Young Writers Society

This is the scene I was terrified of posting...because it contains this story's first real fight scene. And it's...well...we'll see. *ducks and covers*

The End of Time

Part One: The City

Chapter Seven: Honor and Insults

The smell of spices welled through the air. Tey inhaled their sharp pungency, feeling his stomach growl in anticipation. It was noon in Presulis Palace, the time that the palace’s residents took their midday meal.

It had been more than a week since Tey had arrived at the palace and he still hadn’t gotten quite used to taking three meals a day. In his days on the street, he considered himself lucky to steal enough to fill his stomach every other day; here, a small retinue of palace cooks served hot meals three times a day. The food was plain, but it was filling, and for the first time in his life Tey found himself gaining weight every time, to the point that he could no longer see the curves of his ribs through his skin. He was graining muscle, too, from his training under Jyuna.

“Here you go,” said Jyuna, setting a steaming bowl in front of Tey, wafting the delicious smells of spicy stew in Tey’s direction.

“Thanks,” said Tey, smiling at Jyuna, who offered Tey a brief smile in return before turning to serve the others at the table.

They were in the dining room of a small building at the outskirts of the palace, which appeared to be an abandoned servants’ quarters. Tey usually didn’t take his meals here, instead eating along with Jyuna and Dr. Cadmus in the palace’s grand dining hall. Today, though, after their lesson, Jyuna had offered to cook lunch for the two of them.

“You can cook?” Tey had said in surprise. He’d thought of Jyuna as only a warrior who didn’t concern himself with cooking and cleaning, things women did.

“Of course I can,” Jyuna had replied with a smile. “It’s an essential skill for any warrior. How am I supposed to keep myself fed on the road?”

“He makes very excellent karira,” Dr. Cadmus had said, as if that sealed the matter.

Along the way, they had picked up three off-duty young soldiers—and Kiri. Now Tey was making a point of ignoring her, keeping his eyes instead of the bowl of steaming, heavily-spiced karira stew. Kiri, for her part, hadn’t seemed to notice him; she was perched on the edge of the bench and engaged in intent conversation with one of the soldiers.

“Looks delicious as ever,” said Dr. Cadmus, digging his spoon into the bowl and sighing contentedly. “You’ve outdone yourself, Jyuna.”

“Oh, come off it,” said Jyuna, approaching the table with a bowl of his own, still wearing an apron. “This is simple syka. Anybody, even you, can make it.”

“Watch your language,” mumbled one soldier, whose dark skin and hawk-like nose hinted at Ajyadi ancestry.

“Ney kyata ka,” retorted Jyuna, sliding on to the bench beside Tey. “How’s that for language?”

The soldier sighed and returned to his karira with undue enthusiasm.

After a while the comfortable murmur of conversation drifted over the room. Tey, always uncomfortable in social situations, didn’t join in but listened as he spooned spicy, tender chunks of meat into his mouth. Beside him, Jyuna was discussing that morning’s science lesson with Dr. Cadmus; something about a man called “Troffim Lysenko” and “acquired characters”. Kiri seemed to be demonstrating to the soldier sitting next to her how to properly draw a sword in an ambush. The other two soldiers were trading lewd jokes about the merits of islander hookers versus Mainlander hookers. Tey adamantly shut his ears to their conversation.

“Say, Tey,” said Jyuna, turning away from Dr. Cadmus to a startled Tey. “What do you think?”

“Er—ahh—” said Tey, who was not about to admit that he hadn’t the faintest clue who Troffim Lysenko was or why he was important.

“Never mind,” said Jyuna with a laugh, before, to Tey’s embarrassment, reaching out and ruffling Tey’s dark brown curls. Tey shivered when he felt the weight of Jyuna’s warm hand on top of his head, though he didn’t know why.

A staccato burst of giggles from Kiri turned Tey’s attention to the islander girl for the first time. She had one elbow resting on the table, leaning forward slightly and taking in Tey and Jyuna’s interactions with a familiar predatory light to her eyes.

“My, my,” she said, her high voice dripping with honey-coated sweetness. “Quite…close…aren’t we?”

Something nasty began squirming in Tey’s chest; he forced it down. Jyuna said, his tone polite but quivering with a dangerous undercurrent, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” said Kiri loftily, leaning back. “Just…that you guys seem awfully close, especially for friends.”

The sick sensation pushing against Tey’s ribcage intensified. Jyuna, however, said calmly, “Ah, knock it off, Kiri…”

“You shouldn’t say that.” The words tumbled out of Tey’s mouth before he even realized he’d spoken. He sat there, feeling mortified for a second, but then, emboldened, added, louder, “Don’t say things like that.”

