First Assignment (Part Four of Five)
Maria Turn 9 seventh omake
"This is… barbaric."
Letha had been lecturing me about the freshly announced tournament for the last half hour, now. Must have really gotten under her skin, too – didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.
"Absolutely, utterly, shamelessly stupid. I cannot imagine what the Centurion thinks he's doing. Imperator's wisdom, has he forgotten we're in the middle of a warzone?"
I nodded absently. It was easier than trying to go against her; Letha could get very uptight when she had a head of steam built up. Truth, though? Wasn't entirely sure I agreed with her. The camp had been tense all day since the word got out, but a different kind of tension. Excited. Gleeful, almost; like kids on their birthday, full of grinning expectation of presents and red envelopes. There'd been fewer arguments, and they'd taken on an almost playful air. There'd be a chance soon to stretch legs and work out kinks.
"And I don't care if they have Athena herself as judge and referee. Someone will get hurt. Most likely very badly."
"Don't know about that, now," I said before I could stop myself. Letha turned sharp eyes on me. I winced. "Sibling," I said, awkwardly. "They're kind of a legend, I hear. At least among the itinerants. And it can't just be bullshit, because Skull-Shatterer-"
"Oh, well, if our charming friends amongst the Righteous are sure this august individual is so thoroughly worth listening to, I'm sure it'll all go swimmingly," said Letha, witheringly. I winced again, and shut up. "Can you hear yourself? They're barbarians, Maria. We can't pretend otherwise."
There was an uncomfortable pause as she realised what she'd said. I tried to keep my face from dropping. Didn't work.
"I- Didn't mean it like that," she said, slowly.
"I know."
"You're Optimatoi yourself. That's how I think of you."
"'Course."
"...I'm sorry."
I ducked my head to avoid her gaze, focused on the tea that was brewing. Looked ready.
"Give me your cup, there," I said. "And play your turn, or we'll be at the Fearless Line before we finish."
Letha kept looking at me with something halfway between guilt and pity in her eyes, but she pushed her cup over and moved one of the pieces on the Ludus board between us, perched on her little table. Part of a set, I remembered. The Economos had them made special- they folded together into a travel case you could pack your tent in. Letha'd gotten it as a birthday present a few years ago. The rest of the set was the chairs we were sitting on and the tent we were sitting in.
Classic Optimatoi gift. Practical, hardwearing, but fancy in its own way too.
"Maria." Letha's voice had taken on a gentle edge. "I thought you had… dealt with this."
"You have sugar?"
She pushed a small clay pot over towards me.
"After Three Frogs-" She began, and I gave up trying to avoid this foolishness.
"Look, I'm not asking you to make allowances," I snapped. Caught myself. Forced my temper out of my tone. "My head shit's my concern."
"...I know."
"So what are you still going on about it for?"
"Because-" She stopped halfway through the word. I saw her try and rephrase it in her head. "Because… you're my friend. My very dear friend, actually. And I worry about you." It was a nice sentiment, but I wasn't ready to put my spikes away just yet, grunting into my tea and moving a piece on the board. She carried on regardless. "More than that, this… subject, your heritage, it seems to weigh on your mind quite often."
"Is what it is," I muttered. "Play."
She did.
"Yes, but it upsets you. Doesn't it?"
"Lot of things upset me. Never stopped me doing my duty."
"I'm not-" She was getting upset. Not quite crying level, but she'd get there if this went on. "No-one would ever suggest that, Maria. But."
She stopped. Chewed her lip. Gods, this would go on forever if I didn't do something about it. And the guilt was pricking at me a bit. Wasn't her fault I lost my temper at everything, myself included.
"Go on," I said, gently. "Say it. I won't be mad. Look, I'm happy again. See?" Made myself pull a stupid smile. She laughed despite herself.
"But… on occasion you can…" she stopped again. Fuck's sake. "A digression. I shouldn't have called the other sects barbarians. It was rude."
"You say that like I give a shit."
"You do," she pointed out.
"...Some of 'em are alright. Bastards, yeah, but sure so am I."
Letha nodded.
"I know. It was unfair to judge them all at once."
I played a piece on the board. She took that as it was meant, as forgiveness, and carried on.
"What I was going to say," she said, slowly, eyes locked on my face even as she played her turn on the Ludus board, "is that… well… you can… occasionally… make some decisions, because of your thoroughly understandable preoccupation, that are somewhat… suboptimal."
