Weight of Worlds

“You ready?” Grevor asked, squaring Ranvir’s collar then adjusting the set of his uniform over the shoulders.

Ranvir tried not to roll his eyes at him. He'd recovered fine from yesterday’s ritual. The slight headache barely bothered him. It wouldn’t stop him from using his powers, not that he’d much use from them. If everything went according to plan.

“I’m fine.” Ranvir replied, trying to sound reassuring, though he thought the tense and angry orange birds crying up a storm in his stomach could be coloring in his voice a bit.

Next to him, Sansir shifted slightly in his uniform. Last night, Grev and Sansir had gone through the effort of actually ironing all of their uniforms. Now they didn’t seem to fit quite right. Sure, they looked more army-like with the clean lines and immaculate set, but they were also stiffer and harder to adjust.

And Ranvir wasn’t used to wearing clothes that had gotten that treatment. Though where Grev had learned to iron a uniform, Ranvir could only guess. He’d have thought a maid would’ve just done it for him. He was more surprised by how much Sansir’d needed Grev’s help to get it right, though something about their interaction made Ranvir suspicious.

Esmund shifted next to the door, holding Ranvir’s package. The large round object covering most of him from just below his knees to just above his chest. It was a bit too large for Ranvir, which made the difference comical when Es stood with it. Not that he seemed to mind as both the package and he were bouncing.

“He’s got this.” Sansir said, stepping in to pull Grev a step back. “Besides, there’s not much else we can do at this point. Just sit back and watch how it unfolds.”

Grevor nodded, brushing his hand against Sansir’s before they both fell away. “Let’s go then.”

“Finally!” Esmund yanked the door open and rushed out, nearly clipping the edge of the package against the door frame.

Ranvir and the others followed at a more leisurely pace, as Es ran ahead. From the few windows they passed, Ranvir knew it looked to be a bright day, with clear skies. Though it was late morning, classes had been excused before the duel since it was a momentous occasion. And Ranvir was sure many teachers had a stake in it, to one degree or another, too. He drew in a shaky breath. A lot of people with a lot of eyes would be on him today.

He just hoped most of the teachers hated, or at the very least disliked, Master Grimar. He really didn’t want to make too many enemies if he won the duel. When he won the duel. Unfortunately, with Grimar’s connections, some enemies were inevitable. Even if he didn’t understand all the political ramifications of the duel, he knew the Masters’ position likely came with a lot of ‘friends’.

Ranvir’s parents had never touched a hair on his head, not even while they were still recovering from the accident, though he’d heard of it happening to other kids, other people. He strongly remembered his dad’s words when Ranvir had struck a friend in anger as a child.

‘You know what feels right to you, did that feel right?’. It hadn’t. Not then, not ever. Authority over a person came with responsibilities, rules that you had to keep up. Even if that authority came from something as small as a two-year age advantage, or it was something as massive as a decade and a half of training. Master Grimar hadn’t been keeping those responsibilities, and these were the consequences.

They left the dormitory building and headed out onto the fields where a group of people had already gathered. Slightly smaller students, who hadn’t quite grown into their full size yet, with the simple marks of first year white on their uniforms. Among them were maybe two dozen older and more grizzled men, most notable among them Master Orulf, whose neck and shoulders stuck out over the rest of the crowd easily. His mustache providing shadow for the students he harbored underneath him.

Pashar was there too, her hair gathered into an immaculate bun, her clothes looking just as pristine as Grev’s did. Ranvir noticed the slightly worried look on her face, and with it felt a flutter of nauseous black and purple clouds boil up inside him. He did his best to suppress it, but couldn’t quite manage utter calm.

Kirs was standing next to Pashar. She wasn’t watching them arriving at all, instead her eyes were locked on Master Grimar and the student standing in front of him. Grimar’s student bore almost the same uniform as Ranvir did with the notable addition of a silver pin on his collar. It resembled the great World-Eater Wyrm, Varumgándr, whom the Goddess slew while protecting the World in the Beginning, from which she shaped life.

It was from the Wyrm’s blood that she drew the energy to empower the first tethered. A noble family had obviously laid some claim to that feat. Ranvir had suspected that Grimar would’ve had to buy the student he chose. With the bet, Ranvir had a feeling it wasn’t an insignificant number of students who would simply let themselves lose in the duel to get Grimar thrown out. Unless they’d been bought and paid for. As Ranvir was starting to realize, countryside-rich and noble-rich wasn’t the same thing. They weren’t even comparable, really.

