Airlean Tales S2E33: Rizas Mali (2)

Grey Dismas was watching battles between gods and feeling very much, completely, terribly out of place. Possibly like a field mouse looking upon a turf war between lions.

The skies raged in an exalted symphony of stormy color as percussive explosions thundered across the ground, shuddering up Grey’s legs and to the center of his skull. Even at this significant distance, he could feel the sheer force of mana being wielded scrape over his skin, making him cringe. It was like two Class Fives brawling. He couldn’t imagine being in the middle of that mess.

Next to him, Charlene peered through her collapsible scope with rapt attention.

“This is just like the tale of the shoemaker and the little elves,” she said, her tone hushed in wonder. “Have you heard that story, Sir Dismas?”

“I…what?”

She took a deep breath. “An impoverished shoemaker worked all day to earn enough leather for a single pair of shoes. But he was too exhausted to make them when he returned to the workshop. He fell asleep—only to find that when he woke in the morning, there sat a beautiful pair of shoes on his worktable, perfectly made! Bewildered, he sold them for enough leather to make more.”

“Miss Penrose—”

“Hush! I’m not yet at the best part. The shoemaker continues to wake up to shoes made for him with the leather he buys, you know? His shop begins to prosper. But he is so curious why on earth his shoes seem to be putting themselves together. So one night, the shoemaker hides himself in a corner and keeps vigil over the workshop. And what do you think he sees in the middle of the night?”

“…Um, I haven’t a clue.”

“Elves! Little hardworking elves, of course!”

Grey stared openly at the bright-eyed Miss Penrose, who seemed to think it was quite obvious that the answer to self-constructing shoes was elves. He, personally, would have tried exorcising the room of demons.

“Elves would come into his workshop every night and make the shoes for him, working hard all the way ’til dawn with not even a word of thanks!”

She pointed at the grand, terrifying, nearly untraceable flashes of swords and sorcery on the horizon.

“They’re just like the elves, Sir Dismas. Saving everyone’s lives in the middle of the night, with no one the wiser!”

That was…certainly one way of seeing it. To Grey, there was nothing particularly fairytale about Atlantean monsters locked in mortal combat, trying to consume the other.

Charlene flattened her magnifying seeing-scope and got to her feet, brushing off her nightgown with her hands.

“Alright,” she said calmly. “We’ll only get in the way if we try to jump in.”

Surprise washed into relief for Grey. “Really? So…we can return?”

“Of course.” Charlene beamed. “After all, the shoemaker never approached the elves directly. He went away, made little clothes and shoes for them, and left them for the elves to find.”

She suddenly took his hands—oh, her hands were really quite delicate and soft, and not appropriate to be holding his while unchaperoned—

“So, Sir Dismas, let us think about what useful resource we can leave that would aid these wonderful heroes!”

“I, yes, alright,” was all Grey managed as Charlene Penrose marched away with purpose, bubbling with ideas, her own role in the tale discovered.

Korone would always remember the day that Xiphia Kairhea Vascea, esteemed senator of the indomitable Warmongers, had elevated her—a simple, timid stablehand—to the role of aer xiphator.

She remembered entering the inner chambers with her knees shaking and her heart in her throat. She had only eaten a small bowl of rice porridge for breakfast, and even that was in danger of coming up. Standing before the Warmonger’s throne, she could only stare at the marble tile beneath her shoes and try her damndest not to introduce it to lukewarm half-digested porridge.

“Phinou,” said Xiphia Kairhea Vascea in a loud, noble voice. “Your family has served faithfully as our stable masters for a hundred generations.”

Had it been that many? Korone could barely count a hundred days, let alone a hundred years, or a hundred-times-twenty-to-thirty years.

“Yes, it’s been that many. Time passes quickly, doesn’t it?”

Korone clapped her hands over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

“You did. And you might as well keep talking out loud, because your face will say what your mouth doesn’t anyway.”

Korone groveled, stammering out apologies for her insolence, her transgression of speaking out of turn, her parents’ inability to raise a daughter with proper manners—

“Oh, for the gods’ sakes, stop groveling and look at me already,” Vascea said impatiently. “I won’t turn you to stone if you look.”

Korone shakily peeked up between her fingers.

