by C B Samet
Why had that detail not been explicit in A Tale of Champions?
Phobus reared and fell. I landed in a cloud of dirt. A Scouter plummeted through the sky toward me—a suicide dive for the demon bird that would drill his sharp through my abdomen. I gaped at it with no way to prevent its deathly impact. If I rolled, a simple tail adjustment would redirect it toward me.
Suddenly, an arrow pierced the bird’s breast and it exploded. Black ash reined down harmless onto my head and shoulders. I looked in the direction the arrow had been fired and saw Coco de Fay reloading another arrow.
Choking, I scrambled to my feet, pulling my sword out of the ash. My shield had vanished, but I still clutched the red stone.
A Slasher seized the opportunity to pounce. His long canine teeth were extended from his gaping jaws and dripping with spittle. His front paws, caked with blood and mud, reached for me.
At the last moment, I rolled and then raised my sword and thrust it into his chest. It sank through his flesh, deep into his chest as the weight of the monster drove me back to the ground. The stench of his matted, rotten fur filled my nostrils. Before he turned to ash, he sank a ragged claw into my left forearm. With new appreciation for the meaning of their name, I screamed in agony.
Malos’s sinister smile glowered in the distance.
A miner swung his axe at Malos. It gave me time to stand, but cost the man his life. Malos’s scepter really did slice through human flesh like butter. I winced as the blood and life left the miner so quickly. Gripping the Ballik blade in my right hand and squeezing the blazing Che stone in my left, I felt blood dripping down my arm, over the stone and onto the black ground below. I tried to control my shaking limbs.
Malos advanced. When our blades clashed for the second time, gold and red sparks flew. I was relieved and encouraged to know that the Ballik ore still had the strength to withstand his wicked scepter, and the Warrior Stone gave me the power and prowess to counter his forceful blows. He struck and I defended.
Malos fought tirelessly while I felt my body fatiguing. Just as Inok had predicted, I was weakly on the defensive with no chance at victory.
Malos sensed my failing and thrust with vigor. The last of a series of strikes landed squarely on my blade and hurled me onto my back.
He was hovering above me, blocking out the moons. The full weight of him was on his scepter, which was perpendicularly pressed against my sword only inches from my chest. I pressed up with my injured left hand, still holding the stone, trying to counter his force.
With a sinking heart, I knew that Malos was close to victory. From my peripheral vision, I saw little Jo fighting for his life. He was dodging the lanky arms of Swallowers and tumbling through their long legs as he tried to hack them down at the knees. He looked so small and so out-numbered, and the poor Ntajidian was growing fatigued.
I thought of my nightmare and the pile of corpses he relished beneath him. With a spike of fury and a cry of pain and anger, I thrust my arms forward and threw up my right leg, kicking his backside with my boot. My trail worn, dirty, stolen boot. He floated away several meters, but not before splaying my upper left arm open by dragging the tip of his scepter along it. I screamed in agony. The fresh cut widened and lengthened the wound inflicted by his wild dog earlier.
At a distance to my left, Baird seemed to be fighting with the same vigor he had against the Muglik warrior on the mountainside. His sward fighting was a skilled dance. His speed and grace was unmatched by any creature on the battlefield. In the few seconds my eyes flittered over him, he eliminated three Swallowers.
Using the Ballik blade as a prop, I stood with painful difficulty. I tried to will my limbs to move swiftly, but my left arm was useless. The loss of blood was draining my strength and even the stone couldn’t counter my weakened state. I was going to bleed to death.
Kicking Malos away avoided my death on the ground, but it gave him the distance he needed to fire his lightning bolt. I recognized his thrusting maneuver and raised the only thing I could in my defense—a very narrow sword.
The yellow bolt cracked forward and struck the blade. Lightning shot through me with excruciating pain. I was hurled onto the ground once again. My body went rigid before collapsing. The taste of blood filled my mouth. My teeth had clenched down on my tongue when my body convulsed.
When I opened my eyes, the stone and sword were scattered in different directions. My vision swam. My cloak had blown away. It lay red and battered and half covered in soot.
