by N E Riggs
It would be an interesting fight.
“You did become a Sword Priest.” Tekkei stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, plastic sword raised so his elbow was far out. He had an unusual stance, Anur remembered now, one she’d never faced in any of her other competitors.
“Competition didn’t suit me.” The stress had been horrible. Only the winner mattered. One tiny mistake was enough to lose everything, and everyone was constantly searching everyone else for a sign of a weakness. Being a Sword Priest was completely different. They worked together, supported one another. Anur smiled at the irony of finding life and death easier than competition, but for her it was.
Tekkei laughed at that. “I suppose I should be grateful that you’d rather serve as a Sword Priest. I prefer knowing that I’m going to survive my fights.”
Anur slid into a stance just out of Tekkei’s range. The children all watched closely, trying not to blink. A real sword fight didn’t last long, usually not more than a few strokes. That was all it took to get in a strike. Even if the first strike didn’t kill, it would be enough to make the other person stumble – and that would be enough for the killing blow. Competition simulated that, only with stinging pain instead of major injury followed immediately by death.
For a few moments, neither of them moved. Anur watched Tekkei’s eyes, his arms, his feet, everything. A master like Tekkei wouldn’t give his movement away. As a youth, he liked to strike high and to the right, if she remembered correctly. That didn’t mean he still favored those moves. Since they knew each other well, he might pick a strike he didn’t like as much to fool her. Anur used to like going for the body. It was the surest way to get a strike and the biggest target. While she was smaller than most of her foes, she was faster, which also made it a good target. Since becoming a Sword Priest, she’d been trained out of that. Go for the limbs first: that was what the Vicar who instructed her and Conal in the sword said. A real fight isn’t a competition. Hack your foe to death, first taking away their ability to strike you back. Only then could a person be sure they and their allies would be safe.
It was a vicious style she learned in Valal, but it wasn’t supposed to be pretty.
Tekkei still hadn’t moved. Before, Anur might have been willing to wait minutes longer to see who made the first move. That patience had also been trained out of her in Valal. Patience won competitions, but it didn’t help against monsters. She lunged forward, sword swinging. Tekkei brought his blade up, and the weapons collided with a high-pitched clang. Anur pivoted to her right, pulling her sword away from Tekkei’s and tugging it down. She shifted her body away from his at the same time. A moment later, she felt her sword dig into his left side. Then his sword smashed against her right shoulder.
They both stumbled back, wincing. “Draw!” one of the children cried.
“No, Master Tekkei won!” said another.
A third glared. “No way, it was the Sword Sister.”
Anur and Tekkei smiled at each other. “You struck first,” he said.
“But you struck better. I’m willing to call it a draw.”
Tekkei nodded. “I’ll take that. Not many masters can say they’ve drawn with a Sword Priest. Show me what we did,” he told his class. The children hopped to their feet. The right half took Anur’s place, the others Tekkei. They replayed the fight, though most moved slower. Anur nodded as she watched, impressed. Perhaps the children didn’t have the speed and precision yet, but they had seen and remembered the moves and could recreate them. Tekkei had the class switch spots and do it again. “Dismissed.”
The children scurried off the practice floor, no longer concerned with dignity. “You were awesome,” one boy told Anur while another said, “I want to be a Sword Priest when I grow up!” Soon the children and their parents were gone, leaving Tekkei and Anur alone.
“You look tired.” Tekkei piled the plastic swords on the rack to one side of the room. “They work you pretty hard in the Sword, don’t they?”
Anur shrugged. “Not really. We always get at least two days off between long missions off world. And I don’t get tired as easily as I used to.”
“The gift, hmm? What’s it like?”
“Like being young forever.” Anur put her sword with the others. There wasn’t anything else to clean; the room was fairly sparse. Tekkei ran a cleaner over the floorboards while Anur pulled her socks, shoes, and jacket back on. “You wouldn’t want to challenge me in a serious fight. Not now.”
