Chapter 33

I sat against the tree for a few hours afterward, resting, thinking, churning the situation over and over in my head. She was right; both that I’d need help, and that I had to go after the Guardians again. I had spent a handful of days by this point absorbed in smithing and runes, lured into ignoring the world for a time. I couldn’t make myself think of it as time wasted even so, the knowledge that I’d gained more than worth the time it took me.

Sitting here, away from the bustle of the town and the easy distractions of it, I could finally think, planning my approach to the guardian. Even with my new abilities, I wasn’t at all confident that I could fight it alone; after shedding the outer shell, it seemed even more resistant to harm, my flames having no easy purchase on its’ body. Cenna was right, I needed help. But how could I make Lyrella get stronger? How could I motivate her, if her fear of weakness wasn’t enough?

I drummed my fingers on my thighs, eyes closed as I let my mind drift. Cenna, brash and beautiful, ringlets of flame-red hair and fae-bright green eyes beneath, skin tanned to bronze. Lyrella, cold and brutish, athletic and forceful, black hair and brown eyes, dusky skin and sharp cheekbones. Marcus, as little as I knew of him; immense and broad-shouldered, encased in a mountain of armor and wielding a hammer large and heavy enough for two men to wield. These were the strongest people that I knew, and I struggled to find connections between them. Cenna fought every day out of duty, out of a desire to protect; even splitting her time into helping out the town and spending time with Lyrella, she found the time to practice and grow stronger, constantly held back by her sense of duty.

Lyrella was so worried about me stealing the town from her that she was undermining her own strength, losing momentum just to spend her time trying to spy on me, fear chaining her to the town. It was foolish, short-sighted, but she utterly lacked the ability to see through that. She wore her responsibilities like an anchor around her neck, drowning under the weight of it. The town’s people were weak, afraid, hiding behind their walls like cloistered monks, as if wooden palisades alone could keep the new world at bay. Their fear was going to get them killed, and it would bring down Cenna and Lyrella with it, and every other member of their slowly dwindling protectors.

It took another handful of hours to build my resolve, settling on a course of action that I knew I could not flinch from if I were going to slay the Guardians. I certainly couldn’t do it alone, though I had concerns as to whether or not Cenna would have any desire to hold up her end of the bargain after it was done.

My return to the town was a short trip, lengthened by the slow, casual stride I took to reach it, firming up my determination. The old world is dead, I reminded myself.

The Shepherdess’ words hung around me like a haze, and I found myself mumbling and mulling them over. “The old world is dead,” she’d told me. “Stagnation is death.”

“To lose momentum is to lose your life. You must never stop pushing forward or else you risk falling behind.”

It had been hard to listen to her, to understand the nonsense she was spouting while I was being killed over and over, torn limb from limb. There was an urgency, a sharpness to her tone, the way she spoke them as if they were the laws of the universe, axioms of our new world.

“All that which weakens you must be burned away; all that which strengthens you must be seized with both hands.”

“Fear will kill as surely as a blade.”

I leapt upward as I reached the palisade, two easy hops carrying me over the wall, using one of the gnarled branches as a stepping stone. I strode purposefully toward the center of the huddled village, familiar enough with the winding paths to cut a straight line there. I relaxed my grip on my aura, my presence enough to send the people scattering out from before me, those who once looked at me as familiar now seeing something else in my stead. By the time I had reached the small, cramped square at the center of the town, where the simple rope elevator led up to Lyrella’s hold, the town’s protectors were all there waiting for me, arrayed behind Lyrella as if expecting a battle. Cenna stood by her side, fear and uncertainty gnawing at her expression as she cut glances between me and Lyrella.

“The Spartans of old,” I shouted, looking to the crowd that was hastily assembling around the square. “Believed that walls made a man weak. The illusion of safety,” I called out, slowly panning my gaze over them, “Would make them complacent, would make them believe themselves safe when the wolves came baying in the night.” I gestured to the walls, my hand slowly making a circle as I turned. “There are no walls tall enough to keep these wolves at bay. Not anymore. The only way to keep them safe,” I stopped my turn, facing Lyrella and her protectors. “The only way to keep anyone safe, is for them to have the strength to defend themselves.”

