by Marc Mulero
It was a scary thought though, truly. Every aspect of his windy form tensed at the idea, because perhaps it was a bad one. He could pinpoint the fear too… something he’d been afraid of since his first sighting of Seren. He was scared of losing himself, of understanding another’s perspective that would change him forever. He didn’t want that.
His flowy body stopped mid-plummet; he wanted to ascend, to soar above the bridges and see what north meant in Gushda. There had to be some lesson that his father left him up there, beyond the bridges… to rid him of worry, where he would find the courage to meld with the corrupt murderer. But a woman with vast pearly brown eyes caught his attention. She was looking straight at him, seeing something else entirely, obviously. Her gaze was as eternal as the world he’d been sucked into: endless, deep, like if he zoomed into her eyes he would see a spiral staircase that went on forever. Who was she? What did this memory hold inside?
Every footprint he made toward her was speckled with crimson red, as though he was leaving behind stains of blood to enter the scene. When he crossed the threshold, it all became real.
A cloudy grey sky was filled with explosions. Bomb blasts lit overhead, the sound catching up not a moment afterward. It made Eres wince and his ethereal form shake with intensity. Even the smell was distinct, a foul aroma that he’d inhaled before - Glite armor repelling fire, like plastic that’d been set aflame.
The woman was breathing heavily now, but not lost in a slow-motion time reel that Eres had witnessed a moment prior. She was flesh and blood, with no Glite amid a battlefield, just plain clothes. A double-edged blade like Seren’s was strapped to her back. Her esper was the same as Eres’, flashing amber as she blinked in and out of Rudo. Where was she going? What was she doing?
“A descendent, like me,” Eres told himself. “Not too far in the past. Crule was already discovered… and Glite.” He reached for her. She was beautiful, battle-hardened, her expression tense. But as Eres was about to submerge himself into her mind, she dove, somersaulted, and rose again with weapon in hand, slashing with green fiery Crule which sent two searing bodies dropping to their knees. One blink would’ve caused him to miss an entire stanza of her poetry. She spun, flicked her blades into a vibrant whirling blur to deflect bullets before dashing again.
Eres watched in awe. Now that was a worthy esper wielder. He chased after her to understand the situation, to get inside.
Then suddenly she stopped, and he crashed into her unexpectedly. They were one now, in this moment; Eres could feel everything, and he immediately wanted to run. It felt like betrayal, like what he felt when he thought Windel had outted him, only tenfold. Why did she stop? Why did one of her arms feel like dead weight? He looked to the right to see blood all over. She’d been shot, just before they melded. Then her thoughts took hold:
“By the grace of the All-Mother, and the trials I have suffered, and the ones I am about to,” she thought to herself. “Hear me now, for my lack of Reach does not preclude my bequeathment. I leave my sufias to the only one worthy to protect the secret of the Skrols. Not my family, nor those they asked me to follow. They are all tempted, All-Mother. There is only one who isn’t. Only my love, Alres Way. He is pure. Hear me now, All-Mother! I bequeath my esper to Alres Way!”
Eres felt chills from hearing the declaration so clearly, to hear his grandfather’s name, who he learned of from Masarian Bo, so easily chosen. Then out of nowhere, he suffered a pain so blinding that he was sure he should have instantly fallen unconscious. Not one, not two, but three bullets punctured her abdomen, and he felt it all. Like a hot needle poking through skin, only thicker, faster, going all the way through and tearing everything in between. Adrenaline didn’t mask the pain. Not at all.
Eres fell with her to one knee, feeling as she did. Every exhale pushed more warm liquid out of the wounds, each inhale pulling in less air, her breaths becoming shorter. She began to heave. This is what death felt like. He couldn’t detach. He didn’t have the strength. And when he looked up through her vision, his grandfather was running after her in magnificently crafted Glite, scales weaved in deep red and black, mask pulling backward like Agden’s once had to reveal a face scrunched in anguish. He slid to catch her, to shield her, not accepting that it was too late. Alres held her tightly as blood seeped out, as Eres could feel the life force draining, as he suffered death.