As Ranvir got closer, he saw the field they had gathered around. The circular arena lacked the usual layer of sand, instead of having simple grass. It would make falls harder, but also make it easier to run. Ranvir judged it to be an advantage, as the field was much bigger than their usual arenas. It was seventy feet long, a lot more space than Ranvir was used to working with. It provided his enemy with an advantage, since he’d have to cross that distance while he could throw stones at Ranvir. The sizeable chunk of obsidian lying on one side of the arena clearly determined where Grimar’s student would start, even if their location close to it hadn’t.

The murmurs of the crowd stilled as Ranvir’s group got closer. Pashar and Kirs headed over to join them, while the rest of the crowd dispersed onto either side of the circle. In the mess, Ranvir noticed Dovar in the crowd. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow he still was. Luckily, Pashar interrupted him before the embarrassment of unloading onto the smoke tethered could overcome him.

“Are you sure you got this?” She asked.

Ranvir licked his lips once, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth was. There were a lot of students present, nowhere close to the two-thousand Pashar had mentioned when he first started, but at least a hundred people, maybe two. He cleared his throat, but before he could reply, an old man emerged from the crowds and stepped onto the field.

Instead of a uniform, he was wearing a robe in the same style as the master’s. With the exception that from his wide sleeves, there were intricately embroidered obsidian in various shapes and sizes. When they caught the light, they almost seemed like the actual article instead of just threads, very special threads but still just threads.

His head resembled nothing as much as an egg, with both his scalp and his chin shaved completely smooth and if Ranvir didn’t know better, he would say the top of his head had been oiled. It had that kind of sheen. He had a sizable paunch stretching the stomach of his robes, though the belt was tied around the protuberance rather than under it.

He waved one veiny, liver-spotted, stick thin hand. “Alright, everybody. I’ll make this simple.” He had a deep bass voice that emerged with strength Ranvir wouldn’t have suspected of the man. “We’re here today because Ranvir claims that Master Grimar is a subpar teacher and his methods don’t work. His claim has been backed by Miss Pashar, our head of administration. The chosen method for resolving this claim was a duel. As Master Grimar wouldn’t be able to show his skills as a teacher by entering the duel himself, he has elected Skufi as his champion. The fight ends when either student is incapacitated, surrenders, or an illegal blow is dealt.”

The old man, the principal Pashar told him, described what made up an illegal blow. Essentially, it was a blow that would permanently maim, kill, or attempt to kill the opponent. Such things as head blow, attacks against vulnerable organs such as the eyes, blunt force to the neck and so on.

Ranvir listened carefully as the old man went on. He’d already read up on duels, so this wasn’t completely unfamiliar territory.

“Next, you each may choose a weapon that we provide.” Ranvir was very glad that he’d read up on this part. Under most circumstances, duelists would pick a sword, axe, or the like, but there were many more options than that available and nothing disallowed the use of one’s own items.

Skufi stepped forwards, swallowing visibly before speaking. “I have chosen my weapon.” He pointed at the obsidian lying on the ground. He shot a nervous look in Ranvir’s direction as he spoke. His eyes flickered to Esmund and the large package he was holding.

“Very good, a clever choice.” The principal said, who still hadn’t introduced himself. “And you?” He turned to Ranvir.

He cleared his throat before stepping forward. “A hammer if you please, sir.”

Skufi had a queasy look on his face at Ranvir’s words.

“Master Vigo, can you provide?” The old man turned toward the crowd, from which Vigo appeared. In one hand, he clutched a hammer. This wasn’t a training hammer, or rather technically they were called mallets, but an actual hammer with a metal head. It was much smaller than the mallet, which might make it harder to hit with, for some people. Ranvir, on the other hand, could hit the head of a chisel with a hammer smaller than the one Teacher Vigo was delivering to him, and he could do it nearly all day.

“Thank you, Teacher.” Ranvir said quietly, accepting the weapon and stepping back.

“Healer on standby?” The principal called. A Master that Ranvir didn’t recognize stepped forwards and nodded. He had a pair of wings made of ice embroidered on the back and shoulders of his uniform.

Pashar grabbed Ranvir’s arm as she saw him. “That’s supposed to be Master Stjarna, not Arni.” It seemed with great effort that she let go of Ranvir’s arm, without gripping it hard enough to prevent circulation. The Master, Arni, stepped back into the crowd, carefully not looking at either party.

“Well, then.” The principal called. “I think we’re about ready?” He looked towards Skufi and Ranvir.

“Ready!” Skufi called, stepping into the arena and kneeling next to his stone.

Ranvir gestured to Esmund, who pulled the canvas off the item and handed it to him. Ranvir had an idea when trying to come up with ways to overcome the obsidian manipulator who now stood before him. He tried to come up with a hundred ways of using space against him, but in the end he’d been forced to realize he was still a pre-stage tethered. His abilities weren’t combat ready yet.

