AKI:
Win after win, our third cycle drew closer, our skills grew, and our concerns faded. This was as much by necessity as it was by our diligence. As time went on, more and more Roots found themselves in debt. The worst of them died, which, in truth, was the majority. The best of them—the ones deemed better by godlings—handled their debt dishonorably and swore allegiance to one godling or another. Their monetary obligations were mysteriously taken care of before a mandatory service could be imposed on them. In the end, all the spiel about the godlings being ‘nothing’ while they attended The Academy were just the unfulfilled intentions of Headmaster Ricell, Master Ekolise, and whoever else thought to maintain a modicum of fairness.
Illora counted herself among the elites. A ranking of the top hundred students of each cycle had been established. She took the seventh. I watched one of her fights. It was a dull affair: They stepped into position, the official called for the match to start, Illora’s fellow contestant collapsed, the official proclaimed her the winner, and that was that. From what I’d heard, all her matches followed the same sequence of events.
Malorey had it the easiest by design. A particular ability she’d absorbed from a rare evolved beast she’d found in the wilds left her opponents incapacitated yet unscathed, and soon, many who could afford a loss went to her, knowing they’d be left unharmed and unviolated. Given her tactic, which faced her with many of the weakest combatants, Malorey did not claim a spot on the rankings.
Sil’s intent to go unnoticed collapsed in increments. As her ‘fortunate’ wins stacked, people were less believing of her ploys. Stripped of the need to hide her skill behind contrived accidents, students had begun to take note of her talent. Sil faced a Fiora from House Lorail in her last match of the cycle. She attacked, all fists and kicks, and none of the wind blades her Art was known for. She moved in quick bursts, like over-extended jerks, appeared in her opposition's blind side, delivered a blow, and disappeared, only to blindside her opponent once more. By the end of the trouncing, Sil had claimed the seventy-first spot on the ladder.
There were sixty-nine Leaves in our cycle.
Dako fought one of his kin for Vignil’s spot on the path, winning back his claim to Leafdom. I knew he would; he bested me one of every four, and in the name of embracing who I was, faults and all, I knew I was a force to contend with. By my estimates, he’d surpassed Vignil before he was invited to take his place. The godling he faced thought he’d rely on his bulk and strength. Dako cut her flesh into ribbons with a flurry resembling a Zephyr’s whirlwind of force blades. He blurred around her, raking bone-tipped fingers through her thin defenses. The ease with which he downed her made a statement of his return into the folds of Leafdom. As did every victory he’d claimed since. Dako sat fifty-third on the ladder.
Wiltos had lost another bout since his last, but his many subsequent victories had rendered the loss inconsequential. Each was hard fought, but Wiltos managed to eak out a string of wins despite the growing skill of his opponents. One night, the day after he’d won his most challenging battle against a Seculor with a not inconsiderable degree of talent, he’d told me in confidence how he’d managed his swift improvements.
“You’re not going to approve,” he said. We were coming back from a trip to the library. Our scholastic tendencies were a cornerstone of our friendship.
“And you need my approval?” I asked.
“Maybe not ‘need.’ It’d certainly ease my concerns a tad, though.”
The stack of books Wiltos carried was piled high, and he leaned back to keep them balanced, the topmost books pressed to his cheek.
“Let me carry a few of those for you,” I said for the third time. I’d not taken any books. What with my memory, it was enough to glimpse the pages. Understanding the content would take longer, but images of the pages were already seared into my mind, and I could review them at my leisure.
“I’ll manage,” he said, refusing my aid for a third time.
“I’d manage better.”
“That’s of little import if I can manage well enough.”
I nodded, understanding the sentiment. Self-reliance was a trait I respected and strove to embody.
“So, what is it I’d not approve of?” I asked.
Wiltos remained quiet as we entered the dorms, made our way to our quarters, and stepped into our common room. He took a moment to go into his room and alleviate himself of the weight he carried. Then he knocked on Sil and Dako’s doors to check if either of them had yet returned from their own practice sessions. Once he’d confirmed they were still out, he sat down.
“Headmaster Ricell,” he said.
