Chen/Part 2

Suddenly, Chen broke off in mid-sentence and leapt to her feet. She turned around in quick circles, almost silently, scanning the walls. Alarmed, Anala crouched low, expecting some unseen threat to sweep them all to the Deathlords’ embrace. As she watched, Chen’s body seemed to… not solidify, but become more real somehow. That was when the sound of crumbling clay brought Anala’s head around to the far wall. A long shaft of green metal seemed to sprout from the wall.

Without warning, the shaft flew upward and it carved a long slit in the clay walls of Anala’s house, knocking aside pots and herbs as clay splattered everywhere. A figure burst through the wall as Anala jumped beneath her table to grab the old iron knife that lay concealed in the center of the bottom surface of the workspace. Knife in hand, she turned just in time to watch Chen grab the sleeping cloth and wrap it around the green metal spear and savagely pull it aside before it impaled her. The figure that held the weapon was a tall, beautiful man with onyx skin and who was clad in pearls all linked together to dazzle the eye with light even as meager as the house lamp’s. The faerie stepped back to regard Chen, who was now standing in a martial pose. She dropped the sleeping cloth.

“You lived,” the faerie stated the obvious.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“The kindness of mortals.”

“Very good,” and the faerie rushed forward all at once, his solid stone-black skin reflecting off the metallic sheen of his green spear. The spear stabbed right where Chen had been a moment ago, but she somehow stood on the other side of the small house. Anala had not seen her move.

The faerie regarded Chen coolly. Chen looked impassive.

“You remain wounded.”

“I will be alright.”

“Not for long,” and he flipped back while his weapon lengthened to skewer Chen at the end of its deadly blade.

With a golden flash, Chen’s sword that Anala had not since Chen’s recovery appeared in the warrior’s hand and the blade turned aside that vicious attack. Anala knew that a mortal would have died. But she had known since the moment she met Chen that she was no mortal. The thin golden blade should surely have been bent from the inhuman strength behind the faerie’s stroke, but it remained straight and true.

“Your deception was not appreciated, and my duke requires your death.”

“Is he here?” inquired Chen.

“No.”

“A pity.”

“Why?”

“I would have killed him, too.”

“I fear that I will kill you tonight, like I nearly did in our last encounter.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I will not allow it, nor will my father forsake me.”

“You are Forsaken. Get used to it,” the faerie smiled. Anala noticed that his leg, which was right beside the table, was not covered in pearls and was quite exposed.

“You mock me.”

“Indeed,” the faerie said with a voice…. so musical… it was lulling Anala into relaxed rest. Realizing what was happening, Anala struck at the faerie’s calf with the iron knife and it bit into his leg. He yowled like some wild beast and twisted away, wrenching the knife from her hands and breaking the blade. As she fell back, Anala heard a crash. She looked up to see the faerie’s beautiful face hovering low to look at her under the table. “I will return and enjoy feasting on your dreams of heroism, little girl,” and then he was gone. Anala shuddered, remembering the death of her parents and crawled from beneath her table.

Looking around, she saw that the crash had been Chen breaking through the solid, hard, clay wall. The faerie had used her door, slashing the woven covering to pieces on his way out. All was quiet.

Chen crouched on top of one of the villager’s houses. The clay easily supported her Essence-reduced weight. The faerie had run out of Anala’s house and with a grin to her, dodged down a street and out of sight. Chen did not see well at night, and she sighed. She stood carefully and looked about, expecting an attack at any time and from any direction. She stood for several minutes until she heard someone singing.

When she faced the town square, she could see it was lit by motes of light dancing about wildly and enthusiastically. The green faerie light illuminated a brutal scene. The cataphract was holding a little girl by her foot and had placed the girl’s head in the water. The girl’s struggles made loud splashing sounds that were an eerie counterpoint to the faerie’s song. Villagers were coming from their homes to see what the trouble was. Seeing the trouble, some fled, but most stayed, knowledge of their impending death weighing heavily upon them. Chen knew that the local militia would arm itself with iron weapons, but could not hope to match one of the powerful faerie warriors and he would slaughter every one of them unless she stopped him. He was there, after all, to seek vengeance upon Chen for the embarrassment she caused the Fey Court.

