Hiram propped his elbows against the balcony railing and peered down into the sands of the Grand Arena. The echo of steel on steel rose above the roar of the crowd, seventy thousand voices cheering in unison.
The two warriors below were evenly matched, torsos bare, steel cage helmets covering their faces. Each man brandished an identical dueling sword.
Hiram adjusted the sleeves of his embroidered robe and took a deep breath. Moments like these were ones to continue living for. The championship bout was taking place here, now, on the final eve of Tuotsia’s most prestigious tournament. Perhaps volunteering to preside over the annual Great Fray as master of ceremonies had been a good decision after all. A welcome distraction.
“Lord Hiram,” a voice said from behind.
The first warrior intensified his assault, the second yielding ground with each successive parry.
“Lord―”
Hiram pounded a fist against the railing. “Be silent!”
Curse him―a foolish slip. No need to be giving orders under these circumstances. All he had to do was enjoy the fight. He couldn’t be caught taking sides during the match, or favoring one warrior over the other. Not this time.
Hiram glanced back at the steward waiting at his elbow. The diminutive man clad in white servant’s garb kept his eyes downcast, a blank expression plastered across his paling features.
“All right,” Hiram said. “What is it?”
The color returned to the steward’s face. “My Lord, a Renfox herald has just arrived, and is demanding to speak with―”
“Tell him I’m busy.” Hiram scoffed. Whoever High Lord Presik had sent this time must be one pompous little jit.
Below, the second warrior halted his retreat. Blades clashed. The two men separated and began circling one another, swords catching the light of the setting sun.
“But, Exalted One,” The steward shuffled his feet. “It’s Lady Alera.”
The next breath caught in Hiram’s throat. Alera. At last.
“Send her in.” As for the match, he could always put it on hold, speak with Alera first and have it resume afterward. No one would care. No one would even notice.
Except him. The championship duel must continue without his interference.
A young woman in a slender green riding dress replaced the steward on the balcony. Lady Alera, the Herald of Renfox, official envoy of High Lord Presik. She gave Hiram a nod instead of a bow, and Hiram returned a grin. How far she’d come since their days as lowly pickpockets prowling the Tuotsian city streets. How far they both had.
“You’re a difficult woman to reach,” Hiram said. “Every time I request for High Lord Presik to send you, you’re always indisposed.”
“Such are the ways of this new world.” She still had that same velvety tone, that same sharp smile. The years had done nothing to diminish her delicate form and features, only ripened them further. Perhaps he could―
Hiram turned away. He had to be careful, especially now, of all times. “You have the High Lord’s message?”
Alera handed him a slip of sealed parchment. “The Otarians are amassing another army along Renfox’s border.”
“A third one?” Curse those Otarians. They must’ve known how futile their incursions were. Another waste of Tuotsia’s time and resources. If only these jitting deliverers of bad news would leave him alone, even just for a day…
Alera’s face paled, her expression going blank. She pivoted on her heel and stepped away from the balcony.
“Wait!” Hiram raised a hand. He had to concentrate. On the match, the crowd, the thrill. On anything but her. The first warrior had lost his helmet, and it was the second’s turn to press the advantage. “Alera, stay. Those thoughts weren’t meant for you. Please.”
Alera blinked. She edged closer to the railing, her left arm brushing against his. “Hiram…”
“I’m fine.” Control. He had to maintain control. Hiram reached for her fingers. “Seeing you here just reminds me of the old days is all.” Of Tuotsia before the revelation of the prophecy. Before the dark tendrils of the Cataclysm had threatened to blot out the skies and suffocate their world. Him, Alera, Dawes, Marilee, and graybeard Briggs, journeying together on the Eternal Road. Life had been so much simpler then. “Tell High Lord Presik I’ll deal with the Otarians myself.”
“Are you sure?” Alera withdrew her hand. So she still wouldn’t let him touch her, even after all this time. “There’s no need to go yourself. Why not send an auxiliary―”
“It has to be me.” Yet another of his many obligations as the Exalted One, Hero of Tuotsia. Maintaining the peace was proving far from easy while rebuilding this new world.
The ringing of steel grew louder, and the crowd rose to its feet. The now helmetless warrior was on the defensive. His movements were slowing―an instant behind those of his opponent.
“Will you be staying in Tuotsia tonight?” Hiram asked.
“Not while there’s more of High Lord Presik’s errands to run.” Alera retreated from the balcony ledge and winked at him. “I didn’t come all this way just to deliver one message, you know.”