I gave her a look over the board.
"Lot of high-grade stone words there. Want to try that again with less syllables?"
"You know what I meant."
My temper was crawling back out again. Gods, did she have to pry so?
"Letha, I truly don't."
"Your spear-work-"
"Is fucking exceptional."
"I know that! I do! But- well, even Priam said you weren't exactly suited to it."
My hand, hovering over the Ludus board, froze.
"...Priam said that?"
Letha realised she'd fucked up.
"Not- Maria, you have to understand-"
"He said I'm not suited to the spear. Those are the words he used. That right?"
"Not- it was a conversation about temperament."
"My temperament."
"Not specifically! The students! We were-"
I realised, suddenly, that the teacup in my hand had cracked. Hairline crack running up the side of it that hadn't been there a moment ago. I put it down and surged out of the tent. Letha was calling out after me, but the pulsing blood in my veins kept me from hearing a word.
Doesn't understand, growled the Red Place.
Never will.
Shut up.
Not wrong, though.
The anger spiked in my chest. Now even my imaginary friend was picking my scabs?
Fuck. Off.
Spear's too long. Not close enough to touch them. See them. Feel the ripping and the tearing.
I said FUCK OFF.
I felt the Place pull back a little, rumbling with some strange emotion I couldn't understand.
Hate it all you want, it whispered.
Still be true after. And then it was gone, slithering back into the dark corners of my mind.
I scrubbed a hand over my eye. The anger hadn't gone anywhere. Just sat there, smoking sullenly in my belly, poisoning everything. The fuck did they know, though? The fuck did any of them know, at all, about me? Had this… this picture of me. The weird, corpse-looking half-breed girl, turtle-blooded as the day is long, pretending she's good enough to fight like the rest of us. And they kept pushing me to… to…
To fight like a-
And they all just ignored their own shit. Barbarians. Barbarians! Bronzeless bastards, idiots, and backwards hicks! Only we know what it's like to be actually civilised, never mind that we live in a fucking desert because everyone else thought we were so fucking disgusting they drove us as far away as they could.
Fuck.
Fuck.
That wasn't fair. That wasn't fair to any of them. But fuck me, I was just-
Anger still curdling in my chest. Tried to push it down, lock it away, crush it. Couldn't. Just felt it growing. Growing. Growing.
This was all my fault, though. Truth of it, if I was Optimatoi, real Optimatoi, I'd not be-
"Legionnaire?"
I blinked. Turned. The Drunkard in front of me bowed respectfully.
"That is correct, yes? To address a Golden Devil respectfully? Or would Senior be more appropriate?"
I stared at him for a moment.
"Legionnaire's fine," I said. "Or captain. It's what the pins mean."
He bowed deeper.
"Forgiveness, Captain. This humble one would never-"
"'S fine. What d'ye want?"
The Drunkard rose, but kept his eyes respectfully averted.
"The masks for the tournament are forged. Will you take one?"
He pulled a mask from a leather bag. It was a rough, leaden colour, halfway between grey and silver. Roughly made, but ornate for all that – a snarling celestial lion, its mane haloing its face. It's mouth, open in a silent roar, would let the wearer see out of it.
I took it gently. It was still warm from the forge.
"There are also these," said the Drunkard, handing me several rolls of thick black bandages. "To be worn across your body and face. Be warned, honoured captain; the tournament is merely an entertainment. A temporary diversion. Any attempt to cause serious injury will trigger the techniques within the masks. You will be frozen, and disqualified."
I said nothing. He bowed again, and left.
Sat there for a little while. Thought of blows thudding into flesh, faces under cloth and spirit steel contorting in freshly-delivered pain, idiots staggering back from me. Because I was good. Because I was better than them. The anger purred inside.
Stood, slowly.
Fuck it.
---
Tournament started the next morning. Quick turnaround. Not surprised by that, really; this was a boil that had to be lanced. You could see it in the arena, too; they'd crowded every combatant into one of the larger tents in camp – what had been, up until about an hour ago, a mess-hall. The ring was hacked into the ground by Cao Pai Mei, a single flicker of his sword sending shimmering dawn sunlight through the floor. The elders were seated at the back wall of the tent, faces carefully expressionless. The Honourable Sibling was the one exception. They stood, serene and immovable as a cliff-face, in the centre of the ring. The rest of us swarmed around the edges, a sea of bandages and masks.
