In a World without God

Fools do not know the moon has risen, even when its light illuminates the night. Such were the people gathered in the amphitheater. Even when the Portrait of the Goddess revealed its true form, they could not accept that it was true.

“Who did this!”

It was a silly question. The Portrait of the Goddess was kept in Lord Kindatu’s private office. If anyone had tampered with the painting, the blame would fall solely on him. But who would dare hold him accountable?

Besides, his office was more secure than any other building in the Le Fay family manor. Blades were embedded in the tight grates, and the door was locked with several padlocks. How could anyone else but a ghost touch the painting without leaving a trace?

“Bring a cloth and cover the painting! The witch is deceiving the people!” Kindatu shouted, and his attendants scrambled. Kindatu turned to his guards.

“Ominous! A bad omen! Start the festival at once. It’s time for the witch’s offspring to meet their fate.”

Ed had managed to remain hidden amongst the crowd. Everyone was focused on the painting. He smiled grimly to himself.

People are the same as always. They see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe.

“Ed! Ed!”

“Keep your voice down, Aruru.”

“What happened?! Why did the painting do that?!”

“You did it. You and the rats anointed the painting with swamp toad grease.”

Ed always carried a small amount of Barus swamp toad grease with him. It was excellent for polishing a sword’s blade and preventing rust.

“Is that right? I thought you were going to burn the painting with fire! I even came prepared in case you forgot!”

Aruru had been standing on Ed’s shoulder, and he scurried down to a pocket on Ed’s jacket and produced a match.

“No, Aruru. Put it away.”

How could Ed burn a painting of Ygraine?

These bastards had added black ink to a painting by Limousin le Fey and hadn’t even bothered to use a material with the same properties as the rest of the painting to cover their lies. The grease of the Barus swamp toad was clear and solid in colder temperatures, but it became liquid at the slightest increase in temperature. Aruru had successfully smeared the grease across the painting in the coolness of Kindatu’s office. Once the painting was revealed in the mid-morning sun outside, the grease began to melt. As it dripped down the painting, it took the thick black ink used to cover up Ygraine’s silver hair with it.

“Truth is just a collection of ideas people want to be true.”

Ed’s thoughts differed from Kindatu’s. Truth is a powerful thing. Ed looked around. Some people shouted that the witch was deceiving them, while others stared at the painting in fascination.

“How can silver hair look so natural? It’s as if it was painted silver from the very beginning?”

“You shouldn’t say such things!”

People flocked to the painting as if mesmerized. They didn’t dare to call it beautiful, but their eyes shone as they stared at the revealed silver hair. Some even tripped over themselves as they rushed to see it before it was taken away again.

When the crude black ink was washed away, the silver saint was breathtaking.

Ed hadn’t expected a painting to change people’s minds. All he wanted to do was plant a seed of doubt, and it had worked.

Questions now blossomed in the minds of those who saw the painting: how could such a beautiful silver color symbolize foreboding? How could it be the color of a witch?

After the paintings were removed, Kindatu and the elders of the other Le Fay clans moved away from the crowd to take their formal places while their guards organized the crowds to move to the stands and tried to disperse the group that had formed to get closer to the painting.

It was time for the festival to begin.

The people were more excited than ever. The silver image of the saint threatened what they believed in, and they wanted to defeat the threat at all costs. It wasn’t long before chants began to rise from the crowds.

“Kill them!”

“Punish the witch’s offspring for deceiving the people!”

“Purify the accursed blood!”

Ed sighed. Did these idiots not see the grotesqueness of lusting for violence and blood at an event honoring the Goddess Lutea?

Silver rings were placed on the wrists and ankles of the silver-haired boys and girls. They were stone rings used to prevent Magick in case any of Ygraine’s descendants, who might be capable of wielding their power, should harm the children of the Bosha family. In addition to hindering the use of Magick, the rings were heavy. It was like having a muscle of Velox meat attached to your limbs.

“They said I was free to use any weapon I wanted, but that was just to make it look good for the audience. No one knows how heavy these rings are!”

“What difference does it make? They all want us dead.”

“Ed… Do you think Enri will be okay? His movements will be much slower than when he was training.”

Marie and the others expressed their concern to Ed.

“He’ll probably be slower than during training.”

“Edulis!”

Ed turned to the worried children.

“When those outside scream so loudly, it’s because they’re uneasy with their own truth. And what bothers you? After all the training you’ve done with me, you still can’t believe you’re descended from Saint Ygraine and blessed by the Goddess?”

While everyone else was at a loss for words, Enri spoke up.

“I… I believe it. If Ed says so, it must be true.”

“Enri…”

Marie turned to her brother with pleading eyes, but he kept going.

“Shumi always shares with others when she has something to eat, Harsh takes care of the sick, and Methena comforts the weeping. Marie would have died for me, and Ed gave us strength. There’s no way any of you could be the offspring of a witch.”

Ed nodded and turned again to look at each child present.

“Ignore what others call you. You know who you are. Live up to it. That alone will make you the Fangs that Tear through Lies.”

***

Taric scanned the restless crowd. He could see the excitement in their eyes, and anticipation bubbled inside him.

Raghad and Kurzina were the most popular at this festival. They were both skilled and good-looking and had already garnered much support from the people.

Taric, on the other hand, was nothing to write home about. He was short and fat, and his Magick skills were mediocre. What chance did he have of winning the people’s favor?

