Chapter 14 #2
“The pact has been made,” the Umbral concluded, raising their left hand out into the open air as a saber of pure shadow materialized.
“The conditions agreed upon. Should either of us go back on our word, the pact will strike them down. Once a victor emerges, they are free to state the terms of their victory, and the binding magic will compel the other to compliance. Now, draw your blade, Lightbringer, and I will have my vengeance before the day is through.”
“Hold out your hand, Acolyte. I have another blessing to give.”
I did as I was instructed, mirroring Sancha’s stance as a flash of light filled the chamber.
Appearing in my hand was a stunning epee sword, the hilt etched in glowing stone that pulsed with each beat of my heart.
The thin, triangular blade was polished silver, and the guard gleamed with quiet determination.
“The light is not a weapon, but that does not mean it is toothless.”
I chuckled under my breath, brought back in an instant to the sun-streaked gardens of Chateau Greene and the copper-haired boy who served as my sparring partner.
This bout would not be like our childish games of cat and mouse, but the residual warmth of that memory stilled my shaking hands, offering some comfort to my exhausted form.
The Umbral readied themselves, standing a few feet away and taking a familiar stance.
Sancha and I had only sparred a handful of occasions in my time as her Acolyte, yet I had not forgotten the ferocity of her offensive.
If the Umbral was relying on the Cardinal’s skills, then my victory would be anything but assured.
I corrected my stance, taking the opportunity to swipe my new blade through the air. It was lighter than I expected, which would be to my advantage, but still, it was unfamiliar. I would have to be cautious in my first approach.
“Are you prepared?” asked my opponent, crouching deeper into their stance.
My muscles ached as I sank into my own readied position.
“I am.”
“We begin.”
The Umbral pulsed forward in a blur of speed, any fatigue they had displayed vanishing in the fury of their motions.
My body reacted faster than my mind could order, dragging my blade downward to meet theirs in a shower of sparks.
The tip of the stygian weapon rested not half an inch from my abdomen, quivering with the anticipation of the first blood to be drawn.
The Umbral retreated a step, dislodging our weapons from one another before thrusting again, this time slower but with deadly accuracy.
I sidestepped, parrying the blow before it could pierce my heart, and we began a dance of cascading sparks and near-misses.
My teacher was quick, her slight frame a difficult target as it swirled around me in a tempest of fabric.
Once, I thought I’d made contact, only to slice through a portion of her cowl.
The Umbral took their opportunity to counter, and through the grace of my reflexes, I was able to skip backward and out of reach of the retaliation.
The pattern continued, an even match of advance and retreat, trading blows that burst with beautiful collisions.
Under different circumstances, I would be elated, pushing myself to such physical strains.
But this was no mere sparring session, and the first point came with the sobering taste of reality.
I knocked aside a thrust, pushing past the numbing shock as it shot up my arm and into my throbbing shoulder.
An opening—the briefest window—made itself known, and I lunged, extending myself with full certainty that I was about to land the first blow.
But the Umbral was far too quick, and with a spinning flourish, they danced away from my riposte, answering with their own.
Sharp pain drew my focus as the blade sliced into my shoulder, the hot trickle of blood pouring down my arm.
“First point to me,” the Umbral announced.
Pain flared opposite my wound as the pact markings on my arm burned like wildfire. Thundering from above, chains of blood-red descended like a flash from the haze, latching onto each of us and dragging us apart from one another.
My vision blurred as the chains released me, and I moved back into position across from my opponent. The pain intensified with each second that passed by. I muttered an incantation in an attempt to at least stymie the flow of blood, but I felt a familiar pull on my magic and severed the spell.
“That’s a Sanguine blade,” I concluded.
“Correct,” confirmed the Umbral. “The first of its kind. A blade born of my very essence. Can you feel the pull of the void, Acolyte? How long can you resist its call?”
“Long enough to stick you,” I rebutted, taking a steadying breath. “Are you prepared?”
The Umbral grinned.
“I am.”
“We begin again.”
My reflexes were slower as the Umbral crashed into me, no doubt using its new advantage to try and overwhelm me with a barrage of attacks.
