“Why?” Kisari demanded.
“This is practically mercy, considering he’s both Halfborn and an oathbreaker.” Cacica Yabisi turned away from her and looked at Narune, who stood thinking. “You once told me you would do anything to be a spiritseer, and considering where we are now, I believe it.” She gestured at the field. “But you will never be one of them. We have no Carrion Flow users or other Halfborn in the Circle. No, instead, you’ll be cut and shaped into a spearhead unlike any other. You’ll face more than any warrior should have to, will be spent beyond your worth. You’ll face halja a hundred times this count, and any one of them could kill you. This is nothing. So?”
Nothing? Narune swallowed a laugh. Ixchel met his gaze across the grounds, her face emotionless. “Very well.”
“Narune!” Kisari cried, shoving past the cacica and her sentinels to grab his arm. “Don’t. Think about Colibrí.”
“I am,” he said quietly. “In a way, my mother made the same exact choice when she left to go after Peacemaker, didn’t she? Kisari, I’m nothing like her. Yet if I want to reach my dreams, I’ll need to become more than she ever was. This is my chance!”
She whirled him around to face her and her gaze was fierce. I know about your stupid dream.
Eh? Narune blinked.
You gave me many of your memories the last time we were on the Proving Grounds. Haven’t you worried even once about that?
No, he admitted. Then he made a face. Uh… how many of my memories? Skies and seas aflame—
Not the time, Narune. Her face softened. Your dream is stupid, yes, but… I would like it. Even so, you need to use your head if you actually want to live to see it!
But I am using my head. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve thought over this a lot. He felt his tail and ears go limp. The Halfborn of old left a deep mark, Kisari. We need to leave a deeper one. If I can become the weapon they need me to be, then my glory will be brighter than the shame in our blood. More than that, it might save our people and the war itself. What more could a warrior ask for? He shook his head. This is what I want. You and my mother are worth it. Our people are worth it.
Kisari sighed and leaned close, then surprised him by touching noses with him. Sometimes you make me so angry. I won’t stop you, but you need to stop seeing yourself as alone in all this. You’re not. There are people you keep leaving behind who care very much about you… like me.
He froze, then grinned sheepishly when she leaned back. I… know.
Good. Kisari eyed him for a moment, then let go and turned to the cacica, who was lazily wiping water from her forehead. “Can I fight with him?” Kisari asked.
Cacica Yabisi shook her head. “No, but it wouldn’t matter if you did. They’re spiritseers, Kisari.”
She grunted and turned to Narune. “Remember when you promised me anything I wanted last time?”
He nodded. “I haven’t forgotten.”
She hugged herself and turned away. “Well, don’t forget you still owe me.”
Sanemoro walked up as she stepped away and grabbed both of Narune’s shoulders. “All right, well, it is too late to stop you so I will only ask you to not die.” He glanced toward the forest and added, “Colibrí will literally kill me. I have never been more serious about anything else in my life.”
Narune bowed. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”
“I would think it impossible for you to do so,” Sanemoro said with a gentle smile. “Listen carefully: I have witnessed your progress with my own eyes, Narune. This will be the most challenging battle you have ever faced, but it is far from set.” He lowered his voice. “I know you have not yet had a chance to practice with this side of your powers, but you should know enough now to realize that the Carrion Flow is the one Flow that excels against sorcery. Do not be afraid to push yourself beyond your training and use the advanced quirks of your foundation spells. You are clever enough, and that is why you can win.”
Narune nodded, eyes widening.
Sanemoro embraced him. “Try to ignore the Jurakán, for now. I do not think you are ready to try controlling it during battle, and, if you lose yourself, then it is all over.”
They parted and Narune turned to facing the Proving Grounds. Tessouat put a hand on Narune’s hip and moved him forward until he was in the circular arena with the others, then continued on alone until he stood before them. The elder drew his Flowing Blade, but left it slumbering, and glanced at either side.
