Akhen Clarel of Senntisten braced himself as the sword of his opponent swung towards him, and wondered what exactly had gone wrong with his life.
Thunk. It crashed against his own sword and whipped out of reach once again, causing a small shock to run up his arm. The "blade" was made of wood, of course, but the force of it could still cause damage if it hit flesh.
He had pondered this question many times before, inside and outside of battle, and had always come to the same conclusion; it was the precise moment he was born into this insane, war-torn world. After he emerged from the womb, things had taken a tangible downturn.
He danced backwards, out the reach of his opponent, who sneered at him through his helmet. Akhen tried and failed to make a similarly intimidating expression, and instead dropped down into a defensive position. The sneer turned into a smile, but there was nothing friendly behind it.
The sword swung forward again, and Akhen flinched back. The smile, in turn, became a laugh, hard and cruel.
Not everything had gone badly; his family was just affluent enough to be able to afford decent armor for him during these sparring matches, and he was lucky as well for not having been born in the fields of battle beyond the walls, as many were. Senntisten was… safe, at least.
Whishhhh. The sword made a thin noise as it cut through the air this time, and Akhen evaded again. His opponent was still grinning. He knew the battle was his.
Akhen shifted downwards. If he was going to win (and it was unlikely but possible) he would have to change his tack. Dodging never got anyone anywhere. Less experienced warriors than he knew that much. He noticed his sword arm shivering with tension and stilled it.
Around the two fighters, the crowd that had been steadily gaining members since the fight began swelled in anticipation. Ahken never believed in the old adage that crowds, no matter what they were for, could smell blood, but if anything were to convince him it would be this one.
His opponent struck forward, and Ahken did the same. He used his shield, bashing aside the other man's sword and using his own to score a hit. The blow was glancing, but as the two separated Ahken noticed the smile was missing.
Again the sword flicked out, and Ahken clumsily parried. Just as he regained his balance the sword cut downward, toward his neck, and Ahken barely had time to block it with his shield.
He's getting serious, Ahken thought, and wiped sweat from his eyes as his opponent retreated. Not serious enough, though. He could have followed that up easily.
Ahken spat upon the ground in front of him, a serious insult during a duel. "Hey, big man! Are you scared yet?"
The taunt was hardly clever, but the other man's eyes lit up. He grinned and ran the back of his hand over his mouth.
Then, the fight began in earnest.
The bigger man charged. Ahken shifted once more into a defensive stance and tightened his grip on his weapon just in time to feel the brunt force as his opponent smashed into him, Ahken's cheap armor denting under the force of his stronger set. They collapsed to the ground.
He has me on the ground because he can use his bigger mass more effectively here, Ahken's conscious mind somehow managed to inform him. His subconscious mind just screamed at him to bash his sword hilt into the other's face, which, while satisfying, would only put him at a disadvantage at this stage, leaving the other man an avenue to take his sword.
Instead, Ahken rammed his sword point into his opponent's hand, causing him to drop his sword. With the last of his mobility Ahken swept it away.
There was a moment of hesitation as the bigger man wondered whether or not to go after it, and Ahken took advantage.
His elbow smashed into cartilage almost of its own accord, and the hilt of his sword impacted collarbone. The other man howled and unconsciously relaxed his grip on Ahken, which Ahken exploited by twisting violently and lashing out with every limb he could think of.
Ahken scrambled to his feet and drove his foot into rib. The bigger man dropped onto his stomach, and Ahken was seconds away from putting his sword at his throat and officially winning the battle.
This was precisely when the last and greatest of his misfortunes presented itself.
The cough began violently. Ahken doubled over, his eyes blurry. His opponent surfaced eagerly, the momentary distraction being all he needed. Ahken felt a fist impact his face even as the cough subsided, and before he knew it he was on the ground, positions reversed, and he had no way of turning it around.
When the sword appeared at his throat and a high female voice announced the end of the match, he felt only relief.
"The hell was that?" the owner of the voice demanded as she crossed into the makeshift field of battle. Ahken winced, turning towards his sister, Aherran, prepared to explain himself out of habit. She, however, was staring directly at the other man, who was shifting uncomfortably. The crowd was beginning to do the same.
"Jus' takin' advantage of all my resources, ma'am," the man answered. Despite the fact that she was shorter than him, he seemed to be physically uncomfortable in Aherran's presence.
"That was foul play," she said fiercely.
