Donare Donum: The Gift Giver's Chronicle

Stephen

I woke up alone when it was still dark Fourthday morning. I had done my best to relax and recover Thirdday afternoon, and I went to sleep almost immediately after dinner. My body was in perfect condition, but my mind was moving 50 miles a minute. I forced my nausea under control and moved to grab my swords, which I had stashed under my bed. My shirt of choice was of Domilope-skin, its’ dark blue rippling as I slid it over my head, and I elected for the extra protection of black Arthus skin gloves and boots. My pants were brown Gafril wool. It was an outfit that would allow for significant mobility, while also preparing my appendages for glancing blows.

Satisfied, I began doing my normal morning stretches and exercises. I was just finishing up when Father came to find me. We silently made eye contact, and I hastily followed him out of the house. I noticed that he was armed as well, his two-handed great sword strapped into a sheath on his back.

“I suppose he has really taken Mrs. Corona seriously,” I mused internally.

My breath released in puffs in the cool morning air, the chill invigorating and focusing my mind. As the sky shifted to its’ pre-dawn colors, the first trickles of grey-tinted sunlight had started to tentatively illuminate the faces of my fellow villagers who watched with interest as I followed my father toward the dueling stadium on the west of town.

Occasionally, Bryn would hold entertaining or ceremonial fights where there was a real need or desire for spectating. The gym wasn’t suitable for that type of thing, so an area had been cleared and elevated stone bleachers had been created surrounding a large central fighting ring.

The stadium had been placed further on the outskirts of town, somewhat close to the wall at the edge of the Mesa. No one really wanted to live closer to the edge, and it wasn’t used very often, so this seemed like the perfect location. It proved annoying to get to when we needed to though, with a small army of people streaming towards the venue to get good seating. The crowd parted for my father and I, though, as we made our way towards the contestant’s chambers.

When we got inside, he tossed me a water skin:

“Don’t drink too much. Your fight is in an hour or so. But you ought to get a final bit of hydration in now.” He lectured me, despite that being something I already knew.

He was nervous. I could see it in the way he moved, in the slight twitches of his eye and the quiet tapping of his foot on the unyielding stone floor. I’m not used to seeing him nervous, but I could tell.

The nerves come back with a vengeance as I force a last bit of water down my partially closed throat and hand the skin back to him. I sit down as he starts to pace, a scowl now marring his already tough looking face.

“Remember what we have gone over. We know he is good at faking exhaustion and vulnerability to get you to let your guard down. Be cautious and wait for the right moment. This will come down to endurance so…” He paused and sighed, sitting down beside me now.

“But you know all this, don’t you. I’m sorry. I’m not used to feeling powerless. I wish I was able to do more to stop this.”

This apology was only met with silence on my part, but my face told the whole story, and I think he recognized my thoughts. I didn’t blame him. I blamed myself. I blamed my lack of determination to show myself as a strong leader before now. I blamed my lack of maturity, my lack of strength, for allowing me to accept a position of mediocrity. It wasn’t a sin to be weak, exactly. But it was a sin to shirk responsibility, even if you weren’t always sure that you could fulfill it. Even if you had never asked for it.

We benefit from all sorts of blessings that we have never earned. Life. Family. Talents and Gifts. And, oftentimes, the more that we are blessed, the more responsibilities we have. These responsibilities can be blessings in and of themselves, if lived up to. Or they can be curses if avoided for too long – a fact I suspected I was about to learn the hard way.

When he saw my face, he smiled and looked away, staring into the distance.

“You will make a great leader yet, son.”

With that, we settled into silence once more. I went into my warmup stretches again, to give myself something to do, while he looked patiently onward. Eventually, there was a call from the outside:

“Contestants, make your way to the pit of the stadium!”

Father got up and, after one last slap on my back, made his way to the stands. I, in turn, made my way out and into the open air of the pit. Around me, the cacophony of the crowd rang in my ears, supporters on either side calling out jeers or encouragement. Surprisingly enough, there was a great amount of encouragement for me as well as Aurelius.

“Show that smug meathead how to fight, Steve!”

“Don’t back down, ya silver eyed punk!”

Aurelius had made his fair share of enemies, plus my recent discoveries had won me some fans in the scholastic community as well. I saw Victor and Lynn sitting in the front row next to some of their friends, who were cheering me on, their weaker bodies and clever looking eyes marking them as fellow Scholars. The group nearby the young couple was my team and my family. Isaiah, Al, and Ann were making as much noise as they possibly could. I saw Mom shooting shocked and slightly disapproving looks at all three of them, as they used some very interesting curse words for Samuel, before going back to waving at me. Julia was next to them on the other side, cheering and waving, with baby Eithan strapped into a holder on her back. Both of her parents were looking onwards and cheering encouragement from her left. As I was watching, Father muscled his way through the crowd to stand next to Mother and picked up little Hope on his shoulders, giving her the best view in the house. All my Fighter family and friends had also brought their weapons, mimicking my father in their preparedness. Even Hope had brought her quarterstaff.

The stands behind my family were filled with Purifiers and other Scholars who had morphed into a cheering squad on my behalf, likely due to my mother’s and Lynn’s influence. The stands next to them were filled with Masons and Workers, who were largely on my side but more conflicted about it. The other side of the stadium was filled with Fighters and more Workers. They were largely against me thanks to the fact that most of the Fighters supported Aurelius.

Samuel had come out directly opposite me, blue eyes flashing with malice, yet with a face that had been schooled into an expressionless mask. His weapon of choice was a Gwyniron claymore, a very long and heavy sword with a guard that made a V shape away from the hands. He was clad in a black Arthus-skin shirt and dark brown boots and gloves.