Sanemoro, Kisari, and Cacica Yabisi all went up to her private viewing platform despite it being slick with stormwater. There were no other onlookers, maybe because of the storm, but probably because of the cacica’s will. Some sentinels, her own personal guard and those of the village, ringed the arena as well. Bright coral lanterns the color of the sun, a soft yellowish white, forced back the gloom beneath the cloudy skies.
Narune drew his Flowing Blade and passed fingers along his mother’s carving for luck.
But before Tessouat began the fight, Ixchel stepped forward.
“Narune…” she said hesitantly.
His tail froze and his ears went rigid. “Yes?”
“I… I need you to know that this is my fault.”
“Eh?” He frowned, disappointed, though maybe he was an idiot for feeling that way. After what they had endured together during the ambush, Narune had hoped that they would begin to see that he was no different than any another warrior.
Narune had hoped for the very same thing during the Ritual of Fang and Father, and now it seemed that he had been just as wrong both times.
She shrugged. “I told them that you were a spiritseer when you weren’t supposed to be. When they questioned the novices from the ambush and asked if I thought you could be trusted, I told them this was the only way to be sure.” She shrugged again and looked away. “This time I won’t fight beside you, and if you’re wrong about what you told me, then you’ll probably kill me, if we don’t kill you first. I won’t hold back, Narune. I’m sorry.”
Narune considered her words for a moment as he stared at Ixchel. If it were anyone else, I’d ask why you hate me so much. But you, Ixchel? Something caught in his chest, scathing and deep. The Jurakán surged close as if drawn by it, but he shoved away like swatting a fly. Well, I’ve made up my mind too. Let me show you.
Tessouat raised his arm, then swung down as he backed from the arena.
Flowing Blades surged to life, a myriad of colors burning away the shadows of the arena, but they didn’t banish the curved black color of his own weapon.
The spiritseers spread out to the left and right, their semicircle widening, and Narune let them as he began to ramp up his Channeling. Narune knew the basics about their Flows, though as novices they should only know the three foundation spells.
Narune’s ears flattened as he watched them fall into a predictable formation that highlighted each Flow’s strength. Alright. I can do this this. First—
Ixchel flipped her Blade upside down and slammed it back into her Gourd. The Flow in her body and weapon linked with the power in the Gourd. Her entire body began to glow with a soft amber light.
He recognized it as a Glimmering Strike the moment he saw her do this—most were Blade-draw techniques—but was stunned that she had advanced enough to use one.
Seas aflame. Narune panicked and then hastily cast Hunger’s Ward, almost losing control of his Blackflow in the same moment.
Ixchel inhaled and drew her Blade again with a furious, sweeping motion—down, then up at an angle, the Blade crackling with thunder and its amber color shining so bright that it brightened the entire Proving Grounds. The air around them suddenly stilled as if also drawing a breath along with her.
Then she caught the upwards motion with her second hand, shifted to a two-handed grip above her head, the Blade radiating like a star, and exhaled.
Ixchel swung her Flowing Blade down against the ground like it was a club.
A huge ball of wind erupted before her, carrying the rain and tear
ing up the soil of the Proving Grounds, and then it shattered into a flurry of invisible, jagged daggers that he could only sense because of the ridiculous amounts of Flow within them.
He swiped his Blade out to catch the first dagger of wind, only to have it shatter into a storm of smaller ones that tore into his Hunger’s Ward. Reflexively, he instead clutched all his Blackflow and immediately launched a Thousandth Sun using the shadows made by the lanterns. This still broke apart the larger, deadlier daggers into smaller ones that obliterated his Hunger’s Ward.
The black lines tracing his veins and arteries vanished as if washed away, leaving his already dark skin looking smeared, and even that hadn’t been enough; fresh cuts blossomed all over him.
Ixchel was definitely biting and not nipping. Soil filled the air for a moment, darkening the glow of the coral lanterns, but then rain hammered it back down to the ground. A spiritseer dashed toward him from within it, Blade burning a fiery red.
