December Short Story [Jozé Blackwater]

Hey peeps~!

Here is December's short story. Sorry it's right at the last day! The holidays and all the crazy events (like getting married, derp) seemed to have thrown off a lot of my plans. 

But here it is! Still on time, even if right at the last minute! Also, good news, more character art (including Twain!) is in the works. Super excited for that.

Hope you all enjoy!

A Past Long Forgotten

Jozé Blackwater

Thronehold was a sprawling city filled with thousands of people, arcanists, and mystical creatures—but I had only come here to see one of them.

The crowds in the coliseum irritated me. I kept my identity hidden for many reasons, and if anyone knew they were sitting next to a murderer, I was certain I’d cause a ruckus. That was why I wore a cap and a bandana, to hide my blue phoenix arcanist mark on my forehead. Blue phoenixes were rare, and if there were any scholars in the crowd, they would come asking too many questions.

Walking with a slight limp, I made it to my seat in the stands. Devlin was around here somewhere, probably chatting with some of the local bounty hunters and mystic seekers. He wanted to find a few more valuable objects before we left the Argo Empire, but I didn’t care about any of that.

The pulse of the audience excited me. It reminded me of my younger days. Few things got me enthusiastic anymore.

The shouting and cheers grew louder as Queen Velleta took a seat on the far stage.

The coliseum was massive, with stands circling around the center arena to accommodate thousands of spectators. The queen’s seat was on a stage at the far end—a stage large enough for her sovereign dragon to lie behind her.

Vercingetorix, the mighty sovereign dragon of the Argo Empire.

I wasn’t fond of dragons. They only bonded to power-hungry lunatics, in my humble opinion. Even this tournament—a massive trial of worth for the new baby sovereign dragon—was over-the-top and unnecessary. It glorified the death of the participants.

And this was coming from a convicted murderer…

Yet everyone here couldn’t get enough.

This was why I always felt out-of-place. I didn’t understand people.

A hatchling sovereign dragon walked around Vercingetorix before hiding under a claw. The small dragon peered out between Vercingetorix’s toes to view the arena. Even as a newborn, the beast probably weighed more than an elephant.

Queen Velleta took a seat on a cushioned throne. I was too far to see her expression, but I imagined she was bored. She was alwaysbored. Life had been too long for her, and she rarely left Thronehold. Life would be dull for anyone under those conditions.

Her three grandchildren—or whatever they were—walked out and sat with her on the stage. Rishan, Lyvia, and Evianna. All white haired and beautiful, just like the queen herself. The hair color always intrigued me. As a man of magical study, I enjoyed untangling the mysteries of life, and those related to the long-lasting royal families always had strange hair colors.

Something happened in the far past to change them… but what?

Devlin pushed his way through the crowds, grunting and mumbling apologies as he went. Devlin was a larger man with muscles earned on an airship and the confidence of a captain. I hated crowds, but he made his way through like a fish through a stream.

When he took a seat by my side, he groaned. “This would be easier if I flew around.” Devlin rubbed at his cap and bandana—the same kind of disguise that hid his roc arcanist mark.

Most people didn’t like that our foreheads were covered, but no one said a damn word.

Devlin rubbed at the chinstrap beard over his chiseled jaw. “I think your boy is up next, Jozé.”

Your boy.

No one had said that to me in years. It sent ice in my veins—a feeling of terrified excitement that I didn’t know what to do with.

“I think he is,” I muttered, my voice almost lost to the sea of cheering.

“The apprentice fights aren’t usually exciting,” Devlin said as he glanced over. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he won’t be hurt too much.”

Too much.

Devlin had a way of stabbing me with his words.

I made no comment, and instead focused on the arena. I hadn’t seen Volke in over a decade. The last time had been at my trial on the Isle of Ruma. He had seen me convicted as a murderer at the ripe age of five.

More ice filled my body, even though I had the fire of a phoenix.

What did my son think of me?

He likely hated me.

