Chapter XVI - Jubilee of Chaos

Traditionally, Faye had been a place full of life, chatters and laughs consistently terrorizing her since girlhood, vibrant colors dazzling her on every step she dared take. Today, it was all that and somehow more.

The annual jubilee was in full swing, which Amixia knew meant a couple of things—and all sounded the same amount of terrible. Walking down the main square, the Mother’s Tears running to her right, slithering onwards like a confused snake, the sights around were somehow even more colorful. Who would have thought that? Knitted vines hung from huts, flowers of all colors patched onto them, dangling in the surprisingly strong winds—quite uncommon for Faye, but welcomed. At least this way things wouldn’t feel as ‘perfect’ as fayes liked to portray it all. Life wasn’t perfect; she knew that well, so this idea of making it all seem like that was a fool’s errand in her eyes. Still, the outside world wasn’t as… horrible anymore as it used to be. The chaos around felt easier to deal with.

Passing women carried crowns made from flowers, their patterned, vibrant robes scraping the ground as they strode through the clogged streets. Amixia frowned and then snorted as she passed by some who wore a belt made from branches, strapped from their shoulders down to their hips. To say they looked ridiculous was to be kind; yet tradition was tradition and during the jubilee people truly embodied living alongside nature. She glanced down at her own clothing—a loosened shirt and a pair of trousers wrapped behind boots running up her leg. A massive contrast to most female fayes, but Amixia searched for comfort in her clothing, not beauty. Blacksmithing was to blame for that.

Reaching the marketplace—a branching amalgamation of carts and daises shrouded by canopies—her eyes landed on Wymmel who rubbed his chin as he searched through some fruits, the leather bag in his palm sewn quite professionally.

“You are rather early today,” she said, grabbing an apple and juggling it a couple of times, then flinging a few lazugs to the merchant.

Wymmel turned leisurely, beaming. “And you’re… in the market. On the day of the jubilee.”

“Don’t get too excited. It may be the last time you see me in such a situation. I’m already embarrassed.”

He chuckled and placed a bunch of pale green bananas in the bag. “It took this long to make you want to live again and now you wish to return to that?”

Amixia shrugged. “If you keep reminding me that I’m out and about, I may.”

“Then I suppose I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“You better,” she said, winking.

Wymmel glanced around, the chatters excruciatingly loud to not acknowledge. “This jubilee is even busier than in past years. Either the Matriarchy announced it to the neighboring villages or fayes are more eager than usual.”

Amixia shrugged and eyed passing fayes, frowning. “I wouldn’t know. Nothing is pleasant about this tradition.”

“Not for you, but for fayes it is. If it weren’t, it would have vanished a long time ago.”

“There’s still time for that.”

Wymmel looked at her, frowning. “Child…”

She folded her arms. “I have… a personal issue with this whole mess.”

“I see. I apologize for that.”

“It’s not your fault. Long time passed since then so I’m fine… now,” she eyed him, her eyebrows narrowing, “still, that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”

He interlaced his fingers. “You can at least try.”

“No,” she replied bluntly. “I won’t.”

“It’s a shame,” Wymmel said, pacing around her and sighing, “I hoped to invite you to the tournament.”

Her eyes widened. “Tournament?”

Wymmel murmured an affirmative, and smiled deviously. “Tournament.”

“Since when there’s tournaments in Faye?”

“Since… ever, child.”

“You’re jesting.”

He shook his head, stopping a few paces from her. “Not at all. The Matriarchy honors soldiers—even if Faye’s military has been long disbanded. Whoever wants to show their strength, they are welcomed to.”

Amixia’s head leaned to the side, and she frowned, pointing a finger at him. “I would advise against teasing me, Wymmel.”

“I wouldn’t dare to do such a thing.”

Silence settled between them. Wymmel eyed her, his smile forming a grin–which in turn forced Amixia to smile back. Finally, she sighed deeply, her eyes shifting downwards. “Why did I ever leave my hut?”

They strode through the marketplace, struggling between hordes of people that ran, danced, laughed, played or sang. Children bumped into her now and then, making her groan, their sandals stepping on her boots as they stumbled behind her. Taverns were brimming with men, so much so that most of them stood outside, burping as they held their tankards, ale drooling from their twisted mouths.

“What a disgusting sight,” Amixia said, staring at some men who tumbled to the ground, scowling.

“It is—true—unfortunate that some use the jubilee as an occasion to get drunk. Too drunk.”

She shook her head and kept staring as they passed more fayes. “When isn’t there an occasion for them to get drunk? Men and ale are made for one another.”

Wymmel eyed her. “Not all men drink, child.”

“You don’t count.”

“What abo-“

“Nakol neither.”

He snorted and kept silent for a while. “Still, that doesn’t mean all of them do.”

Amixia spun to meet him slowly. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know how men can be. And I know what ale can do to said men,” she said, her voice colder than usual.

Wymmel nodded and forced a smile. “I… understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “What for?”

“For… doing this to you. Taking away your joy,” she replied, hugging herself and shutting her eyes. “Memories are a hard thing to let go. Some more so than others.”

He shook his hand. “No need to apologize, child. It’s alright. Spending time with you is… the… best thing I can do.”

She spun swiftly and gazed into his eyes, beaming. “I… appreciate it.”

Amixia breathed deeply and shivered, casting away the thoughts. True, she couldn’t fully enjoy what the jubilee was—thanks in no small part to her father. However, she could try at least. After all, not everything seemed so… excruciatingly annoying. Here and there people’s chats seemed dimmer, and some didn’t move as sporadically as others. Plus, the ornaments on some of the huts were… interesting if not beautiful. On a few of the buildings hung drapes—some carrying floral patterns, others a figure of a lady made from leaves, which never looked the same twice. No faye knew what The Mother looked like; yet it was commonly accepted that she was nature itself, so they tried to honor her in paintings and embroideries as well as they could.

