Sweat made the sword's handle slippery, but not enough to loosen the grip. With a single overhead parry, the incoming blow was diverted, and before the other swordsman could retaliate, a slash to his stomach signaled his end.
"Fatal blow achieved. Victory to Arate!"
The trainer's white flag signaled the end of the session, and both boys placed the training sabers back in their racks, then crashed on the hard wooden benches that lined the walls of the training room. The air stank with the sweat and frustration of three dozen young men, none of them over seventeen. The room itself was divided into several sections, each meant for a specific form of training. Swords, shock batons, and spears were the most common, marksmanship being limited to darts and throwing knives.
"What's the score again, Hesb?"
"Four out of six", replied Arate, cleaning his hair with a towel. "Still need to pass the endurance test. Not to mention the whole shooting thing."
"Didn't you finish the tag duels?"
"No. But if I do get them, that should cover the gap in games and theories. Still can't figure those out."
The group next to them finished their duel, a double mêlée between two imprinted and two natural double mixed. The victors, a pair of twins with an olive complexion and a strong athletic physique. Looking at their movements, they showed all the signs of imprinted traits. Though, with a heavy sigh, Arate knew it wasn't the case. Their mistoa mother was simply unfortunate to have met troops who needed sexual release.
"Not bad for a natural. Just…make sure you have my back in the doubles. I can manage singles, no problem. Well, not against you, but still…"
Arate's laughter simply vanished into the room's slashing sounds. Emlin had barely won a single duel in the last five months. Still, he was among the most vocal supporters of the eastern expedition that had been trumpeted for years now. Students were expected to get acceptable marks in all physical activities to qualify for anything beyond Department One or Six. Even students who had been prepared for executive or commercial jobs were forced to attend weekly training sessions. For those aiming for Department Four, it was a once every two days event.
The trainer's whistle forced his mind back into the muscle grinder. "Arate, Emlin! Tag duel against the Kaksiks. Sabers only. Victory gained by hitting a vital spot or by dealing three non-fatal injuries. Take your places!"
Emlin looked confused, then saw his opponents.
"Sir, wasn't this duel enough? I mean, I did pass the squad level tests two weeks ago, and…"
"Spare me the excuses! You're still behind in marksmanship, scouting, and basic healing. If you want to have any shot at being part of the 157, then you had better get your sword hand perfected. And besides, you've got a decent partner."
Emlin looked at the twins, then back at Arate, wanting to be anywhere but here. All he found staring back at him was a resigned stare. He had no choice. His sore legs barely found the needed energy to stand, frustration being the drug that oiled his gears.
The twins were already in the designated area, brandishing the standard meter-long weapons. Hollow on the inside, holding delicate sensors that recorded the intensity of each blow as well as the place of the body where they struck. The tip was moderately sharp, and though the blade was dulled, it could still knock out teeth or break a bone if hit with enough force.
Arate joined him, taking the first step in the rectangle. All four boys raised their left fists in a salute, then gripped their weapons. He met Arate's glance for a brief second, but if there was any pillar of courage, he didn't have the time to find it. A second whistle pierced the air, and the four metal rods clashed in unison. Arate blocked a series of overhead strikes, only to have his fingers struck by a blow under the weapon's guard. His slim body bent, trying to avoid a collapse, only to feel a sharp blow to his shank.
"Point to Deik! Separate, then resume."
Emlin dodged three blows, more than anyone had expected. A fourth went right past his ear, and when he perceived an opening he went for it. Which was just another feint. The blade found its mark, striking him in the elbow. He rolled over, the pain of the blow flowing into his nerves like liquid fire. The other duelist was atop of him in mere moments, ready to deal the fatal blow, only to have it intercepted by Arate's blade. Emlin to the chance, and dealt another blow to the man's ankles, evening the score.
"Keep your eyes on the other one. Let me deal with Deik."
Emlin nodded, his grip slightly slouchy due to the effort. After the second whistle, Arate charged in, avoiding a strike to his chest by a summersault, then delivering another non-fatal to his enemy's back. He parried a strike to his back, but before he could deliver another strike, he was knocked over by his partner, who crashed into him after taking a punch to the stomach.
