“My name is Charlene Devardem,” I reply to Dovik, taking a step forward and shaking the man’s outstretched hand. He doesn’t try to control the handshake or show off how strong and masculine he is by pressing down on my own hand, a good sign.
“I know that name,” he says once he has let me hand go. “You are one of Arabella’s students, aren’t you.”
“I am,” I confirm. “How do you know something like that?”
“Arabella is my niece,” he says. Then, seeing the look I give him, holds up his hand to clarify. “My dad is really old.”
“Sure,” I say. “Did she tell you about me or something?”
“No. Arabella keeps information to herself from what I can tell. I’ve only met the woman a few times before. The rest of the family, you can be certain that they were interested. Many of them are not so guarded with what they find out.”
“Great,” I sigh. I’m still not certain how this will affect me, but I can’t think of any positive ways. “That makes you part of the Willian clan. The same Willian clan that is hosting and recruiting for this competition that I am going to be entering. The same Willian clan that I assume is the controller of that massive wall city we landed the flying house near.”
“I wouldn’t say that we control Grim,” Dovik says, scratching his nose. “We guarantee its protection, but none of my family hold any official positions of title, nobility, or land.”
“Why not?”
“How did we get on this?” Dovik mutters to himself. “It doesn’t matter,” he says more brightly. “Political things.”
“You seem to be informed about political things,” I say. “Add to that, that you claim to be Arabella’s uncle, which must mean that your father is pretty high up in the clan.” The Eye of Volaash tells me directly that the man in front of me is the son of Grandmaster Harrilis Willian. I’m not certain what kind of position Grandmaster is. It could even be the head of the guild itself for all I know. It seems like this man might be a good person to know.
“I try to stay informed,” he says.
“Then you might already know that I am just some up jumped country girl out on her own in the world for the first time. I doubt that I have too much to offer someone like you. Seeing Grim today was the first time that I have even seen a city.”
“You have an interesting look,” he says.
I shake my head, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he goes on, waving his hand. “You’ve never seen a city, and I have never seen the country. Well, as long as you don’t count this as the country.” He waves around to the snowy slope that leads away from the trees.
“You must know all about this competition,” I say. I keep my eye on the patrolling animated armor and the huge sword that it drags along behind it.
“It’s not some kind of great secret.” He shrugs. “Talking about it is just generally discouraged. Most of the people that go through the passage don’t speak about it much. It’s traumatic for them or something.”
“Traumatic!”
“Don’t worry too much about it.” He points back toward the forest, the way to Grim. “We start there,” he moves his hand and points back up the slope, “and we have to get all the way across in a certain amount of time.”
“You are fond of telling me not to worry about things,” I say, looking after where he is pointing. “Arabella made it seem like the competition was a secret.”
“Whoever is the administrator this time around will explain everything tomorrow morning at the initiation. I don’t see much harm in letting the word out a little early.”
I hum to myself, looking up the slope, past the snowy battlefield, out toward where the trees begin again. “How far is it?” I ask. “Exactly.”
“That, I don’t know. Before we get too far into the summer. It’s still the middle of winter now, so we have plenty of time until then. I’m certain that an attribute specialist like you will be able to handle it.”
“It’s Spring,” I correct. It isn’t until a few hours later that I pick up on what else he said, that he noticed I was an attribute specialist somehow. My eye tells me that he is one, the first one that I have ever spoken with, outside of Halford. Thinking about my brother while looking at Dovik fills me with a strange sense. I’ve known my brother is strong for a long time, the strongest rank one that I could imagine. I’ve seen him take down rank two magicians before in sparring and real combat without them being able to land a hit on him, even with the overwhelming advantage that possessing a soul presence allows. When I think about Halford and compare him to this man in front of me, I get the sinking suspicion that Dovik might be a monster in the same way that Halford is.
“No. It’s Winter here,” Dovik says. “You are a long ways away from home, farm girl. Not everywhere in the world experiences the same seasons at the same time.”
I blush. It’s the first time that I have ever heard of that. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” The smile he gives me is equal parts condescending and genuinely amused. “Have you decided on what you are bringing into the competition yet?”
“Maybe I have,” I answer, unable to stop from fidgeting with the ring around my finger. “I can guess what you will be bringing,” I say, nodding to the strange wooden pole that he has in a loop on his belt.