The spiritseer held his weapon in two hands before him, gathered a deep breath, then blew across it like the weapon was a kindling flame. Sparks and thin streams of Redflow gushed from the Blade like embers, then erupted into a true fire a short distance away, billowing toward Narune, the spiritseer sprinting just behind it.
Narune swung his own Blade and used the motion to cast Devour while he quick-stepped back, watching the plume of fire curl into the depthless black maw in the air as if sucked in. He swung again through the tear as the spiritseer neared and swallowed it back into himself.
They met in a clash of Flowing Blades and Narune was immediately sent skidding back across the muddied ground, his balance shaky. Narune remembered that the spiritseer’s Channeling spell let him move with explosive bursts of strength that he could maintain at risk of damaging his spirit and unbalancing his Channeling, but then Redflow was all about reducing your opponent to ashes before you yourself burned away.
The same spell let his opponent close the distance before Narune even righted himself, but Narune swung early, and left another inky streak of shadow in the air.
The spiritseer leaped and cleaved down with both hands, shattering through his Devour in a flare of sparks and heat that sent steam gushing upward—but left himself open.
Narune swung from muscle-memory—and in the storm and chaos of his thoughts, he forgot Redflow’s defensive spell. Narune cursed, ears flattening.
The spiritseer grinned as the tail of his Blade, like a brushstroke of red paint, followed the movement of his weapon—and then flared white before exploding.
It was pure light and force, but Narune screamed as the Flow stabbed into his eyes and he was launched back again.
Tears blurred his vision as he blinked and tumbled a few times, then rushed back onto his feet, spotting the other spiritseers closing in turn, each of them being careful to not get in each other’s way.
They had been giving the Redflow user the space he needed, but now there was an opening, and the one with a cerulean Blade—the Unbound Flow, like Tessouat—dove toward him from atop a perfect sphere of water.
She rode it like a dancer on a single foot, moving like she was sliding along the surf, but the sphere always rolled forward and kept pace. Others orbited around her. She swooped down through the rain, her Blade held like she was about to thrust, but used like a charging spear.
She came low, floating just above the ground, and leaped to another sphere as it orbited, the motion flipping her sideways and shifting the angle of her Blade.
Narune made a messy parry as he twisted to watch her pass. She leaped to another sphere, aborted her momentum gracefully, then leaped down into the mud. Narune set his teeth and swung at her, but one of the spheres burst apart and the rain around him seemed to thicken all at once and fall the wrong way.
The force of the water was like a geyser and it forced his Blade forward quicker than he planned.
She made her own attack a heartbeat later—and then Narune used the Redflow he had swallowed and trapped inside him.
The Carrion Flow was the rotted, dead remains of the other Flows, but it remembered. The fresh Redflow he had taken stirred those memories within the tarry Blackflow. His Blade flared red but was still outlined by a thick layer of black—and his Blade’s tail erupted into full red.
The spiritseer’s eyes widened.
Narune didn’t know any of Redflow’s spells, but what he had devoured was stained with the spirit that had Channeled it. Like a shadow, Narune could imitate the spells used by the spiritseer he had stolen from.
He used the same spell the Redflow spiritseer had, erupting the trailing color that followed after every Blade. It flung the Blueflow spiritseer back, but also sent Narune sliding away too. This time, though, he didn’t blind himself or lose his balance—the Flow inside of him worked in tandem with the technique to protect him.
And, once more, the memory of Redflow died, and his Blade returned to its normal black color.
Narune turned in time to see the Redflow spiritseer’s expression of utter shock. They should have learned about the Carrion Flow, but since it was rare, Narune guessed it was probably still somewhat surprising to see.
He exhaled slowly and focused on reforming Hunger’s Ward specifically around his arm. His body shuddered from the effort and he knew more than stormwater ran down his face, but Narune swung with one arm to catch the fierce overhead blow from the spiritseer, praying he wouldn’t lose the ensorcelled arm.