Eventually, they arrived at a wide plaza, huts on either side, which stretched upwards in a spiral. The cobblestone beneath their feet shook from the carriages which came and went, the horses screaming like some deranged beasts. Work never ceased; especially when it came to those working in trade. As the coachmen passed, Amixia took in their downcast eyes.

“They’re so… sad.”

“They’re working during the jubilee, child,” he glanced behind, watching a carriage descend. “The Hawks don’t care about tradition.”

She frowned. “That’s horrible. Those people need to have some time for themselves.”

He sighed intensely. “I agree,” he turned, meeting Amixia, “I doubt things will change. I don’t know a Hawk willing to let profits go down. The more lazugs they bring into Faye, the happier everyone is.”

Amixia grimaced, shaking her head. “Not everything is about lazugs, Wymmel. Faye is doing well already; too well I may add. Is there another city nearby as prosperous as us,” she lifted her arms, pointing to passing carriages, “for this to continue? I don’t think so.”

“I share your concern, but… we must also not forget how instrumental the Hawks have been to said prosperity.”

She stopped, whirling to face him. “That is not justification for treating your workers like slaves!”

A few of the nearby chatters died down due to her shout. Wymmel stood stunned and Amixia glanced around, noticing the same faces from fayes close by. And she simply… watched them. No danger felt. When this occurred in the past, Amixia wanted one thing and one thing only—to hide. To escape their gazes. To grab her bed’s side and crawl underneath it, curl into a ball and never leave. Today, there was no desire to do so anymore. As her head swiveled from one faye to another, she frowned, wondering why they were still looking. Soon enough, they resumed their chats and walks, ignoring her completely like nothing even happened.

She adjusted her voice and resumed her pacing. “Fayes are not slaves. Hawks need to understand that.”

“Child, I’m sorry to tell you this, but they don’t seem to understand that. That… or they simply… don’t care.”

“Why do you think that is Wymmel?”

“Because lazugs are their prio-“

“Because the Matriarchy does nothing to keep them in check!” she snaps. “These men—if you can even call them that—leech on these poor people, using them ceaselessly, working them like… like dogs and what does the Matriarchy do to protect them? To protect their own people?”

Wymmel glimpsed at her, concerned lines running across the wrinkles in his face. “Child, the Matriarchy are doing what they deem best. You need to trust that they have only the best of intentions for fayes.”

She leans her head to the side, squinting at him. Then she shakes her head. “Things must change. Punishments must become more severe for those who dare treat people like nothing.”

He gives her a faint smile. “Let’s hope the Mother gives them the knowledge needed to be better then.”

The Matriarchy was most definitely not going to do anything about them. Faye was a great place, she knew that; sometimes too great of a place, too kind and too… soft. Hawks were brought to power thanks to the Matriarchy and ever since then, they obsessed over profits. Lazugs were their main priority, oftentimes at the cost of fayes. However, the issue was only recently getting more serious. And Amixia grew tired of seeing miserable fayes. Why were these women so blind to their actions? How could they allow such… pigs to live among them?

Climbing the plaza, they eventually reached a tall wooden gate, decorated the same as the huts; the only difference being the huge flag placed atop it, which announced to fayes they were entering ‘The Heart of the Jubilee’. The ‘heart’ in question was an overcrowded plateau.

People of all ages strode around the place, some huddling together in the distance to watch something Amixia couldn’t really see, but had a guess.

“I’m guessing,” she raised a finger, “that’s where the tournament is held?”

Wymmel kept silent, smiling. She replied with one as well.

Curiously enough, the tournament arena was placed right across from the Matriarchy’s Quarters and of course the tree. That tree. Casting a shadow so wide you would think the sun got obstructed by an even bigger thing, standing as Faye’s most notable, most adored asset, Mother’s Tree shaded Amixia, making her head lean completely backwards to be able to fully see it. White branches held together golden leaves, sprouting outwards and towards the sky like the tentacles of a squid. It was a statement to what Faye meant—the coming together of man and nature into one. The testament of Mother’s love to fayes; a love only she could have—even if Amixia sometimes found it difficult to understand how that was the case, seeing how she didn’t actually exist.

“Impressive thing, isn’t it?” asked Wymmel, his mouth half-closed in wonder.

“Yes. It is. Odd how I find it so beautiful, but I… can’t deny it.”

“No one can, child. It’s Faye’s signature after all. Mother’s gift to us.”

She frowned. “Is it true… what people say?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I want to believe it, but it’s… hard to imagine it. People die and that’s… it,” he said, a hint of sorrow escaping his voice.

Amixia nodded, wishing not to press the matter any further and simply glanced around.

“Still,” Wymmel said, adjusting his voice, “I wish it to be. Maybe that way… they’d have their peace.”

“Even if it isn't Wymmel… I’m sure they already found their peace,” Amixia said, turning towards him with a smile. “Now we came here for a tournament, didn’t we?”

Wymmel nodded and they pressed through the crowds. The arena was nothing spectacular; a box-shaped green fence, their wooden surface smoothened, what light escaped through the tree’s branches reflecting off it. On Amixia’s opposite side stood an improvised gate, operated by a few disgruntled peasants, and who came open as a man walked towards it. The man in question held his head high; too high for Amixia’s liking, limping with a cane supporting him. Dressed in a white shirt and a blue floral vest, all obstructed by a golden floral coat, he stepped inside the arena, his short, receding hair slicked back in a disgustingly flat way. The air of the man told Amixia that he most likely belonged to the Hawks; no one in all of Faye—even if they did dress ridiculously—dressed quite as ridiculous as the Hawks did.

