The Fate: Book 1: Tournament Wysteria

by Ko, John

  “Enough, this ends here,” the Daughter proclaims. She sheathes her katana and coils up in preparation for the finale. It’s time to show the Captain just what she’s been up to these last couple months.

  “Sing, flying serpent Ehecthal!” Riser screams, flying forward with the force of a tempest behind her. As the world blurs past she pulls her sword free of its scabbard with all her might.

  Just as she knew he would, the Fate answers, “Iron Blood Block.”

  Their weapons clash. Riser recoils, flying back and away. Flipping once, she kicks her feet high into the air behind her. The Daughter straightens herself in midair, her sword pointed directly at the Fate, her body rigid and deadly as an arrow she shrieks, “Verse Two.” Her boots sputter once and then twice before gusting viciously, flinging her forward as if freed from a bow.

  Now, it’s over. The second verse of Ehecthal’s Song is twice as hard to master as the first, and much more than twofold as devastating.

  “Squeak, Squeak,” answers the ball of fur that emerges from the Captain’s hood. The unassuming little creature is just in time to witness the end of the one he’s bound to. He holds up a single claw to the boy and leaps from his shoulder, directly at the oncoming Daughter.

  With a shrug, the tiny chipmunk deflects Riser’s mightiest attack.

  He falls back onto the boy’s shoulder. The chipmunk looks up at the Fate, his gaze piercing through the boy’s battle frenzy. With his statement made the chipmunk disappears into the boy’s hood.

  More than shocked, Riser picks herself off the road and blinks twice. The Fate reaches over and presses the tip of his Stick to her chest.

  “Fluttering Blade,” he says. The sprout that appeared earlier has grown into a single leaf. The petal begins to dance wildly as if caught in a squall. As it twists and turns, its razor sharp edges shred the Daughter’s Armor. The blade-like leaf slashes away at her, faster than her eyes can follow. In a blink, the vibrant blue surrounding her fades until disappearing altogether.

  Her Tearstone rings loudly and she is encircled in a giant, glowing sphere. The duel is over. The Loser’s Ball, as the impenetrable orb surrounding her is popularly referred to, is a safeguard designed to protect the defeated from overzealous attacks after the fact.

  When the protective sphere splits in two and vanishes, Riser is greeted with her Captain’s familiar smile. Instinctively, she manages to sheath Ehecthal. But her mind still races, attempting to comprehend just how assured victory was just stolen from her grasp.

  “That was close, too close,” says the Fate, grinning sheepishly. “Are you injured, Riser? Why is your mouth hanging open like that?”

  “Umm … Umm,” she repeats in pure shock.

  “You almost had me there. I had no clue Spikey would do something like that. But I guess that is what the one claw meant from earlier.”

  “What the hail are you talking about?” she screams. “You’re a filthy, failing cheater! You and Ieiri! I’m First Daughter! I don’t lose matches, and now I’ve lost two, back-to-back.” Unbelievable!

  Esperanza sinks to her knees. Unforgivable! Tears of rage fill the Daughter’s eyes as she looks for something to strike out at. She slams her fist into the ground, over and over again. Her knuckles begin to ache, and blood drips up and then down the side of her hand turning muddy as it meets the dust of the road. It’s a stupid, pointless thing to do, but she can’t help it. The one thing she hates most in the world is losing. Even though when all’s said and done—a loss is her ultimate goal.

  Only another Daughter of Enyo could possibly understand. And there is no one that understands what it meant to be First Daughter but her.

  Esperanza has more than just a legacy to uphold. Long before the existence of the Three Kingdoms, before the discovery of Tearstones and Tournaments, there was the first kingdom, the kingdom of Silla. Since as far back as the First Age, the Age of Beasts, the fighters of Silla have been famed for their skills in the art of war. During the Second Age, the Age of Champions, Enyo herself was born to Silla. And from that point onward, her Daughters have become legendary for their strength in combat; not only in this part of the world, but all parts of the world. And I’m supposed to be the best of us now.

