by Phoebe Nix
Jerof turned around, grasping her shoulders gently, his eyes darting from one of her sparkling hazel eyes to the other. “You are worth it, Liz Janeck. But you need to know it’s not just about you.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I know you feel like it’s all your fault, but you were only a catalyst to a tragedy that was eventually going to happen,” he explained. “Those kings were never in agreement with me. You being here is just an excuse for them to lash out. If it wasn’t you, it would have been some other excuse.”
The Prince inhaled a sharp breath and kissed her lips with fierce passion. Liz clung to him with her entire being, giving him everything of her in that kiss, until eventually, he gently released her.
“It’s time.”
He walked to the open wardrobe where one emerald green kimono stood out amongst the dark-colored robes. He pulled it off the stone hanger, which rocked from side to side and stroked the fabric as he held the kimono high.
“I have a feeling it will go alright,” he said. He turned back at Liz, who was openly sobbing. “I don’t blame you for being terrified with everything you’ve been through since you got here. Hell, I am as well. But that won’t change anything. I need you to be strong for me.”
Jerof felt close enough to his inexorable demise that his dissociation made it challenging for him to render his thoughts into words. His death would mark the end of the Url’San rule. While he knew nothing would stop the alpha battle, a civil speech was all the hope he had left. Otherwise, he had to fight tens of princes, some of them twice his size and strength.
“Whatever happens in the Summit, I want you to never leave my sister’s side. No matter what happens in that hall. Don’t speak to anyone. I don’t want any of these savages to try to hurt you again. I still can’t forgive myself for not being there!”
“Jerof, please don’t. We’ve been over this…Finoa was more than capable of handling the situation.”
He slipped into his kimono and paced toward her, his expression an amalgamation of grief and acceptance. “As long as I live, I swear to always protect you. Belut will get what he deserves. I promise you that.”
“You think I care about that bastard?” She tightly grasped both of his hands. “I just want you. I want you to live.”
“Deciding not to go to a Summit without a valid reason would likely end up with my death. It’s a ceremony where all kingdoms come together from around the planet. Missing it is disrespectful to the leaders and civilians and is punishable by death. A death I cannot avoid.”
“God,” Liz exclaimed. “Why are the laws here so harsh?”
“There are no laws. It’s nothing like Earth where decisions are made by the votes of the people. It’s a little more complicated here, my sweet,” Jerof explained. “Even the worst-case scenario doesn’t decide my fate. I’m a warrior.”
“A warrior that recently almost died from Wanderhound injuries. Are you sure you’re fully recovered?”
“I am,” Jerof insisted. “And when I make it out victorious, you’ll laugh at ever being worried.”
The Summit was declared by the sounding of a thousand trumpets, which produced a honeyed folk tune that could be felt vibrating through the ground.
Prince Jerof was escorted by a dozen guards as he walked to the Summit hall. His thoughts had been racing as he got dressed, but as soon as he walked out of his bedroom door, his mind went blank. He witnessed the festivities and he could hear the music as though it were playing in the back of his head, like a distant memory. It was almost like he saw it through a crystal ball, as though he played no part in it.
Finoa and Liz followed in matching green robes. They sauntered slowly, and it made the suspense more severe.
As the people of Url saw the Prince marching, mighty cheers reverberated in the atmosphere and a loud thudding of drums began. The residents kept their distance, but that didn’t stop them from performing their tribal dances, flailing their arms and twisting their hips with luminescent colors painted on their bare bodies. The drumming resounded in Jerof’s chest, and he vacantly waved at his people as the cheering grew louder, along with the padding of bare feet against the spongy short grass.
Rose petals were blown from afar, twirling around the Prince and his company before they fell between their feet, some of them landing on Jerof’s shoulders.
In the distance, civilians tossed fruit in the air and swung their claws at them, cutting them in slices and letting the dark juice stain the ground in glowing purple. The stains shortly evaporated before they repeated the performance.
