In a World without God

The descendants of Ygraine were not human in the eyes of the crowd. They had eyes, noses, limbs, and a beating heart, but they were considered nothing more than a form of a human.

The public was cruel to ‘others’. They deserved to be hurt and made to cry. They deserved to have their limbs torn off. Woe to the witch’s offspring. Woe to the cursed bloodline!

But the moment Enri saved Taric, he was no longer considered an ‘other.’ Not a single person in the stands wanted to see him hurt.

“That child has a heart as kind as his face!”

“How can a witch’s offspring be so selfless?”

“Who says a character has to follow blood? Look at the Le Fay family! The head of the family is an asshole, but the daughter is a sweetheart.”

“If that’s the case, why do they hold the festival year after year?”

The seeds of doubt that Ed had planted began to sprout. The Le Fay family’s authority began to waver. Taric was blindsided, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone cursing me? I’m the descendant of a hero! I’m supposed to be defeating the witch’s offspring!”

Taric wanted to be popular; he wanted to be on the lips of the people. How had he ended up being hated by everyone? He looked around the crowd as they jeered and pointed their fingers at him. Tears welled in his eyes from shame and embarrassment.

“Are you okay?”

Enri reached out to him.

Taric turned his attention to Enri. He looked him in the face, where his silvery eyes peeked out from beneath long lashes. Enri was almost as pretty as Kurzina. He reached out his hand to Taric; his long, slender fingers were like lily petals in full bloom.

“Take my hand.”

Taric stared at Enri’s hand and finally reached out to take it, feeling Enri’s warmth. He suddenly felt a deep understanding of why the crowd responded to him as they had.

Why had he wanted to kill Enri? How could it be fun to watch this innocent boy suffer?

Taric spun around to face the crowd again and drew a deep breath.

“We have lost!” he bellowed out to the waiting faces. Then he turned and walked out of the theater’s center, back to the waiting area, out of sight of everyone. He took a seat, expectant for what would come next.

Within minutes, Kindatu and Dumuzi, Taric’s father, stormed into the room.

“I assume you know what you have done?!” his father bellowed.

Taric didn’t respond.

“You are to go without food for a week in solitary confinement. You will reflect on your mistakes in a dark and cramped cell!”

Taric turned his sad eyes towards Dumuzi.

“I understand my mistakes, father,” he said. “But what are the crimes of the children we are told to murder?”

***.

The Le Fay family estates have a higher tax rate than the rest of the country. The only other region that comes close is Kaldura. Despite this, there is little resistance to taxation because the Le Fay family rules the land. They are the descendants of the hero Bosha, after all.

The Le Fay’s authority is derived from the hero versus witch narrative. That’s why they keep the descendants of witches in Kaldura, and why they’re invoked at every Saint’s Festival. The presence of the witches’ descendants reminds the public that the Le Fay are the descendants of heroes.

Kindatu was not happy with the current situation. It was bad enough that the crowd was siding with the descendants of Ygraine, but now Taric was questioning the Saint system.

“Dumuzi, how did you educate your children?!”

“My Lord, I apologize.”

“The goal of education is to cultivate pride in being the descendant of a hero and hatred of witches. This child is lacking in both!”

“I have no excuse. I’ll make my foolish son read the books repeatedly.”

“Let’s see about that.”

Kindatu was displeased. The opening ceremony and the first round of the competition had both been a mess. Someone had deliberately ruined it. Someone had tampered with the paintings and taught the descendants of witches that swordsmanship.

It was probably one of them, but how?

Kindatu had watched in shock as Enri leaped to avoid Taric’s advances. It was a move he faintly remembered. He’d read about it in a secret library that only the head of the family could enter. It was a pictorial record of a sword technique used by a Black Fang mercenary captain. Enri’s leap was undoubtedly the same as the one in the book.

The Black Fang Mercenaries had scattered to the winds after Bosha’s death. The moves Enri seemed so adept in weren’t something that could be copied from a picture; they had to be practiced. How could a descendant of Ygraine suddenly know Bosha’s methods?

“Dumuzi, I want you to take dozens of people you trust and search the manor’s grounds. No. I want you to scour the entirety of Vaidor.”

“Understood, but what do you want me to look for?”

“Anyone with a skin color, hair color, or eye color I haven’t seen before. Anyone with a strange accent, anyone with a peculiar way of acting. Anything suspicious, now!”

Kindatu believed that an outsider who had inherited the Black Fang swordsmanship had infiltrated Vaidor. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know that the outsider was hiding in plain sight and was one of the children.

Dumuzi hurried away. Kindatu muttered to himself, pinching his brow.

“At least the other two are trustworthy.”

The battles of the Festival of Saints are held three times a day. As much as he would have liked to cancel them until he knew more, Kindatu knew better than to tamper with such a sacred event.

He had to trust that the subsequent two battles would be uneventful. He trusted the children. They were far more skilled than Taric, and once they had defeated the witch’s offspring, Kindatu could step in and calm the people with some plausible deniability.

At least, that had been his plan.

The next battle was between Yug and Harsh. Yug didn’t even attempt to put up a fight. As Harsh swung his sword, Yug threw down his hammer and declared defeat.

“What are you doing?!”

Kindatu shouted at Yug when he was back inside the waiting room.

“I apologize, my Lord. My skills were not up to par. I accept my punishment.”

Everyone in the Le Fay household feared Lord Kindatu, especially the children. A mere glance from him made them tremble, but there was a strange certainty in Yug’s eyes now. He looked triumphant despite declaring defeat.