  To the rest of the world the Pilgrimage of Enyo is nothing but a joke. But to a Daughter it is everything. The tradition of the journey was one of blood, but Tears changed all that. If these were the old days, this would’ve ended in bloodshed. She looks down at her muddied, red knuckles and laughs.

  At the rate she’s going, she doubts she’ll even make it out of Wysteria. What would her Sisters think of her then, especially the younger ones, the ones who looked up to her? Unacceptable!

  “Riser, do not be like that.” the Fate says. “How about helping me out of here instead? It stinks down here. And just where did all this mud come from? I passed by here two weeks ago and it was all solid then.”

  “Fail you, Fate … and your chipmunk too,” mutters Riser. “How can you be our Captain? You can’t even figure us out, let alone those we have to face.”

  The Captain smiles back with no understanding in his eyes.

  “Think about it a minute. You were with Ieiri when you last passed by here, right? She must have brought you here on purpose to make sure you thought it was solid. I bet she started flooding this hollow the very next day. She probably diverted a stream or something. That girl arranged it all for you, but for some reason she ended up using it against me.”

  “Ieiri did all that?” he says, growing quiet until admitting, “I hope that she is fine. I have not seen her in a two days. She did not even come to say goodbye … and why would she challenge you?”

  “Nothing of your concern. Just one of her silly promises,” she says, for the first time taking a long look at the boy she’s now stuck following.

  “Nice haircut, by the way.” She begins to caress her own long braid.

  “Thank you,” the Fate says, rubbing the back of his head. “Ieiri cut it while I was sleeping. She can be pretty sneaky when she wants to. I only know it was her because of the note she left behind. She said goodbye in it too, but it does not feel right not saying it face-to-face.”

  He won’t even take teasing properly. What use is he? she thinks. “What else did the note say?”

  “Just that she had to cut it off for my protection. Princess Rule #53,” he says, “And to remember to keep my promises.”

  “For as strong as that girl is getting, she makes no sense whatsoever. And please, buckle up your pants.” Riser snorts at the state of her Captain.

  “You should not make light of the Princess Rules. Countless heroes have fallen to their Dark Arts,” the Fate says, straightening his pants the best he can.

  “I don’t think I have to worry about that,” she says flatly.

  “I, for one, am glad to have her looking out for us.” He holds out his Stick. “Grab on and brace yourself.”

  Riser grasps a hold of the other end and braces herself for all that’s to come.

  The wind has calmed and now the flowers stretch forever, pale and still as fluffy clouds.

  The pair lay sprawled on their backs with nothing but the sun to stare at. For a day that’s just begun, they’re already sweaty, muddy, and in Esperanza’s case, starving. Her stomach grumbles loudly, which earns itself a swift punch from its owner, who in turn collapses with a moan.

  “Riser, is something wrong?” asks the Fate. He receives a second moan for a reply.

  “Hungry? I have leftovers from last night in the cart.” The Fate gestures behind him. “Wrapped in a white handkerchief … should be near the top.”

  She bolts for the bed of the small wagon. Wide-eyed, she spots the precious lunch wrap and grabs it greedily. A bone is already sticking out of her mouth as she flops back down onto the ground next to her Captain. The food-laden plate lands safely in her lap.

  “There should be enough for both of us,” the Fate says. Riser emits a low growl in response.
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br />   “Very well, then. I suppose I should clean myself up,” he says, peering down at his filthy attire. “You have until I am finished changing and then we are off. We have forty or so miles to cover today.”

  Riser’s growl turns into a groan.

  Freshly renewed, the teammates embark on their quest to do the impossible—the hard way. Their grandiose plans to win it all start here on the road to their first Tear Tournament. Still a ways away from the host town of Greenwood, they’ll need to make good time to arrive by nightfall. The road has flattened out; without hills it seems to go on with no end.

  The Fate sets off at a quick pace, cart and Riser in tow. He’s always been like this, Riser thinks, trying to keep up. Get out the way or get dragged along. Like he’s some freaking force of nature or something.

