by Marc Mulero
His Glite mask peeled back meticulously to reveal deep set eyes mostly covered in shadow, a thin nose, and an angular face. He was here because he was ready to claim the top of this mountain. To reign supreme. To bestow upon the world his treasures. His eyes tracked the enormous crowd slowly, from right to left, until finally mirroring the form of his ancient bird by throwing his arms wide to embrace it all.
“Yes, that’s it! Welcome this rare challenger, for he is expected to put on a grand show.
“Now!” He threw one flexed hand up. “It, is, time. The moment you’ve all been waiting for. The reason for which the lot of you traveled unrivaled distances, to the end of the ocean. I, present to you, the returning, the great, the undeniable Champion of the Colliding Spheres… Esil Octanious!”
The audience nearly exploded from their seats at the mere mention of his name. Reach-generated sparks burst from the vines lining the rows, and in true showman fashion, with the utmost gall, Esil appeared atop the Ozgulo Annex, right above all the criminals to give them something to cheer louder for. All heads were turned, but by the time vision settled on him, he was already in motion – flipping over the Moragos-field with flenos boots ignited in orange. He landed powerfully on the platform closest to the crowd, both two-handed swords held by the strength of one arm each to showcase the gladiator that he was, and his family crest of a bloodied moon etched into his Glite.
“The board has informed me that any interference by Reach is punishable by Sindus-inspired death.” He pretended to shiver. “So I’ll be sure not to cough or sneeze. And you Reachers out there be sure to do the same.” Everyone cackled again.
“Alright, contender,” Jestani looked to Ivennes, then swung to Esil, “defender. Acknowledge that you both have studied the layout of this battlefield prior to enlisting in this duel. Consent that you have signed death waivers.”
“I have.” Both voices echoed.
“Great. I now pronounce you man and - wait wait, sorry, wrong ceremony.” Jestani’s face lost its humor after the last joke, the audience tensing with him. “Esil… Ivennes… ready yourselves.” He bent low and shouted, “Begin!”
With a puff of smoke, Jestani disappeared from the depths from which he came. Esil sheathed his blades behind his back and burst from his platform while Ivennes was unmoved.
Eres’ eyes were on the bouncing Champion - he could glimpse a flash of movement, a wave of the hand from front to back, and wings made of wind blinking behind him. An impeller - drawn and returned so fast that he could hardly see it. Where was Esil headed? Every muscle flexed within his skin-tight Glite, for what, to dive head first into water? Then a platform rose from nowhere as if he’d summoned it. That’s when it all clicked for Eres - now he knew better. It was the layout, which was studied for a reason, mapped in each dueler’s mind. For when Esil swung his body mid-air to move feet first, touched down on solid ground, and zagged again in the other direction, Eres was nearly out of his seat with goosebumps.
Ivennes tracked the man too agile for his size, too nimble for his brawn, but he didn’t watch in awe. He watched in anticipation. He drew a bow that shouldn’t have existed, for they’d been outdated for centuries, since Esil’s ancestor Ovar and his wife Kovella created Glite in the first place. What was the point? An arrow couldn’t keep Crule lit long enough to pierce Glite. Why pick a bow?
The first arrow was held high by its fletching, signaling the enormous dulwar to let off a firey exhale and light the tip aflame. The entire audience was silent in wonder. Was Ivennes about to be shredded to pieces once the Champion caught up? It seemed like he didn’t understand the rules of combat, like he was living in the past. Esil was dashing closer and closer. Now half-way to his opponent – timing jumps to align with rising platforms as though he’d lived on these grounds his whole life.
The arrow was nocked and drawn. Aim steady. Ivennes measured Esil’s next jump with deadly accuracy. Now everyone was out of their seats. Swoosh. The arrow loosed. And when Esil twisted midair like he was hit, the crowd gasped. All eyes followed as Esil landed feet first on the next platform, legs spread, and then all the people cheered when he held the arrow up to mock his attacker and rile the crowd. He had caught it.
“Holy…” Windel was speechless.
“Ivennes still looks confident somehow.” Ohndee pointed.
