by Ko, John
“Is that you, girl?” an ageless, heavyset woman calls out from outside her room. “Where have you been? Are you trying to worry an old lady to death?”
“Forgive me, House Mother. I was training,” Ieiri answers as she crawls into bed. “Please do not worry so much over me.”
“You’re such a good girl, but you smell like the stables after a midsummer rain. You need a bath—badly,” Marli, the Mother of the Women’s House tells her, holding her nose good-naturedly.
“Fate never minds what I smell like,” Ieiri replies indignantly. I guess I have been living in the woods for the last couple days. I really should wash up, she thinks before saying, “I’ll scrub extra hard tomorrow, I promise.”
The older woman sighs and sets her lantern down onto a small desk along with a small, covered plate. “At least you didn’t tell me to go away and mind my own business like girls your age are supposed to.”
“I would never … I am a guest,” Ieiri begins.
“Don’t say that, child. This is as much your home as Neverfall. To say otherwise would hurt this old lady’s feelings. Besides you’re not the only one. Fate wasn’t born in the village and neither was the Old Man, you know?” Marli sits down next to her. “And I saw what you did to that boy’s hair. Though I think your plan backfired.”
“I know,” Ieiri admits in absolute sadness. “He looks like a Northerner now. I thought it would make him look … funny, but it did not. He will be sure to attract some Gorgurien hussy now.”
“Don’t worry, he has his stick to keep them away,” Marli teases before her tone turns serious with care. “But what is my poor Ieiri going to do now, hmm? The Old Man still hasn’t returned. Sya and Haenul left last year, and now even he’s gone. It just doesn’t seem fair to split up such a good team just because of age.”
“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
Marli leans over and puts an arm around her. “Are you nervous about going to Silla? The Daughters of Enyo aren’t known to be the friendliest of sorts.”
“No, I have been there once before, back when they told me I was not worth their time,” Ieiri answers unsmiling. “Things will be different this time, however. Esperanza told me I will have a very special teacher, someone even she has not trained with.”
“I just hope they keep you well fed,” Marli says, gesturing to the plate. “You really should have said goodbye, though. Who knows when you’ll see him again? You may regret it.”
Ieiri replies with a glum look that morphs into a yawn.
“Sleep well, child.”
“Sleep well, House Mother.”
Of course I wanted to see him, but how could I? I watched him say his farewells all week. Never once did he feel anything but his usual determination. I would die if he said goodbye to me like that, not feeling a thing.
Chapter 6
WAKE
[Tourney Grounds of Greenwood]
Wake Avenoy sits on a bench on the sidelines rubbing warm wax into the leather liners of his boots. The task usually calms him before a match, but more importantly, it ensures his feet stay dry. He can walk on water with his armored Battle Boots, but they’re not so great for keeping his socks from getting wet. It’s for that very same reason that his sleeves and pants end three-quarter lengths of where they should. Inevitably, his wrists and ankles will get soaked. Which isn’t so bad in the summer, but with winter fast approaching, it’s too cold for all that.
He smears a particularly large glob of wax deep into the seams and with a final wipe decides he’s done a decent enough job. It’s almost time, he realizes, braving a look up.
It’s hard to believe that just days before there was nothing here but a field full of weeds. But a few days were all the tournament officials needed to transform it into a proper battleground Now, hastily erected stands line each side, seating hundreds who cheer on friends and family as they clash on well-manicured battlefields.
The air is filled with the clangs of metal on metal, participants shouting out their Techs, and the occasional roar. Above it all, a loud explosion shakes the very ground itself. The smoke clears to reveal a girl floating flat on her back, surrounded by a protective sphere. Her opponent throws his hands up in the air and the crowd lets out a thunderous cheer.
Adding to the chaos are the Tear Speakers set intermittently throughout the grounds. The horn-shaped devices blare out continuously, announcing the result of previous matches and introducing those about to begin.