He adjusted his voice as a sign for the chatters to die down which they eventually did, and he squinted his eyes, glancing around him like he didn’t even want to be there.

“Well…” he began, his voice a blend between the Matriarchy’s regality and a peasant’s bluntness. “I hope you are all honored to be here, for this… this is no ordinary tournament, fayes,” he said, starting to pace around.

“Can I challenge him?” she whispered.

“Something tells me… you can’t.”

“For this jubilee your eyes will feast on a special set of soldiers, soldiers which Faye hasn’t seen for generations!” the man in the arena said, raising his voice.

Fayes raised their hands, shouting, whistling, yelling as much as their throats could endure. Amixia scowled as she heard a child near her release an ear splitting, high-pitched scream. The wind blew stronger, fluttering the clothes of all present, leaves being shoved in her face as they passed. Whatever ounce of acceptance she had for this entire mess, it was now beginning to fade, accentuated by the presence of a Hawk among them. A man whose sole desire was to make profit. Profit after profit. The clothes he had screamed wealth, but his attitude, the way he was eyeing those around him, the way he was speaking made it clear to her he was nothing more than a spoiled, loathsome imbecile. The results of their sickening working conditions were becoming more obvious in all of Faye, no matter how much Amixia tried avoiding them. Peasants slept on the streets, their faces pressed upon walls like being crushed by an unseen force, some were so dirty she confused two of them as being piles of mud. Those peasants were–of course–working for the Hawks; no one besides them could live such awful lives. This was not the way things should go. Hawks had to be brought to justice, and faster if the damage done by them was to be kept at a minimum. She chuckled and glanced downwards. All these sparring sessions she and Wymmel had were beginning to change her more than she realized. Before, her mind barely focused on something else other than blacksmithing. Nowadays, she cares about tossing criminals into the bastille. Criminals like Hawks. The image of her bringing them forth to be judged lingered, granting her a sense of excitement.

“Now, now,” the Hawk said, “keep it down. The tournament can’t begin just yet, no matter how excited you all are. We need… Mother’s blessing… of course,” he pointed towards the Matriarchy’s Quarters, his face growing even more displeased.

A band of musicians began singing, the tune resembling an odd mixture of raining sounds, bird chirping and river flows, all elevated to a… divine tone. It sounded appropriate for what the Matriarchy’s Quarters was. Amixia turned to follow the man’s pointing and was met by a tall round building, a massive set of stairs leading up towards a wooden set of appropriately massive doors. No hut in Faye could rival the complexity of whatever this place was meant to be; rows of pillars, painted all sorts of colors, supported the dome-like roof above, all having their own unique floral patterns carved onto them. White wooden walls stood high, each one displaying a bulging shape on which distinctive paintings of the Mother lay as a further confirmation that this place was sacred in the eyes of fayes. And Amixia was willing to acknowledge that also.

With a strangely smooth sound, the doors came apart, pulled by four farmers. From the dimly lit building arose five figures, marching with so much elegance, that it made Amixia frown.

“By Mother’s name… I… forgot how beautiful they look,” she muttered.

Wymmel nodded slowly. “No woman I’ve seen sparkled as much as the Matriarchy does.”

The Matriarchy marched down the stairs, their formation the shape of a steep cliff, all holding their hands clasped up front, above their gowns. Each one seemed to compete for the spot of who shines the brightest and who can awe the most fayes. Gowns of brilliant reds, pinks or yellow blinded Amixia, all adorned by jewelry made out of flowers or branches. Their long hair stretched close to the base of their feet like groomed vines. None wore footwear; as if to point out that this was the way Mother intended for all of Faye to live, which Amixia found foolish at best, absurd at worst. They represented what most male fayes agreed was the pinnacle of femininity. Unrealistic to attain such beauty as they had; yet those men were not at all dissuaded in their foolish belief.

Fayes watched in wonder, letting out sounds of reverence as they approached the arena. Finishing the last of steps and now being on the same level as the others, Amixia still glanced up at them, their sizes far above what above that of a regular faye. There was no rush in their movement; their postures barely shifted since they began walking. Their ecstatic smiles and loving eyes made Amixia gasp. Wymmel’s lack of evil stunned her before, but the energy these women were radiating was something… else entirely. They were… the embodiment of joy.

The Matriarchy halted right before the arena, gazing at the Hawk inside.

“Ladies,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly, “do what you know best.”

The Matriarchy nodded and proceeded to clasp their hands together, raising them high above.

“Mother,” said one, her voice catching Amixia by surprise with its tone. She sounded how she envisioned the Mother would; holy, as if love rippled through the air with each word spoken.

“We honor you today,” said another, “for granting us this soil on which we dwell.”

“We honor you today,” said one other of them, “for the care you take of us each day, for the abundant harvest we relish, for the prosperity you brought us.”

Amixia noticed the Hawk in the arena turning his back on them in the corner of her eyes and she glanced at him. He looked upset before, now the presence of the Matriarchy made him furious. What a pig.

“We honor you for the tree you’ve planted here and to which you’ve bestowed upon us the responsibility of nurturing,” said another.

“We honor you for this year’s jubilee and we thank you for the joy you bring us through it.”

“Ama nos, Mater. Cura nos, Mater. Utinam terra tua semper abundans sit!” they said in unison.

