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The Fourteenth
Gusla 27th, 1125 Doam.The giant palm leaves curled next to the dead fire. Driftwood dead and pale in curls next to it. The empty shells of crab still smoking with burnt flecks and flaky flesh. I opened up yawning, staring up at a blue skyline with the intuition that the morning sun was just about to set and warm me. A small pale and furry creature with deep red eyes looked up to me with stolen fruit pulp in its mouth. It nudged its nose and sniffed and ran out into the underbelly of a fallen tree. It looked like Vincent. Standing, straw and fern fell from my body and onto the mound in the sand. My bag was gone. Clothes too. All that remained in the deep patch was my knife.
A naked crustacean ran to a new home, away from the fire. I looked at his empty cracked shell and the jagged edges at its end and picked it up, eying it.
I kicked sand into what remained of the fire. It fizzled, smoke came off. I lifted the knife and went a little away, closer to the city but still very much on the coastline edge. Sylas sat like a dark green patch on the fringe of muddy sand. The water close to his form. Behind him, two figures running. Then past him, towards me. Obrick and Kal.
Kal turned forward, hands on his knees breathing hard.
“He doesn’t run often.” Obrick said.
“Why are you two here?” I put the shell inside my tunic and tightened my waistband.
“Vicentius wanted us to get you two before we leave.” Kal said.
“We’ll be there in a couple hours. You two can go on ahead.”
I hadn’t even been looking at them, my eyes were set on the slouched figure with the cold demure whose eyes were fixated on the deep sea. And I was fixated upon him. What remote imaginary lands he must have seen in that great nothingness out in shore, an expanse so wide that even the ships disappeared into blue.
“What’s wrong with you two?” Obrick asked.
“We’re going to fight.” I said. “That’s what.”
“You’ve had all this time to spar. What’s one less fight? We’ve got to come back with you, you know that right?”
“It won’t last long.” I walked past Obrick.
“They’re moody.” Obrick mumbled.
“Water. Water, please.” Kal gasped.
Sylas stood and walked over to me, his head lowered so that all I could see were the gray hairs of his at the top of his scalp. He wore his tunic, his little cape that covered all of his form. I had my drab on and somewhere beyond, my red leather armor lay in a bundle next to Sylas. My trophy, as it was. Bare feet touched cold sand, I widened my stance as I walked forward. Left foot forward.
“What is this?” Obrick asked. “This isn’t a spar, is it?”
I took my knife out. Sylas took his knives out. The wind pushed sand away from the ocean. It blew my hair.
“What do you want?” Sylas asked.
“I want to learn more.”
“Why?”
“Because I never want to feel useless, ever again.”
“Is that it?” He asked.
“No. It’s not.”
“What more do you want?”
“To be better than the rest of the Flock.” I said. “To be better despite the contempt they show. Precisely because of the contempt they show.”
“Petty.”
“Yes, I am.” I said.
“If you get a drop of blood, I’ll teach you more then.” He said. “If you don’t. You quit.”
“That’s i-”
“You leave the flock forever and find somewhere comfortable to live.” He said. “You forget everything. It would be my gift to you.”
My eye twitched. He smiled. We raised our blades.
The wind blew fast. Sylas sidestepped. It was so fast I lost vision of him for the moment, only knew that he existed in my periphery and by the time my face turned to look, the knife was coming to my eyes. I ducked. The blade flew past me, and I backed away.
“This is not a spar.” Obrick stepped forward. Kal gripped him by the shoulder.
“Let them at it.” He said.
“They’re going to kill each other.”
The knife attacks did not stop, did not hesitate, came from every angle and all I could do was block and dodge. And every second I stuttered at the quick shifting of my weight, deep into the sand and mud. Sweating. Bleeding. Like a blind dancer, every wrong move possible, done. Every dodge a surprise. I kept spinning and flipping and there was no stopping, because the flurry came. Blade strikes so fierce so fast so strong so close that the air whistled and my skin bled without my knowledge.
It was only in the few breaks. The few seconds of pause where I noticed the blood dripping from my cheeks. I’d forgotten to breath, I was starting to see black spots. One gulp of air. Sylas’s knife came forward straight for my forehead.