Allowing the Champion his moment of glory just to crush his spirit that much harder, Ivennes snapped his fingers and the dulwar exploded from the platform, straight toward the arrow. The dulwar expanded its wings to stop itself, heaved in a deadly breath that made its ribcage glow a molten orange, and exhaled a fiery gust that would’ve tested the resilience of Esil’s Glite.
He rolled at the last second and bounced to the next platform, now activating his mask out of fear of being burned. No more cockiness. This Seedar Trainer had full control of his beast and it nearly cost Esil his life.
Ivennes too had studied the layout, evidenced by his gracious prance up a series of thin cascading platforms that protruded like rounded stairs. He was weightless, a feather, skipping and twirling with eyes forward, nocking another arrow before dipping it in a dulwar-flamed candle hanging from his belt and drawing once more.
The creature waited obediently, reorienting itself to appear as a tattooed lampshade with clawed feet and a razor-sharp beak. Esil was outnumbered and outdistanced, rotating his gaze between the two threats, waves crashing all around making the scene that much more daunting. But the environment wasn’t against him. It was his arena… something he could use… a veil to throw off the marksman. Without a second thought, he faked a thrust just before disappearing under a wave and then hopped in the other direction. But Ivennes was keen. He didn’t aim for Esil again. Instead, another arrow loosed toward a platform ahead of his target, where the dulwar burst and landed before the Swul could.
When Esil struck down upon the center disc, he was awestruck to see that he was already blocked from going forward. Eyes locked just ten feet apart, Swul and beast, for an eternal second. It was checkmate, the three of them knew. And out came a cone of flame so chemically infused that it was colored crimson to match the turbulent sky. All Esil could do was curl away with his back to the blast. The heat was so intense he couldn’t see or hear anything around him. Had he not been wearing his ancestors’ protection – Glite - he would’ve been a puddle of melted flesh dripping onto the ground, but when the dulwar cooled down and waited, Esil was still intact. Albeit dazed, yet whole. His black and blue Glite seared the same molten orange as the dulwar’s ribcage. Although steam emitted from it, Esil held his head and rose again.
The crowd was at a loss. Still silent. Confused. Was this the end of their Champion?
It sure looked that way when the dulwar inhaled again, ready to douse him once more.
Windel buried her face in Eres’ nook, refusing to watch a man be torched alive, but Eres’ focus was still forward. He could see that the duel had devolved into a game of chess, one that Esil was in the middle of and one that Ivennes was controlling from afar. This was different than any duel he’d ever known. A unique challenge. If Esil was to overcome it, he would have to adapt, bypass somehow. Flip the script. That’s how Eres felt his entire life - he could identify with the Champion on some level and found himself rooting for him.
Should he charge the beast head on? No… a dulwar’s skin is said to be harder than Arkinite. His weapons would just clash or break. Surely Esil knows that. Maybe an ignited Crule strike could puncture it? It would be anyone’s guess.
Eres could feel Esil’s tension, even from far away. The unrest was theater-wide as the dulwar’s beak began to heat reddish orange once more.
Water… dive into the water. No, that would be suicide. An undercurrent can change by the positioning of a moon, let alone the collision point of two planetary spheres. The waves tell how that story would end. The instability down there would tear him apart.
Before another thought could be had by Eres, Esil reached for one
of his ornately decorated two-handed swords, ignited it with blindingly white Crule, and flung it towards the dulwar’s beak. The audience, Ivennes, and even the dulwar reeled away like a solar eclipse had just met their eyes. And by the time the light dimmed, Esil Octanious had the bottom tip of one wing clasped in both hands, flenos boots sparking on the wet stone as he spun. He jumped in his spiral for more momentum, dragging the dazed beast in three forced rotations, causing dizziness that it had likely never experienced. And when Esil let go, he slungshot himself in another direction – Ivennes’. Wind pulses driving him close. Fast. The gap was nearly closed when Ivennes nimbly side-flipped into a haze, reforming with an arrow that looked different than the others.
This was Esil’s chance, soaring with his second sword reeled back in both hands, mask off for better precision, for he only had one shot at this.