I still had my breastplate armor for all the good it wasn’t doing me. I blinked sand and dust from my eyes and spat out a mouthful of blood. Malos was approaching rapidly, and fear gave me a sudden rush of adrenaline. I was thinking clearly again. There wasn’t time to gather both the stone and the sword back to my possession. I ran for the sword. Sliding into the ground, I scooped it up and faced Malos.
Now was my only chance for offense. I would have to do it without the power of the stone, and I could only hope that I could position myself in precisely the right spot where I would have an angle to kill him before his scepter finished me. I took a breath and felt the blue star on my palm.
I love you, Joshua, I thought. If only we had had more time. He would be fine without me though. He had his family, and they would be safe now. Also, Laos had many lovely daughters he could choose for a companion. I was going to do what he had asked me not to do. I was going to be reckless; and this time, I would not survive. His healing stone couldn’t heal the dead.
Then, the clouds parted the way for the moons’ light to shine upon the battlefield. Looking up, I thought of the song Laos had sung.
Turn your soul
Toward Mother Moon,
Let the demons
Fall behind you,
Turn your heart
For the good of all
And the demons
Cannot harm you.
I knew then that I was making the right choice. I closed my eyes, and the ground shifted. I shoved my sword into something dense and firm. When I opened my eyes, my face was inches from Malos’s torso with the Ballik blade sunk to the hilt into him. He smelled of rusty nails and decaying flesh. His yellow scepter fell to the ground. It had missed me by a centimeter.
Mother Moon, I will survive this after all.
I smirked, looking into his tiny, surprised eyes. Just for good mea- sure, or perhaps my own deviousness, I twisted the blade. His mouth opened and unleashed a terrible screech into the night. He started to implode in a black cloud, sucking in the creatures around him. I re- leased the sword and slid away from him. The dust of his dying evil army whipped past me as they were devoured by his ominous void.
Then all was quiet, and the black cloud folded in on itself and vanished.
I lay on the ground panting, tired. Against my protesting muscles, I managed to stand. I stumbled backward, but Phobus was there to catch me. He nudged me back upright with his nose. My aching, bloodied arm hung limp and useless at my side. Fortunately, the heat from the electric shock of Malos’s scepter that had coursed through my body had coagulated my external wounds.
Who knew getting electrocuted would save my life?
I wanted to sink into the black ground and give in to exhaustion.
On the ground next to me, the bladed scepter and with its embed- ded yellow stone rested in a pile of black ash. I lifted it and looked at the large amber stone. It was no longer glowing maliciously, as it was no longer in its owner’s possession to activate it. Studying it further, I realized it was a Che stone. I stared at the imperfections within it.
The Queen had said that creators of the Malanook—The Avant Council—had combined their Che stones. Here it was, a seven-millennia-old conglomerate of power, and its master was Malos. I could end his ever taking another life. In my possession was the ability to destroy his power and simultaneously subject humans to their own evil and wrath.
I pushed the thought away. I was fatigued, weak, angry and in no state to make monumental de
cisions.
Mustering what little strength remained, I struggled onto Phobus and began to search the battlefield. He was limping, just as injured as I was, with blood-spattered coat and mane. There were corpses scattered everywhere, probably five hundred dead—Caballus, Oxville students, miners, Ntajidians, Ballik, and gypsies. I recognized many of them. Allis lay dead, wrapped in his red cloak, smiling in death as he had in life.
Tears streamed down my face.
Then I saw Unis nudging a large, limp body in the distance. Phobus, injured though he was, felt my angst and ran to Unis. I slid off of him and fell to my knees beside the body.
“No, no, no, no,” I pleaded. I rolled him over, but he didn’t move. Placing my head on his chest, I listened to his heart. I couldn’t be sure if I was hearing his or my own pounding heart.
“Joshua,” I pleaded. I stroked his blood-matted hair, but he did not respond.
