by Ko, John
Tall and fair, Rachel Avenoy picks her way through the growing crowds trying not to think of how delicious those pies smell, especially the strawberry—not so much the herring. Who would even want a fish pie? she wonders before noticing the chorus of meows coming from the alley next to the bakery. What a nice lady. She must bake at least some of those for them. I’ll definitely have to stop by on my way back for a strawberry-cream. Oh, and I’ll pick up that bread with roasted peaches and peppers that Wake likes so much. Maybe even a fishy one for the kitties, she thinks to herself.
But for now, she has a task to complete. With her eyes shut tight in concentration, Rachel continues down the street. Even with freshly baked pie on her mind, she is able to notice the small child in time to avoid him. With a gentle pat on the head and a warning to be more careful, she sends the little boy scurrying back to his friends, all without ever even opening her eyes. The last thing she wants is to frighten the little boy. And by the sounds of the kid’s whispering behind her, she decides she made the right choice.
This sort of thing happens often on Tour. Many of the smaller towns have never seen a blind person before and the fact that she ‘sees’ without seeing is always a curiosity. Sometimes this annoys her brother, but she never minds.
Why would she? The chill of autumn is in the air. It tastes of fallen leaves and grasses crisping yellow. The sun is a caress across her face, a touch of brightness in a world gone dark. Light is a feeling. People are auras, and the world a black canvas that stretches on forever. Rachel lives in the Color World and she is grateful for it.
She’s also thankful that unlike the last town on Tour, most of Greenwood’s signs are Tear-brushed. Meaning, even Rachel can read the markings clearly. Other than that small luxury, Greenwood is a fairly typical stop on the Tour, with the all too familiar layout of a main street lined with shops, a village square to act as the Lobby, and of course the Tourney Grounds on one end. You’d have to be pretty foolish to get lost in a town like this, she thinks, quickening her step. If she hurries, she just might be done before the streets get really packed.
Just as she begins to wonder if she may’ve missed a turn, she hears the familiar sounds of a guitar that assures her the Lobby is nearby. The guitar’s song is quite lovely, but the bard that plays it, played only it, a fact that usually got the young boy chased away well before noon.
The Lobby is already beginning to fill with those trying to set up practice matches or hoping to get picked up by a team. Not that any decent team would be recruiting this time of the year, Rachel thinks sadly. Which only serves to remind her of her current predicament. How could Kearney Dim cut us so close to the end of the season? And why? Just because I said I wasn’t interested in him?
It all started off well enough. Kearney seemed so nice and thoughtful at first. But as the months slowly changed, so did he. And in Ravenwood, their last stop on Tour, he changed altogether. She shouldn’t have laughed when he told her he liked her. But it just came out. She couldn’t help it. It’s just how she is.
Ever since she was a little girl, it was just what came out. Stub a toe, she’d cry and laugh. Embarrass herself and she’d laugh awkwardly. Scare her and she’d jump in fright and laugh. It wasn’t just her too, but her brother also—at least when they were younger.
Her little brother, Wake, had long ago grown into a serious young man. Still though, once in a while, when no one else was around and something set them off, they’d share an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Those are the best. But more times than not, she holds it in—at least when she can. No one wants to be known as a tittering fool.
But her laughing out of nervousness had cost her and her brother their best chance of qualifying for school. When they arrived in Greenwood, Kearney told her she was going to be replaced.
A charity case, he called me, like I didn’t bring anything to the team . As if half our points didn’t come from the Relay, she remembers almost angrily. And poor Wake, he could’ve stayed. He’s so close to qualifying, but he had to stick with his big sister. I should’ve just played along for his sake.
Rachel shudders at the thought. It isn’t just that Kearney turned out not to be a very nice boy. It’s just that, he … is a boy, at least, too young for her. Even though the majority of competitors are true crybabies, first-timers on Wysteria’s National Tour, Rachel’s a veteran. She failed to qualify before turning of age and already served her two years. Unlike most, she’s here strictly for the admission into Criers College that comes with placing high enough in the Tournaments rather than the excusal from Service.
In truth, she barely tried her first time on Tour. It was just all too much for her back then. And as with all those who did not qualify for school, she reported for Service. The two years of mandatory duty did her well, though. She even stayed a third and fourth year to fully master her appointed trade skill, the long brush.
This time around was different, however. Rachel worked so very hard, put up with so much. And now she’s so close she can taste it. After all we’ve gone through is this really how it’s going to end? Her mind’s so wrapped around the thought that she fails to notice the young man in her way. That is until she crashes headfirst into him. Her fair hair flies free from her cowl and for an instant become indistinguishable from day’s early light.
“Ouch, ow, ow, that really hurt,” says the boy, grabbing his ear and hopping in pain.
Rachel sits there in the middle of the road, wincing between laughs.
After wincing a few times himself, the boy asks, “Are you hurt?” Which is somewhat unexpected. She was sure he would be asking why she was laughing instead. Looking up, she notices his aura for the first time. It is abnormally rigid, dominated by a deep yellow with flecks of dirty red and streaks of blues bleeding into murky greens. The colors are heavy and dark. It is quite possibly the most repulsive aura she’s ever seen.