“This thing,” he pulls the pole out and waves it in the air, the tip glowing cerulean and leaving smoke behind in the air. “I wouldn’t go anywhere without Pokey.”
“Pokey?”
Ashen Poker of the Umbral Dragon(Very Rare):
A poker heated in the fires of an umbral dragon and one which still smolders with remnants of the flame long gone. The taint of the umbral dragon’s corrosive magic still remains, causing attacks with this weapon to bypass the magical defenses of others, sometimes completely.
Enhancement: +20 Vitality, +20 Strength, +20 Magic
“I use it to poke things,” he tells me with all seriousness.
“So,” I say, nodding up the slope toward the animated armor, “give me a demonstration.”
“You must be out of your mind if you expect me to charge at that thing, farm girl,” he says, chuckling as he slides Pokey back into the loop on his belt. “It’s a bad matchup for me.”
“Even with the Immortal Conflux?”
He raises an eyebrow at that and belts a genuine laugh. I flinch, looking back up the slope to where the rank two monster continues its slow patrol. It doesn’t seem to pay us any attention. “You are full of surprises aren’t you. Yeah, maybe that is my conflux, and if it were, I would try to live up to it by not picking stupid fights.”
He points to another part of the battlefield that I hadn’t noticed before. Another of the Armor of Forgotten Dead walks there, a hundred feet or so away from the first one that I had spotted, holding a jagged ax over its metal shoulder. Once I start looking for them, I notice them all over the battlefield, many crouched in the snow, but others standing or walking slowly in circles among the field of dead soldiers. I see maybe six or seven of them around amid the hundreds of long dead bodies in the snow.
“I think that these are here for groups to try fighting together,” Dovik says. “Someone might give me a talking to if I went ahead and started breaking them before I was told that I could.”
“The son of the Willian clan isn’t allowed to go around fighting monsters where he pleases?”
“No, especially not. All of my battles are meticulously planned by my mother and given to me in a way to guarantee my success.” I must have looked particularly incredulous because he laughs again and shakes his head. “You are too fun. My battles are my own, which is why I feel comfortable turning this one down.” Dovik starts walking back toward the forest backwards. “It is about time that I returned. I don’t want to be missed. Look for me when this competition really begins, farm girl. You won’t regret it.”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, watching him pace away.
“No need to think about it,” he says. “I’m a pretty likable guy.” With that, he rounds the trunk of a tree and completely disappears from sight.
I stand at the edge of the battlefield for a few minutes longer. Once, I see a woman walk a few steps out of the forest a long ways off before she too stops and inspects the patrolling armors. We wave to each other before mutually deciding to return to Grim on our own. Not stopping to fight monsters on the way back, the trip takes far less time, and night has already fallen by the time that I make it back to the parade grounds.
I waste only a few minutes considering what I need to do for the night before finding the sweetest smelling tent and stealing a blueberry pie from inside. I return to the manor as soon as possible, scooping bites out of the pie with a spoon as I walk. Considering what I learned about the upcoming trial today, there is a lot that I need to plan on smuggling into the competition in my ring, and I also have a level up that I need to take care of for tomorrow. The thought of seeing my attributes increase again propels me toward the manor. Thankfully, with soul reinforcement on the line, I might be able to sleep some tonight. Without it, I don’t know how I would manage to get to sleep. I’m just too damn excited for tomorrow.
My second day on the parade ground, I find myself too distracted to pay attention to the world around me. We are once again sitting on the risers in front of the big stage. The difference this time is that Arabella is no longer with us. In fact, the cursory glance that I took around the risers and the groups assembled out in front of the stage confirms that only rank ones are in attendance.
The strangeness of that all but confirms the suspicions that Dovik had told me about the day before. The whole delay of the competition’s start had been for show. With only those that are going to take part in the competition now in attendance, waiting as the stage stands empty in front of us, I know that today the real thing will start.
The boys chatter about something that I can’t give my full attention to. I sit, my anticipation and excitement at the upcoming competition slowly turning to boredom as we have been waiting for something to happen for more than twenty minutes. I stare at the window displaying my attributes in front of me, still attempting to decide where exactly I should place my free points. After a long moment of making tiny adjustments here and there, I eventually settle on splitting the ten points between magic and speed.
