“Whispered night, ardent Dao. Late reckoning and tired spark. Come.” They chanted as one. When finished, each Sløv adopted a two-handed stance as if they were holding a long spear, feet wide apart and sat low, coiled and ready to strike. Fenn didn’t do the same movement though. He was stood almost straight, slightly sideways on to K'Chool, one arm out in front as if warding off danger, the other, just behind him, casually holding his own spear, blade pointed down.
Deciding to whittle down their adversaries’ defences quickly, two of the Sløv moved towards Xiang, hoping to dispense with him and push the odds further in their favour. Khar caught a glimpse of what they were holding as well as what his own opponent was wielding. The energy of the magik rippled slightly but Khar could make out the shape of curved broadswords, mounted on the end of a long shaft. They were Guan Dao, with detailing on the shaft and blade mount that he’d not seen before with energy weapons. They also crackled as they moved through the air, igniting their surroundings with small flickers of electricity. This was bad. Without magik, Xiang would enter the endless sleep and he’d struggle to fend off the same fate. This was a powerful Venatoré and he summoned his own defences in preparation.
“Eternal glow, faultless blade. Shining light and peaceful wrath. Draw.” Khar’s well practised movements flowed through his body without thought, the last word punctuated by him pulling his fist upwards from behind his crooked left arm that had settled in front of his torso. Warmth spread through his arm and familiarity spurred his confidence. He wasn’t the strongest fighter in the order, but he was creative and quick as lightning. Casting a glance towards K'Chool, waiting for her to draw her own sword, he was caught off guard to see her perform the exact same movements as Fenn, saying the same words and finally standing in the same casual way her father did, mirroring him exactly. Both their Guan Dao looked almost real. He’d never seen anyone able to cast energy in that way, ornate details of the shaft and blade sharp to the eye, both weapons sheathed in lightning. Their blades were also larger than the Sløvs, with five rings dotted along the dull edge of it, gently moving with the pulses of the energy it emanated.
“Glad to see you have not forgotten your teachings, Weyaal.” Fenn said approvingly, lovingly. “Shall we begin?”
K'Chool said nothing, moving fast towards her prey, wanting her blade to speak for her. On the training ground and on missions, Khar had only seen her use her sword, marvelling at her grace and poise with it. Peerless when it came to swordplay, K'Chool could control the pace, flow and energy of a fight according to the terrain, her opponent and how she felt that day. It was like watching an artist paint. Effortless and joyful. Now though, he imagined her using the sword was like a child playing sword fights with sticks. Clumsy and stilted. The way she moved with her Guan Dao was awe-inspiring. It was almost languid. Relaxed and peaceful yet filled with treachery and cunning. Strike after strike flowed from her, a relentless barrage of blows from blade, shaft and her own limbs. Each strike point coming from unknown angles, unseen areas of weakness, like a bag of snakes attacking at once. But Fenn was smiling. He matched her speed and elegance with elation. Blocking, dodging, feigning and dancing a beautiful dance of his own. Giving ground, manipulating and weaving like the wind.
Khar shrugged mentally before turning to see Xiang’s fate and fearing the worst. To his surprise, the ex-special ops veteran had moved forward to occupy the space between his two attackers, not a single trace of doubt or concern showing on him. “Well met Po Po.” He said to himself as he watched the two Sløv dispassionately, and with deadening precision, strike out at the defenceless man. One blade swung in a scything arc towards his neck, the other went low towards his knees. Calmly and deliberately, Xiang met each blade as if greeting an old friend, a forearm and shin rising in synchrony to stop them in their tracks. But they didn’t stop. Khar closed his eyes, waiting for the body parts to drop, limbs and a head popping from their places, blood covering the walls and the limp body giving way to gravity's pull. Despairing, Khar blinked his eyes open to see what’d become of the kind man, only to find that he was still stood there, limbs raised and head in place. Three Sløv and Khar were dumbfounded, stopping their own dramas to see what would happen next. The Guan Dao just, stopped, when they got to within a foot of Xiang. They just, ended.
