by J. T. Wright
Trent held his breath, but Orion actually laughed. “Orc Warriors? Albion would never bring simple Warriors against me! They were all Advanced Classes, some twice specialized. Shadow Blessed, Scythe Bearers, Death Crusaders, the least of them was a Bone Crusher!
“You’ve seen my current Level. I was stripped of much by my exile. Skills, Levels, weapons mastery. They could not remove my Spirit Summoner Class completely, that would have been a crime in itself. But they regressed my Level and sealed the Class and its Skills. I am but a shell of what I once was.”
Tersa’s lips moved, but it took her a second before she could whisper, “There’s a way to remove Skills and Levels? You can Specialize Advanced Classes? But, but… Level 50 and…"
Orion’s forehead furrowed as he puzzled out her confusion. “I would like to see this Al’drossford you come from. It must be a simple place. I mean no offense, but I have heard you speak as if Level 50 is an unobtainable goal, and Advanced Classes are the pinnacle of strength. Basic and Specialized Classes build the foundation, but even Advanced Classes are but the beginning. Level 50? I was nearly at Level 100 before my exile, and I was only 23 years of age.”
Tersa gasped as her understanding of the world crashed into ruins. There was no doubting Orion’s words. The man had nothing to gain by lying; he already had the Orb he said was priceless. But if he wasn’t lying…
“There’s a reason,” Trent said gently. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s a good one.”
“Sure, ‘course there is,” Tersa answered, tossing her head and pulling away. “But how can you be sure?”
“Sergeant Cullen,” Trent replied. “You saw him before he left with Lieutenant Alistern…Allen?...Alistern… The Sergeant has real strength, I could feel it. From a dozen feet away, you could tell he was more. He has real strength, and he hides it. He only revealed it then to give us a little hope.”
Sergeant Cullen? Tersa could easily see the Sergeant lying. Of course, he lied. So what? He was still the Sergeant, and he’d never do anything to hurt the Guard. Tersa still didn’t understand, but her world settled back into place around the pillar that was her faith in the Guard and the Sergeant.
She waved a hand in Orion’s direction. “Continue,” she said graciously.
“Thank you,” Orion replied equally as gracious as he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I took my brother’s head and reported his crimes to the Clan. My mother kissed my cheek, comforted me, thanked me. The next day she stripped me of all that I mentioned and exiled me for my own crime, leaving me only my family name to let others know that I still carried honor.
“She had no choice.” Orion didn’t let Tersa’s indignation interrupt him this time. “The clans, they are like your Guard, I imagine. We are homeless wanderers, mercenaries, and soldiers. Like all soldiers, we depend on rules and regulations to hold us together. If my mother made an exception for me, it would crush the Clan. My brother was helpless against me. I could have taken him prisoner, and I knew what would happen when I decided not to. I did it to spare my mother the task of standing judgment over her youngest son. Better I kill him than she sentences him to death. I do not regret it.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” Trent held his arms wide and then let them drop. “I thought you didn’t like to speak of your past.”
“I don’t like to discuss my past with strangers,” Orion corrected. “We are no longer strangers, I think. In this last week, I’ve grown to think of you two as family.”
Orion scratched his ear uncomfortably. “I hope you, well, no matter. This Orb creates a debt between us, Trent, a debt I can never repay. Not only is it a valuable treasure to the Clan, but holding it has unsealed my Spirit Summoner class. The condition for my return to the Clan was for that to happen. You’ve returned my place to me.
“I have nothing to offer in return, but,” Orion wet his lips, “you have no family of your own, Trent. I would make you my sworn brother and gift you with my family name, Embra, if you will allow it. The Clan will honor my pledge, and you will always be welcome among us, as one of us.”