Before Amixia could make sense of what was spoken, people cheered the… prayer the Matriarchy did and shuffled closer to them, fayes pushing her aside as they hurried to reach them. The Matriarchy met them with the same kind eyes they had all this time, grabbing their palms and chatting with them about all sorts of things. Some outright mundane, like how good was the crop or how were the children at home. Slowly, they moved towards a stage to the side of the arena, where some men already stood. Hawks. As soon as the Matriarchy approached and sat down up front, peasants dispersed all around them, some even sitting on the platform itself. Those that sat closer to the Hawks were shoved away and Amixia assumed cursed as well. Her nostrils flared as she witnessed how disgusted they looked by simple peasants who just wanted to sit next to the Matriarchy, not to them. She caught the glances of a few Hawks from behind the Matriarchy which regarded the women with… disgust. Yet no woman from the Matriarchy glanced behind to speak to them. Who could blame them? If Amixia were among the Matriarchy, she would have spun and struck all of them with a palm. Unfortunately, that was not the way the Matriarchy did things.

The crowds were stilled by the sudden adjustment of a voice, forcing Amixia to gaze inside the arena. “Now that we’re… blessed and under way… I believe it’s time for the tournament to officially… begin!”

The musicians began singing again, this time a more casual tune of victory and such, and a group of soldiers marched towards the arena, entering it and saluting the crowds.

“These look… interesting,” Amixia said, examining their curious armors. All of them were dressed in overalls, belted at the waist, and sleeveless. On their shoulders lay extending epaulettes, hanging loosely like dead flowers. They wore black boots, rather heavy from what she guessed. A massive contrast from the patterned, colorful garments.

Wymmel nodded. “It’s a traditional costume, not really meant for actual combat.”

“A sword would cut through that fabric like it’s not even there. There’s no real defense anywhere.”

Wymmel eyed her with a frown. “It’s not meant to defend them. Child, they’re not actually fighting like their lives depended on it.”

She tilted her head. “Then what’s the point of the tournament in the first place?”

“It’s meant to celebrate warriors across Galaria.”

“The better way to celebrate them is to actually have them!” said a disgruntled voice behind Wymmel.

They both spun and met a shorter man with curly, long hair eyeing the arena and mumbling curses.

“All of this is nothing more than… than a way of wasting our time! Cursed be the Mother!”

Wymmel narrowed his eyebrows. “Friend… that’s harmful of you to say, the Mother take-”

“The Mother is a whore!” he snapped, gathering the attention of more fayes nearby. “All this talk about the Mother, all this jubilee nonsense… pointless!” He glanced at the Matriarchy. “These women have no idea what they’re doing!” he declared before turning and leaving alongside other men, cursing.

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Amixia and Wymmel exchanged confused glances. “What… was that about?”

He shrugged. “I… wish I could tell you. They looked like peasants.”

“I noticed, but… where all this hatred from for the Mother? For the Matriarchy?”

“It’s strange, truly,” he said, rubbing his chin.

Amixia was about to say something before the soldiers let out a low scream, signaling they were about to begin their battles.

“We’ll begin our first battle,” the Hawk said, using his cane to drag him forward, “with two men from the east, from Bamira.”

The soldiers marched out the arena and only the two mentioned by the Hawk remained, eyeing each other with smiles, yet determination. They were obviously friends, or at least acquainted. Still, that didn’t seem to bother them whatsoever; they wanted the battle to start faster.

“Fayes! The tournament is officially… opened!”

Cries of excitement erupted near Amixia, the grass beneath her feet being molded into the ground, occasional elbows hitting her. She grunted and pushed aside a few people, which made Wymmel look at her with concern, to which she responded with a wave of the hand.

The two men unsheathed their blades, stood for a while and cried out to Mother for protection, and then launched at one another. Clashing, the determination in their eyes grew, and each new hit increased in intensity. Yet none of them actually tried hitting the other, they searched only for their blades, making the entire spar feel inauthentic.

“They’re not even looking to cause damage!” Amixia said, raising her arms and pointing at them.

“Amixia, they are simply sparring. It’s meant to be a show,” said Wymmel, his voice as annoyed as she’d ever heard it.

“I don’t see the purpose in it. They look like fools, not soldiers. If you don’t want to win, why even bother trying to fight?”

Wymmel glanced at her with a scowl. “Child, those sparring sessions have made you believe that winning is everything. That’s not all there is to this.”

“Then what is, Wymmel?” she snapped, spinning to meet him with narrowed eyes. “You taught me that I must always be cautious, for an opponent will not look at me with pity or remorse, he would simply strike me down the first chance he gets.”

“Sparring…” he said, failing miserably to contain his annoyance, “is not a real fight. We don’t try to kill each other when we do that, Amixia. I’m simply trying to give you what you said you desire.”

Amixia snorted and shook her hand. “Perhaps you view it as a simple spar, Wymmel. I view it as something more than that. You either overpower your opponent, or you die. And I… I want to be in the first category,” she said, her icy voice making Wymmel retreat in wonder.

He watched her silently for a moment, then nodded with a faint smile and returned to watching the arena. The whole scene before her was nothing more than an act—a terrible one at that. Both of them dashed and dodged, avoiding at all costs to touch one another like she avoids pouring boiling water over body, their movements stiff and sluggish. Wymmel taught her how to watch the enemy, see where he attacks, see where he wants to go, to try and penetrate his defenses or find another way to gain advantages, while these men were like calves on the frozen Mother’s Tears. Was this the best Galaria had in terms of soldiers? No wonder why Faye no longer had an army; these men wouldn’t last in a war, no matter how much Wymmel tries to tell her they are battling simply to ‘put on a show’.

Battle after battle, Amixia grew increasingly tired, yawning at every single attack the supposed ‘soldiers’ did. Sometimes Wymmel would bump her shoulder to make her be less judgmental, which only received an eye roll from her. She wasn’t necessarily trying to judge them; merely she wished to point out to them their mistakes and how they could improve. If they could listen, of course. Amixia perked up, glancing at Wymmel in a flurry.

