Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  “It’s singing!” I’m in awe.

  Phaestion smiles mischievously. “The alloy’s a rare substance that reacts to the vibrations of the body. The metal vibrates at the same frequency I do. When it touches something or someone . . .” He looks around. “Throw me your pillow.”

  I grab the pillow from the bed and toss it in the air. Phaestion thrusts; the pillow explodes. I’m hurled back by the concussive blast. I shake my head and open my eyes. Burned pillow foam lies scattered all over the floor.

  “Sorry.” Phaestion shrugs. “I’m still learning the fine tuning.”

  “That was outstanding!” I’m giddy.

  “Want to hold it?” he asks with a lopsided grin.

  I nod. He slowly hands it over. My fingers wrap around the handle.

  Fire runs through my body. I scream in pain as the sonic vibrations of the steel ignite my flesh, my bones. I drop the sword and collapse to the floor, teeth chattering.

  Phaestion laughs.

  “That wasn’t funny!” I yell. I turn to storm out of the room.

  “Wait!” he yells. “Edmon, I’m sorry.”

  I stop in my tracks. He seems sincere.

  “It takes years to master the vibrations. I couldn’t hold it the first time, either,” he admits.

  “But you knew it would shock me!” I say.

  “I thought. I didn’t know. People have different affinities. Each sword is tuned differently. The siren steel comes from special meteor ore. Not everyone can use it. These happen to be my signature.”

  “Your signature?” I’m still fuming.

  “The thing I’m known for—my combat specialty. Your father was known for the spear. Did you know that?”

  I shrug. I guess that’s why the Leontes guards always carry those silver pikes.

  He puts the swords away. He pulls out a shining silver disk from a case and slides it over one arm. He quickly assembles metallic tubes into a long, fierce-looking spear. He thrusts deftly, demonstrating, before he places the spear and shield in the corner.

  “I’ve seen all of Edric’s fights. Even the death matches from the Under Circuit. I like the spear and shield, but not as much as the swords.” He nods. “Spider-weave body armor and polyceramic shields will make ballistics obsolete against our armies in the next war. It will be a new age of individual skill on the battlefield, glory returned to modern fighting.”

  “What war?” I ask. “Tao doesn’t have armies. No one threatens us. What do we need armies for?”

  He smiles. “You know Chilleus and his foster brother Cuillan used spears and shields mainly. Of course, they were in Anjin mech suits.”

  “The characters from The Chironiad?” I ask.

  “Our ancestors were expert with them,” he goes on. “That’s where you get your name, right? Leontes? The Anjin pilot who held off a thousand invading ships against Miral with just his squadron of mechs?”

  I don’t really know. I shrug.

  He looks at me suspiciously for a beat, as if it’s impossible that this is something I don’t care about. “I need some sleep.”

  “It’s just after the midday rest,” I say, confused.

  He flashes another placating smile. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I need to conserve energy. You should, too.”

  He disrobes. I look away. It’s not like I haven’t seen nakedness before—it’s hot on Bone. We have to wear light, loose clothing—but he does it right in front of me, so casually.

  The red-haired boy’s skin is smooth and pale without a mark on it. He’s lean and muscular, even at this age. It makes his frame look angular, designed. He stands as confident as if he were armored for battle.

  This is what a boy is supposed to look like, I can’t help but think. Not like me, gangly and uncoordinated.

  “Where do you keep your clothes?” he asks.

  “My clothes?” I repeat.

  “I’m not going to walk around in my Julii uniform. If I’m to rule here someday, I need to live as you do,” he says simply.

  What does he mean, rule here?

  “Dresser,” I say.

  Drawers pop out from the wall. Phaestion crosses to them. He pulls out a linen shirt and holds it up.

  He smiles. “You can go now.” He delivers the command with the ease of someone who is never disobeyed.

  Instinctively, I take a step toward the door, then stop myself.

  This boy has shown up unexpectedly, to my house, tells me to carry his luggage, comes into my room, claims it for his own, and belittles me and my customs. He struts naked in front of me, takes my bed and my clothes, and dismisses me without thought as if I’m his servant.