The Prince had to stop a few times to greet his people, whose cheering swelled up into a melodious chorus as they chanted his name. Although he felt as though he had lost his ability to feel, his eyes were tearing up. He was tempted to look over his shoulder to glance at Liz, but knew that would be a questionable gesture to make in the public eye.
Some of the civilians played the lyre in sync with the drumming. Children stomped their feet to the beat, mimicking their parents who performed more complex dance routines. One of the children was about to run toward Jerof, but the mother quickly tugged on his robe and flung him on her shoulders, waving at the Prince who waved back with a broken smile. Other children whistled an intoxicating trill that joined the chorus, the music, and the stomping of feet.
Jerof studied the faces of his people well, before he knew they would all turn on him when the Summit began. The thought of it made the hair on his back and arms stand on end. These civilians blindly followed the Url’Sans; it was leaders of other kingdoms who deemed Jerof unfit to rule. The people of Url were loyal, but were easily influenced. He pictured those cheers morphing into howls and jeers once the kings began voicing their antagonism.
But nonetheless, Jerof was an Url’San after all. And it wasn’t death he feared, but tarnishing his family’s name. And, if he were to go down in that ring, neither Finoa nor Liz would make it out alive with ease.
They finally reached the hall, round and majestic with no roof. The perforated walls were adorned with animated trees from the Icelands. The pitch-black boughs were dotted with blossoms and extended as the eclectic range of flowers grew and bloomed, then shrunk as the branches retracted. He noted that a few branches got entangled between the holes in the walls and broke off as the trunks pulled back their wooden limbs.
After the Prince strolled into the hall, Kings and Queens followed, and the civilians watched behind the fence-like curved wall.
The cheering died out as Jerof sat down on his embellished throne.
In front of him were tiered seats that surrounded him in a semicircle. Finoa and Liz sat in the front, both with terrified expressions. He could almost hear Liz gulping from where he sat. The Kings of the other twenty kingdoms sat side by side behind them.
As silence cloaked the hall, Jerof began his speech.
“Kings and Queens; Princes and Princesses,” he began. “Thank you for attending this century’s Summit.”
The royal families started whispering to one another, some of them snickering. Normally, Jerof would be nervous. But he was already expecting the worst. He only wanted to get it over with.
“For years, our ancestors have been harvested, abused and used as lab rats.” Jerof’s voice echoed, making the trees shake against the walls. Some of the flowers fell to the ground and were quickly picked up by children who stood behind the fenced wall.
Many of the Kings in the hall cheered, some of them holding their staffs up, others their fists.
“We have thought that we were safe. That the Swarm would forever stay in the Outreach.”
The crowd nodded, most of them already fired up by the speech.
“But this woman right there.” He pointed at Liz. “This poor human. She was found in our very forest, transported here by a Swarm ship. We’re no longer their targets, but only because they’ve been busy advancing their race before they tried to invade our planets again.”
The crowd gasped, exchanging g
lances and shaking their heads. Some of the Kings scoffed and shrugged, taking the Prince’s words with a grain of salt.
Jerof paused, and it appeared like he was giving the crowd a chance to simmer down. But instead he studied the faces of Kings and Queens seated before him. Many looked bored, others skeptical. He rehearsed his improvised speech in his head before he spoke. He appeared confident, but it was only because he’d already expected the worst outcome.
“They are fewer in numbers, but we all know what damage just a handful of them could cause.”
The cheering of Kings and the civilians grew into deafening roaring and applause.
“The Swarm wish to evolve, and Earth is their gateway. For the longest time, we have shunned that planet. Merely watched it from afar and dismissed it as primitive. Blamed it for what their ancestors did. But they are an innocent species, and although our people and theirs look different, we share an enemy,” Jerof continued.
