[Skell]
"Mind if I come in?" I knocked.
A short wait. Then the door opened a smidge.
Behind the sliver was the scarred side of Amara's face: a tired eye and a few white locs. "I would rather you didn't."
Neither of us wanted to meet the other's gaze. Distance just felt right. Which was why I rented the room across the hall and left her with her brother. After all, the thought of turning over to hands around my throat wasn't exactly beneficial to a good night's rest. She probably felt the same.
Last time I had a room to myself, though, I was at risk of going to jail. Before that, I was in jail. Turns out, empty rooms aren't very fun.
"I… get it. I just wanted to ask about the training you mentioned. And see how Oliver's doing too, but that snoring…"
"Yes, I believe he tuckered himself out earlier. Though he isn't the only one in dire need of rest - I should be off to bed as well," her fingers wrapped around the door. "Your training begins at dawn. Leave questions for then."
"Right. Sorry."
I was still angry with her - I mean, shade, she broke my spine. That was the kind of pain you couldn't just forget. The searing from her light art wasn't a field day either.
But for all that, we wanted the same thing: for our little doofus to be happy. So I'd be polite. Even if she wasn't.
"I won't keep you up, then," I turned. "Goodnigh-"
"Wait," Amara suddenly pushed open the door and revealed her whole face, flooding the hall with flickering firelight.
Confused, I spun back.
"I… spoke out of turn, before. Made rash decisions I now regret. This… it's all so much. Grandfather, Oliver, you… my head will spin for weeks trying grapple with it all."
Like always, Amara cast a strong figure. Her posture was tall, voice measured, eyes direct.
But she wasn't invincible. Fingers tapped at an involuntary, erratic pace. And I could almost see the knot in her throat. Far as I knew, she hadn't even cried. 'Till then, that all went unnoticed. After? I couldn't look away.
"I… could've done some things better, too," I rubbed my neck. "Sorry for your loss. Can't say I knew him for long, but from what I know, Ansel was a great man."
"He was." Her attention was distant. "A great man, a greater warrior, and the best guardian."
"Guardian? Oh, that reminds me."
Over Amara's shoulder, I peered at her snoring brother, then back to her. His skin was fair; hers was dark. Her hair was in long, careful twists; his was wavy and barely controlled by the recent haircut. The conclusion was obvious. I said it anyway.
"I hope this isn't a bad time to ask, but… you and Oliver aren't really related, are you?"
To my surprise, a small smile soothed her face. "We're not. But we are siblings."
"What?"
"Neither of us are grandfather's children by blood," she seemed amused. "I don't think he's so much as held a woman's hand before."
"But… nevermind," I dropped it.
"Say what's on your mind," Amara insisted. "I've not the energy to be offended."
"Well," I shifted back and forth, "is it really family if there's no relation?"
She half-turned, smiling at her brother, snuggled tight in warm bedsheets.
"What would sharing a womb do to make our bond stronger? To make me love him more? We grew up, and fought, and laughed together, ever since we had enough of a mind to take each other's candy. I don't mean to say relation means nothing. Only that family can exist just fine without it."
Her fingertips slowed. Her neck relaxed.
"…Right. Dumb question," my cheeks turned red.
She looked back to me. "Before, you said you have a few memories, correct?"
I nodded. "Just a few. And calling those memories is like calling a broken slab with a faded epitaph a gravestone."
"Do you recall any family? Siblings? Parents? Children?"
"Shade, I hope I don't have kids. I'd have left them alone for…"
A new thought struck me. At one point, I was alive. And just recently I awoke to undeath. But how long was the period in-between? Just a few short days? Or…
"Amara!" I spoke frantically. "Is there a time limit on when you can raise a dead body?"
Her eyebrows jumped. "Oh, um, it depends. Flesh generally decomposes quickly, but bones," she motioned to me, "can easily survive for countless lifetimes. Necromancy has little issue raising any corpse that hasn't completely deteriorated."