“Can… we… join in the arena? Fight the soldiers?” she asked, her eyes widened with hope.

Wymmel chuckled. “Why have I not seen this coming?”

Amixia smiled. “Tell me we can.”

“I… don’t know. I think so, but maybe after they’re done.”

“If they’ll move even slower than they do now… it will be pointless.”

“Child, please… Let them do what they were asked to. Simply watch them for the show they put on, not from the perspective of an actual soldier.”

“Fine,” she replied bluntly.

The tournament felt like it had no end in sight. Heads tracked men that grunted and screamed as they mimicked fighting; they were actually fighting, yes, but only for those that knew nothing about proper fighting. Finally, the last battle finished, rounds of applause echoing in the air, accompanied by whistling. The two men bowed and clapped before departing, leaving the Hawk to enter the arena. Or crawl more appropriately.

“Great, great show of strength and spectacle these men have shown us!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” whispered Amixia.

“Now… of course… it’s time for fayes to show what they’re capable of,” he said, coughing. “If anyone considers themselves capable of battling these fierce men, come forth and show us what you can do.”

Amixia spun to meet Wymmel with a devious smile across her face. This was her chance to prove to these ‘soldiers’ what sword fighting actually was meant to be. Spar after spar, she grew in her ability; it was now time to show it to those around. Show her strength for the world to see.

She stopped for a moment. While yes, she knew she became better at sparring, was it truly enough? Was it truly on the level she assumes it to be? Day after day, night after night she annoyed Wymmel with sessions that felt brisk, even if he always complained took long. Sessions in which she gave it all; all in an effort to grow. Becoming a soldier–a real one at that–was something she began to dream about ever since their first spar. Which deeply overshadowed her dream of becoming a blacksmith. Perhaps… this was her goal all along. Perhaps blacksmithing was only meant to put her on the right track. But still, did she have what it took to be a soldier? Was she maybe… a little too confident?

“I see you are thinking about something?” Wymmel asked, calmly grabbing her shoulder.

Amixia nodded. “I… it’s strange,” she said, glancing at the arena, noticing fayes already preparing to join the Hawk’s proposal. “I want to join. But… what if I’m not good enough?”

“You criticized the soldiers all this time and only now question if you’re good enough?” Wymmel said, grinning.

“Yes… I… maybe I’m overconfident. Maybe I’m not going to be as good as I think. Perhaps we sh-”

“Perhaps you should show us what you got,” Wymmel said, grabbing her arms, forcing her to look at him. “We’ve trained a lot, child. You’ve grown. Now… it’s your time to show us,” he gestured around, “all of us… what you have. That strength you so desired.”

A faint smile arose on her face. “Perhaps.”

He nodded slowly. “Now, go. Teach these soldiers how to do their job properly.”

She smiled, bit down on her lower lip, and made her way through the crowds with vigor. Shoving aside man after man, woman after woman, apologizing when she pushed a little too hard, she escaped the crowds and stood now at the entrance in the arena. The Hawk turned and regarded her with a scoff. Amixia paced inside, frowning.

“Are you lost?” the Hawk asked.

“No. Are you?”

“Girl, you’re joining an arena. Have you seen,” he gestured towards her arms, “what you look like?”

Amixia clenched her jaw. “I’m aware, Hawk,” she finally replied, her voice lacking any empathy. There was no empathy to be had for men like him.

“Well then…” he said, turning away from her, “don’t blame me if you get hurt. You should be washing clothes with that body, not wielding blades.”

She clenched her fists as she paced leisurely, her squinting eyes fixed on him. “And you should be in a bastille, pig. Not running Faye’s trading.”

He stopped. “What did you just say to me?” he said, the tone in his voice switching to a hostile one.

“What you heard.”

He eyed her viciously, then snorted and turned towards the crowds. Amixia sat amidst a few fayes, both male and female, with her arms folded. Some of those who joined looked at her in wonder, like she just said something incredibly terrible. In a way she did; fayes dared not to test Hawks, even if they weren’t known as being criminals, the treatment they gave them was enough to make most want not to cross a Hawk. What Amixia couldn’t understand was… until when they should be like this? Until they starve some more workers, beat some poor child who did something to upset them or worse? No. Perhaps she was pushing her luck too much; they were after all influential men. But… pigs deserve to be shown what they truly are. And she’s more than willing to.

“That was… so… courageous of you,” said a soft woman’s voice behind Amixia.

She spun leisurely. “That should be something everyone does.”

“True, true. But… you know.”

“I do,” Amixia said with a sigh.

Silence settled between them. “I’m… Eiria,” she finally said, a little shy.

“Amixia,” she replied bluntly. The woman before her wore similar clothing to her own, albeit looser, and more adorned. “Why are you here? You don’t look like… you engage in sword fighting.”

“Well,” she said, brushing away a few blonde braids from her face, “I… want to try.”

Amixia smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re doing it. Good luck.”

“You too,” she said with a timid smile.

Before they knew it, the soldiers returned back to the arena from a tent in the distance, and the Hawk organized them in pairs; Amixia paired with one of the bulkiest among them. Great. Perhaps she could use her speed better than she was able to with Wymmel. That old man was certainly slim for his age.

The first pair began and soon the second one and before Amixia knew it, her turn came, the Hawk announcing her name with a continuous scowl on his disturbingly oily face. Across from her sat the soldier; his name as strange as his build: Zhamir. Broad shoulders carried twisted epaulets, their original shape long subdued by his weight. The belt around his waist seemed like it could explode at any moment and smash into her.

“Ready?” he asked in a deep, almost inhuman voice.