Jerof was getting more confident, more fired up. When he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, he rose, stepping down from his throne to continue his speech closer to the crowd. He shot the King of Carr and his son a glance. The former listened with his head tilted on his fist, faking a yawn every now and then. His son had his legs crossed and watched patiently with a menacing frown, as though he and his father had something planned.
Jerof turned his eyes away from Urik, doing his best to stay focused on his speech.
“The time for the Allegiance is now,” he declared as the cheering grew loud enough to shake the whole hall. “We will not wait until the Swarm comes for us divided!” He had to roar over the sound of the applause.
There was a pause as Jerof patiently waited for the cheering to quiet down. But before he could speak, King Crewe of Elon waved his hand for the Prince’s attention. Jerof was out of breath from the thrill. His smile wavered as he saw the king swinging his staff pompously.
“Prince Jerof,” Crewe said, stroking of his beard. “I understand that you are keen on uniting the planets. I am sure we all are and that is something we cannot disagree on.”
The crowd was slowly jeering, anticipating Crewe’s confrontation. “I do believe you are an excellent warrior, my child, but you are notorious for your short temper, if I am not mistaken. Many a King who has associated with you has made the same claim, and as much as I would like to believe it is merely hearsay, there’s usually a truth in every rumor.”
The crowd was divided. The majority were murmuring questions to one another, some of them nodding in agreement with Crewe’s claim. The rest booed the King of Elon.
“My King,” Jerof called out.
“No, listen child,” Urik groaned, thwacking his staff on the floor to silence the crowd. “I have personally tried to make peace with you, and you had the audacity to turn it down. You say you want us all united when you know your life is on the line now, but behind closed doors, you only cater to your individual interest.” He shrugged. “Our families were supposed to be brought together, but you changed your mind at the last minute.”
“King Urik.” Jerof’s eyes raced from one corner of the hall to the other. He needed to get the crowd under control. His sight travelled to Liz and Finoa, who looked nervously back at him. He noted the nod of encouragement from Liz and gave her a small smile.
One ruler joined. “Is it true, Prince Jerof, that you turned down a Hagran princess for an Earthling?”
“Traitor!” one voice from the back of the tiered seats shouted.
The King sneered at the comment. “While I would not consider it an act of betrayal, it is honestly worrisome that you would choose a foreign species over your own. It might be a gray area, but it is not a move a wise king would make, to say the least. Your people come first. Peace comes first.”
The crowd shouted in agreement.
“How do we know you will not betray us if you decide you have grown sympathy with a Swarm?”
The majority of the royal families in the hall hissed at Jared, their firsts and staffs up in the air.
“This is madness,” King Espeth of Nerian roared. “An Earthling is no enemy. The Url’Sans have long been revered for protecting their kingdom and planet. Their reputation precedes them. I, King of Nerian, pledge allegiance!” He tapped his staff between his feet, sending azure light rippling down the tiered steps.
“I do not mind the idea,” King Crewe joined. “I just do not trust Prince Jerof with the leadership. I vote for an Allegiance, but nothing led by Jerof Url’San.”
“I vote for a ring battle!” King Urik howled.
The crowd’s hissing quickly turned into cheering once again. The banging of staffs on the tiered steps rendered a harmonious thudding, which sounded like a drum roll that preceded Jerof’s fate.
This was the moment the Prince had been waiting for. Liz hid her face in the palms of her hands, her shoulders shaking, while Finoa’s chest heaved as her anxiety amplified.
The King of Carr rose from his seat, his son grinning through his conical teeth. “All Kingdoms in favor of a ring battle raise your staffs in the air!”
Jerof’s nostrils flared as he glared at the King of Carr. His son wore nothing but a pair of puffy pantaloons and chewed on a stick that had fallen from the forest trees. He leaned forward, looking Jerof in the eye with a taunting grin.
He was about the same size as Jerof and was also reputed to be one of the best warriors on the planet. The votes would decide whether the two of them, along with many other princes, fought for leadership.