The red Blade crashed down with terrible force and Narune screamed as his flesh burned, but his Hunger’s Ward held for the heartbeat he needed it to. The Blade bounced off his arm, leaving his opponent fully open—and it caught the spiritseer so much by surprise that his Blade actually spun out of his grasp.
Narune took a stance, readying to cut off a hand or foot, but he could tell the youth was struggling to control his Channeling. Narune understood; in the brief moment he had Channeled Redflow, he too had almost lost control. Redflow was almost the complete opposite of Blackflow, always moving, always intense—like juggling something too hot to hold forever and never being able to drop it.
But the spiritseer’s eyes were on Narune and they were filled with something that chilled him to the core. That look was Narune’s true enemy—everything he was fighting against.
The Jurakán pressed close in that moment, its fury almost physical, the shrieks a starry-white wind swirling around him.
That was enough to remind him. He lowered his Blade, cut a shallow mark across his opponent’s chest, and then whirled, mumbling, “You fought well.”
He wasn’t sure whether the spiritseer heard him or not, and couldn’t be sure if he’d simply go pick up his Blade and return to the fight, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.
He whirled, parrying a crescent of wind while he took a breath. He stood back in the center of the arena now, the Blueflow spiritseer behind him, the others still in something of a semicircle, but they were closing.
The Deep Flow spiritseer stomped close, her footsteps sinking into the mud, and when he struck at her, it felt like using a Blade made of grass against the trunk of a tree-lord; Umberflow enhanced her with artificial weight and a hardened body. It made her all but immovable, and granted her a kind of brutal, raw strength, but it also made her lumber like some massive thing weighed down by its own bulk, so he was able to keep distance between them.
Ixchel remained at a distance and used the ridiculous agility of her sorcery allowed her, which made her light as a feather and easily manipulated by wind, to come in for a strike before dancing out of his range.
He gasped, feeling exhaustion creep into him as he defended himself from their increasingly coordinated attacks, and his heart thundered with the same fierceness as the sky. He could feel the Jurakán edging closer with every distraction, but there was some hope—the spiritseers were giving Narune a chance. Whether because of honor or guilt, they weren’t using their advantage in numbers as strongly as they could.
Like the
Ritual of Fang and Feather, they were instead trying to break him to see if he would continue despite that, as himself.
The Verdant and Unseen Flow spiritseers were the only ones who kept their distance to either side, watching, but they boxed him in, allowing the others a haven to dance in and out of while pinning him against the Umberflow spiritseer.
The Blueflow spiritseer worked alongside Ixchel to alternate charges, mimicking her strategy, and they draw a loud growl from Narune before long.
But then Ixchel and the Blueflow spiritseer tried striking at once and he saw his chance.
Ixchel danced in swiping. They exchanged a flurry of blows before she drifted back a short distance and the Umberflow spiritseer didn’t advance—and he knew what it could only mean.
Narune cast devour—just above him, and then ducked below the Umberflow spiritseer’s immediate swing.
The Blueflow spiritseer burst by him, knocking him off balance when he parried her wide slash, but one of her orbs careened into his Devour.
Narune spun and parried the Umberflow spiritseer, cast Devour in front of Ixchel to halt her, then whirled to slash his Blade across the maw already in the air, swallowing the Blueflow—and immediately ignited his own with it.
Narune conjured spheres of water.
He used one to burst up by the surprised Umberflow spiritseer, chasing clumsily after the Blueflow youth, and slammed a foot into her stomach when she swerved for another pass.
Her eyes widened and she tumbled back out over the viewing platforms into the gloom beyond the lanterns. He fell too, his Blueflow expended, his blue-bordered-by-black Blade reverting. He landed hard at the southern edge of the Proving Grounds, gasping, realizing there were still too many opponents left…
His body hurt so much. His limbs felt like stone.
Ixchel landed next to him, scowling, and Narune rose to meet her, without emotion, as the other spiritseers rearranged themselves and drew close. Their Blades clashed again, and again, and again as they spun and danced with increasing momentum and fierceness.
They knew each other like they knew themselves and the only mystery between them was their Flows.
Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 30
