The next day my duel against Guinevere felt different. The mental block that had been keeping me from progressing was gone, my thoughts were perfectly clear. Guinevere stumbled back as I pressed her countering and landing hits across her armor. She still managed to turn the tables on me, but I didn’t’ feel as if I were stagnating anymore.
My work on my enchanting yielded its first success. The spiraling runes around the crystal stabilized. A bolt of lightning shot out from it. It was not a steady blade like I wanted but it was a stable enchantment. Mab’s pages seemed to vibrate with pleasure as I completed the successful enchantment.
“Well done,” I told the tome. I watched as it altered some of the runes I had drawn, and I analyzed its suggestions.
“That might work,” I said. “But I think the power output you have here would draw too heavily on the mana source and result in a discrimination.”
The runes changed again as Mab communicated with me in its unique manner.
“Are you talking to your spirits?” Guinevere asked coming up from behind. She was much quieter outside of her armor. Neither of us wore our armor when not in training we’d been here for months without being attacked once and it was more comfortable without it on all the time. She wore a pair of black pants, long knee-high boots and a white tunic. I had on my last remaining shirt and pair of pants.
“No,” I said turning and gesturing to my grimoire. “I was talking to him.”
“You talk to books?” Guinevere asked skeptically raising an eyebrow.
“it’s a sentient artifact,” I said. “It’s been helping me work on the enchantment I’m trying to create.”
Guinevere took a seat next to me. “I want to learn more about magic, I’ve been training you how to fight with the sword I want you to train me on how to use spells.”
“You already know magic,” I pointed out.
“I know a few spells,” Guinevere said. “You KNOW magic. I’ll bet you learned the spell for Blood Pact as soon as you heard me say it.”
“Yes,” I confessed.
Mab’s pages flipped turning to the page where I had written out the spell.
Guinevere eyed the grimoire in fascination. “I’ve heard of sentient artifacts, but I’ve never really seen one,” she admitted. “Which god created this one?”
“It was created by the Order of the Magi,” I confessed hesitantly unsure how she would react to the information.
“But…that’s impossible,” Guinevere said.
“You said breaking an artifact was impossible too,” I pointed out. “Just because the gods say we can’t doesn’t mean we actually can’t, just that’s its very hard.”
“The gods don’t like us learning magic either,” Guinevere said. “The gods of Chaos are more tolerant of it but even they despise those truly dedicated to becoming mages.”
“I’ll teach you what I can,” I told her. “But I can’t promise I’ll be a good a teacher as you are.”
“Thanks,” Guinevere said. “Where do we start?”
Sliding Mab over in front of her I tapped its pages. “Open up to the dictionary section,” I told him.
We spent the next four hours studying. Guinevere mouthing the words and reading their definitions. Mab would rustle his pages at her. I created the enchantment that Mab and I had been discussing, for a single second a thread of lighting extended out six feet from the tip of the crystal. Then the runes began to fracture, and I hurled it out past the barrier.
It exploded into a million shards of blue crystal like a firework.
“What exactly are you trying to make?” Guinevere asked me looking up from the tome.
“I’m trying to create an enchantment for a lightning blade,” I said.
Guinevere reached around and drew her sword setting it down on the stone slab. “This is a tier II artifact blade, its not the most powerful but you might be able to learn something from it.”
“In my experience the runes on artifacts are hidden,” I said. “The gods don’t seem to be a big fan of us examining their work.”
Mab pounced on the blade. For a second, I was worried he would rip it apart like he had my sketchbook when we first met. If he did that then both Guinevere and I would probably die when the sword exploded. Luckily the sword did not explode. Mab rolled back onto its spine and opened its covers turning to a page where a detailed sketch of the sword had been made. There were added details this time however, intricate swirling patterns of runes were shown spiraling down the blade that weren’t visible on the ice blue metal.
“That’s incredible,” Guinevere said tracing the rune patterns on the page. “Why didn’t the magi take this artifact with them? I remember when you started carrying this around it was after we found that one fortress of theirs. Why would they leave this behind.”
“They imprisoned it,” I said lightly touching the books pages. “I’m not sure why but for some reason they had a falling out. They stripped all the knowledge he’d acquired and bound it down beneath that fortress.”
“Are you worried about him turning against you?” Guinevere asked me.
I thought about it and realized I wasn’t, which was strange for me. “No,” I said. “I’m not sure why but I feel like it and I have the same goals. We both want to learn and create without restrictions or limitations.”
“Sometimes there are good reasons we have limitations,” Guinevere pointed out.
“But are they for the good of us or someone else?” I asked.