He screamed internally for no one to hear, pushed his ethereal hands back onto the ground to lift himself to escape this terror. “Help!” he screamed. “Ooma!” He didn’t know what else to do.
Eres abruptly woke up in the same spot he’d left. Every pore on his body emitted sweat. His limbs were paralyzed from the trip, and it turned out that death stole all confidence, something one could only know if they lived on after it.
He did all that he could by letting his head fall back on the wall. Taking one last look at the girls snoozing in their sleeping bags and Ilfrid quietly manning the pilot’s chair, he let exhaustion finally claim him, dragging him into some much-needed nothingness.
Chapter 23
The Colliding Spheres
Yet again, Eres startled awake - this time to three suns rising in the shape of a pyramid, their rays shimmering prismatically through Alga’s glass. His hand quickly went up to shield his eyes from the glare. Northeast, he thought. Suns rise in the North, and the collision point is east. We’re in route.
His body was tossed about the cabin. They were moving at record pace, a blur of violent waves tumbling over one another below the shider proved it. It all zoomed by so fast underneath, rumbling waters reaching higher and higher, nearly touching the shider the farther they went. Unbreaking waves clapped to a point so intensely that their tips stretched thirty feet into the air. It was clear now how far they’d traveled in just a night’s time. This wasn’t the mark of a habitable world, which only meant one thing - the Colliding Spheres was upon them. A place of legend, where Proctor Vasa had once been a Champion, where a descendent of Ovar Octanious currently held the title, and where Eres hoped some clue as to Wudon’s whereabouts would lay. The fragmented coliseum came quickly into view in the horizon. They were almost there.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. Yesterday’s events seemed more than ever like a mix of real and fantasy, like a trip into his esper. His sense of time passage was warped, scrambled, as if he and Seren had crossed paths in a different era, a time when there was only one sun. But it wasn’t. How could it? As he scrunched forward to get up, the burning feeling fresher than a slap to the face burned his chest, reminding him of the truth - that what had happened was very real. Reaching a hand to his bare chest was a stark reminder of Seren’s bolstered blade cutting into him. The uneven grooves caved into his chest were raw, sore, like oval-shaped craters crusted throughout.
If Windel hadn’t been there to save me, Mustae knows I would be waiting for death in the middle of the Scarred Lands, waiting for the suns to melt my body into the cracked grounds. Pathetic… I’m pathetic.
His liveliness drained further when he remembered an even worse event – death. He had died the night before when he relived his paternal grandmother’s end, or so it seemed anyway. The lingering sensation weighed heavily like a thousand purposeful hands pulling him back to sleep. To rest. To die.
It wasn’t that bad, really. There was actually some semblance of peace within the notion, like a mother’s caress that he’d never known lulling him back into his pillow. But then there was guilt - was that what the others had felt on that horrid day in Kor Vinsánce? When Kovella’s Quittance wreaked havoc unknown to the peaceful grounds, where peers had perished so prematurely? Is this what they experienced when bullets disappeared in flesh? He had felt what it was like, the last moments of mortality.
He had to ignore his inner turmoil when Ohndee latched onto his arm and gave him a good morning kiss.
“So exciting to be back.” She dragged him to where Windel and Ilfrid were already speaking to the odd
ities of what lay before them.
“Back?”
“What do you think a highborn Swul family’s favorite past time would be? Going to the library, like yours is? Hah. C’mon, let me show you what real fun looks like.”
Eres scratched his head, feeling rumbles of turbulence at their feet, knowing immediately that the temperament of this place was quite different than what he was used to. “I think I had enough real fun yesterday… let me rest for a little bit more, please.”
She cleared her throat and shouted, “Excuse me! While you were off on a fun mission that I wasn’t allowed to join you on, I had to deal with this jerk.” She pointed to Ilfrid, who turned and tipped his feathered hat.
“Come, you two, maybe learn a thing or two.” Ilfrid beckoned them to the wide glass.
Eres felt a dull ache above his stomach as he inched forward, a heaviness weighing on him.
