5. A Week (KoS)

Thunk.

A bolt sunk into the side of a tree. Yvon frowned, displeased.

“What’s the sour look for? You hit it!” Luc said, moving through the few swordplay forms he knew. His new white sword flashed in the sun, an ivory sheen playing over its surface. He stood off to the side of the firing range, in a wide-open, sunny field. Underfoot, low grass wore to hardpacked earth in spots. Other guards practiced around them, all idly training on a lazy summer afternoon.

It’s already been a week. Soon, we’ll set off into the real world. He stepped forward and slashed down. The sword danced with him, still a bit too light for his taste.

“I was aiming at that one,” Yvon said, pointing two trees to the left.

Luc clicked his tongue. “You really aren’t made for battle, are you?”

“Hey, kid, why don’t you try a real crossbow?” one of the guards offered, coming up beside Yvon with a heavy wooden device. A metal square jutted from the front, just below the arrow, and a windlass stuck out from the back, a pair of handles ready to wind it.

Yvon took it and stumbled, almost bowled over by the weight. Chuckling, the guard righted him. “Look, here’s the stirrup. Step in that,” he said, pointing to the metal square at the front. “Alright, now wind the string back with the windlass, go on.”

“It’s heavy!” Yvon complained, straining to turn it.

“Aye, well, it’s meant to punch through the beasts’ armor. It wouldn’t do much if it was easy to turn, now, would it?”

“The ease of turning is a matter of gearing, not…” Yvon panted and shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.

“You need help, Yvon?” Luc offered, wandering over.

Yvon shot him a dirty look. He grit his teeth and focused on turning the windlass. Faster and faster, his arms blurring. The crossbow clunked.

“There it is, there it is, lad. Go on, aim.”

Hefting the crossbow to his shoulder, Yvon aimed down the sights. He squinted one eye closed and aimed for the tree dead ahead.

The crossbow jumped in his arm.

THUNK!

Luc leaned in, eyes wide. The bolt cut clean through the tree and out the other side, into the tree behind. “Whoa!”

The guard took the larger crossbow back from Yvon. “Now that’s a true crossbow. If you’re hunting beasts or monsters, that’s what you want.”

“I’m just trying to survive,” Yvon muttered, picking up his lighter, smaller crossbow.

“Aye. That’ll do if you’re only trying to kill a man. Maybe a small monster,” the guard allowed. “In the capitol, I imagine that’s all you’ll need.”

“Good,” Yvon said. He lifted the crossbow and fired. The bolt flew wide and vanished into the forest.

“Ah… maybe not all you’ll need,” the guard said hesitantly.

Luc laughed. He came over and clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Yvon’s a scholar, not a warrior. It doesn’t matter if he can’t aim, he’s got finer pursuits to chase.”

Yvon pointed at Luc and nodded.

“Shoot again for me. Let me see if I can help you,” the guard offered. A second later, he nodded and offered his hand. “Cole, they call me.”

“Yvon, and Luc,” Yvon introduced them.

“I know Luc. Everyone knows Luc. We can’t get rid of him,” Cole laughed, clapping Luc on the shoulder.

Luc shook his head. “If you’d have just taught me swordplay…”

“Aye, well, that wouldn’t have been half as fun. Yvon, lad, take me through the steps of shooting.” He nodded at Yvon.

“You pull the string back, aim, fire,” Yvon said.

Cole sighed. “Alright, alright. Here, let me show you. What are you learning the crossbow for, suddenly? Aren’t you the Duke’s scholar?”

“I’m not the Duke’s anything. We’re going to the capitol. The Duke suggested we take these weapons for our own safety,” Yvon replied.

“Oh? Heading out into the world?” Cole chuckled, then shook his head. He caught Luc’s eye. “You, too?”

Luc nodded.

Cole sobered. He nodded at the boys, gesturing them in. Yvon leaned closer. Curious, Luc moved over.

“Listen, most cities aren’t like this place. Le-Voux… even Le-Voux wasn’t like this before the Duke moved in a decade or so ago. Little over a decade and a half, now. House Terre still ruled our city, but a small side-branch actually lived here and administrated it… well, back then, Le-Voux was a tiny hamlet. A shitty backwater no one’d ever heard of.

“Then the Duke came in. He raised the stone walls around five times as much land as the old wooden walls used to encompass. He threw out all the old nobility and overthrew all the old rules. Things got a lot… different.”

Luc frowned at him. “What’s that got to do with going outside?”

Cole shook his head. “My point is, in here, there’s only a few mage families—ones the Duke handpicked. Harmless ones. Good people.”

Yvon furrowed his brows. “What are you saying?”

Running a hand down his face, Cole sighed, then took a deep breath. “Out there, out in the real world, it’s different. Commoners… commoners like us aren’t guards, like I am. We aren’t people. We’re cannon fodder. Serfs.