She caught her poor choice of wording just a bit too late. "But, you-"
"Countless lifetimes…" I felt weightless. "So I haven't just forgotten my mom and dad and anyone else I cared about, but I've gone and outlived them too…"
Occasionally, I'd get ahead of myself and think of my end goal: a return to my past life, memories and body restored. The welcoming arms of my loved ones would embrace me, and everything would be as it should be.
I could never be so lucky.
"Potentially," Amara noted. "There's no telling when you lived. As well-" she sighed. "Apologies. Intentionally or no, I suppose misery does enjoy company."
"All you did was make me think. About something important. Things could've changed since I was alive, and… I should be ready for anything. Or nothing."
My body walked itself back across the hall, away from the firelight. A hand rested on the cold doorhandle, a very lonely night awaiting me on the other side.
"Skell?" said Amara.
She was still in her doorway. Lost in thought as I was, I figured she already left.
Sympathy warmed her eyes. "I'll… see you in the morning."
"…Yeah." I nodded. "Goodnight."
—————————————————————————————————
Circuses that summoned the wind for breathtaking stunts. Zoos showcasing the rarest of unbelievable creatures. Houses of mirrors reflecting beams of light from one end to the other. Flashy clothes and funny hats and fast-talking performers and people who were a little too comfortable revealing way too much on every corner.
That was the Rouge Revelry: Selem's eccentric, eclectic entertainment district.
"Wow," my head spun like a top. "Think we've got time for a short detour?"
My new "teacher" glanced back at me. "No."
Unlike other districts, the Rouge Revelry was a mite less orderly. Less roads, more open space for buildings to stretch their legs. Something our destination took full advantage of.
Amara - dressed in form-fitting athletic wear - guided me past a thousand wonders… to a relatively plain building: the combat center. It was wider than three houses - and longer than a dozen.
Inside was a small lobby. Off to the right was a blushing clerk, who Amara marched up to.
"What are the rates for a room?" she questioned.
While he stammered for an answer, I gave the place a look over. Great battles were depicted on the walls alongside flags and mock weapons and exorbitant pricings for private lessons. Among them hung a particularly striking piece: standing triumphant over a field of slain beasts was an empty figure. Empty, save for the bold "you" jotted over their chest.
An ambitious promise. But as I stared at the piece, I couldn't help but imagine myself in it: a fearsome warrior.
I snickered. Yeah right. I'm just a skeleton with a passable Shroud and a couple parlor tricks. Can't see myself ever being like that.
My smile faded. Even so, something's gotta change. Weird as this situation is, it's a golden opportunity; training from a Templar could give me the power I've been seeking. And if what everyone says about the Ordeals is true, I'll need it.
Amara returned to my side. "Everything's been accounted for. Let's go."
"All right."
We passed under the artwork into a narrow connecting hall. Doors lined both sides, with a heck of a lot of space between one and the next.
"You know, I could've paid," I said. "You're training me, after all."
"With my grandfather's rounds?" the Templar asked.
Point taken…
She popped her neck. "Aside from that, Templars are given generous salaries. To say nothing of all the discounts pushed upon us. I can take the hit."
"Well, thanks for that. But speaking of hits," I spoke over exerted grunts from a nearby room, "how serious will this training be, anyway?"
Amara stopped at a door on our left. "Very."
One push and it swept open. On the other side was - in a sense - a battlefield.
Under the open ceiling and sunny blue sky spread a small field, carvings and cracks littering the earthen floor, and faded blast-marks scarring the stone walls - of course, this was one of the few parts of Selem where magic use wouldn't get you thrown in the slammer. At the foot of these walls were several racks crowded in weapons: spears and daggers, swords and hammers, axes and staffs and an Abyss' worth more that I couldn't name - all wooden and dulled to a relatively safe level. Beside that were a number of training dummies. Some even still had heads.
"This place looks serious…" I followed Amara inside.
-ly in need of maintenance.
"Training is serious," Amara replied. "It's why they allow all non-critical damage to remain from past patrons. To show the grit needed to cultivate one's talents."
Sounds like an excuse to cheap out on a cleaning crew.