Taric’s older brother, Garak, was an absolute hero during the last Festival of Saints. He was in the spotlight more than anyone else—and not because he was good. It was because he gave the crowd an electrifying performance. Garak used earth Magick to make the witch’s offspring jump around in ridiculous ways, beg, and scream in agony.

Garak would play with the witch’s offspring until they begged him to kill them, and then he would crush them like a bug. The elders warned Garak not to be too cruel, but this story from the festival made him famous.

As Taric walked out into the middle of the amphitheater to meet his opponent, he knew he wanted to be like that. No, he wanted to be more famous than his brother and saw this year’s festival as his chance. People were agitated because of this morning’s ominous events.

Taric came face to face with Enri, who stood trembling before him.

How loud would the cheers be if Taric killed the witch’s offspring?

“Kill him!”

“Spill their accursed blood!”

Hearing the shouts from the audience, Taric raised his staff. The purple gem at the end glowed, and a pillar rose from the ground. The pole was studded with long, sharp thorns. They formed a tight circle around where Taric and Enri were standing.

Taric tried to reduce the space for Enri to move. The image of Enri trying to run away from the attack and being pinned down by the spiked pillars would make the audience roar with laughter!

“You, spawn of a witch, will soon be begging me to kill you.”

Taric pointed his staff at Enri, but Enri’s reaction wasn’t what he expected. He was expecting him to fall to the ground and beg for his life, but instead, he stared straight at him.

“We are not the offspring of witches.”

Taric sneered at the words. What was this fool talking about?

He gathered his Magick and directed it through his staff. The violet gem glowed once more, and three dozen balls of boulders shot up from the floor and flew toward Enri. Each one was as big as a watermelon.

Let’s see what you have to say when I break your arms and legs!

Taric grinned as he waited for Enri to cry out in pain but was only met with silence.

“What the…”

Enri wasn’t where Taric had last seen him standing. The space was empty. The crowd around him went wild.

“Taric! He’s right next to you!”

Taric quickly turned his head. Enri’s curved sword arced toward Taric’s staff. The staff flew out of Taric’s hand and landed with a thud on the ground.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. No one thought that the scion of a witch could defeat a wizard with a single blade only seconds into the ritual. It was unheard of!

Taric scrambled to the ground and grabbed his staff. Enri glared at him as he gripped his sword.

That was less than half as fast as when I was training with Ed. Why didn’t he dodge? Is this some kind of trap?

Enri was like Ed before. Neither fully understood how special their Holy Marked bodies were. They had only been training together for a few days; how could they know how fast they were progressing?

Ed had seen this coming. Based on how Raghad had fought, the strongest fighter of the Le Fay children, Ed had anticipated that even poorly trained descendants of Ygraine would stand a fighting chance. And he had helped them begin to master the Black Fang swordsmanship. They couldn’t lose.

Taric’s face flushed red. Of all the Le Fay children who participated in the festival, no one had ever lost to a witch’s offspring. There were only two options: show the witch’s children mercy or kill them without mercy. Losing was not an option.

“How dare you put me through this!”

Taric pointed his staff at Enri once more. A boulder rose from the ground and lunged at Enri, but the result was the same. Enri’s feet slammed into the ground, and in one moment, he was gone. Then, as if he had teleported, he suddenly appeared next to Taric.

The same thing happened repeatedly: Taric’s staff rolled across the ground, and Taric scrambled to grab it.

It was an uncomfortable sight to behold, but the match was not over. No one was allowed to interfere until a winner was declared.

The crowd in the stands were silent, even those who had initially shouted for the witch’s offspring to be killed. It wasn’t just Bosha’s offspring losing to the witch’s offspring that made them uncomfortable.

They realized Enri had no intention of hurting Taric. He could take Taric’s head easily if he wanted, but he only aimed for his staff. If Taric dropped it, he would wait for him to pick it up again.

Taric, on the other hand, refused to admit defeat, even after being knocked to the ground several times. Enri tried not to hurt Taric, but Taric kept trying to injure Enri without success.

“How long do you intend to display such disgrace to our people?!”

Kindatu suddenly stood up and shouted across the amphitheater, his face red with rage.

“My Lord, but in the Holy Rite, anyone can…”

“No excuses! Do something, anything!”

Taric reached for his staff once more, but in his panic, he lost his footing and stumbled. A large spiked pole that Taric had summoned rose from the ground before him. Even if he held out his arms to stop himself from falling over completely, Taric was about to impale his hands and arms on the cruel barbed spikes.

Then something happened that had never happened in a single other festival.

“Think of yourselves as you know you are.”

Enri remembered Ed’s words. He knew what he must do. He threw his sword to the ground and ran to Taric, wrapping his arms around his waist and moving him out of the way of the spikes.

As they both tumbled across the dirt, Taric quickly realized that Enri no longer had his sword, but he still held onto his staff. This was Taric’s moment, and he knew it.

I can’t afford to lose!

“You despicable scoundrel!”

Someone shouted out from the crowd. Taric looked up to try to find the culprit. The words were blasphemous. How dare anyone say such a thing to a noble’s heir! But he couldn’t find a single person who had uttered them. Half the crowd were on their feet, pointing fingers at him.

“Put that stick down now!”

“Are you trying to tarnish the name of a hero?”

“Don’t defile the Holy Rite!”