“Le-Voux is… not to exaggerate, but it’s basically a paradise the Duke built from scratch.”

“It’s not that bad out there. What, are you trying to scare the kids?” another guard said, coming up beside Cole. She shook her head at him, then turned to Luc and Yvon. “There’s commoner guards. Commoners in the military. Sure, it’s hard for commoners to become officers, but that’s true even here in Le-Voux.”

“It’s not the same. You wouldn’t know, Marie. You grew up here. I grew up outside. I ran away from another city and came to Le-Voux from the stories I’d heard—I thought they couldn’t be true. Maybe it isn’t as bad, but it’s—it’s basically another world out there. Don’t expect Le-Voux.”

“Cole,” Marie sighed. She shot a knowing look at the boys and shook her head.

Luc brandished his sword at the air. “Whatever’s out there, I’m ready. I’ll take it on.”

Cole sighed. “There’s some things you can’t overcome that easily.”

“Alright, that’s enough, that’s enough. Are you teaching the kid how to shoot, or trying to give him nightmares?” Marie asked.

One last sigh, and Cole turned to Yvon. “Right, lad. Brace the butt against your shoulder. Forehand on the foregrip, other hand on the trigger.”

Yvon complied, lifting the crossbow into place.

“Right there, halfway down the body, you see that iron piece? Flip it up for me.”

Turning the crossbow to get a better look, Yvon searched. His eyes lit up, and he flicked up a couple of iron nubs.

“Those’re your sights. They’re shit, and more importantly, the bow’s aim is shit, but it’s better than the nothing you’ve been using. Line up what you want to shoot between those two.”

Yvon nodded. He shouldered the crossbow again and lined up on the trees.

A rodent peeked out from among the tree’s branches. It glanced around, then skittered down the tree. Pausing halfway down the trunk, it flicked its bushy tail and looked at them, cocking its head.

“Oh, squirrel. Hey Yvon, let’s have squirrel soup tonight,” Luc joked. Not with his aim, we won’t.

“Sure.” Yvon closed one eye and squinted the other. Slowly, the crossbow drifted toward the squirrel. Yvon pressed his lips shut, tensed, and fired.

The bolt thunked into the tree. The squirrel drooped, head crushed.

“Whoa! You got it!” Luc cheered.

“Huh? I got it?” Yvon asked, startled.

Cole put a hand to his chin. “Not bad, lad. Next time, you want to not tense up when you fire, and… Lad?”

Halfway to the squirrel, Luc turned. He blinked. “Yvon?”

The crossbow tumbled to the ground. Yvon clutched his head and staggered back, eyes squeezed shut. He grimaced and shook his head.

Luc rushed to his side. “What is it? Yvon, what happened?”

“S-stop it,” Yvon muttered, shaking his head.

“Yvon?” Luc peered at his face, brows furrowed.

“Lad, what is the problem? We can’t help if you don’t tell us,” Cole said, moving closer as well.

Yvon shoved Luc in the chest and backed away. “Stay back!”

Luc’s shirt clung to his body. He pulled it away from his skin. A black handprint marred the center of his shirt where Yvon had pushed him. The mark ate away at his shirt, burning the cotton to nothing.

“Take it off! Take it off, lad, now!” Cole shouted, tearing off his own shirt.

Startled, Luc followed his orders, throwing the shirt to the ground. The black mark spread through the fibers like acid, blackening the shirt. From the handprint outward, the shirt turned to ash, until only a black pile remained. The grass underneath wilted, yellowed, and died.

Black acid leaked from Yvon’s eyes and mouth. He clenched his lips tight, but it still spilled through. The acid seeped from his palms and dripped to the ground, killing the grass below. He clapped his hands to his head, but the acid didn’t harm him or his clothes. It slicked off, as if he was waterproof.

Cole drew his sword and advanced on Yvon.

Luc’s eyes widened. He ran between Yvon and Cole, drawing his own sword. “Cole, what are you doing?”

“Awakened by death. The bringer of the end.” Cole raised his sword to his shoulder, ready to charge. “He’s a member of House Décès. An acolyte of Mortem. A member of the bloodline of Death!”

“He’s not—how could he—” Luc protested weakly. He glanced over his shoulder at Yvon.

Yvon stared back, eyes open now. Acid poured down his face like tears. He wiped his mouth and spat on the ground, shaking his head. “I—Luc, I would never, I—!”

“Stand aside, lad. That boy is a calamity! We have to end him before he grows stronger!”

All around them, swordsmen and bowmen paused, turning to watch. A few muttered among one another. One or two advanced, death in their eyes. Luc backed away, an arm out to warn Yvon back.

Yvon backed up steadily, his brows furrowed, a helpless expression on his face. He lifted his hands and stared, shaking the acid off. “Stop! Stop it! Stop—this!”