"And cultivating your talents," she continued, "is precisely what we'll do until the day of the Sacred Ordeals."
I puffed out my chest. "Yeah. Good thing I've got a clear schedule."
Amara didn't reply. Instead she walked up to the weapon racks and examined our options.
"Oh, I just remembered; I keep hearing about these Ordeals - they're some big test you take before becoming a Templar, right? But I haven't actually heard what I'll be tested on."
She lifted a practice spear, examined it, then put it back. "I… can't say."
"What?" I crossed the room to Amara. "You're saying you won't tell me?"
"I'm saying I do not know."
"You don't… how? You beat them, didn't you?"
"I did," she deliberated on the weight of an axe, before shelving that too. "But the Sacred Ordeals occur yearly. And no two years are ever the same."
I squinted. "Why make it so complicated?"
"Two reasons. First is this exact situation. Let's assume I could tell you what to expect - now you hold an advantage over those who don't. The Order wants the best combatants. Not the best listeners."
"…Fair enough. But now nobody knows what to expect. If everyone's going in blind, how's anyone gonna become a Templar?"
"That's the very point. Again, the Order only wants the best of the best. Any guardsman or half-rate brigand can swing a blade or cast basic arts, but Templars are Lumerit's elite. If you cannot conquer unknown factors and overwhelming odds, you wouldn't survive the job."
Shade. This whole process is harsher than I thought.
"I suppose," Amara moved to a pair of daggers, "my superiors could enforce an oath of silence on those who succeed. But then, hundreds of applicants fail yearly. Trusting them to keep quiet would be impossible."
"Hundreds?" I got tense. "You… think I can make the cut? Compared to them?"
She stopped. "…You're aware of our time limit, aren't you?"
"Yeah?" I walked up the adjacent weapon rack. "You told me on the way here - we've got about a month 'till the Ordeals."
"Thirty-seven days, to be precise. In that time, I must summarize and teach you a host of vital skills. Once time is up, well, I needn't remind you I'm an active Templar myself. I cannot be expected to keep up this arrangement. Even if my brother pleads for it."
"So in other words, I fail, and I'm on my own…" I gathered my courage. "But I won't. Everything you show me, I'll learn."
She looked up. "Know this: many of your peers will have spent years training. Preparing. And many of them will still fall short. You will be at a significant disadvantage."
"I've been at a disadvantage since I first opened my eyes. But I will live again. I'll do the impossible if it gets me one step closer."
"Hmph. I like your attitude." Amara grabbed the sword before her and tossed it at my feet. "Talk and action, however, are two very different things."
"Er, what do you want me to do with this?" I watched her walk past me.
She stopped near the center of the field. "Strike me."
Confusion struck me, before I made sense of it. "Oh, I get it. You're gonna block it."
Amara smirked a little. "No. I'm going to stand here, and you're going to hit me in my face."
I blinked. "You'll… use a Shroud, at least, right?"
"It's good that you know what Shrouds are. That saves us time. But no. I don't bother with that ability."
So she's just… like that? All the time? These Templars are a different breed…
Half-heartedly, I lifted the practice sword and shuffled my feet up to where she stood.
"You need to move with haste," she tapped a foot. "Our time will be up before you know it."
"I know. I just… is there a better way to do this? Why do I have to hit you?"
"So I can gauge your strength. Get a sense of the clay I must sculpt. If you're to be a Templar, you cannot be afraid to swing a blade."
"I'm not afraid," I clenched the handle.
She wasn't convinced. "Picture… that I'm your worst enemy."
"Well, you did break my spine. You're a contender for sure," I only half-joked.
"Fine. See me however you must to strike me as hard as you can."
After looking her in the eyes, I closed my own. Urgh. This is Cynthine all over again. Masochists…
"Okay, fine," I relented. "At least I know you can take it."
I readied my arms, my joints, my shoulders, and raised the wooden sword skyward.
Then, I came down with every ounce of my strength.
A quiet thunk signaled my sword slapping her forehead.