Stepping back, the Guan Dao’s formed again, but doubt clouded the attackers’ minds and they sheathed their energy weapons, favouring magik projectiles instead. These men were well drilled and had clearly spent many hours training and working together. Near milliseconds apart, two balls of electricity flew towards Xiang after two well executed dances and incantations. In response, Xiang widened his stance and thrust his arms out straight, palms facing the oncoming destruction. This time, Khar imagined burned skin, melting eyes and exploding body parts accompanied by screams of anguish, already mourning the loss of their new companion. Astonished and thankful, Khar watched as both balls met his friend simultaneously, harmlessly disappearing before even touching him. Equally lost in questions after two failed attempts to kill a Naïve, the two attackers regained their composure and nodded. Advancing on Xiang they resorted to hand to hand combat only to be met by an immovable and liquid force of nature. He was able to match them blow for blow and Khar felt a pang of jealousy as he realised he may be the most defenceless person in the room. Also sensing this, his own adversary made his move, sweeping his blade towards Khar’s neck, wanting to show Khar the way to the endless sleep. Surprising himself however, a sword met the oncoming death and they began their own struggle for survival.
In a room filled with histories lost, magiks untold and broken thoughts, a father and daughter exchanged venomous attacks, a Naïve fended off two executioners and a trainee Sojela fought for his life against a deadly assassin. Grunts filled their ears, sharp cracks from magik weapons meeting swarmed around them and Khar felt a small twinge of hope creep into his heart. Maybe they’d make it out. Maybe they’d get back to the Monastery and warn Cleric Mo. Maybe he’d see another sunrise. Fleeting memories whipped through him as he blocked attack after attack and as if cursed by his hopeful thoughts, all three of them faltered. Fenn was playing with K'Chool it seemed and after she managed to breach his defences ever so briefly, he decided it was time to teach another lesson.
“You have improved, Weyaal.” He purred effortlessly. “However, it is time you came home.” Slipping past K’Chool’s breach he ghosted his way past her and flicked the back of his Guan Dao around to catch her at the base of her spine. “My turn.” A grin appeared on his face as he began his assault. All the ground he lost earlier, was gained in moments and Khar realised his love was outmatched. Seeing how the next few minutes would play out, he looked over to see how Xiang was faring, just as he let out a few odd grunts – the result of some heavy blows landed by both opponents. All three were breathing heavily, but Xiang was in the worst shape, sweating hard and his defensive form losing some of its strength.
Spurred on by his adversary’s poor attention, the Sløv attacking Khar found new speed, his Guan Dao increasing in fury and causing Khar to lose his footing after three lethal strikes nearly dislodged his sword. Falling backwards, Khar realised that he was lost, the blade of the Guan Dao swiftly following his descent to earth and his passing from this plane. Raising a weak arm defensively as he hit the hard ground he felt the sharpness of steel and cold-hot electricity as it made contact with his forearm. Blinking away from the crippling pain he realised there was none, and he could hear his attacker cursing. Opening his eyes, he saw his arm bathed in golden light, shaped into an elegant gauntlet. Bright lines seeped into the edges of where the armour should be and both men stared at the beauty of the warrior’s protection on his arm. Looking even closer, Khar could see that there was also the outline of a small shield there too, the light following delicate grooves and elegant workmanship, a small insignia on the inside of it that he could barely see and didn’t recognise. Seizing his moment, Khar lashed out with his boot, knocking
his enemy to the side enough to allow him to stand.
“K'Chool?” He shouted across the room.
“Not. Now.” She managed back in between blows, giving ground more and more easily as time passed, her father getting the upper hand without struggle.
“Remember my first trial?” He asked persistently.
