Fate’s Pawn

“We all bend under the weight of our wounds. Many break. No strong man is without scars.”

— Baromah the Willow, Master of the First School of the Daishinrin

Two moons hung in the sky, one red like old blood, the other green as new leaves. They watched the world like a pair of mismatched eyes as Raziel Re’del dropped to his knees. The autumn air was cool and a breeze stirred the dry leaves that littered the practice area but sweat poured off of Raziel’s body, dripping from his nose onto the smooth stone beneath him. Not far away a river babbled, cutting a winding path through the dozens of prospective students around him. Raziel knew the water would be ice cold but he knew just as well that it couldn’t cool the fire in his chest. Water couldn’t soothe the agony streaming through his nerves. Something was wrong with his magic. With him.

For most, the random shouts and calls echoing all around would have made it difficult to concentrate, to achieve the mental balance needed to move magical energy. If anything, that noise excited Raziel. On any other day, it would have made it easy to channel his power and the magic emanating from the world around him.

Dozens of people stood, sat, or knelt within circles engraved into the stone practicing their own magics. A few feet away a young dwarf, with only the patchy beginnings of a beard showing on his face, planted his feet, and, even though the circle focusing his power, Raziel could sense the earth responding to the dwarf’s call. Just beyond him an elf girl Raziel guessed was only a few years older than himself sat cross-legged, her hands outstretched in front of her towards a globe of water the size of her head that hung in the air, perfectly round and still. Just beyond them, a Gholam stood in its own ring while leaves spun in the air around it in a lazy orbit.

There were familiar faces in the crowd as well. Miles Sommer sat in his own circle a few yards away. He was taller than Raziel, thin, with mousy brown hair and glasses that always sat crooked on his long nose. There was no visible effect happening around him but Raziel was sure he was working at something difficult and complicated. Or maybe he was just trying not to look scared which would have been both difficult and complicated for Miles.

Keira Tydan and Roland Thorn weren’t far off either. Roland sat in his circle and Raziel couldn’t sense anything magical from him either. But all the same, people seemed to lean away from him. Roland’s back was to Raziel but there was a tension to his huge brooding frame, like a boulder at the edge of a cliff threatening to fall.

Keira meanwhile was almost facing Raziel. She was just close enough that he had a hard time avoiding her green eyes. Her features looked sharp and stark enough to cut anyone who came too close. She was almost pretty but her perpetual scowl and the tense set of her jaw made it hard to notice. Keira herself on the other hand was difficult to avoid noticing as pulses of light flared up in her circle every few moments. They were blinding to the eyes and to Raziel’s magical senses as well.

He wished desperately that Hoeru was there to talk to but his best friend had disappeared as soon as they’d signed up for the exam. The moment Hoeru had laid eyes on the crowd milling about outside the arena the changeling had seemed to fall in on himself, tucking his shaggy head and raising his shoulders. He said he’d meet them when it was time to start the trial. Raziel told himself that the crowd was the only reason that Hoeru wasn’t here.

Normally Raziel would have wished all of his friends closer. This should have been so boring that he’d be dying to talk to someone just for the distraction. But there were so many people getting ready for the entrance exam and all of them were doing better than Raziel. That difference wouldn’t have normally bothered Raziel. It was one thing to do magic while in a circle with nothing to distract you but noise. Doing it in a fight, like they would in the trial, was something entirely different. And Raziel knew he could do that.

But something inside Raziel had gone wrong, been damaged. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hide that fact. It had been this way ever since he’d lost his second home.

Raziel tamped that thought down in the back of his mind with the rest of his fears, worries, and regrets. The image of a flat wooden mask with huge staring eyes was the hardest to shove down. He wiped away the sweat from his eyes and pushed his wet, black hair off of his forehead before getting back to his feet. His hair flopped back across his forehead like spider legs. It was too long, ticking at the back of his neck and getting into his eyes but he hadn’t had an opportunity or the motivation to get it cut in the past month.

He looked down at his hands. They looked like the rest of him. Too thin, too pale, and shaky. Every time he looked in the mirror he wondered if his friends had noticed. He hoped they just thought the healing he’d gone through after they’d left Peritura was still taking its toll.