Chen crouched slightly and leaped from the rooftop and soared through the air as lightly as the cold night’s breeze caressed her Essence-strengthened skin. Chen flew over several houses and over the town square to land lightly on top of the town’s statue. Her statue. The faerie had watched her movement and now dropped the child who promptly swam to the far side of the fountain and, screaming, fled.

“You dare face me in your condition? You should have retreated,” said the faerie, laughing musically.

“I would dare anything for these people,” Chen stated. The people of Dramden looked amongst each other. Chen knew that they were beginning to realize that there would be battle, and one of the combatants would leave them in peace.

“They are nothing but mortals, Lord Minxia. Not worth your notice. Come, if you leave now, I promise to give you the last day you need to recover before coming after you.”

“If I leave now, you will take these people and eat their dreams. I cannot allow that.”

The faerie sighed, pushing aside his desire for sweet drink until later, after he had slaughtered Chen. The cataphract took in a breath and loudly proclaimed, “People of Dramden! You have harbored an Anathema amongst you! For this crime, you should all die! But, if you come to me now, and kill this vile creature, I will spare all of you.”

Though his words were not heard by all, his glamour infected every villager and they began approaching the fountain in something that approximated eagerness. They began to crave Chen’s blood as much as the faerie did. Chen looked over to Anala, the healer, and saw that the young woman cried tears of regret, but started forward.

“YOU WILL NOT FIGHT ME!” shouted Chen as she drew upon her anima and, to all beings of the world, seemed to grow larger, fiercer, and more dangerous. Chen’s features became awesome and terrifying, and her power daunted even the faerie’s heart. As one, the villagers turned their heads from Chen. Many simply ran in terror.

“I will suck the marrow from your bones!” cried the cataphract, spitting blood in his vehemence. But even his eyes were lowered from her glory as she stood, a hero of old, upon a towering statue that gave tribute to another hero of old.

At that moment, Chen called to the Orichalcum daiklave she held and the thin blade began to expel waves of magical fury as it was engulfed in a conflagration of magenta flame. A whispered chorus rose about, seeming to chant from beyond the borders of the world and heard even here, in the village of Dramden.

Haza Ziy Tikhi Dahna Zae, Mnetho Luy Ga Kae, Zihki Tahna Vae

The chant was relentless and seemed to have been sustained for ages and only now heard, as though opening a door onto a performance at a noble’s palace. Above the chant, a little girl’s voice rose in an innocent melody as though she danced amongst wildflowers and kept herself company with a tune.

The faerie frowned and flew up to strike at Chen, but she moved swiftly, magenta streaks trailing behind, as she struck the green, metallic spear away and stabbed at the cataphract. Her blade bit into the pearly armor, but did not find flesh. He pushed away and glided back down the street. Chen ran forward with inhuman speed and bent back to deliver a powerful blow, but the faerie dodged aside as she passed and he swung, knocking the daiklave from her hand. It flew in arcing circles more slowly than Chen’s dash, and embedded itself into the wall. The faerie whipped the spear around and the blade became liquid as it rushed to the opposite end to manifest there just as it struck Chen on her back. She sprawled forward, sliding five feet in the dust. A thin line of blood scored her back, accenting the tear in her new shirt.

Chen pushed off the ground and flew up from the force of her exertion. With an outstretched hand, the sword broke away from the clay wall and struck her hand and seemed to fasten there. Chen turned, mid-flight, and swooped down upon the startled cataphract. The singing sword slid along the length of the faerie spear and bit into its owner’s shoulder. A drop of glistening blood flew and landed with a musical chime upon the ground. The crowd gasped as the sign of the Forsaken blazed its golden radiance upon Chen’s forehead.

The faerie was set back for a moment, but quickly altered his stance and whirled forward, spear dancing in the night as green faerie light reflected off the metallic faerie weapon. His glistening, nearly liquid spear struck again and again, but Chen’s blade rang against the wicked glamour and allowed only one of his thrusts to penetrate her defense. A jagged cut on her face bore testimony to his peerless skill. However, with each attack the cataphract made, Chen counterattacked in blows that only increased in strength. The faerie parried most of them, but blood began to seep through the glistening pearls, darkening the glossy surface and making it slick. Chen’s anima erupted from her body in pale golden waves to wash over the town square.