And when Karna had returned to the airship to report that Volke Savan was in the city, it was another stab to the chest. He had changed his last name to match William’s. Blackwater, my last name, was too much of a burden, I supposed.

Volke had to hate me.

My dark thoughts were like a whirlpool I couldn’t escape, but the ever-increasing cheers of the audience acted like a rope, yanking me from the depths of my mind.

On the opposite side of the coliseum, sitting in the stand closest to the arena, and set apart from the citizens, was Knight Captain Rendell. He had entered the coliseum and taken a seat, along with a few dozen of the Knights Draconic—all unicorn arcanists who served the queen.

I didn’t care much for authority. Eleven years ago, when I had been sentenced to death, it had been the corrupt wheelings and dealings of mystic seekers looking for the rare blue phoenix that had done me in—there had been no justice in my trial. I had saved the blue phoenix, but no one would hear it.

The knight captain reminded me of the arcanists who came to take me from the Isle of Ruma all those years ago.

I turned away from him, the ice in my veins replaced with hot rage.

Some sort of announcer, with his voice amplified to reach every corner of the coliseum, spoke to the crowds. His excited voice barely penetrated the anxiety in my mind.

“The first day of the Sovereign Dragon Tournament begins!”

An eruption of cheers flew up around us. Devlin covered his ears, and I did the same.

“Queen Velleta welcomes you to the Thronehold Coliseum! She asks that you not only enjoy the bouts between the competitors, but that you bear witness to the many Trials of Worth that will take place during this historic event.”

Stomping added into the shouts, creating a mini-rumble equal to an earthquake. My seat shook, and my bad leg hurt from the vibrations. What an irritation.

“Newborn unicorns and pegasi will bond with brave men and women, becoming the next generation of knights and legionnaires!”

The applause for that statement grew louder and louder.

“And most importantly, we will see who proves themselves worthy of bonding with a sovereign dragon. The fights of this tournament are meant to honor the dragon’s duel, and Queen Velleta extends her gratitude to all the competitors for joining us here today.”

I didn’t care. When would they get on with this?

While the announcer continued his prepared speech, Devlin glanced over at me.

“You okay, Jozé?” he asked, practically yelling.

“Yes.” I kept my attention on the arena. “We shouldn’t stay here long.”

Devlin offered a shrug. “It’s your boy we’re here to see. As soon as he loses, we can head back to the airship.”

“He won’t lose,” I said immediately and on instinct. Then I took a breath. “He’ll win his division.” The cheering died a bit, making it easier to speak.

“What makes you say that? You don’t even know the kid.”

A third stab straight to the chest. Still, I shrugged it off. “Karna had good things to say about him,” I whispered. “She said he was a knightmare arcanist. Those are natural born combatants.”

“They’re also boring,” Devlin said with a snort and chuckle. “Have you met the Grandmaster Inquisitor? Creepiest man I’ve ever chatted with in my life.”

“Hm.”

My curiosity was at an all-time high. Where was my son? Would Volke prevail in his fight? I gripped the top of my trousers, my knuckles white.

Shouts and yells filled the massive coliseum. Two arcanists entered the arena, both with dog-like eldrin. An orthrus, a two-headed canine, and a barghest, the black undead dog of misfortune. Those were tough arcanists, capable of dealing significant damage if they managed to get their hands on someone.

My worry grew.

“Our opening match has apprentices from the Frith Guild—Volke Savan the Knightmare Arcanist, and Zaxis Ren the Phoenix Arcanist!” the announcer shouted. “They’re facing off against members of the Huntsman Guild—Crevis Lennox the Orthrus Arcanist, and Dart Fargo the Barghest Arcanist!”

Devlin elbowed me in the arm. “Your boy! There he is.”

Our seats weren’t the greatest—we sat at least thirty rows up, and slightly away from the center of the coliseum. We had done it to avoid attention, but now I wished we had gotten front-row seats.

Volke…

His black hair tangled in the breeze. He wore no armor, just trousers, a shirt, and boots. He had a sword and shield, however. And I knew knightmares could become armor, but… Volke’s knightmare walked alongside him, a full suit of shadow plate armor. Most knightmares, when they were young, were just a few pieces of armor, but this knightmare was a complete suit of armor.