Trent was speechless. He knew the importance of names, even if he was fuzzy on the relevance of family. What Orion was offering him… As a Summons he was defined by his name. Kirstin had named him Trent casually, spitefully. For Orion to sincerely give him a name…
“In truth, Trent,” Orion said, misunderstanding the boy’s internal struggle. “If you were to display your Status before any Al’rashian clan, they would welcome you based on your Survivalist Class alone. You are a walking piece of our history. I …”
“What about me?” Tersa broke in rudely. “You think of me as family, too, right?”
“I will always consider you an obnoxious little sister, Tersa,” Orion’s eyes twinkled. “But what I am proposing to Trent, would actually change his Status. For him, it is a gain, but you would lose your own family name.”
Tersa was quick with a response. “My family is trash. Wouldn’t mind a new one.” This last bit of information was offered shyly, and in a quiet voice that Orion would have sworn she was incapable of using.
“Then, Clan Embra would be glad to have you.” It was an effort to say this solemnly, rather than in disbelief. Was this the girl that only a few days ago had referred to him as a rotten, pissing, murderer, condemned by the gods to eat shit in the afterlife for all eternity? Had that one been replaced by a Mimic while he wasn’t looking?
“Trent?” Orion didn’t want to push the boy, but he couldn’t look at Tersa as she plucked at the grass like a maiden at a picnic; it wasn’t natural.
Trent was lost in his own thoughts. He blinked when Orion called his name. His chin lifted as he said, “I accept.”
“Good!” Orion’s face was solemn. He felt genuine affection for these two youths, but his offer wasn’t entirely unselfish. Trent sat before him, holding the weapons of an Al’rashian Warrior. He held a Class deeply tied with a legacy long lost to Orion’s people. He’d found a Spirit Orb which he freely gave up. Trent was unmistakably special.
Orion had been raised to lead Clan Embra. His life had taken another course, but his training and sense of responsibility remained. He would be betraying his duty if he failed to establish a link with Trent.
Orion sorted through his own feelings, a mixture of guilt, satisfaction, and gratitude. Trent would be an asset to the Clan, and Orion’s offer would benefit the lad. Tersa… Orion saw no reason to deny her. Like Trent, she was honest and trustworthy. Internally Orion swore to look out for them, to guide them the best he could.
He kept his gaze focused and resisted the urge to avert his eyes as he lifted his staff horizontally in front of him. “You both need only lay a hand on the staff.”
The two did so without question. Orion wondered at the trust they placed in him. He would not betray it. He closed his eyes and sought the Orb with his mind. The Orb was a warm light calling to him, he pushed on it and activated the power within.
In truth, Orion wasn’t sure what would happen. A Spirit Summoner was like a Priest in Al’rashian culture, and Orion was well versed in the ceremonies and duties required of him, but this was the first time he’d performed this act, the Rite of Blood. No Spirit Orb had survived the fall of the Al’rashia nation, nor the knowledge of how to create them, and without one, Orion’s Class was nearly crippled.
As important as this occasion was, the process was simple. At the center of the Staff, the Orb pulsed and flashed, reacting to Orion’s will. Energy built and then slowly ran out of the Orb, flowing through the wood until it found the applicants that were waiting to be acknowledged as Embras.
Tersa closed her eyes as a refreshing sensation crept up her arm and over her body. It tingled in a not-unpleasant way. It tickled, and she wrinkled her nose as a giggle escaped her. Orion almost lost concentration at the sound. Where was the braying laughter that Tersa normally emitted, usually in reaction to her own jokes? He hadn’t known she was capable of quiet amusement
.
While Tersa reveled in a world of relaxation, Trent was desperately trying to pull his fingertips away from the smooth wood of the staff. His body refused to heed his commands. The energy from the Orb was paralyzing him more thoroughly than Tersa’s Shocking Touch.
What had started as a gentle warmth was now a ferocious burning. Trent’s fire resistance was no help, nor was his Endurance Attribute. It was no exaggeration to say he felt like he was burning alive. Trent was intimately familiar with what it felt like to have fire rage around and through you. He had never wanted to experience the feeling ever again, and if anything, this was worse.
