. After a moment, Firion went still, seeing no more. Gerra looked back to the Empress.

'So, it is decided!' Ultimecia's voice rang out over both the crowd and Catoblepas as Gerra withdrew his weapon. 'Gerra Almasy, the Undying Fire, is to become my new Knight! Ascend, Gerra, and take your deserved place by my side!'

Hyperion dripping with Firion's blood, Gerra made no hesitation as climbed the steps. He quickly buried what he had done to the back of his mind, knowing he could not afford to show any hint of weakness or regret in front of the Empress. The Praetorians looked at him without expression, except for Vargas. The Zebalgan's look of contempt was in Gerra's peripheral vision. Unbeknownst to Gerra at the time, an equally disdainful Leo was among the spectators, beyond the cordon reserved for imperial officers.

Gerra stopped at a respectable distance before the Empress. He was unsure of what to do as she satisfactorily surveyed him with those vivid eyes, thinking that her facial tattoos bourgeoned her beauty. He slowly got to one knee and smeared some of his friend's blood across his bare torso. Seeing the Empress this close, Gerra admired her statuesque form as she rose on those lioness paws, and his lust for her increased. He wondered if she could sense it as she smiled seductively, unseen by the eyes of the Twelve, whose gazes were all fixed upon him. Ultimecia's raven wings fanned out to their full span, a marvel to behold.

'You knelt as a champion, Gerra! Now rise as my Knight!'

'So, there you have it,' Gerra told Thalassa, his gaze not leaving the flames. 'I killed my only friend to become a Sorceress' Knight. And a dozen years later, I've thrown it all away on a fool's gambit, betraying Firion as much as Ultimecia and Leo. To try and change history.'

Thalassa had been stunned into silence. But when it became clear that Gerra had nothing more to say, she offered, 'Well, I did ask you how it came to be. It's not really my place to judge you, Gerra. At least you're trying to stop such barbaric things from ever coming to pass.'

'Even back then, I was smarter than Firion,' Gerra said. 'I try and tell myself that he wouldn't have wanted to change things if he became Ultimecia's Knight. It's the only way I can try and justify what I did to myself. But his memory often haunts my dreams, the way he was gazing at the stars as I dealt the deathblow at the demands of that crowd, not even responding to his final words.' Gerra removed his trench coat and turned, so that Thalassa could see the tattoo of the bandanna wearing man. 'That was him.'

Up close, she had a better view of it than she had before, back at the hotel in FH. Unfaded but ruined with a scar, the almost white-blond hair, the curious bandanna, and the leaf-shaped spearhead on its left were intricately detailed. As was the pink rose underneath, underlined with Firion's name.

'As cruel as she might have been when your father met her, my Ultimecia was not completely without compassion. Knowing how close we were, she branded this onto me herself,' Gerra explained.

'He looked like a handsome man.'

Gerra lit a pre-rolled cigarette, the tobacco won on board the Torama. 'Didn't your friend in Trabia tell you that Selphie has fallen captive to Ultimecia? If I fail to stop Ultimecia, I've no doubt that Firion will drag me to the gates of Hell himself.'

'But Rhodry junctioned with Shiva!' Thalassa pointed out. 'If not, he would have surely died defending Adaryn! You must be changing things!'

Gerra pondered this not for the first time. He remembered reading about Adaryn, which had fallen just before Galbadia. The courageous townspeople, he knew, had been cut down to the last. But that last warrior had been a swordsman called Rhodry Blaen. It was said that he had felled dozens of Esthari single-handedly before being met by an officer called Selena Vlahos, who had previously fought him during the Fall of Balamb. Almost besting her, Blaen had been cowardly cut down from afar by a lightning spell from a certain Lieutenant Pandemona - Ramuh's puppeteer.

As he had lain dying, Vlahos had knelt by Blaen's side and shown benevolence, apologising for killing his lover years before. She had assured him that the brave stand of Adaryn's townspeople would be remembered. Thereafter, Rhodry Blaen himself had become known as the Abadon of Adaryn. Named for the gangly, undead demon that had once resided in the Great Salt Lake of Esthar, until it had been destroyed by Sorceress Edea and her Children of Fate.

'We will know with the coming battle,' Gerra allowed.