Having already won his first pairing, Wake Avenoy feels slightly more at ease than usual. Even so, he wipes the sweat from his palms onto the towel next to him. I should’ve made time for breakfast, he thinks, wondering if the sloshing feeling in his stomach is more from hunger or nerves.
It’s taken him almost a year, but he’s finally grown accustomed to fighting in front of a crowd. At least to the point it doesn’t paralyze him with fear. But that was as part of a team. Now, you’ll be out there alone without anyone to hide behind, a voice inside tells him. Just as Wake is about to wipe his palms again …
“Wake, I found some extra towels,” his sister says, hurrying over.
“Thanks, Ray.” He looks up at his big sister and suddenly feels much better. The fact that he got matched up with a total crybaby isn’t bad, either. “I wonder what the chances are that I’d end up fighting your newfound friend? It must be Fate.”
“Ha, ha.” Rachel laughs unenthusiastically. “It’s not all that surprising. This is a seeded tournament, after all. They are bound to match the highest ranked Criers against the lowest. And this is his first game, while you’ve got almost enough points to qualify.”
“It’s still weird, though. And is this guy really a crybaby? You never see one of those this time of year. I wonder what type of Techs he uses?”
“He mentioned something about Fates being an old class. That probably means he’s pretty physical. I really didn’t want to find out more. He seemed nice enough, but kind of … simple.”
Wake chuckles. His sister doesn’t have a mean bone in her whole body, even when describing an obvious fool. “I can’t complain. I could use some easy points. Speaking of which, have you heard anything back from the Knights of Old Town? Weren’t they looking for more?”
“They don’t need two.”
“Don’t worry about it too much. If I make it deep enough today, I should be fine on points. And it shouldn’t be hard finding a spot for you on a decent Relay Team. Besides, worst comes to worst, you have an open invite from that guy.” He points across the field towards his hunched over opponent.
The Fate leans over and throws up violently. After a final heave he wipes his mouth and looks up with a sickly smile. Noticing them, he waves back cheerfully. Maybe it’s good I didn’t eat breakfast.
“From the sound of it, I’d rather wait and try again next year.”
Contestant #18 Wake Avenoy, the Water Knight and Contestant #371 Terrantius Slate, the Fate. Please report to Battlefield Three, announces the closest Tear Speaker.
“It looks like I’m up. Wish me luck.” I’ll get this over with quick and then we can go get something to eat. I think they’re serving dumplings today.
“Luck, Wake. I know you can do it!”
“Are you ready?” the official asks Wake.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready?” the man asks his opponent. The boy’s ridiculous smile disappears for a moment as he looks up at Wake. “Thank you,” he says before nodding to the official.
Before he can wonder what exactly he’s being thanked for, the official begins backing off the field and counting down. “3, 2, 1 … Go!”
Wake Avenoy takes no joy in beating up rookies. But this is an official tournament match and he wants to get it over with as soon as possible. He pulls up his sleeve and presses the Water Aspect Tear strapped to his upper arm. Instantly he is surrounded in dark blue armor.
“Water Grab, Falchion,” he recites as he pulls the moisture from the surrounding area
to form a long, curved sword of Pure Water. He wonders if this Fate fellow has ever seen a true-blue Water-User. Criers that use Water are a rarity at this level. Anyone unlucky enough to be Dark Blue always goes Ice, but that just never seemed right to Wake.
Something smells good. They are serving dumplings today, he thinks happily. When he turns his focus back to where his opponent should be, there is no one there. Frantically he scans the area just before something jabs him in the ear, immediately followed by a blow to his belly. And then his chin explodes in pain. The last hit sends him reeling and his sword of Water disperses, totally soaking his well thought out outfit.
A moment later his attacker is looking down at him with a disappointed smile. “I thought you were supposed to be good.”
“That was a waste of a berry,” the Fate mumbles. “Fluttering Blade.”