  “You haven’t changed much in the past year,” she grunts, finally hitting her stride.

  “I am taller now,” he says. “My hair is shorter, as well.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, I suppose I am always me, then. That will never change,” he says with a grin. “Same with you, Riser, you will always be you—we are the same that way.”

  “Enough with the babo talk,” she grumbles, tiring of his foolish nonsense. “It may impress Ieiri, but that won’t work on me.”

  They continue on in silence until he asks quietly, “Did you notice how much Ieiri has grown? She is on a whole different level now.”

  “Enough about her, too. She wouldn’t have beaten me in a fair fight. And I know she hasn’t passed you yet either,” Riser mutters in disgust. “What I really don’t get is how she’s already internationally ranked and we’re not? It’s a stupid system. She wasn’t even born in the Three Kingdoms.”

  “Those are things that do not matter, Riser. I am looking forward to the World Circuit as much as you, but for now, we have to focus on the task at hand: Wysteria’s Tournament.” he tells her. “Besides, we should be proud of her. We’re all on the same team.”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t get me wrong, we’re sisters sworn and I can’t wait until next year when she is old enough to join us,” she explains. “It’s just … do you know what it means for a Daughter of Enyo to be defeated?”

  “I thought all Daughters dreamed of ‘Glorious Defeat.’”

  “Not by another woman,” she replies flatly. “Also, I’m done challenging you for leadership of the team, but if you mess up …”

  “Daebak!” the Fate says, using the Han word to celebrate good fortune. “But why? That’s not like you. I do not understand.”

  “What’s new, Oppa?” She snickers, wondering if it’s really true, that he’s a direct descendant of the only man to have conquered Silla. It must be, she decides. The Venerable, including her own mother, ordered everyone to consider the boy a brother to all Daughters. Esperanza never really understood what that meant or why it was even necessary to declare. The boys over at Gregory’s House, where the sons of Daughters would often end up, have never warranted such a label. Which reminds her …

  “Fate?”

  “Yes, Riser?”

  “I heard about the Old Man,“ she says watching him closely. “I’m sure he’ll be back any day now. Knowing him, he’s probably just cozying up with some new lady friend.”

  “No, I do not think so,” he says, “I think he is doing something important—something that matters.”

  “Yeah, either way, I’m sure he’s fine,” Riser says, remembering what Ieiri told her—that the whole reason plans had changed was in hope that the Old Man would return soon. Now, they will be entering the Tournament at the very end of the season. It’s a pretty dumb thing to do, to say the least. But she’s not too worried about it.

  “I believe he is fine, as well,” he says too easily. She glances over at him, but there is no sign of worry. It’s not like Old Claw to be this late. What could be keeping someone like him away?

  “I have been worrying over something, however,” the Fate says. “I hope you have been faring well in your studies."

  “Studying, yes … my studies have gone well. I only took one subject over the summer, Advanced Defensive Tactical Maneuvers,” she tells him. “I came in first in class, of course.”

  “That is great, Riser,” the Fate says, turning to look directly at her. “But that is not what I meant. I want to know how you fare concerning your studies for the pre-exam.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she says already knowing that. But what am I supposed to say. That my studies are going unbelievably bad—that I haven’t been able to even pass even a single practice exam?

  “Riser, you have been studying, correct?”

  “Yes, of course I have” she says, “I’ve read the required material over and over, but … but it’s just not sticking.”

  “I see,” the Fate says to a miserable-looking Riser. “Then, perhaps we should review together. Please start from the beginning; the very beginning.”

  “Do I have to?” Riser asks in annoyance. She looks over at her Captain. His hair just covers his eyes but she can tell he is looking straight ahead. And that smile; it’s dumb-looking and scary at the same time. Not that she’d ever admit feeling the latter.

  “Captain’s orders,” he says. “It was the first question they asked when I took the pre-exam.”