“I’m sorry …” they both begin. The young man is quiet for a moment and then his aura shifts strangely. “Are you not Rochelle Avery, the Light Tripper?”
Taken aback, she answers, “If you mean Rachel Avenoy. Yes, that’s me.”
“Forgive me, I am not very good with names,” he explains. “But it really is an honor to meet you. I am a huge admirer. I have watched the Memory of your race at the Hallows at least a hundred times—your other ones, as well. And the tutorial you made is simply the best.”
“Really?” She wonders. That’s flattering I suppose … but a little strange. The Light Course is by far the least popular event on Tour. Up to this moment, she wasn’t even sure if the tutorial she had the Reminiscer record was ever viewed by anyone.
“No one can ride the Lines like you. I try to copy your form exactly.”
“It’s just a small part of one event,” she says.
“It is much more than that …” he begins before asking again, “Are you sure that you are fine?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you; just a little bruised and dusty.”
“Please let me help you up,” he says. When she reaches forward to grab his hand, she finds herself grasping the end of a stick instead. With a gentle pull, she’s up on her feet, dusting herself off.
“I hope so. I should not have stopped in the middle of the road, but I thought I saw a sign for the Office of the Registrar. I am having difficulty in locating it.”
Figures he’s lost, she thinks before remembering her own first day on the Tour. Fresh out of Ice Ridge, she was just as lost her first time away from home.
Ice Ridge is a fine place to grow up, but the northern city far from the heart of the Wysteria did little to prepare her for the outside world. As much as the icy caverns that her hometown were built into, sheltered and protected the little town, it also isolated the townsfolk as well. That’s probably why Mother chose to raise us there in the first place, she thinks, remembering her loving but always cautious mother.
“Look, I’m heading over there myself, so if you want …” she begins to say.
“Nice to meet you too … Fate?” she says.
“That is what they call me. Also, I am supposed to say, ‘My girlfriend Ieiri does not like it when I talk to other girls,’” recalls the boy.
“That’s a relief. I was actually afraid … well, never mind,” Rachel says, leading them down the road.
“I do not really understand, but I am glad you are relieved,” he answers cheerfully. For a moment he’s right beside her, but then he’s darting back and forth from one side of the street to the other, picking up item after item and asking, “What is this? What does this do?”
She can imagine the expression on the last merchant’s face as he blankly answers, “It’s an umbrella. It keeps you dry when it rains.”
She tries not to laugh. “I take it that you’re new around here? First stop on Tour?”
“Yes, and I cannot wait for it all to begin!”
It’s been awhile since she’s heard someone sound so excited about being on Tour. “That’s actually a pretty good plan: get a little experience in Greenwood then you’ll be better prepared for next season.”
“No, that is not my plan. I plan on getting licensed this year.”Licensed? Who in the world cares about that? Rachel wonders. It’s true that most of the kids on Tour aren’t here to get into school, but before meeting him, she could say with absolute certainty that none are here to get licensed. Wysteria’s been banned from the World Circuit since before she could remember. The Three Kingdoms hasn’t had a team of their own on the International Tournament of Tears for decades.
“That’s going to be pretty hard if this is your team’s first tournament.” Impossible, really …
“Really?”
“Yes, really. It’s hard to just get a single win this time of the year. And you will be so far behind on points that catching up will be impossible.” she says, feeling somewhat sorry for the rude awakening in store for the boy. “Still, I guess you never know, though. Best of luck to you and your team.”
“Thank you, but I only have one of them with me now. I need to find a couple more.”
“That’s also going to be difficult this time of year. Anyone even halfway decent is already going to be on a team. Your best bet is waiting until points reset in the spring and trying then,” Rachel explains.
“I cannot do that. I turn eighteen in a couple days.”
“You’re not really serious, are you? There are only two stops left on the Tour, including this one. Even if you placed near the top in every event, you’d still be short on points.” And that’s a feat even the Royal Team wouldn’t try to accomplish.
“I am always serious,” the Fate declares. “If I may ask, why would someone who has already been on Tour need to go to the Office of the Registrar? I thought only first-timers had to sign in.”
“I’m here for my brother. Greenwood will be the first time he’s officially competing solo.” She gestures to a small building near the entrance to the Tourney Grounds. “Here we are and it doesn’t even look too crowded.” The walls of the office are thin enough that she can make a good estimate of the auras within.
“You really know a lot about a lot of things,” the Fate says. “If I had someone as strong as you are, I know I could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Win one hundred in a row,” he says.
As strong as me? Win one hundred in a row? Why that’s just absurd. He must be jesting with me. Rachel can’t hold it any longer. She’s laughing so hard her belly hurts. “That’s a good one, but you know I’m older than you and you shouldn’t be teasing a senior like that.”
“I am sorry if I teased you, but I am serious,” he says.