Kiri arched her eyebrows. “Are you talking down to me? You’d do well to remember your place, street boy.”

“I’m not a street boy!” Tey was no longer thinking, instead allowing the mindless sick rage inside him guide his actions. He stood up, his fists quivering, ignoring the startled stares everyone was giving him to yell at Kiri, “I’m a member of Presulis, just as you are.”

The silence in the room was taut as a wire. Tey could hear nothing but his own breathing, was conscious of nothing but Kiri staring wide-eyed back at him.

At length, Jyuna spoke, his words quiet and measured. “Sit down, Tey.”

“Er, ah, can you tell me again—uh, how that block goes--?” said the soldier by Kiri’s side, nervously prodding her shoulder. She threw his hand off in disgust, to stand up as well in a rustling of silk.

“Don’t be ridiculous, street boy,” she said icily. “You’re no more a member of Presulis than the rats in the palace, no matter how you might be pleasing Jyuna—”

The squirming sickness in Tey’s heart tightened, hard like a fist, before breaking over. Wildly, no longer thinking, he leaped across the table for Kiri, a feral roar on his lips, not caring when he upset his half-eaten bowl of karira. All he wanted was to tighten his hands around Kiri’s neck, to grab her and hurt her and make sure she never got up to say those kinds of things, ever again—

But he was grabbed, roughly, by the back of his tunic; Tey twisted and writhed, but Jyuna held on tight, dragging the boy backwards until there were a good ten paces between him and Kiri. The others at the table were watching in astonishment, though Kiri looked more amused than anything.

“That’s enough,” hissed Jyuna, his low voice cutting through Tey’s sputtered protests. “Remember what I told you earlier?”

“No—I’ve had it—I’m not gonna—gonna let her sit back and say things like that!” screamed Tey in response, his voice rising and then cracking on the last syllable. It was all right if she wanted to call him trash, street boy, rat…he could deal with those insults.

What he couldn’t deal with were the other kind of insults, the ones that stabbed in that dark uncomfortable place he kept locked up deep in his heart. Long ago, the other street children had learned to give Tey a wide berth after he’d nearly killed some of them when they’d unwisely made snide comments about the exact nature of his and Nendo’s relationship. He could never let those insults go. And he wasn’t going to let Kiri’s go: not this time.

“Then settle your grudge elsewhere. In a mature manner. Like a real warrior,” said Jyuna.

“What do you mean—oh!” said Dr. Cadmus, and he sat back, a satisfied smile crossing his face. The soldiers nodded when Jyuna spoke, understanding dawning on their faces.

Kiri’s expression changed as well, a savage delight replacing her earlier jocularity. She stood up, her robe rustling around her, and rested a hand on the hilt of one of the swords on her back. “Oh…you mean…that way.”

Only Tey was lost. Craning his neck to face Jyuna, he said, “What? What’s going on? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Jyuna, slowly slackening his grip on Tey; Tey stumbled forward, startled by the loss of contact, “that you two settle your differences like Presulis warriors.” His mouth twitching up in a confident smirk, “In a duel.”

~*~

Tey stood in the sandlot in the center of one of Presulis Palace’s larger courtyards, a wooden practice sword hanging by his side. He kept his posture straight, his feet planted firmly in the compacted sand, his eyes fixed on the girl opposite him.

Kiri had on a faint smile while she fingered her wooden sword lovingly. Her position was more closed than Tey’s, but just as strong. She radiated the confidence of experience.

A tiny part of Tey wondered what madness this was, to take on an experienced warrior when he himself had hardly a week’s training with the sword. But most of Tey wasn’t thinking with logic anymore. He just wanted to avenge all the insults Kiri had laid upon him since he’d joined Presulis, chief of all the insult she’d implied at the midday meal.

Above, the sky was a uniform eggshell blue, with no sun in sight. Good, there wouldn’t be any glare, he thought.

“I think you know the conditions?” This was Jyuna, standing in front of the sandlot, wearing the red tunic of a duel officiant. “This will be a fight to the first touch. No kicking or hitting or other dirty tricks allowed. The loser will have to acknowledge the winner’s superiority, in front of everyone else, I might add. We clear?”

Kiri nodded firmly; a moment later, Tey copied the gesture, ignoring the cold sweat that had gathered on the back of his neck. He suddenly felt naked, vulnerable, standing out here in the sandlot for the other members of Presulis to see. Quite a crowd had gathered in the courtyard, watching in hushed anticipation. From the darkness beneath an archway, Tey glimpsed gleaming black hair, copper-colored skin—Idach himself was watching, along with Aiday, who sat by his side like a ghost, and Dr. Cadmus, who leaned beside her.

Idach was watching. The sweat prickled; Tey gripped the hilt of his sword harder.