The Che stone. Trying not to disturb his gaping abdominal wound, which had to have been the work of a Slasher, I searched his pockets. I pulled out the small black stone and set it on his chest.
“You have to make it work. Joshua, please,” I sobbed.
But it did nothing.
Mother Moon!
He was unconscious, and his damned stone couldn’t even heal its owner without his command.
Survivors were silently gathering around us. I looked up, seeing blurred faces through my tears—Jo, Baird, Coco. I blinked and saw the Queen, but turned away from her look of pity, as though Joshua were already dead.
“No, no, no.”
Something. Anything. I can’t lose you.
Perhaps there was something.
“Jo,” I snapped.
He jumped, startled.
“Get on Phobus.” He looked at me hesitantly. “Get on my horse,” I commanded, in a voice that frightened even me.
He climbed on, and Phobus stood beside me.
Without a word, I thrust the amber scepter at the Queen, who accepted it with a solemn yet grateful nod.
“Abigail,” Baird began in gentle protest.
I silenced him with a glare.
Turning back to Jo, I demanded, “You know where the Healing Springs are?”
He nodded.
“Clear your mind and think only of those springs.”
He nodded again.
I knelt back down beside Joshua. With my feeble left arm on his chest, I gripped the horse’s leg with my right hand. I closed my eyes and felt a burning rush through my hand and arm. Suddenly, warm water engulfed us. We sank into the spring. I found footing and pulled Joshua to the surface. Already, I was regaining use of my left hand.
Phobus, whinnying in surprise at finding himself suddenly sub- merged in water, swam to one edge and climbed with difficulty out of the spring. He vigorously shook his body then pranced around the edge of the water and sniffed it suspiciously. Snorting, he walked away from the spring.
Jo emerged from beneath the surface and joined Phobus at the water’s edge.
I looked down at Joshua in my arms, but he still seemed lifeless. Desperately, I asked Jo, “How long does it take?”
“I don’t know,” he replied in a humble whisper.
I tore away Joshua’s shredded shirt, but I couldn’t see his torso beneath the surface of the foaming spring water. I washed his hair and watched a cut on his scalp close as I drizzled water over it. It was working, right?
I looked over at Phobus who was no longer limping. The powers must work very quickly, after all. My left arm was now fully mobile. My swollen tongue was shrunken to its normal size.
I was looking at Joshua in despair, when all of a sudden there was a twitch of an eye and then blinking.
My heart felt like it would burst.
His chest began to rise and fall. His arms wrapped around me, and we embraced. He looked around at the springs and palm trees, blinking.
“I’m certain Marrin Beach doesn’t have springs.”
I laughed. I pulled him to me and kissed him savagely. Everything about his embrace was wonderful and intoxicating. I ran my fingers over his bare back, across his chest, and through his wet, wavy hair.
He finally pulled me away, laughing. “Abbey, can I get this sort of attention more often without being near death first?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “For the rest of my life.”
I kissed him some more. When I remembered that Jo and Phobus were standing nearby, I reluctantly stopped my affectionate display.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he said. “I saw you struck with the lightning bolt from Malos’s scepter.”
I nodded. “I think the sword absorbed some of it, perhaps the Che stone, too. But it was not an experience I ever want to duplicate—not ever.”
As we got out of the pool, I swooned.
Joshua supported me. “Our wounds have healed, but we’ve still lost a lot of blood.”
I felt the weakness, nausea and exhaustion gripping me in full force. I wondered if I looked as pale as Joshua did. There was darkness on the edge of my vision that was growing larger.
“We’ve got to return to Marrin Beach,” I said, motioning Jo to get back on Phobus. I swallowed back the next wave of nausea.
“Abbey, you’ve got to rest. You’re as pale as Mother Moon,” he protested.
I thought of all the injured we needed to help and the dead we needed to bury. So many lives were lost because it took me so long to reach Malos and so long to defeat him. I couldn’t help but wonder whose absurd idea it was to make me the Champion. Did they know the end result would be so devastating?
