The Final Strife

“Because it’s so true.” Sylah laughed some more. “And also, you’re a total asshole.”

Anoor recoiled.

“An asshole?”

“Yes, you know, that puckered bit of flesh that spouts shit? That’s you.” Tears of mirth leaked from Sylah’s eyes.

Anoor’s laughter started to bubble up too, and she was tinkling along with Sylah’s snorts until their laughter rattled to a halt like the trotro.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Sylah looked up sharply. “You did, and that’s okay.” The grin she gave her was evil. “Pick up the sword.”

Anoor slumped. She hated the sword. They trained for an extra strike that night.

“You’re leaning too far to the left, it’s unbalancing you.”

“That’s because I’m used to the jambiya. Can we go back to that?” Anoor panted.

“But imagine if there aren’t any in that tower and you have to use a sword?”

“Then I’ll cut it down and turn it into a jambiya.” Anoor stuck her tongue out at Sylah and she rolled her eyes.

“Come again.” Sylah launched herself at Anoor, pressing her attack on the left side. “You see what happens when you favor your left arm, it puts you off balance.”

“Urgh.” Anoor pressed forward, trying hard to block Sylah’s oncoming attacks. Their swords clanged against each other.

“Push harder,” Sylah hissed at her. “You’re using your weight and not your strength.”

Anoor bared her teeth; it was adorable.

She lunged again, but Sylah blocked and pushed her back. Then Anoor returned, stronger, faster. Sylah tried to slip into battle wrath, but the meditative state was always more elusive without the stimulant of the joba seeds. She felt the telltale signs of a seizure, starting with the prickling across her back. It quickly moved into tremors, and then she lost mobility completely.

Sylah’s sword fell to the ground.

“Sylah, are you all right?” Anoor rushed toward her, the flask of verd leaf tea she had made in her hand. “Here, drink this.”

Sylah drank from the flask gratefully, but her mobility was already back. The episodes were getting shorter, but no less frequent.

“You nearly beat me,” Sylah said.

Anoor shook her head miserably. “No, I didn’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Sylah laughed and sat up. She began to stretch the affected muscles, glad they were finally cooperating.

“Do you think you would have won the Aktibar?” Anoor asked.

Yes, and I was going to destroy everyone you know.

“Not like this.” Not without joba seeds.

“Why did you want to enter?”

Sylah was about to dismiss the question, but then she thought about it. “I wanted a better world. I wanted this world to burn.”

Anoor nodded. “Like a joba fruit.” She reached a hand down to help Sylah up.

“What?”

“Sometimes fire is what’s needed for new life to bloom.”

And like the shell of a joba fruit, Sylah felt something inside her crack under Anoor’s gaze. It unfurled with a warmth of feeling, more intoxicating than the seeds within.