He took long, deep breaths and tried to slow his racing heart. He told himself that he’d just been doing it wrong without realizing it, pinned all his hopes on the thin possibility that he was fine and the pain he’d been in moments before and every other time he’d tried to do magic in the last few weeks was some kind of weirdly repetitive accident he was now past.

He reached out to the air flowing around him, to the moisture floating in it from the river nearby with its endless motion, down into the stone beneath his feet and its slow, steady strength. He could feel it all, knew that power was ready, waiting. Even with so many on the field practicing their magic, an abundant supply was there for the taking.

But it was a far cry from the magic Raziel had felt in the heat of battle, that chaotic mix of terror, exhilaration, and rage. That power had been eager, practically begging to be used. It had sung in Raziel. He’d felt complete in those blazing minutes with his life on the line.

Now, he hesitated. He wanted to believe he was just being careful but he knew the truth. He was not a careful person. He was afraid of what he was sure was about to happen, what he was about to do to himself. It was like looking at a steaming pot of boiling water and hoping that when he put his hand in, the water would be cool. And yet, he had to do it.

So he steeled himself, grinding his teeth together, and drew in some of the magic in the air around him. He only pulled in a little, like sipping at a hot drink to keep from scalding his tongue.

It felt like someone had lit bonfires all around him, his skin prickling at first before a sensation like needles digging into every inch of his body poured over him. And yet, he held on, drew in more. He told himself that maybe he just needed to get past this initial wave of pain, push through and it would be fine again.

The pain didn’t just grow.

It multiplied.

And still, he hung on. He drew it in and forced it down into his right hand. Raziel had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming as the magic filled his hand. Burning knives were tearing their way free from inside his flesh. There was too much power to simply let go, he had to do something with it now. He raised his arm, pointing his palm up to the sky, and released the magic. The boom as the magic left his hand echoed against the trees and the kinetic energy slammed back into him, pushing him down into a squat.

Raziel gasped for air and his vision went dark and blurry. He had to focus completely on his balance to keep his feet. The pain lingered, fading slowly. But the worst of it was, with the magic gone, he felt empty; dry as the leaves scattered about the ground around him. Slowly he came back to the world looked around.

Everyone was staring at him. That shouldn’t have been intimidating. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d accidentally done something inappropriate and drew a crowd’s attention. And yet, this time, Raziel felt naked.

He knew how he must look to them. Pale, thin, sweating, his eyes hollow and cheeks sunken. He tried to pull a grin across his face, but if it looked as ghastly as it felt, it would fool no one.

Keira’s eyes found his. A part of him always wanted her attention, but even that part of him was horrified to see her looking at him. The concern he saw in her eyes hurt more than the magic.

He tore his eyes away from Keira’s, standing up and walking away. He held on to his false smile until she couldn’t see anymore and then let his face rest from its weight. He didn’t know where he was going but he couldn’t stand to be there anymore.

Ever since he’d killed Kusa, Raziel had felt that something was wrong with him, but now he could put a name to it. He’d read it in Keira’s eyes.

He felt broken.

Raziel pushed the feeling down, smashed it into a closet in his mind that was already threatening to burst open. He couldn’t afford it. Not with the test so close. Not with the price of failure so high.

If you fail, I’ll leave you behind.

The words, spoken in winter’s voice, a voice that found mercy contemptible, echoed in his mind and turned his guts to ice even as firey pain continued lancing over his skin. Raziel shook his head as if he could shake the words out of his skull.

While he was still in his reverie, Raziel’s stomach rumbled loud enough to draw the further looks from the people closest to him. Hunger was as good an excuse to stop this pointless practice as any. Raziel ignored the questioning, concerned looks his friends were shooting him, and continued out of the practice area, weaving his way between the occupied engraved circles. Somewhere behind him, a magically amplified voice called out to remind everyone that testing would begin in half an hour. It felt like being reminded of how long he had until his execution.

