“Crystil, though you are not a Kastori and cannot cast spells, this sword already contains the power to deflect and reflect spells back to the caster. In using this weapon, you can defend yourself against Typhos and his soldiers, allowing you to charge in and use your techniques to defeat the enemy.”
Erda stood between both of them and took turns looking from one to the other.
“Obviously, the black magic sword is missing. This is the one Typhos took, and since he took it many, many years ago, he has by now become a powerful wielder. This is why our goal is to rescue Celeste—her magic, combined with these swords, can defeat Typhos. But individually, he would crush us.”
Cyrus swung the sword once more, feeling powerful and confident about his chances against any magicologist.
“Then we train and do everything we can to focus on getting Celeste back,” Cyrus said.
He saw Crystil looking at him with a surprised expression, but he didn’t indulge. Time to focus.
“How long have these swords been here?” Crystil asked.
“As long as I can remember,” Erda said. “To be honest, we once had that information, but Typhos has made it impossible now to find that information. It’s been nearly two decades since I got the chance to see these, thanks to Calypsius, but I know they’ve been here long before.”
“Interesting,” Crystil said as she swung her weapon through the air. “Did you ever use these?”
“No,” Erda said. “No, I try and stay out of the violence as best as I can. Unfortunately, my best isn’t good enough, but in this case, we have two swords and three people and only two of them have experience. You two will train with them, and I will not even touch them.”
Cyrus swung once more before placing the sword down at his feet. We’ll train. We’ll succeed. We’ll get my sister back. And then we’ll slaughter Typhos once and for all. Get our home back and bring peace.
“Get some rest,” Erda said as she yawned. “Training begins in the morning.”
31
I can play a part in this battle. I can make a difference.
Crystil couldn’t sleep as she laid on the smooth ground, looking up at the sea of stars. Optimism coursed through her, even as her de facto little sister remained prisoner on a planet she thought she’d never have to return to. To her left, at arm’s reach, the red sword lay parallel to her. She wanted to get up, swing it around, and practice deflections, but with no walls or even flaps between her, Erda, and Cyrus, she chose to remain silent.
Cyrus suddenly stood and walked toward the stairs, disappearing out of view. Curious and wanting to comfort Cyrus, Crystil quietly rose and followed Cyrus, who sat on the top step of the spiraling staircase. She sat close enough that their hips touched, for any distance would’ve put them dangerously close to the edge.
“You OK, Cyrus?” Crystil asked as he observed the night in silence for a long time.
“I don’t know that you could call it OK, Crystil,” he said as he scratched his head. “I feel good about our chances. If we execute this plan right, we’re not going to lose. But there’s just so much to chance we can’t control, and if I had been a better brother, we wouldn’t be here. And I’m just pissed off about it.”
“No, stop,” Crystil said. “You can’t beat yourself up like this. It’s no one’s fault. Typhos came here on a mission to find Celeste, and none of us were going to stop him.”
Cyrus snorted. He doesn’t agree, he’s just not going to verbalize that.
“Cyrus, I love how focused you are now. How intent you are on getting Celeste back. That’s a powerful form of love that, well, I kind of wish I felt still. But take it from someone who made a living out of remaining overly focused. If you let the anger and self-blame consume you, we’re going to lose.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Cyrus.”
He sighed and turned to her. Something struck Crystil at that moment.
Under the stars, with just the two of them, there was something human about him that his cocky nature hid too well. She loved flirting with him during sword fighting and enjoyed his banter. But I never saw this until now. Never. The support he has for his sister… it’s easy to see it when they’re together. But to see it when he needs to rescue her…
“OK, I may be a little pissed off,” he said, with a guilty smile that the stars brightened. “I’m angry that we have to go back to war. I’m angry that we have to go back to Monda, to the burial grounds of my father and many of my friends. And I’m angry that Typhos thinks he can convert Celeste to his side, and that Erda believes he could pull it off. Aren’t you angry, Crystil?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it’s a directed anger. I know when to use it. I know how to utilize it in battle. I don’t let it prevent me from sleeping or relaxing when I need to.”