Windel turned her head with a look of empathy upon her face. “Don’t fret, it gets lighter.” She squeezed his arm gently, sending prickles through his body.
If Ohndee noticed, she pretended not to.
Ilfrid swiveled in his seat. “Here, let me have a look at you before I forget.” He pressed two grubby thumbs under Eres’ eyes.
“Ugh, yuck, what the hell is on your hands?”
“Breakfast. Maybe if you didn’t dream your life away, you’d have some grease on your fingers too!”
“Bu-”
Ilfrid cut him off by swinging Eres’ head to get a better angle, pulling his skin down so the bottom part of his eyes was exposed. “Your Dagos mask still looks good. No blades can be drawn outside of the Arena, so there’s no crime at the Colliding Spheres, but. But. Information can still travel. Remember that. This is a place where the highest of meetings can be held by the lowest of scum. None but the Alliance, and the wenches in this room, know about your heritage. Ow!”
Windel, already feeling comfortable enough to do so, smacked Ilfrid upside the head.
“All of you would do well to remember,” Ilfrid whirled a scolding finger, “don’t say anything stupid. You hear? Eyes and ears everywhere in there.”
“What about looking stupid?” Windel flicked one of the feathers sticking out of his hat. “Is there a crime against that too? Or do you get to walk away scot-free?”
“Ha, ha.” Ilfrid bobbed his head mockingly before clearing his throat.
The fragmented coliseum was discernable in the distance. Its richness was compounded by the fact that it was located at the end of the world, built in shrouded mystery like the pyramids of planet Earth. Where would one even begin to create such a structure? The wealth and manpower that would be required to construct it amid unstable elements in the middle of nowhere was unfathomable.
“As I was about to say before being so rudely interrupted.” The pilot coughed. “Legend says that an ancient Swul dynasty, Qual’eth, used its immense wealth and influence to charter fleets from all of its rival Factions to form a common bond… through sport.”
Ohndee folded her arms and pursed her lips, waiting for one slip-up in lore so she could dive down his throat.
“Finally, when all ordinances were in place, Birsai Qual’eth gathered his allied fleets - I’m talking millions of Sur-power - and worked to tug and eventually successfully detach the dynasty’s largest island from the tip of Alas-ta. I know, crazy! He then dragged it to the end of the Osa Sphere, to the end of the world.”
“Don’t forget that Birsai received endless death threats on his journey,” Ohndee added, “for allying with the Dagos amid war.”
“Hmph, that’s because he was a libertarian, a businessman, an explorer. He didn’t have the patience for patriotic endeavors. He saw the world as one, and Sajs as the currency that can be earned from all.”
“Oh, I’m glad you knew him so well,” Dee jested.
“Anyway, Birsai wanted to build a stadium in the blusteriest of spaces.”
“Blusteriest, really?”
“Yes! Blusteriest!” He cursed quietly. “Where better than the coordinates of the two spheres intersecting? Gravity shifts, unwieldly storms of fire, plasma, ice, all of it was there, for the worthiest warriors to duke it out, for all the glory in Ingora.”
“Remember that Birsai received even more hate for not using prisoner-of-war slaves to construct his masterpiece,” Ohndee reminded. “He vowed to deplete his dynasty if that’s what it took, as an investment for the greatest arena Ingora had ever seen.”
Eres pursed his lips. “The Bloody Forager spoke to Qual’eth’s reputation for owning slaves of… different motives. In the bedroom, that is.”
Ohndee rolled her eyes. “The book is rubbish, and Stie Tokan was a hag for writing it! He just wanted to defame their lineage.”
Ilfrid sucked his teeth. “Swul pride… such a useless thing. Multiple texts spoke to Quals’ affinities for pleasure…”
“Dragging an island half way across the world doesn’t explain that.” Windel pointed to the vast concave structure that had seemingly risen from the depths of the ocean.
“He hired the best builders, the most masterful wielders of Reach, the strongest laborers, and embarked on an ambitious, no, that’s an understatement, world-shattering endeavor. To think he really believed it would take a decade. Hah. It became their life’s work. They completed it happily too, because all of the figureheads involved saw it as a prideful coming together, where they set aside their differences. This is a place of history, a landmark.”