“Did he arrange an instructor for you?” I was leaning down over my bag, searching through the tools for those I’d need; Brittle was as likely to be forgiving as she was vindictive, and being unprepared for our research was too great a risk.
Wiltos shook his head. “He gave me his personal tutelage.”
I looked up in surprise. “He’s an Aedificator?”
“Both classifications,” he confirmed. “Though I suspect he’s much more than just an Aedificator.”
I frowned in confusion. “That can’t be right; Sil is a Vapor.”
“I know.”
“He’s Sil’s father—he can’t have much talent as an Aedifactor, not when Sil is so potent a Vapor.”
“Not unless he’s a commoner.”
“He can’t be,” I said. “He's the headmaster of the most prestigious academy in the known world. Besides, how does that explain his talent for Aedificator Arts?”
“Because only commoners can be stateras. Even the weakest of Triplers have enough of an inborn tendency towards their inherited Art to exclude the likelihood of being a statera.”
“What’s a statera?”
“Someone who’s born with nearly the same affinity for multiple Arts.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It is, just very rare—one in a million rare. Probably rarer if only considering those whose talent in those matched Arts reaches the minimum threshold needed for basic competency.”
I nodded off into a contemplative silence.
“And he’s been the headmaster for a long time,” Wiltos said.
“I don’t see how that matters.”
“A very long time.”
I raised a brow in curiosity. “How long is very long?”
“One-hundred-and-forty-seven cycles.”
“As headmaster?” I turned to Wiltos, my preparations forgotten. “That would mean he’s likely on the older side of two-and-a-half centuries.” In my utter shock, the lids of my eyes strained away from my eyes, and my brow formed creases it had never before folded. “No commoner alive is older than one-seventy-five.”
“Seventy-six,” Wiltos said. “Manar’s head priest, Kelmonte. And from what I hear, he's at death’s door.”
“Alright, we’re getting off-topic. Tell me again why I won’t approve of Ricell teaching you?”
Wiltos’ head slumped, and he looked down at the floor with an expression of guilt. “Because his tutelage cost me.”
“Ricell asked you to keep it from Sil.” There was a hint of anger in my tone. I had learned secrets among friends could rot their bonds to nothingness if they were allowed to fester.
Wiltos half turned away from me. “Not just the training. He knew I’d figure out his other secret.”
“Then why tell me?”
“We are friends.”
“So is Sil.”
“It’s not the same.” Wiltos turned to face me. “I’m sorry for putting you in this situation, but I had to tell someone. I know Dako hates Ricell, Illora never liked me much, and Malorey…”
“Is likely to steer you into deeper waters.”
“I’m neck-deep as is.”
I took a breath to calm myself. “You had to take the offer. None of us can help with your Golem Arts, and the Masters here are next to useless to people like us.”
Wiltos offered me a sad smile. “That’s why it’s not the same. So, how am I to get out?”
“You don’t,” I said. Wiltos appeared crestfallen. “I’ll have to get you out.”
“What can you do that I can’t?”
“Tell Sil, of course.”
“No!” Wiltos got to his feet. “I told you—”
“Because you knew I’d take the decision out of your hands.”
“No—”
“Wiltos,” I looked at him with all the sympathy I felt, “you know me as well as I know you. Do not deny the truth on my account. Leave that for when we face Ricell.”
We waited for Sil to return. Dako, too. I’d be late to meet Brittle for our Pondus research. The risk of pain was worth it.
“They’re here,” Wiltos said. He sat on the windowsill, watching the courtyard. He kept his eyes trained on the pair, his forehead pressed to the glass. Once he lost sight of them, he began to pace the room. He rubbed his hands together, then crossed his arms, then scratched his face, and then continued to perform a series of other nervous ticks.
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Dako came in first, laughing at some joke or jibe Sil had made. He fell silent when he walked in, sensing the mood.
“What’s wrong,” Dako asked.
Sil squeezed past and looked between me and Wiltos. “We are overdue an incident. What was it? An assassination attempt? A challenge?”
“Sit down,” I said. “Both of you. I have something to tell you both.”
Dako laid his sheathed greatsword against the wall and sat. Sil arched an eyebrow but eventually took a seat beside Dako.
Wiltos leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” I whispered back.
