The Red Flux and the Wunderkind Thief

by Nicholas McConnaughay

  The knight slashed his sword down in a missed attempt, and in that attempt allotted Secrat the means to pull his arm, bringing the knight down, almost off his horse. The knight refused to fall though, and in a position on the side of the horse, continued on the offensive. The horse began to slowdown, but to the dismay of the noose, which tugged it along.

  Copé found himself on the receiving end of a punch from the knight, knocking his head down against the dirt. If not for the rope, he would've fallen to the ground.

  Secrat fought back, for no reason in-particular throwing a headbutt of his own. It hurt him much, much, much more than it hurt the knight, but soon after that moment, he flung the noose over the head of the knight. The knight reacted fast, trying to slash the noose with his sword, but it yanked him too soon. He found himself tugged off from the horse and by the neck, chasing after the carriage. True to his word, Brutus did not let go.

  Secrat readjusted, the horse at a complete standstill now, Copé brought himself up on the horse, seeing the lifeless knight off in the distance, still being pulled by the carriage. He slapped his feet to the side of the horse, who was easy to start running again.

  In time, he caught up to them, the horse running beside Samuel Syi, “Enjoying yourself?” Samuel asked. He seemed to be.

  “Not as much as some of the others,” Secrat answered, looking back at Brutus Ess, who yelped and hollered sadistically watching with mirthless amusement once the knight's body snagged against something and decapitated him.

  Samuel had the same sadism carried in his grin, a moment where, with the adrenaline and their hearts pounding, they shared an unrelenting affection for infliction. Of anarchy. Of pain. Of Mischief.

  “What happened to the third man?” Secrat asked, more curious than concerned.

  “He fell back,” Samuel asked. “Think he is going back to inform the others.”

  “It's time we ascend the wall. Amisoic Sea won't be a problem anymore,” Secrat fired urgently, looking behind him to make for certain there weren't any green auras were following them. There weren't.

  Samuel Syi agreed, slowing the carriage and making a turn, having never strayed too far away from the Italinian wall.

  The walls' huge towering never seemed greater. The once cold air of Italina, no longer cold, but rather, freezing. When the adrenaline vacated him, Secrat found himself shivering with discomfort.

  The objective became simple once the carriage was stopped, but they moved fast regardless. In certain spots, they tied the nooses into knots, keeping the gold bars snug in-between them. On the same noose, they focused themselves on the Statue of Livius Reid.

  It was a beautiful aesthetic, the visual splendor of seeing Livius Reid hung by a noose.

  But The Thief took very little time to enjoy himself or that fact, his winded-body deprived of sleep. He felt himself more resembling of a sleepwalker than that of an able-minded man. Samuel Syi gave all the orders, instructing how to do this and how to do that. He was also the one to tie one noose onto another, and do the same with a third. The wall was only about thirty-or-so feet, and thereby, all they needed was three of the four nooses. A good thing too, as Copé doubted any of them would want to use the noose that had severed the knight's head only moments earlier.

  Samuel Syi and Marc Sero brought themselves up the wall. Marc holding onto the rope as he climbed. Neither of them struggled or seemed to have any discomfort whatsoever. Secrat soon began his climb up the wall as well. He had done it once before, a time ago that felt like an eternity-and-a-half, and did it well. But this time was more difficult. His injured hand made it difficult to form a grip around the ridges, but he continued on. By the time Samuel and Marc finished muscling their way up, Secrat was about halfway. The adrenaline coursing through him wasn't enough to alleviate the absolute wore and fatigue, but soon, he reached the top of the wall, taking the hand of Samuel, who helped him making it to a seated position.

  The Statue was the biggest issue of the whole heist. The thought of leaving it likely crossed the mind of many of them. It certainly had crossed Secrat's mind. But they couldn't. The Statue was the most valuable item. And to surrender it would be too large a disappointment.

  Sero shared the rope with Secrat and Samuel. Their tug-of-war with gravity began soon after, them trying their hand at ascending the Statue and gold-bars. The Statue itself was three-hundred pounds, give or take, a heavy son of a bitch, and the gold would stack on about forty or so. The ropes were in no danger of breaking, however. Having carried similarly large men to their death.