The fire was internal, flowing through his veins, impossible to escape. The pain robbed him of his voice as it crept up his arm and slowly made its way throughout his body. Unable to resist or even to scream, Trent was a prisoner in his own flesh as the wave of energy burned its way up past his throat and into his brain.
Orion didn’t realize anything was wrong until the light burst from Trent’s eyes. White, fierce, and unexpected, the glow blinded Orion momentarily. He gave a shocked yell and dropped his Staff as he covered his face with his hands,
Tersa blinked sleepily at the sudden commotion. Why was Orion yelling? What was that whimpering noise? She let out a contented sigh and looked around.
Orion was rubbing at his face, and when he lowered his arms, his expression was stricken, Trent was curled up in the fetal position making soft keening noises. These two were always acting weird.
“Oh, come on. It was nice, but it didn’t feel that good.” Tersa slapped Trent’s leg to bring him out of what she thought was a pleasure induced stupor. It was just a tap, but Trent screamed as enflamed nerves amplified the blow until it felt like he’d been stabbed, repeatedly.
Startled, Tersa leaned back. Now concerned, she climbed to her feet and took care of him the best way she knew how. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t be a baby!”
What was he thinking? Yelling like that! Was he just trying to scare her? Maybe he needed a little Shock to remind him that practical jokes weren’t funny!
Unable to resist Tersa’s superior strength, Trent found himself standing. His body tried to collapse again, but Tersa held him up. Orion stood and supported Trent as well. Held up between them, his legs steadied under him, but he was still slumped over, breathing unevenly.
Still not completely understanding what was going on with him, Tersa pounded on Trent’s back, ignoring Orion’s attempts to stop her. Oddly, the rhythmic thumping seemed to help. Trent forced himself upright, and she stopped then, but only because she was astonished at his appearance.
“What happened to you?” Thinking she was referring to his fit, Trent was confused when she asked, “Why do you look like that?”
It was an effort, but Trent forced his chin off his chest so he could look around. Orion still had a hand supporting him, but Tersa moved to stand in front. She studied him critically with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Trent coughed, his mouth dry. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re wrong,” Tersa said simply. “Changed. You are Trent, right?”
Seeing Trent wasn’t about to fall, Orion joined Tersa. His lips parted slightly as he took in Trent’s appearance. He’d heard the Rite of Blood could have this effect, but he had never heard of such a dramatic change before.
“What do you mean? How have I changed?” Tersa’s declaration that he was “wrong" wasn’t enough to banish the aftereffects Trent was still feeling, but his mind cleared up enough to worry about disfigurement.
“Well, you’re shorter, a lot shorter, almost back to what you were before.” Tersa held her hands a foot apart to demonstrate Trent’s height change.
Orion reached over and pushed her hands closer together until her palms were only separated by a mere three or four inches. Trent was shorter, but he was still taller than Tersa; her exaggerations wouldn’t help Trent adapt.
Tersa looked between her hands and Trent and decided Orion was right. “About this much shorter. And your hair is all black-blue, or blue-black, kind of shiny.”
There was no correction from the silent Orion this time. “Then there’s your face. You look like Orion, only your eyes are purple but still like his. You know, purple inside, white outside but no black in the middle like regular people have.”
Orion’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t tell Tersa that his eyes were perfectly regular for an Al’rashian. And that was what Trent looked like now. Slimmer, shorter, with angular facial features, Trent looked like a typical Al’rashian who had just Awakened his Status. There was only one correction Orion had to make.
“Violet.” His voice was strained. “Your eyes are violet, Trent."
“That’s what I said,” Tersa grumbled. “His eyes are purple. Violet is purple.”
“A thousand years ago, there were Al’rashians who would kill you for saying their eyes were purple,” Orion grumbled back at her. “Today, there are no clansmen with violet eyes, but still, if they heard you say Trent’s eyes were purple, they’d probably cut out your tongue.”
