Lerykaz: Screams
When he heard the cheers turn to screams, Lerykaz knew something was wrong.
It was the start of the quarterfinals at the arena, and the entire village had turned out for it. The streets were empty. He, Karyzel, and Elyria were the only people around, sitting outside the house waiting for Zakyrel to come home. Lerykaz hadn’t felt like dealing with the crowds. Elyria was planning on tending to his brother’s wounds, among other things.
It had started out as just a few piercing notes above the crowd’s roar. Now it had turned into a calliope of fear whistling and shrieking through the air.
He left Karyzel with his brother’s latest beau—who had lasted the longest so far. Her eyes were wide under pink bangs when he told her to go inside. She nodded, looking toward the arena as she shut the door. She told Lerykaz to be careful.
And to take care of his brother.
He ran. His boots slapped against the cobblestones, and there was the alien sensation of his hex band—deep sapphire blue—knocking against his wrist with each step. As he dropped into Bent time the sound was muted. The screams were softer, as though they were coming from miles away. Gradually the sound grew and preceded the first spectators as they came stumbling around the corner. They moved as though they were in deep water: slowly, clumsily, with every motion drawn out and exaggerated. Lerykaz could see the fear set into their eyes.
He dodged the first few, but many more were behind them packed so tightly he couldn’t weave through them even in bent time. He dropped back into real time and it was like falling into a thunderstorm. The mass’ shrieking rattled inside his head. Nothing was making sense. They were just running; a mass of bright clothes and fear rolling through the streets.
Two people nearly knocked Lerykaz down as they fled. He Blinked up to the nearest roof before he was trampled.
Sprinting forward, he Blinked from rooftop to rooftop without missing a beat. He’d barely tapped the first roof before darting forward, unseen, to the next. The last Blink was the longest yet and it set him down on the cobblestones next to the arena’s wall. Only a few stragglers were limping out of the nearest entrance. Whether pressing a hand to their face, stomach, or shoulder, all were stained with blood or it was oozing from a wound. They ambled forward, drunkenly swaying between steps, with a dazed expression plastered across their faces.
As Lerykaz jogged up to the entry gate he realized it wasn’t open, per se. Something had smashed in the tall wooden doors, leaving massive splinters scattered about the ground and a red stain on the jagged pieces that still hung from broken hinges. He didn’t see any sign of the four lawmen who usually stood guard at this gate—though the stains were probably all that was left.
The wreckage continued as he crept forward. Beams were strewn about, gouges dug into the loose silt that made the floor here. He spotted something that was once a lawman off in a corner. He didn’t look very closely.
Perfectly framed in the open door, out in the middle of the arena, was Zakyrel. He was crawling on his hands and knees for a sword. Even from this distance Lerykaz could see the blood dripping from multiple wounds. There was a flash of bright steel as an armored leg caught his brother in the stomach, flipping him through the air and landing on his back.
Huge. That was the first word that came to Lerykaz’ mind. Whoever was in that clanking, heavy armor towered over his brother. The sword in his hand should have been too heavy for one hand, yet there he was, singlehandedly raising it, ready to cleave his brother in half.
Lerykaz heard something about “vengeance,” but the booming words didn’t fully register in his mind. He was too busy looking for the nearest weapon. Taking that behemoth on empty-handed would be fatal.
Just a few feet away was a spear. He Blinked, fingers wrapping around the shaft as he appeared from thin air. Hefting the weapon he took aim. Headshot or torso?
As time itself split, it slowed to a halt, and the rest of the world went dark as Lerykaz saw the future branch before him. Two options played out simultaneously.
The headshot missed. The sword fell. His brother died.
The torso shot connected. It struck right under the sword arm, piercing the thinner armor. His brother lived. At least for a few more seconds.
Lerykaz was gone the moment the spear left his fingers, flying toward its target. He Blinked again, coming out near a dead fighter, scooping up the fallen woman’s sword. There was a roar of pain: his shot connected.
He Blinked again. The next corpse still had a shield. It was Lerykaz’ now.