A pause came, and an amused smile from Cyrus followed.
“That’s why you are awake like I am?”
The two roared in laughter, and both shushed the other out of fear of waking Erda. Crystil squeezed Cyrus’ arm to help herself calm down, and when she did finally stop laughing, she still had a wide grin on her face.
“She probably thinks we’re idiots,” Crystil said. “Goofballs who can’t sleep. But seriously, Cyrus, just… don’t let your anger get to you. I barely know Typhos, and I can tell his anger controls him instead of him controlling it.”
“Understood, philosopher,” Cyrus said, elbowing Crystil playfully.
The two giggled more, and the calming silence of the night eventually settled them down. It’s nice to be out here and not have Calypsius. No monsters. Or, for that matter, no ships. No fighters. Nothing. It’s as peaceful and empty a place as you could ever find in the universe. Just me and…
“Wonder what Erda’s thinking right now,” Cyrus said. “She seemed pretty beat up about all of this.”
“You’re not mad at her anymore?” Crystil asked, genuinely surprised.
“I am,” Cyrus said. “But I’m trying to be empathic. It’s what Celeste would have wanted. Erda said something about old habits. Like she’s run before. From what? Fighting Typhos?”
“I can’t think of anything else,” Crystil said. “She sounded like she’s reached her breaking point, though. This is it for her.”
Cyrus nodded.
“Well hopefully if it is, it comes after Typhos is gone,” he said. “This ain’t it for me. I ain’t going anywhere, and you well better not be either.”
He stood up and dusted himself off, and reached down and offered a hand to Crystil. She accepted it, and when she stood up, their hands remained clasped together. Crystil felt their fingers interlocking, but before they came together entirely, Cyrus pulled back. His sister. It’s all he can think about. Should think about
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Crystil,” he said as he ascended the steps. He turned back once at the top of the peak to face her, then disappeared.
Crystil watched with a warm smile as he went to the peak. She’d sleep a lot better now knowing the cocky boy she’d had to babysit just six months ago would now confidently lead the charge to rescue Celeste.
32
Cyrus rose to a sun that seemed so close, he felt like he could grab it, dousing it for extra sleep. No, get your head right. Gotta train. Gotta get ready. Or Celeste won’t have more mornings to sleep in.
He stood, dusted himself off, and reached for his sword. With Crystil and Erda still asleep, he practiced against an imaginary opponent, one with real tendencies, strengths, and features.
He imagined battling Typhos with the foe’s massive size, giant sword, and sheer anger. Such an opponent would hack as furiously as he could, creating tremendous force but making it easy to fall off balance. Cyrus tried to goad the imaginary foe into attacking him, trying to sidestep the evil magicologist and allow him a counterattack.
What Cyrus did not know, however, was how to properly calibrate a blow from Typhos. Cyrus managed to “kill” Typhos in the simulation, a satisfying conclusi
on but one that left him feeling empty—it’s not gonna be that easy when I see him.
Is it worth practicing if the practice isn’t on the level of the real thing?
He dropped his sword as Erda groaned and rolled over. The noise woke Crystil, who got up and on her feet. She looked to Cyrus like she hadn’t slept much after their conversation. I wonder…
“You practicing?” she asked in a scratchy voice.
Cyrus nodded and grabbed his sword tightly as if preparing for another battle.
“Good,” she said. “Let me—”
“Wait.”
Both turned to Erda, who approached Cyrus.
“Hold your weapon out.”
Cyrus did so, and Erda closed her eyes.
Fwooomph.
Cyrus’ sword burned, endowed with the power of fire. He stepped away from the two women and swung his weapon in the air. It carried the same weight and feel as before, and though he could feel the heat from the flame when he put it near his face, his hands did not burn.