The crowd once again was on their feet as electric blue Crule was ignited to match his glorious gear. A true Swul. A gladiator. A warrior.
Then the arrow lit without a candle or beast to ignite it and blazed with a fiery glow - Crule. It was unheard of. Something that would fizzle out too early to even think of spending Sajs on. On a short-range arrow, for what? Just to stay aflame long enough to soar a couple of gars?
Esil’s charge was head-on, a desperate attempt to get to the dulwar’s trainer before it did. Twenty gars away… then fifteen, ten. Teeth bared, swing in motion. As his arms descended to drop the proverbial hammer and the literal edge, a sound similar to a fuse burning reached his ears, the blur of a projectile grazed his vision for a split-second, and the feeling of an impossibly long needle pierced his armor and skin. The shock of it made him lose momentum, drop his sword on the stone below, which allowed Ivennes to sidestep the black and blue comet charging him.
Esil gaped at his wound mid-air, fingers clasping the arrow lodged into his abdomen, heavy winds pressing down on his neck… and before he knew it, Esil Octanious, the former Champion of the Colliding Spheres, was submerged into the volatile sea.
A quarter of the crowd immediately cheered – gamblers against the odds, no doubt. The rest slowly sat back in awe, waiting for something. An announcement, Curatives to return with an unconscious Esil…
Collective low whispers began to bloom as Ivennes glided off one stone and onto the next, flenos boots lit at his feet, waiting the appropriate amount of time to seamlessly hop again just as the targeted platform rose from the depths, until, finally, he was reunited with the dulwar in the center.
“Five sifs if a duelist abandons the arena,” Ohndee mentioned. “That’s how long Ivennes will have to wait in suspense before being crowned the new Champion. He looks certain of victory… that arrow must’ve been Crule-infused.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Eres kept eyes forward, “but I can’t believe it. Who would do that?”
“Someone who wanted the element of surprise in his back pocket.” Windel shook her head. “What a duel… I hope Esil is found. I mean, what are his chances down there?” She pointed to the waves endlessly consuming one another.
“He will be. The Sindus have never let a body go unrecovered.”
Three sifs left.
The crowd cheered again, more this time, looking down to a dulwar and its trainer, arms spread with wings behind to bolster them to embrace their fans. A glimmer of Esil’s forgone swords were on platforms next to the middle, framing the new Champion. There was no higher glory than this.
Two sifs.
Jestani was to arrive at any moment with some witty remarks, a closing statement, and finally to crown a new Champion.
One sif.
Umboro, Dagos, Eplon, and Swul all counted down from ten, Ivennes Rood beaming with pride for how far he’d come. His own path, not a beaten one.
“Five… four… three…”
Why did the counting stop?
A small vibration behind him, from two muscular arms clinging on for dear life. It couldn’t be. Esil. Alive? After all of that? But he was there. He launched himself up from the depths, steel arrow snapped at the ends, face bruised from the underwater tornado he’d must’ve suffered, his whole body inflating and deflating with every huff of air. Prior to the collective shock wearing off however, Esil was on him to take back what was his.
A streak of sparks trailed him, and before a bow could be lifted or a dagger pulled, he hooked his fist into a set of ribs half his size, headbutted a face too clean to claim such a title, and spun him by the hair, daring the dulwar to exhale unto his Trainer.
Flip the script, Eres thought.
The dulwar’s molten skeleton cooled, wings furled like an angry child folding their arms, and predatory eyes stared down the man holding its Trainer hostage.
Splashes of electric blue busied the sky, as if the elements themselves had chosen a side. The worthy Esil. And that quickly, the audience had turned…
“Esil, Esil, Esil!” Fists pumped the air, rich and poor. Valiant and Vile. All who traveled so far to watch would have a story for the rest of their days. Those who backed out would be kicking themselves. This was the fight of the century.
“No one has ever returned after touching those waters…” Ohndee was at a loss.
“The Octanious line is everything that Proctor Vasa told us,” Windel added.
When Esil plucked a Crule dagger from Ivennes’ side, ignited it, and held it at his heart, both of them knew it was over. Ivennes crossed his arms over his chest to signal the Universal sign of surrender, and the match had officially ended.
