by Aaron Crash
Ymir shoved his satchel into Gharam’s arms. He then shed his robes, kicked off his boots, and strode out in just his leather-skin pants. He only wore his Focus ring. And when he got close enough, he showed Gatha his fingers.
Gatha looked especially monstrous—eyes the color of roses, tusks fully extended. Rain sizzled off her armor of fire and her hellish weapons of flame.
Ymir stood there unmoving in the rain. He didn’t draw forth his own ice armor and ax. He could’ve with ease—jelu armatus and jelu prolium—two of the five Categoria Magica. Instead, he used words, which were unlikely weapons. “You have the warrior’s boredom. You are poisoned with grief. And you cannot accept that death wins in the end, Gatha of Ssunash. All will die. Emperors. Demons. Dragons. You. Me. Our fathers. Our mothers. All die.”
“You talk! I didn’t get that old, crippled orc to get you for your words. I sent him for your weapons and your cunning. I tire of cutting open these soft-hearted children. I want a fucking challenge. And the fucking Princept said she’s too fucking busy with politics to fight me. There is only you at this fucking school. Only you.”
She was sober. This was troubling.
But Ymir wasn’t about to give her what she wanted. She raced forward, and he cast a spell she wasn’t ready for. “Caelum caelarum.” His class with Professor Lola was paying off. He added a supernatural quickness to his dodging as she viciously struck at him, to the left, to the right. He ducked both blows, then leapt into the air as she slashed at his legs. He noticed the edges of her fire sword were blunt, but there was still a chance she’d crush bone. And he’d be burned without a doubt.
When she charged him full-on, he cast another Moons spell and flew backward. He kept her on the offensive, leading her off the field and up the western stands. He remembered making that journey with Charibda’s body.
This time, it was he who leapt from the top.
Using Moons magic, he floated down the cliffs to the sand. Waves crashed to his left and went racing up the sands.
Gatha followed him. Her flames grew brighter as she floated down, using Moons magic as well as he did. That was a surprise. He’d been studying those spells for their speed and their ability to give him flight. It seemed the she-orc had been studying the magic in secret.
They stood on the beach, Ymir near the water and Gatha near the cliffs.
Waves crashed, and the sound of Gatha’s snapping flames was eclipsed for a moment. When the tide receded, the she-orc screamed, “First you talk, then you run. Fight me! Fight me right fucking now!”
“Jelu jelarum!” he called out. It was easy to take the surf and channel it into a torrent of water that struck her and made her stagger back. Her flames were extinguished, and for a moment, she was without weapons and without armor. She stood there, soaking wet.
“Ignis prolium!” Knives of fire filled her hands.
Gatha sped forward, and Ymir blocked her knives, making sure to know where each blade was. He saw an opening to elbow the she-orc in the face, but instead he shoved her as hard as he could. She went staggering back, flinging sand.
He roared at her, “You said before that I knew you! You said we are of the same soul, the same nature, and the same fate. That when we die, we’d die in blood. Did that mean we’d murder each other? Would you rather die than live with failure, death, and defeat?”
She charged him, but it was a sloppy attack. To be sure, it was a suicide. If it had been a fight, Ymir would’ve killed her easily. Instead, he caught her and threw her onto the sand.
He danced back. “You and I are not done slaying the demons of this world, Gatha of the Majestrial. Yet I cannot fight next to you if you are that fucking fragile. You let yourself be seduced by drink. You needlessly brutalized those scholars up there. You let unnecessary grief into your heart like a thief stealing apples. Your vicious sister is dead by your hand. Your worthless mother was killed by the Princept. And your worthless father died in battle trying to defend a murdering asshole. You mourn cutthroats and idiots. But you live, Gatha, do you not?”
Gatha couldn’t answer. A wave hit her from behind. Her fire knives were extinguished. She was pushed face-first into the sand. The waves went sliding back, leaving the she-orc weeping. These were the tears she hadn’t cried. This was the true nature of the sorrow that she’d tried to hide with her initial cheer, then tried to drown in that foul orc liquor. Violence was her last refuge, and he’d taken that from her.