"What… was that?" She seemed more hurt by my performance than anything.
"Oh, um, I'm just… warming up, you know?" I forced a laugh.
Amara didn't join me. "You defeated a Templar Knight, did you not?"
"Wha-!?" I almost dropped the sword. "How in the Abyss did you know that?"
"Let's just say I have good sources."
"Okay, sure, b-but does anyone else know I did that?"
She gave me a sideways look. "As far as I'm aware, you're anonymous. I only pieced it together after discovering your… identity."
Phew. If Gervais ratted me out, I don't know what I'd do.
"Just, settle down," Amara held out a hand. "I don't imagine you trounced that Knight in a fair duel, but if you're standing here now, you couldn't have been completely helpless."
Well, yeah, I had Oliver's help… but she doesn't need to know that. Not while I'm still in mauling distance, anyway.
"Simply use today," she said, "the strength you used back then."
"All right, all right. I won't hold back."
Raw power immersed my body as I summoned my Shroud. Like before I lifted the weapon. And again it fell upon her, empowered by new strength, the collision much louder.
"Not bad," she stroked her chin, as if reviewing the quality of a meal. "That one made my forehead itch."
I pulled away the weapon. "That's it!? All my effort made you itchy?"
"You have several areas that need severe improvement. Physical ability, of course, but also posture, finesse, efficiency - even confidence in your own attacks."
She can tell all that from a couple swings?
"That said…"
"What?" I asked.
"This training would be simpler if you were alive."
I felt strangely offended. "What does that mean?"
"I meant no insult. Seeing as you're a corpse however, you may not be aware of what sets living humans apart from other animals."
Amara walked by me. "Lions, for example, are fierce predators. But their hunting ability never exceeds a certain point. They reach their best, then stay there. Humans are not beholden to this effect. Ignoring the need to eat, drink, and rest, we could hypothetically train and perform every moment of our lives, constantly bettering ourselves to no end. Our might can surpass that of an elephant's, our agility that of a cheetah, our endurance… well, humans already have unrivaled endurance, but we can better that too."
Explains why she's so strong; probably curls dumbbells in her sleep. Thing is…
"I already know this. I'm missing memories, not common sense."
"Then you're aware that normally," she studied more weapons, "we would implement a standard training regiment: weight lifting, running laps, exercises to sharpen your resilience, stamina and the like."
"But that's not gonna work." I flexed my glamoured arm. "You can't train muscles that aren't real."
"Unfortunately, you cannot. Thus, the only way to make you more physically able is by refining your Shroud."
"That's it? That's easy! I already did some practice on the way to Selem. It's mostly just meditation."
Looks like this'll be a smooth thirty-seven days after all.
She nodded. "Which is why you'll be doing that outside the combat center."
What?
"But a Shroud alone won't make you formidable," she continued. "If you lack skill, you'll never use what power it grants you to full effect. While we're here in the combat center, that skill is what I'll drill into you."
A devilish grin flashed across Amara's face. "Ready your blade," she grabbed a nearby practice hammer, the handle long and the head hefty. "First, let's begin with some light sparring. I'll coach you throughout."
Prickles ran up my spine. "Y-you sure we should jump right into sparring? You're not exactly weak…"
"Oh, I'll take things slow," she slung the hammer over her shoulder and walked me down. "I promise…"
On the road, I was off-handedly told that Amara liked fighting. As a hobby or something, I figured. Not some ravenous addiction.
And as she pounced at me - much like a lion pounces at a zebra - under the guise of "training", I realized something:
I miss Cynthine…
—————————————————————————————————
"Too defensive! If you never attack - hagh! - you'll never win!"
I didn't doubt it was sound advice, but when you're an ant being chased by an anteater, you either run or die. But the walls drew closer.
Options limited, I spun on my feet and carried that momentum into a slash.
One blocked effortlessly by Amara's forearm. Disbelief locked my eyes there. When I realized her hammer loomed overhead, there was nothing I could do.
