Chapter 15

The Sophic Species known as Vhenari, or beast-kin, are humanoids that closely resemble mammals. Traits like claws, horns, fangs, antlers, ears, fur, and snouts are common. Vhenari are broken down into clans (e.g., Feline Clan, Canine Clan), then tribes (e.g., Tiger Tribe, Wolf Tribe), then houses, and finally families. This distinction is often too long-winded for most, so clan and tribe are normally left off in person since they are visually obvious.

Day 66, Quenchenday

I pressed my soldering iron down, binding a fine-grade wire to a connection node. I remeasured the wire for the third time when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Looking up, I found Nel glaring down at me. I took a second look around the shop. The room was empty.

“Come on, Iver. We were supposed to have lunch. What the hell are you working on?” she scolded, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger first at me, then at my new gear.

I looked from her to the six disks on the table, each no larger than two and a half inches across.

“Sorry, Nel. I was trying to wrap this up before lunch. I lost track of time,” I said with a bashful smile.

Nel picked up one of the finished disks, turning it over in her fingers like a large coin. “It’s fine, I guess, but you know this is breaking the rules, working on the day of rest.”

I let out a derisive snort. “Sacred day of rest, my ass. I can do what I want on my day off. Besides, it’s a personal project.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked. “What kind of project?” She turned the disk over again, tracing her finger around the button in the center.

I plucked the disk from her fingers with a deftness I could only dream of having with a blade, pressing it to the table. “The kind that can get me where I want to be.”

“You’re still going for the warrior path?” she asked, her tone treading on thin ice.

“I don’t give two shits what others have to say. Even if I need to cheat my way into the Sect of the Crimson Blade, I’m going to pass, get into the field, and find the time to hunt. And when I find that slither-spined malrupt, I’m gonna make him regret the day he took my father.”

“Iver, buddy, I think you have a problem,” she said tentatively.

I scoffed. “Problem? Would you have a problem if you were hunting the viletempt neffers that did,” I gestured to her body, “that to you?”

“I—I… FINE!” she snapped. “Yeah, I guess I would want to hunt the bastards. But I think you need to take a step back and look at this without feeling.”

I pushed away from the bench, slapping my hands on the table. I picked up my side bag and swept the disks into it with vicious force. “Look, Nel, I love you like a sister, but I’d rather not talk about this. You know I have goals. Let me do what I can to get where I need to be.”

She folded her arms, her face scrunched in a pout. “Fine,” she spat. “I want to do something fun.”

“What kind of fun?” I asked with weary trepidation.

“Well, we aren’t allowed any holo-games or video games until next year. We don’t get electives until next year. And we don’t get board games until—”

“Next year. I get it,” I interrupted. “So, what do you want to do? Play tag?”

She took a sharp breath. “Those are kiddie games. We are almost adults. Let’s do something fun that adults do.”

I shot her a skeptical look as I put away my tools. “Almost adults? Nel, we’re barely in our teens. I have no idea when Darklings mature. For all I know, I could be an adult when I hit forty, like Elves. I’m not even sure what adults do for fun.” I turned and made my way to the door.

“Well, what did your dad do for fun?” Nel asked.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Short list. He did a lot of drinking, which we can’t do. He watched a lot of holo-casts, but we’re restricted to educational videos. He used to go hunting, but there’s no game here other than birds and squirrels.”

“We could still hunt small game,” she pointed out.

“With what tools, Nel? We don’t have access to firearms, ammunition, or bows outside of class. We don’t even have bladed weapons.”

It was Nennel’s turn to sigh.

“What about your dad, Nel?”

“My dad? I’m not sure. He liked working on cars and monocycles. I think he had a beer occasionally, and I know he smoked like a brazier full of damp logs.”

“That’s it? What about your mom?”

“My mom is even more boring. She reads a lot—the cringey romance kind. She also baked. OH! And she loved barbecuing. She made the best pulled pork, marinated in pickle juice and brown sugar.” I made sure she couldn’t see the contorted face of disgust I made.

“Well, the only reading material we have is study material, and we aren’t allowed to cook,” I pointed out.

“Then we have a whole lot of nothing.” She threw her hands in the air. “What do you want to do?”

What I wanted was to keep tinkering. But I promised her we could do something fun. A good backup would be combat training. If I added a point system, she might be entertained, and I could be productive.

“I think I have an idea.”

“What’re you thinking?”

“How does point sparring sound?”

“Don’t we do that in class already?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, but that’s always the same weapon on both sides. I’m thinking a free-for-all.”

“You want to spar… me? Iver, you know I’m gonna cream you, right?”

An amused snort slipped out. “Oh, I have no doubt you’re going to beat me around like a half-deflated Scaffor Ball. But I want practice, and you want fun. I thought this would be a fair compromise.”

Nel let out a grunt of disgust. “I don’t even like that sport. It’s so… brutal.”