"P…lease, let me get out! Nothing's worth this."
"How much do you want it?" asked Arate, still keeping his eyes on the twins that were now circling them.
"Not enough to die in this damn place!"
"We're not dying. And I'm going to get you in!"
Arate pushed him out of the way, barely dodging another strike to his face. Both teams had dealt with two non-fatal, so he needed to be cautious. The twins had split again, Deik staying at a comfortable sword length, while the other was looking for a chance to strike Emlin.
"At my signal!"
Two blows came at the same time, and Emlin ducked the moment he felt Arate's hand on his wrist. Both swords missed, and while still in the crouched position, Arate flipped his blade, disarming his opponent.
"Damik, evacuate the ring! The fight will continue!"
Deik took a brief moment to catch his breath, then lunged, blade pointing backward for a wide slash. Emlin parried, only to receive another punch to the cheek that dropped him. He got up, giving Arate an apologetic look. He was losing, and he knew it. I'm not wasting another two weeks in those damn libraries because of you, sloucher!
Much to his surprise, Emlin did manage to parry. The second blow came from Deik's foot that found his side. The man lowered his blade for the final strike, only to have it caught. Arate's face was impossible to read. Focus had stripped all other emotions from him. The blades, caught in the tension of desperation hovered over the collapsed man. All that was needed was for one to give in.
The kick to his ankle came out of nowhere. Blades disengaged, and Arate felt himself falling backward. I've failed. Damn you, I've failed. The words echoed in his mind, looking at the blade that was about to strike his head. He refused it. Five months of tests and training were useless because of an incompetent partner. The blow came lower and lower, but for some reason, it seemed to be slowing down. Vision began to vibrate, then Arate saw the boy's arm slowly freezing in mid-blow.
The world around him became unreal. He was aware that he was still in the training room. But all around him, the world had stopped moving. Everything except for himself. Humans and objects seemed granulated, as one would see them through a fine net. He touched his blade, finding it to be solid. Looking at Deik, he saw the angle of his weapon. He had assumed that it was aiming for the head, but in reality, it was a feint. The real strike would have come to his chest. All he needed to do was to punch his wrist to deflect the blow. Something that he couldn't have seen otherwise. He would win. It was his right.
Gripping the handle of his blade, he moved his hand forward. In a blink, the world became as it was before. The handle struck Deik's wrist, and before the other had a chance to react, the tip of Arate's blade found his abdomen. His senses felt alien to him. Vision was the only thing certain at the moment. Looking into his opponent's face, he could see his stunned disbelief. What did just happen? And how?
His senses streamed back inside him. First the smell of the room. Then the feel of the blade. The sounds were confusing. He heard his name and saw two other trainers pulling a screaming Deik backward, tackling him to the floor. There was no telling what they said. He felt his other hand wet and looked at it. Red. And the sounds still came in clearer this time. Screams of pain. He noticed Deik's blade. Then, he saw it impaled into Emlin's arm.
*** ***
"I never wanted this, Ui!"
"At least the damage isn't permanent. They can repair his arm. And besides, you won."
Arate's face was frozen with revulsion and the mid-day cold. Canolfan's winters were mild for the most part, with their fair share of snow and the occasional blizzard. The afternoon's sky was hazy, and a gentle snowfall draped the capital in white. The training grounds and its chaos was behind them, the two boys walking down the crowded pedestrian streets. In their brown coats and fur hats, they seemed like giants. Much more so for Arate. His own slim body felt more like a rack draped over by a tent.
"At the cost of crippling him." Replied Arate, tucking his hands in his pockets, despite the leather gloves.
The other man gave him a glass of hot lethian that he had gotten from one of the street vendors. The pleasant taste made his mind clear for only a brief second. The cup felt like it wasn't there. And his shivering hands tightened around an unseen object.
"Hesb, I don't see the point of all of this. You've passed your theories exams. That enough should get you an apprenticeship in departments One to Three."
"I still haven't passed the mental omnitest. And besides, even if I do, you know that..."
"Unknown blood. Sure, I remember."