But even the condemned were usually granted a last meal. Before he’d even fully escaped the practice area he found he was nearly being dragged forward by the scents catching his nose. Along the riverbank were dozens of tiny food shops that reminded Raziel of the ones that appeared in the city square in Peritura on holiday nights. Those celebrations had always been fairly mild. If anything, the crowds had been smaller on those nights than they were on normal days. People rarely came to a hub town like Peritura for more than a stopover on their way to their real destination. But the food stands had always been fantastic. On those nights, when the town had more familiar faces than strangers, it had felt like one big family.

Raziel tried not to think about the smoking remains of the city. For the moment, Raziel’s biggest problem was choosing just one of the food stalls.

Before he could pick a hand fell on his shoulder. The pain of doing magic had mostly faded by then but the sudden contact was like being slapped on sunburned skin. Raziel flinched and whipped his body away from the sudden contact, biting his tongue to keep from screaming in pain.

He whirled on the person who’d touched him, ready to hit whoever it was. Miles saw it in his eyes, and almost stumbled back. The look of shock and fear on his friend's face flooded Raziel with shame.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry… you- you just scared me,” Raziel said, the lie ringing false in his ears like a wrong note in a song.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry,” Miles said too quickly, looking at Raziel like he was a feral dog. Raziel shook his head and rubbed at his face, trying to wipe away whatever expression Miles had seen.

“What do you want?” he asked, not looking up.

“You just- you almost ran away from the practice area. And it’s not long until we have to go in.”

“I didn’t run.” Raziel failed to keep the edge out of his voice. Miles raised his hands defensively.

“Alright, I know. I just wanted to… are you okay?”

The concern in Miles’ voice, the pity Raziel could see in his eyes was like a slap in the face. Raziel clenched his jaw shut over an angry answer and balled his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from moving. He held it all in for a few seconds before the emotions seemed to break inside him. The anger slipped away and the energy it had given him poured out like water from a broken glass.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Raziel sighed. “I’m just nervous and I didn’t eat this morning so I’m in a bad mood.”

“I didn’t know you could get nervous,” Miles said with a cautious chuckle. Raziel smiled at that, a genuine if somewhat chagrined one that seemed to put Miles more at ease than anything he’d actually said.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have a lot of experience with it.”

“I’ll give you some pointers. I’m practically a master at this point.”

They both laughed a little at that. It wasn’t a great joke but it had let out what remained of the tension between them.

“Do… do you think we can do this?” Miles asked. Raziel looked away from Miles. He didn’t like how much he’d already lied to him and didn’t want to lie more.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried to do this before. I couldn’t do magic at all not so long ago.” Raziel had to stop himself from saying he could barely do any now.

“This just isn’t what I ever saw myself doing with magic. I don’t know if I can learn to fight.”

Raziel snorted at that.

“Miles, you’ve already fought for your life. How many of those people back there do you think have killed monsters? Or stopped something like Lucas?”

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t punch Lucas or anything.”

“Roland punched him and it didn’t work. You beat him. You kept yourself and Roland alive. After that how could you be scared of this?”

Miles chewed on his lip. After a moment he nodded.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I didn’t mean to come here for you to make me feel better though.”

“I’m fine,” Raziel said, not liking how easy the lie came to his lips now. “I just need some food and I’ll be ready. I’ll see you there.”

“Alright. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Miles walked away heading back to the practice area. As he went Raziel’s stomach rumbled again, hard enough to hurt. That hadn’t just been an excuse. All he had to do now was decide which of the stands to stop at.

The lines made his choice for him. There weren’t only people hoping to pass the test here in Kawanowari, a name that twisted Raziel’s tongue into knots whenever he tried to say it. Some spectators had come to watch the fighting like some kind of gladiatorial exhibition and they filled the shops with chatter about what would happen inside. The only shop where he could squeeze in was one with stools and a table in front of it. The owner had a sign in both the strange characters of elvish and the more familiar Arcan words that Raziel could read, as well as other languages.

Food is meant to be enjoyed for its own sake. You sit and eat my food here or you eat someone else’s food.