He saw Erda once more with her eyes shut, and suddenly he felt a freezing chill. He looked at his weapon, encased in ice, once again carrying a similar weight. The sword rapidly switched between crackling electricity, ice, and fire.
“These are the things you can do with your sword, Cyrus,” Erda said. “Depending on the opponent, you would be wise to equip your sword with a particular endowment.”
But one had already caught his eye—the one that had destroyed civilization on both Monda and Anatolus.
Fire. Fight Typhos with my own fire.
“Cast it yourself,” she said, and she removed her magical assistance.
Cyrus held the sword aloft and closed his eyes. He imagined the magic coursing through his hand and lighting the steel on fire. He envisioned embers dancing on the tip, ready to jump to his opponent and burn him.
He opened his eyes and looked at the fire. It was not as powerful as the one Erda had cast, but it was a fire that would still burn. Cyrus grinned excitedly as he swung the blade.
“In time, you will learn to switch the magical element of your sword in the middle of battle,” Erda said. “But for now, know that once you cast a spell on your blade, until you actively choose to remove it, this sword will carry that element.”
Beautiful. Go and burn all the magicologists down.
“Crystil,” she said, and Cyrus quickly dispelled the fire from his sword. Let’s see what this girl can do. “Hold your sword out.”
Her eyes betrayed a slight nervousness—something Cyrus didn’t think he’d see much of out of her. Erda closed her eyes, and a single bolt of lightning shot out of her. The lightning hit the sword and deflected away harmlessly, though Crystil did stumble backward.
“That is the power of your sword, Crystil. You will need to practice the feel of this, because soon we will practice casting spells without aiming at the sword, and you will have to fine tune your reflexes.”
“Understood,” Crystil said, the hardened soldier on display, much to Cyrus’ relief.
You should throw something her way.
No, dude. This is focus time. Let her train. Wait until she’s ready.
But Cyrus didn’t want to wait. He wanted to surprise her. The competing voices in his head duked it out, but the cocky one won out.
Erda cast a fire spell, and Crystil was ready for it as she planted her rear foot back, much like a powerful overhead strike might require.
Cyrus saw the opening and sent a harmless but annoying light lightning spell her way. With remarkable reaction, Crystil turned the sword toward him and not only deflected but reflected the spell back at him. Cyrus fell to his knees as the shock went through his trembling legs.
“Looks like you already know how to reflect spells,” Erda said with a wry smile.
“No, I just know when this boy’s up to something,” Crystil said. “Nice try, thinking you could fool me with your serious talk. But I knew you couldn’t last long without some levity.”
“Ugh,” Cyrus groaned as he got to his feet. “OK, lesson learned. Stay focused.”
“Occasionally,” Crystil retorted. “I enjoyed that.”
Agreed. But now for real. Celeste is waiting. We train.
“You both should practice,” Erda said. “I will go and get food. Also, your sheaths for the swords are at the base of the statues.”
Erda left the peak, and Cyrus soon sensed Erda had teleported. He turned to Crystil, practicing her sword technique, both the regular fundamentals and the deflection.
“Wanna go?” he said.
Crystil held her sword down and nodded once. Cyrus grabbed his, embedded it with a fire spell, and waved her over.
Without another word, the two sparred with frightening ferocity ill-fit for a simple practice round. Both fought as if the opponent was Typhos, both determined to draw first blood. Cyrus cleared his mind of any thoughts and strategies, going on pure instinct. Crystil fought as Crystil always did—tough and as the enemy would.
Cyrus swung his sword at her face, and though she ducked away, the fire left red marks on her face.
“That will be quite useful,” Crystil said.
Cyrus said nothing, still focused on winning. But to his surprise, Crystil dropped her sword and raised her hands.
“I love your spirit right now, Cyrus. I’ve never seen you this focused before.”
“Having your sister’s life on the line has a way of focusing you,” he said, his grip still impossibly tight on his sword.
