PART IV - PIXIE POWER
“Oh shit!” Callie said, jumping up on her bench, the booster block thunking to the stone floor. “Shit shit!” She knew it was about to be bad, but had no idea what to do.
But Koda was there first. From seemingly out of nowhere, he swooped Pixyl up under her arms and laid her quickly, but gently, face down on the stone floor. “Everyone, stay back,” he snarled as a few stretched their necks to get a better look. “You, too,” Koda directed to Lena, who was trying to stand. Pixyl groaned hard as Callie ignored Koda, untangling herself to drop down next to her.
“You’ll be okay, Pixyl. You’ve got this,” Callie said quietly. “You’ve got this!”
“Watch out!” a voice called out. “Her hands.”
Callie glanced and saw both of Pixyl’s hands were clenched and beginning to glow with their familiar magenta color. Callie remembered what Tasi and her healers had done the previous night and pointed. “Koda, hold her wrists and keep them pointed away from people!” Someone in the crowd whispered loudly “Another Bladeweaver?”
“What?” Koda asked, confused.
“Her wrists! Hold them in place.”
Koda looked and saw the problem. He placed one huge paw firmly around each of Pixyl’s wrists, holding them in place. He snarled at someone who was standing in the likely path, and whoever it was leapt away.
Pixyl spasmed several times, her wings flapping furiously, like a flopping fish out of water, smacking against Callie’s face with a thwapping sound. It took but another moment and Pixyl’s hands finally blazed to life, her Ethereal Blades extending with a crackling sound of power, carving a deep path through the stone floor. Now at their full length, the ends wiggled and wobbled in sync with Pixyl’s twitching fists, periodically sparking against the floor, carving gouges in the stone. Koda hung on though, using his bulk and squatting position to hold the deadly energy blades in place and safely away from anyone.
All the while, Callie kept whispering their private mantra. “You’ve got this. You’ve got this.” It was all she could do. She was too little to hold the Pixie’s hands still. She was too little to sweep her to safety. She was powerless to make it stop. All she could do was make sure she was there and remind Pixyl that she wasn’t alone.
“Stand aside. Make a hole! Move!” a gruff voice called out, and the crowd of recruits parted like reeds before a canoe. A tall Beastkin with leonine cat features marched up, but stopped a respectful distance away, so as to not crowd the scene. “My stars,” he said with a gasp. “How many?” he snapped at Callie.
“Five at once!” Callie hissed back, clutching her friend’s shoulder.
“My stars,” he repeated in disbelief. “Someone bring me a glass of water with six shots of flavor in it! Any flavor!” he finally called out. Nobody seemed to move. “Now!”
“Getting it, Sir!” someone finally called back.
“I’m the Bladeweaver Trainer, Olin. That sweetened water will help when she comes around.” He glanced at a young Beastkin, another Lizardkin like Xin, standing next to him. “You wanted to see Bladeweaver power? Well, there you go. That’s what you’ll be able to do with proper training.”
The Lizardkin, obvious now to be another Bladeweaver recruit, was simply stunned, “That’s amazing! I can do that?”
“In time, young one. In time,” Olin said, patting her on the shoulder. “I need you to get something for me,” he added, before speaking softly to his student, who quickly ran off.
“Water, sir! Six shots!” a familiar beardless Dwarf, still wearing his robe, said as he ran up, gasping for breath.
“Stand out of the way, be silent and wait,” Olin growled.
“The Pixie? She’s a Bladeweaver?” Bratig said. “Is she okay?”
“She will be,” Callie hissed. She looked up to see who it was speaking and recognized the Dwarf from the day before. “But her broken wing isn’t helping any,” she added, trying to twist a knife. She didn’t know if that was true, but she wanted to lash out right now and a good passive-aggressive smack-down seemed to fit her mood. Pixyl’s wings had stopped thrashing, but the ugly, black bruise loomed large as a reminder of her injury, and the pain she had been suffering through.
The color drained from Bratig’s face and his expression turned turmoiled. “I didn’t mean …” he mumbled, his words trailing off.
On the floor, Pixyl’s convulsions had ended, and her breathing was returning to normal. Callie continued to coach her through while Koda dutifully manned the Pixie’s wrists. Finally, the swords of light flickered and faded, disappearing into a cloud of magic. Koda still didn’t move, wanting to be sure the danger had passed.
Pixyl groaned, starting to regain her senses, and Callie gave Koda a nod, allowing him to let go. “She’s coming around,” Callie said to no one in particular. “She’ll be fine in a minute.” The crowd, now realizing that most of the excitement had ended, began to dissipate and return to their seats.
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The pain Pixyl felt as she finally regained her senses was brutal, and she cried out in agony, tears forming in her eyes. Her injured wing throbbed from its chaotic use and the only thing she wanted to was to curl up and muscle through the pain alone. But Callie had taken her hand and was holding it tight, and that also made things easier. She glanced around, realizing where she was. Koda was squatted above her head, with a silly, fang-filled, yet warm smile. She saw Trainer Olin close with a serious and concerned expression on his face, like he was evaluating her every motion.
Next to Olin was … the Dwarf. The one that had hurt her. The one that laughed at her speech and then destroyed her wing. It didn’t matter that the healers fixed it. It didn’t matter that Tazrok said it was all over with punishment completed. It wasn’t over. All she wanted to do was hurt him back. She needed to hurt him back. She needed to show him.
“Pixyl,” Callie asked quietly, “are you okay to stand up?”
The little Pixie swallowed hard, glanced at Callie, and in a clear, steady voice said, “I’ve got this." She then added with a strained tone, "At least I didn’t get sick.”.”