The throne had clearly been constructed for somebody much larger. Yet Vascea had decided to use this to her advantage. Instead of sitting properly with a hand on her spear the way her forefathers had, she lounged lengthwise across the throne, the picture of nonchalance. The Warmonger spear was nestled in the crook of one arm as if it were a toy or a stuffed animal, not a deadly weapon. The overall effect gave off a surprising amount of confidence for a girl half the size of her throne.

“A little bird tells me,” the small senator said, “that Selene refuses to be mounted by anyone other than you. Or spoken to, or fed, or put down for the night by anyone else. Would you kindly explain what you’ve done to enchant the pegasus so?”

“Oh,” Korone said nervously. “I, um…I was assigned as her stablehand, domina. I just brushed her and fed her every day, and eventually, she decided to trust me.”

“Trust is one way to put it. She refuses to acknowledge anybody but you.”

“Ahaha, well, Selene’s always got a bit of a temper. First thing she did out of the womb was kick her brother, so they say! The little devil.”

Xiph looked very seriously at Korone, and her nervously laughter promptly cut short.

“Phinou,” Xiph said, “do you understand the quandary that I’m in?”

Korone went cold. “I, well…”

“Selene will only listen to a young stablehand. You can see why this is a bit of a problem, because we don’t exactly have an army of reserve pegasi waiting in the queue. So, young Phinou, you know that my only solution—”

“—is to b-behead me,” Korone finished with a quiet sob. “To remove the source of her attachment so she can bond with another rider.”

Xiph sat up abruptly. The spear almost fell out of her arms. “Good gods, woman. That’s a terrible solution. I’m glad that I’m the senator and not you.”

“Then…you’re going to let me live?”

“Of course not. I’d just use injection or electrocution. Beheading is so last century.”

Korone fell to her knees and wailed. Xiph’s voice rose quickly, panicked.

“A joke! It’s a—gods damn it. Alright, not the best humor. Of course I’m not going to kill you, Phinou, that’d be an atrocious way to reward a hundred generations of loyalty.”

Korone tried to quash her tears, but her nerves were too frayed to pull back together. She only burst into a fresh round of sobbing.

“Hey, now, uh—Simon! Can you give her money or something? What stops the common folk from crying?”

“Domina,” was all Simon Kourios said.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Cloth swished as Xiph rose from the throne and knelt before Korone, grabbing her hand and raising it to her face. “Want to punch me? I heard that in last year’s census, that was the most popular request.”

When Korone didn’t respond, Xiph gently pulled her fist until the knuckles hit Xiph’s jaw.

“Pow! Ugh, ouch. You’ve dealt me a mighty blow, noble warrior.” Xiph swayed dramatically.

Korone laughed wetly, bewildered. “I—I’m not five, domina. Are you insane?”

“She speaks! Knew you had it in you.” Xiph clapped her on the shoulder. “Listen, Phinou, I’m sorry for teasing you. I’ll never strike down one of my own when their family has been so good to me. The solution I really had in mind wasn’t to kill you—well, not outright, I guess if you think about it, it could prove lethal, although that depends a little on your own capability—”

“Dear one,” came Simon Kourios’s voice.

“Yes, anyway, beside the point.” Xiph cleared her throat. “My offer, Phinou, is this. If Selene holds you in such regard…would you consider training to become an aer xiphator with her as your steed?”

Finally, Korone openly stared at Xiph. The senator’s eyes were clear and full of color, iridescent like opals.

“What?” she said dumbly.

“An aer xiphator. You know, vengeful pegasus-mounted warrior of the skies—”

“No, no, of course I know what an aer xiphator is, domina.” Every Warmonger little girl dreamed of being one, of course. A glorious warrior mounted on a noble, loyal, beautiful steed—what wasn’t to like? “But we haven’t had the aer xiphatores since the old days because of the pegasus shortage. And um, this is me. I’m kinda not that great with a spear or a sword or any weapon at all. Not exactly material for the first return of the great Skyblades.”

“But do you want to be?” Xiph asked.

“What?”