It was the word that greeted him at the start of each school year. Since the day he understood the word orphan and father unknown. It may as well be part of his family name. The one he bore made him Distrian in title only.
"Both your parents are magisterial workers. Plus your skin's the same as ours."
"Mom's only a teacher. Not part of any department. And dad, let's just say that he's as loyal as the bankers who paid for the road we walk on."
"So that's your solution, join the army?"
"Might as well. Nothing is waiting for me here anyways."
"You do realize there are no safety guarantees. We don't even know what's on the other side of that damn ocean!"
Arate looked up at the hazy sky. The sun seemed to wink at him, covered under a veil of vapor. The Third Light was fully obscured, the only sign of its presence being an orange halo placed next to the sun. Looking at the two luminaries, he felt his hands tighten again. And he knew that it wasn't because of the cold.
"It's what I'm looking for."
"Say again?" asked Ui, tossing the empty cup.
"Did you ever feel like there's something that's owed to you, and yet you don't have it?"
"Lots of times. That doesn't mean I want to..."
"I do. Time and time again, I feel like I've been promised something, but no one has stood up to deliver. I don't know what, but I constantly feel like there should be something in my hands. Something of great value."
"Your Graduation Baton perhaps?"
"I'm serious, Ui. This came out of nowhere. I've thought of this before. And every time I think of that trip, I feel my hands heavy. Like the whole world was in them."
"Hesb, you're the first person I've met who wants to be burdened."
"It's worst if I don't. The more I think of them, the heavier the burden in my chest. I want it to be lifted. However, that may happen..."
"Sirs, do you want some warmers?"
Ui never noticed the mistoa girl until she tugged at his thick sleeve. Dressed in a worn coat, her dark brown skin showed a strong northern origin. She held a small box of warmers, tubes filled with ethin, which when placed inside clothes, increased body heat.
"Sorry girl, nobody's interested in forgeries!"
"They're genuine sir, I swear." she pleaded, her shivering fingers raising one to Ui's face.
"Do you see any labels on them? Beat it, girl, separi don't..."
His words were cut short by a sharp yelp of pain. Ui was grasping his bleeding nose, while the girl dashed into one of the side alleys, clutching a bundle of bills.
"That miserable kuja!"
He tried to run, only to have his feet slip on the wet pavement. She moves fast for a street urchin, pondered Arate, doing his level best to keep up. Dodging and shoving people aside, she ducked behind a corner, knocking boxes and trash containers as she ran. Straight and well-kept streets gave way to simple stone and brick houses arranged haphazardly. The only advantage was that there was little room to maneuver.
Arate felt his lungs burning. He was tiring and he knew it. From the looks of it, they had run close to a kilometer. And looking at the girl in front, he could see her legs slowing down. With a final effort, he increased his speed, and just as the girl was about to reach for the handle of a wooden door, he leaped and grabbed her by the wrist. She turned but didn't speak, her frozen eyes stabbing him with hate that shouldn't have been possible for someone her age. Arate instinctively felt his grip tightening.
"Return the..."
The girl's teeth had silenced the rest, sinking into his hand. A kick to the shin followed, and all Arate could do was watch her vanish into the dark of the opened door. Arate peered into the darkness. The air was significantly warmer. With careful steps, he descended the stone flight of stairs, finding himself inside a tunnel carved out of solid rock. With his hand close to his dagger, he advanced. There was barely any light, and if the girl wanted to attack, she had the perfect chance.
Yet she was nowhere. Slowly, it was becoming easier to see. The tunnel broaden, giving way to something broader. Glass containers filled with glowmoss were spread at various intervals, illuminating what Arate first assumed to be a cave. He was familiar with Canolfan's earlier days when limestone and granite had been mined for the buildings that now stood in the city center. The whole place was filled with shattered pieces of architecture, some of which he had only read about. And as he looked carefully, he noticed tunnels spreading out in various directions. Many of which were lit.
"Lost something, cub?"
His hand was on the hilt of his dagger for a moment. Ears trembling, he listened for footsteps. And sure enough, he heard them. The girl had stopped at the edge of one of the tunnels but didn't dare to move any further. Arate advanced cautiously. The same frozen hate was on her face, mixed with something new: curiosity.