In a daze, all Wake can hear is a silent ringing in his ears and an echo of a memory …
Wake the Waste,
The big Disgrace.
Always crying
all over the Place
Wake the Fake
The lying Snake …
Anger snaps him out of it. A razor sharp leaf slices into his chest. His Deep Blue Spectral Armor fades close to nonexistence.
“I am not a Waste!” he screams. Something’s different. The words come out slow—everything is slow. Instinctively, he starts to sway to the rhythm of the leaf. He dodges the next slice and then the next. Again and again he manages to just avoid the fluttering petal. Shifting ever so slightly, his form blurs, flowing and reforming. Over in an instant, he remains armored and standing after the savage onslaught.
“Water Grab, Falchion,” he cries, his hand already in mid-swing before the liquid sword finishes forming. He strikes his rival cleanly across the chest.
Seemingly unaffected, the Fate reaches out with his Earth Gauntlet and grabs his arm. “Earth Lock,” the boy says. And as much as Wake twists and turns he cannot break free.
With his other hand the Fate brings his switch down across Wake’s backside, shattering the remnants of his Spectral Armor.
“Brother, that was ridiculous!”
Wake looks up from the puddle forming below the bench, sees who it is, and quickly lowers his head again. “Good game. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be alone right now?” He grabs another towel and throws it over his head.
The last thing he wants to do right now is talk to somebody, especially this guy. Wake didn’t just lose a match, he just lost it all—everything he went through for the past year was for nothing. It doesn’t matter that he and Rachel are near the top five percent. They aren’t in the top five percent. And that means not getting into Wysteria’s Criers College, no excusal from Service, and no to his sister’s only chance at seeing. Why do things always end up like this? I work hard. I try my best. Why can’t I ever get a break? It would take a miracle for them to qualify now and he’s never believed in those.
“Your sister was right, you are pretty strong,” the grinning boy tells him. “What I do not understand is why you did not even try until the very end.”
“What are you talking about? Of course I was trying from the very beginning. You have no clue what you’re talking about,” Wake says. “Whatever, I’m not in the mood for this just now. Please just go away.”
“I understand, now. You really are mad. You are like Wolak. It is as if you think of every little thing but ignore the basics. Besides that, we are a lot alike, you and I.”
What the fail is this guy talking about? There’s only one Wolak in Wysteria worth mentioning, a Master Scholar at Criers College. The last couple decades have been difficult ones for the Three Kingdoms, having been suspended from the International Tear League. Wolak is the only thing left Wysteria has to be proud of. His work has changed and continues to change the way people view the Color World. There’s no possible way this guy could know him.
“Look, I thought you said something you didn’t. I was angry for a minute there, but I’m over it, okay?”
“I did not mean to say you were angry, just crazy.”
“I really don’t know what you are going on about, but we’re finished here. Good game and goodbye.”
“Please, just a moment.” The boy called Fate leans in close. “Will you join my team?”
“What? Why? You just crushed me. I barely got a hit in.”
“I want you and your sister on my team. Besides, you are already using that.” The Fate gestures towards the lobstered-iron gauntlet on Wake’s right hand. Beads of water cling to the overlaying plates that form the gauntlet while iridescent rust eats away at its corners.
“This?” Wake holds up his gauntlet. The motion shakes free a few drops of water. Rather than splashing to the ground, the droplets take orbit around his hand. “It’s just something I picked up a while ago. Do you know what it is?”
“Yes, of course. It is a Hand of Fate. A rare one at that; I did not realize any Hands of Pure Water still existed. The only Dark Blue Gauntlets I have ever seen have all been Ice.”
“Well, the guy I got it from pretty much considered it worthless. It’s always been covered in rust,” Wake says. When it comes to unique equipment, he can’t help it; he’ll talk to anybody willing to on the subject, even to a guy that just whipped him good.