Tersa stared at him, uncertainly, and looked around for her mace. Orion put a hand on her shoulder. “That was poorly said. No Embra would do such a thing to one of his own, which is what you and Trent are now. But as one of us, you should know our traditions. Trent’s eyes are violet.”
Trent’s apparently violet eyes bulged in bafflement. Wasn’t someone going to explain what had happened to him? Orion shifted uneasily under Trent’s stare.
“I apologize, Trent,” he said hurriedly. “You need to know why this transformation has occurred. I should have realized that this was a real possibility. The Rite of Blood was originally meant to accept children of mixed races into a clan. It not only changes your name; it can also bring out your bloodline. You are more Al’rashian now.”
Trent’s expression didn’t change. How could he be “more" of something that he never was in the first place? He was a Summons! His Status said he was human.
Tersa elbowed Orion’s arm. “Hey, he's an orphan, remember? He probably didn’t know he was part of you guys… us guys? Am I Al’rashian now?”
“Only your Status can answer that, but it is doubtful. You have joined the Embra Clan. It appears that Trent has joined the Clan and the people.” Orion kept his voice tranquil with difficulty. If he had been alone, he would have howled and danced. When he had awakened the Spirit Summoner Class, the Clan had celebrated for a week. Now, for a Survivalist, with violet eyes, the whole Al’rashian nation would come together to feast. All Al’rashian people prayed for children with violet eyes.
But now was not the time to speak of that. “You should eat and rest, Trent. There’s no telling when this Safe Zone will collapse.”
“Six hours,” Trent said automatically. He was reading his Status, specifically the section that now said he was Al’rashian, over and over. He didn’t even need to think to see the Safe Zone’s countdown, and without thinking, he spoke.
“I hope you are correct.” Orion, seeing Trent wince and then redden as the boy realized what he’d said, paused. “Why do you think there are only six hours left?”
It was Tersa and Orion’s turn to be baffled as Trent sputtered and stammered an explanation. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but once he had, he never considered hiding the truth, that his Status gave him details about the Trial.
“Is this an Al’rashian thing?” Tersa asked, crossing her arms.
“We tell many stories about the Survivalists and the violet-eyed, but none mention…” Trent continued to throw new things at him, and Orion no longer knew what to think. “This must remain between us. If it were to get out…”
Tersa nodded emphatically. “Yes! Trent, from now on, you should only tell secrets like that to me!”
Trent squinted at her and licked his lips. “We only have six hours. I want to rest now. But, Orion, do you know about Sword Technique Skills?”
“This is an Al’rashian technique meant to be used with our swords. It is difficult to master, but once you do…but now is not the time for you to worry about the Advanced Skills. Learn from the Stone. Eat, and rest, consider what the Stone teaches you, but do not become too focused on it. The forms of Ocean Meets the Shore must be carefully trained in.”
That was all Orion would say on the matter, and after absorbing the Stone, Trent understood why. It wasn’t a single Skill, but more like a set of Skills. And more. Each Level of the Technique was more complicated than the last. It would take hours of practice just to grasp the footwork and attacks of the first Level.
He ate and put on his new armor. He bound the Spiritual Vambraces, but they still didn’t reveal any new purpose or Ability. He tried not to be disappointed by that, and he laid down to rest. With a few more Levels maybe… Even with all that had happened, Trent didn’t expect to sleep. When a hand shook him awake, his eyes popped open to find Orion standing over him.
“Something is happening.”
At Orion’s words, Trent climbed to his feet and buckled his weapon belt on over his armor. Orion had sounded concerned, and after a moment, Trent saw why.
Six hours had passed, and the Safe Zone was collapsing. In the distance, a tide of black and grey was rushing towards them as the dead land of the Trial reclaimed the cavern. Grass and herbs were withering and dying, flowers wilting and crumbling, all was returning to the same state as the land outside the cavern. Bleak and ugly, this Trial was not a place for the softness of the living.
