EXPERIMENT: Manifest Soul
Synopsis: Manifest Soul is the first in a trilogy of Fantasy novels that came to mind a while back. Technically, they’d be considered Young Adult. In it, the main character is a teenager called Martien. One night at his overcrowded home on the border of Melathesia, his grandfather cries out in his sleep, shouting about the Shadowing Storm, an ancient enemy that was destroyed millenia ago while calling for Martien. Shortly afterward, his grandfather passes away.
That’s when the dreams start for Martien. Dreams of shadowy fire, of purple blinking eyes, and a deep abiding hunger. And in the distance, a great Golden Dragon that the Storm is trying to surround and destroy. And then darkness. And then Martien wakes to find a sword on his bed, with a bright, clear stone in the pommel. The sword of the Melathesian Honor Guard, the finest and most elite fighting force of the 20 United Realms.
Why has the Shadowy Storm returned? Why is the Great Golden Dragon under attack? Why did the sword appear on Martien’s bed? And why is he bidden to fight something which has already been proven to be destroyed?
SCENE: Martien has officially been accepted into the Honor Guard as a new recruit. He has spoken of his dreams to both the War and Mage Councils, and has been told that for the time being, he shall remain in Melathesia’s capital, Ranabore, until they can discern just what’s going on. The night before training begins, the dream has a new detail that Martien has yet to divulge: a great, dark Dragon, within the shadowy storm itself, with eyes of dark fire and reddish slit irises in the center. When he’s woken at twilight for training, he cannot shake the Dragon’s eyes, as he’s led to a pitch black chamber with the rest of the trainees.
_________________________________________________________
“Time for Basics, you swamp gilliads!”
The cold, somewhat darkened air nipped at every single trainee, as they all fell into lines, and waited for the trainers to enter. Martien, especially, was anticipating the type of trainer he would get. Out of the 5 branches of the Honor Guard, the only two gems he had yet to see were the purple stone of the Monarch’s Eye, and the black stone of the King’s Shadow. Taking a quick look around, he could see all the other stones of his fellow novices: the reds of the Crimson Arm, the blues of the Queen’s Mind, the greens of the Lord’s Bounty, and many clear stones, much like his.
“HONOR GUARD! SALUTE!” cried out one of the watchmen, and all the novices took their stance, raising the sword blade flat to their chests, other arm placed behind their back, standing straight with their heads up.
Torch light broke through the darkness, as two men flanked a shorter, well groomed man. They made their way before the new additions, and each of the torchbearers made way to a large bonfire stand, lighting them and illuminating the large stone room all the boys and girls stood in. The man who stood before them eyed every one of them carefully before raising his sword to his chest, and saluting in return.
Martien was surprised when he saw that the stone in the pommel of the man’s sword was a deep purple.
“I am Darrius, of the House of Tarven, appointed Captain of the Honor Guard, and the Rose of the Monarch’’s Eye,” he began. The trainees tittered and guffawed that their trainer would be one of the most respected and well-known members in the Guard. Their reverie was broken by Darrius continuing.
“Sheathe and at ease, young ones.” All took their eyes off of Darrius, except for Martien, who watched as the man tossed his sword up with a slight spin, and deftly grabbed his scabbard with his left, lined it up with the sword’s movements, and swiftly grabbed and sheathed his own sword in a manner which showed how he earned his reputation as one of the “Great Swords of the Guard”. Martien, so caught up in watching Darrius putting on a show with his sword handling skills, nearly forgot to put his own sword away, but did so just in time for Darrius to address the students.
“You are probably wondering why I have been appointed as your trainer, instead of a Crimson Arm. Well,” Darrius began as he took to wandering between the novices, “the reason is that the Empire has decreed that my skills, and your talents has brought the full attention of the Empire upon your specific troop.”
They began to talk amongst themselves, some in surprise, some in happiness. A rather brutish Crimson Arm apprentice next to Martien snorted, smirked a grin that made his sentiments obvious, and blithely muttered “Naturally…” under his breath. Martien just rolled his eyes up, and moved his head away. But when he rolled his eyes back, he was looking directly at Darrius, and Darrius was looking back at him. Martien could tell by the way he was staring that Darrius knew of him, that he was the reason Darrius was here.
Darrius smiled, and patting Martien in a firm but friendly way on his shoulder, turned to his new charges, and walked back to his spot. When he was back before them all, he turned on his boot heels, and spread his arms with a flourish.
“But enough talk for now! Put your swords to the side, remembering to place with your own gems naturally, pick up a weighted practicing implement, and return to your spot. For now it’s time we cover the lifeblood of all combat arts: the basics!”
The reds naturally grumbled and the blues naturally began to question why this was happening, and the greens naturally took to the appointed task in silence, but Martien and the other clears took to their task in earnest, as all retrieved their training swords, and went back into formation. Darrius waited for them all to still themselves as a watchman handed him a practice sword, to which Darrius thanked him. He turned, eying each novice as a smile that seemed brighter than the torches came to his face.
“Now, my little Glen Gliders! Let’s begin!”
___________________________________________________________
The trainees were well into the second hour of training. The smell of sweat and heat could be found over every corner of the room. Their bodies fought them handily as they gripped the handle of their swords, even with their chins, as their bodies turned, knees slightly bent, and torsos leaned back with their right foot leading
“Base!”
Their feet shifted to left leading, as they returned the blade to gauging distance before them, edge down.
