ALAYNE

Though gifts of Copper and Silver He granted them, the people condemned Him to slow death.

When He therefore was bound to the wheel and torn limb from limb, the crowd gathered to witness His passing.

“A pretender god! He cannot save Himself!” the crowd jeered as the children cast stones at Him and the women spat at His shattered limbs.

Yet the Broken God did not curse them, nor did He turn His face away.

And when three moons had passed, He came back whole in His wrath. Upon His return, He gave them the final gift, the gift of Iron.

He put them all to the sword and let the parents follow their children to death, for His love was vast and His mercy endless.

– The Iron Gospel; Wheel of Divinity 4:12-17

Alayne was sipping sweet plum wine and listening to the screams of men outside.

Three, she thought. An heir to the King Emperor is killed, and the secret police could only find three culprits.

The Quwri men were being boiled alive. It would take some time for the screaming to cease, Alayne knew from experience.

That could have been me.

Alayne was getting rather hot herself, too. She wiped the beads of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

“Shall we resume?” she heard from the other side of the room. It was her brother.

Cedric stood in a fully unbuttoned blue Iron League uniform, complete with an iron shoulder pad. They’ve been sparring for the past hour or so, and the sweltering heat didn’t help any.

Alayne has seen other girls in the Royal Palace stealing glances at Cedric from time to time. Absurdly, this made Alayne feel proud.

He is my twin, after all. It seemed they were fated to share everything in life, including compliments.

That was par for the course. She and her brother stood out too much in this strange land: tall, pale, with blonde hair and green eyes.

“So?” Cedric asked, jumping lightly in place. Two crimson blades started forming in his hands.

Alayne smiled and put her fists up. Blood painted her fists in scarlet. It bubbled, then hardened, then turned to steel.

“Another round,” Alayne agreed. She was now wearing huge dark-red steel gauntlets, capped with spiked ridges.

Alayne watched Cedric with narrowed eyes, the familiar thrill of their training coursing through her veins.

Outside, the cries of the captured conspirators rose and fell again. A perfect backdrop for a sparring session. The sweet taste of plum wine still lingered on her tongue.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Cedric said, lowering his hands and relaxing his muscles.

Just a trick, Alayne knew. He wanted her to lower her guard by pretending he lowered his.

And sure enough, in an instant, Cedric sprang forward, bringing his blades in a perfect arc.

Alayne deflected the strike with a resounding CLANG. She felt the force vibrate through her arms.

Has he gotten faster?

Cedric pivoted, spinning low and bringing one blade toward her midsection. Alayne shifted her weight, bringing her gauntlet down just in time to block it. Bits of chipped metal flew and turned back to blood, splattering on the floor.

The other blade came at her side, but she ducked, rolling past her brother and delivering a punch aimed at his back.

He anticipated it—of course—twisting away just enough to avoid the brunt but catching a glancing blow that sent him skidding across the room.

“Still too predictable,” she chided.

Cedric chuckled, shrugging and shaking his head. “It’s as they say, the longer you fight—”

He surged forward suddenly. Another trick. This time, he feinted left but lunged right, catching Alayne off guard.

One of his blades sliced a thin line across her arm before she could twist away. The cut stung but she sent the pain somewhere deep, where it was no longer felt.

Pain is not to be feared. That was one of the tenets of the Broken God.

Gritting her teeth, Alayne swept her arm back, forcing her brother to leap away. She narrowed her eyes and brought her gauntlets together, the spikes sparking as they clashed.

With a deep focus, she pushed more of her life into the weapons, extending the gauntlets into razor-sharp claws.

Cedric’s eyes flickered but he attacked again, moving with a flurry. Alayne parried and countered with a series of her own strikes.

CLANG CLANG CLANG

Who knows you better than your own twin? They were countering each other’s blows before they had the chance to land.

The room was filled with metal echoes which nearly drowned the screams of the men outside.

Then, she saw it—a brief shift in Cedric’s stance, a subtle tell that he was about to launch an overhead strike.

She hopped back and sliced the air in front of her with her gauntlet, sending the spikes flying.