“Luc, don’t make a mistake, lad. Come to me, before that monster kills you!” Cole urged, offering a hand to Luc.

Luc hesitated. He glanced back at Yvon. His sword drooped.

Yvon bit his lip. He wiped his hands furiously on his pants. The black acid kept coming, endless. “I don’t want to—Luc, I…”

Cole gestured. “To me, lad. For the good of Le-Voux—no, the world—help me put him down.”

Luc raised his sword. “No. I’m not letting you kill Yvon. He’s not a bad person.”

“He’s a member of House Décès. His bloodline extends to the god of death, Mortem himself. His magic exists to kill, and nothing else. We cannot let such a calamity live,” Cole said. He shook his head. “Luc, think about this. Think with your head, not your heart. That boy is no longer the friend you know. He’s a bringer of death. An acolyte of the darkest god. His only role is to kill, ruin, and destroy.”

“Luc, I… I don’t want to kill,” Yvon said, panicked. “How do I stop this? How do you—how do you turn off magic?”

Luc narrowed his eyes at Cole. “You’re the one who should think with your head. This—Yvon is my friend. Emilie didn’t stop being Emilie when she awakened, and neither did Yvon stop being Yvon. There must be more to the god of death. There must be another option.”

“There isn’t, lad. Luc, I don’t want to fight you. Please.” Cole sighed, tired.

The other swordsmen drew close. One edged around behind Luc and Yvon, seeking to cut them off. From the corner of his eye, Luc caught sight of him. He whipped around, only for another swordsman to come around to flank him from the other side the second he turned. He grit his teeth. “Run, Yvon! Into the forest. The old meeting place!”

Yvon hesitated one second more, glancing left and right, then fled into the forest.

“Get him! Stop them!” Cole ordered, charging at Luc.

Luc met him. Their swords clashed. His lighter sword deflected, and Cole pressed the advantage, forcing him back. Luc frowned and planted his feet. He turned Cole’s sword aside, then darted in with his sword, faster without the weight of a usual sword.

Cole flinched back at the last second, avoiding Luc’s blade. He jumped back, disengaging, and Luc let him go.

One of the swordsmen ran for the woods. Luc charged at him and sliced at his back.

“Jacques!” Cole shouted, tense.

At the last second, the swordsman pivoted. He caught Luc’s blow on his hilt. Luc’s blade bit halfway through, drawing blood. Jacques shouted and dropped his sword.

Luc backed toward the forest, eyes darting from one swordsman to the next. “If you want to get to Yvon, you’ll have to go through me, first!”

“Luc, lad! Think! This—you’re sheltering an acolyte of a dark god! A direct member of Mortem’s bloodline, which, by law of our land, should be extinguished! This is heresy, punishable by death. Illegal, too. Don’t do it, Luc. Your life is worth more than this!” Cole urged him.

“I don’t care! Yvon is Yvon. He doesn’t deserve to die for—for awakening!” Luc replied, shaking his head. He stumbled and glanced down. The crossbow laid on the ground beneath his feet.

“Luc, please. I don’t want to do this,” Cole said.

The creak of a bowstring caught Luc’s ear. He turned. Across the field, Eric drew his bow taut, arrow pointed directly at Luc. Luc looked past the arrowhead to Eric’s eyes. Somber, Eric stared back. “I don’t want to do this either, kid, but you’re forcing my hand.”

“You’ve a long life ahead of you, lad. You’re in the prime of your life. Please. Don’t make this mistake.”

Luc lowered his sword. He ducked his head. “I… it’s Yvon, I…”

Cole let out a heavy sigh. “Come along, lad. Let’s find that friend of yours. We’ll give him a quick death. It’s the least we can manage.”

Eric lowered his bow, releasing the tension from the string. Surreptitiously, he gestured the other bowmen down.

Luc kneeled and scooped up the crossbow. Slinging the crossbow over his shoulder, he sheathed his sword. “Right.”

“It has to be hard, suddenly having a friend awaken under a dark god. I don’t think it’s possible to be prepared for that. No one blames you for lashing out,” Cole said. Shaking his head, he crossed toward Luc, offering a comforting hand.

Backing away, Luc shook his head. I’ve bought enough time. He whirled on his heel and sprinted into the forest.

“Lad!” Cole shouted, exasperated.

“Catch them!” Eric shouted, running for the woods.

Luc thrashed as he ran, tearing branches and kicking underbrush, actively obscuring Yvon’s path. He tore off to the right, loud and messy. A dozen meters into the forest, he quieted again and twisted through the trees, dancing along a long-memorized deer path. The familiar path vanished under his stride.

“Lad! Come back!”

Luc glanced over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the fighters racing after him. Luc whipped back around and ran faster.

“Give it up, lad!”