The hammer stopped inches from my sweat-soaked face. "Your torque was all wrong, and you forgot to step into your attack." Amara let it strike the ground and kick up dust. "As well, your grip was too delicate; the sword nearly slipped from your fingers. We go again."
For the third day in a row, I'd been completely thrashed. Every mistake criticized, every flaw capitalized on, and to be honest, it was a little hard to see now that it was nighttime. Typical of my luck, none of Selem's towers angled well into our room. Worst of all, I could only hide behind that excuse for so long.
I suppressed a sigh. "Come on, I should try a different weapon now. Swords and I just don't mix."
"Don't beat a dead horse, Skell. Swords are the quintessential Templar weapon - versatile, light, and relatively simple to use. It's what I first trained with. Eventually it will click."
The same reasoning. Again…
"Well, what about arts? Let's be honest: my Shroud isn't enough on its own."
Amara shook her head. "Whatever magic you know may be useful, but a solid foundation of skill and strength is important to hone first. You'll get there."
"When?" Frustration reached my voice. "We're getting nowhere. By the time I force myself to get good with just a sword, I'll be at the Ordeals."
Amara hesitated, then released a heavy breath. "…Maybe you're right. Perhaps attempting to train a skeleton was a foolish idea. Perhaps this entire idea was foolish." She turned away. "If I've failed you, or been too hard, I apologize. Teaching is likely as new to me as training is to you."
She's… never done this before?
Shame crept at my shoulders. Shade. I'm being impatient, aren't I? Amara's trying. Just like me.
"You've failed nobody, moron," I called. "Turn around and fight me."
"What?" she spun.
"One more spar," I held my blade in both hands. "First to land an unblocked hit wins. If I lose, you don't have to train me for another second. I win, and I get… hm… bragging rights! But I've got one condition: you let me fight how I like. There's a little something I've been wanting to try."
A sparkle entered her eye. This wasn't just the first time I wanted to spar with her; this was the first time I'd actually challenged her. And for all her composure, some things she could never pass up.
"If that's what you want, by all means!" Amara's posture flared with passion. "Though I won't let that 'moron' comment go overlooked; make a single misstep and it will be punished!"
"I wouldn't expect any less," I smirked.
Got her.
—————————————————————————————————
"Ready?" Amara lifted her hammer, not far from the weapon racks.
I entered a sword stance she'd shown me, looking back at the door, then at my opponent. "Ready."
The word barely left my mouth before Amara leapt. She hit the ground before me with her hammer coming next like a falling meteor, sundering the dirt like glass.
By then I'd slipped aside, driving my sword at her grin.
She ducked swiftly, then pushed herself into a handstand. One foot kicked my sword away - the other almost took my head off. But at the last moment it slowed. I barely scraped by.
Amara's still taking it easy on me! I'll show her!
I steadied myself as she rose. But before she made a move-
"Hand of Dec-!" I thrust a palm.
Reflexively the Templar jumped away. She knew this art. At least, what it did to Velora. And as expected, she made distance.
An art, however, can't be cast without the full incantation. My empty palm waved at her; I couldn't help but be a little smug.
Her eyes were wide. "Were you attempting to…?"
"Hurt you? No. Trick you?" I left her to do the math as I made a break for the weapon rack.
Connecting the dots took her a moment, but soon came pounding behind me. Like last time, she chased me down the dark field. And I knew she was worlds quicker than me.
I made solid distance before Amara approached my side. But I couldn't be held up in an exchange. In a split-second I took my sword, and threw it.
Amara stopped, surprised, then swatted the weapon away easily. Of course the attack wouldn't land. And even I knew throwing away your only weapon in battle was suicide.
Except that wasn't my only weapon.
My little stunt bought me precious seconds. Time I used to reach the array of weapons against the room's wall. I snatched one I'd been eyeing for days from the rack.
Just as Amara finally realized my intent. "All that to swap weapons? You're more stubborn than I thought."
"Enough talking," I held the new weapon at my side. "One last clash."
She smiled and cocked her hammer. Our unspoken agreement was carved in stone.
In a sudden rush of speed Amara bound toward me - even faster than Hyland.