“Yes. You’ve done enough. I mean that. Forcing me into this was the best course of action for all of us, me included. I suppose I knew that when I came to you with this.”
I nodded and stepped back. Wiltos stood before Dako and Sil.
“Go on,” I encouraged, a hand on his shoulder in support. “It’ll be fine.”
Wiltos’ words spilled out. “Ricell has been instructing me on Golem Arts. He’s a three-hundred-year-old statera Mud. I needed his help. He gave it to me for a price. I agreed. You have to understand, I was going to die. I knew it. You knew it. I was too weak. No Master was going to help me. I’m not part of House Grono. I’m not allowed to be.” Wiltos jolted in shock from his last admission, and suddenly, he paused his confession.
“That’s it?” Sil asked.
Wiltos’ tense posture eased, and I was unsure why. Was it that Sil seemed unconcerned with whatever arrangement he had with her father, or was it that we’d tactfully ignored the last comment he’d unwittingly blurted out. Well, I had not ignored it as much as I appeared to have. Not allowed to? I asked myself. What could he mean? What other secrets did he keep?
“He swore me to secrecy,” Wiltos admitted. “He asked that I keep his help and any inferences I might derive from it a secret.” He looked down, ashamed. “I did.”
Sil shrugged. “I could care less. The man is nothing to me. Less than nothing. It’ll be like telling me you’d emptied your bowels this morning. While I’m happy you won’t die of constipation, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be kept abreast of your visits to the latrine.”
***
I had won all of my bouts handily. Leaves had begun to believe my win over Vignil was not a fluke or trick, and none of them had dared to face me to test the extent of my strength. I knew that would not last, same as I knew that the more powerful of them had no such concerns. Nevertheless, I believed each day counted towards why they ought to have been concerned.
Unwilling to force a match, I had expended effort into leaving all those I challenged as uninjured as victory would allow. Those who came for me, on the other hand, saw no such consideration. My latest opponent, a Seculor boy with the misfortune of being too ugly to fix the issue with his Reaper Arts, was one of the former. I used my improved Herbalist Art to create a concoction that improved my physical prowess to an extent comparable to that a Leaf from House Bainan achieved through Reaper Art, though not nearly to the same flexibility of usage. That, in conjunction with my martial skills, made the bout a relaxed affair. It also went some ways to explain my win against Froxil; using my talent in Auger Arts to explain away my physical prowess was less effective since few—if any—used Painter matrixes that way. However, more intelligent observers would note how my skill in Alchemy had not translated into my lessons until much more recently. Still, my surge in Alchemical Arts had served me thrice over, improving the combat abilities I was free to show, allowing me the financial means to remain unconcerned by The Academy’s tuition, and, most of all, providing me the utter joy I got from helping Zo with her philanthropy.
Then, the last moon cycle of winter began, and they finally dared.
My last offered challenge of the year was against a Root who stood under Linus’ banner, of all people. She’d asked. I’d accepted, thinking she’d abhorred the prospect of asking her new lord for help. Cleo was an attractive girl with short, dark hair, thick lashes, amber eyes, and the sort of pretty face that was without fault but somehow seemed just shy of beautiful. Linus disagreed, of course. Everyone knew her looks alone had won her his favor. It had also saved her life from mandatory service and the death such a task entailed. As I faced her, I wondered if she still valued her life the same.
Cleo was a Golem. The stone of the arena tried to swallow my feet. I pulled away and kept moving, the frenzy of battle wiping away my surprise—Golem Leaves could barely manipulate the matrix-laden stage itself, so how she, a Root, had managed the feat baffled me, which is to say nothing of the fact that I had expected a token effort on her part.
I dashed in. Cleo conjured and sent a conical stone the size of my fist at me. I swayed out of the way. Another followed. I ducked. Two more. I jumped. Five. I dove forward and contorted around the staggered flight of projectiles she unleashed. I managed, all the while eating away at the space between us. I reached out my arm to close the dwindling distance to nothing.