And we were hungry.
You could feel it, crackling through the air of the room. We were hungry, starving even, for a chance to just… let go. To fight. To layer punch after punch after kick after kick after every kind of strike and blow we could manage, all one after the other, until at last – at last – there'd be peace inside us.
Even just a little, we promised ourselves. Even just a little would do.
Sibling's eyes, cool and dark, roamed over the crowd. They smiled.
"We shall begin in brackets," they said, voice cutting the mutterings and curses silent. "I shall select you two by two. You will fight until I say to stop. No serious wounds are to be inflicted. The loser shall leave the tent. The winner shall stand in front of the elders. This is how we will proceed."
They pointed, seemingly at random. Two combatants stepped out of the crowd. It wasn't hard to place them, either; one lurched and stumbled as they walked, and the other's hand kept reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Then again, the anonymity was only ever a fig leaf, the barest excuse to let us finally fucking fight.
Sibling stepped back.
"Begin."
Their lips barely closed before the fighters lunged across the ring like starving wolves, hands and feet blurring. The Divine Sabre was at a disadvantage here without their sword, but it didn't matter; they still threw themselves into the fight with an almost addictive fury.
Strike. Strike strike strike. The Drunkard swayed under a kick, dipping almost to the floor, spun into an odd, ungainly twisting-jump-
Divine Sabre lash out again again againagainagain-
Doesn't matter. Drunkard's legs close like scissors. Catch the neck. Thighs work, squeeze through the feet-
"Enough."
Sibling's voice still soft, reverent. Drunkard paused. Mask turned to watch the elder.
Beat.
Legs unwrapped. Landed in an awkward sprawl-turned-roll-turned walk. The sabre rose, shakily.
Another beat.
Then I was screaming. Shouting myself hoarse, throat scratching at my voice like sandpaper tearing at silk, full of the mad joy of a second hand victory. Wasn't alone, either. The tent had gone mad, howling congratulations or jeering at the loser. The sabre's shoulders hunched. They stalked out of the tent through the sneering masses.
This. This was perfect.
The next few fights went by in a blur. The crowd kept bellowing and roaring through each match, revelling in the chance for the fight. Sibling's inscrutable smile never shifted as they directed the madness, sending us two by two into the ring. People started leaping, waving their arms, desperate for their chance.
The fifth fight was the first to stick with me. Sibling gestured again, and two more lucky chosen stepped onto the field. Already, though, I knew how it was going to play out. One of the two was a hulking brick of a figure, a good seven feet tall, their frame crammed to bursting with muscles. Every step came with a brutal grace, too, gliding as much as walking. I couldn't figure out who they were under the mask. Must have been one of the itinerants.
The other I got the instant they started to move. Cultivation brings about change after change in the body. Tendons stretch, equilibrium sharpens. It can be imperceptible, it can be obvious, but it's always there. But this one moved like a mortal. There was only one person in the camp who moved like that. The Sorcerer from Xin.
She was going to die. Didn't matter how good Sibling was; one punch would take her head clean off. The thought punctured my reverie for a moment. I should stop her. Say something. At the very least, try to warn her off. But as I went to speak, her mask turned, and I felt the heat of her furious gaze on me.
Not a word, those eyes said.
Not one.
...Well, if she wanted to die that bad, I wouldn't stop her. The crowd roared again.
"Begin."
The brick laughed.
"Can't kill you, pipsqueak," he growled, "but I can still-"
That's as far as he got. The sorcerer's hands had moved into strange, twisting shapes, flashing back and forth like fitful embers, then lashed forward. Her eyes blazed with red-yellow light. Then, fire. Fire surging out from her, blinding the room and searing the air. It poured across the space. The brick screamed-
"Enough."
And the fire stopped dead, hanging in the air. The sorcerer let it stay for a moment longer.
"Pipsqueak is the kind of insult reserved for imbeciles who don't even realise it's a cliché," she said snippily. "In future, try a little harder." The fire winked out. She stepped out of the ring.
The brick, like the rest of us, stared after her. Then something seemed to snap.
"No."
Sibling's head tilted.
"No?"
"Fucking bitch cheated," growled the brick. "No lethal intent, you said-"
"And none was present," said the sorcerer.