He approached her, carefully, very carefully, because in her present state she was as deadly and unpredictable as a tundra viper.
“I love you, Gatha of the Majestrial. Gatha of the books. Brave Gatha. Strong Gatha. But I can’t fight next to you if I can’t trust you.”
Gatha reached for him. Her tusks were gone. She looked pale and wounded, a broken woman. Ymir pulled her onto his lap and held her while she wept more. The sun was lost in the black clouds, and the dark day grew even gloomier. The rain had paused, but it would come again in sheets.
Ymir had his eyes closed as he caressed Gatha’s long white hair, wet from his water attack. He held her close.
A brightness came to him, the sweet perfume of candy and woman. He turned to see Ziziva in her human form, with bright glowing dust that gave out a certain warmth he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t her silly fairy self. She was something different. Her short blond hair was wet. Her wings, though, were dry from her flight in. She wore a clinging white dress, a simple affair compared to the dreadful sparkle of her normal garb.
Gatha opened her eyes as well, but she didn’t move. Was it a spell? Was it her shame? Ymir wasn’t sure.
But the she-orc was motionless in his arms.
Ziziva bent and touched Gatha’s shoulder. “A dragon is coming to Old Ironbound. Ribby saw me, in a vision, defending the library. So did the Princept, I guess. It’s rather silly, what they saw, since I don’t know how to fight, not really. I need a teacher, Gatha. I would like you to teach me to fight.”
The fairy said all those words without a single rhyme, with no giggling, as serious as the fight he’d just fought.
Gatha pushed herself from Ymir. She sat in the sand, breathing in and out. She wasn’t speaking.
Ziziva threw Ymir an uncertain glance. “Should I ask again?”
“No,” Gatha said simply. She wasn’t looking at Ziziva. Her gaze went to the ocean and the waves crashing. Some would come close. Others wouldn’t. Both she and Ymir were covered in sand.
Ziziva stayed crouched next to them. The fairy had made her request for training at the very worst of times. That damn fairy always had such bad timing. The confusion on her face was rather amusing. “She said no. Is that a no to my original question? Or was it a no referring to me asking the question again?”
Gatha finally turned to look at the fairy. “You keep the fact that you can grow big a secret. I know because Ymir told me. Your memory magic doesn’t work on him. And he fucked you.”
“He did,” the fairy agreed.
Gatha grunted laughter and wiped some tears from her face. “Me training you to fight is a stupid idea. I hate you. Ymir hates you. Everyone hates you.”
Ymir was quiet. In a very real sense, he had nothing to do with this interaction.
Ziziva did. “Ribby doesn’t hate me. She understands me. I want you and Ymir to understand me. My queen, Dillyday Everjewel, and my magistrate, Professor Lola, would kill me if they knew I was showing you my Verum Self without using my Scintilla Dust to remove the memory.”
“Verum, old Theranus, the word for truth,” Gatha muttered. She was back to looking at the ocean. “I was never meant for this wet world. For this ocean place. I was created to battle in the Pits on the dry plains until I died. Instead, I lived. I came to this place for the books, and I’ve found war I never dreamed of. War that would test me. And in that testing, I failed. Now, a fairy is asking me to teach her how to fight.”
Gatha laughed, then more tears fell down her cheeks, and then she laughed again. “No,
you stupid fucking fairy. I’m not going to train you.”
“Then when the dragon comes, he will destroy the Librarium and all those books. I could be the one to save it, but I won’t be able to if you don’t teach me how to fight.” Ziziva spoke her words very matter-of-factly. It was as if she were commenting on the ocean.
Gatha pulled herself to her feet. “You like Ribby. Ribby doesn’t like you. No one likes you.”
“I believe Ribby does.” Ymir stood.
Ziziva retreated a few steps, a look of worry on her face. Then in a burst of light and dust, she turned back into her tiny form, only about a foot tall. Her dress had to be magical since it transformed with her.
From above, Gharam and some other students were peering over the edge of the arena.
“Sorry,” the fairy girl said quickly. “I have to hide my Verum Self from most people. But not from Ymir, nor any of his wives. Please, Gatha.”
Gatha turned away from them, took several steps, then stopped.