Tekkei grinned. “I never wanted to fight you seriously. You’re scary. No wonder you joined the Sword. Most of us didn’t, you know.”
She nodded. “I know.” It was a small enough group of people who took the sword seriously. It was easy to keep track of them all, certainly those from the Bantonan worlds. She had actually seen Conal twice at big competitions when they were both young, though neither had noticed the other at the time. They hadn’t fought either, since they ended up in opposite ends of the draw. Only as acolytes chatting had they realized they’d both attended those competitions. “More people need to join the Sword.” If even half the people from the youth circuit joined the traditional – she assumed they’d go for the traditional, since the other Sword sects didn’t use swords – the traditional wouldn’t be having a problem with too few priests.
“Not everyone is like you.” Tekkei sat beside her to pull on his shoes. “I love sword fighting. I’m good at it, and it clears the mind like nothing else. I could never fight someone to the death, though. Monsters too: I couldn’t do it. I’d stand there like a fool and let myself get killed.”
“That’s what the training is for. And why we work in groups. You think I didn’t hesitate during my first battle?” Anur shivered as she recalled those barghests on the training planet. She remembered watching the barghests charging, terrified by how many there were. She remembered Conal and Bellon both getting hurt and wondering how they could possibly all survive. By the end, they were all in poor shape. She wondered if any acolytes ever perished on that world. She wondered too if it would have been easier if some of them had died there. Conal was dead anyway, so what did it matter? And better if Niam and David had died in battle than lived to become deserters and traitors.
Tekkei put a hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just… We’ve had some hard times lately, in my division. I’ve lost people I care about. And some people are worse than dead.”
With a shudder, Tekkei raised three fingers on both hands. “Please don’t talk like that, Anur. I’m not a priest. I can’t deal with the desolation.”
“So, what? You ignore it?” Anur glared at him.
Tekkei looked away. “Not everyone’s as strong as you, Anur. Not ever your fellow Sword Priests.”
“If they were that weak, they should never have joined the Sword!” Anur leapt to her feet, both hands clenched into fists. “We don’t need weaklings!”
“Don’t you? From what I’ve heard, the Sword needs as many people as it can get regardless. There’s a shortage of priests across Bantong. Why do you think I work here? Why do you think I’m teaching?” Tekkei waved at the empty training hall. “I can’t be a Sword Priest, but others can. If I can provide the basic training for the next generation of Sword Priests, then at least I know I’m doing something to help. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. There’s no shame in knowing I’m too weak for real battle!”
Anur turned her back on him. “Yes there is.” She wasn’t thinking about Tekkei though. She saw Niam’s face as her best friend recanted her vows. She saw David as he watched the captive Nephil, paying the creature far more attention than he should have. “We need to be strong, now more than ever. People who give in to the desolation. People who aren’t strong enough to hold their vows. We don’t need their type. It was nice to see you again, Tekkei.” She stomped out of his training hall.
As she strode away, she heard him call after her. He didn’t chase her though. Wh
y would he? He wasn’t strong enough for real battle. Of course he also wasn’t strong enough for a confrontation. Anur smiled bitterly. Everyone she knew was weak. Including her.
She wasn’t strong enough to deal with Conal’s death honestly. If she had been, maybe she could have comforted Niam and found a way to convince her to stay. She wasn’t strong enough to deal with Niam leaving. Instead she screamed at everyone, ensuring that Niam left and turning David away too. She wasn’t strong enough to fight a Nephil, so she kept far away from the creature on world 1247 – and David too. If she’d stayed closer, maybe she could have stopped David before he became a traitor. Something had set him down that path. Maybe the Nephil hadn’t started his fall, but it had helped.
She wasn’t even strong enough to help her comrades grieve for Alosh and move past David’s betrayal. All she could do was get drunk with Cid and Lugh, and what was the point of that?