  I am not his servant.

  He looks up and realizes I haven’t left. He cocks his head to the side, as if daring me to speak.

  “I come and go as I please,” I state boldly.

  He holds my gaze, saying nothing. I stand there for another awkward beat. I could demand that he leave my room, but what if he refuses? I certainly can’t force him.

  He sits, watching me.

  “What do we need armies for?” I ask again. I don’t know why I ask that. It’s just something to say.

  He thinks. Then he says, “Alexander the Great—do you know who that was?”

  I shake my head.

  “Alexander the Great was from a small country of sheep herders, but he and his army conquered the known earth. Rome was a small city state that became a Republic then a whole empire. Genghis Khan and his tribes of horsemen conquered even more. Small places with great men made small people into great armies, up to the time of Conn the Magnificent and his first Anjin mechs of the Miralian Empire. Every time there was conquest, it brought trade, new ideas, and inventions. They made civilization evolve to new heights. Humans soar on the wings of our violent nature. There’s no other way.”

  He sounds like he’s repeating something from an aquagraphic. I feel something horrible and ominous inside.

  Run as fast and far as you can, it says.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. I back out of the room, trying to make it seem as if I’m in control, that it’s totally my decision to leave. The door slides shut behind me.

  “Were you impressed?”

  I spin around at the sound of the voice. Mother. She stands imperiously in the hallway.

  “Did the little killer impress you with his weapons?” she asks coldly.

  My mother has never talked to me this way before. She sounds angry, cruel. I look down, ashamed. I was mesmerized by the red-haired boy and his shiny weapons, if the truth be told.

  She kneels in front of me. Her finger gently lifts my chin. Her gaze is soft again.

  “The ability to kill someone doesn’t make you a leader, and it doesn’t make someone great,” she says. “There’s nothing great about dying or taking a life. Remember that tomorrow?”

  I nod. I hope I do.

  CHAPTER 4

  CONTINUO

  The sun blazes high in the blue sky as Alberich leads us down the cobbled streets through the town. I carry Phaestion’s cases slung on my back.

  Whispers echo from doorways. “House of the Julii . . . Little Lord learning to fight . . .”

  My face flushes with mentions of the “Little Lord.” After the incident with Nadia in the marketplace and now the whispers that surround us as we walk, I feel keenly how I am different. I live on the high hill. My skin is pale. I’m not a fisherman, nor do I fit in with the Nightsiders. The red-haired boy makes me carry his things, like a servant.

  I don’t belong anywhere.

  We arrive at a narrow patch of white gravel and sand surrounded by large boulders where the foam of the sea licks the edge of the land. Alberich stakes several practice spears and swords into the earth.

  “The Great Song’s army wandered the Nine Corridors for a decade before they found planet Tao. Ten years passed in the vacuum before Supreme Bushi Tamerlane Song finally stepped on the Twilight Lands as an emperor. He swore to uphold
the Balance that his masters had forgotten. What is the Balance?”

  Phaestion immediately parrots an answer. “Elder Stars illuminate only because there is darkness. A warrior can know righteous cause only because there is evil. Heart to thought, thought to voice, harmony rises from discord. This is the Balance.”

  The grizzled seneschal nods. “Without shadow, there cannot be light. Song’s men were warriors, but with no war. They had thrown off the yoke of slavery their masters placed on them, but what was their worth without conflict? Without trial? They created the Combat: the ultimate test of strength, speed, and intelligence.” He says it with pride. “Contestants compete throughout the year in sparring matches until the end-of-the-year final. Twelve spots for nobility, one for each house of the Pantheon, twenty-four for the underclass. The one who survives the arena lives to rule. Both of you as scions of noble houses are fated to compete one day.”

  I am to be forced to do this? My heart begins to pound.

  Phaestion only nods, not only aware of his fate, but determined to meet it with deadly confidence.

  “Phaestion,” the seneschal commands. The red-haired boy steps forward. “Pick your best weapon.”

  Phaestion pulls a long trident and some sort of net out of his cases. My eyes narrow. These are not his “best weapons.”