Callie stood, still holding Pixyl’s hand, and helped her stand. Pixyl took one step, realized how weak she felt, and leaned against the bench. Her head felt fine at this point, but the whole episode had just sapped the strength out of her, and she just wanted to crawl back into bed.
Trainer Olin approached, carrying the sweetened water Bratig had retrieved, and knelt in front of the little Bladeweaver. “Pixylataweneecina,” he began, pronouncing her name with perfection, “drink this, the flavored syrup will help you feel better. I just want to say how very sorry I am.”
“C-C-Call me Pixyl,” she said, still wincing in residual pain as she accepted the oversized cup. “Why are you s-s-sorry?”
“I’m sorry for everything that you are going through. Five at once is … awful. But I also want to apologize for ever doubting your class, even for a moment, it was shortsighted of me.”
Pixyl didn’t respond, but sipped at the water, making a face at how ridiculously sweet it was.
“Pixyl,” Olin said. “What do you need? Anything?”
The Pixie shook her head, just trying to concentrate on overcoming the pain in her wing. It ached from use and she was angry at herself for letting it beat her, even for a short time. Fae wings were so strong and durable, yet at the same time so fragile. She sipped the overly-sweet water Olin had handed her again, and had to admit it did make her feel a little better. Right now, Callie was fawning over her, which was actually great, but the others were also watching her closely and it was just too much in a situation she couldn’t control. She wanted her bed.
“I think I just want to go back home,” Pixyl finally said quietly, putting voice to her thoughts.
“I think that would be good, too,” Callie said in agreement.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Olin said. “Help back to your house?”
“No, we’ve got it,” Callie said coldly, giving Olin the stinkiest eye that she could muster, even though he really didn’t deserve it.
“Ah. Of course,” Olin said, feeling the glare from the little Gnome. He stood and stepped back a few paces. “Let anyone on the staff know if you need anything. I’ll help any way I can.”
Callie slid off the bench and turned to help Pixyl down. Lena started to stand as well, if only to assist. “No, Lena, you stay,” Callie said. “All of you stay. Socialize a bit. We’ve got this. Really.”
Hesitantly, Lena returned to her seat. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. All of you stay,” Callie said again, adding a weak smile.
Pixyl slipped off the bench as well, wincing a bit as her wing brushed it. She handed the mug of sweetened water to Lena, before she and the Gnome slipped through the remaining crowd to return to the bunkhouse.
Olin stayed back, but watched the two go, actually admiring the sisterhood they seemed to have developed so quickly. Shaking his head from his thoughts, he said loudly, “Okay everyone, the excitement is over. The lesson here is to be sure you are somewhere safe on the chance you get a new reveal. The good news is that it should all be done by midday.” Those last stragglers milling around broke up, returning to their seated groups, or otherwise being elsewhere.
Tazrok watched Callie Gnome and Blue Pixie go. He knew there was nothing he could do to help, and was content to let them. But then something caught his eye, something that could prove to be trouble. Quietly he stood, and firmly, yet politely, pushed a few people out of his way as he walked out from under the tented roof. Callie and Pixyl were walking back up the hill together, Callie being strong, but Pixyl still being a little hesitant in her steps. To their side, the bald-faced Dwarf, Bratig, was moving towards them. Tazrok quickly moved into a place where he could assist if the Dwarf dared do something again.
“Pardon me,” Bratig said, approaching the two. “Miss Pixyl, may I have just a moment, if you are feeling better.”
Callie and Pixyl stopped and gave Bratig a glare that would melt steel, and the Dwarf seemed to wither slightly for a moment, but then seemed to find a spine. “W-w-what do you w-w-want,” Pixyl snarled, exhaustion and bitterness mixing in her response.
Bratig rubbed his hands together nervously. “I … um …”
“Well, spit it out!” Callie loudly commanded. Around them, the rest of the recruits with earshot stopped to look, as did many staff members. Callie gestured imploringly. “Look, it’s been a bad morning, so pardon my language, but what the fuck do you want from her? Haven’t you done enough?”
The Dwarf looked around, seeing Tazrok standing by the tent, and at least twenty people watching. He dropped to one knee and looked into Pixyl’s eyes. “I just … I just wanted to apologize. For hurting you. I didn’t … I …” Bratig struggled with his words, before finally circling around to, “I’m sorry.”
“You better…” Callie started to spit back before Pixyl put her hand on Callie’s arm to stop her.
Pixyl stopped leaning on Callie and took two steps forward. “S-s-s-stand up,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear her words, and the Dwarf slowly stood.
Bratig smiled, feeling a guilty weight he’d been carrying since meeting Tazrok in Druid training the day before finally lifting off his shoulders. “Thank you, I just want to sa…”.
The rest of Bratig’s words were abruptly cut off as Pixyl put all of her strength and energy into a single kick right between the Dwarf’s legs. And it wasn’t a simple kick. It was a kick that was heard across the silent hillside. It was a thunk that resonated through the mess tent area. It was a kick that contained all the fiery fury that a tiny Pixie could muster, magnified exponentially by the anger from a lifetime of social hell, and all that time in the Pits.
Half of the onlookers groaned out in sympathetic pain, many crossing their legs or clutching their groins. Others gaped in simple stunned silence.
Pixyl took one step towards Bratig, now lying on the ground holding himself and trying to catch his breath, still too stunned and in too much agony to do anything more than whimper.
“Apology accepted,” Pixyl growled as she turned away, nary a trace of stutter in her words.