Maybe she should recant the Sword too. If she was this weak, what good could she do anyway? Anur twitched and set her jaw, appalled. How could she even think that? She had made a vow to Aeons, to fight and serve for the rest of her life, no matter how hard. She made another promise, one less formal but no less important, that she wouldn’t allow the desolation to swallow her. She would fight and go on fighting, no matter what happened.
With firm steps, Anur walked back to Valal, never looking right or left. Only when the white buildings of Valal surrounded her did she allow herself to relax. Here she was safe, from monsters and the desolation and maybe even herself. In Oisin Tower, she stared at her comrades. Lugh lay on the couch in the lounge, passed out from too much to drink. Cid sprawled on the floor near him, in a similar state, most of the others not much better. Of Rolan and Hue, she found no sign; they were probably in meetings, defending all their decisions and reporting everything from the past few days. Tain sat in his office, staring at a report on his com pad, looking ill. Some of the sixth slept in their rooms, though they had left their doors open. No one wanted to be alone at a time like this.
In the practice gym, Anur found Bellon and Thea. They sparred together, moving with more speed, precision, and skill than Anur could manage on her best day. Bellon had always been the best of them, and Thea, a Vicar, was just as good. To her surprise, when she entered, Bellon stopped and walked over to her. “You’re back.”
“Obviously.”
“I thought you’d be gone for a while.” Though Bellon tried to keep his tone curt, Anur could tell he was relieved. He’d thought she might not come back at all, she realized.
She huffed. “I just needed to get some air, be away from Valal for a time.”
Thea came up on her other side. “It’s okay to grieve, you know. And it’s okay to miss those lost in other ways.”
“Why should I mourn Conal and Alosh and Percy and the others? They died as heroes, and they are healed and happy and fighting with the Yesterlords in the next world. The others don’t matter.”
“Don’t they?” Thea reached out for her.
Anur stepped away. “You were practicing. Can I join you? I don’t want to sit still.” If she didn’t move, she’d start thinking. With luck, thinking would just reduce her to drink, as it had so many others. If she managed to avoid beer, she feared she’d end up worse than drunk. The desolation lurked so close, threatening to reach out and grab anyone who slipped, even for a moment. Anur would not slip again.
“Come.” Bellon led them both to the center of the gym. He never seemed to doubt. Anur might want to hate him for that, but he was the only one she had left from her acolyte training. She hoped to make new friends: maybe Lugh and Cid and Thea. She should keep close to Bellon too, though, for the sake of their shared past but also because, if anyone could keep Anur from falling, it was Bellon.
Soon Anur was moving. Her mind stopped, at least for a short time. She could forget the friends who had died, and she could almost forget the friends who had deserted and betrayed her. She would fight as long and as hard as she could, because she vowed to and because she didn’t know what else to do.
Aeons would forgive her for having selfish reasons for fighting. So long as she kept up the fight, that was all that mattered. She would not fall to the desolation. Death first, she vowed, and she meant that vow as much as any other she’d taken.
9
Side Story: Met
The lights in the apartment flickered. A moment later the heat cut out. Met groaned and stared up at the vent near the ceiling, as if he could will it back on. Nothing happened of course.
“Met?” Seth poked his head out of his bedroom. He wore two sweaters and had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Can you turn the heat up?”
“A little cold is good for the soul.” Met forced a smile.
Seth pulled the blanket tighter around him. “My fingers are too cold to hold a pen.”
“Well, the library is open for another hour. Why don’t you go there?”
“Okay.” Seth abandoned his blanket for his coat. He pulled on a hat and stuffed his hands into his pockets before ducking out of the apartment. Met waved goodbye, still smiling broadly. As soon as Seth was gone, Met’s expression fell. He snatched up Seth’s blanket and wrapped it around himself.
He needed to do something. This was the third month in a row that he hadn’t been able to pay the heating bill. Until now, they’d been able to handle the cold. Winter had fallen on Jigok with a vengeance two days ago. If they didn’t get heat soon, they’d all freeze to death.