Raziel didn’t like the sound of that but he didn’t have many options. The only person running the stand was a short and thickly built elf, his gracefully pointed ears seeming out of place attached to his blocky face. Raziel tried to be patient as he waited for the elf to ask what he wanted. But patience and Raziel were like distant relatives who saw each other only occasionally on holidays and never looked forward to the experience.

It wasn’t long before Raziel was sizing up other food stands, wondering if he’d do better to go get in one of their lines. He didn’t have unlimited time after all and the stern-looking elf hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction yet. Raziel eyed the other patrons to see if perhaps there was some sort of unknown order he hadn’t noticed, but only one other person sat in the stand. The man, yet another elf, was breathing with his mouth open and his tongue almost poking out of his mouth as though his noodles were too hot. And yet, every few moments he would slurp more noodles with an expression that suggested he was having a religious experience.

Raziel started to slide off his seat when the elf caught him by the upper arm. Raziel looked down at the hand and then up at the elf himself. The grip was strong but only for a moment. What caught Raziel’s attention was the elf’s flat knuckles. The heavy calluses were familiar. His grandfather had them too.

Raziel waited for an explanation but the elf held up a finger to stall him. He was waving at his mouth with his other hand, trying to cool his tongue. The man was large, especially for an elf, with obvious muscle that showed beneath his loose, white and brilliant blue robes. He had the stark, sharp features that elves were known for, especially his pointed chin and high cheekbones. These features only highlighted the scar across his uneven nose. It had obviously been broken at some point, probably more than once. His hair was dark and cut very close to his scalp.

“Sorry,” he said, at last. The word was roughened, as he seemed to be trying to speak without letting his tongue touch any other part of his mouth. “Your food’s almost ready. I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

Raziel hadn’t known what to expect but he blinked in confusion at that.

“But I-“

“Haven’t ordered. I know. It doesn’t work that way here. You’re not from the Daishinrin, right? You’re here to join a school?”

Raziel nodded, curiosity quickly overpowering his sense of caution, something long since atrophied from lack of use.

“We don’t order food here. The cook makes what he thinks his customer will like.”

“But how does he know what I like?”

“He doesn’t. That’s why the first meal is always free. He gets to practice, you get a meal. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to come back.”

“Oh,” Raziel said. The idea seemed annoying but free food was hard to turn down. Especially if it was almost ready. So he resettled into his seat and tried not to bounce his knees or tap the counter.

Luckily, his impatience did not have to be tested long. The cook soon slid a bowl to him and the smell alone nearly dragged Raziel face first into the soup. The bowl was filled with noodles, what looked like a soft-boiled egg sliced in half, greens and mushrooms, and slices of meat that Raziel couldn’t immediately identify. It hardly mattered. Raziel would have crammed anything that smelled that good into his mouth. But he didn’t want to be disrespectful to the cook so Raziel fiddled with the two sticks to get the noodles while using the spoon for anything that would fit in it.

“Do you want some advice?” The elf asked. Raziel turned and nearly slung broth on him as the ends of the noodles he had in his mouth dragged free from the bowl. He slurped them into his mouth as quickly as he could and only partly so he could answer.

“I know how to use these,” he said, holding the sticks as best he could and trying to clack them together without losing one. “There was an elven food shop back where I grew up. I’m just not very good at it.”

The elf seemed to be trying to hold back a smile.

“I wasn’t talking about those.” He nodded in the direction of the practice area. “I saw you out there.”

Nothing more really needed to be said. Raziel looked back at his bowl and took another spoonful. He could barely taste it now.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Don’t take the test today.”

Raziel’s eyes stayed on the bowl in front of him but he couldn’t see it. All he could see was his friends walking away from him. All he could hear were seven cold words.

“I can’t do that,” Raziel said to his bowl.

“Kid, they do this every three months. And this time of year is when there’s the most competition. Three months from now there’ll be the least.”

“Doesn’t matter. I have to get into a school today.”

“Why?”

The elf’s tone surprised Raziel, otherwise he might have refused to answer. It wasn’t a derisive question. He wasn’t looking down on Raziel. There was genuine confusion and curiosity in it.

