A Journey of Black and Red 187: I am ready (Patreon)

AN: I wanted to break protocol and add a foreword. You will notice that this chapter is a bit on the short side, and perhaps not as exciting as others. I would like to apologize for that. As some of you may know, I have been locked down in my apartment in Shanghai for a month and a week without break and find the experience taxing on both my mood and inspiration. There is still no light on the horizon either. Thank you for your patience so far, and I promise I am still doing my best, but the end performance may vary. Anyway, I hope you enjoy today’s chapter.

Cadiz’ Magna Arqa is a strike type. It allows him to conduct a series of fast, powerful, and particularly vicious strikes over a period of several seconds. I find its use redundant since I can barely follow him when he is not trying. It does not stop him from abusing it during our spars.

Those are disheartening, both physically and metaphorically.

I fail to see the point since even blocking the blade ends up shattering either my wrist or shoulder, something few have ever managed to do. If I block, I am eventually tossed aside like a ragdoll and skewered before I can recover. If I try to counter, he avoids me with ease and defeats me on his next strike. Dodging is impossible at this stage. I still try my best and sometimes, I believe it is my mind he is training more than my technique. Cadiz expects Nirari to overwhelm me, not least because he is my sire and there will always be remnants of fear in my heart. He prepares me for it as best as he can.

“Have people given up on your training before?” I ask him one day as I am regrowing fingers.

To my surprise, he appears more affected by this than by the colorful language I sometimes aim at him in occasional moments of frustration. French remains a favorite.

“I have always done my best to train my followers to the utmost of my abilities, so that we may walk that path together. I hoped that an improved focus would bring more people to my side. That we could for, a family of like-minded people encouraging each other in wholesome emulation. Somehow, it never lasted.”

“You call what you are doing to me wholesome emulation?” I ask with a laugh.

He sulks, or rather, I offended him more than I expected. In fact, he appears genuinely hurt.

“You need a special blend to make a master, Cadiz. They must have the arrogance to believe themselves great and the humility to accept they are not the greatest, at least not yet. If I were here for a vague sense of greatness, and not because I wish to grow strong enough to defeat a de facto demigod, I do not know if I could have endured for so long. One can only hit their head against the wall of your invincibility so long before they realize that no amount of effort will bridge that gap.”

“I am not invincible.”

“If no one except Nirari can defeat you, for all intents and purposes, you are.”

“This seems like a… lazy and pessimistic perspective on life.”

“You are a Progenitor, Cadiz, born with powers most of us will never match. I can only hope to equal you one day because of my bloodline and the presence of a dragon. For many of us, to compare ourselves to you will only lead to disappointment, and this is what your training does day after day, however…”

“However?”

“There will be folks who care about nothing but perfection. You must have met some.”

“They left.”

“Then they left to pursue their own path. It is not as sad as you think, and when you return, perhaps they will come see you and share their progress.”

“Yes… that would be nice.”

“If it is any comfort, I promise to keep training alongside you. Even if we have defeated Nirari.”

“Yes. I believe I would enjoy that. And now, I see you have regrown all of your fingers and that we may resume practicing proper parries.”

It never stops.

Due to the potency of fae blood, I only have to feed once every two weeks despite the dramatic energy expenditure. I remember the constant thirst when I was first remade. It drove me insane with its unceasing urgency. When I grew away from fledgeling, I could go a day, then two without feeding. Masters only need to drink once a week if the hunt is good enough. I wonder how long I could last without the constant training and occasional unmangling of my innards. Between the lack of sun and the time between donations from curious warriors, the spheres themselves have acquired an atemporal quality that I am not sure I enjoy. Even the cycle of seasons is canceled in the training world since only weeks have passed outside.

To avoid the burden that comes with repetition, we leave the compound to attend various events. In the entertainment area of the Blue Palace, the party never stops. At any point of time, there are several teams coming out after weeks of intense and relentless training, high on aggression and the euphoria that comes with their own progress. The Blue Court are a strange lot and Sivaya is stranger still, set apart from their numbers by her love of magical theory. Blue nobles as a rule share alien, elfin traits, and cruel tendencies in their games and, if I understand the gladiator’s comments, their lovemaking. Their arrogance stems from a deep sense of superiority. They boast a strange grace and devious combat arts backed by magic as all of their warriors cast spells. I have not yet faced one of their squads in battle but Sinead has as part of his own training, and he returned annoyed if victorious.