I slipped into his left. My knife aimed for his kidney. And below his cape, it appeared. A knife, coming up for my jaw.
I jumped out and rubbed the blood coming off my chin.
“Did you forget my other hand?” He asked.
Shit like that was what made me believe he had more than two arms. Like he was Sheva or something. A man so fast and strong that you couldn’t even believe he was human, or that we were the same species and to be honest, maybe we weren’t.
We circled each other, my head low and every wound on me smudged in streaks as I cut sharp angles. Sand was already on my cuts, stinging them. The sweat poured off me. Sylas opposite of me, was wooden. Still and wooden. Wrinkled, hard and rough. He wasn’t even moving back and forth. He wasn’t even pacing his legs. Something about that made me blow out the bangs from my face and groan.
“Is that it?” He asked.
I smiled. His eyes narrowed.
I kicked sand up to his face. Under the smoke screen I dashed through, a straight line.
I came in close, he had his hands to parry and throw me, or cut me, or kill me. But I stopped. The fraction of a fraction of a second before my body was to be thrown into his. I planted my feet and it was like all that running momentum was there, extended out. I raised my foot and kicked him. Right in the chest. Like I wanted to put a hole in him.
Sylas fell back. Both his blades knocked out of his hands, I saw his feet wobble and at that instant I turned my body, again. I flipped my knife in my hand and raised it above and with all I had, threw it.
It came spinning at him. Right for his chest.
His feet straightened. His posture, fixed. Sylas looked in front of him. He clapped both hands and sandwiched the blade. Caught it. With his palms. Even as I write, it sounds ridiculous. But he was a ridiculous man and this is a true account as far as I remember it.
And if you can imagine my awe in recollection, imagine my awe in the moment.
There I was. More wide mouthed. Stupefied. Silent and small with the ocean expanse raging behind me. The sun, just about coming up and highlighting with bright yellow my surprised face.
I jerked myself to alertness.
I turned my head, a knife reflected out in the sand. One of the two he’d just dropped. I blitzed for it. Slid. Dove. I grabbed the handle started to lift my arm up. Sylas planted his foot down on my wrist. I fell.
“You lost.” He said.
“What in the Four’s name was that?” Obrick asked.
“He caught him.” Kal said, slow and simple-like.
I looked up. My arm crushed beneath his feet, Sylas reached down and pulled his blade back. Now he had two knives. His own and my own and I had nothing, pinned to the floor.
“Clever move. If you were faster, it might have worked.” He bent down. The sweat fell from the side of my head. “You threw everything at me, quite literally.”
He stepped down on my arm. I winced. But I did not fight it. I stuck my hand in my pocket and waited.
“Hey, Sylas. Let go already.” Obrick said.
“This arm belongs to me, I’ll do what I want to it.” He said. He knelt down, which made all his weight on top of me that much worse. He put his knife against my shoulder and dug. I bled.
“Do you think you had it in you to be a warrior? A killer?” He said.
I looked up. My face tightened.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I said. “Don’t underestimate how stubborn I am.”
He looked down, his tired eyes staring into mine.
I brought my hand up, jagged shell in hand. Straight upwards, a slash aimed at his face. He pulled away and took his foot off me. I rolled down the sand.
I remained huddled over my shell, like I was guarding an infant. My body bunched and rounded. The water pulling at me.
Sylas looked up finally, the blood on his under chin coming down his neck in one small trickle. He looked at me and I don’t know what he saw. I don’t know what I felt myself, my crumpled over this stupid jagged shell like it was the only thing keeping me alive. So when he saw this diminutive, desperate figure, did he pity me?
Or was he afraid?
My face tightened.
“Do you see it in me now? Huh?” I screamed. “Do you see it, Sylas?”
Obrick and Kal stood silent on the sideline.
All the smiles left Sylas. Arrogance. Pity too. He went flat faced.
“Yes.” He said. “Yes, I see it.”
My body went weak with relief. I slumped down, face in the mud. The ocean waves hit me, I’m sure Kal and Obrick tried to lift me. But I stayed there like a stone. Just let me rest, just a moment. I think I earned it.
