Book 4: Chapter 3 - Underneath a Shattered Sky (RAW)

There have been many that have professed to be my better. They were crushed by the weight of their false pride and my iron fist.

- Gilgamesh of Uruk.

Meditation, what useless nonsense. Clear your mind of extraneous thoughts? What use was there in pretending to be a rock? It was all mysticism and mumbo jumbo. 

Instead, I delved deeply into the nature of my magic. My recollection of scattered bits and pieces of knowledge was clearer here, perhaps due to the very nature of this place—this realm of the subconscious.

Where there were gaps, I could infer. Where there was nothing, I could theorize. Like the philosophers of old, I applied rational thought to my current circumstances. This led me to the conclusion that I had been lied to. In this place, Fen was not, and could not be, the sole master. If it was a creation of the mind and soul, then I had as much control as anyone.

With this realization, I struggled against the constraints of this dream world, calling on my magic again and again. At first, it was just a trickle, the tiniest of echoes, but over time the connection grew stronger. In time, not only could I use the dark energies, intrinsic yet alien to my being, but discovered new avenues for their application. 

As with all things, it was a matter of time and meaningful practice.

Fen wanted me to forget part of who I was, but I would not tolerate that blatant attempt at deception. She would not find me so helpless for her next, and final, test.

“It is time,” came Fen’s voice, cutting me away from my deeper thoughts.

With deliberate slowness, I opened my eyes, taking in the raw reality of the dreamscape. How long had I been lost in thought? It could have been moments; it could have been years.

“It is time,” she repeated, glancing worriedly at the sky.

My eyes followed hers, looking upwards toward the heavens. The sky was cracking like winter ice kissed by spring’s first thaw, small rents running across the blue ceiling.

It seemed, in this at least, she was telling the truth. I knew my time here was coming to a close. An ending was approaching. How melodramatic, I thought bitterly.

I replied to Fen with nothing, for words could could not improve upon the silence.

“Go into the house, picture what it is that you will need, and meet me outside,” the Weaponmaster stated in a voice heavy with ceremony. “You will need to choose wisely if you are to succeed.”

Out of curt deference to my teacher, I gave her a quick bow before I entered the house for the first time. Why did I never think of entering it before..? More mystical trickery no doubt.

Opening the wooden door, I crossed the threshold of the small dwelling, mentally envisioning the tools that would give me the best chance against the formidable Fen. There was a feeling of dislocation as I entered and my perception was shaken to its core.

Everything was off as if reality was slightly off-center and misaligned. Most different from all of my previous visits.

It was a shifting. Once my senses settled, I was greeted by a familiar sight of the rustic, almost spartan, interior of my teacher’s abode. The earthen walls were unadorned, the furniture wooden and of plain make. In contrast to the simple aesthetic of the room, there was a desk in the corner upon which lay a fine feathered quill and quality parchment. 

The ‘realness’ of this place was now a paradox. It felt perhaps even more solid than the created world outside, yet at the same time I sensed that the flow of time here was different. A contrary duality of fast and slow.

Shaking my head, my eyes were drawn to a large heavy iron-banded chest at the foot of a straw bed. On the floor in front of the chest was a halberd, a weapon that I had thought of as counter to Fen’s superior skill. 

It was a versatile weapon that was suitable for slashing, thrusting, tearing, and cutting. The halberd also had considerable reach, and though I was not much taller than Fen, I had to leverage what advantage I could.

Normally, being a two-handed weapon would mean that I would have to forgo the use of a shield. However, I had prepared a cunning surprise for Weaponmaster Fen Vaigorus. Deception and trickery were not solely within her purview. In this dance of steel and strategy, I intended to show her that she had no monopoly on guile.

With a grin forming on my face, I tried to rush forward but was limited to a sedate walk. Kneeling by the weapon, I solemnly ran my fingers across its promised lethality, searching for flaws in its craftsmanship and finding none. It possessed enough weight and heft to smash an opponent down, armored or not. Satisfied, I set it aside momentarily to examine the contents of the large chest.

It opened with an ominous squeak of unoiled hinges, revealing items both familiar and unknown. My plate harness lay within, the battle spoils of the Grass Sea, and the wolfhead helm was a most welcome sight indeed. 

Beside my armor was a practical, double-edged short sword sheathed in a black lacquered scabbard, and a slender dagger. As an afterthought, a brace of balanced throwing knives in a tough leather baldric completed the assortment of chosen weaponry.

The sword’s blade was straight and tapered to a triangular tip. It was, at a glance forty centimeters in length, and had a wide crossguard for catching blows. I tested its weight and balance, going through a few series of flourishes, and found that it was of a type that was both suitable for the cut and thrust of combat.

The dagger was a more simple affair. It had a very narrow blade for piercing mail and snaking through the weak points of armor. Added to this was a circular guard and pommel that would allow for greater grip, letting me hammer the point with greater force in close combat. The rondel made for a nice backup weapon.

However, a crossbow and a quiver full of iron bolts were conspicuously absent. I shrugged, accepting that their absence was simply part of the test's nature.

Thinking about it, a ranged weapon would probably be classified as cheating.