I am not the only one making progress. Indeed, Amaryll has taken her son under her wing and has encouraged him to rely on his dancer’s heritage to develop himself. The flame of his aura has changed, more subtle and biting now, to match his more elegant movements. I beat him in the few spars we share but I can see he has grown even more evasive and he favors devastating, decisive counters.

After two years of training, I have merged my style into a harmonious whole, though there is still room for improvement. Interestingly, I have a new spell I can use in combat situations. The old ones find their use, especially the feint spell which shows an illusionary double of me. Promethean becomes a staple due to its significant potential against strong targets. Even Cadiz must be cautious of its many chains. Heartseeker is harder to manage, though it will help me against multiple opponents. Some other spells are more situational. Flay is stopped by armor, so it will be mostly useless against Nirari, but shatter and shred will be of use against the more delicate and magical items he may have. Polar midnight is virtually useless against another vampire, though fae fear it, and humans will as well. My new spell is a variation on the blood bolt. I call it the salvo.

The salvo has many flaws. It takes time to cast, requires so much concentration I cannot use feint, and even the most inept caster will feel the magical buildup. Nevertheless, the result is beautiful enough to justify its ridiculous requirement. Salvo launches a powerful scattered barrage of bolts that will demolish all but the most durable of shields, and the projectiles travel fast enough to be difficult to avoid for even limber foes. The first time I use it on Cadiz, he is forced to use his Magna Arqa, or lose. He no longer lets me cast it if there is any risk he will be in the blast radius, and I take this as the compliment and show of respect it is meant to be.

During the second year, I perfect my technique and train with various masters invited for the occasion. Once news of our prowess travels, Blue Courts blademasters and even a prince come to see if we do deserve the fuss. I lose against the prince after he uses a tool that cancels magic to take me off guard, following which Cadiz gives him a sound thrashing. The haughty noble and myself are left glaring at each other at the end, drinking mulled wine from cups and throwing snide comments at each other’s reliance on toys and brute force, respectively. I am not quite sure why, but old ones tend to criticize me for using my raw abilities as if centuries of experience were not an unfair advantage as well. Preposterous.

In the third year, we start practicing group fighting to see if I can use my Magna Arqa with my allies around. Despite some scraped armor and bruised ego, it works wonderfully. We discover that my allies can somehow direct the thorns, or at least they part to let them through. We also discover that my subconscious enjoys grabbing Sinead’s heel while he jumps, mistakenly smashing a branch in his belly mid lunge and other facetious little things. Silly unconscious mind. Nevertheless, I have made significant progress towards operating with a team. Makyas returns on occasion to practice, usually spending a day inside and a day out, so he only participates on occasion. I cannot blame him. Training of this nature goes against his own trickster instincts, but we do make sure I cannot harm him and he knows what I am capable of. Khadras remains the odd one out. The Seeker commits to the training with as much energy as us, but while Sinead learns tactics and I focus on combat, Khadras does his best to control his crystal powers better, to the point that he can selectively exclude me from its deleterious aura. The level of commitment he is capable of is simply staggering, even to me.

“How can you keep working alone, night in, night out?” I ask him as he recovers from his latest attempt, disheveled and almost feverish.

Khadras does not speak for a while, but I know he is considering rather than ignoring me from the way his torso faces me, and his eyes wander. John does the same, sometimes. We have time in abundance so I do not press him.

“I will be joining you until my mother sees it fit to recall me, most likely after the challenge is brought to its conclusion, and provided I survive. I cannot let my weakness dishonor her, so I will do my best to improve.”

He looks up, pink eyes hollow and cold.

“You can call upon your nature to gain power. So can your strange kin and the Prince of Summer. I will fight with the abilities I was given.”

A brief pause, then he took a step forward.