"Is your pay so pathetic that you had to chase her all the way here?"
"Show yourself, or..."
"She dies? You're no killer. But you do work for one."
The voice was clear this time, and Arate turned in a split second, blade drawn. Sitting on a carved stone, was a boy no older than himself, probably even younger, judging by his size. He wore the grey vest of a magisterial student, the same as him, though they were mismatched with the shoes and pants of a sanitation worker. His sharp, bony cheeks bore a genuine smile.
"Who are you?!"
"Since you're in my house, how about I ask the questions? It's not that Lia wanted you here or anything."
The girl remained in the tunnel entrance and only left when the other boy nodded his approval. With the two of them alone, the other boy jumped from the slab, stretching his arms.
"I'm still waiting for your name, cub."
"It's Arate...my host. Your turn now!"
"Filou, my guest. Take a minute to catch your breath, maybe shed that coat. If you want to fight, it's going to get in the way."
Arate narrowed his focus. The other boy was a threat. And if his carefree attitude was a ruse, it was a pretty poor one. Watching him move was fascinating by itself. He most likely had formal training or was at least familiar with magisterial fighting forms. Plus there was the home-field advantage.
"You don't want to do this."
"You're right. I was hoping I could have Mama Bear over for dinner. But hey, if a cub goes back to the lair..."
Arate flung his coat in the boy's direction, only to have it sliced in half in an instant. Filou's dagger clashed with his, the boy dealing several overhead slashes, followed by an attempted punch to the throat. They exchanged a series of kicks and punches, daggers flashing in the dark, waiting to find their mark. Filou's movements were highly agile, dodging with flips and rolls, making him very hard to hit.
With a series of thrusts, Arate managed to push the other boy back, having a few moments to catch his breath. His use of acrobatics indicated Form Two, at least an amateur version of it. With a backward grip, Arate leaped on a series of boulders, landing next to his opponent, and the daggers clashed for the first time. Filou's parried, but his movements were becoming erratic and desperate. The blades met at the guard, Arate twisted, and with a side slash, slit the boy's throat without hesitation.
In the greenish light of the glowmoss, Arate looked at his own hands. The dagger, still present there, felt alien. Looking down at the other boy's corpse, his mind was determined to leave him. He had taken the life of someone he had met only minutes ago, and he had no idea why. Killer. I've become a killer. His hands opened and closed again, the burden in them vanishing as his tears tore his face.
With a trembling hand, he touched the body, and he felt it swell. Instinctively, he pulled back, watching as the boy's body grew in size until it resembled a ball. With a loud pop, it exploded, sending cakes and sweets flying all over the room. Some hit Arate, smearing his clothes, but before his mind could understand any of it, a sharp blow to the back of his head sent him rolling on the stone floor.
"Not that easy when you're without all of your gear, isn't it?"
Filou was standing several meters away, looking every bit as fresh as when the fight began. With his head still pounding, Arate got back up, the world crashing down around him. He wasn't hallucinating, of that he was sure. His body bore all the bruises of the fight. And yet the boy he had just killed somehow was standing there.
"You...I...how?"
"I'm not dead yet, cub. And to be fair, I was wrong. You do have it in you, which is why you're not leaving this place. If you were prepared to kill, you're a danger to them as well."
Looking at the peripheral tunnels, Arate could see that multiple people had gathered. Most of them were kids between ten and fifteen, with a few in their early twenties. Dirty faces and hunger-lit eyes looked at him with a strange satisfaction, waiting for the final blow. Filou pulled his dagger and approached.
"What are you?"
"A human. Don't strain yourself, I'm no ghost. I live and bleed, just as you. And I've done my share of bleeding. Most of it for them, at the hands of your kind!"
"I'm not a danger to you. Please, just let me go. I don't even know what or where this place is?"
"Then die in ignorance. At least they will have one less hunter to stalk them!"