She nodded leisurely, still examining his build. Amixia gripped the hilt of the blade given to her—about the same size as the one she uses when sparring, although not as comfortable—and unsheathed it. She kept her back straight and held the blade with both palms, and was immediately stunned by the bulkiness of it. Back at the shop she grew accustomed to using The Needle–an appropriate name for how thin it is. Here she had to work with a blade far heavier, and harder to maneuver. She sighed, testing it, tossing it in her palms, in the air, growing accustomed to it.

“Are you going to battle or juggle?” asked the Hawk. “We ain’t got all day, girl.”

Her nostrils flared and eventually she gripped the hilt tight and gazed deeply into Zhamir’s eyes. He cried out as he advanced and Amixia steadied herself, trying to determine where he would attack. One key thing she understood right from the start were his sluggish movements; he ran like an oversized fleeing cow. Raising her blade, Amixia didn’t lose track of him, planting her feet firmer in the ground, preparing for what was to come. Zhamir reached her and struck to the side, Amixia dodging beneath it. He struck again, and this time their blades met, his strength pushing against her, forcing her to move aside. Her widened eyes were looking for a way behind him, one that wouldn’t put her in danger. She knew the battle was merely for show, but she couldn’t escape this idea that she had to win. It was all or nothing.

Zhamir sliced downwards, Amixia shoving the blade beside her with a grunt. She reached forward, her blade seemingly approaching his chest, before being blocked and tossed to the side. She quickly stepped backwards, creating distance between them. While being on the defensive was not the wisest of choices–especially with the sheer difference in their weight–it was what she had to do if she wanted an actual chance at winning. Catching him on the wrong foot was the goal.

Zhamir rushed Amixia, looking for her blade and meeting it with a clang. She gritted her teeth as she pushed, her hands shaking from the intense pressure, before giving up and forcing herself to spin to the side. Every single time he attacked, he made sure to find her blade. Which gave her an idea. One that could prove risky, but she had to try. She won’t fail. She couldn’t.

He rushed her again, and Amixia spun, trying to bait his blade into believing she was going to the right. Right before he struck, Amixia spun again suddenly, landing on the left side, ducking and slashing away at his leg. He cried out in pain and she kicked behind the back of his knee, making him tumble to the ground. The cheering crowd of before died down, sounds of joy being replaced with gasps. Amixia paced towards Zhamir, grinning. She did it. She bested him. A man. The bulkiest of all the soldiers brought to battle in the tournament sat at her feet, holding down on his wound, the pain echoing in his voice. He looked so… weak. Amixia placed her leg up his back, pressing down on him. Zhamir cried out, reaching a hand towards the crowd. He was in need of help? But why? Wasn’t he a man? Wasn’t he strong? Wasn’t he… enjoying the pain? Only that brought upon others? No… he had to enjoy it. He had to feel what it was like. Amixia gritted her teeth and pushed harder. Such a weak… powerless… excuse of a man. That feeling of strength surged through her veins. She was no longer… weak.

“Child!” came a powerful voice which made Amixia startle, dropping her blade. She glanced around, fayes staring at her, their faces filled with… dread. Terror. Like they weren’t watching her anymore, but… something else. Something… dangerous. Then she looked down, and noticed Zhamir being helped up by a few soldiers, lifted and carried away on his good leg. Why did she… do that? And why… did it feel so… liberating?

“We’ve seen enough of those battles. Step out of the arena,” continued the voice, capturing Amixia’s attention towards the platform. The Matriarchy were standing, watching her, calling her. They were most definitely angry, yet their eyes still radiated with the same love as before. Amixia nodded and did as commanded, exiting the arena and being met by stares. Fayes stepped out of her way like a flock of chicks. They were… terrified of her. Amixia couldn’t blame them; open acts of violence being carried out in public were nonexistent in Faye. Crimes–which occurred rarely–were mainly theft or vandalism, nothing as major as what she did. Could this land her in the bastille? She doubted it.

She reached the Matriarchy and bowed. “I… apologize… for my actions,” she said, her voice carrying no guilt whatsoever. Truth be told, she… knew she enjoyed it. Should she?

“Very well,” replied one of them. “Going further, we expect you to cease doing such things, or we may find ourselves responsible for taking action. No violence is to be allowed in Faye.”

She nodded, slowly at first then quickly. “Yes. I… understand. Won’t happen again.”

Then they all smiled and pointed for her to advance and leave. As she did, she glanced back a couple of times, hearing the crowds whisper things about her, questioning who she was and why she did such a thing. Amixia sighed, the chatters about her increasing, making her feel… bad for what she did. In truth, she knew the only reason she succeeded was because Zhamir never intended to really strike her. If the circumstance would have been different, she most likely wouldn’t have been walking now. The wound dealt to him was quite deep, even if Amixia tried to not cut as intense as she initially would have wanted. Maybe… she made a mistake. But the thought that she was victorious echoed louder than the guilt she was beginning to feel. Finally, after so many sparring sessions, Amixia bested an opponent. Wymmel ought to be impressed by her.

She reached him and was met with a frown. “Why did… you do that, child? For what?”

She narrowed her eyebrows. “Because… I wanted to win. I wanted to best him, to show him what sword fighting really is.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually strike the man. I told you, this was solely a show.”

Amixia folded her arms and glanced to the side. “Not for me. This was my chance to prove myself that I ca-”

“You can what?” he snapped. “Can fight? Congratulations, child. You’ve proven us that you can cut people. Is that something you want to be known for?” He stared at her with vicious eyes. “When I… supported you in this, I wasn’t expecting you to go this wild.” He approached her with a raised finger. “If you want us to continue sparring, you must abandon this… I don’t know what to even call it. Bloodlust? Cruelty? This is not you, child. Nor should it be.”

