Chapter Five Fiernara, of the Wild and Pure #4
Triumphant melodies of golden strings roared in her ears, the ostinato overlaying the sensation of many fingers sinking through her scalp, teasing the contours of her brain into a new shape.
A surge of unfathomable spirit thundered through her mortal flesh, and within the trappings of her skull, the divine map of the cosmoscape unfurled like a pennant fluttering in a spring breeze.
All at once, Lythlet was overcome with the matchless excitement of every child’s first foray into horology, the sheer magic of lifting a clock’s face for the first time and discovering the spinning gears hidden within—understanding that time was not controlled by the two spinning hands on the surface, but by a complex mechanism of pinions and wheels and springs beneath.
Now the cogwheels of gravity had been unveiled to Lythlet, and an instinctual understanding of how to alter the pattern of the world around her stamped itself on her mind—like winding a watch crown to effect one’s will upon the mainspring, so, too, could she twist the gravitational fields around her, distorting the force at which she moved through the world.
She surged to the ground, spear tip pointed earthwards at the sentari, divine music roaring in her ears as she propelled forward.
She sensed the presence of her spear as a separate entity from her, a creature with its own rhythm, its own soul, its own gravitational field.
She flung it down, plucking at the meridian network of the cosmoscape as one would pluck a chord from an eight-stringed izitana, heightening the weight of gravity upon her weapon.
It sped to the earth with an impossible force, and penetrated deep into the sentari’s belly, ramming past the squirming shadows to the red flesh within.
The shadow beast reeled away from Desil, giving him the scant few seconds he needed to scramble backward.
An anguished howl escaped the beast’s jaws, and blood spilled forth.
The sanded ground rushed upwards to break Lythlet, but she took a deep breath, plucking at another set of meridians along the cosmoscape, those which governed her own orbit.
With a single thought, she broke her momentum, floating midair for fractions of a second and tilting herself upright.
Barely a plume of dust rose as she landed on the ground with the lightest touch possible.
At that moment, the map scrolled itself tightly within her mind, the cosmoscape regressing back into an ineffable mystery, the otherworldly sensation of transcending mortal limitations into one of the invisible pathways of the universe vanishing entirely from her soul.
The thrumming, divine ostinato quietened, fading into silence.
She gasped, suddenly feeling very alone, very mortal, very ordinary once more.
Desil stared in momentary shock.
The sentari stumbled toward them, her spear still lodged in its gut.
Shadows rippled and shuddered. Its pupils constricted as they fell upon Lythlet.
Rearing back, it sprang at her, bloodied fangs on full display.
Unarmed and still reeling from her brief traverse through the cosmoscape, she could do nothing but raise her arm to protect her face.
But Desil stepped in, and with one swift stroke of the blade he’d just retrieved, he sent its head rolling and its spirit off into the great unknown.
The beast collapsed to the ground. One by one, the shadows worming around it extinguished as if by a gust of wind, and within seconds, all that remained was a skinned red-raw creature lying lifeless on the ground.
As if the world were reawakening, the spectators burst into a flurry of excitement, their shrieks and applause deafening. Curiosity getting the better of her, Lythlet raised her head.
Hoo-rah, hoo-rah, hoo-rah crescendoed in an arc above her, the echoing voices loud enough to lift her spirits heavenward. The audience was clapping, stomping their feet, celebrating before her in dizzying displays of joy and rage. She stared at the uproar, and then shifted to hide behind Desil.
“An unbelievable performance from our two brand-new conquessors!” the match-master bellowed into his horn.
“A stunning blow from Lythlet Tairel—when was the last time we had someone dare to scale the yutrela, much less ride it down to deliver a legendary strike from the heavens? The divine knows it was guiding her descent just now as she manipulated the cosmoscape! And as expected from the beloved brawler, Desil Demothi delighted us with his nimble sparring with the beast to buy time for her ascent! Ladies and gentlemen, your winners for today—two slumdogs making quick work of their first match! I’m sure all who’ve put their money on the name of Desil Demothi must be praising their wardens. ”
A flurry of noisy hoo-rahs affirmed the match-master’s claim.
“No doubt this duo is one to keep an eye on. We’ll have their next match scheduled and announced in a few days! Take a bow, champions!”
Desil bent over in a perfect arc while Lythlet weakly bobbed her head. She was too flustered, too intrigued by the mass and tangle of people staring and cheering at her. For her.
“Any final words?” Master Dothilos appealed.
Desil shouted, “Thank you for your spectatorship and your support! We shall return!” He gave another sweeping bow, his foot nudging Lythlet to join him. With their heads inches away from the ground, he spared a glance and a wink at her.