He checked his com pad. Saikee wouldn’t be home for at least another two hours; she’d taken to staying late at the com pad repair center, trying to earn extra money. Most days, Met hated himself for not being able to provide for his family. Unlike Saikee, he didn’t have many useful skills. He worked at a factory, doing work that any idiot with half a brain could do, his back aching more and more by the day. His home world didn’t have much technology. He was trapped on Bantong now with no useful skills and no way home.
No matter how much he hated the situation, he couldn’t change it. He couldn’t have what he wanted, and no one cared enough about him to help.
With a grimace, Met left the apartment. The corridor outside was warmer, though not by much. He walked down the hallway, stopping at the far end. He entered that apartment without knocking. “We should all live together.”
Musha looked up from her pot. She didn’t have a cooker – they couldn’t afford one – so she used a pot and a stove. While cookers were expensive to buy and have electricity for, paying for groceries to make food by hand wasn’t much cheaper. “You said you wanted privacy for you and Saikee.”
Met sat on one of the rickety chairs at her table. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.” It was warmer in his mother’s apartment. Still not warm enough to be pleasant, but he didn’t need the blanket wrapped around him. “My heat went out again.”
“Stay here tonight. You can sleep on the couch, Saikee can bed with me, and Seth can share with your grandfather.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks.” They couldn’t stay like that for long. There wasn’t enough room in this apartment for five people. His cousin Intu often spent the night too, especially since his heat went out even more often than Met’s. If he came over, they really wouldn’t have enough room. “I need money.”
Musha waved her ladle at him. “Then get a better job. Or a second job. You have time, or you would if you wouldn’t waste your time with that Core nonsense.”
“Grandfather believes in it. So does Intu.” Met glared. He was too old to be treated by his mother this way.
“We’re never going to get back home.” Musha turned back to her cooking. Tame scents emanated from the pot. It would have potatoes and turkey and onions, Met knew without looking, because potatoes and turkey and onions were cheap. On good days, Musha added greens or spices, trying to find something that tasted like home. This wasn’t a good day, and her food never tasted like home anyway. “Focus on making a life here. You’ve made a good start.
You have a beautiful, intelligent wife and a sweet son. Work for their sake, Met.”
His hands clenched into fists. “It’s because of them that I can’t forget all the injustices we’ve suffered here.” He could overlook some of his losses. He missed his home world, missed his friends and distant family, missed having a viable and respectable job. He came to Bantong with all his closest family, though, and that meant a lot. If he needed to, he could find happiness for himself on Bantong, so long as he had Musha, Odi, and Intu.
His suffering was bad enough, but how dare the locals treat Saikee and Seth the way they did? No one respected Saikee as they should. Bantonans believed that women should labor beside men, neglecting their families for hours at a time. Saikee didn’t mind that – her home world had a similar arrangement. Unlike him, she had valuable skills that she enjoyed using. She missed her family, though, having come here alone, so Met made a stink about her work because that was easier to complain about than the rest of it.
Perhaps Saikee was happy here, but Seth wasn’t. Met’s chest always ached when he remembered the day he met Seth. The poor boy had wandered here from his world as a child. He didn’t understand anyone, he got dumped in a large orphanage where no one cared about him, and he would have to work the first few years of his adult life to pay for that shitty stay in the orphanage. He had no family and no friends. Thanks to being on Bantong most of his life, he had skills and knowledge, but that wasn’t enough to make up for the rest of it.
Bantong wasn’t supposed to treat children the way it did. That wasn’t just Met’s prejudices speaking: Bantong itself claimed to do better. Maybe with other, less willful children, it did. Seth couldn’t forget his home world and his family, couldn’t make friends, and did poorly in school. He would soon finish school, and then what? Bantong had no mercy for adults who didn’t or couldn’t work.