“I have never operated outside of Seeker squads. Make no mistake, we have been designed to complete our assessment, but that is the issue with a specialized tool. They lack flexibility. I had never realized how constraining this was until I lived by your side.”

He sighs, and turns away.

“This was a mistake. Leave me. I must return to my training.”

I depart to my side of the training hall without a word. He is clearly suffering, yet at the same time I am not sure how to proceed without endangering the team’s coordination. I would rather leave the emotional aspect to people more patient and subtle than me, such as Amaryll. I would only be interested in Khadras’ state of mind if I intended to eat him. For the taste.

I also manage to take down Cadiz for the first time, before he triggers his Magna Arqa. Following a complex sequence of movements culminating into a really good blind feint, I abort a spell he would have dodged and claw his face off instead. The bleeding Progenitor almost cries tears of joy, and his excitement reaches new heights.

Unfortunately, so does the difficulty.

During the fourth year, we slow down, and I realize that we will not use the time to its maximum. Even the frequent breaks and the entertainment we see no longer suffices to dispel the deep unease that comes with being cloistered for so long. We must escape the confines of this place. I expected Sinead to discuss our options, but he agrees wholeheartedly.

“We need training in the appropriate environment anyway, poppet, something even the Court of Blue cannot provide. We will move to another sphere and prepare for the hunt. We know more now. Yura will brief us on the proceedings.”

“Is Yura our main source for intelligence now?”

“I believe you have Cadiz to thank for that, as they have grown quite close over the, ah, years. Time is such a strange concept here. No wonder the Blue Court folks tend to waste mine when we are outside.”

I find Cadiz’ kinship with Yura interesting considering the old man has never mentioned, or even given any hint he was interested in intimacy. I am pleased that he would find someone to spend time with, however. Soon, we do leave, still having over a week left before the hunt gathers. The first priority is a celebration of our progress. The gladiators who have stayed come as well, their eyes bright with pride. Or at least I assume so, given that two of them possess the compound variety and I have never learnt to read those. We move to a secluded villa in the entertainment district prepared by Sivaya, and gather around a central table in an open garden under the light of the local stars. Lanterns cast light over dishes and drinks, all strange and designed to accommodate a variety of tastes and, I assume, digestive systems.

It was wise of Sinead to organize this celebration. I come to this conclusion naturally when I inspect the guests. We have met several times during training, however the gladiators have not enjoyed the benefits of time dilation and a chasm has formed between us. We always were a diverse group. Now, we need some measure of unity.

I realize I should have done it, then dismiss my regrets immediately. Sinead has taken the lead on this plan, and I rightly prioritized combat prowess. One cannot achieve everything at once. Let Prince Sunny carry the weight of leadership; for once it does not involve drinking, seducing, and a heist.

At least, I think so.

“Ladies, gentlemen, other beings of indeterminate gender…”

“I’m a man,” Nol protests, his fly head bobbing over thin shoulders.

Dancer signs he is male as well. I notice he has armor over the black chitin of his skin. It gives him a more statuesque and less horrifying appearance. Unlike Nol, who wears a doublet, and looks like the tarot card of a baron of hell.

“Very well then. Let me all congratulate you on the successful end of your training. Now, we know that perfection cannot be attained, and especially not in such a short amount of time, yet I am still proud of each and everyone of us, for we are much closer to this unattainable goal than when we began. I want to thank each and everyone of you here for helping me survive and perhaps even reach the hallowed heights of the Summer Council. It could have started better,” he concedes with a smile, and we chuckle.

“But we made allies along the way, and nothing is done until the last trial is concluded. Now, you have come here with different expectations and for different reasons. I acknowledge that, and I say, this is fine. My brother demands full obedience from a contingent of loyal court retainers. This is not my path. It cannot be my path. My mother wanders the spheres dancing stories alive. I have myself walked many spheres, made friends and enemies among them. This is the vision of summer I wish to embrace, the same you are seeing around you. Friends gathered in banquet in the cool evening air, travelers from far away gathered for a celebration. The taste of sweet wine on our tongue. To me, summer does not need to be pavilions and horns and the arrogance of superiority. We all carry a piece of summer within us, even those who prefer the cold, for do they not also seek warmth? Hah, I have spoken enough. Rejoice. Be merry! Take pride in each other’s company and your own efforts. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, we celebrate the moment. Cheers!”