Not to be daunted, the cataphract launched his spear at Chen with the strength of a behemoth and the metal grew ugly points all around it as it flew. A deafening roar sounded as Chen placed her daiklave between herself and her enemy and the spear was defeated without contest. He growled like a bestial creature while another spear grew in his hands. The villagers were bathed in lights alternating between the metallic green of the faerie fire and the rising golden glow that surrounded Chen.

“Do you not see? You cannot fight a Dawn and win, Fair One. I am a Sword of Heaven and have fought a hundred and one battles without defeat,” said Chen simply. She lowered slightly the sword that spewed magenta in a fiery torrent.

The faerie considered a moment. Then spoke, “Ah, but young Sun-child, I have fought a hundred thousand battles and feasted on the pain of my enemies since the time you last walked the earth. My prowess is unmatched by any mortal, or Exalted aim.” He gestured and the discarded spear that still lay to the side of Chen burst apart in a shower of deadly metal shards. The clay walls nearby caved in from the explosion, and Chen tried to shield her face from the worst of it. She quickly resumed her stare with only a few scratches marking her body. The faerie grunted and turned his head away from the awesome visage before him. He leapt.

In a flurry of motion, the faerie struck again and again, each time with skill unknown to any now living in Creation. Golden arcs surrounded Chen, though, and her blade followed each trail to its completion where it met the englamoured spear in every direction. The beauty of the man began to be marred by his laborious breathing and sheen of sweat that fell from his onyx skin and shattered as obsidian upon the dusty street.

Chen backed away somewhat and the cataphract allowed her to, for a moment. She spoke, “You may retreat now. I give you this opportunity, for you would not survive my next attack.”

“I would not?” he asked in a vaguely amused voice.

“No, for I would strike eight times to your heart and each blow would drive deeper and deeper into your heart until it was stilled.”

The faerie considered this for a moment. He then smiled and shrugged as he blurred forward, spear cutting the air with a hum that echoed across the land and sent the wind itself fleeing in fear.

A golden dragon sprung from Chen’s body and bathed the town in the rosy gold of Dawn as her icon emerged to do battle. Essence poured into her sword and it issued sheets of crackling magenta sparks, each with its own quiet hiss as she swung her sword in the defense indicated her by her Charm. The faerie’s spear whirred past her and under her and right towards her, but wherever it would have struck, her blade parried and the sparks clattered down his unearthly spear to hiss on his hands as testimony to the power that Chen promised.

At his last blow, Chen returned the assault with eight violet strikes towards the Fair Folk’s very heart. Expecting this, he brought his green weapon up to defend, but every time Chen’s daiklave struck the metallic splendor of a spear, magenta sparks poured forth over the weapon and across the faerie’s body. He screamed as the Essence leaked through his pearl uniform and showered his body in a wash of dark fire.

Chen stepped back at that time to examine her handiwork. The faerie lay upon the ground, his glamours fading like the passing of a dream. And at the heart of that dream, in the sapphire eyes of the onyx-skinned Fair One, something awoke.

The sun beat down upon the summer-smothered landscape as a man clad in the garb of one of the elite warriors of Lookshy, a samurai, walked into town. He must surely have died in the heat of the day and the suffocation of his armor, but he did not perspire and would have felt cool to the touch. He observed The Groveling Jackal as he walked through town, but did not stop. The people in the village did not recognize the man’s uniform of embroidered swathes of cloth that poured from his shoulders and waist and so were fearful. He smiled, then, and their fears were allayed.

The warrior woman rose from her seat at the fountain in the town square as he approached. She had seen him from afar, of course, but was tired and not fully healed. He took her appearance in and smiled when he saw she was well. Though she wore the newly mended peasant’s shirt she had been given, and he the symbol of an elite and noble class far above the station of a meager peasant, they clasped arms for they were the same.