We both came to the Flock, into a tavern where the men were half-drunk and packing. Apparently, I was tan. Apparently, I was changed(?). Not taller. Not thinner or fatter. Just changed.
Vincent came to greet us at the front of the Tavern which, as I looked up to the square and flapping sign, was named Rosa Beu. Blue rose, if it wasn’t obvious.
He tightened a harness on a horse which was one amongst many in a caravan line that stretched down the whole whitestone street.
“My, my. You’ve both come back like used leather.” Vincent walked up to me and grabbed my arm. “It’s a good look.”
“Thanks.” I said. “I’m sorry we’re late.”
“Forgiven. Tell me everything.”
So we talked and talked and talked until morning turned to midday. Lounging around a stone bench and round table where my cheeks went swollen with fresh breads and fruits and meats. Telling the episode of every bruise and cut with sausage links skewered on my dagger.
“And I cut him on the chin.” I said. “Now he’s going to teach me everything.”
“Sylas? The Eastern Wind is going to make you the apprentice?” Vincent said, tipping a glass of wine into his mouth.
“Yes. He’s going to teach me Fao Si Wan.” I smiled, thumb pointed at my own chest.
Vincent choked on wine and coughed to the side.
“This isn’t a joke?” He asked.
“No. Why?”
“Never mind. Never mind, you should be happy.” His head rose smiling. “You know, I could always teach you too.”
“No, no, I’m fi-”
And I saw the immediate displeasure across his face, the small anger or resentment behind his red eyes. The one he hid as he looked away from me and rubbed the curls of his white hair.
“I understand.”
“I mean…! Not that I wouldn’t learn or anything, but it’s hard mastering two things at once. Right?”
“Right.” Vincent said. “Right. Right.”
What a terrible comeback impression I’d made. It still makes me cringe now.
“S-so. Anything new happen around the flock?”
Vincent - still recovering - picked at small pieces of bread like a bird.
“Yes.” He nodded. And getting more jovial, smiling again. “Yes. Yes. Remember when I told you months ago, about joining a group?
“Yeah. I almost got kicked out.” I said.
“Well, it seems like a few captains have taken an interest in you. Virgil. Do you know what they call you?”
“No. What?”
“Fire starter.” He stuffed a small red, grape looking fruit in his mouth. "Word came fast about your stint in Lao Lo. I think I've heard Bards begin to sing your songs."
"I have songs?"
"Songs and requests." He chewed. "The seventh. The third and the twelfth have taken an interest in you. They want you to interview with them.”
“That’s great.” I nibbled on sausage. "Real great."
“It doesn’t look like you think it’s great.”
“I must decline.” I said.
“You can’t. If you don’t join, with your tenure, I won’t be able to convince Soveros to not run you out of the company.”
“Oh no, I am joining a squad.” I said.
“Which?”
“The fourteenth.”
“We don’t have a fourteenth,” Vincent said.
“We will. And you’ll make it because of who will it lead it.” I said. “And Soveros will allow it too, because it’ll finally put a leash on someone who you can’t seem to control.”
“Who?” Vincent asked.
And somewhere off in the distance, I pointed. Vincent looked out in that direction, hand shading his eyes. Feeling and looking stupid at first, until he finally started to smile.
“He’ll never agree to it.” Vincent laughed.
“Trust me. He will.” I said.
Off, laying sideways on the edge of a balcony with a fruit in his hand, Sylas rested rubbing the cut on his chin.
“That’s enough for today.” Ritcher said.
“We can’t stop now.” I said.
“It’s already late. I can’t argue with the guards anymore.”
“I need to know what happens next.”
“Give me the book, Virgil.”
“I need to know.”
“Give me the book.”
“You’re not going to lose sleep over this.”
“No, not over that.” My voice went quiet.
“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” Ritcher asked.
“Yes. Yes it is.” The ceiling spilled on my forehead. It went down and divided my face in two. “I don’t want to go.”
“You’re his only friend.”
“And that’s why I don’t want to go.” I looked away to the dark corner of the cell, knees close to my chest. “Just to see him die.”
