On the Shoulders of Titans

by Andrew Rowe

  “Yeah. That’s part of why I’m skeptical. It seems too good to be true.”

  Patrick leaned closer to me, looking concerned. “Are you feeling okay? I thought you’d be ecstatic, but you look awful. I mean, worse than usual.”

  I waved a hand dismissively, trying not to feel insulted. “My injuries are healing fine. My back was pretty beaten up, but—”

  “That’s not what I mean, Corin. You look upset.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I... This is what I wanted, isn’t it?”

  Patrick nodded. “Since the moment he disappeared. You never gave up on him. You always believed he was alive, somewhere.”

  I shook my head. “I wanted to believe that when he vanished, but the reality sunk in pretty quickly thereafter. I didn’t believe there was a high chance he’d survived. There are a few stories of people escaping the spire years later, like Meredith Hawkins, but...”

  “Yeah, that was probably just a con artist with the Shapeshifter attunement. And there was that one you always talked about with Johannes Edington, but he’d stayed in the spire deliberately to try to form long-lasting memories of a Judgment. But he’d told people he was going to do that in advance and packed supplies for it, and even he came out after a couple months.”

  I sighed. “Exactly. So, I’d more or less assumed he was probably dead, or otherwise trapped in the spire. I still figured I could fix it, though. Or, rather, the goddess could fix it if I actually made it to the top of the spire. I’ve never understood why more people don’t try to climb the spire for that kind of boon.”

  “I think most people find it easier to accept death and move on then to spend their entire lives working toward a goal they might never accomplish. And I think a part of it is that you’re not, uh, quite as devout as most people, Corin.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you always tried to avoid saying the prayers in school when we were younger. I get the impression you don’t have a lot of faith in the goddess.”

  I shrugged. “I believe she exists. I just don’t particularly believe in praying to someone who sets up a system that kills thousands of teenagers every year.”

  Patrick visibly winced. “That’s...not really fair. She’s testing people for the qualities that are—”

  I waved a hand. “I’ve read the scriptures, Patrick. I know the doctrine. ‘The goddess blesses those who demonstrate the courage to risk themselves, the strength to defend others, and the insight to know their own weaknesses.’ I’d think that would encourage more people to take the risks to try to climb the spire and resurrect someone they care about, if anything.”

  “That’s just the thing, Corin. You see people dying in the spire as a tragedy...and it is, in a way. But dying also sends their spirits to the goddess’ kingdom, where they will be rewarded, and in time, reborn.”

  Ah. That.

  I’d never seen that as anything other than an empty platitude for people mourning the dead. A way for people to feel a little less horrible about the awfulness of losing someone they cared about.

  But if people were taking it literally, that did go a long way toward explaining why most people weren’t quite as obsessed with bringing back their deceased family members as I was.

  Was there something wrong with me?

  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe that the goddess existed. I’d seen the spires, earned an attunement, and even met one of her visages in person.

  I just couldn’t square the idea of the same entity that makes spires with murderous traps and monsters also being benevolent enough to care for the spirits of the dead in some kind of utopian afterlife.

  If Selys was capable of making a utopian kingdom at all, why not extend that to all of us?

  I’d read the scriptures for their answers, of course. The idea of adversity testing our resolve and building us into better people. Some verses even indicated that the trials that one underwent in life would help to dictate the specific roles of spirits in the goddess’ kingdom, or even in subsequent lives.

  But none of that addressed the inherent unfairness of the mortal world.

  A goddess with Selys’ obvious power could be doing more.

  I remember reading in the scriptures about the early days when the goddess wrought miracles. Turned rivers aside and made whole lands fertile. She walked the lands in person, healing the injured and curing the diseased.

  Then she raised the spires, and the miracles stopped. She'd done her good deeds and turned to playing games with human lives.

  Even if the spires had some sort of value for strengthening the spirit, I sincerely doubted that there was any spiritual benefit for the children who died from famine or disease.

  If there was any truth to the legends of her miracles, she had the power to stop those tragedies from occurring.

  From that, I concluded that she either had chosen to stop helping us, or that she’d never truly had that power at all.

  The most charitable interpretation I could devise was that she’d used up some of her power making the spires. That seemed like a good deal of effort, even for a deity.

  If the spires had purely served as a way to give out magic to humanity, I might have even called that a benevolent decision. But with tens of thousands of people that entered the spire disappearing each year, I had a hard time believing yet.

  And even if the spires were purely meant to help us... Maybe she could have set up a way to give those of us who’d lost someone some real closure.

  There were common answers for all that, too. That it was up to humanity to solve our own problems. To prove ourselves and grow as a species.

  It had always come across to me like a king telling a pauper that he just needed to try harder.

  In other words, complete nonsense.

  “Corin? You okay?”

  I’d gotten distracted with my own introspection again. “Sorry. I’m just...processing.”

  “I understand. It has to be a lot to take in. But you were right this whole time, Corin. Your brother is out there. You should feel vindicated by that.”

  I didn’t like other people telling me how I should feel, but I knew Patrick was only trying to cheer me up, and I was grateful for that. I took a breath. “It’s...he’s not like what I expected.”