  It wasn't as heavy as Copé anticipated. It raised off from the ground easy enough, three foot bled to four, from which then, went to five. The Thief felt the burn of the rope on his hands, or his hand, more-so, as his injured hand offered little assist. Seven feet or so and Copé could feel the sweat on his brow, but ignored it. It'd be a very long way from there, but he knew they'd muscle through.

  After this, it'd be about lifting Brutus Ess, who watched down below them, having to resist the urge to cheer them on with helpful phrases like “Hurry up, assholes!” and the works.

  Taison and Lukas Lewis stood beside the wagon. Lewis twirled a sai around in his hand nervously, both of them were on lookout for any knights. Not that Taison would be any help against them.

  Copé continued yanking up at the rope with heavy might. He doubted his assistance was that greatly appreciated, but they were about fifteen feet up the wall now. About halfway. Samuel and Marc did the heavy-lifting, grunting and tugging like a whore from The Hollow off toward Jalint.

  When the gold-bars began making their way up to them. As directed by Samuel, Secrat unfastened them from the noose and threw them, one by one, over the other-side, into the Unprotected Wilderness. It lightened the lift, and in that, Copé made no stride returning to assist them.

  His eyes went over to Lewis and Taison again. It'd only have been an instant, had he not caught sight of a knight. The night made it so very difficult to make out. All he vaguely saw were the figures and what the moon led view to.

  The cavalryman walked toward them. Lewis took sight of him and did a turnaround, glancing over like he was looking for another Flux member to assist him. But none would. Brutus was in no condition, nor was Taison. He was on his own and soon realized as much.

  The knight-shaped figure had his weapon unsheathed, he wasted little time to swing his blade. Lewis was fast at reacting, leaping back away from the sword. All Lewis had in his hands was a small sai.

  Thieves were trained to make use of weapons like knives and such, and thereby, he wasn't as too much of a disadvantage. Lukas made a jab forward, though, only drove it into the man's armor. It was dark, and finding areas of flesh would be an issue. The man drove a forearm fourth, right to Lewis' temple, sending him spiraling in a daze.

  “Secrat, help!” Samuel hollered out, as at last, the Statue came in arm-reach. Copé did so, grabbing an arm of the statue and lifting, though, he looked on at Lukas battling the knight.

  The knight drove a sabaton to the knee of Lewis, bringing him off from his feet. Lewis held his leg in dismay.

  His adversary was going for the kill; sword readied. The knight brought his sword down, his intentions clearly sighted at the back of Lukas' neck. But instead, he left a tackle from behind by Taison. The round-faced thief wrapped his uninjured arm around the knight's neck, stuck on him like a leech. The knight stammered at first, and fell to one-knee, as Taison continued his hold. Soon, the knight fought back to his feet, the much-larger Taison still him much in his clutches.

  Secrat noticed Lukas Lewis' outline as well, Lewis returning to a vertical base. He gripped the sai in his hands, and upon realizing the situation, ran toward the knight. With the sai, Lukas went for a jab, but simultaneous to that, Copé watched the knight drive an elbow to the broken arm of Taison, forcing him to relent his hold.

  The knight moved. And the sai. Drove into the throat of Taison. Lukas Lewis flinched. Leaving the weapon wedged into his t
hroat.

  The knight swung his sword from behind Lukas, who anticipated it, ducking. A surprised Taison found himself decapitated. Lewis reacted fast, tackling the arm of the knight and prying the sword off of him.

  Secrat felt a smile forming on his face with every action and reaction. A smile of the tides finally turning in his favor.

  Lukas Lewis brought the sword off from the ground and whipped it across the knight's neck. It didn't decapitate him. It wasn't as satisfactory as that. It killed him though. Digging about halfway through his neck, Lewis released it from his clutches before conclusion and watched as the knight fell to his death. His death, by Lukas Lewis' hand.

  They finished tossing the Statue of Livius Reid outside the city walls and it fell with a thud. They began next at lifting Brutus Ess, who was a much, much easier task.

  By the time they finished, Lukas Lewis started his climb up the wall as well. Copé's smile still hadn't left his face, and he didn't know why he felt such joyousness about the chubby boy's death. But he did. He absolutely did. As Lewis joined them, they had already started lowering Brutus slowly down the wall. They couldn't simply drop him like they did the Statue and gold-bars.

  “Will Taison be able to tie the rope around his waist by himself?” Samuel asked, his eyes watching Brutus descend.

  “Taison's dead,” Lukas Lewis said plainly.