“Impossible,” Ohndee wouldn’t let up, “Jestani definitely helped navigate him through those waters.”
“Whoaa…” Eres was taken aback, “did you have money against him or something? That’s one hell of an accusation.”
“Too bad none of us have Reach to know the truth,” Windel said.
“There are hundreds here who do, undoubtedly. Someone would’ve spoken up.”
“True,” Ohndee conceded. “I just can’t believe it.”
Jestani emerged from the depths to recrown Esil Octanious once more. Mouth comically agape, hands motioning for the crowd to grow louder.
“What was that blinding Crule infused with Esil’s first sword?” Eres asked, clapping along with everyone else.
“Paladin’s Light… very rare,” Ohndee jumped right in. “It’s made of ore found only within the dark clouds of Okabin and cell matter from an underground plant in Dagos mainland, Ralfas. It’s said that two Artificers must be hired to get it right. A very meticulous process to obtain that kind of shine.”
“Wow.” He stared at the reigning Champion, whose hands were raised high to confirm victory. “Now that’s a story I would read.”
“Only you would say that.” Windel shook her head.
“Tell your friends and family who didn’t make this trip with you, that they missed the… best… duel… of the century!” Jestani pretended he couldn’t catch his breath, and the crowd ate it up. “Let’s hear it for the one, the only, Champion of the Colliding Spheres! Esil Octanious!
“This is the route of a legend. Statues will be erected to remind of your glory. Mustae bless!” He then turned to Ivennes, who was signaling for the dulwar not to burn the two alive. “And you… the contender, Ivennes Rood the First. What a challenge. Great show, my good man. A magnificent Seedar Trainer… let’s hear it everyone!”
Eres fully understood why the Imperions voted not to shut this place down. Where else would they find this kind of entertainment? It was a marvel.
Windel reached over Eres to scrunch Dee’s arm. “Thank you for dragging us to this. We needed a break.”
Dee just smiled back.
Afterward, they stayed outdoors for over an hour appreciating the variant sky, recalling the intricacies of the duel, the landscape, what Ohndee had seen in the past growing up. They were lost in glory, past and present.
Chapter 25
The Invisible Hand
Something suddenly didn’t feel right
to Eres. He was laughing, but couldn’t remember why. That warm feeling of good company dropped to arctic temperatures, and the visual splendor of the Colliding Spheres rapidly dulled. Of course, he shouldn’t be sitting there enjoying himself. He had work to do, and the clock was ticking away.
But what if this was his last chance to spend time with two of the people he cared most for in this world? What if after this each of them would be forced to part ways like he and his ooma were? The trials in Verglas were looming.
It didn’t matter now anyway. The moment was already ruined, his change of expression was noted immediately – eyebrows knitted, jaw clenched, abrupt disengaging.
“Uh oh… party’s over, isn’t it?” Dee’s lips folded into a line.
Eres only returned a hardened look.
“Guys, we need a safe place where we can talk.”
“Okay, okay, back where we had lunch, I’m sure we can find a corner table now.” Dee led the way.
Even an hour past the duel, people were still bustling in and out of the stands. The event had morphed from a colosseum duel into a tourist attraction, with guests choosing to stay and enjoy the clearest view they would ever have of chaotic elements. Servers helped, tending hand and foot with drinks, food, binoculars. Smart business, really.
The three of them squeezed past busying bodies and made their way up the steps back into Boz’oz’rue where people trying to beat the rush home were being scanned by collectors on the way out.
“Why are they being inspected?” Eres asked.
“I’ll bet it’s to stop gamblers with open tabs,” Windel guessed.
“One point for Windy!”
Eres’ stomach lurched at the mention of her old nickname.
“Any open tab is tracked by each gambler’s unique prints so there are no mistakes,” Ohndee explained. “Debt has to be settled before departure. How do you think an establishment as successful as this stays in business? Not by letting gamblers fly off never to be seen again, that’s for sure. They need to pay the house. My dad told me about side-loans though… that’s a different story.”