“Chen Minxia. Glad I am to see you whole of body and sound of mind. The faerie?”

“Yes, your Holiness. The faerie should not trouble Lord Regal Passage any longer,” she said, bowing before him. He smiled wanly as of one who is accustomed, but not demanding, of her bowing.

The villagers of Dramden looked up from their rest in the heat of the day and saw the man speaking in a language they did not know. Anala watched the two converse and finally realized what bothered her about Chen’s speech. Though she spoke easily in Anala’s native tongue, the warrior’s mouth did not move to match the sound Anala heard. As though the woman’s voice was transmuted by some magic to be understood by all who heard her.

“The people know you are Solar?” the samurai asked.

“Yes, your Holiness. Though they would call me Anathema, for they have not heard you message.”

The Lookshy warrior mused over this for a moment, then said softly, “They are not ready to hear me, Chen. They are too far from our protection should they repeat my words to Immaculate ears. Instead, I will return some other day to deliver the message of the Unconquered Sun.”

Bowing her head, Chen said, “As you wish, your Holiness.”

Sighing and smiling at Chen, the man turned to look over the people of Dramden. He drew himself up as every head in the crowd turned as though bidden to attend to the man’s words.

“I am Savage Grace, a samurai of the Seventh Legion,” proclaimed Savage Grace in heavily accented Flametongue, “And I am here to take my friend, Chen Minxia, with me back to my land. I thank you for your hospitality and kindness to a stranger. She told me you healed her and provided her sanctuary. For that, I am grateful and will put down a sum of money to cover her expenses and to pay for whatever damages I am sure occurred.” Chen smiled quietly at this. “Now, is there anything I can do for you?”

The villagers were affected powerfully by Savage Grace’s words and did not question him nor his actions. Instead, they watched him place a bag of jade by the fountain. He looked up and awaited a word of request that would repay the kindness shown his sister. People, of course, did not know him and did not know what to say.

“Your Holiness,” Chen began meekly.

“Yes, Chen, what is it?” he said glancing her way while awaiting someone’s approach.

“There is an illness.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, your Holiness. Medicine is not my strength, but it is yours. Perhaps…” she trailed off.

He smiled and nodded, “Yes Chen, that sounds perfect.”

“Anala, please approach,” Chen called to the herbalist and healer of Dramden. Timidly, the young woman stepped forward, a coughing Pran walking slightly in front of her to protect her from the short, powerful warrior before them. “Tell the Hol—Savage Grace about the illness.” Her confidence bolstered Anala’s strength.

“Well, your Lordship, the fire-dragon cough has come in summer, and we are running low on medicine. If, perhaps, we could get re-supplied…” Anala tentatively suggested.

“Bah, we can do better than that!” Savage Grace declared. “Bring forth all your ill and sick now, to this place,” he said, gesturing to the town square. Although he was a stranger, and although they would wonder why later, not one questioned this command.

Presently, the entire town—those sick as was ordered, as well as those well who wanted to see what would happen—gathered in the town square. Savage Grace looked up at the statue gracing the eternal well from the First Age. Nodding he approached it and thrust his hands into the water, soaking his voluminous clothing up to his elbows.

A directionless golden light seemed to flow through Dramden’s center as though the Sun was casting his gaze directly upon the oasis. The waters shone with reflected light and continued to do so for a month afterward, even at night. At that point, the samurai took up a ladle and directed those who were well to follow his example and he began to pass amongst the crowd and help the ill to drink the pure waters of their fount. Relief was immediate and people stood in confused awe of the two strangers.

Even years later, Dramden would still talk of the strangers who came to them. Was Chen not Anathema? Was that man not from a distant country whose concerns were far removed from the South? Regardless, the faerie did not retaliate and people did not get sick again for the remainder of the year. It was a blessed time and happiness and prosperity abounded. Anala and Pran were wed (and a new house was built with the strangers’ money). The children of the town daydreamed about a flashing magenta sword that sang while it struck down the terrors of the world. The elders wondered at the man’s powers of healing as well as persuasion.

And far above Dramden, the Unconquered Sun smiled upon the world and was pleased by the glory his children had wrought.