by Chris Fox
1
The sound of bones crunching assaulted my ears as the other priestess’s hand connected with my cheekbone—the pain arrived mere clicks after the sound. The lights, previously dim, pulsed an angry red color at the exact moment she struck me. A hover cam buzzed in tight beside me to capture the footage of the blow so the priests and priestesses watching the match on their vid screens could see it all in high definition.
They could see the arena in its entirety from a safe distance—it was a large area, circular in design, and the boxes the others sat in hovered above it.
Instinct urged me to follow up the attack with one of my own, but years of training and muscle memory overruled the instinct. I threw myself into the air, flipping backward, and landed with one knee bent and the other cast to the side, a palm on the ground to steady myself. A safe distance away from her allotted me the time to plot my next course of action.
It was better to keep my thoughts aligned in this way, to follow my training and keep my mind calm rather than allowing the battle frenzy to take me.
That had always been a problem for me—I was an exceptional warrior; I always had been. What else would people expect from the daughter of the great Ivarr? But I had also lacked technique in the beginning, relying on pure blunt force and speed to win my battles for me.
Now, centuries later, I was better than my father. He had never put much stock in technique; he did not value balance.
Balance was everything to my people, the Stryx, but not to him.
Jina moved swiftly to continue her prior attack, rushing at me.
Impatient. Though, in truth, I sympathized with her. All she wanted was to garner favor with the other members of the Aelodhari, our order, to prove herself, and I knew the pain of needing such approval. Though it had been centuries, it still felt like just yesterday I had been striving to prove myself as well.
Once more, I leapt into the air, manipulating the air around me with a simple sweep of my hands. The magic, ever a part of me, flowed through me with ease as I glided through the air.
It was as if time slowed down. I watched her look up at me, her eyes wide as she realized the peril she was in.
Too late.
I locked my thighs around her neck, flicked my wrists to dissipate the spell, and allowed my momentum to carry us to the ground. With a twist and a contraction of my abdomen, I was sitting halfway up with my thighs still locked around her. I brought my sword to bear against her throat.
Energy crackled in the air as her own sword met mine—the gold of my energy clashing with the bright blue color of hers. At the same time, the lights in the arena flared to a vibrant purple to outline our blows.
The cams were so close now they threatened to interfere.
Her eyes were locked hard on my own, a promise of death within them.
I arched an eyebrow, a slow smile curling my lips up at the corners.
So young, so volatile. She should know better, but she thought to impress the others.
Taking down the high priestess would indeed be very impressive, but she failed to understand or acknowledge how I had risen to my title all those centuries ago.
It had not been a gentle ascent.
She summoned her strength, shoving against my sword to push me away, then brought her weapon in a downward arc to meet one of my thighs.
With a hiss, I snapped my legs away from her and spun to a standing position a few feet away.
She brought one foot to bear on the ground, placed both hands on her knee, and shoved herself to her feet. Her boots were heavy and loud on the marble of the temple floor. With each step she took, there was a small flare of light on the floor as well. It was a stark comparison to the way I moved.
Soundless. My shoes were old, well worn, and rather archaic. Made of tanned voto skin. The floor couldn’t detect me to respond to my steps the way hers did. She opted for style over function, buying into the ridiculous thought pattern that she had to keep up with the times to have the best possible technology—even on her feet.
It did her no favors in this battle, though.
Perhaps she would learn.
I snorted—I highly doubted she would learn her lessons any time soon.
“What?” she snapped, jerking her chin up, black hair whipping around her face. Her amber eyes glowed bright with unspoken anger, and her skin pulsed to an almost-opaque red rather than the translucent hue that would have normally highlighted her tanned skin. Her emotions were getting the better of her.
She brought her sword up high, clasping the hilt with both hands.
I inclined my head to the side, smiling at her.
It always unnerved others that I refused to speak during combat—I did not believe in wasting my air.
Instead, I lunged to the side, sweeping my hands to the other side again to manipulate the air to hold me as I raced along the wall. I jumped from it again. This time, she let out a battle cry as she rushed to meet me.
Too late I realized my mistake—I had thought her beyond recalling tactics at this point in the battle. Sloppy. I should work on that.
She rolled to the side at the very last second, and I barely managed to perform my own roll to carry my momentum through.
Jina was there a click later, her energy sword cast to the side as she resorted to physical violence. Her nails, naturally dull, extended into claws that she raked across my cheek, shredding my pale skin. The translucent blue hue that glowed from within my skin, just as it did all the people of Eyrus, pulsed at the disruption. I felt my eyes, normally a blend of purple and pink, flare to an almost-red color, betraying the moment my emotions gripped me, the same thing I had just mocked her for in my thoughts.
The curse of all Eyrusians—our skin and eyes gave away everything we felt.
Just for a click, then I had myself under control again.
