“Do you think I’ll get the same soul card as you and Baba?” Diya asked.
“That’s up to Gaia, isn’t it?” Neer answered.
Ever since Diya’s first hunt almost a year ago, that one memory of Neer would plague his early morning dreams. Some part of him knew it wasn’t real, but he would always let it play out naturally. Diya wanted to see his brother as he used to be instead of what his brain imagined to fill the hole left behind by his disappearance.
Neer pressed his hand to the sword-shaped tattoo on his forearm, and his soul manifested in a flash of golden light. The sword took the shape of an arm-sized talwar.
“Did you know, Diya, a sword is probably the worst weapon you can use in the tower?”
“Why?” Diya ran his fingers along the metal. Unlike a regular sword, the blade wasn’t cold and didn’t send shivers up and down his spine. It had a soothing warmth about it that ensured nothing would ever go wrong as long as Neer was around.
“Swords are the glorified tool of the nobility and only useful against humanoid opponents. If you’re fighting a beast larger than you, the spear should be your weapon of choice. What happens if you encounter a creature with bark or stone skin? A sword will not cut through that, no matter your skill. That’s where an axe or hammer comes in.”
“But you and Baba use a sword,” Diya remembered, struggling to understand where the story was going.
“That’s because Gaia thought it an appropriate spirit for us.” Neer let go of his weapon, and it floated in place, humming and rotating. “Since tool spirits rely on spells and summoning, this is so much more than a sword. That’s not important, though. What I’m trying to tell you is: don’t get hung up on the spirit’s shape. Gaia might give you a hammer, a blade of grass or even a rabbit. Its function and purpose depend on the cards you feed it. Ideally, you want monster cards or especially potent spells. Do you know who’ll pick these cards?”
“Gaia?”
Neer shook his head. “You get to decide that, Diya. A soul card is an empty husk that you shape to fit your needs.” He lowered his voice as he continued. They both knew Baba would be mad if he heard their discussion. “The sword isn’t the only option. It might have been for Baba and me, but don’t build your dreams around legacy.”
----------------------------------------
Diya still had Neer on his mind when he woke up. His notebook lay next to him, open to the latest sketch. A little research had confirmed his suspicion: the carvings denoted a structure on the ground floor. Unfortunately, he failed to match the location to any mapped section of the ground floor.
“Stupid.” Diya sighed when he realised that he’d forgotten to cap the fountain pen. Blue ink now stained his pillow. He jumped out of bed and stripped it. If Baba saw the mess, he’d add another lecture to his repertoire.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
A knock at the door made him jump. “Udit?” It was Baba. “Are you still in bed?”
“Just a second!” Diya called, rolling up the pillow cover and sheets he had dropped on the floor. After a lifetime of practising and preaching military discipline, the mess would trigger Baba’s alarm bells.
“Good, you’re up.” The door rattled. It was a good thing Diya had drawn the latch after getting in. Fortunately, Baba bought his excuse about not liking cats. “Why don’t you join me for drills? It’s been a while.”
“I don’t need drills, Baba.” Diya had to focus on controlling his breathing by the time he got to the door. The only mess that remained in his room was on the desk. Baba raised an eyebrow, studying his face. “Alexander wanted me to join the Boleyns for breakfast. Then we were planning on shopping for some better tools. We made a decent profit from the last run.”
“You always need drills. Repetition—”
“Turns into reflex,” Diya said, completing his father’s motto. “You no longer need me to act as your students’ training dummy. That’s what the new apprentices are for.”
“I just don’t want your skills getting rusty,” Baba said. The sharp hazel eyes scanned his son’s room. “I get it. You don’t enjoy fighting, but it’s inevitable if you’re serious about pursuing a climber’s life. You don’t have your soul yet. So, it’s best to stay on top of your training to impress Gaia.”
Diya sighed. He knew there was no getting out of it now that Baba had made up his mind. If he continued to decline, the conversation would turn sour, and the requests would evolve into orders.
“Fine,” Diya said. “Let me just freshen up.”
Baba smiled. “I have a new student in ten minutes. Be quick. He’s on the same skill level as you.” He paused, looking Diya up and down. “Or the skill level you last displayed before quitting training.”
Diya mumbled expletives in English, French, Bengali and Hindi as soon as Baba was out of earshot. He wished Neer was still around. Forever had passed since his party returned from a hunt without him. Before then, Baba’s focus had always been more on Neer, the prodigous son. Now it was all on Diya, and he was sure Baba considered him a disappointment.
Baba would’ve probably preferred if he wore the leather jerkin or any attire appropriate for training. However, he picked a simple shirt and trouser pairing in silent protest. When Diya joined him in the courtyard, Baba's eyes angrily moved between Diya's eyes and bare feet.
Diya’s opponent wore a breastplate, vambraces and hardened leather boots. It took him a moment to recognise the young man through the training helmet; it was the Van Wijk heir. They were lesser nobles, much like the Boleyns. Baba had to be getting desperate to accept him as a student. The rumour mill claimed the Van Wijks and several other Dutch families had fallen on hard times and joined the slave trade. Such practices were illegal in New Calcutta, but the delicate alliance had no say over what they did in Africa and South East Asia.
“This my son, Master Bram,” Baba said. “His skill is well above that of apprentices you have faced. He’ll be your sparring partner today.”
“I certainly hope so, Sword Master Sen,” Bram replied. He spoke in Queen’s English with a heavy British accent. Diya guessed much like him. The young man had spent most, if not all, of his life in the floating city. “Dealing with them was getting boring.” He waved his sword at the new opponent. “Go on, boy, pick your weapon.”