“My parents detested Qual’eth’s principles,” Dee stated, “the way they would openly work with any race without even considering history between them. My mom told me that Father was always a more traditional highborn, bred for strategy that involved preserving Swul ideals, including conquering the Dagos, alienating outsiders, and detesting the runts of society. Well, until they had me, that is. She said I changed him just because of a simple mark. Having an outcast for a daughter, having a Dawn, it could humble the hardest of personalities apparently, so long as there’s love in there somewhere. He couldn’t find it in his heart to send me to Elesion, to a fate worse than death,” she sighed, “and if I wasn’t caught, I’d probably still be with them. Anyway, now my parents praise Qual’eth and have a deeper appreciation for a place in which they spend so much time.”
“Good. So, we all agree, the Colliding Spheres is a great place to gamble.” Ilfrid rubbed his palms together in excitement. “Oh yeah, so they built and reinforced it with both material and Reach.”
“What did they use for Reach out here? Bring soil and plant-life with them?” Eres questioned.
Windel gestured to the ocean. “They had the most abundant source to pull from right here.”
“She’s right,” Ilfrid agreed, “but Agden always told me that ‘sticking his phantom fingers,’ I guess he meant his Reach, ‘into the blue depths,’ I guess that meant the ocean, ‘was enough to descend the most astute wielders into madness.’ He kept saying something about an infinite number of noises shrieking constantly, and that working under those conditions was a nightmare. That must be the reason he admired the Colliding Spheres so much - the number of resources, laborers, Reachers it took to make this thing… I mean look at it!” He presented the grand coliseum before them, its three interconnected annexes spanning out like giant metal wings protecting a nest, its enormous pillars jutting from the ground to keep it raised high, Reach-filled vines spiraling up them as reinforced strength, and the circumference of water where the island rested beneath – the stadium’s foundation. All of it was a magnificent sight to behold.
“So, the island that was transported is right under the surface of the ocean?” Eres asked.
“Yep, perfectly weighted so it would reside just slightly submerged.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see, when you witness your first real duel.”
Dee smiled in agreement.
“So there, on the left,” all heads turned as the pilot spoke, “that’s the Rizal Annex, which
requires a small fortune as a deposit to hold your lineage’s spot. Highbornes are admitted there…” He motioned to Dee. “It’s said that the most profound deals have been brokered in that section.”
The element resistant cover was a mix of slate and emerald green, shining vibrantly. Window panes were stationed from floor to high ceiling, some sections showing elaborate sit-downs within, and waiters bowing graciously in the fine dining halls. Beyond were superfluous stadium seats, which Eres guessed were for when the dueling began.
“Think you can get us in on that side?” Eres joked, kind of.
“If you want me shipped back to Elesion before you could say ‘Mustae,’ then sure.”
“To the right is where I suggest you spend the least amount of time,” Ilfrid warned. “The underground. You don’t want them memorizing any of your faces, hm? But you will have to visit, Eres… because that’s where Wukaldred’s captors will be… if he’s still alive.”
A fluorescent shell of black and beige protected a seemingly louder section, where family-style meals were being served and commotion could be seen in the form of mouths open in boisterous laughter and hands holding bellies. There was yelling amongst friends, maybe even enemies, with some frightening-looking assassins in between to make sure no brawls broke out.
“The Ozgulo Annex. Fun, sure. But don’t piss any of them off. They remember,” Ilfrid guaranteed. “Just stay here, will you? In the neutral section. Boz’oz’rue.”
The space separating the legitimately wealthy from the scrappily rich was a common area that may as well have been crafted by gods. So intricate, vast, with tunneled bridges of ornate design shimmering as they funneled toward the epicenter, completely sealed off so any audience member crossing didn’t have to weather the outdoors.
Three curious faces mindlessly inched to the right as they rounded the gigantic structure, like bugs drawn to light, all while Ilfrid steered Alga to a plethora of parked shiders sticking up like pointy wine bottles stuffed into cartons. The lot was packed, and growing.