We didn’t say any more about that, but I did set down my spear, boots, Pauldrons and Helm. I hadn’t ever put them close together before when I wasn’t wearing them, and Mab absorbed the knowledge they contained eagerly. The enchantments they created reminded me of the formations the magi created. They were that complex again, revealing how simple the enchantments were that I had been taught.
No wonder people were constantly farming dungeons if you wanted actually good, enchanted items it was the only way to get them. It would be like walking around with a stone hatchet and then upgrading directly to a pistol.
Mab absorbing the enchantments revealed many things to me. First of all, I had no idea the gemstones used to create them so they would be impossible for me to recreate if it was even possible in the first place. Secondly, I learned many new runes and words to add to my experimentation. It also showed me I was thinking too small and simply. These items had multiple enchantments working to create single effects.
If I wanted to create a lighting blade, I would need to create several enchantments that fit together like gears to create a single outcome. I’d been trying to get the effects of a battery drill by creating a hammer. I needed to create the components of my enchantment and then fit them together into a whole greater than the sum of its parts.
Guinevere’s magical study and my experimentation ended, and we put our armor back on. Meeting on our sparring ground again we circled each other for several seconds before striking. Our blades collided as we blocked and parried our feet moving and out of step as we tried to hook and trip the other person. We were a blur of movement even without active abilities. Our duel ended when Guinevere managed to step behind me and put her sword up against my neck.
“Good work,” Guinevere said stepping back. “You’re getting much faster.”
You’d be a lot faster if you used your passive abilities, Karnen chided me.
“Thanks,” I said ignoring the irritable spirit.
Guinevere paused and then let out a breath. “I wanted to just tell you… thanks… For being here, you saved my life, but you could have left me behind. I know you don’t mind being alone, but you know I do. So thanks for not leaving me to be alone. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Your welcome,” I told Guinevere sincerely meeting her eyes before the both of us looked away suddenly.
Guinevere laughed nervously. “Who would have thought one my closest friends would be the Warlord?”
“It’s probably just Stockholm syndrome,” I said with a shrug.
“What’s that?” Guinevere asked.
“It’s a psychological condition where a person held captive develops an emotional bond with their captors because they are reliant on them for their survival,” I said.
“You don’t really count as my captor in this situation, “Guinevere said.
“But we do count as captives,” I said looking towards the barrier. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. Together we rounded island and climbed the stairs. Guinevere took my hand, and we placed our hands onto the pedestal. Our minds blacked out and we were drawn into the dreamscape.
--
We passed through the memories we had already seen. They still hurt but we were able to endure after having shown them to each other already. My memory ended and another began.
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Guinevere stood in a ring of sand. Her face was contorted with rage and the broken form a boy around her age lay before her.
“Enough!” her instructor snarled catching Guinevere’s wooden sword in his hand as she was about to bring it down on him again. “The duel is over!”
Guinevere left the training ground. She was stopped by her sword master at the door. “I told you that your temper would lead to consequences young lady, none of my other disciples will spar with you now. I can no longer train you.”
“My father won’t let you stop,” Guinevere responded defiantly.
“I’ve already spoken with your father and found you a replacement teacher,” he said. “Don’t return here Lady Guinevere you aren’t wanted.”
Guinevere got into the carriage awaiting her and was driven back to family’s city estate. Stepping out she passed through the gate into the palace grounds. Walking up the marble steps she stopped as a man stepped in front of her.
“So, you’re Lady Guinevere,” he said his eastern accent light but noticeable. He was tall and lean wearing ring and leather armor. He carried three swords, a long greatsword strapped to his back, a longsword and a shortsword hung from his hip.
“I am,” Guinevere said defiantly as she analyzed the man.
Sazu the Iron Wind, Gifted- humanoid/myrmidon (tiger), Veteran, Rank: 305
“I am your new sword instructor,” he said. “Follow me I must test you.”
Reluctantly Guinevere followed her new instructor into the estate’s training area. She stepped into the dueling ring and looked around.
“Who will I be fighting?” she asked.
“You are one of those lucky enough to be born with the gift,” Sazu said. “Fighting humans is something that should be beneath you. It is a waste of precious resources; I am not here to teach you fancy dueling tricks to impress other nobles.”
“Than how are you going to teach me?” Guinevere asked.
“The only way to fight a monster is to become a monster,” Sazu said. “You must learn what a monster truly is… there is but one way to do this. You must face a real monster.”
Sazu uttered an arcane incantation and Guinevere’s head jerked towards him as he violated the Law by casting a spell in the capital of Camelot. A shimmering circle appeared in the air and a large lizard dropped into the sand. Its tail ended in a stinger, and it brought it back as it advanced on Guinevere.