Why?

The answer came to me immediately. Volke was second-bonded. His knightmare had been someone else’s first.

More worry filled my thoughts.

And Volke’s arcanist partner…

Some sort of red phoenix arcanist. From the Ren family.

The man I had killed had been from the Ren family. Did Volke and the Ren boy even get along? They probably hated each other. The Ren boy probably blamed Volke for the death in his family, and it was all my doing.

I shook the thought from my mind and tried to focus on Volke.

There was a fighting stage in the middle of the arena, and once the dog arcanists took their position, more cheers blasted throughout the coliseum.

“We all know the rules to the matches,” the announcer shouted, his enhanced voice more of an irritation than a welcome comfort. “Five minutes are allotted. Those who fall off the stage are considered defeated. Those knocked unconscious are also considered defeated. The team with the most arcanists and eldrin still in the fight at the end of the match wins.”

Devlin sat forward, stroking his tiny beard. “This is it, Jozé. Time to see your boy in action. I’m betting… he gets bitten at least once.”

“Stop,” I growled.

“He’ll be fine. There are those with healing magic nearby.”

“Still.”

Devlin turned to me with a smirk. “You think Volke will just win? No injuries? Better to prepare yourself, my friend.”

I didn’t know what to think. But I knew I wanted him to. “He’ll win.”

“Are we ready?” the announcer asked, laughter at the edge of his voice. “Then let’s begin!”

Vercingetorix roared, signifying the start of the match.

Devlin and I both stood from our seats, excited to watch as the phoenix arcanist shot forward. His red phoenix took to the air and glowed a brilliant white and scarlet.

And then Volke’s knightmare merged onto him, melting into the darkness and then reforming on Volke as a complete suit of armor. He looked so… intimidating. A man of combat. His cape fluttered behind him—inky black and lined with blood-red on the inside.

I had read once that any red on a knightmare was from the blood of the fallen ruler they had been spawned from. I didn’t know if it was true, though.

I held my breath, my eyes wide, my mind pulled in a million directions.

The phoenix blasted fire from its small bird-like body—flames erupted out past his feathers in a wave of extreme heat. The crowds applauded as the dog arcanists were blinded by the fire.

Devlin whooped and smiled. “Fantastic!”

Then the Ren boy rushed forward with superheated knuckles. He punched the undead dog in the snout, but I barely paid attention to him. Didn’t fire bother knightmares more than normal? Knightmares preferred shadows, after all. Would Volke be okay fighting alongside a phoenix arcanist?

The orthrus charged Volke. Those two-headed dogs were strong. If it managed to grab Volke, would he be able to escape?

I practically clung to the random person in front of me as I leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the fight. The cheering and shouting prevented me from hearing any complaints.

Just as the two-headed dog was about to sink its teeth into Volke, my son stepped into the shadows and sank beneath the darkness, like a person diving into a deep pool of rippleless water.

I still hadn’t taken a breath, my anxiety too high.

“Oh, here we go,” Devlin shouted, completely enthralled by the combat.

Volke emerged in front of the orthrus arcanist, leaving the two-headed dog behind in a flash. Then he went for a powerful overhead swing. So risky! So telegraphed.

“Be careful,” I whispered under my breath, my voice lost before it even reached my ears.

But the orthrus arcanist didn’t dodge in time. The man was either too slow, too inexperienced, or too stupid to do anything. Volke slammed his blade into the man’s shoulder, cleaving through the armor.

When my son withdrew his blade, blood splattered across the stones of the arena.

Devlin grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “Did you see that, Jozé?”

I had! I didn’t even know when it had started, but I found myself cheering and laughing along with the crowd. Volke stepped away from the orthrus arcanist almost as if he was just as stunned as the audience.

The orthrus arcanist pulled a pistol.

Again, I caught my breath, unable to breathe.