“Cheers,” we reply.

Feeling in a good mood, I find color sticks and enough papers to draw the likeness of all guests while Syma the red takes out a flute, playing a happy aria. Her four hands dance on the wood. I manage to make Nol more alien than repellant, and he clutches the drawing to his chest with emotion. Even Khadras folds the paper with reverence after I am done.

“You are certainly proficient at causing emotions where there should be none, Ariane of the Nirari,” he begrudgingly admits. “I am not sure I like it.”

“Do you regret feeling more?” I ask, curious.

“No,” he confesses after a pause. “I just wonder why it had to be longing.”

“I am sorry for you, Khadras. I hope you find a way to experience other emotions as we do. If it is any comfort, you have the eternity to do so.”

“Not if my mother summons me back.”

“Perhaps she will not,” I retort, though my idea is not founded on any evidence. “Perhaps you have a chance to forge your own way.”

“What we sacrificed can never be ours again.”

“I lost my human life and all that entailed, but I built myself another one and have come to love it even more. I do not know what your future entails, I only know it should be yours if you manage to seize it.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he agrees after a pause. “Perhaps you are full of wind and images like the others. I suppose it is up to me to find out.”

“For what it’s worth, good luck.”

I return to drawing and manage a good impression of Amaryll’s smile, though I discover she is too complex to draw in her entirety. She loves the illustration and thanks me warmly.

“You might go far. Here, have my pen,” she says, and hands me a gold and ash-colored one. I use it to draw, finding that it gives off the color I want without prompt.

Those Likaeans have all the best gear.

After some time, the party expands when the Blue Court archers and a few trainers join us. We play more games of address, with Makyas winning a majority of them. I find that I enjoy my time with others despite our differences. We spend another week training in forests then the time comes for the hunt proper.

In a cycle the length of which only scholars can predict with any degree of accuracy, the time comes for the oldest of dragons, simply called the Old One, to return to roost. During that time, he will be ritually hunted and slain, only to be reborn later and resume his migration over the skies of many worlds. The hunt itself is a deeply traditional exercise with no specific gains beyond bragging rights, though they have their importance around here. Nevertheless, the dragon does not really die at the end, merely going into slumber, and the winners return to their occupation, if there are any. Indeed, it appears the last few cycles have had no success.

“The Old One expects brilliance from prospective hunters. It is not enough to reach him. You must impress him as well,” Amaryll explains. “But first, you must beat others to his lair. Since the latest hunts have failed, he has not moved location. We can use our knowledge of past attempts to plan for this one. Your training in the past week serves this purpose.”

I listen with rapt attention, and we get to planning.

The portal opens on a vast field crowded with tents and pavillions, some as tall as buildings. Music fills the air while the scent of food and perfume saturate my nostrils. Colorful pennants, flags, and clothes provide a clashing foreground to the sober green of the forest and the gray of distant mountains. Our group is one of the last to arrive, and we move to the edge of the encampment. From there, I can see the edge of the nearby forest. Those are old trees with ancient, gnarled trunks. The shadows feel deeper under their boughs. I can see the distant glint of fangs and webs hanging from a branch, moving in the wind like an ethereal shroud. The forest denizens are none too happy about the fae’s return. I am happy about the fae’s return. We can EAT THEM. No, bad Ari. Remember the plan. No eating my allies, even though they smell so very delectable.

We set up quickly, using enchanted gear that mostly deploys itself and that I would drown a convent to keep with me back on earth. No sooner have we gathered that a fanfare trumpets towards us, even as some of our own tents are yet to rise. The Likaeans near us clear the way before a large procession of warriors led by a familiar figure in golden armor, his firey beard glittering under the sun. He has elected to keep his sun-gorged mail, but adopted a green tabard over it, quite likely for aesthetic reasons rather than for any desire for stealth. His second is here as well, wearing black scale like last time. Her infernal red hair and red skin clash with the pastoral background in an interesting way. I know from her smile that she anticipates killing me with relish. I look forward to her attempt, though I do not look forward to wasting the sweet nectar of her essence as it leaves her broken, lifeless corpse because I must stick to the plan. Ugh.