“Agreed, but don’t exhaust yourself on the first day. Let’s eat, practice some more, and pace ourselves.”
Is this how they trained on Monda? There’s no way.
He exhumed the flame and placed his sword on the ground, frustrated, not bothering to find the sheath.
“Cyrus, I see your frustration, but trust me. OK? I know a thing or two about training.”
“Yeah, but—”
“There’s no but. We don’t have a firm deadline. That means we have to train systematically and not ramp up too quickly, OK?”
Begrudgingly, Cyrus nodded.
Just a couple minutes later, Cyrus, who sat on to the edge of the peak, stood as he felt the presence of Erda return. She walked up the steps with a large precora which would feed them for at least the rest of the day. She placed the precora in front of the black statue and turned around.
“You two have learned what you are capable of,” she said. “Before we eat, it’s time to prove that you can reach that level in battle.”
33
Cyrus immediately grabbed his sword and held it at the ready.
Erda slid her mask on, and Cyrus silently prepared to do battle with the chief if needed. If that’s what she means, let’s go. I’m ready. But instead, a lone figure appeared before him.
It was one of the magicologists who had laid waste to the outpost. He wore long black robes with red stripes and an ugly disfigured mask. Cyrus fought back from a scathing remark and concentrated on casting a fire spell on his sword. The sword ignited, the fire much stronger than the last one, as the adrenaline of battle increased his power.
Cyrus reminded himself to stay calm. The thought of his sister flashed in his mind, but he chose to observe the magicologist pull out a smaller sword. There was nothing Cyrus saw that made this look like anything other than a real magicologist with a real sword who could inflict real, possibly fatal damage to him.
Cyrus approached slowly, remembering Crystil’s lessons. The magicologist put his hand up, paralyzing Cyrus. But Cyrus broke the spell in less than a second as the magicologist charged with his sword raised.
Instead of waiting for the magicologist to swing his blade down, Cyrus met him at the top, pushing his sword backward and knocking the enemy off balance. Cyrus quickly brought his sword back to keep his balance and plunged it into the enemy, who quickly vanished.
“Impressive,” Erda said. “Remember, in a battle like this, your enemy will not just fight you with weapons. Th
ey will try and cast spells on you and distract you.”
Cyrus nodded and turned to Crystil for further feedback.
“Remember your surroundings. That move might work against one foe, but against several, you expose yourself by bringing your sword higher than it needs to be.”
Cyrus again nodded and looked back at Erda.
“Anything else?”
“Do you want to go to the next level?” Erda asked.
“Yes,” Cyrus said without delay.
Erda again prepared a summoning, and Cyrus observed three magicologists appearing—two with gray stripes and one with red stripes. He placed himself into battle position as he analyzed their weapons. The red-striped magicologist had no weapon, but the two gray-striped ones each had a sword—one with a water endowment, and one with an ice enhancement. Cyrus equipped his sword with a fire spell, and circled the enemy. He kept his distance, for he did not want to be paralyzed and struck down.
“Come on, come get me,” Cyrus said, trying to goad them into a poorly coordinated attack.
But none advanced.
“Talking will not persuade the guardians,” Erda advised.
It would on Typhos, thought Cyrus, but he knew better than to assume that would lead to victory over Typhos.
His thoughts vanished when the red-striped magicologist paralyzed him, but he broke the spell as the two gray-striped ones charged at him. Cyrus pivoted such that only the one with the water sword could attack him, and he swung his blade at the enemy.
The magicologist blocked it and pushed him back with surprising strength. When Cyrus looked at his blade, he saw he had lost the fire spell.
The water killed it.
Everything beats something and loses to something. Nothing in nature is indestructible.
The other magicologist came to him, and Cyrus parried his attack. He swung hard at the magicologist, whom he cut, but did not kill. Cyrus backed off and quickly cast an electric spell. Once his blade crackled with electricity, he slaughtered the magicologist with the water-enhanced sword.
Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) Page 12