Grabbing Joshua’s arm and Phobus’s mane, I whisked us back to the beach. That was the last drop of strength I had. I sank into Joshua’s arms and succumbed to the blackness that was eager to envelop me.
Light streamed in through a small crack in the curtains over a large set of windows. Birds sang in the distance. I was alive. Joshua was alive. Malos was dead. Another thousand years of peace were bought with those who sacrificed themselves—including Paul, Mom and Dad.
“Abbey,” a deep, concerned voice beckoned.
I opened my eyes and turned to see Joshua seated beside my bed. He was handsomely groomed and dressed in pants and a blue shirt. I reached out a hand, and he grasped it warmly. Looking around the room, I recognized I was in one of the Queen’s guest rooms.
“How long have I been sleeping?” I asked.
“Two days.” I bolted upright. “Two days!” I instantly regretted the sudden movement as my head pounded.
“Well, day and half,” he corrected. “You needed rest, Abbey. The battlefield’s been cleared. There’s a cremation ceremony tomorrow. Two days after that is your celebratory convocation.”
“Mine?”
“You’re the Avant Champion, Abbey. People want to give you formal recognition and praise for what you did.”
I frowned as my eyes swept around the room. An entire wall was filled with packages—small delicately wrapped boxes, larger boxes, some wrapped in gold foil, and others with brown paper. Sacks of un- known contents leaned against other boxes and there were garment bags as well.
“What is all of this?” I asked
“Gifts for you, Abbey,” he explained. “Gifts from thankful people from all over the continent.”
There must have been a hundred packages. I thought about how many lives were lost. If I had won sooner or killed Malos in one of our many encounters before battle, fewer lives would have been lost.
“Anyone could have...”
Joshua squeezed my hand and narrowed his eyes at me. “And you are going to accept their gratitude.”
“I can’t help feeling like things should have gone better, with less death. Maybe, if someone had told me I was the Champion.”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “Would you have believed them?”
I looked away, thinking about it. “No,” I admitted. “But I came so close to ... I almost let him kill me. I mean, I hesitated for a moment by t
he bonfire. Malos confronted me and I thought for a moment that I was supposed to sacrifice myself. I nearly let him kill me,” I added in whisper.
Joshua looked stricken and sallow. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. “I imagine that was part of the process, the mental preparedness for you to become the Champion. But Abbey,” he added, urgently now, “promise me that if you ever consider giving up your life as one of the options in any situation, know it is the wrong option. In fact, it’s not even an option.”
I nodded, looking down at our hands. I focused on the ring he had given me. Its silver beauty shone in the sunlight. Looking up at him, I saw that he, too, was looking at the ring. Slowly sliding out of his chair, he rested on one knee beside my bed.
“Do you still want to marry me, Abbey?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
He leaned forward and we kissed. I felt myself floating away in the kiss, wanting to pull him to me and lose ourselves in each other’s arms. He pulled away, every movement fraught with reluctance.
Standing, he said, “Good. Then we’ll unite when things have settled down a bit.”
I nodded, wishing our marriage could be in three days rather than a celebration of me—the daft Champion, who took so long to figure out who she was and who took so long to send Malos back to Mulan.
“Now take a bath. You smell like an ox. I’ll be back to check on you.”
I hurled my pillow at him, and he left with a grin and a wink.
I bathed and felt refreshed though I was continually distracted by my strange appearance in the mirror. My black hair was a mess, that was nothing new, but my eyes were a vibrant blue, the color of the Aqua Santos. I wondered if they would always be so beautiful or even- tually fade back to brown. I tamed my hair as best I could with a brush and found a gray cotton dress to wear.
Joshua knocked and then entered with a cart of fresh fruit, cheese and meats ornately laid out with mugs of lemonade on the side. We sat down and ate hungrily. I asked him a name and he would tell me if they had survived or not. Of our dearest friends, Laos was gone, but all of his children survived. In total, three Gunthi monks were dead, but Baird Potts lived. Sam and Vonik had died. Alencia and Vallik were alive to mourn their deaths. Aman, the Queen’s advisor, had survived captivity.