“Pure Water Gauntlets were always considered pretty useless. That is why they are nearly impossible to find these days, but somehow you found one and figured out how to use it properly. I have no clue what the attack you hit me with did. It did not do any damage as far as I could tell, but I know it did something. Only a true mad genius could figure out how to use one. That is the truth.”
Wake chuckles. “I’m pretty sure, I’m not the crazy one here.”
“That is exactly what Wolak always says.”
Rachel hurries over with a mug full of something steaming. “I’m sorry, Wake, I had no clue …”
“Hello, Light Tripper. You were right. He is strong …”
Rachel hands her brother the cup and turns towards the annoying boy. “You stop teasing us! Just leave us alone, we didn’t do anything to you.”
“Squeak!” The chipmunk climbs out the Fate’s hood and leaps onto Rachel’s outstretched finger.
“Spikey! Please be more careful,” says the Fate.
Rachel’s grimace has already turned into a smile, though. She gently cups the little critter in her hands and brings him to her lap.
“Can you not see? It was meant to be.” The Fate smiles at them. “Will the two of you please join my Team?”
Wake is shaking his head, but his sister answers for them both. “Could you give us a moment? I need to talk to my brother alone.”
“Of course.” The Fate walks away, grinning at no one in particular.
“Absolutely not,” Wake whispers to his sister.
“Wake, what do we really have to lose now? Signups end tonight. We’re not going to get another invite.”
“But, Ray, this guy is really weird. And I really don’t want to get embarrassed in front of everyone. We finally have a decent rep, you know?” he tries to tell her. “At least we did before that last match.”
“We have to try. At least it’s a chance.” Without waiting for an answer, she calls out to the Fate. “How do you plan on having me—a blind girl and Sensei, a boy who has trouble walking from one end of the field to the other, on the same team? We’ll need to field at least five, so one of us will have to be out there.”
“I realize this. My job as captain is to remember what matters,” the Fate says. "That is something you can always count on."
“If that’s so, then promise us that we will earn enough points to get into Criers College.”
“Yaksok,” the Fate says, holding out his pinky.
The siblings stare back at him in confusion.
“It means promise in Han. It is my word, unbreakable,” he says, reaching over and wrapping his pinky around Rachel’s. He barely shakes as he says, “You
are the fifth person I touched this year. The third I have touched more than once. Do you see how serious I am?”
Wake looks at his sister and then at the boy who only sort of makes sense. He has a bad feeling about this. But before he knows it, they’re wrapping little fingers, also.
“It is settled then,” the Fate says. “Riser should be finished retaking the pre-exam and waiting for us back at the inn.”
“Wait a minute; we never really agreed to join you,” Wake says.
The Fate is already walking towards the entrance. He continues talking, paying no attention to Wake’s words. “Then we have to find a Healer. I have a couple in mind already.”
Things are happening all too fast. Wake needs a moment to think. Just then, the wind blows, carrying off one of his towels. It flutters and floats through the air, finally losing momentum above a large, muddy puddle. As it plummets, another gust sends it upwards and he watches it disappear above the crowds. He feels himself being swept away as well.
“You can’t just leave. What about your next match? I’m knocked out but you’re still in it?”
“I have already informed the officials that I am withdrawing.”
“What? You’re going to need every point you can get.”
“There is no way I can obtain enough points to get licensed,” says the Fate. “Come on already; we do not have all day.”
“Let’s go, Wake. We don’t really have any other options.” Rachel hurries after the Fate and Wake has no choice but to follow. I just hope that I don’t end up in some dirty puddle.
“I don’t know about this,” Wake whispers to his sister. They stand before a small inn he’s never heard of. Worst of all, it’s on the wrong side of town. At least the wood is varnished instead of worm-eaten. He’ll give it that much.
The inn’s also so close to the outskirts of Greenwood he can see the forest behind it. And for a moment, he thinks he might have even heard a bird singing back there, too. Otherwise, it’s actually pretty quiet, all of which he finds very strange. It’s nothing like every other inn he’s stayed at while on Tour.