Left foot still leading, their swords were drawn in tight to their right shoulder.
“Base!”
They all proceeded to return to the basic stance, except for the Crimson Arm next to Martien, who decided to go a little wide with his return, promptly catching Martien alongside his neck for the fifth time. Martien could feel the sting of the blunt weapon, but a second behind it, he felt the presence of something wet on his neck. He immediately dropped form to feel for it, and found it wasn’t just felt with his hand or neck.
Within the light of the bonfires, he saw the obvious color of red awash on his hand.
“You BASTARD! You did that on PURPOSE,” Martien shouted.
The Crimson Arm initiate rolled his eyes, and laughed under his breath.
“It was an accident. Stuff like the happens all the time to empties like you!”, he replied.
The Crimson Arm initiate swaggered over to Martien, looking down in an act of intimidation.
“That’s what you are! Too weak to decide what you want, so you’re gonna bide your time and let someone else choose for you! And from the look of it, too stupid to do anything about it, too! At least my fellow reds know the score!”
The cheers of some of the trainees broke out, to Martien they were obviously the brute’s fellow Crimson Arms members. The others stayed quiet, though. Martien, however, wasn’t going to allow someone push him around like that.
“Your threats have the air of a Fillaric cow’s backside. And I should know. I seen what a real animal looks like!”
“You outlander son of a-”
“ENOUGH!” Darrius shouted, as he pushed the two away from each other. “Martien and… ?”, he asked, snapping his fingers trying to recall, which annoyed the brute.
“Saxor, of the house of Lemmor.”
“House of Lemmor, huh?”, Darrius replied. “At least you have a roof over your head. Now, Martien and… Saxor, how shall we go about this?”
“He insulted my honor, ” Saxor brusquely stated. “I have every right to a duel.”
Martien looked scared, as Darrius looked intrigued.
“A- a DUEL?! You can’t just-”
“I CAN,” Saxor began, as he stared at Martien with contempt and malice. “And I HAVE.”
“You sure are an eager Arm, aren’t you Saxor?”, Darrius gleefully spoke, unable to hold back the rakish smile that his airs afforded him. “Alright, I’ll allow it… But on the condition of it being NON-LETHAL. Do you both agree to my terms?”
Saxor just glared at Martien, and Martien looked at both trainer and trainee as if both were quite mad. A chant of “duel” had somehow risen from the rest of the recruits when neither of the three had noticed, but Martien knew that no matter what, he would have to fight for his place in his troop.
I- I accept th-those terms,” Martien replied.
The crowd erupted, as Saxor brusquely stomped to the wall of Crimson Arms;. Darrius, however, quickly took Martien’s shoulder, as he leaned in close to whisper to him as they walked to the Clear’s wall.
“The Empire wanted me to keep an eye on you, Martien. Especially Mage Councilor Althera. She says you’ve got something important to do in the coming times-”
“I just want to go home, Captain Darrius-”
“Please, Martien,” Darrius interrupted, taking on a friendly tone. “Call me Captain Darrius!”
Martien’s eyes narrowed at Darrius’ painfully bad joke, which immediately made the Rose of the Empire look apologetic.
“Just trying to get you to relax. Look, this brute of a 17 year old-”
“HE’S ONLY 17?! The Guard takes recruits up to 26, and he’s bigger than them!”
“Martien, this brute is just that: a brute! He has no finesse, and he’s about power, not skill. You’ve spent time working in the fields and using the land, obviously, so you’re already ahead of his development! You can beat him!”
Martien looked very worried, as both he and Darrius watched Saxor quickly draw his sword, and cleave the stand the swords were placed on, splinters flying in an obvious scare tactic. Martien looked afraid. Darrius looked pensive.
“Well, that’s coming out of my pay!”, Darrius bluntly stated, as he began pushing the young recruit to the center of the room. “Martien, just follow this pattern: two, base, four, base, three, five, nine, base, one, and follow through at the end of every number!”
“How will I remember all that?!”, Martien cried out.
“If you want, I can call it out. But only if you really need it,” Darrius quickly yammered, slapping Martien’s sword to his chest, and pushing him before the crowd. Darrius quickly walked between the two, and raised his arms.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Today, for our eyes only, we have something a little… unprecedented! Saxor, of the House of Lepers-”
“Lemmor, you Tarven basta-”
“House of Lemons has challenged Martien of the House of Maleiras to a duel!”
The crowd fell quiet at the mention of the Maleiras name.
“This runt of a Dillergian mite’s ass is of House Maleiras? How the mighty have fallen with progeny like you…”, Saxor insinuated. In all honesty, Martien was hoping that he could go without anyone knowing he belonged to a house, let alone one of the Four Brothers of the Empire.
“Saxor, are you ready?”, Darrius asked.
“I wish this duel was lethal. Then I’d be doing the world a favor by getting rid of the descendant of the Dragon-Killer,” he said, taking the aggressive variation of the base stance, blade edge leveled up to his shoulder for an immediate strike.
“Martien, are you ready?”
Martien was embarrassed and humiliated, afraid of what Saxor was willing to do, now that he knew of his heritage, earned from his mother’s lineage. But he knew there was no way out of this, except to fight. So he drew his sword, and took the base stance.
“…Ready.”
Darrius clapped his hands, and chopped down with his right, signaling the beginning of the duel.
“COMMENCE!”