“Ready?” said Jyuna. When Tey and Kiri nodded, he said, the word ringing through the silent courtyard: “Fight!”

Tey inhaled deeply, filling his lungs. Letting the breath cycle through his veins, just as Jyuna had taught him. Relax. Breathe carefully. Balance. He shifted his legs a shoulder width apart, placing equal weight on each foot, before holding his sword out before him in the ready position, extended toward Kiri’s head. Opposite him, Kiri copied the motion.

For a moment, neither moved, each waiting for an opening—a slight shift in position, a nervous tremor, even a blink. Tey kept his eyes on Kiri’s face; she was smirking. Clearly, she thought this fight was hers.

Then, she charged. In a burst of movement that kicked up a trail of sand behind her, she was directly in front of him, smirk reaching cruel proportions, slashing out at his leg—

Tey sidestepped, resisting the urge to jump—if he did he would lose his footing. He barely managed to dodge a blow that came heart-stoppingly close to clipping his ankle; Kiri’s next slash aimed for his neck. Wildly, Tey swung his sword in around to slam against Kiri’s in a block. He felt the shock of impact jitter his muscles and he staggered back, the breath driven from his lungs. That had not been a soft practice blow. She had meant to hurt him, if not worse.

Stupid, Tey told himself angrily. Don’t waste your energy blocking when you can just sidestep and avoid the blow. Didn’t Jyuna teach you anything?

But then Kiri was back in a whirlwind of swirling white robe, raising her sword for a blow to his legs that would not only fulfill the “first touch” condition but knock him clear over. Tey barely managed to dodge, before turning to the offensive and jabbing for Kiri’s exposed torso; she parried the blow with bone-jarring force.

It soon became clear that Kiri was no ordinary opponent. She moved with uncommon speed, sidestepping his attacks quick as a fluttering monkeybird and swinging her sword so quickly it often became a blur. And she was strong, too; every time Tey had to block one of her blows, he felt the impact in the core of his body.

He knew he was outmatched in every respect. He knew he was just a beginner, a weakling, a street boy—but that meant nothing. Nothing when compared with his rage, with the boiling in his blood that had not lessened one ounce. All he had to do, every time he narrowly missed one of her blows, every time he stumbled, was think about her smirking face and the words she’d been saying, horrible things, and him and Jyuna—

It isn’t true, it isn’t true, how dare you say those things, how dare you, how DARE YOU—

Rage gave him the energy to continue standing and holding his sword in the basic position vertically in front of his torso and head, even when his knees felt ready to buckle from exhaustion. And it gave him focus. This wasn’t the burning rage that had been animating him at the table; what Jyuna called natsa hykara, the “fire anger”. It was a colder rage honed into a single point of intention, a rage that he controlled instead of controlled him. The natsa shakan, the “ice anger”.

And he began to see that Kiri wasn’t as great of a fighter as he’d previously thought. Sure, she outclassed him, but compared to Jyuna she was nothing. Tey had fought Jyuna many times before, every day, and even during their practice duels when Jyuna softened his blows and offered Tey words of guidance, he’d been able to feel the strength behind the Ajyadi’s every movement and the effortless experience that guided his forms. Kiri had strength and speed, but that was it; she was not a strategic fighter.

It happened when Kiri charged at him again, her sword raised and prepared to chop down across Tey’s torso. Tey’s first instinct was to raise the sword in a block, but he then noticed with a flash of insight that she’d left her lower body undefended.

Summoning all of his strength, all of his rage, right before Kiri struck Tey lowered his sword from the high block to a lower sweep, towards her approaching right leg; Kiri let out a cackle of triumph, apparently thinking that Tey’s defense had slipped, and brought her sword down with a whistling of wind. Tey’s heart thumped violently as he heard it fall—if he didn’t clip her in time, she would hit him. And then it’d be over.

Then, he would have to bow to her and call her his superior…

Tey fell on his elbows into the sand, skinning them badly, a burst of stinging sharp grains flying around him. He thought he heard Kiri scream, but wasn’t sure if it was a scream of rage or triumph; and anyway his heart was beating so loudly it drowned out almost all other noise.

For a wild, terrified moment, he thought he could feel the warm touch of wood on his shoulder. But then, slowly, cracking his eyes open, Tey stared up at the now-silent Kiri and saw the truth:

Her sword was stopped less than a centimeter above his shoulder, while the tip of his own sword rested against her shin.

Understanding surged through him like he was swallowing a hot drink; seized by a sudden confidence, he tightened his grip around his sword’s hilt and tapped it, once, twice, against Kiri’s shin.

“Touch and touch,” he said.