Raziel turned back towards the practice area. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew friends were still there. Roland, Miles, and Keira, all diligently practicing the skills they would soon show everyone, skills Raziel knew would get them into a school easily. Hoeru would be off in the woods, likely doing the same by catching some food of his own. Raziel turned back to the elf.

“My friends,” he said. “I can’t let them go without me.”

It was impossible for Raziel to guess the elf’s age. Contrary to what some people thought, elves weren’t ageless. Raziel had already seen several like the cook who’d made his food with graying hair and wrinkled faces. This elf showed none of that. But he could have looked the exact same when Raziel’s grandfather was a child.

That should have distanced him from the elf. It should have made it all but impossible for the two to understand each other. But when Raziel spoke there was a tiny motion, a slight rocking back of his head and a widening of his eyes. The elf looked away.

“Oh,” was all he said. But in it, Raziel heard, ‘I understand.’

Both of them went back to their food, though the elf seemed to be a bit more careful about it. The soup was so good and Raziel so hungry that, for a few moments, he was lost in it. The atmosphere around him was one of excitement, people laughing and talking almost over one another. Raziel couldn’t understand a lot of what was said since so much of it was in languages he didn’t know. But that was almost better. He could drink in that wide-eyed, grinning energy and forget, for just a moment, how dire his situation was.

“Can I give you another piece of advice?” the elf asked, while Raziel was mid-bite. Raziel shrugged.

“I can’t see why not. I don’t promise to follow it.”

The elf snorted and regret immediately crashed over his face.

“Ah! Ow. Spices went up my nose,” he said, waving his hand at his face though Raziel couldn’t imagine how that could help.

“You’re not going to do well enough in a fight to impress any of the masters,” he said at last, still wincing and wiggling his nose in pain.

“That’s… not advice. I think that was an insult.”

The elf held up a finger.

“It’s the setup to the advice. Context is important, kid. You’re just not in a position to do things the normal way.”

“Okay, now that I get. That’s actually pretty close to my version of normal.”

“Yeah, you look like that would be true.”

“Could you get to the advice?”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting me.”

Both of them paused for a few seconds. Raziel narrowed his eyes but knew he’d been verbally cornered into silence. The elf smirked in victory and went on.

“One of the masters, Mori, has a prodigy student named Daichi Miyata. The kid is a genius.”

Raziel had already heard the name mentioned by enough people in passing over the course of the day to believe the elf. He considered saying so but decided not to interrupt again. Yet.

“Master Mori has a standing offer. He will accept anyone who can land a single hit on Daichi.”

“All I have to do is hit the guy?”

“You’ll need to challenge him specifically, the moment you’re on the dais. Don’t let them get a good look at you first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The elf gave Raziel a ‘come on now’ look.

“It means that any master that glances at you is going to know what’s going on with you, the moment they lay eyes on you.”

Raziel considered that. He was probably right. This person had picked up on the fact that he was having trouble after all.

“Do you think they can help me?” Raziel asked, his voice quiet.

“Oh sure,” the elf said. Hope burst in Raziel’s chest. He might be broken but he could be fixed.

“Pretty sure anyway. Yeah, probably,” the elf continued.

“You aren’t very good at this giving advice thing are you?” Raziel asked. The elf smirked.

“Why do you think I asked if you wanted it first?”

Raziel had to admit, that was fair. They ate in silence from there. Raziel was forced to eat faster than he wanted to so he could finish in time. Fortunately, there’d be a chance for it to settle before his test would start. He and his friends had arrived when the sun was still just starting to rise but there had still been a long line to sign up. Once he’d finished his bowl he thanked the cook. Raziel wasn’t sure the cook understood what he said, but he was sure he knew what he meant. Then he turned to the elf that he’d been talking to.

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Such as it was,” the elf said with a wry grin. Raziel grinned back and started to leave. He paused and turned back.

“Hey, I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh. I’m Hiro.”

“I’m Raziel. Nice to meet you.”

“You too kid,” Hiro said. He raised a fist and shook it in a supportive gesture. “Go get ‘em.”

Raziel returned the gesture and turned to go back to the practice area where his friends were waving.