She nodded back, still bewildered by the noise.
“Let’s go,” he whispered into her ear, and she followed him to the armory.
Immediately, he slumped on the bench against a wall, crumpling as she grabbed rags hanging by the washing alcove. She tossed one to Desil and wiped her face with the other.
“I can’t believe you climbed all the way up there. I can’t believe you jumped from all the way up there!” Desil said, arm resting on a drawn-up knee, sword and rag neglected by his side. “You floated down like a feather—how the devil was that possible?”
“Apparently the legends are true,” Lythlet said quietly, also reeling from what she’d just done. “The divine really do reward you if you reach the summit of the yutrela. I prayed for you to live, and it rewarded me in return.”
“A pure-hearted prayer that doesn’t benefit the one praying,” he remarked with a knowing smile, making her wonder if she had inadvertently tapped into some sacred teaching. “Can you still do it?”
She shook her head. The map of the cosmoscape had furled away to the heavens, and the ink that had been so clear to her just moments ago had faded into nothingness.
“Eight seconds only.” All divine blessings came in eights, if folklore was to be believed, whether it be eight seconds, eight minutes, or eight hours.
Desil shook his head in disbelief. “Still incredible. You got a divine touchstone to actually work!”
She blushed happily. “I wonder how much was bid on us today. The match-master said it was more than usual.”
“If the jackpot proves substantial,” he asked hesitantly, “are you willing to continue conquessing? The match-master has more or less confirmed we’ll be invited to the arena again.”
“If this indeed turns out to be the best way to repay our debt to Tucoras, then yes, I think we have no choice but to continue.”
Master Dothilos appeared by the doorway.
“Bravo, champions! My servants will bring along your jackpot shortly, but I wanted to congratulate you first. Desil, my boy, I expected as much from you. You stole the hearts of half the spectators, and the other half will learn why soon enough. And you!” He turned to Lythlet, and she stood reluctantly.
“Outstanding, dear girl. You certainly were keeping a few things up your sleeve, weren’t you?
Cosmoscape aside, your skill with both bamboo and spear gave me quite the shock! I must hear more.”
Revealing a pinch more information wouldn’t hurt. “Desil and I used to sell our free time to funerals, joining the mourning companies. He’d bang a drum while I’d climb the minstra poles and...” She mimed waving a pennant.
“And your familiarity with the spear? You performed some deft spearwork from the ledges when the beast was harassing you. You’re rough and you lack the finesse of better spearmaidens, but there was a beautiful savagery to the way you fought.”
“My father,” Lythlet said, softly, clipped. Simply referring to him was enough to mute her spirit.
The match-master’s eyes were bright, shining with anticipation. “Yes? What was he? A famous swordsman? A hired arm by the Court? A mercenary from the wildlands, perhaps?”
“He was a blacksmith.” She was not eager to offer more, recalling how quick Master Dothilos had been to insult her parents when he knew nothing.
“Is getting answers out of her always like pulling teeth?” the match-master asked as an aside to Desil, who reluctantly bobbed his head. “He was a blacksmith and —”
“That was all he was. After school, I would sit in his smithy, and he would keep me busy that way. A spear in my hand...” She drifted off, deciding that was enough for him to know.
Master Dothilos waited for her to continue, and after a moment’s silence, gave up with a disappointed sigh.
“So reckless parenting made you the way you are. There’s even less for me to work with than I’d expected.
” His eyes brightened. “Hold on now, did he ever beat you? Abused children get so much sympathy from the crowd. They make for such compelling characters. Everyone loves making themselves feel better by supporting one—”
“No,” she snapped. “Do not slander him. He was my father, even if he did not know how to be one. Why do you pry so hard for a tale to sell to the spectators? I imagine you the sort to craft whatever lie pleases you anyway.”
“Because the best tales are the ones rooted in truth. Embellished heavily, of course, but always with two feet on the ground. I’m simply trying to dig your truth out, Lythlet.”
“There’s nothing more I will give you. If you must forge a narrative of pain to pull in more coin, do as you will, but do not slander my father.” The last few words poured out of her like fire from a brazier, the fervency taking even herself aback.
To her surprise, the match-master paused, staring at her thoughtfully.
“Very well. Anyway, masterful use of the yutrela. Proving the legends true once and for all! Might be the only prayer I’ve ever seen answered in my whole damn life.
I daresay bids for your next round may be something to look forward to.
” Master Dothilos patted their backs. “Always delightful to have competent young blood around. Makes me smile—makes me rich!”