Charlene Devardem
Human(Level 7 → 8)(Rank 1)
Emperor Conflux
Attributes
Vitality: 22 → 23
Strength: 11 → 12
Magic: 53 → 64
Defense: 18 → 20
Magic Defense: 15 → 16
Speed: 39 → 49
Recovery: 58 → 60
Perception: 12 → 13
Presence: 0
Healing Points: 230
Mana: 640
Stamina: 264
After coming to a decision, I wave at Galea, and she hops to make the adjustments permanent. To be fair to myself, I had thought that the temporary flash of light that comes over me when I finalize spending my free points wouldn’t be that noticeable sitting in the sunshine. As it turns out, I was quite wrong about that.
“What did you just do?” Jor’Mari asks me as the light fades from my skin. The three elves further down the metal bench we sit on also stiffen and look at me.
“I didn’t do anything, my lord,” I tell him.
“Don’t lie to me. I saw it as plainly as the rest did. You just glowed.” The celenial man looks to the rest that are sitting in our small corner of the risers and gets a nod from Coriander as confirmation. Outside of our small group, it doesn’t seem as if anyone else saw the flash of light.
“She doesn’t need to explain her abilities to you,” Kendon whispers at Jor’Mari.
“I didn’t say that she does,” the man whispers back at Kendon. “I was just curious. I didn’t think she had any light-based abilities.”
“Neither did I,” Coriander says, not bothering to whisper.
“It isn’t a big deal.” I look at Kendon. “You were saying something about meeting more people from Gale?”
He nods slowly at me, letting me change the subject. “No, we met some other people from Ramancalla at the Rohindi tent last night. Apparently, the Willian guild sent someone to each of the Ramancalla kingdoms to recruit. I thought that it might be a good idea to ally with them if the upcoming competition allows, since we all speak Castinian. It will make things easier.”
“I do not trust anyone from north of Everseen,” Jor’Mari says. “A bunch of backstabbing thieves.”
“I agree,” Coriander says.
Macille rolls his eyes. “Are you really going to judge an entire kingdom based on something a single man did three-hundred years ago?”
“I suppose you would think Camacal was solely responsible,” Jor’Mari says, thrusting a finger at Macille. Jor’Mari winces and rubs his temples. “You know, my lineage traces back to Camacal’s and Korilis’ war. Korilis was my great-grandfather for Exeter’s sake.”
“Ultimate responsibility falls onto the head of the ruler,” Kendon says. “There is no use holding soldiers responsible, let alone an entire nation after so much time has passed.”
Jor’Mari shakes his head and sighs. “Silk on my dick, this hangover is a bastard. I’ll find that dwarf, I swear it.”
I, completely unable to follow their conversation of political history–we were not allowed to learn of any real history in our church school,–just about fall over in my seat when I hear Jor’Mari. “Silk on my dick!” I say, causing the man to wince. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It doesn’t translate all that well from the High Tongue,” Kendon tells me.
“What’s it from?”
“Some fable about a hunter and the woman he accidentally ended up hunting,” Macille says.
“Philistines,” Jor’Mari curses. “You know nothing of the classics.”
“You are the one who translated it poorly,” Coriander adds.
“I didn’t want our human companion to feel left out of the conversation,” Jor’Mari says, gesturing at me and winking.
“Thanks,” I say. I turn at the sight of movement coming from the stage. A hush begins to fall over the crowd as everyone else catches sight of the same thing I do. One moment, the stage stood empty before all of us, and now there floats a man a few inches off of the stage.
The man, he is a human man, wears a toga of dark cerulean silk with a golden laurel set upon his head of flowing, chocolate hair. The long beard he wears has begun to gray with the passage of time, something I did not know happened to essentia magicians. He looks older than any essentia magician I have ever seen. Were he a normal man, I would place him somewhere in his forties. Gray eyes peer out from his deeply tan face, the smile that he wears showing off a set of teeth so white I would think he has never eaten before. What sets the man out the most though, is that straight through his chest, where his heart should be, two swords–one gold and the other silver–are impaled up to the hilt, the blades sprouting out his back.