Behind him was a raised platform that contained 6 seats. Only 5 were occupied, thanks to the fact that my father was with the rest of my family, so it was only the entirety of the Council that stared down at the rest of the village. It was Omar Ignis, then, who called for quiet but Old Lady Corona addressed the crowd as Head Councilor:

“Both contestants are aware of the rules. A fight to the death or surrender, with incapacitation counting as surrender. Incapacitation will be judged by the arbiter, Omar Ignis, as will a call for surrender. He will also begin the match.”

The news that Ignis would be the arbiter sent a murmur through the crowd, but it didn’t bother me, nor was it unexpected. Ignis was genuinely the closest you would get to neutral in this situation. Despite his vote against me at the meeting, he truly did want the strongest possible Fighter as Patriarch. His vote for the duel in the first place was to ensure that. If I beat the odds, he would have no problem declaring me the victor. And he would have no reason to just let me die if I got knocked out, given that he had nothing against me personally. Not that that was likely to happen, of course.

Ignis jumped from the uplifted position, the strength of his legs more than enough to empower him to take that short fall, even in his advanced age. He then trotted over to stand at a 45-degree angle to both of us, and boomed out:

“Okay men, both of you are warriors, so I will not permit any excessive avoidance. I will warn you if I detect any, and if it continues you will be declared the loser and be punished. This doesn’t have to end in death, and I would prefer that it didn’t, so accept an opponent’s surrender gracefully. No funny business or last second swings.”

I could have sworn that he was looking at Aurelius when he said that, but I had already chosen my plan. I wasn’t planning on surrendering. I probably wouldn’t have the chance. The knucklehead across from me simply nodded arrogantly at everything being said, his eyes fixed on me the entire time as I also nodded. I let my eyes flit from the ref and back to him, calming my nerves and steeling myself. I was ready.

“Both combatants ready?”

We both tense.

“Draw weapons.”

…

“Fight!”

Immediately, Aurelius explodes in my direction, his physical power granting him excellent speed in a single direction. His blade is stabbing right toward my chest as quick as thought.

I dance to the left, narrowly avoiding it. He quickly pivots, though, and aims a decisive swing at my midriff. I grunt and block, only able to match the man’s strength because he is slightly off balance.

I capitalize on the mistake, forcing the sword down and closing the distance, slashing at his arm with my left as I hold his sword at bay with my right, scoring a quick and shallow cut. He lashes out with a midriff kick when he regains his balance, but I have already jumped away.

Humiliated and angry that he didn’t get his easy win, he launched a brutal broadside of short and quick diagonal slices, his sword a blur. It’s all I can do to keep up, parrying and dodging and weaving as he does his best to take my head off. I take each strike indirectly, diffusing the force by blocking at an angle.

I eventually parry a strike well enough that he overextends, and I sneak inside his guard for another quick cut on his right, and he is forced to jump back to avoid the counter. I am tempted to layer on the pressure but hold back. This was battle of attrition since overextending even once would mean death for me.

He changed things up, feinting another upper left diagonal swing that transitioned to a bottom left diagonal swing that he stepped into. I parried, but he used that rightward momentum to transition to a spinning roundhouse kick. I try to jump back but the kick grazes my ribs, sending me slightly off balance.

Thud

It nearly ended there, and the follow up stab grazed my cheek, but I managed to narrowly defend against the absolute blizzard of stabs that he unleashed upon me.

I was on the backfoot, but I saw my chance when he started to tire a little. I locked his sword with both of my blades and closed the distance. I hit him with a kick to the stomach and an elbow to the face, before maneuvering out of the way of his retaliation.

Thud

It felt like I had kicked a mountain, and my elbow was throbbing, but I could see that he was hurting worse. His nose clearly broken and bleeding, he stared bloody murder out of watery blue eyes, flourishing his sword. Daring me to get closer and try it again. I wouldn’t. This was all to plan and I didn’t need any last second reversals.

He tried again, cautiously now, with probing strikes and feints that left fake openings, but I wasn’t biting. The crowd was roaring, and I was confident that his heavy breathing was real. I tried a few of my own baiting maneuvers, fending off his moves with exaggerated ease, playing to his frustration.

Thud

Neither of us were falling for the other’s lies, and we started to fall into a rhythm. He was slowly starting to commit more, mixing up stabs and swings and throwing in feints at irregular intervals. It was difficult to fend off, but I managed.

He refused to extend too far, keeping me comfortably at range, but I abused this, dancing in and out of his effective range as I threatened to swim through the net he was trying to weave with his attacks. He was noticeably slower, his attacks trading speed for tactics, but the tactics game was mine to win.

Thud

The crowd was even louder now, the blood roaring alongside it right through my ears as he tried abruptly to shift the tempo of the fight. I shifted right with him, constantly searching for him to make a mistake. He moved back to the slower speed as I searched, more guarded in response to my shift.

We danced on a knife’s edge, him constantly alternating between extremely fast moves and trickier, more nefarious attacks, but I was constantly reading his momentum. He scored a slight wound on the top of my shoulder with a well-placed stab, but I followed it right up with a slice across the bicep. His shirt blocked the cut, but he winced a bit at the bruising.

Thud

As we got tired, we both started to make minor mistakes, whittling each other down as both of us huffed like the bellows. We had kicked up clouds of dust with our shifting and pivoting and both of us gulped the tainted air down greedily, desperate to bring the other down first. My vision had narrowed to a single point, and the thrum of my heart was the only sound that invaded my world.

My life flashed before my eyes as a cannily placed strike knicks my Adams apple. It’s only skin deep, though, and Aurelius has swung too hard this time, exposing a route to his side that is as clear as good water. Time slows as we both realize what he has done, and my weight shifts forward to take advantage of the fatal mistake.

Thud

We are both so immersed that neither of us notices that the crowd has gone completely silent.

However, we did hear the shriek that cleaved the sky in two.