With a sharp sprint, Filou closed the gap, and instinct alone kept Arate from taking a thrust to the rib cage. He parried the weapon hand, then delivered a series of slashes, none of which found their mark. With a flip, Filou landed on one of the shattered columns, and before Arate could decide on a course of action, a second flip landed him right behind him. Flesh met steel in an embrace of pain that birthed a scream which nearly drained his lungs. Grabbing a rock, he tried to throw it at the attacker, only to discover that it had become crumbled paper in his hand. Looking at his feet, he saw the dust turning into flowers that bloomed instantly, their stems becoming colorful paper tentacles. He tried slashing them, only to discover that his blade just passed through them. But when ten of them grasped his ankles, he knew those were no illusions. The earth under him took the consistency of jelly, and the tentacles pulled, causing him to collapse. The stony ceiling filled his vision, his arms, chest, and legs immobilized by red ribbons.
"Dibs on the coat and boots." shouted someone, a solo that opened a chorus of applause and cheers.
Filou's face replaced the stony view, cold metal caressing his skin. One simple move and all that was him would vanish. Unfulfilled, empty, and confused, he would simply fade out of a world in which he already found himself a stranger. His eyes felt dry. Not out of dignity, just mere panic. He waited, and time seemed to be patient.
The hand holding the blade moved, but upwards rather than sideways. And looking at Filou, he noticed a change, from determination to confusion. Then, something else caught his attention. The cleft of the boy's shirt seemed to glow orange. Barely noticeable at first, then stronger, pulsating like a living lighthouse. The hand at his neck trembled, and looking into the face of his executioner, he saw a new expression.
Terror.
"OUT! Everybody out! Scatter to the shelters! Move! Move!"
Filou's screams sent them flying in all directions, driven by a panic that they appeared to know all too well. Arate felt his binds vanish and he jumped to his feet, but before he could search for his dagger, the other boy slapped him without warning.
"You bastard! Do you realize what you've brought with you?"
"What did I do? I didn't..."
"The exit's that way," he whispered, pointing to the stairs he had just descended. "Get out while you still can."
He spoke in a hasty burst, his eyes looking around the cavernous surrounding. For Arate, the situation had gotten out of hand. If this was just another ruse, it was a damn good one. On the other hand, the panic that had entered the boy showed that the threat was real. The air felt heavy, filled with something that hadn't been there before. It made his heart pound, but there was also another sensation. A touch in his chest, the feeling of something that he should have known. His mind told him to run. But in his chest, another power forced his will. Act. I need to act now!
The glow in Filou's chest remained constant, sending radiant shockwaves across the walls. Then, without a warning, it vanished. He felt the boy tense, his eyes now fixed on one of the tunnels.
"Too late now. If you can fight, do so. Otherwise, don't get in my way!"
Footsteps echoed in the black, followed by a slurping sound. The sensation in Arate's chest returned with a painful vengeance, blurring his vision. He moved away from Filou, his mind sending him only one thought. But what did it mean to act?
A different sound reached them. Singing. The voice was that of a woman, humming a soft bedtime song.
Hush little child, evening has come,
Lady Mockingbird will sing you a song
And when the final note is done,
Your will to cry will run along.
For a brief moment, it reminded him of Ajutine, and all the nights he had fallen asleep while listening to her voice. Filou resembled a statue. All joy had left him, his body awaiting what was to follow.
The voice started and stopped, approaching with the certainty of life. The tunnel entrance vibrated for a brief moment, then Arate's eyes saw the outline of a woman. She halted at the entrance, then stepped into the light of the vaulted cavern. Her wet black hair reached the floor and she wore nothing but a nightgown, split at the chest level to expose her large breasts. Reason stayed for a brief moment, then waved goodbye when his eyes looked closer.
The woman held a naked boy. His head was crushed between the woman's breasts and his mouth was stuck to one of her nipples, their skin seemingly melted together. The only sign of life from him was the occasional spasm of legs. Silence surrounded Arate, as his mind tried to understand what he was seeing. Filou's breath sounded jagged, and a glance allowed him to see tears in his eyes. He knew the victim.
Halting her song, the apparition stroked the boy's hair, then turned its attention to the other two. Her eyes had all the appearance of being human, but they were also empty. Vessels that mocked life, searching for something that was beyond their reach. With a loving smile, she exposed a mouth of sharp teeth, then turned, heading towards another tunnel.