One of the spikes shot through the fabric of Cedric’s pants just above the ankle and hit the floor. Cedric tried to instinctively move his leg away, a moment too late, and realized he couldn’t.

The spike was stuck.

“I can’t—”

Move, he was about to say, but Alayne gave him no time. She sidestepped and drove her gauntlet upward in a swift arc.

The steel met Cedric’s shoulder with a crunch, sending him staggering back. The spike tore through the leg of his pants.

Alayne allowed herself a grin. She lowered her gauntlets as they softened back into liquid form, trickling down her arms.

She stood over her brother, triumphant.

“Alright, let’s call it a draw,” Cedric said, rubbing his sore shoulder.

“Oh? Is that what they call the score of four to one?” Alayne said, the smirk still on her face.

“Go to rust!” Cedric laughed, rising. “Half of those four could have easily been mine. It was razor-thin.”

He got a good look at his pants, now ruined. “Great. I guess it was too hot for long pants.” He let out a miserable sigh.

“Oh, quit the theatrics. I’ll treat you to something nice after.”

“You better treat me to some new pants,” he rolled up both legs of his uniform. It looked ridiculous but at least the legs were of equal length now.

“How bold of you to introduce new fashion to the Yattoshi,” Alayne laughed.

Cedric showed her his tongue. “They could use one.” He turned to leave. “Alright, I’m heading back home.”

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Home.

This wasn’t a word Alayne liked to hear. Without even knowing it, Cedric managed to wipe the smile off her face.

Even after eight years, this land was still foreign to her. She grew accustomed to the food, the people, the way their language twisted her tongue into knots, and even to some of the silly superstitions the folk here held.

But she could never call this home.

Back home, in Bironia, everything was orderly. Even suffering—especially suffering—had its purpose.

And the worst part was how all of the memories of Bironia had dulled in Alayne’s head, like washed-out colors. The bad things faded, but so did the good things.

“Don’t forget, you’re paying! Love you!” She didn’t even notice how Cedric left the room. His golden razorback slipped through the door right behind him.

The men kept on screaming outside.

Alayne’s fingers traced the small metal wheel hanging from her neck. A six-spoked breaking wheel, the symbol of the Broken God.

If only Alayne from ten years ago could see me now! She would have laughed in disbelief.

As a kid, Alayne wasn’t much of a devotee of the Broken God cult. But in this strange land, she hung on to the wheel as the last remainder of her life before.

Back in Bironia, they believed that the Broken God gave three gifts to humanity: the gift of copper (that is, knowledge of trade), the gift of silver (diplomacy), and the gift of iron.

Warfare.

Alayne knew little of the other two, but the gift of iron was strong in her. The Broken God has rewarded her well.

He was a strong, generous god.

It was under His guidance that Bironia grew to be one of the most powerful states in the world. Unlike the Yatto Empire, which couldn’t even decide which deity to worship.

Some of the Iron League officers started calling it the Land of Ten Thousand Gods. Squirrel gods and forest gods, gods carved of wood and chiseled into stone, gods who lived in empty teapots, and those who ruled the lakes.

There were even moon-worshippers too, just like in the khanates of the Red Steppe, though at least Yatto practices seemed more advanced.

No matter. These aren’t true gods at all. The thought felt reassuring.

She grew weary of listening to the same screams and left to take a walk along the Royal Palace’s perimeter.

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Alayne was not much of an actor but in the Royal Palace she had been playing too many roles to count.

A guest of honor. A daughter of the Iron League general. An exile. A prisoner.

A tool.

They got to the little prince before I could.

The thought made Alayne sick.

Was it truly the Quwri who carried out the assassination? Was it some contingency plan by the Iron League? Did the council not trust Alayne enough to act out her role?

But it was dangerous alone to think such thoughts. She had heard tales about the Yattoshi secret police and what it meant to attract their watchful eye.

The men boiling outside would attest to that if they still could.

Alayne wondered whether these men were guilty at all. And if they weren’t, would the secret police even care?

“Telling the Thumb to search for culprits is like telling a pig to roll in the mud,” her brother had said when it all began.