  Syi jolted a moment, and Brutus dropped a great-deal faster for a second as a result. Marc Sero carried an unenthused intrigue, while Secrat tried his best at seeming downright surprised. “What do you mean? What happened!?” Samuel asked loudly, either to emphasize shock or because he had to contend with his teeth being clamped down as they lowered Brutus with the noose.

  “A knight showed up, I fought him off, but not before he took a stab to Taison.” Lukas answered, an in-shock lack of emotion in his voice.

  “It looked like more than a stab to me,” Copé answered. He made for certain not to be smiling as he spoke, but it was difficult. “Did you happen to bring the sai's up with you?”

  Lukas shook his head.

  “No matter,” Samuel said. “If one showed up, it's only a matter of time before the rest of the nest comes knocking.” Syi began his climb down, before adding, “It's time we make our leave from this god forsaken hell-hole.”

  Copé saw Marc Sero smile in agreement before making his climb down as well. Lukas Lewis made no quick movements, his face empty and broken, he stared off from into the distance. Off at where Taison's corpse resided. Because of him.

  Copé looked there as well. He could see the Sanchi Tower, standing high, but far into the distance, it glowed green, a beautiful image in spite of the circumstances.

  Secrat Copé held optimism for the very first time in a long time, and as his eyes cast off to the sad Lukas Lewis, he grinned, punching his dearest friend on the shoulder and saying, “At least they didn't cut off your head, killer!”

  Epilogue

  The statue and gold-bars were taken deeper in the Unprotected Wilderness by the members of the troupe and they began scouting for a carriage to carry the cargo back to The Red Flux. The initial idea was to bury the items and leave one of the Flux to watch over the area until the rest of them could arrive back from the Flux campsite with ample means of transportation. However, because the cumbersome nature of the Aer Festival, it was made very easy to steal a small buggy and a couple of horses from slumbering wanderers.

  Fireworks went off into the night as they made their leave, a commemoration, to some, of the Aer Festival and the finishing touches to King Harries' speech. To them, however, it offered condolences for the broken hands, arms, ribs, and severed necks. A well worthwhile grand finale that didn't startle Copé this time as he heard it. They shot off into the sky and broke away like little falling stars. Far more visually appealing at night.

  The arrival back to The Red Flux was met with welcomed arms. Lukas' mother Mirai and little-sister Ansh hugged him, and he, though shattered, feigned a smile.

  The rest of the Flux clapped and hollered with signs of admiration, taken by the beaten wounds dressing each member. A large statue and some gold-bars, not the biggest, nor the most ground-breaking of heists, but a survived heist. Copé ventured out from the wagon and off to the side, standing by Father Toucan Veras, who seemed aware, without having to ask, that all had not gone according to plan.

  His father wore a long, black cloak that went over most his torso, very neat and clean. Contrasting from Copé's dirt-riddled leggings and stained-brown shirt.

  “How's your hand?” He asked Copé, whose hand was a complete blackish purple, resembling someone who had contacted frostbite.

  “It's been worse,” Secrat lied, albeit thinking back to when daddy dearest stomped on his hand and broke in the first time.

  Father Toucan Veras chuckled like the evil sadist Copé always suspected him to be and walked over to Samuel.

  Veras wouldn't be chuckling once Samuel Syi informed him of the countless murders and of Taison's death.

  He didn't, either.

  Soon after, everything fell back into calmness, smaller and less reckless. A venture out into the Whispy Deserts brought fortune from the gold-bars and the Statue of Livius Reid. They even tried to sell the Sword of Charles Tertius, but it was labeled “fake” by merchants. “Seems about right,” remarked Father Toucan, tossing the sword back to Secrat Copé, though nothing else came of it.

  Copé was made an Elite Thief. With Lukas Lewis' indiscretion, he felt himself unjustified in his hatred for The Thief and relented. Though, it was through the help of Copé's exploitation of the fact that such realization was come to.

  Back again, in time, Copé aimed his eyes at the night. Copé had enemies, ... many of them. Ones who wanted him dead. But, in the grand-scheme, stars is all they were. Nothing more, and nothing less.

  He'd face them, undoubtedly. In time. Stars in the sky sure to fall. In time. Such was life. But The Thief would be more than that. Special. Unique. Phenomenal.

  Secrat Copé would be The Moon.