But I didn't flee this time. I charged at her, even as every bone in by body yelled at me not to.
We met in moments. Amara reared back for a mighty swing, hair flapping with the maneuver. I matched her move-for-move, preparing for a clash I had no way of winning. Even when pulling punches, she was just too strong.
Thing is, no matter how strong you are…
You'll never hit a shadow.
"Shadow Form!"
Amara's hammer blew through nothing but words. Confusion darted her eyes in every sensible direction; everywhere but down.
By then I'd snaked around her - willing myself from the shadows with a predator's silence. I followed her instruction: step into the strike, keep a tight grip, maximize strength with proper torque. All of it.
Against her.
My staff crashed into her head. Amara stumbled, feet rushing to keep her upright.
"Ouch…?" She rubbed her scalp absently, the word coming out as if she was surprised to have said it.
I wanted to celebrate, and point, and even laugh. But she stood there for a long time.
"Amara?" I asked.
"You… you got me."
"Er, is that okay?"
She turned around, face pensive. "For a moment there, you got the better of a Templar Knight. That is no easy task. And you did it in a way that worked to your strengths. Not mine."
"Then… you're not upset?"
Amara laughed. "Why would I be? You clearly outlined the rules beforehand. I can't blame you for taking advantage of my love of battle; it was my mistake to overlook the idea of you having something planned."
My body relaxed. "Whew, I thought you'd be angry. Maybe call me a cheater, or something?"
"A cheater? No real warrior cries out something so pitiful when they lose. Besides, this is a mere sparring match. Not life or death."
Could've fooled me…
The Knight tossed aside her weapon and sat on the ground. "No, such nonsense doesn't bother me. What does, is the fact that I doubt you've found the right teacher."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"Well, I wouldn't disparage a more… deceptive combat style. However I myself aim for all but the opposite. You flee, I charge. You dupe, I break through. None is any lesser than the other. But both are incompatible."
"You think because we approach fighting differently, I wouldn't learn well from you?" I sat down beside her. "Why can't we just… compromise?"
Her eyes shifted.
"Think about it," I tapped her arm. "In a real fight, that - admittedly genius - rug pull with Shadow Form wouldn't be worth crap if my follow-up hit like a pillow. You taught me the correct grip, and torque, and how to use my body to its fullest - and that was a pretty solid strike, wasn't it?"
"I suppose it was." She closed her eyes and smiled. "You've a point. Regardless of style, fundamentals are fundamentals. And I know your 'unique attributes' better than any other trainer in the city."
"Exactly!"
"Hm. Perhaps I spoke too soon. How about tomorrow… we work on your staff skill?"
"Sure, Amara. And we could probably hold off on adding magic to the mix for now. One step at a time and all that."
The Knight dusted herself off and stood up. "Agreed. As for today, I believe that's enough. Though before I return to the Citadel, I have to ask, why a staff? You're clearly fond enough of it to risk losing our sparring match."
I got up too. "Well, first things first: it's long," I jutted it, the length easily surpassing my arm. "Gives me space from danger."
"The same could be said of a spear," she replied.
"Spears kill. Most everything else this long is just as horribly lethal."
"Lethality? You… do realize blunt weapons can be just as fatal, don't you?"
"They can?" my jaw sank. "I mean - of course they can! But if there's even a slight difference, I'd prefer not to kill anyone."
She gave me a funny look. "An undead, the first of its kind with true thought, and it worries about killing? Not 'revenge against those who wronged you in life', or 'scheming against the living'? Skell, you truly are bizarre."
"Bizarre? Me? Well… yeah, can't really argue with that. But you're pretty odd yourself."
"W-what? I'm absolutely normal, thank you very much. What about me could possibly lie beyond the ordinary?"
I held up all ten fingers. "You really wanna know? All right, let's start with reason one…"
We started toward the door, another day of training ahead of us.
But unlike the last few, I didn't dread the failures and feelings of inability that came with each morning. Not at all.
Those days, for once, I welcomed the sunrise.