"'Ent nothing fair or unfair in real war," the man replied, regaining his confidence once he hit upon an argument that seemed reasonable to him. He removed his sword from Ahken's throat. "If he an' I'd been fightin' for real, I'd take advantage-"
"Of all your resources, yeah," Aherran said. "But that's not the point of practice. Practice is to make sure you know how to fight, not how to fight unfairly."
"It's fine, Aherran," Ahken interjected. "I understand."
The other man looked rather pleased, and Aherran huffed angrily. "Well, this isn't about you. This is about how these duels are fought. You," she said, swiveling to point her finger at the other man's chest, "will fight fairly from now on, yeah? Or I'll make sure I don't when I chase you out of this city."
"Whatever," he said sulkily.
"Whatever," Aherran mimicked cruelly. "Just make sure you do as I say."
Ahken waited to see if his opponent would help him up, as was common courtesy after a duel, but no such aid seemed forthcoming. He hauled himself to his feet, feeling self-conscious as his sister and his former opponent both stared at him, one with concern, and the other with a gloating smile.
"Scram," Aherran barked at the man as Ahken dusted himself off. The smile turned into a scowl as the man turned around and walked with exaggerated dignity into the city, letting the surroundings swallow him up. The crowd followed, dispersing in streams once the entertainment stopped, some to their own duels and others to their homes.
"Are you OK?" Aherran asked Ahken as he straightened up, sword now in hand.
"Ah," he said, pawing at the back of his neck. "Just bruises. Nothing serious."
"Not that," she said. "I, um, are you OK?"
Ahken was momentarily tempted to make this as hard as possible a conversation for her to navigate, but he suppressed it. "I suppose. It's just kind of…"
Ahken hesitated. He didn't know what to say. What should he tell her?
"This stupid cough'll keep me from joining the army, that's all," he finished.
"Not true," Aherran said automatically.
"What I have is bad enough to keep me from joining, and you know it," he said. "And if I don't join…"
"Nothing bad will happen if you don't join," she said firmly. "We can keep ourselves afloat."
"For now," Ahken grumbled. Aherran said nothing, only putting her hand on his shoulder.
"Well," she said, withdrawing the hand after a moment. "I'm going to head back home."
"OK," he said.
"If you need anything-"
"No thank you," he said, too quickly. "I mean, not now, thank you."
Aherran nodded, and turned back down the narrow dirt path. Ahken found himself alone. He shaded his eyes as he glanced up at the sky briefly. The sun was only slightly past its zenith, and the sky was remarkably cloudless despite the rainstorm of last night.
He sighed and sat down. He didn't want to reveal to Aherran the real reason that he was so bent on joining the military; ever since he had passed his fifteenth summer, he'd been running errands for various people of importance for money. Recently, however, he hadn't been able to find any work at all, and he knew if he didn't contribute his share in his family they all might starve to death as long as work remained just as hard to find for his mother and sister.
Starve to death. He felt hollow thinking about it. Before his father died, that had been a distant concern, something that happened to other people. Not them. Never them. He'd seen emaciated beggars on the street, despite the authority's best efforts to keep them out by one means or another. Would his sister become like that? His mother? Would he?
Ahken sighed, and kicked the dust. He watched the cloud drift lazily away in the breeze until it scattered too widely to be seen. Slowly, he turned and began to walk. Maybe he could find some job or other before he had to go home.
The former arena was deserted, and the dust continued to rise, ever onward, into the sky.
…
The Monitors had not yet begun to stalk the streets when Ahken returned to his house, frustrated and penniless. He had sprinted once the sun began to dip below the wall of the city; better to look conspicuous than be out and about when the Monitors emerged.
The Monitors, all Chthonic demons who'd remained on Gielinor after they'd lost Infernus, always frightened him. They were nightmarish creatures, more bestial in appearance than anything resembling human, despite the fact that "human" was hardly a quality to judge anyone by in this city. They were employed at night to search for humans out past curfew. Ahken suspected that, despite the officially stated result, most of them did things more radical than quietly herding the ones they found back to their homes.
When he opened the door, his mother's hand clamped down on his and pulled him into the house with more strength than he had known she possessed. She slammed the door shut behind him, and he smiled at her sheepishly.
"Where were you?" she demanded. "Aherran told me you were both out at practice, but that was hours ago, and-"
"I was looking for something to do," Ahken said, then added lamely, "for money."
"Money," his mother snorted. "Money isn't any good if you get yourself killed."