"That would have killed me!"
"No. It would have scorched you a little, burnt off a few of your clothes, and embarrassed you. Most of it was bright lights and pretty colours."
"Then why the fuck did that end the match!?"
Give him his due, he could pivot quick for such a big fucker. Sibling's smile widened a fraction.
"Because in a real fight, you would be dead," they said. "The spell was restrained. It did not have to be."
"I said BULLSHIT! Rematch, now, or-"
And for the second time he was interrupted. Sibling didn't move. I was sure of it. There had to be a different word for what they did – going from one place to another without bothering with anywhere in between. They stood in front of the brick, now, one fist buried in his stomach. He made a sound, deep in his chest. A kind of rasping, clicking sound, like a scream dragged out of empty lungs.
"You are, as of yet, not permanently harmed," said Sibling. The brick clicked again. Then, teetering, he half walked, half-crawled out of the tent.
The crowd exploded into raucous cheers. The fight had been good, but the follow-up had been better. I was snarling along, joyous and wild. But only for a moment. Sibling turned back. "You," they said, pointing.
At me.
...Oh. Oh, at fucking last. I was across the floor and skidding into the ring in an instant, my face locked into a rictus-grin behind the mask. The anger was still a solid lump in my chest, but I could feel it shifting, roiling, impatient for release.
Soon. Very soon.
I squinted across at the figure on the far side of the ring. Didn't recognise them either, not immediately. Lithe. Hands still and ready by their sides. No reaching for a weapon. Too disciplined for an itinerant. Strength Purity, maybe? Didn't matter. I'd fucking end them.
"Begin."
I lunged, and they met me half way, our arms cracking back and forth across the space in a dance of strike-block-counterstrike. Fast. Too fast, almost. Felt myself focus in, thoughts streamlining. The crowd were shrieking harridans. Silenced them. No room for distractions. No room for anything but the fight.
Kick to the knee. Twist of their hips, leg moves aside, my foot stamps on air and keeps going. Two palms rocket on a collision course with my chest. Can't block. No time. Remember the Drunkard. Can't hurt. Lean back, arm out to slap the ground. Palms rocket past my head. They don't quite catch themselves – overextended – punish that with a side kick to the elbow. Let the momentum carry me upright. The blow connects, but suddenly they're fluid as water, spiralling away.
Stand opposed, mirror images of one another. The grin's spread across my face, now. I'm fighting down hungry laughter. Impatient flick of my head.
"Waiting for something?"
Stupid taunt. Still can't place them. Voice is indistinct, distant. And yet, for all that anonymity, this feels intimate. The depths of our souls are open to each other in this pointless, wonderful bout. Violence like kisses, full of lust and meaning.
They're sick of waiting. Start across the ring again. I wait. They can do the work this time. Meet them with another kick, sharp, probing, blocked by a well-placed elbow strike. Momentum. They like to fuck around with momentum.
Test the theory. Close the last few inches, throw stabbing little strikes. Block and redirect, block and redirect, block and redirect. Fuck-all space, and they're still controlling the line of the fight, sending my blows where they want them to go. Smart. Strength Purity. Definitely Strength Purity. No-one else hits that kind of clever in hand-to-hand except the Drunkards, and this one's far too disciplined for that. Alright. How to handle smart?
Close further, use my knees in rising slams and palms in open slaps. Big moves. Flashy. Tempt them a little by loosening my defence. Take the opening. Come on. Take it.
Slap-dodge-no counter. Knee-dodge-no counter. Fuck. Are they onto me? Slap-slap-knee-elbow-still nothing. Then-
Slap-rising palm strike-open guard-
Blow comes for my chest.
Got you.
Let the blow land, bruise running over my ribs. Lean into it – close with them. Throw off their balance (too much force in the strike, didn't see this coming because of course they didn't, doesn't make sense, unless-) so take advantage. Fingers wrap themselves in their bandages. Drop my head. Yank.
Crack.
A headbutt is a simple thing – a skull, moving at speed, delivers a blow more powerful because it's inherently unexpected. Risking your head for a strike? Better be a damn good one.
The Strength Purity staggers back, all rhythm ruined. Got the fucker out of their zone now. Move to take advantage again-
"Enough."
Sibling's voice dragged me back to reality. The crowd snapped back, bathing me in roars of approval and howls of fury. I wasn't expected to win, it seemed.