It was time to assess the situation. He dropped into Bent time, not missing a beat. Turning, the spear slowly shot through the air toward his face. The tip, flecks of blood trailing behind it, was inches from his nose. He juked right, batting the weapon away with his shield, and looked at the monster bearing down on him. Even with time slowed to a crawl the killer was running toward him faster than most people walk.
It took more concentration than he knew he had, but Lerykaz Blinked as soon as he fell back into real time. He later swore he felt the sword shave against the back of his neck.
He spun around, bringing the shield up. The giant sword split it in two, and only the strap bracket kept the blade from biting into his arm. An armored foot caught him in the chest, sending him flying through the air.
Lerykaz could see the blade’s bright edge coming around, the killer striding forward to lop him in half before he hit the ground. Fighting the pain of at least one busted rib, Lerykaz Blinked again, appearing on the ground and watching the blade slice through empty air.
Reflect. If he rolled right he died. The sword would go through his side, spearing him to the ground. If he leapt to his feet and dived forward he’d live.
He leapt, he dived, and a hand clamped around his ankle. The behemoth flipped him over, aiming the sword at his heart.
Not gonna work.
Rewind. It all wound back and he was on the ground again, staring at the mountain of steel as it thundered toward him. He couldn’t roll right, and he couldn’t dive away.
But could he attack?
He grabbed a fistful of damp soil and flung it at the beast. Whether it contacted or not didn’t matter, as it gave the killer pause. Lerykaz jumped to his feet, spun, and lashed out with a one-two kick to the helmet.
It never connected.
The beast blocked it with his left arm, sword coming up at Lerykaz’ head.
He Blinked again, and the sword barely missed his throat. As he reappeared, grabbing at the two-handed sword of another fallen fighter, an unpleasant itching ran across his neck, as though the ghost of a blade was cutting into his skin.
Shaking it off, he took the heavy hilt in both hands. This is Dariel’s, he realized.
He would have loved to have known how the behemoth moved so quickly. Hardly had Lerykaz tightened his grip on the sword when there was a shadow over him. Spinning, bringing the blade up to block, Lerykaz lost his footing. The beast’s sword slammed against his own and the impact knocked him to the ground. Pain rippled across his back, and the busted rib snapped. Breath coming in quick gasps, pain digging into his chest, Lerykaz squirmed into the soft soil, setting the blade’s flat in his other hand and bracing for the next blow.
It never came.
Instead the killer stood over him, sword raised skyward for the coupe de grace, but it was still. Blood seeped from under the right arm, pattering against the ground, and that was the only sound Lerykaz heard.
For the first time he got a good look at the thing that had killed so many. The armor was dented across the legs, torso, and chest, but no blows had breached it. Two rows of spikes ran from the chest to the back, framing the squat helmet and its dark portals. Lerykaz had never seen anything like it before.
His eyes widened, focusing on the chest. There was a symbol painted there: bright orange, red, and blue, circled with white leaves. That he’d seen before.
It had been on his father’s armor.
A whistle shrieked, and others quickly joined it. The lawmen were regrouping.
The behemoth slowly lowered his sword, but turned so quickly it cast soil into Lerykaz’ face. It rumbled toward the ruined gate, sprinting for freedom, with its weapon held at the ready.
Lerykaz didn’t need Reflect to realize following it meant death.
Adrenaline was doing its best to block pain from his broken rib and the scrapes and bruises pockmarking his body, but electric jolts still shot through him as he stumbled toward his brother. Zakyrel was stretched out on the ground, blood soaking into the dirt. His eyes were fixed on the sky and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. His chest was moving in time with shallow breaths. Too shallow.
Lerkyaz shook him, yelling at him to focus. He wasn’t going to die. Not today. He couldn’t. He was too tough for that, too stubborn.
Shredding his own shirt for bandages, Lerykaz worked to staunch the flow of blood across his brother’s chest. He never looked up from his work, and that is why he didn’t see Zakyrel’s hand slowly come up and grab his wrist.
Lerykaz started, head snapping around to stare at his brother. Zakyrel was grinning now and he tightened his grip on Lerykaz’ wrist, thumb scratching at the hex band he found there.
“You do care,” he croaked out.
Lerykaz stared at his brother for a moment then cracked a smile.
“Were the matches that bad? You could’ve just asked for help.”
“You’re an ass.”