Filou stretched out his hand, and the debris on the floor at the tunnel's entrance rose in the air, turning into pink and white candles in the blink of an eye. In moments, the exit was blocked by them, and with a snap, their fuses lit, creating a wall of flames that halted the creature's advance. It turned, letting out a predatory hiss. Running on all fours, running towards the two boys, her mouth now a chasm of blades. Both of them jumped aside at the same time, and the creature's mouth struck a boulder, shattering it. Arate's landing was as painful as it could be, the lone consolation being the dagger that was now within the reach of his arm.
The creature got back up on only her legs, fingers now turned to sharp razors. Her hair rose towards the ceiling, weaving itself into black tentacles. It stared Filou down, advancing with slow steps. Multiple tentacles lashed out, tearing the air but not finding their mark. The boy's movements were far too fast. He opened his hands, and bright fireworks rockets appeared out of nowhere, igniting by themselves. They struck the creature with the force of actual bombs, engulfing its body in flames. Screams and explosions shook the stone, but the being still stood, her skin charred and scarred.
Filou dodged another attack, but not with the same speed. His blade clashed with the creature's talons, managing to knock her back. A second attack followed, and his right hand was gripped by one of the tentacles, forcing him to drop the weapon. A snapping sound followed, and the tentacle fell to the ground, cut by the boy's fingers. He landed on one knee, but before he managed another action, the creature leaped, talons ready for the final bow.
For Arate, the sensation of being back in the magisterial training hall returned. Vision became grainy, and all existence froze. He saw the same things, but everything seemed to be a transparent overlay covering something else. Predator and victim stood where he had seen them originally. But unlike the first time, there was something else. The top layer of his vision parted, exposing another image. The creature's attack wouldn't come from above but from the side. Allowing his mind to glide the waves of absurdity, he realized the impossibility of it all. He wasn't seeing what the creature was doing, but what it would do.
The dagger in his hand was the key. From where he stood, he had one shot. But where to throw, in what he knew, or in what could be. Realities split, torn by the blade that flew from the boy's hand. The world regained its movement, and moments later, a shriek marked the end of it all.
Filou stood in the same position, his eyes looking madly at the body of the slain creature, then back to Arate. The blade had found its mark, piercing the side of the woman's skull. He stood up, still holding the dagger. For a brief moment, the grip tightened, then Filou returned the weapon to his belt.
"At least it was only one," he whispered, looking at the child's charred remains.
"What was his name?"
"It didn't matter to his parents or the other Canolfan. Why would it matter to you?"
Arate looked at his dagger and laughed at his impulse to continue the fight. The creature's body was slowly changing, taking the texture of brown bristled clay, until it became a barely recognizable husk.
"Where does that leave us?" asked Arate cautiously.
"You were at my mercy twice. If I wanted to kill you, I would have. The door's that way. If you come back, you know what I can do. And besides, you talk about what happened here, and they'll put you down like a lunatic."
"That's it then? I saved your life, and you won't even tell me what that thing was?"
A blush reddened Filou's bony cheeks. In the tunnels, the sounds of voices could be heard again. One by one, dirty faces and tired bodies moved into the light with caution, staring in awe at the fallen monster.
"Fine then. I'll show mine if you show me yours. That was a Rubriste. Not that strong, by the feel of it. They're drawn to misery and despair. You hunting Lia all the way here was probably the drop that filled the bucket. As if these kids haven't been through enough already..."
"What is this place?"
"It's the other Canolfan. The one Mama Bear likes to pretend doesn't exist."
"Who?
"You know, the heartless bitch that sits in her palace all day. We're just taking back what they don't want. Build high enough, and you end up with a cellar the size of capital. Mess with babies, and..."
"You're talking about those kids, right? Do they even want to be here? You do know that there are orphanages."
"Problem is, cub, that some parents don't even take the trouble to do that much. Look at them. How many do you think are imprinted?"
"None. Or at least very few."