“You’re just saying that because you can’t play on a standard team. I hear Chrome teams are far more aggressive.”

“Are you a Scaffor junkie?” Nel said, accusingly.

This time, my snort was more derisive. “Do I look like I get wild for a bunch of meatheads abusing each other over a ball? Hells, I think the sport is stupid. I don’t watch it, let alone play it.”

By this time, we had reached the Slate sparring grounds, a fenced-in space of packed earth. Mounted to the far stone wall were racks of padded training weapons.

We set our things along the wall. I slipped out of my uniform jacket and eyed the padded tools. I settled on a longsword-shortsword combo because of a show I had seen where the main character, a tall, brooding Human, used this style like a dance of death.

I stepped into the nearest sparring ring, twirling both padded blades. The longsword was a bit blade-heavy, the shortsword slightly thicker on one side. Nel stepped in across from me with a pair of curved training daggers. I pulled up the sparring program on my therra-node and tagged our weapons. A point counter appeared in the corner of my vision, and a yellow, digital arena materialized around us.

I checked to make sure she was ready. She nodded, and we stepped to the center, performing the sparring ritual of respect.

We sparred for about two hours. As expected, she beat me six ways to Temporikday. I tried a mace and shield, a two-handed longsword, dual shortswords, a towartha set, and even a daring attempt at an Orcish kaykith. Every time, she outmaneuvered me, dodging every attack and leaving holographic red lines all over my body. The most points I scored were five while using the Towartha, but she scored seventeen. The worst was the massive kaykith blade; I failed to score a single point while she finished with almost fifty.

I fell flat on my ass, panting, the massive blade falling from my grip. I didn’t have the size or muscle to use the Orcish weapon. I would never admit it to Nel, but I was thoroughly embarrassed. At that moment, I vowed to never use heavy weapons again.

Nel offered me a hand. To hide how I was feeling, I flashed her a half-grin as I grasped her wrist. She pulled me to my feet, and the world swam for a few seconds.

“Well, well,” came a snide voice from behind me. “What in the Light’s grace did we just walk into? Are the freaks pretending to be warriors, or are they making goo-goo eyes at each other?”

I knew that voice. If I needed more confirmation that it was Mallrimor, Nel’s hand, still holding my wrist, clenched hard enough to make my bones ache. I shook my head to clear it as she stepped behind me. It wasn’t an over-exaggeration to say the winged viletempt and his crew had traumatized her. I couldn’t blame her. That meant I couldn’t run. I wanted to, my legs were turning to jelly, but I wouldn’t leave Nel behind.

I took a deep breath, let go of Nel, and stepped forward. “What’s the matter, you feathered skavy?” I hissed. “You can’t hold a blade to save your life, so you hide behind a wall of meat and step on people who just want to improve. You know what that makes you?”

“Oh, yeah?” Mallrimor sneered. “What would a slither-spined freak like you know about me?”

I shifted a hand behind my back and gestured for Nel to move toward our things. As she began backstepping, I kept the attention on me, pacing to the right. “Who would know you better than someone you show your hateful nature to? You mock those who stand out. You get bold when you see what you think is weakness.” I stopped and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You, Mallrimor, hide behind your goons because you can’t fight. You pick on the odd ones out because you feel weak. You act bold because you are scared. So what are you going to do, coward?”

With every word, I watched the Brightling’s face turn deeper shades of red. I felt a strange cross between pride and terror. His hands began to convulse between rabid claws and white-knuckled fists.

His words rose from a hiss to a snarl. “Get him. Get HIM NOW!”

The Orc, Brecken, and the Dracose, Kesher, gave each other worried looks, but the High Elf, Gellar, didn’t hesitate. As I saw him draw his blunted scimitar, I half-turned to Nel, raised my right hand, and shouted, “Sword me!”

My friend seemed to expect this and threw the weapon before I finished the second word. My intent was to catch it and look like a badass. The result was less dramatic. I caught the hilt, but the weight and speed were more than I expected, pulling me off balance. I grasped the hilt with both hands and spun on my right foot. As I spun back around, I only just managed to get the blade up to block Gellar’s downward chop. My block only diverted the blow, his blade sliding down mine to slam harmlessly into the dirt.

I drew back my blade and thrust at his chest. Gellar reversed his grip and deflected it, then thrust the hilt into my gut, knocking the wind from me. I staggered back, gasping.

“I want him bleeding and weeping!” howled Mallrimor.

The other two thugs stepped up. At the thought of being outnumbered, I took several more steps back, almost reaching the wall where Nel was hiding. I reached out my free hand. “Nel! Throw my bag, slide your dagger!”

She knew what I meant. She snatched up my satchel and launched it behind me. Without skipping a beat, she flung one of her daggers, sliding it across the dirt to bounce off my ankle.