Wymmel turned and left through the crowd, leaving Amixia to watch him with widened eyes. She wanted to apologize, but… it was difficult. Apologizing meant to acknowledge he was right. And in a way, he was; she shouldn’t be doing such things. Yet… she couldn’t quite explain what she felt. After so many years when she was on the receiving end of violence, to be the one who causes it, gave her a sense of control. A sense of… a sense of power unlike she ever felt in all her years. Having a man at her feet, struck down, bleeding, crying out for help was an image she most definitely won’t forget anytime soon. And she knew she desired it to not be the last time this happened.

Her eyes shifted downcast and she struggled through the crowds, descending back on the plaza. Hopefully Wymmel would understand her. Amixia didn’t like seeing him upset. Any sort of joy she feels gets taken from her in an instant when she notices him like that. The man did everything to help her, spent so much time training her, showing her the fine art of sword fighting, caring for her when she inevitably hit herself by accident, and still helped her through all the blacksmitting being done. He shouldn't experience sadness; not a man such as Wymmel. She hugged herself as she reached the marketplace, making her way towards her hut. It was clear to her that she did make a mistake. A mistake which she had to fix.

Night had settled in, and Amixia gazed at the sky. The moon tonight seemed rather big, a size she didn’t remember noticing before. It almost looked reachable from where she sat and it sparkled in the night sky like Mother’s Tears in the sun. She nestled in her chamber’s rounded window, on a creaking ledge. Every single move she made, was accompanied by wooden groans which at first she could ignore, but now she sighed whenever she heard a new one. Outside, a forest stood watch, spiraling trees ascending to the sky as if they wanted to escape the ground. Good thing the moon was as big as it was; otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to see a thing, the branches and leaves so thick and intertwined that it dazed her. They were beautiful, colors of all sorts still visible in the darkness outside, even if it was hard to understand without squinting what colors they were. Footsteps sounded nearby, climbing atop the stairwell and the door opened slowly, a familiar figure emerging into the lantern lit chamber.

“I see you decided to examine the trees. Are they beautiful?” Nakol asked with a smirk, approaching her with two mugs in hands.

“Fascinating,” she replied, grabbing the mug and beginning to sip from it. An explosion of sweet smells invaded her nostrils, further emphasized by a soothing taste which made her sigh in relief.

Nakol chuckled. “I know. It’s so good.”

Amixia murmured an affirmative. “Too good. I have no idea what makes hamira be so tasty, but I’m glad it is.”

“You can make a tea out of grass covered in feces in Faye and it will still be good. It’s not only hamira.”

“Yes, I know, but still,” she took a big sip, “it’s incredible. No wonder it’s in such high demand.”

“True,” he replied, taking a sip and licking his lips. “And great thing we have our precious Hawks to bring them all throughout Galaria.”

Amixia scoffed. “Don’t mention them. I’d rather not waste this precious tea on talking about pigs.”

He frowned and chuckled. “What happened to get you so upset?”

“You know already.”

“Yes,” he said, sighing. “I unfortunately do.”

“One of them held the tournament,” she said, taking another sip.

Nakol perked up. “That’s… terrible. How was he?”

Amixia shrugged. “Is there a difference between these pigs? They’re all the same to me. But he managed to annoy me worse than the others.”

He asked why and Amixia proceeded to tell the events back at the tournament, scowling now and then whenever she mentioned the presenting Hawk.

“You are my hero for surviving today, my love,” Nakol said, grinning deviously.

Amixia furrowed her eyebrows. “Hardly. A big part of me wanted to slap him across the face. The other thought about using a blade.”

“Isn’t that… a little too much?” he asked, frowning.

“Not for Hawks, Nakol.”

Amixia glanced back outside and Nakol stood for a while, stunned, then shook his head and sipped some more tea. Eventually she eyed him again. “How did the mining go?”

He shook his hand. “It… went. I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s been a restless couple of months and I’m just glad to be back home. Those bastard soldiers took the best of us.”

“I’m sorry to hear, my love. At least you found some ores for us as well.”

“Yes, that’s true. But I… don’t know if this whole deal was worth it in the end.”

She tilted her head. “You seemed excited to leave when they asked you to do this? What… happened?”

“Work happened,” he said with a sigh. “Too much in fact. And it turned out that they were actually using us for a… different reason.”

He began telling her the entire story of his adventure. “That’s… awful. I knew they sounded dangerous, Nakol, I just… didn’t think they would be that dangerous.”

“You did tell me. I wish I would’ve listened,” he said with a scoff. “I… um… attacked one of them.”

She rose to her feet rapidly. “You did what? What… what were you thinking?”

“Calm down, my love. Please, sit.”

Amixia hesitated, then folded her arms and sat, eyeing him with a frown. “What happened?”

“Well… let’s just say that Alizion went through a bit of a situation and lost his wits. I tried helping and as I did, two of the soldiers couldn’t resist seeing calmness I suppose, and tried separating us. I got annoyed, grabbed my pickaxe and smacked one of them in the face and then…” he pointed a finger at his eye, “I received this.”

She leaned in, grabbing his face to examine it better and noticed a bump on his right eye. She touched it, the skin swollen and purple, yet it was healing. Amixia wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t point it out.

She retreated with squinting eyes. “You… promised.”

“What?”

“You promised, Nakol. Promised you will be alright. Promised you will return to me unharmed.”

He sat for a moment, struggling to let words come out.

“I… I’m sorry, my love.”