"All of them are", replied Filou with a disgusted sigh. "Their families spent huge sums to have just the right kind of baby. And when the gadgets go wonky, they've got their noses so high in the air that they can't see that they're still holding a human. Some of the mistakes end up where you said. The rest, just get thrown in dumpsters or left to die in some alley."
Arate felt his head spin. All the images of Distria felt like a corpse painted in gold. Looking at those around him, he saw the actual flesh. The Kingdom of the Three Lights was in darkness.
"I've saved over two dozen. The older ones go out themselves to find others. Sometimes they get there in time. Other times no. I've done my best to keep them safe, and I've failed with many."
"I can see why you had no interest in the conversation at first."
"That was then. Now it's your turn."
"To tell you what?'
"Who you are. When you threw that dagger, I saw your movement. You didn't throw it at the Rubriste but at space. How did you know it would end up in that spot?"
"I didn't."
"That's nonsense, and you know it. You somehow knew where it would attack before it did. Is that your gift, prophecy? Did it happen to you before?"
"N...no, it didn't happen before. And if I could see the future, I wouldn't have come here."
"Lying again. Fine, keep it to yourself then. My godmother will sort things out. She should be here pretty soon. Let's just say that she's got a talent for knowing when this kind of thing happens."
Minutes passed like the flow of mud. Arate felt content to just take in his surroundings. None of the kids had any interest in talking to him, and Filou and several of the older boys were busy sorting out the mess left after the battle. Finally, he heard the wooden door at the top of the staircase opened, and someone walked in.
"Go and get dinner ready."
The other boys left the chamber, leaving the two of them alone. Through the narrow tunnel passage, another woman came through, ripping an instinctive gasp of fear from Arate. Tall and slim, with short wavy blond hair and red lipstick, she let out an air of sparkling joy that almost made him want to run to a bar and dance all night. Filou's smile stretched as far as it could and he jumped in the woman's open arms.
"Ninth kill! How awesome is that, godmother!"
"Slow down sweetie. That wasn't a Rubriste!'
"But my body reacted just like with the rest. How can it not be? Are you teasing again or what?"
"Not this time. That was a Doppel. If it had been a Rubriste, it would have torn this place to pieces."
The woman walked over to the remains of the creature and tapped it with her index. It crumbled to fine powder that spread on the floor. Suddenly, something caught Arate's interest. A small amber-colored object the size of an egg rolled out of the dust, and the woman caught it in her hand.
"What was that?"
The woman gave no reply and put the object in the pocket of her fur coat. "You should inform me the next time you bring new people here. Poor thing, he looks dreadful."
"Wasn't like that before you came. Especially since he dealt the final blow," mumbled Filou. "Can you...check him out? I think there's a lot more to him than he's letting on."
The slender woman approached him, amused and intrigued by the new information. A tingling sensation at the base of his neck tensed his body, and Arate took a step backward. His spine felt strange, like being touched by unseen fingers that were searching for something. It felt strange, but also familiar. Who was the woman?
"Oh, I see." she smiled, pinching his cheek. "Well, give Choette my best wishes."
"Excuse me, who?"
"Choette, silly. She's my sister, after all. Though I can't imagine why she hasn't mentioned you before. Taking a godchild should be a cause for celebration, even for someone who spends most of her time learning."
"But I don't know anyone by that name!"
"Cub, are you that dense that you don't know the name of your godmother?"
Questions came and went, none of them with a foreseeable answer. She had him confused with someone else. It had to be.
"I'm sorry lady..."
"Drolette" replied the woman.
"This has to be a mistake. My godmother is Visku. And she never mentioned any sister."
"If that's the name she goes by now, I do find it strange. I get that we're not always on speaking terms, but if she gives somebody a Birth Gift like this, she could at least mention it."
Arate's thoughts wandered. He never remembered his Birth Gift. Even the few times he asked Jaris about it, he would only receive vague answers. What had he been given, and what was the link between what had happened today and it? The feeling of emptiness in his hands pierced him like nails, and he clenched his fists, the same thing he did every time. It didn't work.
"Got to give it to you, cub, you're the only person who can have a fairy as a godmother and not even know it.", said Filou, between bursts of laughter.