“Punishment? I’ll show you what punishment looks like, handed down by the Lord himself!”

Kindatu shouted like a lion roaring, but Yug was not afraid. What is there to fear when the true light of the Goddess Lutea is with you.

“How did the children of the Le Fay family end up like this? Raghad, you’re the only one I can trust. Go and appease the crowd.”

Raghad nodded. As he walked out into the amphitheater, his footsteps were heavy, his usual swagger gone. Every couple of steps toward the arena, he looked back. He saw the face of his father, Ashur. He could see the face of Lord Kindatu. He had once dreamed of being like them.

Standing in the center of the theater, Raghad looked around at the crowd. Many were chanting his name.

“Show your strength, Raghad!”

“Pride of the Le Fay family!”

As he listened, he suddenly had a question.

Why am I standing here?

He felt like he was floating on air. He had always thought it an honor to perform, but now that his faith was gone, he felt like he was nothing more than a pawn. He was fighting for the gamblers’ money, fighting for the false honor of his family. What was the difference between the two?

He didn’t know what the last fifteen years of his life had meant. Fifteen years filled with lies. Who was he now that those fifteen years were unraveling?

Raghad looked straight ahead. A silver-haired girl with a white curved sword stared at him, trembling. Her name was Methena, and she was small and slender for her age. She was an unfortunate child who did not have what she deserved.

Raghad took a step toward her. Methena’s grip on the sword tightened.

As he took another step, Methena lowered her stance and prepared to leap. Still, Raghad did not raise his sword.

The crowd roared. Why was he doing nothing? Was he going to give up like Yug?

When Raghad was directly in front of Methena, he dropped his sword and fell to his knees, his head lowered.

“Kill me.”

***

It was night. In the West of the Le Fay family manor grounds, a figure walked up the stairs of a half-rotten wooden building. The stairs were ancient, but they didn’t creak with his peculiar gait; the rustling of the grass drowned out the sound of his footsteps.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he cautiously pushed open the door; the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the chill of the blade came to rest against the skin there. He froze.

“Ed! You were right! The assassin is here!”

“Be quiet, Aruru. The children are sleeping.”

On hearing the conversation, the would-be assassin raced his hands cautiously to show he wasn’t a threat.

“I am no assassin,” he said calmly. “But you’re the leader of these children? The madman who broke down the gate? Edulis, who hung from the cross?”

“If you’re not an assassin, who are you, and what do you want?”

“If you don’t mind putting the knife away, I’ll tell you everything. I’ve come to make a deal with you.”

Ed slowly withdrew the knife. The would-be assassin turned to face him and removed his hood, revealing a young boy not much older than Ed himself.

“My name is Ishkur. I’m not from this family. I have a plan to get out of here without them catching me. I need people like you to help me.”

Ed recognized the name Ishkur. He was supposed to be his opponent in tomorrow’s tournament. Raghad had thick limbs and a large build, but Ishkur’s limbs were slender and long. His tone was uncharacteristically light as if he were speaking to a merchant’s son.

“You are an Ascidian, I see.”

“That’s right, I’m Ascidian. I want to go to the Ascidian coast but can’t go alone. I’m a bit… weak.”

Ishkur giggled. Ed couldn’t understand what was funny, but then every Ascidian he’d met as Bosha had been like that. They all acted as though they had a screw missing somewhere.

“You want me to come with you? What’s in it for us?”

“There’s quite a bit to gain. For one thing, the real assassins will be here soon, and you’ll need to get out of here. I know a way to do it without being seen. I have secret connections in the Upper West as well. If you cooperate with me, you can make a living as a bodyguard for the elite. I’m skilled in Magic, so I can hide your hair and eye color.”

“That’s a lot of advantages.”

“It’s a mutually beneficial deal. If it weren’t for the current situation, I would have charged you guys some money.”

Ishkur giggled again and gestured toward the door.

“There’s no reason to refuse, right? So, let’s wake the kids up and run.”

Ed shook his head. Ishkur looked confused.

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“We’re not running away from here.”

Ishkur’s face hardened, and then he suddenly smiled again.

“Great! Confidence! Confidence is good! But you know what, my friend, we’re up against people that are bad news. Raghad’s father, Ashur, Taric’s father, Dumuzi, and my stepfather, Dersh, are coming. All three are skilled individuals.”

“So?”

“So?! Well… you’re not a normal person, are you?”

Ishkur paused and cocked his head to one side, listening intently.

“I can already hear Velox hooves outside. There’s nothing we can do.”

Ishkur reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a handful of matches. Magick surged through his body, and all of the matches ignited in the blink of an eye. He threw them to the ground and turned to Ed.

“Set aside your confidence. Velox are afraid of fire. It’s time to wake everyone up and leave here while we can.”

Ishkur began to walk away from Ed towards where the children still slept, but Ed grabbed him and clamped a hand over his mouth. A chill ran across the floor, and the matches went out, leaving only a hollow puff of smoke like a winter’s sigh.

Ishkur narrowed his eyes. Ed’s limbs were still ringed with the silver bracelets that prevented him from using his power. How had he managed to use Magick?

“I said they need to sleep,” Ed growled.

He didn’t have time to say anything else. Outside, the sound of Velox hooves stopped at the front of the building. Goosebumps flashed across the hairs on Ed’s arms as he felt the presence of someone—or something—powerful.