  “Retiarius.” Alberich nods. “Very well. Come at me.”

  Phaestion looks puzzled. Alberich scowls. “Edmon, Phaestion, I’m not your friend. I’m here to teach you. You will call me Master. If you don’t learn, you’ll end up dead. If you end up dead, I end up dead. Therefore, if you don’t follow my instruction, you’ll be punished.”

  “Yes, Master,” Phaestion says without hesitation.

  My voice is a beat behind. I feel totally out of place.

  “Come at me!” Alberich commands.

  Phaestion feints with the trident, then swings the net, trying to trip the big man. Alberich merely uses his large trunk of a leg to tear the net from Phaestion’s grasp. Phaestion refuses to let go. He rolls with it. The metal-capped stump of Alberich’s hand slams into the sand where Phaestion stood a split second earlier.

  The red-haired boy draws into a crouch. He thrusts the trident forward. It almost catches Alberich square in the back, but the big man spins away deftly. His hand springs out and grabs the shaft of the trident. He yanks it, but Phaestion holds on. The boy flies into the air and releases his hold on the shaft. He somersaults midair and lands on Alberich’s shoulders. He wraps his arms and legs around Alberich’s throat.

  A choke hold!

  Alberich rears back and slams Phaestion into a boulder. The boy gasps and drops like stone to the earth. Still, he refuses to give up. He reaches for the net, but Alberich kicks it from his reach. He touches the captured trident to the boy’s throat.

  “Hold!” he calls.

  Phaestion immediately stops and stands.

  “Good,” the big man says. “But you waited too long to release the trident midair. Sometimes letting go sooner will give you openings.”

  Phaestion nods.

  “Now show me your weakest weapon,” Alberich commands.

  Phaestion pulls the siren sword and dagger from his cases. He flourishes both weapons and crouches like a cat. Alberich smiles and beckons the boy forward.

  If Phaestion was a phenom with the trident, he’s inhuman with the swords. He twirls them with incredible speed. Siren steel glints in the sunlight, but Alberich dodges every stroke. Phaestion’s brow furrows with concentration. He increases the speed of his attacks. Alberich uses the metal stump of his missing hand to parry the sword as he spins away from the dagger’s thrusts.

  Phaestion leaps onto a boulder and ricochet-jumps off the rock. He brings the blade of his sword stabbing down. Alberich’s eyes widen as he ducks under the blow, but not quickly enough. The razor-sharp metal slices open his muscular back in rivulets of crimson. Alberich ignores it and barrels into Phaestion’s legs midair. The red-haired boy tumbles end over end and hits the sand with a thud.

  “Hold!” Alberich calls out. “Very good, Phaestion, but that was definitely not your weakest weapon.”

  Phaestion cocks his head to the side in that way I’m beginning to recognize as belonging to him. “There’s no weapon that I’m weak with, Master.” He puts his fist into his palm and bows.

  After what I’ve just witnessed, I believe him.

  Alberich nods. “Let your enemy think you’re weak where you’re strong. Cloak weakness in strength. Still, you did not follow my instructions to the letter,” he admonishes. “First kata. Now.”

  A hint of anger flashes across Phaestion’s gray eyes as he picks up his swords and begins practicing in the air.

  “Edmon, choose your strongest weapon.”

  I freeze. Holding Phaestion’s siren sword was the first time I’ve ever even held a weapon, much less a weakest or strongest. With hesitation, I approach the spears and swords the seneschal’s staked into the earth.

  What am I going to do?

  “Be quick about it, boy!” Alberich commands.

  I hastily grab a spear and a shield from the sand.

  My father was an expert with the spear. Maybe I will be, too?

  I heft the spear in one hand and fumble to tighten the shield to the forearm of the other. I try to place my legs in a wide stance as I saw Phaestion do.

  “Begin,” Alberich commands.

  I’m more afraid of what will happen if I don’t try, so I thrust the spear forward, but it’s half-hearted, weak. The big man easily bats it aside, knocking it from my grasp. I immediately back away, expecting him to pummel me to the ground or at least end the farce by shouting, “Hold!”