“The first aer xiphatores took up their blades not because they were as excellent as champions or heroes, but because their families needed protection from the skies.” Xiph looked at her with a rare somber air. “Do you want that, Phinou? If not, I’ll gratefully keep you as the pegasi’s beloved stablehand. But I believe you can become quite a good warrior, if you want to. You’ve tamed a pegasus. What threat can’t you handle?”

Moments seemed to bleed into hours as blood pumped in Korone’s ears and too many thoughts filled her head. At long last, she swallowed and bowed her head.

“My spear and my life is yours, domina. Though I don’t know how much they’re worth.”

Xiph clasped her hand with a firm shake. “Everything, Phinou. Anyone who gives their all means everything to me.”

Oh, how magnetic Xiph could be, even though she didn’t see it herself. Korone had never said it outright, but that was the day that Xiph had earned her undying loyalty.

Now look at her. Fully appointed, astride a blisteringly fast pegasus, jousting spear in hand. Korone still didn’t know if she deserved the title of aer xiphator. If she was honest, Selene carried most of the burden; being a Skyblade was less about personal spearwork and more about being able to joust in three dimensions. But Korone did know one thing. Xiph needed her. So did Atlantis. And when they called, Korone would always answer.

A blazing light in the sky caught her attention. It vaulted over the Atlantean spires and parapets, sparkling like a firecracker, brilliant despite its distance.

The signal!

Grinning, Korone nudged Selene into a quick turn to face the land division of the Third Pod. There weren’t many of them, just four warriors besides herself, but she believed that each one was worth ten men.

There was the labrynna and her massive labrys axe that towered over her small, hunched figure; the elementalist magus who could sling countless fireballs and lightning bolts as Forms; the berserker brawler who liked to dive into the thickest fights and weaponize the closest large object within reach. Finally, there was Mathias’s second-in-command, Euclid, who was watching her in silence. He was a bit of a wet blanket, to be honest. Never wanted the pod to go anywhere or do anything. It had taken the limits of her cajoling to get him out to the nest.

Still, Euclid’s face wasn’t set in his usual dour frown or moody ruminating. She dared to say there was even a crack of a smile.

“Well, Korone?” he said. “As the one who found this battlefield, why don’t you do the honors of the call to War?”

Huh? Korone almost yelped, but she stopped herself. Xiph had put her trust in her. The Warmongers had made her aer xiphator. It was time to answer, to bear the standard with pride.

Korone turned and raised her lance, the tip of it shining as if challenging the towering fluorescent tree before them.

“Third Pod!” she screamed. The wind whipped her hair, hope filling her bones with fire. “For wrath and for zeal! Our blood shall wet the soil for new life! To War!”

To War, they cried with her, and they charged, their thundering boots joining the racket of their voices in one total, deafening cry of glory.

The flare in the sky was absolution for Sethis.

A strange laugh broke from his lips at the defiant, glittering light that rose into the Atlantean sky like a new dawn. With a few quick swings, he warded off the large spiders that had lunged to sink fangs into his neck. Then he turned and blazed every inch of his manawell. His sword raised high, light swirling in a frenetic haze around the blade, his arms taut and shaking with the effort of holding together the raw power of the mana.

“Lilian!” he screamed.

His cousin plunged down from the treetops and landed next to him in a plume of dirt. She was battered, her cloak in tatters and one arm hanging limply at her side—but still, she gritted her teeth and hefted her blade, lifting it beside his. She gathered the last dregs of mana in her body and pushed them together, forcing them into her weapon.

For all who suffered to buy their loved ones one day more.

Blue flames wafted from Lilian’s edge and twined with Sethis’s light, painting the gathering rays into a vibrant teal.

And for all who shall suffer for their children to see a brighter dawn.

A blinding pillar radiated skyward, painting light across the dominion like a cloudless day. The force of it bore down on Sethis until his knees buckled and the ground cracked under his feet, but he stayed standing.

I extol you…

Your death shall not be in vain!

He roared and brought his sword down in a heavy arc. Light and fire collapsed. They burned into the soil and flooded between the roots like boiling magma. He released everything coiled up in his manawell and felt it wrench painfully as it poured into the ground, rattled, and exploded.

The ghastly echo of a scream resounded as the tree evaporated into turgid steam.

Sethis collapsed to the ground, darkness occluding his vision before it embraced him whole.

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