  “Okay, okay … Before the beginning there was nonexistence; formless and without color,” Riser recites.

  “First came Light and with it White filled the spaces in between, becoming the Pale Aspect and all that is incorporeal. Where there was something, the Light cast a shadow of Black, the Deep Aspect, and all that would become physical.

  “So that Light could contrast Light and Darkness itself vary, the first colors came to be, the primary colors: Yellow, Blue, and Red.

  “That we would have a place to set our feet when we walk and lay our head when we sleep, we were given the Deep Yellow Aspect—Earth. So we may always have the life and warmth of another to look forward to, we were given the Pale Yellow Aspect—Sun.

  “That we would always seek fulfillment, we were given the Deep Blue Aspect—Water. So that we would forever be connected to the world around us, we were given the Pale Blue Aspect—Air.

  “That we may pass something of ourselves onto another, we were given the Deep Red Aspect—Blood. So that we may have the power to create as well as destroy, we were given the Pale Red Aspect—Fire.

  “And from those Three Primary Colors; Yellow, Blue and Red, every other color was born and from those the world was created,” Riser finishes.

  “That was very good, Riser! You have been studying,” the Fate says. “But reciting another’s words is one thing, and understanding them another. Can you explain the basics of Tear Theory? How exactly do Tearstones work?”

  “Why don’t we go over major battles or strategy or something?” the Daughter complains.

  “Because you like those things,” he answers. Riser steals a glance to make sure he isn’t looking and makes a face. He turns slightly and sticks his tongue out in return. How’d he see that?

  “Do not spare any details. You will be asked to elaborate on everything.”

  She knows there’s no use arguing with him. With a sigh she begins. “Tearstones start off clear and colorless, once bound they attune to one’s innate color. I’m naturally Light Blue, so that means I’m aligned to the Aspect of Air, which is probably the most common, but I’m fine with that.”

  “Air is pretty good,” the Fate says.

  “It’s the best. Anyway, binding a Tearstone is just the first step. The next is learning to activate your Tear and forming your Spectral Armor. Once activated you gain access to the Color World.”

  “What does it look like to you?” the Fate asks.

  “Why do you always ask that? It looks the same to me as it does everybody else. It’s just a bunch of glowing lines and traces of color on top of the real world. I see a lot of Blue Spectrum Lines, but auras and other effects all look the s
ame to everybody. You’re Yellow, so you see mostly Yellow Lines, right? Sounds kind of boring to me.”

  “It is what it is,” he replies with a shrug. “Go on …”

  “Once you can see the Color World, you can use it to affect the real world. I guess it’s easiest to think of the Color World as being like a shadow or reflection of the real world. Either way, when something changes in the real world, it’s reflected in the Color World. And it goes the other way, too. Altering a Line in the Color World has a direct effect on the real world. That’s the basis of Tear Physics and how Criers perform their Techniques.”

  “Impressive, Riser!” her Captain cheers. “It really is amazing if you think about it.”

  “Yeah, it’s like we found out how to move someone’s shadow and the person has to move along with it or break the Laws of Reality,” she says.

  “That is what they say, but sometimes I wonder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never really know what might happen. What if I really was able to move your shadow right now? Maybe you would stay still and the sun would move instead, or the whole world would move and you and the sun would stay still, or maybe the world would just break right here and now. Who knows what would actually happen.”

  “Is that going to be on the test, cause you’re beginning to hurt my head?”

  “No, not really,” says the Fate. “I am just saying that there is still a lot we do not know.”

  “I already know that, babo.”

  Chapter 3

  RACHEL

  [The Town of Greenwood, The 8th Stop on Wysteria’s Tournament Series]

  The first rays of dawn push back the remnants of night still lurking through the streets of Greenwood. Against the coming light, the darkness retreats into the long shadows cast by the industrious few beginning to fill the main street of the small town. Delivery boys scurry among the merchants who prepare their stalls for yet another busy day, and already customers are gathering around the old lady known for her pies. The Tour is in town and it’s about to get busy.