“Fight Lady Guinevere,” Sazu said. “You learn who someone is in a fight. I must learn what I am working with if I am to train you.”
The lizard sprung at Guinevere. She barely rolled to the side avoiding its barbed tail. She swiped at it with her sword, but it avoided her. She kept advancing, growing frustrated at every failed strike she made. It struck her again and again and was to fast for her to hit and she could barely avoid its barbed tail or claws. It sprung on her chest tackling her to the ground. The stinger came down and she screamed. A hand closed around the stinger tip.
Sazu casually tossed the lizard against the wall where it turned to paste before evaporating into smoke.
“You cast magic!” Guinevere accused him. “I could have you hung for that!”
“You could not,” Sazu corrected her. “I see you are still raw clay and have not yet been turned to iron. Your father has given me permission to train you to be the greatest fighter in your kingdom. I can do this, but it will require you to want it.”
Sazu knelt in front of her meeting her eyes with his and she noticed his eyes were like those of a cats. “Do you wish to become a great fighter Guinevere?”
“Yes,” Guinevere said instantly and without hesitation.
The memory ended and we passed to the next one.
Guinevere screamed and brought her sword down on the back of the scaled wolf. Blood sprayed across her turning to smoke as the summoned creature disappeared after its death.
“You are reckless,” Sazu chided her.
“I killed it didn’t I?” Guinevere asked defiantly.
“You killed one,” Sazu agreed. “But wolves travel in packs; what if this hadn’t been a single summons?”
Guinevere was silent seething under his reprimand.
Sazu softened his tone. “You must first learn to control your emotions, Guinevere. You cannot control the blade in your hand until you control the mind that guides it.”
“Yes master Sazu,” Guinevere acknowledged bowing her head.
“You have great potential Guinevere,” Master Sazu said. “Don’t let your fear or anger hold you back.”
Guinevere continued to fight monster after monster day after day. Sazu trained in more ways having her balance of rafter beams while throwing rocks at her. When she could default the rocks and remain balanced he began summoning flesh-eating bats to harass her.
Years passed as Guinevere trained. She had other tutors training her in other ways but Master Sazu was her prime tutor with the ability to veto her others instructors if he felt their decisions would negatively impact her. She rarely saw her father and had to watch over her siblings pushing aside her anger to keep them from seeing it. She didn’t get rid of the anger but learned to suppress it keeping it beneath a cool façade.
Her memory ended and I felt something in Guinevere that hadn’t been present before. A feeling of heartache and longing. Light came into the darkness as we began to delve into a new memory.
The memory shown was not as clear as Guinevere’s had been. It was not a distinct moment but a collage of events. Foster home after foster home. I’d get into a fight with anyone and everyone who crossed me. Some people tried to help me but I was a side project, they had so many people they were involved with they could only devote a fraction of their time to making sure I stayed out of trouble. I would always eventually get kicked out or run off.
I tried living alone in the woods for a few weeks and it worked. I learned to fish and start a fire but eventually someone reported me, and I was put back into the system. Each event in itself was not very impactful but like a trail of water slowly eroding the land it had an irrevocable effect on my life.
The slideshow of random events and memories ended, and a new memory began to play. It was eight years since I had tried to kill my father. I instantly recognized the house in memory the faded trim and the large oak tree in the front yard a familiar scene. I was sixteen now and it was the end of summer, the air filled with humidity that made your clothes cling uncomfortably to your body.
“If you don’t want to go to a secure facility you need to make this work Mordred,” my case worker told me as we pulled into the driveway.
“I never start the fights,” I scowled.
“But you always finish them,” Mrs. Blair said. “You’re lucky, the last family didn’t press charges.”
I didn’t answer, just got out of the car resisting the urge to slam the door behind me. I hadn’t been responsible for that fight; he’d come at me with two of his friends. In the end, I’d been bruised and beaten, but they had been worse.
My foster parents had known it hadn’t been my fault which was why they hadn’t pressed charges; I didn’t blame them. I always got in a fight with someone, never for the same reason. I tried to control my anger but couldn’t, this led to me lashing out with my words which led to retaliation with fists. I tried to stick to myself but was always forced to interact with others to help me “learn to socialize” but this only led to me getting annoyed.
I wasn’t an introvert; I could get along fine with others. I just had no tolerance for listening to others whine. My verbal abuse for their weaknesses always led to someone squaring up with me and the inevitable fight.
A large man opened the front screen door and stepped out. He stuck out his hand and pumped my arm in a firm handshake.
