Chapter 13.
Acantha… Acantha knew my mother. She knew my mother, why am I finding this out now?
Feeling betrayed, Jakob leapt to his feet, he asked Acantha a question.
"You… You knew my mother?"
"Yes, I did," Acantha said looking deep into Jakob's eyes, "She was one of my closest friends, the one who trained me and the one who gave me the memory of the king. Now sit-down, I haven't finished yet"
Stunned Jakob, didn't know how to reply. There were a million questions he wanted to know about his mother. What should I do? thought Jakob in pain. Slowly, he sat down, if only to learn more about his mother.
When Jakob had finally sat down Acantha started to tell him about his mother, "Your mother was a sorcerer like me. Although, while I am an iron sorcerer, she was a shadow sorcerer."
"She was like me?" said Jakob, his hope rising like hot air, "She was a shadow mage?"
"Yes, she was," Acantha nodded. "She was incredibly good at using her shadow magic. But rather than letting me explain," She paused, a subtle smile on her face. "Why don't I show you."
A hand reached forward, white runes coiled around her arms. With a touch Jakob's world started to spin.
The world spun in a thousand colours. Rippling like water, the sense of nausea resurfaced. At first there was darkness, nothing to be seen. All around Jakob sounds of chanting echoed, increasing in volume, piercing the darkness. The thick smell of blood hung in the air.
Wiping the darkness away a flame appeared. Surveying the scene of the memory Jakob sat back and watched. In front of the figure, whose memories he was watching, Jakob saw a sand covered floor. As the flame flickered, revealing more of the surroundings, Jakob's senses sharpened. The figure stood in the centre of, what appeared to be, a makeshift arena.
Jakob's focus honed in on someone at the centre of the arena, bathed in the unearthly glow. A hulking opponent stood opposite, muscles rippling under dim light, a formidable silhouette cloaked in shadows. The crowd's chanting reached a fever pitch, echoing through the arena.
The sound of a bell echoed.
The fight began.
Moving with a grace that reminded him of his cousin, the figure who Jakob was observing leapt forward. In the same motion they threw their hands forward. One seemed odd about the arms, and then in a sudden it was clear.
Acantha…
Acantha wore bracers like that. Was the memory he was watching from her?
Jakob watched as the metal bracers turned to liquid, just like Acantha had shown him earlier. This must be her, he realised.
I thought she was a trader, he paused, what exactly is going on?
The bell's echo still lingered in the makeshift arena, a haunting reminder of the battle that was about to unfold. The man, in front of Acantha, dropped low, assuming a grounded stance. His feet seemed rooted to the very essence of the arena, a living extension of the earthen floor.
With a shout, a hiss and a breath, the earth beneath Acantha erupted in a shower of mud and clay. Acantha leaping with a sharpness that betrayed a hint of furiosity managed to get out of the way.
"Earth… good… this will be easy," she smirked. Acantha's confidence radiated through the memory, not just in her words but in the subtleties of her body language. As she effortlessly shifted between forms of magic, her eyes held a glint of unwavering assurance, and small, sly smirks played on her lips. The liquid metal bracers, now resembling silver serpents, responded to her every command with a fluid grace that left Jakob spellbound.
The bracers shifted into a long spear. Grasping it in her right hand Acantha leapt forward. Sticking downward she aimed for the man's legs aiming to cripple him.
The man, reacting fast for his size, dodge to the side. It seemed like Acantha predicted this as Jakob watched as she continued the strike, impaling the head of the spear into the clay floor. Using the momentum, Acantha leapt up and twisted in mid air. Whipping with the power of an axe, her foot lashed out behind her and connected with the jaw of the Earth mage.
Before the mage could retaliate, Acantha continued her spin. Runes, the colour of silver rippled down her arm. Her spear, once as solid as a tree, liquified instantly.
Jakob watched, mesmerised and stunned by her talent.
He had seen extreme skill with body and blades training with Ingolf and Asta.
He had seen extreme skill with magic from his memory with the King and the soul mage.
He hadn't seen someone, much less someone he knew his whole life, weld the two together.
The liquid metal shifted and formed a large circle shape. A shield. Just in time as the earth mage threw hands, coated in a black rock, forward. With a crash, shield absorbing most of the impact, Acantha was pushed across the arena.
Coughing, blood splashing on the floor, Acanatha rose to her feet. Magic sparking with an ethereal energy rippled in the air as Acantha prepared another spell.