Cleo backed a step. A stone spear shot out from where she had stood. I twisted my neck, and not a moment too soon. The tip of the spear sliced a two-inch cut up from the corner of my mouth to notch the end of my nose. I did not slow. A drop of blood trailed in the air behind me as I dashed into range. More blood rolled from across my cheek and into my ear, pushed along by the force of my rush. My punch caught her in the ribs. Two cracked. She grunted. My arm was around her neck before she managed to recover from the pain.
“Do you yield?” I asked, only then contemplating all the power she’d used. A Root ought not to have been able to conjure and manipulate as much matter as she had.
“I do,” Cleo said.
I let her go and walked off the stage. Linus swaggered in my direction. Cleo hurried to his side and slipped her arm around his. He glanced down at her as if she was a splendid new piece of clothing he’d acquired.
“Aki, is it?” he asked.
“It is,” I said.
“You’re that upstart commoner they call the heretic?”
“That is what they call me.”
“And are you? A heretic, I mean.”
“What can I do for you, Linus?”
“It is what you’ve not done for me that has prompted this conversation. You see, you have failed to fail as I’d expected. Did you not know Cleo here is one of mine?”
I looked at him sideways, and something in my gaze must’ve angered him because he shoved Cleo away and took a step closer. If he minded how much shorter he was, he did not show it.
“So you are a heretic,” he said, sneering.
“The bout has been called,” I said. “Do you wish to appeal the results?”
“No, you fool,” he said. “I mean to grant you a chance at redemption. You will lose your next bout. Another of mine needs a win.”
“It appears as though we are at an impasse.”
He snorted. “Are you refusing me?”
“I am.”
“You really are a heretic.”
“For refusing to lose?”
“For disobeying divinity.” And with that, Linus turned to leave. “You shall see what becomes of heretics.”
As it turned out, I did not need to wait long to see his threat turn into action. I’d barely gotten halfway to where Wiltos’ final bout was to take place when a hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
Three men stood before me, Linus in the middle.
“Really, Linus?” I asked.
“Really,” he said. “But if you’d rather be spared—”
“Let me guess,” I said. “I’ll accept a bond.”
Linus grinned. “Exactly, my boy. Not quite the imbecile I’d thought you to be, are you?”
“I tell you what, challenge me first.” My pride had spoken.
Linus frowned. “Why? You know you’ll lose. I’m fifteenth on the rankings.”
“Afraid?” My tone was mocking. “I understand why—we all know how you achieved your ranking.” Alchemy was profitable, especially for someone with the talent for injecting as much Meaning as he could. Everyone knew he’d used his sizable wealth to amass weapons and elixirs and other such strengthing tools to reach his position. Everyone also knew his method of success was unmaintainable; sooner or later, any student who escaped the death of expulsion would close the gap because no amount of wealth could replace true power.
He was in my face before the word had completely left my mouth. “I, Linus kin Silas, Challenge you, Aki ua Farian. Do you accept?”
“I do.”
While Linus went to arrange a dueling court, I went to check on Wiltos’ last battle. I barely made it in time to catch the final moments. His opponent leaped at him, arms pulled back, hands gripped around a claymore. Wiltos knelt on his hands and knees. In the midst of her mighty swing, the Painter went motionless, held aloft by her will and sensus. At her throat was the spike of earth Wiltos had conjured from the arena, too thin to carry force but sharp enough for it not to matter.
Wiltos pushed off his hands. “Do you yield?”
The Painter hesitated. A loss to a Root was never an experience a godling from House Lorail took unless death was the only alternative. The thing was, death was the only alternative. If she moved a hairsbreadth, he’d grow the stone, piercing her throat and dealing an injury she’d not recover from.
Wiltos got off his knees and onto his feet. “Do you yield?”
She did, grudgingly.
I went in search of Linus and whichever of the arenas he’d decided on without the burden of worry.
The long queue of students in front of us gave my friends ample time to find me before my match started.
“Linus.” Dako squeezed out of the crowd. “Did you have to accept?”
Sil was close behind. “More like he couldn’t refuse.”
“You know me so well,” I said. My easy smile did nothing to ease their frowns of worry.
Dako tapped my chest with a fist. “Being your friend will cause my heart to explode one of these days.”