That pause, though, was all she needed. She threw herself forward, wrapping one arm around my throat and allowing her momentum to carry her around to my back, where she proceeded to wrap her other arm around my throat as well, her legs closing about my waist.
Grinding my teeth together, I refused to give in and gasp for the precious air she robbed from me. I twisted, attempting to dislodge her, but the stubborn chit held on for all she was worth.
I brought one arm forward and then jabbed it back quickly, slamming my elbow into her rib cage.
She gasped now, her arms relaxing about my throat. I quickly disengaged, spinning about. She fell to the floor, lights flaring around her. The overhead lighting flashed red the moment she hit the ground.
If looks could kill, she would have ended this fight now.
With a growl, she scrambled to her feet and threw herself at me, relying on pure strength and surprise now. Her head connected with my gut, sending us both to the ground with an audible oof.
My head smacked the marble floor with a resounding crack.
I would be feeling that for days to come, but I was seeing stars for the moment as it was.
She landed a solid punch before my eyes and ears came into functional use again.
She pulled back her arm again, but this time I was faster than her. I caught her fist in one hand and threw the weight of my magic into my arm as I tossed her back. She flew into the air and then skidded several feet once she hit the ground again.
It was a good thing we Eyrusians were such a resilient species. Our claws were one of the few natural substances that could cut through our skin, and the marble floor could do little more than provide momentary discomfort.
With her clear of my body, I pulled my legs back above my abdomen, rolling my hips up before I threw my weight forward, jumping to my feet.
I regarded her with narrowed eyes, stalking forward. My fingers traced sigils in the air—it was time to finish this fight and remind her who I was.
The fight had gone on for almost a full rotation now. If I didn’t end it quickly enough, the other priests and priestesses would begin to doubt my prowess. They
would take my position from me, and I wouldn’t be able to help my people. There were few things I had ever wanted as much as serving the gods and my people.
Her eyes bulged as her throat constricted. Invisible binds constrained her arms against her body, and her back arched. Pain would be lancing through her body just now.
I regretted the necessity of resorting to such magic. It would have been highly preferable for me to continue the fight, to beat her fairly, but I couldn’t.
She had to learn, just as everyone else had, in her own time.
It took me mere clicks to arrive at her side.
“Concede,” I said with a clear, even voice. There was little-to-no emotion in my tone, but that was as it always was.
Or, as it had been since I started my ascent.
For a moment, she continued to glare at me.
I fisted one hand, and she arched higher up from the floor, her lips opening to let out the scream bursting inside of her—but no sound came.
I did not allow her the air necessary for it.
Relaxing my fist, I eased up on the magic and her body slumped against the floor, her chest heaving as she took several breaths.
“I…submit to you, High Priestess Xiva.” She panted out the words, closing her eyes.
I lifted one hand, and my magic released her, then I extended the same hand to her.
She opened her eyes, as if she knew, and grasped my forearm. My fingers closed around hers as well, and I pulled her to her feet.
“Well met, Jina,” I said. “You will make a warrior yet.”
She lowered her eyes. “Not one like you, High Priestess.”
My smile was not genuine, but it was still plastered on my face. I knew she didn’t truly mean the compliment. It had been pulled from her by the brutal loss of the fight.
Jina meant well, but just as all the young priestesses did, she did not respect me. Not at first, but she would learn to.
They’d all heard the stories of my brother, my twin.
The whispers of the darkness in his heart, so different from the light in his eyes.
Zvarr had been a difficult man, but he had been my brother, and I loved him all the same.
But it was due to his actions that my people, the Stryx, regarded me with eyes clouded by conflicting emotions. All I had ever done was show them that they could trust me, that I was worthy of my position and their love.
And for the most part, they did love me.
But there would always be the whispers.
There would always be a black spot on my record.
2
Blinding brightness glared to life in the arena, a stark contrast to the dim lighting throughout the fight. It signaled the end of our fight. A pale blue light pulsed up from the floor around me, marking me as the victor for a few beats. Several of the cams hovered around, capturing my victory.
I held my head high as I was expected to, careful to school my expression so that no emotion showed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Jina was doing her best to do the same, though some of her features sagged in defeat.
Apprehension filled me. Jina needed to practice that more—the Stryx valued balance in all ways, but as members of the Aelodhari, we were held to a higher standard. We could not show emotion.
The beam went out, and I bowed slightly to Jina. She returned the bow, but went much deeper out of deference to my status. She moved as if to walk away, and impulse took over me.
“Be proud of your fight, Priestess Jina,” I said, unable to let her go.
My heart ached for her. She reminded me so much of myself at her age, and I would do anything to spare her the pain I had lived with. Though, I reminded myself, it wouldn’t be so hard for her. She did not have my brother’s reputation to overcome.
She looked at me with confusion before she succeeded in masking her features.
“It was a good fight,” I said when she didn’t respond.
“You can’t really think that, High Priestess,” she said, her voice low. An effort to keep her comments from the others.