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“The old world is dead!” I heard a shout from amongst the crowd, one man holding aloft his bare wrist where the rope-like scar mirrored my own. A few others mumbled it, here and there, lacking his conviction.

“The old world is dead,” I answered him. “The new world demands strength. Requires it.” I held my hands aloft, fire clawing up the shaft of my steel staff to ignite the brazier at the peak, flames spilling from it like hungry tongues lashing at the air. “Who will answer it?”

“Run, or die.”

I thumped the staff downward, and a ripple of weak flames shot outward, barely enough to singe flesh where it struck, though the startling pain was its’ own impetus; my real target was the hovels clustered around us, their flimsy wood and cloth all too eager fuel for the blaze that spilled outward from the square.

Screaming surrounded me as the villagers fled, consumed with fear, some trying frantically to protect their belongings or take them away, frantic to keep ahead of the clawing flames that swept over their homes.

When I turned to face the Protectors, they stood in shock behind Lyrella, the woman herself frozen with a mixture of rage and terror on her face. “Why… Why would you do this?” She stepped toward me. When the others moved to step up beside her, she snapped at them, “Stand back. He’s mine.” The ferocity in her tone left no room for disobedience, and the pleading in Cenna’s eyes begged me not to kill her. I didn’t intend to. I hopped down to meet her, eyes cold.

When the brutish woman charged me, she screamed with rage, closing the distance with an explosion of speed. I began to pump fiery energy through my limbs, drawing in a deep breath as the air around me seemed to boil, my movements and perception hastened by the influx of energy. I slapped her hand aside, my strength enough to shock her into stumbling, too slow to recover; I could’ve struck her with a firebolt in her turned back, but instead I simply stood there, watching her. She spun back, turning the motion into a stunningly hard kick that I blocked with my forearm, throwing a straight punch into her chest to knock her to the ground. “How are you so strong!?” She screamed as she came at me again, fingers hooked like claws, desperation giving her strength but undermining her resolve.

“I am strong because I refuse to allow myself to be held back,” I answered her, my tone level.

My certainty and calm seemed to enrage her. “I never hold back! Not for an instant! I gave up everything for these people!”

“Your weakness would have killed them, Lyrella.” Her swift attacks found no purchase against me; the strongest I simply avoided, the rest I blocked or parried. Every impact hurt like hell, but I refused to let it show. “Killed all of them.”

“I am not weak!” She screamed back at me, the air around her rippling with force as she slammed a punch toward me, strong enough that my intuition screamed at me to avoid it. I jumped backward, and the stone I had been standing atop shattered under the hit, scattering flakes of stone like granite shrapnel.

“Your weakness only staved off the inevitable,” I lectured her, drawing the flames around the edges of the square to form a solid barricade around us; the village burned, thick black smoke pouring skyward, more than even the broad crown of the tree could diffuse. “The walls you built to protect them penned them in like cattle.”

Her chest was heaving, struggling to breathe in the smoke and heat. Sweat shone on her skin, her eyes full of wild hurt, angry pain.

“I have no desire to steal them from you. I have no desire to shelter the weak, to herd them and pen them up for slaughter.” I shook my head, watching her as she approached me, cautiously, fear turning her charge into faltering steps. “I don’t want to lead them, Lyrella. I want to save them from you.”

This time, her attacks were swift, savage, clawed fingers striking and lashing at me in a frenzy, carving into my skin where she struck, strength building behind her blows. She seemed to draw power from her momentum, every step and strike flowing into the next, landing with a little more force every time. When she stepped inward and grabbed onto my wrist instead of slashing, I was unprepared for her to turn, yanking me over her back, and hurling me into the flaming ruins of the tents with the force of a falling tree, smashing aside flimsy wood and weak cloth. I knew these homes, I knew these people; but I also knew that if they stayed here, they would die. I didn’t want to lead them, but I didn’t want to watch them all die. Even if it meant driving away the new friends I’d started to make, and changing myself in their eyes.

When I stood up within the sea of flames, seemingly unharmed, Lyrella froze. I fought against the pain that wracked me, keeping my face cold, impassive. This world needed two kinds of people: Leaders, and Monsters. I knew I wasn’t meant to be a leader, but I also knew that a leader required strength to lead. You could only trust them to follow you so long as they could not rise up against you.

This town hadn’t needed walls. It needed someone like me.

It needed a Monster.