"I wasn't in any danger," Ahken said, though he still breathed heavily. "I-"
They both froze as a sound come from outside. Heavy footfalls impacted the ground, and both could hear the scratch of claws running across the dirt.
"Gods, Ahken," she hissed once the sound ceased. "Gods. You were that close!"
"I know," he said, looking at the ground. His heart pounded at the idea of being caught by one of the cannibalistic Chthonians. "I'll try to be faster. I just thought, if I could make some money…" he trailed off.
His mother sighed. "I know. I know it better than you." All of a sudden, she seemed to have deflated. She seemed smaller, less like his mother and more like a tired woman. She gestured him into the house. "Just be careful, and remember-"
"Money is no substitute for breathing," Ahken recited. He smiled at her, just as wearily. "I know."
She sniffed. "I never get to say it anymore." They laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, and it died quickly. She smiled hesitantly and, as if realizing that they were both still standing in the undersized foyer, stepped inside.
"You have a letter, by the way," she said as she moved further into the house. "I don't know who it's from, I didn't look."
"Oh," Ahken said. "When did it arrive?"
"Sometime in the afternoon," his mother said. "I'd say around two o'clock."
"Huh," Ahken said, noticing the envelope on the table. It was brown, and looked ancient; however, it was sturdy to the touch. He knew that some nobles used to send their letters in envelopes like that to make them look more important, but that practice had gone out of style years ago, and he couldn't imagine getting any letters from a noble, anyway.
He opened it carefully, but it came free easily. He noticed that his mother was watching him and trying to pretend that she wasn't. This, bizarrely, annoyed him. Perhaps it was the idea that it was a cause for concern when Ahken was getting any sort of outside communication.
The paper was crisply white and new, which contrasted far more harshly than he would have expected with the envelope. The writing was compact and neat, as befitted one of higher education, but written in blocky letters that would have put any school teacher to shame. Stranger and stranger. He began to read it. Unconsciously he shifted to block the missive from his mother's view.
Ahken,
Do not ask me how I know your name. I, and the people I represent, would like to meet with you. Go to the old, unused church by the gate to the Upper District. You know of it.
If you do not respond, you will not hear from us again. I think you will want to, however. I believe I have a way to solve your current economic problems.
I will say no more in this message. Do not let anyone else read it. Burn it if you must, but it is of no concern to us what happens to it.
Quietly, Ahken folded the letter. His mother waited expectantly behind him.
"It was a friend of mine," Ahken said. "He, um, he may have a job for me."
His mother beamed. "That's great news!"
"Yeah."
"You don't sound very excited," she teased him. All of a sudden, her voice turned serious. "Is it a safe job?"
"I don't know," he said. "He doesn't specify."
"Well, does he say anything about it?"
"No, only to meet him at his house." He didn't know why he lied about the location. As far as he knew, the church by the gate was not a place to avoid.
"Why haven't I met this friend?"
Ahken shrugged. "He isn't the type to stop by." He hesitated, then added, "he's employed me before, but only on odd jobs. I think this time he wants me to work for him in a more…" he didn't know how to continue, but he didn't have to.
"That's fantastic, Ahken," his mother said, smiling. "That's fantastic. If you're sure about this friend…"
"I'm-" most empathetically not "-sure."
She smiled again. "Good," she said. "Good."
Whatever time bubble Ahken had been suspended in as he lied about the letter burst, and he felt the late hour more acutely than ever. "OK," he said for no reason. "I'm going to bed."
…
The bed wasn't the most comfortable in the world, but after the events of the day he had to constantly fight off sleep in it. He held the letter and read it over multiple times, trying to find out anything he could about whoever sent it. Besides the fact that they had a neat, if peculiar, sort of handwriting, however…
Ahken sighed, and placed it by the bed. For better or worse, he knew he was bound to go where it told him. His curiosity, and his desperation, dictated nothing less.
He coughed again, welcoming the jolt it gave him. He turned over in his bed as it subsided, and despite the ragged feeling in his chest, he went to sleep quickly.
And so begins the third (and last new) arc of the story. So far, this one isn't quite as interesting, but I think it soon will be. So, um, look forward to that!
On an unrelated note, I recently took a quiz to determine which Mahjarrat I am. I am predominantly Azzanadra with a touch of Enakhra, which scares me a little bit, but I know I can count on my loyal fans to call me out if I ever enslave anyone to be my bone guard for eternity.
Have a nice day