The Strength Purity hesitated, then bowed.
"Another time."
Male voice. Still no face to put with it, or a name. He walked proudly out of the ring, through the crowd, out of the tent. Sibling waved me to the winner's section. Septimus shot me an approving little not-quite-smile.
It was a nice gesture, but I couldn't enjoy it. Gods. I'd been close. I'd been so close, so nearly-
Nearly what?
Oh, talking to me again, are you?
I settled into a kneeling position as the next fight started. Tried to force myself to pay attention, watch the fighters. No good, though. The Red Place was going to have its due.
Nearly what? What was going to happen?
I went to answer, and only then realised I had none. There had been- something. Not just releasing the anger; that had gone the instant I dived into the battle, caught up in the violent chess of close-combat. Something else. Something important. But I couldn't quite explain what.
Best figure it out, then. More fights coming.
Thank you for that. How long have you studied at the obviously self-evident sect?
It didn't reply. I hissed. Sat back. Gave up on watching the fights and tried to think, but my mind fought me every step of the way. And then the crowd was gone. The last loser had stalked out of the tent, cursing as they went. Only victors here, now.
Sibling turned to look at us again. That inscrutable little smile flickered across their face.
"Well done. Next, partner bouts. I shall pick four of you in two partnerships. The winning side must have one fighter still standing. As before, I shall tell you when to stop. I will also tell you when you are defeated."
"Yes senior."
Ass-kissers. Sibling gestured.
Huh. Well, at least I wouldn't have to wait this time. I rose, and stepped into the ring. My partner followed. The sorcerer, I realised. Alright. This should be interesting.
"I'm the anvil," I muttered as soon as she was close enough. "You're the hammer. Get behind them, drive them into me. I'll cover you."
"Am I to receive no input?"
"You got a better idea?"
The sorcerer – Shanshu, I at last remembered – paused.
"Alright," she grumbled, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. "Fine. At least it's something."
But I'd stopped paying attention, eyes locked on the other partnership. Couldn't tell if Heaven was fucking with me or the Imperator was offering me mana from his throne.
The first one was a Divine Sabre again. Shorter than most. Slight curve to the hips suggested a girl. But what gave her away was the spear she had on her back. My spear.
Lan Hua.
I pointed to the weapon. "She draw that last round?"
Shanshu looked over and shook her head.
"No. Strict hand-to-hand."
"Good to know."
The other I recognised even faster. Controlled movements without a drop of effort wasted. Mana, I decided. Definitely mana. Praise be unto the Imperator.
Draconis stood opposite me, settled into a fighting stance. And I was going to get to kick his ass.
"Begin."
So I did. The plan was solid. I was sure of it. But Shanshu would need a distraction first, to get in position. I had to get their attention and hold it.
Well. It helped they were both idiots with egos bigger than Mount Tai. I raised my arms and jeered.
"This? This is what I get? Two idiot worms in human guise? Maybe I should complain too."
Sibling's head tilted, eyes watching me.
"They're fucking idiots! Nobody! There's one of him in every city in the world! And as for her, well… brothels are dime a dozen, aren't they?"
Lan Hua snapped first. Roaring like a stuck pig, she flung herself at me. I met her as she came with a solid elbow, taking her in the jaw, and hooked my foot around an ankle to add insult to injury. She tripped, dropped, fell.
"Come on," I beseeched Sibling. "This is just embarrassing. Give me someone else. Anyone will do. A paraplegic would even be a step up."
Draconis didn't move. He circled instead till the girl was between me and him. Clever. I couldn't punish her without giving him space to hit me, and if I went for him, she'd get my back to rain down blows on.
Didn't matter, though, because as he circled round, he put himself between me and Shanshu. I snapped into the grin again.
"Dumbass."
No reaction to that, but he did notice when I charged. Which wasn't unfair. I was screaming as I did it. Lan Hua tried to stop me, scything her legs around in a spinning kick from the ground, but I leapt over it, curling my back until I hung in mid-air between the two.
Let me teach you why outside-formation combat's an important area of study, you fuck.
I rained kicks down onto Draconis in a never-ending torrent, kicking and chambering and kicking again. None were strong enough to kill him, but that didn't matter. I just had to give Shanshu the last few seconds she'd need. Lan Hua was trying to force herself up into standing position. That could be useful. I caught her shoulders, pushed down. Felt her arms go as she went down.