  Patrick gave me a sympathetic look. “Of course he’s changed. It’s been five years, and who knows what he’s been through in there?”

  “Yeah. I just... I guess I wasn’t expecting things to go this way. I think I’ll be okay, I just need to adjust my plans a bit.” My words sounded hollow, but I tried to believe them.

  “Okay, good. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? If you need to rescue Tristan from the spire, I’ll be glad to help!”

  I gave a little laugh at that. “Thanks, Patrick.” I paused for a minute, then added, “You’re a good friend. I don’t deserve you.”

  Patrick scoffed. “That’s silly. You always used to stick up for me when we were little. Friends help each other out. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Thanks.” I took a breath. “I think I need a little time to myself, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. If you need me, though, you know where to find me.”

  I nodded and waved. Patrick left the room.

  The conversation should have helped. It was nice to know that Patrick was there to help me if I needed it.

  But he was right — I wasn’t happy about what I’d learned about Tristan.

  It wasn’t just that things hadn’t gone the way I’d expected, although I had to admit that was a part of it.

  It was the sinking feeling that the person I’d been talking to was Tristan, but that he was so far from the brother I’d lost that I wouldn’t recognize him.

  It was the nagging worry that whatever Tristan had become after five years away was not the type of person that I could trust.

  And, perhaps, that he might even end up being my en
emy.

  Questions, frustrations, and scenarios wouldn’t stop running through my mind. Morning light was pouring in my window before I finally slept.

  ***

  I woke to the sound of clashing steel.

  I literally rolled out of my bed, drawing Selys-Lyann in a single motion.

  If Orden had seen that the first time she’d tested me with that midnight ambush, she might have been impressed.

  There were no intruders in my room. The sound of metal was coming from above me.

  I rushed out the door still wearing my night clothes. I had my phoenix sigil pinned to my pants, so I wasn’t completely defenseless if we were under attack.

  I found a stairwell leading up, terminating at a hatch. The sounds of clashing metal were closer now. I opened it cautiously, keeping my sword in my off-hand.

  A blur of motion crossed over the open hatch, too fast for me to follow. I stepped back instinctively, taking a parrying posture, but nothing followed me down.

  A glance told me that the hatch led up to the rooftop, which was a flat design of solid stone. This mansion was built less like a standard house and more like a small fortress.

  I pulled myself up onto the rooftop, taking a defensive pose.

  A black-garbed man flashed past me, swinging his sword in a broad arc. A shockwave ripped out of his blade, arcing toward his opponent. As he twitched his left hand a moment later, the shockwave split apart into six separate projectiles.

  On the opposite side of the roof, Derek calmly swiveled on his heel, cutting apart the projectiles with a sword in either hand. He had a smirk on his face. “That the best you can do?”

  His attacker, Keras Selyrian, raised a hand to his chin. “No, but I’m not sure if you could handle anything more. After all, you’re unarmed.”

  Derek’s twin swords — ordinary training swords, not magical ones — fell to pieces.

  To my left side, I heard Patrick and Marissa laugh. They were sitting with plates on their laps and a bottle of liquid between them.

  Sera was standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with folded arms, but her eyes were curious.

  Patrick turned to me almost immediately. “Hey, you’re awake! Come sit, they’re just getting started.”

  I groaned as I realized what I was witnessing.

  Yesterday, Keras had made a remark about taking Derek up to the roof.

  Apparently, that hadn’t been a joke.

  I was half-tempted to just go back downstairs and pull a pillow over my eyes, but my stomach grumbled at the sight of the plates in front of Patrick and Marissa. “...Is there extra food?”

  Patrick waved me over. “I’ll share and we can get more downstairs later.” He patted the rooftop next to him. “C’mon.”

  Keras and Derek paused their exchange to allow me to get close enough to sit down next to Patrick. I hadn’t brought the scabbard for Selys-Lyann, so I just put it on the ground next to me and kept an eye on it to make sure no one stepped on it.

  Patrick offered me an apple, and Marissa handed me a block of cheese. I nodded gratefully to both of them.

  Sufficient.

  I sat and ate while the two swordsmen repositioned themselves.

  The roof was huge, probably fifty feet long and maybe thirty feet in width. Normally, it would have been more than enough room to spar safely, even with us innocent bystanders sitting and watching.

  But these were hardly normal combatants.

  I sincerely hoped they were paying enough attention to avoid collateral damage. The barrier from my phoenix sigil wouldn’t do much against a direct hit from either of them.

  “You need me to fix those?” Keras waved at the broken swords that Derek was holding.

  “No need.” Derek held up the two hilts and concentrated. Blades of fire extended from the shattered metal, flickering in the wind but retaining a near-solid state. “I think you’ll find this somewhat harder to cut.”

  Keras took a step forward, taking a medium fencing stance with his sword blade extended. “You might be surprised.”

  Derek rushed forward, crossing the rooftop at a sprint. He swept the flaming blades downward. Keras raised his own weapon to parry, but the fire swords went right through it without resistance.