Ymir admired the muscles of her back, which was so strong. And her heart had strengthened that day as well. The defeats she’d experienced, the death of her parents, had threatened to break her—yet she was on a new path, and she would emerge stronger than ever.
As if to affirm that idea, Gatha nodded. “Fine, you little fairy bitch. I will train you. In the mornings. At dawn. I suppose the beach is as good a place as any. For your first session, I want Ribby in the water, watching. I want to hear from her own sweet lips that you are worthy of us.”
Ziziva immediately flung herself around and around, shining in a shower of glowing dust and sweetness. “Yes, Gatha, yes! I will work to be worthy of you all! I will rise, and I won’t fall! I hope you don’t kill me before I prove to you I’m not just a silly.” The fairy girl laughed, and it wasn’t an empty giggle—her joy came from her heart. “Thank you, Gruul girl! Thank you!”
Gatha turned, just a bit, and her eyes showed some peace as her mouth curved into a smile.
It was the beginning of many smiles to come.
Ymir was glad, but this talk of dragons had him wanting the seventh ring more than ever. And could they really trust the secretive fairy?
He didn’t know, but he was fairly certain that if Ziziva did betray them, Gatha would tear the wings off the fairy and bite off her little head.
Chapter Twenty
THE NEXT MORNING, YMIR walked into the surf. He wanted to be there on the fairy girl’s first day of training.
The dawn was only a smudge in the dark clouds on the horizon. The damn rain was falling like someone overturned a bucket. It was cold, but that made the ocean water feel warmer as the surf broke onto the sand. He’d bought a great coat but then had studied up on a spell, an advanced jelu fascinara spell, to enchant the coat to make it completely waterproof.
They would be studying fascinara magic more in detail later in the year, while their last year was for devocho magic, the most powerful of the five Categoria Magica.
The coat seemed silly now that he was up to his waist in the water, though it did keep him warm.
They were on the beach below the Sea Stair Alley, the same place where they’d celebrated their victory after the Kurzig Durgha. It was also the place Ymir would frequently come with Lillee during his first year at Old Ironbound. The lock at the end of the alley was still supposedly intact, though it had been broken now for two years. This stretch of sand was so very sacred to him. He still came here to light his Sunday fires to remember his ancestors. While his religion talked about any number of beliefs and stories that he found interesting, he wasn’t sure of their veracity. Lighting a fire and paying honor to Grandfather Bear and Grandmother Rabbit felt true to a deep, deep part of him.
Charibda swam about his legs with her long, powerful tail. She was so sleek in the water. When she swam through a swell, he could see her shadow right before the wave crashed. Every time she swam past him, she would caress his legs with her fingers or her tail. She was in her monstrous form, so her eyes were black, her mouth had fangs, and she was naked, which allowed her to slip through the water easily.
Gatha stood on the beach with two wooden swords, but they wouldn’t be wooden for long. Gatha also had a great coat that covered her—her boots went up to her knees and were waterproof. She had her hood covering her white hair. Even at a distance, Ymir could see her tusks out, splitting her scowl.
They were waiting for the fairy girl to come.
Gatha called to them. “If she doesn’t show this morning, I am done with that fairy bitch. I won’t have anything else to do with her ever again.”
Ribby turned her tail into tentacles as she came riding down a wave. She slipped her coils around Ymir. She had taken in enough breath to call, “She’ll be here, Gatha! Don’t be an impatient fucking bitch. You’re fifteen minutes early!”
Ribby kissed Ymir’s cheek, then slid off into the water to go shooting through the surf.
Gatha chuckled. “There’s the Ribrib I know and love. She’s the only fucking reason why I’m out here.”
Ymir knew Gatha well enough to know that she liked being early, that she liked routine, and that bringing the swords down to the beach had brought her more joy than she’d felt drinking that foul Gruul liquor. Gatha had been forged for battle, and the harder the challenge, the better she liked it.
Ymir caught the scent of the fairy before he saw her sparkles as she came spinning down from the tops of the Flow housing. They had to meet early so no one would see Ziziva in her Verum Self.