Kiri remained silent above him, her face white, her mouth wide open. The sword slipped from her hand, knocking against Tey’s shoulder before clattering into the sand. Then—

A burst of sound from the spectators, so loud it slammed against Tey’s ears with almost physical force. He almost fell back to the sand, disoriented, but then heard the thudding of footsteps behind him before a familiar pair of warm hands grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him to a standing position. Tey wasn’t sure if he could stand on his own, but Jyuna didn’t let go of him, maintaining a comfortably heavy grip on Tey’s shoulder as he gazed ahead at Kiri.

Kiri stared at them both, her face still frozen in an incredulous expression—until her brow twisted and her face darkened in anger. She didn’t speak, though, apparently too seized by her rage but do anything but glower hatefully at Tey. Tey felt nothing, though, except for a curious warm feeling deep in his chest.

“Tey is the winner,” said Jyuna, and his words rang with a quiet triumph.

The islander girl still remained silent, but the screaming, cheering, and whistling from the sides of the courtyard more than made up for her silence. Jyuna slowly turned Tey around, to face the assembled crowd—soldiers, cooks, gardeners, servants, even finely-dressed women he didn’t recognize—clapping and shouting and pumping fists in the air. But his eyes slipped from them to the dark hollow beneath the archway, where he thought he saw the faintest glimmer of a smile on Idach’s face…

His knees trembled; his head spun. They were all cheering for him, celebrating his victory. They were acclaiming him for who he was.

It was a new feeling, and he liked it.

Then, the cheering crowds fell silent: Idach had stepped out from the darkness, his gray robe pooling around him. In the light of day, Tey saw that Idach truly was smiling—not a full-on grin, but a small, satisfied twitching at the corners of his lips.

“You may release him, Jyuna,” said Idach.

“Oh, of course.” Jyuna stepped back, removing his hands from Tey’s shoulders; Tey swayed a bit from the loss of contact, but soon regained his balance. He gazed up at Idach, his heart fluttering, wondering what was going to happen to him now.

Idach didn’t address Tey at first, though; he turned to Kiri, nodding at her. “Well, Kiri. I believe you are aware of the conditions of this duel…?”

An ugly look spasm across Kiri’s face, and for a second Tey almost thought she was going to spit at Idach—instead, she turned away from him, lowering her head and sinking to her knees in the sand, before bowing from the waist. To Tey.

The bow of a commoner to a nobleman. Something shuddered violently within Tey; whether it was triumph or disquiet, he wasn’t sure.

Tey waited several seconds for Idach to tell Kiri to rise, before realizing that it was him that Kiri was bowing to, not Idach: he would have to give the order. His face flushing, he said quickly, “Um, you may rise.”

She hastened to obey. When she met his eyes again, her face was twisted with vitriol. Tey glanced away from her, at Idach, who lowered his head in a slow nod.

Then, to Tey’s surprise, Idach extended his hand and rested it on Tey’s shoulder. Not with force, as Jyuna would have done, but lightly. Tey barely felt the pressure of the hand. “Excellent,” was all Idach said, the hint of a smile to his voice. “But of course, it was as Aiday predicted.”

“Predicted?” hissed Kiri, her face turning blotchy red.

Idach, however, ignored Kiri’s reaction. Turning to face the assembled crowds, he declared in stentorian tones:

“From this day forward, Tey of Theratolia is to be a full member of Presulis, and he will be afforded the respect due to any member of the Leader’s inner circle. Is that understood?”

Together, all the assembled Presulis members chanted, “Yes, Leader Idach.” Only Aiday and Dr. Cadmus, still in the shadows, sitting suspiciously close to each other, did not speak.

Tey felt a stab of discontent, though he didn’t know why.

But that didn’t matter, because even Aiday and Dr. Cadmus had joined the other Presulis members in clapping, together, in an ovation for him. For him. Emboldened, he smiled tentatively back, raising his hand and offering a wan wave to the assembled crowds. Someone laughed wildly at this gesture; Jyuna, he guessed.

Finally, Tey thought, his heart ready to swell from pride and happiness. Finally, he had a place where he belonged. A place where he was second to no one. Where he was Tey, and he was himself.

Nendo will be so proud of me when I find him, he thought.

-----------------

Right...as you can all tell, I'm very skittish about the fight scene. I did some research on sword fighting before I wrote it, but am unsure exactly how accurate everything is, so I'd especially appreciate if you focused on anything I could improve in the fight scene.

The second part of the chapter reprises Luanna (about time...I bet you've all forgotten about her! XD) I like it a bit better than the first part, but meh...oh well, at least when chapter seven is over, I can finally post the awesomeness that is chapter eight.

All critiques, especially nitpicky/shreddy ones, are appreciated.