Not a chance. Luc whipped around a huge tree and leaped a narrow creek. With sure feet, he ascended the ravine wall on the far side, every rock foothold and sapling handhold familiar to him. Over the far side, he sprinted over the ravine’s top, then dropped into a cliff on the far side. He landed on a narrow ledge, one invisible from above, and raced off.

“Where’d he go?” one of the men asked.

“Forget him, where’s the acolyte?” another shouted back.

The men thrashing through the forest obscured the sound of Luc’s footsteps. He vanished into the sun-dappled depths.

--

Coming out behind the tavern, Luc brushed the leaves out of his curls. He glanced left and right, then ran for the rusty old shed. He scrambled up onto it, stood, then slipped through the window and into the tavern’s sleeping quarters.

The tavern offered the cheapest beds around, as long as you didn’t mind sharing a single, stinky room with a half-dozen drunks. Beds, too, was a strong word for the piles of fresh-ish hay wrangled into something like mattresses laying along the length of the open space. A breeze blew through the rafters above and between the pane-less windows, barely blocked by linen flaps.

Luc glanced around. At this hour, the space laid empty. Floor creaking gently underfoot, he scurried over to one of the piles and dug out a small bag. Quickly, he threw his spare shirt on. Moving over to another pile, he flailed for a while, then pulled out Yvon’s bag. Luc slung both bags over his shoulder and turned to go.

“… nothing? Not a peep?”

“Not since this morning. Why? Have the boys gotten up to trouble again?” the bar’s proprietress asked, chuckling.

“You could say that. Yvon… he awakened.”

“Oh? Congratulations!”

An awkward silence followed.

The proprietress asked quietly, “Was it an evil god?”

A sigh. “It happens from time to time. Especially with the orphans. The mothers, when they realize… well, it’s unpleasant. No one wants to raise a kid who’s got a good chance of getting executed later.”

“That’s horrible,” the proprietress murmured.

“Can you blame them? With how… er, meticulous the priests get in making sure a dark god’s bloodline is completely exterminated, even if it’s almost certainly the man who passed the bloodline along… I wouldn’t want to risk raising the kid, either.”

The proprietress let out a displeased hum. “Why can’t they exterminate the dark bloodlines like they exterminated Vita’s bloodline? Surely it isn’t that hard.”

“The dark bloodlines have lived in the shadow for decades. They know how to hide and disappear. House Vie lived in the light even during the rebellion. Compared to hunting a fox who’s gone to ground, a flushed duck is much easier to shoot.”

Luc backed away, stepping carefully over the creaky floor. Every crinkle of hay sounded loud to his ears. Every shift of the wooden floor sounded like a groan. He inched toward the window, tiptoeing along.

His foot struck the corner of a hay pile. The pile shifted and wobbled. Eyes wide, Luc lunged for it, jumping forward.

The floor let out a hideous creak, louder than any creak it had ever made before.

He caught the hay, silently cursing. Ears piqued, he held his breath. Did they hear?

“…What was that?”

“It’s an old building. Sometimes it creaks,” the proprietress explained, bored.

“Mind if we check upstairs?”

“Be my guest.”

Luc tossed the hay at the hay pile and scrambled for the window. He slid out, carefully stepping onto the shed. Metal creaked under him, shed protesting his weight. Luc jumped off and sprinted for the woods, vanishing back into the trees.

Heart still racing, he glanced over his shoulder. They didn’t see me, did they?

Eric leaned through the window behind him. A faint green aura clung around him. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air.

Luc threw himself to the ground, into the underbrush.

Eric’s eyes snapped open. He searched the forest, head turning slowly.

Luc held his breath. His heart hammered in his ears.

The Chasser sighed and leaned back. Over his shoulder, he announced, “He was here, recently. The blond one.”

“Don’t they sleep here?” someone in the tavern, out of sight, muttered.

Slowly, Luc began to crawl, mindful of the underbrush overhead.

“Recently,” Eric stressed.

“Well? Which way did he go, Bloodhound?”

“I’m just a second-class Chasser, I’m hardly a Bloodhound. And I can’t tell. The scent is too muddled.”

The other voice laughed. “But you can scent him. You might as well be a Bloodhound, for all I can tell.”

“Oh, shut up,” Eric said, shaking his head. He turned away from the window. The canvas flap fell shut.

The second their footsteps faded, Luc jumped up and ran into the woods. He wound through the trees, picking his way back to the deer paths. Luc leaped from rock to rock, only crossing soft ground when he had no other option. Prickly bushes grabbed at his clothes, reaching for threads. Luc twisted around them, ducking their grabby gnarls. Yvon hasn’t hurt anyone. This is a witch hunt! I won’t let anyone kill my friend for crimes he hasn’t committed and may never commit!

Wait for me, Yvon. I’ll get you out of here.