  Instead, he gestures for me to pick up the spear. I kneel slowly, watching him, unsure if this is a trick.

  “Again,” he commands.

  This time I thrust with more surety. Still, the big man dodges easily and slams his stump into my shield. I’m knocked into the sand, unhurt but stunned. He takes a step forward, and I scramble to get up. He comes for me again. I run out of the way. This appears to be a successful tactic. He lunges for me, and I scurry from his grasp.

  “You’re quick when you stop thinking and just act,” he grunts. “But you can’t win by running, Edmon.”

  I can’t win at all! I want to scream. Why bother trying?

  He rushes forward. I thrust the spear. He brutally knocks it away. He punches both arms into my shield, which I raise just in time to save myself. I hunker down behind the barrier. Blow after blow I suffer as he continues to pound relentlessly. I am a nail being hammered into the earth. Finally, he rips the shield from my arm and tosses it aside. I scramble away. I barely make it a meter before he clutches the scruff of my neck with the claw of his good hand.

  “I yield!” I shout pathetically.

  “Is that what you are going to do when someone tries to take your life from you? Or the lives of your family?” he asks scornfully. “Yield and hope that they take pity on you?”

  No, damn it! Don’t cry. Do anything, but don’t cry!

  I look over to Phaestion. He looks away. My humiliation is painful even for him to watch.

  “Maybe you aren’t worth keeping alive then,” the seneschal says. He lifts me into the air. He smacks me against a boulder and pins me there as he chokes me. I can’t breathe. I struggle.

  “You are not fit to be a son,” Alberich growls.

  Blackness comes for me.

  “Stop!” someone far-off shouts. “You’re killing him!”

  Then there’s nothing but the singing of the sirens.

  A cry of pain—mine? The fingers on my throat release. I gasp for air. I run with all my might to get away, but I run directly into Alberich. We tumble in the sand. He claws for me. From somewhere deep inside, somewhere primal, a scream arises and bursts from my mouth. I attack for my life. I claw and kick. I punch and bite. I fight with every fiber of my being to survive. My knuckles grow slick with blood. A hunk of meat comes
away in my teeth. I don’t stop. Something caged inside me has been set free.

  Suddenly, I’m hurled to the ground. I continue to claw, but one arm is pinned, then the other. My chest is compressed under the weight of something heavy.

  “Stop!” I hear the shout. Phaestion comes into focus on top of me. “Stop!” he shouts again. “You’re going to kill him if you don’t stop!”

  I stop thrashing, and he slowly gets off me. I sit up, dazed. The cloud of rage that had descended upon me has lifted. I look at Alberich. He lies unmoving, blood soaking into the sand around him.

  Have I killed him? I taste the iron tang of blood in my mouth.

  Run, boy, run! I need to get out of this place. Anywhere. Fly to the stars.

  I jump to my feet.

  “Wait!” Phaestion calls out behind me. “He needs help!”

  I sprint uphill and don’t look back. Through the town. I don’t stop. I run to the only place where I’m safe—off the path and through the cracks of the two boulders. I tumble down the rocky path that overlooks the Southern Sea.

  She is there, Nadia, as if she knew I would come. She stands at my approach.

  Doesn’t she know I need to be alone?

  “Edmon?” she calls out.

  I try to answer and can’t. My adrenaline worn off, I realize I’m in terrible pain. My left arm screams. My throat is scratchy, my voice almost gone. I collapse.

  “You’re hurt!” she exclaims.

  She comes up underneath my arm to support me. I wince at her touch. The next thing I know, I’m on my back looking at the sky. Tears stream down my face.

  I always seem to be crying. The world just seems such a hateful place.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  When I calm down and can breathe again, I tell her of the arrival of Phaestion and the commencement of my training. I finish with my assault on Alberich. I tell her she was wrong, that my father will never let me go.

  There is a beat of silence between us. Then she says solemnly, “The midday rest is almost over. We need to get you back.”

  “I can’t go back, Nadia,” I implore.