She did laugh at that, she remembered. It was dangerous to speak of one of the Five Fingers so freely—especially the Thumb, who was the head of the secret police—but when has Cedric ever been cautious?

The boys all dream of swords, until their first taste of battle, her father would often say. She wondered whether it was something he had read once or come up with all on his own.

Regardless, it sounded true to her. Cedric thought everything in this world was a joke.

“Alayne! Lady Alayne!” she suddenly heard behind her. “Alayne-a-tori!”

The last cry caught her attention. She turned and saw a large crowd of noble girls in almost identical clothes—and, Alayne could have sworn, with almost identical names.

“I’m so glad to see you!” one of the girls nearly jumped when Alayne stopped to talk to them.

Most of the girls were around Alayne’s age or a bit younger: fifteen, sixteen, or thereabouts. With satisfaction, Alayne noticed that the number of breaking wheels worn around their necks had grown since the last time.

One god against ten thousand, and He is still winning.

“Will you join us for a tea ceremony?” some girl with thin lips asked her.

“I’ll be there.” Alayne gave her the most sincere smile.

“You promise? You skipped the last two.”

“My blood is iron and my word is steel.” The words didn’t mean much to the Yattoshi, but they were sacred back in Bironia.

The girl nodded as if she could ever understand the Steel Oath.

“And your brother? Cedric-o-toki?”

“There’s no need for such formality with him," Alayne smiled. "My brother is no great soldier.”

Not yet, anyway. He was Alayne’s twin, after all. He was destined for greatness.

“He hasn’t joined us once. Have you told him he was invited?” the girl regarded Alayne suspiciously.

“I have,” Alayne lied. “But today he had some… clothing incident.”

The image of her brother with rolled-up pants appeared in her mind, and Alayne almost guffawed.

The girls bowed politely and let Alayne be on her way.

Alayne didn’t hate them. In truth, there was not one drop of genuine hatred in her.

And were she to carry out her original task, instead of the Quwri men, she would have done it without any hate, either.

“Blood spilled in hatred is a waste,” this was one of the fundamental Ten Precepts of her faith.

“No victory without struggle.” That was another.

But Alayne liked the other one better: “Pain is not to be feared.”

This was something that the Yatto Empire had yet to embrace.

Fifteen years ago, it was the Iron League, armed with Ten Precepts, that had helped squash the Five General Rebellion and keep the King Emperor’s ass seated.

Alayne’s father had stayed here ever since—not of his own accord, of course—and Alayne and her brother remained by his side.

But soon… Soon there might be a way for them to return from their exile.

Alayne just needed to play her role.

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The small porcelain cup was far too delicate for Alayne’s fingers. It was adorned with gold filigree.

Back home, Bironian artisans would’ve turned this kind of extravagance into a sword hilt or something useful. But here in the Yattoshi Empire, even the smallest things seemed to carry the weight of history.

Alayne looked inside her cup and caught her reflection. Two dots were staring back at her with judgment.

Her green Revalian eyes. The only gift that her mother had left her.

She sipped her tea slowly, letting its subtle sweetness linger on her tongue. Around her, the girls prattled on, their silken sleeves fluttering as they gestured and giggled.

The point of tea ceremonies wasn’t the tea, she knew. In truth, you were expected to maybe drink a couple of cups and help someone else pour another. There weren’t many snacks to speak of, either.

Instead, the girls played the beloved game of all small children—they talked about grownup matters and pretended to know what they were discussing.

One girl mentioned how the number of attacks by wild beasts has increased greatly: the Narwa and Larpa provinces supposedly bore the heaviest brunt.

Alayne stopped herself from shaking her head in disapproval. Bironia hasn’t had this problem for millennia.

The Broken God defends us.

The other girls joined in. It seemed that neither of Yatto’s seven provinces lacked for terrible news.

Alayne hasn’t said much but she wasn’t listening, either.

She was less a guest here and more a novelty. At first, it had grated on her nerves, but now it was just another part she played.

Her Yattoshi was improving too, though not fast enough for her liking. Occasionally she would say “cat” when she meant to say “food”, much to everyone’s amusement.