"Hríð," She shouted, voice bleeding with power, clapping her hands together. Acantha's shield rippled once again, energy coursing over its surface. Exploding like a thousand weather stones, shards, sharper than the claws of a hukagórn, ripped through the air. Like miniature knives carving through a steak, the shards carved towards the earth mage.
The earth mage moved just in time. Throwing both his hands upwards, the earth responded, forming a protective wall. Shards, now harmless, bounced off the stone barrier. The earth mage, sensing an advantage, burst through the stone forming it around his body as he ran towards Acantha.
Acantha wasn't fast enough as the mage grabbed hold of her. Acantha, trying to reposition in his grip, threw an elbow towards the mages head. Out of habit, despite being coated in armour, the mage moved his head back and loosened his grip. This was all Acantha needed. Moving with momentum, Acantha spun. Magic rippled around her body as she launched another kick towards the mages jaw.
Time slowed as Jakob watched as the shards, now scattered around the arena, flew towards Acanthas boots. A hair's width away from the mages jaw, the shards connected and solidified forming a kick with the power and weight of an anvil.
Stone shattered, armour turned to dust, the mage collapsed. The duel was won.
As the crowd erupted in cheers, Jakob marvelled at the display of Acantha's combat skills. He could sense the thrill of victory in her as she raised her arms, acknowledging the adoration of the spectators. Her confidence radiated through the arena, and the crowd roared in response.
Acantha took a moment to bask in the glory, relishing the cheers and applause. She winked at a few admirers in the crowd, displaying a playful demeanour that Jakob hadn't witnessed before. The physical response to the crowd's enthusiasm was a testament to Acantha's showmanship and ability to engage with the spectators. However, something was weird. The people in the crowd looked very similar to one another almost as if Acantha didn't really care about them enough to consider them in her memory.
Intrigued, and curious Jakob watched as Acantha exited the arena, making her way through the cheering crowd. She exchanged pleasantries with some onlookers, accepting praise and admiration for her impressive performance, but each of them had no identifying characteristics as if Acantha was already forgetting them.
Once out of the arena, Acantha navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the fighting grounds. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. Fighters from various disciplines filled the narrow passages, their conversations blending into a low murmur. Entering a waiting room designated for the competitors, Acantha found herself among a diverse group of fighters. The fighters stopped talking as she entered and moved to the opposite side of the room as if to avoid her.
All of the fighters, apart from one. Sitting on the top of a cupboard, sat a young woman. Her hair tied up in a ponytail was darker than the stench of midnight and her skin paler than the harshest snow storm. If Jakob hadn't known any better he would have said she reminded him of a porcelain doll that the traders had sold to Asta when she was younger.
The woman, making eye contact with Acantha, threw her a wineskin.
Acantha caught the wineskin with a deft motion, a grateful nod signalling her approval. She approached the woman and, without a word, sat at a table in the corner, below the cupboard. The room's atmosphere remained tense, but in their little corner, the tension seemed to dissipate.
"Quite a dramatic display you put on" said the woman as Acantha drained the wineskin.
"The more we impress the crowd, the more money we get," Acatha replied with a laugh as if the two of them had had this conversation a thousand times. The tension in the room seemed to lift. Their banter was a dance of words, each line carefully choreographed to seem like insults but carried an unspoken understanding.
"That's one thing I will never get used to," the dark haired woman replied. "Fighting with theatrics when I could end it in seconds."
"Seconds? More like minutes. You're not getting any faster, are you?" Acantha snapped back with a grin.
"Speed is overrated. Precision is what matters. Especially if it means you won't get grabbed by another big oaf," The woman replied with a smirk.
Acantha took a swig from the water skin, and the black-haired woman watched her with an amused expression.
"Thirsty after all that... performance?" The woman laughed.
"Well you are up soon," Said Acantha, "Let's see if you can refrain from showing off."
At these words, a man holding a notebook walked into the room.
"Moonlight." he barked pointing at the dark haired woman. "You're up now, the other club has sent Swiftstorm to knock you off your winning streak."
Jakob felt Acantha flinch and could almost sense the uncertainty starting to flood her veins. As the woman jumped off the cupboard, landing without a sound, Acantha grabbed her arm.
"Maríma…" she paused, "Be careful,"
At these words Jakob was stunned.
Maríma was his mothers name.
Was this her?