I leaned back and raised my hands. “You’re handsome enough, Dako, but…”
Sil snickered. “You’ve kept that well hidden. How long have you had romantic plans for our friend, Dako?”
Dako snorted. “You think you can tease me about my sexuality? Tell me again, who is the virgin among us?”
I took an exaggerated step back. “And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. If I was going to let a friend take it from me, it surely wouldn’t be you.”
Dako wagged his eyebrows. “And we all know who it would be, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” came three other voices all at once. Wiltos, Malorey, and Illora appeared, all of them smirking at me. Malorey and Illora were unharmed, as expected.
I went beet red, and before I could stammer out whatever unwitty reply my flustered and embarrassed mind could conjure, an unwelcome intruder broke into our conversation.
“Are you so confident? So foolish?” Linus was sneering. Cleo was still stuck to his side, sycophancy drawing an identical expression on her face.
“We shall see soon enough,” I said.
Half a turn went by before our turn came. Linus downed a plum-colored liquid from three glass vials, threw the empty ampoules on the ground where they shattered, and went ahead of me, hopping onto the stage with far more grace than usual. I stayed a moment, and my friends shared words of encouragement and trust.
“Try not to kill him,” Dako said.
“But make it painful.” Sil’s contribution.
Illora’s encouragement came in the form of advice. “He’s Alchemist. You’re an Auger.”
“He cheats,” Malorey said, “never understanding, only commanding with his inborn talent for Meaning. He’s a disgrace to the Art of Alchemy.”
I downed my own Alchemical mixtures and stepped onto the stage. My heart was pounding. Prideful or not, confident or not, I was about to face a man empowered by the best Herbalist concoctions, Alchemy-extracted souls, and Golem crafter armor and weapons money could buy. I had a plan, of course, but like all plans, there was a chance of failure.
Linus took out a pair of wicked daggers, black with lines of purple running through them like veins pumping violet blood. They throbbed ominously, alive and hungry. I took my own stance, trying my best not to let my nervousness show.
The calm came to me the moment the official called a start to the match.
Linus came at me fast and nimble, with daggers held to the side, eyes narrowed, and glee and cruelty mixed into his anticipatory grin. I waited for him to close. Calm. Ready. Confident. And just as his dagger-tipped arm began to swing towards me, I took it from him, his strength, his speed, his durability, all the gifts he’d extracted and digested with his Alchemical Arts. The sudden loss staggered him, and in that brief instant of surprise, my hand had shot forward, fingers gripped around his throat, stunting his momentum and closing the flow of air to his lungs. He hung there, wide-eyed and fearful, the sudden turn of events loosening the grip he had around his daggers. They fell to the floor. He stared at me. I stared back.
And then I crushed his throat.
Roots rushed towards him, healing tinctures in hand. What greeted me was a silent crowd, Leaves among them, including Silas, Zalzii, others whose faces I knew but whose names I didn’t, and yet more who were entirely unknown to me. They watched me assesingly. I watched them back, defiant and unwilling to bend under their scrutiny.
Yes, they had finally dared.
So had I.
***
Master Ekolise held the assembly in the refectory. The call had gone out that all students returned to the dorms they were first assigned, including those who had moved to the private district.
The place was distinctly empty—our numbers had been whittled away by countless deaths. Most were Roots. A few godlings, too, but none who were going to be missed. Even those who might’ve been mourned had lost the privilege when they proved themselves unable to survive.
We’d made it. All of us. Sil, Dako, Wiltos, Malorey, and I sat together near the back. The breakfast we ate was made delicious by our company and our recent success. We’d made it, and so we joked and laughed, drank and sang, and let our merry mood wash away the dangers of tomorrow.
Master Ekolise entered and took the front, the same as he did that first morning I spent in The Academy. “Greeting. All who sit here are the best Evergreen can offer this year. Some of you will continue on this path, ascending into persons whose names will be recorded in legend. But as is my responsibility, my message is not purely congratulatory. Be vigilant. Be steadfast. For every one of you who will grow to be revered, two more will fall from grace, three more will succumb to mediocrity, and four more will fall so far and hard that their very lives will end.
“I will see those of you brave enough to chance another year come spring. That is all.”
And so it was that my second cycle at The Academy ended.