The anger dropped away from K’Chool’s face as she realised what Khar wanted to do. “In Three. Two. One.” K'Chool shouted the last word feigning an attack that her father fell for. Smiling at her mistake, Fenn went for the finishing blow, understanding hitting him midway through his swipe of the devastating Guan Dao he wielded. K'Chool found a way to flow underneath the attack, exposing her back to her father and flinging her matching weapon, blade flat, towards her father’s own back. Spinning, he brought up his defence to meet her blade, dulling the attack and laughing, but K'Chool was bearing her own smile. As the weapons made contact there was a deafening crack and Fenn went flying in the opposite direction to all of them.
With Khar’s left arm ablaze in golden light, his sword arm found new form that he didn’t know he possessed. Not a single move he performed had been practised in training, the edges of his weapon cutting and scything without forgiveness. Patterns through his whole body linked shield arm and killing strokes relentlessly, a river of devastation visited upon the panicking Sløv in front of him. Khar wasn’t even thinking about how he moved as all this went on. He could almost see himself from above, watching a warrior he didn’t recognise steal victory back from a hopeless situation. He was better than K'Chool in that moment, the images of children stick fighting jumping into his mind again as he watched himself dismantle this man in front of him. As K’Chool’s blade contacted her father's, he thrust his sword forward, tensing every muscle in his body and focusing the force of his being into the end of the sword. The Sløv got his defence into place just as Fenn had and just as his Hältia was flung across the room into darkness, so was he, gasping at the force of the attack. There were two dull thuds as both men landed at the same moment some distance away and the two remaining Sløv paused as they witnessed their fortunes change in an instant. Xiang took revenge in that moment, landing a savage blow on each of his enemies, ready to go on the attack, but he was too slow.
“Eternal glow, sightless face. Fierce sun and blinding light. Shine.” Khar sung, in perfect rhythm with his body as he jumped into a star position, limbs extended, and head held high. A mixture of wheezing curses from five men found their way to Khar as he and K'Chool made their way over to Xiang. A globe of blinding light had emanated from Khar at the end of his incantation, spreading too fast for anyone to close their eyes and stuffing itself into every dark corner it could find.
“I’m blind.” Xiang spluttered, scared and alone.
“Not for long Po Po.” Khar muttered as he and K'Chool grabbed him under each arm. The small brotherhood picked their way through the library, moving quickly and with purpose, fearful of an attack coming from any angle and worried at the two Venatoré en route to secure them. Sweat beading on his face, Khar looked over at K'Chool to see the corners of her mouth raised and a slim gap in her lips to reveal brilliant white teeth.
“Not the best time to be smiling is it?” He stated rather than questioned. She laughed at him.
“What’s so funny.” He retorted, genuine worry and hurt in his voice, Xiang bobbing in between them as they guided the blind man out into the open.
“My father's face as I finally landed a blow on him.” She said proudly.
“Yeah, about that-” Khar started. Hundreds of questions and accusations springing to mind about her past. Why had she not said anything? When did she last see him? When did he become a Våpen? He lost track of what he wanted to ask before K'Chool interrupted him with another laugh.
“And your first trial.” Sounds of joy freely flowing now as embarrassment took control of Khar. In between pants, Xiang asked what’d happened, Khar politely shutting the conversation down.
“For another time Po Po. For another time.” He said, taking in their surroundings and looking at the black obelisk marking the entrance to the library. “Where can we find your friend?”
“On the outskirts of Nanning.”
Khar’s face showed annoyance and frustration at hearing the name of the town, or city, or whatever it was. Chinese geography wasn’t his strong suit.
Sensing this, Xiang offered directions as he was still suffering the effects of the spell. “Head down the east face of the mountain, Weyaal.” He smiled, knowing that Khar would be a little irritated at being called a child.