"Burn," whispered Shanshu. Her hands, I saw, flickered into position-
Only to snap apart as Draconis took one of my kicks on his shoulder and let it carry him to the side, putting me right in Shanshu's firing line even as he took himself out of it. I watched her eyes widen, and the spell sputtered out. Clever fucker had been paying attention. As he pulled clear, I landed the ridiculous distraction jump with an awkward little wobble. Lan Hua took advantage, pushing up again as I lost my weight and leverage. With that, she was back on her feet, circling around to Draconis' side.
Fuck. Okay, the plan-
And then Lan Hua brought her hands up again. Somehow, she'd palmed a shard of rock from the arena floor – a rough, angular little thing that might -if you squinted – look like a sword. Qi poured down her arm, into the makeshift blade, and rushed out in a purple grey arc of spitting, hissing power.
Shanshu's eyes widened. That was all she had time for. The Xin didn't bother with body cultivation; sorcery was their primary focus, and everything else fell by the wayside. Which was great when they could keep their distance and rain down spells like artillery fire, but in a fight like this?
The qi-blast sent Shanshu skittering out of the ring, rolling as she hit the floor to slam into the far wall. I heard her muffle a curse.
"Disqualified," said Sibling. They raked their eyes over the three of us, and nodded.
"No malice aforethought, no permanent harm done. Continue."
Draconis turned his masked face towards me. Underneath, I could almost feel him grinning. Lan Hua wasn't much better. I knew that sword stance. She wanted to draw this out; take her time with the limited pain she could make before Sibling stepped in.
They started to circle me again, going in opposite directions till I had one on either side.
...Fuuuuuuck.
"Ready?"
Draconis's voice, cold and amused.
Lan Hua would give assent. They'd try… whatever it was they were trying. Or I could stop them first. So I let go of thoughts, and threw myself at Lan Hua.
She'd not quite expected that. Her arms came up, pulling her sword out of position for a second swipe. Draconis muffled a curse behind me. His footsteps thudded closer on the ground. I had seconds. If that.
Took tight hold of Lan Hua's stony blade and pulled. She fought me for a moment, knuckles whitening as she clung to it, but I was stronger. It came away. I turned, twisted the blade, and lashed out. Draconis took the flat of the blade full on the face.
There. Off-balance, both of them. Take advantage.
Started with another onslaught of kicks on Draconis, hitting the side of his knees and legs. Met his blocks with new kicks. Sharp. Painful.
Followed with clawing scratches on Lan Hua, digging bloody furrows on her skin with my nails. Felt her tense with the pain. Yanked her arm out of my grip. Slapped her open handed across the masked-face for a little extra shock value. Back to Draconis, punches this time. Close. Hit the fucker. Hit him hard. Can't let him recover.
Felt the stillness and the focus, again. The world outside the ring drifting away. Flickered back and forth between Lan Hua and Draconis. They were good, both of them. Had to keep that from mattering. Had to keep control of the fight.
Punches to Lan Hua. Stamps to Draconis's inseam. Wrist-lock to pull to shove, sending Lan Hua staggering across the ring. Palm strike. Palm strike. Palm strike.
Something like calm washes over me. The anger's gone altogether, now. Red Place is watching with rapt attention. Can't think why. Just a spar.
See them try and rally. Can't let them. Jabs to the gut for Draconis – worked for Sibling – and a dropped elbow to her crotch to another rising palm strike. Keep the guard closed and watch her strike at a weakpoint that isn't there.
Idiot.
Another hail of palmstrikes. Face-shoulders-arms-chest. Pull the blows.
Calm is spreading. I'm
Close
Again.
Red Place still watching. Draconis trying to rise. Elbow to skull to ring his bell. Heel kicks up into Lan Hua's shoulder, sends her reeling.
On the edge of that- that feeling. Then over the edge.
Then
F
a
l
l
I
n
g
.
.
.
A Lesson.
In the heart of-
Suddenly I'm there at Three Frogs again. The legionnaires are stacking the dead from where I lie.
...No.
-all things, there is a-
Outside, weeping exhausted tears, feeling tired and dirty and monstrous, while on the horizon Rina Callista shines like everything the Optimatoi are supposed to be.
No, please, Gods, No-
And the ground rushed up to meet me with a solid thud.