“You fought well, Priestess Jina. There were moments where your emotions got the better of you, but you relied on your training for the most part. Practice. Excellence is not achieved overnight.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” she said, averting her eyes.
I clapped her on the back, smiling down at her. No one could match me in height, and I felt that contributed somewhat to the intimidation factor.
“Seek out Oxarr. He is one of our best warriors, and you would do well to study with him.”
She raised her eyes to meet mine at last, tentative hope in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing again. “I appreciate the time you take to impart such wisdom. I will endeavor to do so at the next opportunity.”
I smiled, a more genuine one, and we bowed to one another again before departing in different directions. I made sure to hold my head high, my shoulders back, and to carry myself with the regal grace everyone expected of me until I was clear of the arena.
The moment I stepped out and into the empty hallway, I allowed myself to relax somewhat. However, my ears were still highly attuned to any sounds that might signal the approach of another person should I need to put on that show again.
Even the hallways of the temple represented the balance so important to the Stryx. The floor was marble just as the arena floor had been, a call back to more traditional times when natural materials were all we had. But embedded on either side of the walkway were muted lights that pulsed intermittently. The walls were carved stone, but that was more facade than anything. Behind the stone was reinforced katoth, which was an example of balance. Katoth was a metal created from the melding of magic with science to transform the naturally occurring keon. It was capable of withstanding just about any attack, either from magic or energy blasts. The stone walls were decorated with ribbons of light, which, along with the beams on the floor, served to illuminate the way for travelers of the hallway.
I walked through until I reached a door on the right, which led to a small arming room. It was where combatants were supposed to put on or shirk their armor, and store their weapons. I had no intentions of removing my tech suit—I wore it everywhere I went, and with good reason.
An assassination had not been attempted in several centuries, reaching back across the reigns of the three high priestesses before me, but it was not something I was willing to risk. My suit had been specially designed for me. It hugged my features tightly to allow for freedom of movement, its material a variation of katoth that had been worked on by masters of their craft so it was both breathable, flexible, and capable of withstanding most attacks. Not as well as the walls of our temple, but an energy sword couldn’t cut through it, and I doubted anyone had the power capable of tearing through it with pure magic.
The skirt and pauldrons, however, I dearly wished to remove. The skirt was more like half of a cape, fitted about my waist, open in the front, and draping to the floor in the back. It allowed me freedom of movement as much as if I didn’t wear it, but it served no purpose other than to identify my status. The pauldrons did the same—the spikes on either side represented my years of service.
It wasn’t that I only wanted things that served a purpose—well, no, that was a lie. What I meant was, it wasn’t their traditional design that bothered me, but rather that they didn’t serve a real function. My boots were traditional, but they allowed me to move without noise, and I had worn them for so long they fit like a second skin and didn’t chafe.
I unclipped the hilt of my energy sword from my belt, the blade no longer present as I had deactivated it before I’d ended the match, and set it on the table in the corner.
The room was quite plain, with the same walls and flooring of the hallway, and a large window that looked out on the mountain.
I sat down in the chair, the only furniture in the room besides the table and the armor stand, and allowed myself a moment of respite. Closing my
eyes, I tilted my head back.
Thank you, Vivoth and Nytoc, for seeing me through the fight and allowing me to prove my worth yet again. Without you, I would have no purpose. It is only your guiding hands that keep me where I am meant to be. I would have nothing if it were not for your grace. My life is yours; I live to serve you. Thank you for granting me the opportunity to do what I love.
I sent up the silent prayer of thanks to the gods, feeling the brush of their touch in my mind, the only response they would give me at the moment. That was all right. I did not need more; I had only wanted to remind them that I had not forgotten.
I allowed myself a few beats to relax before my mind naturally turned to the fight from earlier. It had gone well, and I enjoyed myself in the beginning. I would have liked to finish the fight in a different fashion, of course, but alas. No point in dwelling on that.
Perhaps I will seek out someone to train with later.
Hnarr would be good. He was a priest I had trained with several times over the years, and I knew he would not have an ulterior motive to a fight; he enjoyed training in combat just as much as I did, and he was a worthy opponent.
Well, as worthy as one could be. He was about my same age—we were in our fifth century. He had his own share of envious glances from the other members of the Aelodhari. It wasn’t normal for members as young as we were to have advanced in the ranks as quickly as we had. I had been high priestess for two centuries now. I’d been the youngest high priestess in history, and he was now a priest of the third circle. A highly coveted position. He was a skilled warrior. Few others in the Aelodhari could best him, but still…only Zvarr had ever been able to match me.
A shadow passed over my heart at the thought of my brother.
No, best not to think of him now. It’s not as if he is here to indulge you in a training match.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and my eyes snapped open. I was alert and standing a click later, my entire being transformed from its natural state to the regal bearing of the high priestess.
Three knocks.