“Welcome,” he said. “Come on bring your stuff inside.”
I carried my suitcase inside, setting it down in the foyer. A kind looking woman came downstairs and stood next to the man smiling at me kindly.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I have a few papers you need to sign,” Mrs. Blair said.
My new foster parents talked with her for a few minutes. A large dog wandered up to me sniffing my hand and leaning into my leg. Smiling, I bent down feeling his course fur under my hands his mouth opening in a doggy grin.
“Remember Mordred,” Mrs. Blair said before she left. “Behave yourself.”
“Is there anyone else here?” I asked, looking around warily. It was always the other kids I was housed with who ended up sparking a conflict one way or another.
“Just us,” the man said shaking my hand again. “I’m Peter.”
“I’m Amanda,” his wife said shaking my hand. “I just made dinner if you’re hungry.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Peter and Amanda seemed cool. They showed me to my room and gave me some space, they’d been married for around fifteen years but hadn’t been able to have children. Adoption hadn’t worked so they decided to become foster parents to help children. While their motives seemed noble, I was distrustful of them. I’d met too many foster parents who just used more children as a tax break.
The last few weeks of summer passed, and I grew more comfortable around Peter and Amanda. They genuinely seemed to care about me and knew how and when to give me some space. I went on hikes through the woods that ran up to the backyard taking the dog, Jeriah, with me.
The young mut loved chasing after squirrels but always would run back to me to check if I were still following him. I climbed over logs, forded streams and crested hills as I explored the little stretch of wilderness. My time alone couldn’t last, and I felt this memory fade as another, and more familiar memory took its place.
Mentally resisiting the urge to pull my hand back I let my anger seethe as the memory began to play out.
Peter and Amanda dropped me off and waved to me as I walked up the steps of my new high school. I gotten my orientation and tour the day before even if I had wanted to skip it. Entering my first class I sat down and slumped in my desk. I scanned the room looking for those I’d have to watch out for. I’d learned to pick out the people I wouldn’t get along with and did my best to avoid or ignore them. When my eyes got to the desk on my right I froze.
She was one the prettiest girls I’d ever seen. She had glanced at me for a second as I was surveying the room revealing sky blue eyes that seemed to dance as if she were sharing a joke with you. Freckles spattered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She was leaned forward in her desk tapping her pencil against her bright white teeth her sneakers were muddy and hooked under her chair as she leaned forward.
As if she could feel me staring, she turned to look at me. I stuck out my hand.
“Hi, I’m Mordred,” I said extending my hand out to her and breaking her from her thoughts.
“I’m Sarah,” she said shaking my hand and flashing me a bright smile.
I spent the next three minutes before class started talking with her. We didn’t discuss much of importance, I learned she’d been born in this city and lived here my whole life and I told her I was new and from a different state. She didn’t ask why I’d come here, which I appreciated.
After class we walked together to biology. We looked at our schedules and it turned out we shared most of the same classes together. At the end of last period. Sarah waved goodbye to me.
“See you tomorrow!” she called out.
“Where you headed!” I asked.
“I’ve got practice,” Sarah said.
“See you tomorrow then,” I said giving her a smile that came naturally to me for once.
Days passed, then months as the semester passed. I managed to avoid getting into fights thanks to Sarah. I was an antagonizing presence wherever I went but she made friends easily and eased me into her friend groups. I couldn’t even say how it happened but one day her hand just slid into mine as we walked to class. My heart skipped at her touch, and I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
All while this was happening my emotions were in whirlwind. When reliving these memories, you reexperienced the emotions you had when the events were taking place. Normally those emotions were still the same, you still felt rage or fear as you relived the memories. This time my emotions did not match at all, the feelings of joy and love I felt then were countered and went to war with my present emotions of hatred and rage. The memory continue to play out and I felt the confusion from Guinevere as she experienced both sets of emotions from me.
Her touch made me feel a hundred pounds lighter as if I were walking on air. I’d heard about love before, but never experienced it. There had been girls I’d kissed who I’d liked but I’d never felt something like this. I wanted to hold her hand so tight I’d never let go but at the same time I couldn’t squeeze for fear of hurting her.
It was a misty spring day that we had our first kiss. Her lips met mine as I held her on the bridge on the way to her’s and my house. It was like a fire was lit in me, not the burning rage I’d always felt before but a warm fire like the glow from an oven. The only feeling I could describe it as was the feeling of safety, something I hadn’t felt for longer than I could remember.
At last the memory ended and I yanked my hand back. I dropped Guinevere’s hand and stormed off without saying a word.