Maybe not, but it had been a hope. Hiram flashed her a weak smile. “Alera…”
She stopped and turned, dark eyes locking with his. Why not keep her here? Not long, perhaps an hour or two. They could reminisce some more about old times up in his chambers…
Alera advanced toward him, that blank expression again upon her face. She pulled down one strap of her dress to reveal the silky skin beneath. Hiram’s trembling fingers caressed her cheek, eyes lingering upon the tops of her breasts. He’d dreamed of her so often over the years, ever since their first night together stranded among the rainy crags of Mount Styrk. No other woman in Tuotsia had proved her equal.
He looked away. But not like this. Not again. The match below continued on. The duel was going poorly for the helmetless warrior. Blood seeped from numerous gashes along his muscled frame.
Color flushed in Alera’s cheeks, her eyes widening at the sight of her lowered dress strap. She pulled it back into place. “I―I should go.”
“I’m sorry.” Hiram’s voice slipped into a whisper. “I didn’t mean…” Their second night together had been nothing like the first. Alone after the celebration victory, deep beneath the Tuotsian city crypts to lay Briggs, Dawes, and Marilee to rest. He’d pressed her too hard then, hadn’t understood the extent of his strange new powers. Unable to control it. Or himself.
He tried to meet her gaze, but Alera sniffed and turned away. Probably why she’d never lingered here, after what he’d done to her.
“May the Temple watch over you, Hiram.”
“Alera, please―”
No smile, no nod. Her footsteps disappeared down the nearby corridor.
Hiram took a step after her, then stopped. To finally see her again after all these years, only to have them part like this…
He dug his fingernails into his palm. The Temple. That cursed place. If only the rest of Tuotsia could know. If only those celestial jits would allow him to speak of what had transpired there instead of imposing this gag of silence.
With one exception.
After destroying the Cataclysm, Alera had waited a whole week for his return from the Temple’s crystalline spires, camped out alone along the fringes of the Eternal Road. His only companion the celestials had spared, the last person in all the world he could still speak to about what happened. A cruel joke to precede what was to come.
The helmetless warrior threw aside his sword, the second warrior’s blade now resting upon his throat. A stillness settled over the crowd, though it had nothing to do with the moment or the spectacle.
The expressions of both warriors were blank, along with those of every Tuotsian citizen gathered within the Grand Arena.
Hiram straightened himself. The outcome of this match could end much differently, if he so chose. He could will the helmetless warrior to continue the fight, even to win. Stage one of the most incredible comebacks the Great Fray had ever seen, immortalize a new Tuotsian legend. The bards would sing of it, the historians would scribe it.
And he’d force the crowd to love it.
Hiram exhaled a sigh. No. Death should be the helmetless warrior’s reward this day. The Temple’s celestials had denied him that same mercy, shoving him forward instead into this cursed existence. Your ordained prophecy is fulfilled, they’d said. The Cataclysm defeated. Accept this exalted gift, and return to your world with our blessing.
Damn those jits. And whatever they’d done to him.
The sword fell. Blood sprayed into the sand. The second warrior pounded his chest, and the crowd’s voice lifted as one in a clamorous roar. The Great Fray had found its champion.
“Lord Hiram…?” The steward waited once more at his elbow.
“Ready my horse and escort,” Hiram said. So many things to be done, and there was only him. Time to be rid of this Otarian nuisance and their armies for good. “I ride for Renfox come nightfall.”
The steward bowed and disappeared from view. The crowd would be expecting a speech to commemorate the end of such a thrilling spectacle, and the conclusion of the Great Fray.
Hiram raised one hand for silence, glancing back into the darkness of the balcony corridor. But Alera wasn’t waiting for him, not this time. Nor would she ever again.
“Fellow citizens…” Hiram stepped forward into a raucous thunder of cheers and applause. Destroyer of the Cataclysm. Hero of Tuotsia. The Exalted One.
Alone.
—
Christopher A. Jos is a teacher currently living in Alberta, Canada, and is a self-professed fantasy and science-fiction junkie going back to his early teenage years. His speculative fiction has appeared in publications such as The Arcanist, The Colored Lens, and the Story Seed Vault. When not writing or working, Christopher usually unwinds by playing his acoustic guitar or spending time in the great outdoors photographing wildlife.
Visit him at https://christopherajos.com/ or find him on Twitter @ChristopheAJos.
Image by Tor-Sven Berge.
Excellent world-building. Seems like a strange place, but also very human and relatable in its emotions. This story seems like just the tip of a very intriguing iceberg.