If nothing else, inviting a fairy into their lives would reveal some of their secrets. Scholars had been musing over Fayee secrets as early as the first age, the Age of Union.
Ziziva landed on the sand. In a flash of light and glow dust, she turned into a full-grown woman.
She wasn’t as wet as she should’ve been—probably her fairy magic keeping her dry. And when the cold rain soaked her, she didn’t shiver a bit. Her sheer white dress clung to her slender form.
Ribby again swam close and scurried up his body with her tentacles. She had enough breath to whisper in his ear, “The fairy is fucking gorgeous. We’ll have her eventually, I think. In our bitribib. I can’t wait to see you with her. She’s so little, and you’re so big. How did you ever fit your cock in that little slut’s asshole?”
“I had that same concern, but it worked just fine. Hush, now.” Ymir wanted to see how this first interaction between Gatha and Ziziva turned out.
Gatha raised one of the curved wooden swords and shouted, “Lutum lutarum!” Again, Gatha was using magic outside of her specialty, but the minute she’d heard of the prokta blades, she’d wanted to forge them. Without further ado, the lesson began. “The prokta blades will hit like a sharpened steel sword. They can pierce armor, but they won’t hurt skin. Hence, a killing blow will only leave a bruise. It will hurt. It won’t kill.”
Gatha tossed the curved sword to the fairy. “You’re going to protect yourself. I know you had some training while you were at the school. You had to take the introductory battle class with Professor Ssornap.”
Ziziva held the sword like it was a serpent. “Actually, Professor Lyla got me out of the class because of...because of reasons.”
“What reasons?” Gatha growled suspiciously.
The fairy swallowed hard. “Because as far as anyone knows, the Fayee are too little to fight. But we have magic. Because magic.” The fairy stumbled over her words. She seemed terrified and uncomfortable and awkward.
“Magic.” Gatha barked out a single laugh. “Lutum lutarum.” She changed her wooden sword into magical steel. “And you think you’ll be the one to defend the Librarium from this supposed dragon? It’s nonsense. But Ribby asked me to do this for her. And I will enjoy hitting you, fairy. You will call me Gishe, that is sword master in Gruul. I will call you Ersh, or sword worm. You will say ‘Kaiyee, Gishe,’ or, ‘yes, master!’ First lesson. We fight and die. It is a paradox. Every battle is to be our last, but we will win eve
ry fight. The only enemy that can kill us is death itself.”
Gatha’s voice failed her. Tears shone in her eyes.
She’d forgotten that the first lesson was indeed a paradox.
The she-orc glanced at Ymir, who stood with the mermaid clinging to him with her tentacles. The orcish ideal was total victory in all battles unless you were fighting death. That was the ideal. Gatha was struggling with the reality—there were some fights you couldn’t win, no matter how well you fought.
“I will teach you the twenty-three Gruul offensive poses. I will teach you the twenty-three poses for defense. I will give you a week to learn them before I hurt you. Then I will hurt you. Say ‘Kaiyee, Gishe’ if you understand.”
For a second, a look of amusement came over the fairy’s face, just a flash, and then she cried out, “Kaiyee, Gishe!”
Ymir could hardly believe this was the same fairy who had spit in his kaif not too long ago.
The pair started their poses, and Gatha counted them down.
Ymir knew of a book he could recommend to Ziziva that went over the pit techniques of the Gruul and included all forty-six stances, both offensive and defensive.
It was going well, with Ziziva taking the poses, though some were very similar to others and it was only a matter of where your weight rested, on which foot, where your center was, and other very specific aspects of orcish personal combat.
Ziziva was being very patient until Gatha adjusted her sword, and then the fairy giggled. Her wings fluttered and sparkled. “Why do the swords have to be heavy, heavy, heavy, when they can be woody, wood, wood?”
Gatha’s hand snapped out and grabbed the fairy by her chin. “None of that rhyming nonsense. And no fucking giggles. Say ‘Kaiyee!’”
The fairy spun away, dropped her sword, and turned small. She went flying away across the sand. The sun had risen, but the clouds were so thick there still wasn’t much light. And so the Fayee’s tiny body glowed brightly even through the falling rain.