I threw the bag over my shoulder, shoved my weapon in my belt, and slipped my tech glove on. I pulled the blade free as I scooped up the dagger and thrust it where the sword had just been. Brecken drew his axes as Kesher pulled free a greatsword. They moved to flank me while Gellar pressed forward.

I had to act fast. I reached into my bag and drew out one of my new disks. I pressed the center button and turned the timer to a two-second delay, then flung it between us. As the timer hit zero, smoke shot from its edges, obscuring their vision. I turned to Nel, pointed to the exit, and shouted, “GO!”

She got the message. I lost sight of her, but I heard her shove Mallrimor to the ground and flee. When I knew she was safe, I let out a sigh of relief. I would take the beating if it meant my friend was safe. I cared about her, and I would sooner burn at the stake than lose her. So I would fight and take the beating with a smile.

I pulled two more disks from my bag, both with light-blue rims, set their timers to ten seconds, and dropped them ahead of me. I knew I was going to regret this. I pulled the dagger from my belt and readied myself.

Kesher closed in with a vertical swing. I stepped right, barely avoiding it. Brecken saw me moving closer and threw a low swing at my knees. I stepped back, only to find him throwing another chop at my shoulder. I tried to block, but only managed to deflect the blow enough that it broke my right foot instead of my shoulder. I screamed and fell to one knee.

I rallied my mind, pushing the pain aside long enough to strike Brecken in the knee, forcing him to his own knee. As fast as I could, I threw the training dagger into Kesher’s face, striking his right eye. The Dracose backed off, clutching his eye.

Gellar saw this and rushed forward as my disks released blue-green gas. I rolled right as his blow landed. As I came to my knees, I took my moment. With my experimental gauntlet, I launched electrodes that latched to his chest. Electric current rushed from my fist, and as planned, it leaped from him, through the Secorus Gas, to strike everyone else—myself included.

I had never felt pain like that before. White fire rushed through my body as my muscles clenched and flexed. My body locked up. I fell onto my right side, landing on my broken foot and multiplying my pain. The only thing keeping me conscious was the pain in my foot.

The others fell to the dirt, unmoving. I wasn’t sure what caused the shock to subside. Either the gas dissipated, or my gauntlet’s batteries died. Regardless, I was thankful. I pushed myself clumsily to stand on my good foot, using the shortsword as a crutch. I felt a swell of pride looking at the unconscious brutes.

My pride was crushed when I saw Mallrimor standing across from me, his face painted with rage, a bolt of fire building between his hands. My eyes went wide. I tried to turn and flee but only managed a half-turn before a searing burn struck my side. I fell with a cry, losing my weapon. I landed on my chest and tried to crawl away as I heard the others rising with groans.

“Get up, you pathetic fools. The worm is crawling away,” Mallrimor snarled.

My racing pulse jumped to a new gear. I could hear them staggering toward me. A clawed foot pressed down on my back, then rolled me over. I raised my hands to guard my face. I could feel their malicious intent.

For the first time in my life, I prayed. In sheer desperation, I sent a silent prayer to the Nameless Goddess for some way out.

I saw the figures above me moving to end my existence when a new one appeared. Slender and svelte, with long hair and large, cat-like ears. I watched as she struck Brecken in the back of the knee with a brutal kick. The Orc fell. The stranger spun with feline grace, planting a sidekick in Gellar’s gut. Kesher lashed out with his massive blade. The stranger dropped into a squat and swept out his legs. He toppled like a felled tree. Without skipping a beat, she spun and brought an arcing kick to Gellar’s head as he closed in, throwing him to the ground. Mallrimor staggered back, summoning another bolt of flame.

I sat up in time to see a streamer of copper hair and black fur. The figure dashed toward the Brightling. In a panic, he cast the bolt, but she sidestepped it and landed an uppercut to his jaw that lifted him off his feet and dropped him to the dirt.

This girl who just saved me turned, a cocky smirk on her face. She was a Vhenari. Her body was covered in shining black fur with copper stripes like a tiger. Her face was almost wholly feline but touched by an animalistic beauty. Her long, fiery copper hair flowed down her back. Her slit-pupil eyes were a radiant yellow. I looked toward the gate to find Nel half-hidden behind a post. My best guess is she ran for help, and this woman answered.

The Tiger Tribe Vhenari stepped up and offered a hand. “You don’t need to worry about those cock-thistles anymore.”

In a daze, I clasped her wrist. She lifted me with little effort. I waggled my jaw, trying to find words. She watched my speechless state with a smirk. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” She flashed a wild grin.

“S-sorry,” I stammered. “But thank you. You just saved my life.”

“What?” she asked, perplexed. “Nah.” She brushed off the comment with a wave, turning to hide her obvious pride. “The numbskulls would have just broken a few bones… maybe a few dozen. Other than that Brightling. There is something wrong with that guy.”

“Still, thank you. What’s your name?”

She flashed an honest grin. “The name’s Roserra, but my friends call me Rose. And I think I’ll call you a friend.”