The floating man raises his hands. I flinch as a wave of blood red light passes over the crowd in a single instant, touching everyone, though I am one of the very few who react to seeing his soul presence. I feel pressure in my head, not painful, but still uncomfortable. As the entire crowd sits enraptured by the slightest gesture of the floating man, we all watch as a golden staff crowned by twin serpents descends from somewhere overhead to fall perfectly into his hands.
“He’s dressed as Parfillio,” Coriander mutters to herself, though I am certain that all of us around her hear it with our improved perceptions.
It takes a second for the name to register in my mind, and when it does, I need to stop myself from gasping. Parfillio is one of the sons of Exeter, long dead. Among the children of Exeter, he is the most reviled villain in the history of the pantheon, responsible for causing the crusade of humanity that nearly eradicated the world a thousand years ago. For a man to don the uniform of Parfillio here in front of hundreds who might still bear a deep grudge from those crusades, well, bold is not strong enough a word to describe it.
Not that I believe even all of us assembled here might be enough to stand against him. Volaash’s Eye returns to me no information about the man, but my instinct tells me that he is strong, leagues stronger than Arabella. This man floating on the stage in front of us is at the peak of rank four.
“Greetings young magicians,” the man says, his voice booming over his audience. “Allow me to introduce myself to the lot of you gathered here today. My name is Gaius Gore, first lieutenant of the Willian Guild, and the administrator of this year’s Passage of Rising Tide. It is my immense honor to have the privilege of overseeing this rare opportunity for young men and women such as yourselves. Believe me, I take such a responsibility with all the gravitas that it is due. Behold!”
Gaius Gore casts his hand out, pointing to some place far behind the mass of assembled magicians. My head whips around, the same as just about everyone else’s in the crowd to see something completely impossible. A wave of red light rises into the sky from the direction of the city, climbing until it is nearly as tall as the wall of stone the city of Grim rests upon. The sheet of opaque red stretches from horizon to horizon, east to west, and I do not doubt that it reaches all the way from one mountain range to another. I feel a crack run through the earth beneath the risers I sit on. The wall of color lurches toward us, though it is so far off that I can hardly believe I was what I did until I see it move again. It is advancing our way.
“At this time,” Gaius Gore says, “you may consider the Passage of Rising Tide to have officially begun.”
A stir runs through the crowd, people start to move, panic is striking them. My own sense of urgency flares, but I do not know what I should do with all the energy now running through me.
“Hold!” Gaius booms, the sound of his voice so loud that it forces all in attendance to stop. “I have not yet explained the rules of the competition. They are rather simple; you will have plenty of time to flee afterward.”
He clears his throat against his fist before spitting a lob of bloody phlegm down onto the stage. “While the circumstances of the Passage are not always the same, the goal remains a constant.” Gaius points toward the far north, past the forest of monstrously sized trees that rise up behind the stage. “There is a strait located on the far end of this valley some six-hundred and thirty-nine miles away from this very spot. This strait is only available for passage in the winter and spring, while the ice of the mountain peaks has still to melt. That is your time limit for this competition.
“Cross the Forest of Dying Lights, make it to the strait and cross over the bridge of land before the waters have risen far enough to make the passage impossible. I warn you young magicians now, this will be no easy task. Monsters call the Forest of Dying Lights home. The Willian guild culled all of the ones that we thought were especially powerful before winter fully arrived. Be warned however, as Summer begins to approach us once more, more and more rank two monsters will begin to appear in the forest. These monsters are not the only threats that you will find inside of the forest, but do not worry, there will be boons and treasure to be found that might help you along the way.”
Gaius Gore smiles at the sea of stunned faces looking on at him. “Do hurry in your flight to the North,” he says. “Time is not on your side.”
I see the man’s face flick back toward the far edge of the crowd where I sit, though he does not look toward the slowly approaching screen of red light. He looks toward the tents. “Ah,” he says, slowly rising into the air toward the clouds. “It would seem that your escorts into the forest have arrived.”
As Gaius ascends off of the stage, his rising is greeted by a chorus of roars coming from the forest of tents behind the crowd. I feel the earth begin to rumble once again through the risers as the roars approach at incredible speed, the sound of crashing and splintering wood proceeding them.