She stood and paced behind him. This tended to happen with Nakol, promising things and not delivering on them. At least not on all of them. And everytime it happened, it always infuriated her. Not to mention that she warned him, she told him to be careful with Paladon and he didn’t listen to her. That’s what Nakol does. What could’ve possibly been in his mind to do such a… foolish thing? To strike them down? He has no training, no idea how a fight actually is carried out. Paladon’s soldiers were feared already without the knowledge that whatever hid in their helmets was apparently giving them… invincibility. If these soldiers ever come in Faye… if they ever decide to march on them, who would stand up? Nakol? The other miners? The peasants? His eye was proof they could do nothing against them. The man she loved was too big of a fool to protect himself, let alone take care of her also. The arena taught her that she grew, yes, true, she grew in her sword fighting skills. But now hearing that Nakol was unable to stand up in the face of Paladon, those skills seemed worthless. Paladon was dangerous; a threat that at any point–and at any moment–could think of Faye as a place worthy of conquering. And without a military force, what then? Accept defeat? Amixia knew what she must do and where her entire focus should be placed upon. Training. Becoming an actual warrior.

“My love…” he said, standing, slowly approaching her. “I… am sorry. I made a mistake, and I should’ve listened to you. I don’t kno-”

“You’re a fool, Nakol,” she snapped, flaring her nostrils. “Have you thought what could’ve happened if Paladon didn’t need you? What do you think they would’ve done to you–a man who dared attack them–if you weren’t mining for them?

He sighed deeply, bowing his head. “I… know. I understand what you’re saying. Please, let’s not argue. I’m… not in the best shape for this.”

“Oh, I can see that,” she said with disdain.

“I’m glad you do. Now please, let’s… let’s talk about something else, alright?”

She waved dismissively. “Whatever, Nakol. You don’t listen to me anyway.”

He laughed. “I do listen to you. Sometimes I tend to believe I’m doing things… better than others would.”

Amixia ignored his comment and chose to lay down on the bed. Her mind wandered, thinking about how best to hone her skills further. Should she learn how to block more effectively, or how to dodge? What about parrying? Amixia never tried it; far too dangerous for her own liking. But then again… if Paladon has crystals that give their armors… that much resilience, she ought to learn every single thing there was to learn about sword fighting. Could she even stand a chance against an incoming threat?

Nakol adjusted his voice. “I… may have something for you. Something to make up for what happened between me and Paladon and for upsetting you.”

She perked up, spinning to see him. “What?” she asked bluntly.

He approached with a grin and reached for a pocket inside his trousers. “A gift. For you, my love,” he said and dug his palm out, holding something that resembled a necklace.

Amixia raised herself against the wooden headboard. “I’m not into jewelry, Nakol. I thought you already knew that.”

He raised his free arm. “I know that, but… this is no ordinary piece of jewelry,” he said and opened the other arm, revealing… a stone. Pale blue in color, with a smooth surface.

Amixia’s eyes widened in surprise and she grabbed it, twisting it in her palm, feeling its smoothness, like a slice of butter. Pulling it closer to her eyes, she thoroughly examined its shade of blue; a blue which she never saw in nature before.

“What is… this? Is this the same metal they use?” she asked, staring at him.

Nakol nodded. “I found a piece of it and palmed it so they won’t know. It’s a miracle I managed to get it out, honestly. Those bastards were so devoted to protecting that ore, like their existence depended on it.”

“Nakol this,” she said, still stunned by the stone in her palm. It was small, like very small. A little bit bigger than her nails, but the surface was soothingly smooth. “This is beautiful. Can we… use it?”

“I think so. But… I don’t know how. Perhaps Wymmel can do something with it. But, my love…” he said, sitting next to her, the bed groaning, “I didn’t give this to you to turn it into something else or sell it. This is a gift; use it as such. And I also need you to forgive me, so…” he chuckled.

As she watched it, she noticed something inside. Like mist, moving wildly from side to side. The stone was transparent enough to see inside, but not enough to determine what exactly was moving. Smoke? Mist? Hard to tell. Still, it didn’t take away from the beauty. If anything, it made it more… interesting. Unique.

“May I?” he asked with his arms raised, signaling to allow him to strap it around her neck.

She nodded, gave it to him and turned. A cold iron chain dangled on her clavicles, their pronounced shape scaring her enough to not dare look down at them, but now that wasn’t the case. Even if they jutted, the skin surrounding them stretched loosely, with the necklace placed they also looked… beautiful. It was after all her own body. One that was beginning to… grow on her. With it in place, Amixia spun to meet Nakol and smiled.

“It’s… it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you’re liking it, my love. I went through a lot to get it, you know…” he said with a grin.

“I… may forgive you. But don’t promise me things that you can’t keep. Please.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You know I’m doing my b-”

“Nakol,” she said, touching his cheek. “I know I want you to stop promising me things that you know can’t keep.”

He looked at her, the joy in his eyes visibly diminishing, replaced by hints of sorrow. “I… I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Good,” Amixia said, her voice cold. She once again eyed the necklace as he stood to make for the bath. Now, she had a piece of what made Paladon’s soldiers so great, according to Nakol at least. While not something she ever thought to receive–jewelries were a burden to make and an even bigger one to maintain, a burden she hadn’t had the interest in overtaking–she felt as if the necklace was where it should be. With her. She shook her torso a bit, trying to see if it would impair her movements when training. To her surprise, the necklace stood quite still. No unnecessary movements. They won’t be an issue then. She strode towards the window, staring out into the dark woods. Nakol’s words still echoed through her mind; the power displayed by Paladon was something horrifying to grasp. A power that rested upon her shoulders, literally. If a threat does come towards them–be it the worst of the worst–she had the responsibility to stand up to it. And something told her that the necklace will help her with that. Eventually, she’ll find a great use for it. She had to.