The memories were still crawling in my head like maggots. This. This was too much. This was all just far too much. I could see, beyond the ring, the open mouth of the tent.
Out. Have to get out. Havetogetooooooout.
I bolted, scrambling like a monkey out of the ring, across the floor, into the camp.
---
Kept running.
Kept running.
Kept running.
-Slam.
Didn't see who I hit. Only knew I'd fallen, rolled. Whoever it was followed after me, barely catching themselves.
"...Maria?"
Letha. I'd hit fucking Letha. I turned to her. Tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. She dropped next to me and sent her hands spidering over the mask.
"It's alright. Let me-"
And then there was cool fresh air on my face and I could breathe.
"...Letha."
"Maria, what- are you alright?"
Gods. Clearly, my best friend paid no attention to the pattern of my life, or she'd skip such stupid questions. I choked down the laugh that rumbled in my chest, blinked my eyes, tried to push myself upright again. Letha slipped a hand behind my back to support me.
"What happened?"
I shook my head, trying not to think about it. I couldn't make myself put a shape on- that. That madness, that vision.
There was the briefest moment where it was just us, her and me, sitting there, staring at one another.
And then the others arrived.
I saw Shanshu sprinting towards us over Letha's shoulder. Her mask was gone, leaving her red-grey hair to fly out behind her like a comet's tail.
"You ungrateful little-" she gasped, staggering to a halt. "How the fuck could you not-"
Then, arriving without any hint of motion, the Honourable Sibling loomed over the three of us. Their eyes fixed on my face.
"What did you see?"
"What did she ignore, you mean! What did she disregard like an idiot child!"
Letha rose, and planted herself firmly between me and the other two.
"I think you need to calm down, please, and stop upsetting my friend," she said firmly.
They stared at her. I realised, with a sinking heart, that this could only be taken as an insult. The Righteous didn't talk to each other like that, even when it was merited. They'd beat the shit oout of her.
But they didn't. They stopped. Blinked. Looked at each other. Shanshu noisily breathing out, making herself relax. The Sibling raising their hands, palms up and outwards. Stepping back to give me more room.
"Thank you. Now. Will someone explain what just happened?"
"Lost a fight," I muttered.
The sibling shot me an inscrutable look, then turned back to Letha.
"She saw something," they said. "Something important."
"Her fucking dao," growled Shanshu sullenly. "I felt it. Somehow, this idiot managed to get a glimpse of her dao-heart. Or at least she would have if she hadn't literally run away."
That brought Letha up short. She turned to stare at me.
"I- you… you did?"
I closed my eyes. Reached for words, but couldn't find them. Nodded.
"This isn't the first time," said the Sibling, watching me. "You've seen this before. Or something like it."
I nodded again. Letha's face crystalised with shock.
"When?"
"Three Frogs," I muttered. "After I – After."
There was a deathly silence as all three stared at me.
"Why did you- Maria, I've never seen you run away from anything."
"She was afraid," said the Sibling again. They had started talking like they were trying to coax me off a ledge. Worse, it was working. "Yes? It was… unpleasant."
"Don't want it," I muttered. "Never asked for it."
"Well why the fuck not?" Shanshu's temper flared into life again. "You could have learnt your damn dao. Or at least got an idea of it! Do you know how much that could, could…" She stopped, scrabbling for words to give shape to her indignation. "There are sorcerers in my order who have spent their entire lives trying to understand the Dao of fire. They have treatises on the subject going back for millenia. And you're just – just offered it, and you don't- Why? WHY?!"
She glared. Stared. Waited.
So, I realised, did the others. Their eyes pinned me to the wall. I had no response. Nothing I could explain. Nothing that would make sense. How could they understand? How could I ever explain it?
"Maria?" Asked Letha, gently. "Will you-"
And that was as far as she got. Shouts. Shouts echoing around the camp. Coming from the gate. I forced myself to sit up, wake up, focus.
Strength Purity. There was a Strength Purity stalking in through the gates, his clothes battlestained and streaked with blood. Clutched in his hand was a letter.
There was only one thing that could have been.
"Marching orders," I whispered. "We're going to the fucking fearless line."
---
Oh my GODS this one took forever to write. And is also fucking huge. Still, done now. One more, hopefully shorter, and its over.
@TehChron @Kaboomatic @Humbaba , may I have a threadmark please?