All the better. Let them think I’m harmless.

“For the first time in a century, the pirate lords of Hiyu are setting aside their qualms and gathering to elect the King of Tides,” Foruka declared dramatically. She was a thin girl with sharp features and an even sharper voice that commanded attention.

Other girls broke into terrified whispers, and Alayne couldn’t help but laugh. Is everyone in these lands fond of silly titles?

“Did you say something?” one of the girls asked, blinking at her with wide, doll-like eyes. Alayne couldn’t remember her name—Yuki? Yuna? They all blurred together after a while.

“I said,” Alayne replied, her voice smooth, “that I’ll start being afraid of pirates the moment they learn how to tame krakens.”

Foruka narrowed her eyes, clearly unamused by the jab. “You should take this more seriously. The King of Tides may use the new conflict with the Quwri to start a war.”

“War? With pirates?” Alayne arched a brow, setting her cup down gently. “Don’t they prefer raiding unguarded ports and arguing over who gets the bigger share of stolen rice?”

“That’s what makes this so frightening,” Yuki—no, Yumo! That’s who it was!—whispered. “If they’re uniting, it means they’re plotting something bigger.”

“Strictly speaking,” another girl interrupted, pushing her spectacles up her nose, “there are more than just the pirate lords involved. There are also merchant alliances, smuggling networks in Dartu—”

“Yes, yes,” Foruka cut her off with a wave of her hand. “But the real power in Dartu lies with two factions: Squids and Sharks. One favors trading, the other warfare.”

Alayne hid her amusement behind her cup. I wonder which is which, she thought.

These girls talked about pirates as if they were some grand political entity rather than ragged men with knives in their teeth.

It all sounded eerily familiar. The Pentarchy of Revalia—the eternal nemesis of her homeland, Bironia—operated in much the same way. They, too, had their factions, their endless squabbles disguised as governance.

But here, at the edge of the world, none of these conflicts sounded real.

Alayne wondered if anyone here even knew about any of that: Bironia, Revalia, the Great Trade Alliance, and the Free Cities of Silla. But these Yattoshi were all too wrapped up in their own world to see beyond its borders.

“Have you ever seen a pirate, Lady Alayne?” Foruka asked suddenly.

Alayne tilted her head, meeting the girl’s gaze evenly. “I’ve seen my share of seafaring rogues. They’re usually less interested in electing kings and more interested in staying drunk.”

Foruka’s lips pursed into a thin line, and Alayne allowed herself a small victory.

“You’re speaking boldly, my lady,” a soft voice chimed in. All heads turned to the speaker—it was Princess Hana. For the past few days, she had been wearing black-and-red robes, in mourning for her assassinated brother.

“I’m afraid it’s a bad habit of mine, Your Highness,” Alayne replied, bowing her head slightly. “One I’ve yet to…” she was looking for a word, “Uh, unlearn.”

The princess smiled faintly. “A bit of boldness is refreshing. It’s easy to grow complacent when surrounded by the same voices every day.” She gestured at the girls sitting in the circle.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Alayne muttered. Only she said “elephant” instead of “truth”, earning a ripple of laughter from the group.

Even the princess giggled. That one is made for laughter, not mourning.

Alayne hadn’t had the heart to tell Princess Hana that she should get used to wearing black and red. More of her royal brothers might soon follow the late Prince Eomori.

The conversation shifted back to pirates, treaties, and rumors of unrest in this or that province.

“And what do you think, Lady Alayne?” Foruka asked after someone mentioned… What was it? Raiders? Mountain clans?

Alayne wasn’t listening. Why would she?

They were deep in the mazes of the Royal Palace, behind ten guards and as many doors, but still she imagined she could hear them—the screams of men boiled alive.

She wondered what it was like, to feel your skin slough off your face, your hair burn away in wisps, and your bones soften into paste.

Alayne supposed she might find that out soon enough. And if she did, what would it matter?

What had her life been worth, except as a tool for others, wielded and discarded at their leisure?

“Pain is not to be feared.”