No way, she thinks to herself before saying softly, “But that’s just impossible, you know? This is my second time through and I’m at about a dozen and a half matches. And if you won out the first time through—which in itself is a hopeless goal—there really would be no reason to compete again. Why would you want to try to win one hundred?”
“To be happy of course,” he says. “But you are correct. There is no reason for me to compete in Wysteria once licensed.”
At least he realizes that. “I’m actually between teams right now, but I’m sorry, I need to get on an established team.”
“An established team? Please consider establishing a team with me instead.”
“No, thank you,” she answers quickly.
“Perhaps the timing is not right. I will ask you again another time then,” he says, holding the door open. They enter the small wooden building and are met with half a dozen clerks sitting behind their windows, ready to assist. Only one has a queue in front of it and she leads them to that one.
“Do you have a Healer? And just so you know, my brother and I come as a pair. I’m a Specialist and he’s a Finisher,” Rachel tells him, wondering why she even bothers.
“I have Riser with me, but she has yet to pass the pre-exam.”
Riser? Fate? What kinds of names are these? Rachel wonders. “What class are you?” she asks.
“I am a Fate.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that was a class. What is that a Finisher type?”
“I suppose. I am the Captain. I usually fight the other Captain,” he tries to explain.
“Is it Home-brew?”
“Home-brew?” he asks.
“You really must be new. Home-brew is when a Crier combines all their favorite skills into a new class. Like, they just threw them all in a big old pot and brewed them together to their own tastes. Home-brew classes aren’t proven and always a work in progress compared to an established, well-tested class, so they have a bad rep. But I run one and my brother does, too.”
“Daebak!” he says, full of excitement.
“Daebak?” she asks.
“That is what you say in Han if you hit it big, or if something is really amazing,” the boy explains. “What kind of Home-brew class are you, then?”
“The truth is I haven’t actually got around to naming mine. It’s sort of complicated. Wake, my brother, calls himself a Water Knight. No one really uses Water, so a name like that was still available.”
“I do not know much about that, but I like the name. It makes sense,” the Fate says. “Would that not make you a Sun Knight?”
Rachel can almost see the boy’s eyes twinkle with excitement. She holds up her right wrist from which dangles a fine golden chain attached to a bright Yellow Tear. “Like I said, it’s complicated. Look closely at the center of my Tear.”
“It is Pale Yellow, and oh …” he says, pressing his face right up against it. “There is a speck of Blue in there.”
“Yes, there is; just enough so I can use some of my brother’s Water Techs.”
“Should you not use Sun Aspect Techs, since your Tear is almost all Light Yellow?”
“Yes, well … Do you know how much a Sun Shield costs? More than this whole town, that’s how much. It’s not worth it for someone like me. Besides, I just use that stuff for when I have to draw a match. Really, I’m just here to race the Light Course. Otherwise I’m best off on the Observation Deck playing strategist. Even though I can’t use the Tear Screen to see through the eyes of those on the field, at least I’m out of the way.”
“Out of the way? I do not understand,” the boy says. “But to answer your original question, Fates are actually a really old class, but it is still similar to being Home-brew. Each Fate is different, and I have to make up a lot of it as I go along.”
“Interesting. I really do wish you and friend well, but my brother and I are right on the border of actually qualifying. You understand, right?”
“No, not really, but I guess it does not matter. I could not accept your brother, anyway. No matter how strong you are, it is not enough to carry someone else on my team.”
Rachel tries not to giggle. “I think you got it backwards.
My brother is a much better Crier than I.”
“Is that possible? You are perhaps one of the strongest people I have ever met.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I assure you he is stronger than I am.”
“If he is—that would be double daebak! Then both of you could join. What are you signing him up for?”
“Um, just for the One-on-One Finisher’s Series.” Rachel counts only a few auras left ahead of them. He seems nice. Once he learns a few things, he may even make a passable captain. She's been around worse.
Then she notices that something is crawling right up the boy’s back. “Oh, my! There’s something on your back! It’s gigantic!” The sounds of pens writing and paper shuffling come to a halt, and all eyes turn to the pair. Those closest to them take a step back.
“Something gigantic is on my back?” The Fate tries to reach behind him, his hand searching and his body slowly circling like a dog chasing his tail until he realizes. “Ah, I think you must mean Spikey. He lives inside my hood, but there is nothing gigantic about him. He is just a chipmunk.”
“Oh, I thought because of the dark aura it was a spider, I dislike spiders.” Spiders have a black aura, and so did this chipmunk. But when she looks closer, she sees that it glows golden around its edges. “What a remarkable aura. I’ve never seen anything like it. Black but glowing golden. It’s absolutely flawless.”
The chipmunk jumps over onto the girl’s shoulder. A surprised smile greets him, as does a gentle hand. “May I?” she asks, about to pet the little animal.
“Spikey, please do not bite her.”
“Squeak, squeak.”
“He is his own master. He does as he wishes,” the Fate explains. “Which mostly involves sleeping all day.”