At least now I had an answer to one of my earlier riddles. I knew now how Fen had produced our practice gear.

Slowly, I clad myself in the garb of war, taking my time for there was no rush. Let Fen wait upon me, I decided. Though I doubted such a simple trick would work on her, it was the opening move in our game. The woman was as patient as death itself.

Finally, I felt complete, as ready as I could be. As I moved to leave the house, my hand reached for the door but was betrayed by hesitation. Wouldn’t it be better to wait here… to wait until the end of the dream? The more I thought about it, the more logical this course of action seemed.

No, the voices beseeched. Yes, even here in the dream the dark choir had found me.

They were right, of course, as they always were. Cowardice was trying to persuade me to its cause in the guise of logic and reason. 

It was time to do what had to be done. I would not fail here. I was the chosen one. It was fated.

With a deep breath, I found the will to open the door. Anticlimactically, the head of my halberd got stuck in the doorway, a poor portent if ever there was one. Annoyed, I tried again and finally stepped into the arena of my trial.

The transition was jarring, disorienting. 

A cool breeze played across my face, carrying the scent of camphor. Fen stood before me, smiling, but something was different. Gone was the patient, kind teacher; her face was tight, the lines of her expression revealing a controlled focus. Now, I saw the truth of her. 

An aspect of war incarnate.

Fen wore an open-faced helm and a riveted mail shirt that extended from her neck to her thighs, belted at the waist. At her hip hung a single curved sword. It was of medium length and a ribbon of crimson silk decorated the scabbard where it rested. She wore no gloves, likely to afford her greater dexterity. Or perhaps she did so to bait me into focusing most of my attacks onto her hands. 

I had learned from her that one of the easiest ways to defend was to control the focus of an opponent’s attack. Or perhaps I was overthinking things and she had simply made a mistake?

“I will hold nothing back and will fight you as if you were my equal, though you are… well, far from it,” she stated flatly. “As a mercy, I will use only a single blade,” she added.

Fen was trying to goad me, an obvious attempt, but I would not lose control. Still, I let the ember of ire grow in the pit of my stomach. Anger, and indeed all emotions, were the fuel of human action.

This suited me fine. My magic in this place required an almost inordinate amount of time to summon. The more words were exchanged, the better.

I gave her my best, winning smile. “And this test? What if I should fail?” I asked dryly.

A few drops of Mana, the god-gift, filled me and my heart beat fast with excitement.

She looked me in the eyes, her gaze as cold as midwinter. “Then you will perish. In the waking world, you will cease to be you,” the Weaponmaster declared evenly.

“And? That it?” I continued blithely. I had expected as much, but there had to be more to it than just my simple death. The setup had been far too intricate.

“I take no joy in this, but as per my accord with Vincenzio, I will be you. Your body will be mine, and I will have one more chance to walk again in the world of the living. To breathe real air under an unshattered sky. To have another chance to do what must be done,” she explained with fierce vehemence. “This time, I will have all the advantages that come with being born a man.”

There it was. The unvarnished truth of the matter.

The flow of energy started, circulating with every pulse of my heart.

“There are not as many advantages as you think they are,” came my automatic retort.

Though she professed no joy in it, her eyes betrayed a different story. Writ plain in their depts was greed and a lust for new life. Bitterness welled inside me, reaching new peaks. I nearly spat in reaction. 

This world, it seemed, would always hand me the raw end of the deal.

“Of course, you don’t take any joy in this,” came my retort. “And of course, you’ve probably taught me nothing more than a lot of garbage? After all, the allure of another life would be too great for the great Fen Vaigorus, no doubt,” I responded sarcastically.

She placed a hand upon her mailed breast. “Upon my honor and the Mantis Mark, I have taught you to the best of my ability. I have tried to impart all that I know to you, as I have with all my students and disciples. If you have been resistant to my teaching… well, that is no fault of mine.”

I grit my teeth, striving to maintain a calm expression. Had I known the conditions for this final trial, I would have tried much harder. Much harder. 

Would have, could have, should have. The story of my life.

Useless words that spun around my brain in a futile procession, distracting me. Damn her eyes. Regrets, as always, never occurred before the fact.

“Did you honestly think you could have bested one of the greatest warriors with only a half-hearted effort?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. It was yet another attempt to provoke me into greater anger.

Slowly, my magic had begun to well within. Too slow… too slow.

I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath. “Perhaps for an ordinary man. But I am no ordinary man, and your time, Weaponmaster Fen, has long passed. Despite your less than adequate instruction, you will not find me an easy opponent. Do not think I have shown you all of my claws just yet,” I answered defiantly, slamming the butt of my halberd to the ground for emphasis. “You are nothing more than an antiquated echo of a bygone age.”

The graceful woman laughed at this, great peals of laughter that echoed all around. The embers of hate, anger, bitterness, and frustration rose into a flame that threatened to consume me.

The Mana within started to surge.

It was time for a different tack.

“Will you at least tell me of yourself, your true self? I would know who it is I truly face, and why you would go to such lengths to kill an innocent man?” I spat out in a bid to buy myself more time.