CHAPTER FORTY - CHILDREN
Christophe woke early, the familiar warmth of where Rosalind used to be a fresh reminder of how fragile their connection was. His fingertips brushed over the sheets as he thought about how much time had passed since he became what he was. The unnatural longevity of life, gifted to him by his unique power, both blessed and cursed. In the beginning, he felt empowered and connected by his gift, but as time passed, it made him passive. He pressed his palm down to try and feel the heat, the dullness of his existence swaying him this way and that. If he could feel the heat, he could feel anything, but it was gone, just like her, and he knew he was dying inside. Wealth had brought him experiences and power beyond compare, yet he could only find solace in solitude. These new feelings of want and desire for Rosalind were unwelcome because they threatened what he knew. Women had come and gone, all of them fleeting experiences in the richness of his perceived life and he wanted to believe it was the same with her. Just moments of satisfaction that would drift away with the tides of time and memories. Punch-drunk, he rolled over to sniff her pillow and remember last night. Revelling in those feelings, satiating himself when he could, devouring them until he was full, he hoped they would last longer, like a teenager. He dreamt of being with the loving, innocent version of Rosalind.
The events of yesterday tiptoed into his mind at thinking about her. Half apologising for disturbing, half wanting to be seen and recognised they made themselves known. The way her face shifted and turned in that moment of rage concerned him, the way she could become that creature without warning was frightful. When he thought the voices had stopped, thanking Kai for the blessing, he would hear her talking in threes. The Mistress, The Fury and The Diplomat all trying to win the conflict inside her. The way she talked to the limb garden was also a worry, a mad parent crooning and fawning over cursed, inanimate objects. How un-present she was with him when she was around her children, forgoing any real interactions with him in order to pay them her full attention.
Then the revelations of what she wanted to do barged, rather than tiptoed in, asking for attention. Destroy The Protectorate? As much as he disliked the bureaucracy he saw the need for them. There was order. Something that the Lucids needed. Eliminate The Balance too? Why? They may’ve slighted her in the past, but they were the counterbalance to the rules and rigid oppression. Bring the two worlds closer together so she can feed and rule? There is merit in wanting to bind the peoples together, but why not let The Balance do that? That’s always been their goal. And feeding? That felt like the quickest route to the bottom of the mountain, where sane thoughts are insane, and your past self remains at the top, remorseful at losing yourself to darkness. He tried to suck up some more warmth, smelled the pillow a little deeper and then got up, mind foggy with questions and what he should do next.
Should I name them? Rosalind thought as she looked at her creations in the kitchen, feelings of belonging welling up in her stomach. Since adding the remaining ingredients to the purple-white boxes, the lifeforms inside them had grown substantially and had begun to take over. They wouldn’t fit in the corner anymore, stacked neatly in layers and all standing to attention, so they needed moving. As they’d gotten bigger, she’d spread them out into a neat line along one of the exposed brick walls, like planting crops in the furrows left by a plough. In complete contrast to the mess she’d created a few days earlier, Rosalind wa
s going to extreme lengths to minimise the disruption to Christophe’s home since then, the uniform arrangement of her creations the latest example. The Diplomat had made a good case for doing so, encouraging them all to think beyond themselves in order to make their plans run more smoothly. In fact, her presence in the penthouse was only noticeable because of the growing children she kept safe and sound within its four walls, any other traces of her cleared up dutifully. Obsessively even.
She doted on each of the strange growths like a mother would her own baby. They all received the exact same amount of attention. They all heard exactly the same words from her. They all would feel the exact same amount of her love, so that they would love her back. Remembering which seeds had flown to which limbs she looked them over, still trying to decide if she should give them names. All of them had grown into Orc type shapes, tall, lean and powerful. Athletic and dangerous creatures she knew would do anything for her, as long as she told them she loved them enough. The first two, who’s seeds had moved with absolute purpose looked to be the strongest. More heavily muscled and taller than the others. One had taken a more masculine form whilst the other mimicked a more feminine shape. Adam and Eve, she thought, names landing without thought. Adam’s right arm had kept its dark skin tone but had become perfect in its proportions, dexterity and strength, veins rippling and sinew flexing as he vibrated. The rest of his body had taken on the dark purple colouring from the box, not letting the arm down with its own purity of power. Eve’s left arm had done the same, light brown skin tensed across impossibly perfect muscles, purple body exuding confidence and the prowess of a warrior goddess. She stroked both of their purple cheeks at the same time, smiling at them, whispering the promises of parenthood in their ears.
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