The Prince momentarily closed his eyes, shutting out the clamor that surrounded him. As he slowly opened them again, the rowdy cheering made his face fall to a frown.
Twelve staffs were raised in the air.
The King of Carr grinned. “The battle is on.”
Chapter 21
This is it. This is how I die.
Jerof was escorted to the Colosseum, the crowd continuing to cheer, but this time, the chanting wasn’t for him.
It was for blood.
He wanted to see Liz but wasn’t given the chance, her terrified screams, calling his name, ringing in his ears as he was led away.
Hagran had only seen a couple of alpha battles in the past few centuries, neither of them ending with the native Prince’s victory. Many of the Url residents were already mourning.
The Prince was seated on a bench in the weaponry storage chamber, a triangular room with back-lit slits in the walls. Swords and daggers of varying shapes and sizes were lined along the slits. Finoa frantically paced across the walls to browse the perfect weapon for the battle, while Jerof remained seated, watching her patiently.
“Just pick any of them, Finoa, it does not matter,” Jerof complained. “Let us just get this whole ordeal over with.”
“It matters,” Finoa insisted. “All those princes are too dependent on sizes.” She clicked her tongue, taking down a curved sword and tracing her finger along the edge of the blade. Her brows furrowed as she lifted her finger up to lick her wound.
“Most of them, for instance, would pick something like this. Heavy, sharp, deadly.”
Jerof let out a sigh as he listened.
“But they forget that it can also weigh you down. It makes you easier to get unarmed. It just takes one stealthy move, and you are left with nothing but your claws.”
Finoa’s eyes traveled to one of the three corners of the room. She ambled toward two parrying daggers. She pulled them off the shelf and took a step back, swinging each of them in the air to test them.
“But these,” she continued, “they will remain on your back for when you find them necessary. Do not depend too much on strength. That is never what made us good warriors. Be observant. Focus on your opponent’s eyes, brother, not his weapon. They will try to deceive you.”
He nodded, finally getting up and making his way toward his sister. He extended his arms to her, allowing her to place the weapons on the palms of his hands. He tossed them in the air, letting them harmonio
usly spin before he grabbed them by the handle.
Finoa turned around as she browsed the swords. She picked up a steel longsword that hung horizontally behind her.
“You know what to do,” the Princess said.
Jerof gave a nod. Finoa suddenly waved her sword forward, aiming it at Jerof’s face. He blocked her attack using both daggers before launching into a salchow jump, spinning in mid-air and kicking her weapon across the room. It screeched as it slid along the stone floor.
Finoa’s smile grew into a confident grimace. “You have been doing it for years, brother. I believe in you.”
The Princess held out a double-dagger sheath, gesturing for her brother to turn around. She slid each strap on either of his shoulders and tightened it before securing each dagger in the black holsters which were barely visible against Jerof’s dark hair.
“Do you know what to do if things do not go as planned?” Jerof asked, grasping his sister’s shoulders. He could see she was holding her tears back, doing her best to remain strong.
“Keep Liz safe. Get her out of here as soon as I can.”
“Good. Thank you for everything, Finoa. This would not be the first time you have saved my life.”
“Please, do not say that before you go into battle,” she moaned. “Do not focus on winning. Take each of them at a time.”
“As if they will not try to gang up on me.”
“Even then. Some of them will try to distract you, while one of them will try to kill you. Do not overthink it. Those are not Wanderhounds. They are as well-trained as you. The only difference is, each of them is sure to win. Sometimes, being kept on your toes in battle is what gets you out alive. If it goes your way at first, do not get cocky.”
“I will not.”
Finoa’s tears flowed as she smiled and gave her brother a pat on the back. “Now go out there and kick some ass. For Url.”
“For Url,” Jerof echoed, “And my little Earthling.”
The muffled chanting of the spectators could be heard before Jerof walked into the arena. A motor whirred as the metal gate was lifted, and he strode confidently toward the battlefield.