  They were fire, not steel, after all.

  Keras stepped back, avoiding the cuts a moment before they landed.

  Then the flaming blades separated into pieces and dispersed.

  Derek stared downward at the hilts, then looked back up toward Keras. “I’m going to be honest, I’m pretty sure that shouldn’t be possible. Fire doesn’t work like that.”

  Keras grinned. “Anything can be cut. At least if you’re me.”

  Derek narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I’ll need to put in a hint of effort, then.”

  I’d never seen Derek look this stymied before — but he didn’t seem angry. From his expression, he looked like he was finally starting to take this sparring match seriously.

  That could be bad for us mere bystanders.

  Derek took a step backward, lifting the hilts again. Instead of flames, the blades that grew from the hilts were new metal — a shining white material that I didn’t recognize. His aura flared bright yellow and extended over the weapons, visible even without my attunement active.

  He was wrapping the swords in his shroud, protecting them from being broken. Not a bad strategy, but I couldn’t do it myself. I’d need to be at least Sunstone-level to do something like that.

  Derek rushed forward again, keeping his left arm down in a blocking position while he swung with his right. His sword met Keras’ — and this time it held.

  Barely.

  The aura around Derek’s sword flickered and cracked as their swords pressed together.

  Keras smirked and pushed his blade down.

  Derek stepped back, breaking the push, and swung his off-hand at Keras’ mid-section. A golden wave of force followed the cut. Keras cut that in half, but it was a distraction.

  Derek stomped his foot.

  Spikes ripped free from the rooftop and flew upward. Keras, mid-swing from cutting the last attack apart, barely managed to dance backward to dodge the rock projectiles.

  That wasn’t the real attack, either.

  When Keras landed, his feet immediately began to sink into the rooftop. A section of stone had liquefied.

  Derek snapped his fingers.

  Keras’ feet were embedded in stone. He spared a glance downward, looking introspective, and then raised his blade into a defensive stance. “Not bad. Planning ahead, I see. What’s next?”

  “Well, since you can’t dodge...” Derek raised his open hand and pointed it at Keras. A sphere of flame manifested in his palm. “Let’s see how much damage you can handle, shall we?”

  Derek hurled the sphere. It detonated a few feet in front of Keras, the explosion obscuring the area. I had to raise a hand to shield my eyes from both the brightness and the debris.

  Then Derek hurled another fireball — and another, and another. He shoved his blade into the rooftop and hurled them faster, using both hands.

  A good thirty seconds passed before I could see Keras clearly again. Smoke was rising from his skin, but he showed no sign of injury. He shook his head. “Has throwing a barrage of weak attacks ever worked for anyone?” Keras sighed. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  The translucent aura around Keras flickered silver for just an instant.

  In that instant, the section of floor beneath Keras vanished, removing the stone that had encased his feet. The gap beneath him was a smooth, round section, like an invisible sphere had cut into it.

  There was no trace of the missing stone; not even dust.

  I stared, evaluating what I was seeing. It was a subtle thing, nothing as flashy as the blasts of flame that Derek had been hurling — but the implications were far more terrifying. He’d annihilated that area without even blinking. I’d never seen anything like it.

  Then Keras was gone.
His sword remained behind, jammed into the rooftop like Derek’s.

  I shifted my head, and there he was again. Behind Derek.

  He flicked a finger into Derek’s back.

  Crack.

  A shockwave of force blasted Derek off his feet, sending him forward several feet. He landed, skidded across the ground, and spun to hurl a jet of flame as a counter-attack.

  Keras wasn’t there, though. I couldn’t follow his movement at all — he looked like he was teleporting, but his running stance when he reappeared told me otherwise. He was just moving too fast for me to see.

  Derek started to swing a fist — and then he flew backward again. Keras stood with his right hand extended with an open palm. He smirked.

  When Derek landed, his aura flared Emerald.

  I managed to follow the blur of Keras’ movement the next time, and I saw him reappear.

  Derek had caught Keras’ hand. Their fingers were interlocked.

  For a moment, the two fighters paused. Sparks crackled in the air as their shrouds met and pushed against each other.

  Keras shoved his hand forward. Derek frowned, forced back a step by the motion, and threw a kick with his forward leg. Keras raised his opposite leg to block and threw a punch with his free hand, but Derek moved his head to the side and avoided it.

  Derek stomped the floor again. Keras jumped to avoid the spikes that formed — but Derek maintained his grip and yanked Keras back down.

  Keras answered by kicking both legs into Derek’s chest as he descended, breaking the link between their hands and hurling the combatants apart.

  Keras was moving again the instant he landed, but four walls of stone leapt out of the ground around Derek. Keras punched through the closest wall repeatedly, digging fist-sized holes with each strike. A blast of lightning shot out through the largest hole and hit Keras dead-on, knocking him back.

  Keras shivered briefly, his expression showing a flicker of pain.

  Interesting, I think that’s the first attack Derek has managed to land that had any real effect.

  Keras blurred again, reappearing next to the wall. The aura around his hand flickered brighter.