Trails of blood followed our steps, making the floor slick beneath my feet as I dodged or parried each thrust. I could hardly feel the warmth of the Source’s blessing as a sharp, biting cold stole my focus and caused my limbs to tremble.
Breaking away from the onslaught, I put distance between myself and the Umbral, my breath coming in gasps as I squared myself once more.
“You’re not far from it now,” the Umbral taunted, circling me like a predator waiting for the kill.
“Worry not, child. The void is peace eternal. Nothing changes. Nothing grows. It remains as it always has been, frozen in time. You need simply let yourself slip into its indifferent embrace. Your world will follow shortly afterward.”
“And what do you get out of all this? A throne on which to sit?”
The Umbral paused, their expression withdrawing into something pensive.
“I will be everything once more, just as it was before the light came and cast me away.”
I tried to form another question, but the Umbral struck, catching me off guard, and I had to sidestep to avoid being pierced through the navel. Pain, sharp and new, ripped through my side as the blade bit into my flesh, scoring a second point for my adversary.
“Do not ignore the call, Lightbringer. It is sure to be strong now.”
Clamping a hand over the fresh wound, I staggered back from the Umbral, gritting my teeth as the pain intensified, the entire left side of me nearly soaked through at this point.
One wound from a Sanguine blade was bad enough.
Two most certainly meant death for a Magi if left untreated.
The cold returned with icy fanfare, my entire body trembling from the chill.
Red-hot pain from the chains dragging my adversary and me apart was almost a welcome relief to the cold.
Would this be the end for me? I’d stared death in the face before, back in El Shaddith, at the hands of Lynette Greene’s monstrous side.
This felt different somehow. Like I wasn’t the only one who would perish if I closed my eyes for a final time.
And perhaps that was the truth. Would the light of the Source really extinguish alongside my life?
Why would Sancha have placed it in such a fragile receptacle?
To place the limits of humankind on the divine seemed a sin far greater than any other.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my knees wobbling as I took another step backward.
It was apology and admission in one. I wasn’t the right person to be chosen as the vessel for the Source.
That much was clear. Even now, looking into Sancha’s eyes, I knew that she was disappointed in me.
In the years that she wasted training me to one day take her place.
Obviously, I hadn’t lived up to those expectations, and now it seemed unlikely I ever would.
A flicker of warmth, and for a moment, I took solace in the fact that the Source had not abandoned me in my final moments. But then a tugging sensation drew my attention downward to the two glimmering threads protruding from my chest.
But that meant…
“You’re not trying to die on us again, are you?”
I spun around, finding Bastien waiting with his arms folded across his chest. Beside him stood Azrael, ears pinned back atop his head as he glowered at the Umbral.
Shock rooted me in place, and from behind a sharp, alien laugh sounded.
“An audience for you, Acolyte. Come to bear witness to the end of that wretched light inside of you. Don’t keep them waiting. One more bout, and you can rest.”
Azrael moved to put himself between the Umbral and me, but I held out a bloody hand to stop him, causing his features to twist in confusion.
“Why?” I asked, tracing the tethers that connected us with my gaze.
“Because we knew that you were going to do something stupid,” Bastien answered.
“The others made it safely to the main cathedral,” Azrael added. “We encountered a larger group on our way down and sent them in the same direction. Were they like the others?”
I nodded.
“You’re incredible,” Azrael replied, violet eyes alight with the brutal honesty he wielded. “They are lucky to have you as their leader.”
“I wouldn’t say—” my words faltered, my vision narrowing.
Strong, warm hands caught me, keeping me from hitting the floor.
“Hey!” Azrael’s face was suddenly so close, those violet eyes filled with concern.
Bastien flanked my opposite side, both of them keeping me upright as the terrible pounding in my head battered my thoughts.
“One more bout,” called the Umbral in a sing-song voice, and Azrael let out another growl.
“What are they talking about?” Bastien questioned me.
“A wager,” I explained, my words slurring off my leaden tongue. “The first to three points wins, and the loser must oblige their demands.”
Bastien exhaled his disappointment. “Games? Really?”
“It seemed like the only way,” I pleaded, wanting so desperately for him to understand.
“Why haven’t you healed yourself?” Azrael chimed in.
Bastien answered for me.
“Because those are wounds from a Sanguine blade, aren’t they?”
I nodded.