The Final Strife

Instead of replying, Sylah launched herself at her.

Their swords clattered together with the sound of battle, a metallic echo that whispered through their bones of pain and blood to come.

“Argh.” Anoor broke contact first, whirling away with the move Sylah had taught her. Sylah stalked after her. Anoor was no longer Anoor, she was prey. Sylah swept her sword under her legs, but Anoor was one step ahead and jumped to the left. Of course, Sylah knew she would, and her sword was there a moment later.

“First strike would have been your heart,” Sylah commented, but they fought on, Anoor getting more and more frustrated with every parry. “Release the anger, calm your nerves, and reach the meditative state of battle wrath.” Anoor closed her eyes and Sylah knew she was mastering it.

Their swords flashed and clashed over and over, Anoor’s arms shuddering beneath the weight of the weapon she detested. Sylah ground her to the back of the room, step by step. Anoor tried with all her might, but she would never best Sylah. Sylah was a product of the Sandstorm. She was born to fight. Born to sacrifice. The Final Strife.

Sylah felt her muscles spasm, the cursed withdrawals spreading out like a spiderweb. She cried out and dropped her sword. Anoor swung for her with a battle cry. The sword aimed for Sylah’s neck and stopped just shy of severing her artery. Anoor’s nostrils flared, her breathing heavy. Then realization hit her.

“Curse the blood, are you okay?” Her sword dropped to the ground with a clatter. Sylah placed her hand on her neck, double-checking it was still there. Blood swelled from a shallow cut.

“I’m okay.” She ground her teeth in frustration. This would have never happened in the Ring. In all her six years of fighting there, not once had she let anyone slice her skin. But that was before she had turned away from the joba seeds. She hated to admit that the drug had aided her so.

Anoor was fussing over her, tears of guilt welling in her eyes.

“I’m fine, Anoor. Hey, I said I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You won.” Sylah cupped her face in her hands. “That’s what we want after all.”

“But I wouldn’t have if…you know.”

“If I hadn’t been addicted to joba seeds and damaged my body for life.”

“Not for life, just a few more mooncycles…”

“I’m not sure, I think I’ll always be broken. The tremors, they aren’t improving anymore.” They were silent for a moment. “I never thanked you, you know. For saving my life.”

“I abducted you, as you constantly like to remind me…” Anoor smiled.

“Yes, I guess that’s true. But seriously. You gave me my life back, and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

“How grateful?” She had that glint in her eye.

Sylah shivered, then jumped as the tidewind shook the tower with the force of a hammer.

“Maiden’s tits, it’s getting strong.”

They both looked at the map hanging on the wall. Anoor had painstakingly glued it back together with tree gum so the two parts were bound together again.

“What do you think is out there?” Anoor walked over to the map as she spoke.

“I wish I could ask Hassa.”

Hassa hadn’t come to the tower that night or the six nights after that. Sylah would let her friend grieve, but when she returned, she had a lot of questions for her.

Sylah joined Anoor beneath the map, though she didn’t like looking at it. It made her feel dizzy, like she was standing on the edge of the Tongue looking down on the Ruta River, but instead of the river, it was a sea of lies.

The world was huge.

They had initially thought that the map was torn away equally, two halves separated over time. But when Sylah unrolled the piece Hassa had given her, it showed the scope of how small the empire was among the other islands and four continents.

The piece of map Anoor and Sylah had was only a quarter of the size of the full map, maybe less. It sprawled across the wall of the tower.

“The empire really is just one island.” Anoor trailed her fingers southeast to the bottom of the map where an oblong land mass called the Wetlands lay; it was three times the size of the empire. Farther east, there was the Grasslands, and in the north, cresting the parchment, was the Winterlands.