Volke disappeared into the darkness as the man fired. The bullet hit nothing. I grabbed Devlin’s shoulder to balance myself as Volke stepped out of the shadows behind his attacker.

The orthrus charged for Volke, obviously looking to help out in the fight. But Volke lifted one of his gauntlets and then the orthrus—and the orthrus arcanist—collapsed to the arena. They twitched and writhed and shouted.

They were consumed by the terrors that knightmare magic created.

I smiled wide as I ran both my hands into my cap and bandana.

The shadows around the arena hardened into tendrils and then dragged the orthrus and the orthrus arcanist out of bounds. They were too stricken with invisible fears to fight back.

Two bells rang out once they were off the fighting arena.

Then another bell rang. And another.

When I glanced over at the phoenix arcanist, I noticed the man had dealt with his opponents on his own, though I hadn’t been paying attention to the details.

“And that’s the match!” the announcer shouted. “Twenty-nine seconds in!”

The thunderous approval from all of Thronehold filled the entire city. Once again, I had to cover my ears, but this time I was smiling and adding to excitement with my own shouts.

Three empire caladrius swooped down from the sky and landed on the arena platform. A mist of glitter-like magic settled over the coliseum, healing the injured combatants, including the poor orthrus arcanist who nearly had his arm removed from Volke’s decisive blow.

Devlin grabbed my arm and laughed. “That’s your boy, Jozé! That’s him!”

I rubbed at my eyes, trying not to let the excitement of the moment overwhelm me. Although I had never been a fighter—I much preferred reading and penmanship—it was still a point of pride that my son would grow up to be so talented.

My son.

It felt odd to think that. But so happy, at the same time.

“The winners are Volke Savan and Zaxis Ren! The Frith Guild maintains its legacy of exciting combatants!”

Then reality came crashing back to me. Volke Savan.

Not my last name.

My heart ached for a long moment, and I knew whatever talent Volke had, it wasn’t because of me. William Savan had been there for Volke… The Frith Guild had likely trained Volke… The knightmare was probably offering guidance to Volke…

What had I done for him?

The weight of the icy thoughts grew too heavy. I took a seat back on the stands, conflicted. Volke celebrated for a moment—his knightmare unmerging from him—but I could no longer bring myself to watch.

Devlin motioned to the arena. “What’re you doing?”

I shook my head. “I’m not feeling well.”

The exhilaration of the audience hid my uncertain tone.

But Devlin had known me for years. I was his blacksmith, and his good friend. He knew when I was lying, and he took a seat next to me on the stand.

“Get a grip,” he said. “No matter what has happened, he’s still your son.” Devlin leaned in closer, to make sure his voice would be heard. “You heard Karna. She said he was far kinder man than she thought possible. No son wants to hold a grudge against his father.”

“You don’t know that,” I muttered.

“What about your father, Jozé? Surely you admired him.”

My father was lost in the Red Weave Jungle three months before I was born. I had never told anyone the truth, because my mother remarried years after the event, and always told everyone that her new husband was my father. It had bothered me—that she would forget her first husband so easily and sweep his existence under a rug.

What if Volke was like that? What if he wanted me to stay gone? I was his past—something to be forgotten—and even watching him now felt like something I shouldn’t even be doing.

Devlin shook me once, his grip on my shoulder so tight I was forced to turn to him.

“Forget about it, Jozé,” he said. “Look, the boy is obviously doing well now. Just enjoy it. Watch the fights. Then come back to the airship. Volke will never even know you’re here. Maybe, in a few years, when you get nostalgic, you can reach out to him.”

I nodded once. “You’re right. I don’t have to do anything about it right now.”

“That’s the spirit.” Devlin stood from his seat again and smiled. “Let’s just enjoy the fights. I can’t wait to see your boy use his shadows against the next unlucky opponent.” He turned his attention to the arena. “There’s another knightmare arcanist in the tournament, and I’d love to see these two duke it out.”

I smiled as I forced myself to stand. “I’m telling you—Volke will win the whole apprentice division.”

“We’ll see about that, old man. We’ll see.”