“My brother,” Revas greets with a glorious smile, arms spread in a gesture of all-encompassing affection. “It delights me to see you today. I hope you had a pleasant time preparing. Did you find your mother without delay?”

“I did, brother. Thank you for finding her.”

“Of course, of course, think nothing of it,” Revas generously allows. “I expect you at your best. No matter what, our respective performances will reflect on the glory of our court, because we hunt for summer…”

“And summer is the season of war,” they finish at the same time.

The two princes exchange pleasantries and compliments with the utmost certitude that one will kill the other before the year is done — for a certain definition of year. Meanwhile, their followers stand around with solemn attention. Including me. Although I merely pretend to pay attention to their exchange, blah blah blah, platitudes. Worthless chatter. We should HUNT ALREADY.

Revas’ followers are all summer court nobles dressed in hunting leathers with enough similarities to pass as uniforms. Meanwhile, we are the motley crew. I complain in my heart that I always tend to end up on the side of the underdog, only to remember that I have been working for the vampire government for the past forty years. Perhaps it is just a matter of who, rather than what. Sinead certainly feels less pompous and false than his blood relation.

In any case, the difference could not be clearer, an impression reinforced by the fact Revas intentionally came while our camp was still in disarray, yet late enough that the interrupted setup could be mistaken for slovenliness. The absolute cur. In a way, I admire the Likaeans for their elaborate pettiness. Even Revas’ apparent generosity serves to reinforce his aura while distracting Sinead with apparent kindness. Every gesture they make serves several purposes in an elaborate dance. Revas’ kindness does not just destabilize, it promotes a certain personality among his peers, and being memorable improves his standing in the order of succession. Similarly, the training collaboration with Sivaya shows Sinead’s powerful yet diverse backing. So many games with unspoken rules. I would feel right at home if I were not missing so much context.

Finally, the scrumptious ones separate and the more obnoxious of two princes returns to whatever fancy quarters he picked for himself, perhaps a pyramid to fit his ego. We are left with little to do, so I join Cadiz in practicing breathing exercises. Our meditation is short-lived, however. At midday, a deep thrum shakes the air around us.

“It has started.”

The entire camp holds still as the sky seems to split open, night and stars popping through the aperture of some impossibly wide portal. A wave of magic washes over us until it feels I could summon winter with a word, and Sinead could do the same. I take a deep breath and gather inexplicable scents I do not know how to qualify, then night falls. Or rather, there is an eclipse. A vast silhouette covers the sun from us, casting a deep shadow over the entire glade. For a moment, my mind struggles to reconcile what I see with the limits of what I believe possible. A triangular head appears first, titanic horns like old oaks jutting out from its side over a jaw that could smash a fortress gate open, then a sinuous body covered in bronze scales, four limbs with talons like spires. Heat radiates from the colossal form. He turns the air around into a kaleidoscope of twisting volutes where other shapes come to dance like fading dreams. Its armored body melts into the heavens until I cannot tell where the sphere ends and He begins. Then, after I have given up on comprehending the dragon, he spreads his wings, and night truly falls. He is impossibly massive. He has no right to be flying. Watcher save me, he has no right to be moving at all. I have taken strolls on smaller hillocks.

The dragon flaps his wings and the pennants and flag shudder from the tempestuous blast, expanding outward from the camp’s circle. Dust fills my nostrils.

The dragon roars, and I can hear nothing else, and do not believe I will experience another sound ever again.

And then it flies away.

It takes me a long, long moment to come back to my senses, and an even longer moment before the majesty of the beast disappears enough, and I realize he made me completely  forget I was even Thirsty. It is a feat that nothing had managed until now.

“We… are supposed to hunt this?” I ask, aghast.

“Now you understand why the hunt is ritualized,” Sinead comments with an amused grin. “Shall we get out mounts?”

I look again at the titanic being even now circling among the clouds. It is the most majestic creature I have even laid my eyes on.

I am going to bite it.