It was just that Master Grimar had made them slightly combat ready, before their first stage. But there was a simple solution to that problem. Ranvir slid the shield on to his left arm. The one he would usually wield his power from. Instead, he was limiting both his ability to use space and his mobility, to hold a much stronger defense than he could manage with his hand free. Strong enough that Skufi couldn’t break through it, hopefully.

The principal couldn’t stop a chuckle from escaping as he saw the shield. “Ready.” Ranvir called, stepping into the ring with a smile on his face. Skufi suddenly frightful look was both nauseating and intoxicating in the same step. Ranvir had a feeling this would not be a long fight.

"Begin!” The principal stepped out of the arena, giving the two youths space.

Ranvir hoisted the shield up, keeping it close to his body. It was almost too big to work as a traditional shield, but he only needed to use it for a short skirmish. Just long enough to stop the obsidian shards that would soon race toward him.

Ranvir peaked over the shield, testing the war hammer’s weight in his main hand. It was pretty close to the practice hammers, actually.

As he lowered the shield and looked over the rim, he heard the hiss of air as something thudded into the ground two meters to his right. Looking down, Ranvir blinked as he saw the black shard glinting in the sun. Two meters looked a lot less accurate when they hadn’t been headed toward him.

Swallowing hard, Ranvir steeled himself and stepped forward. Another shard hit the shield, causing a shock to run up his arm from the impact. Ranvir fought the temptation to investigate the shield and kept his head down, knees bent and shield between him and Skufi.

This time, he heard the ‘clink’ as a piece of obsidian was loosened from the stone. Pausing for an endless second, Ranvir took in a quick deep breath and crouched. The shield thumped into the ground moments before a shard impacted low on the wooden barrier.

Ranvir’s heart was in his throat, feeling like he might throw up, cry, or shout in joy and thrill. His body was alive with alarming oranges warning him of danger, nervous yellows that reminded him Skufi might change his tactics, dangerous reds told him he wasn’t the one who should be afraid. All of it fueled by the energy that rushed through him so hard, he felt like he might crush the wooden handle of the hammer in his hand, or his blood might spontaneously combust.

Ranvir burst out of his crouch, pushing hard to close the last distance between him and Skufi. The majority of the arena was behind him and he couldn’t imagine there was a lot of room left.

He hit something a lot heavier than an obsidian shard with his shield and nearly fell over as he recoiled from the impact. Skufi hadn’t gotten out of the way from Ranvir’s charge.

He tasted blood as he forced his feet underneath him. Ranvir wrenched the shield back into place, cursing its heavy weight. He’d bitten his tongue on the impact. But his opponent hadn’t pulled free another piece of black glass, instead he was getting his feet some distance from his chunk of stone. Ranvir read pain in his eyes as blood trickled from his split brow.

Skufi backed away, creating more distance between them. I need to close the distance again. Ranvir thought. His mind wandered to the stone behind him. I should try to corner him using the shield. Ranvir thought, but the idea gnawing at him. It didn’t feel quite right.

His mind wandered back to a game of chess, in an inn whose name Ranvir had long forgotten. Playing against Grev and the conversation afterwards. How Sansir had broken the game down. He couldn’t keep playing at the same strategies.

Ranvir made eye contact with Skufi over the shield. His opponent’s clean-shaven face looked childish and slightly ill. Ranvir lips tucked into a confident smirk as red flared inside him. With one hand, he supported the shield as he slipped out of the handle without it being obvious.

Holding the shield by the handle, Ranvir hefted it getting a feel for the weight. Under different circumstances he would’ve opted for the hammer, but he was to avoid maiming and he didn’t know if he could do that with the hammer.

He let go of his hammer, grabbing the edges of his shield with both hands. The metal head of the weapon landed with a hollow thud on the grass, the noise and movement diverting Skufi’s eyes. Ranvir heaved the shield up overhead and threw it at the obsidian tethered. And Ranvir ran.

Skufi flinched, but the shield was heavy, and Ranvir couldn’t throw it fast enough. He scampered away in time. Ranvir didn’t see him look up, but heard the cry of alarm before he tackled him in the middle, throwing the kid to the ground.

Ranvir got back to his feet, listening to Skufi wheezing for breath as he lay crumpled on the grass. Ranvir watched him for a few long moments, rubbing his elbow. He’d hit the shield when they’d fallen.

He turned away from the suffering student to look at the principal. The old man made eye contact with him for a long moment. Ranvir saw his shoulders and paunch move in a long sigh and he started shuffling forwards. Red, orange, and yellow merged in a victories scream of combat within Ranvir. Ranvir lifted his arms to let out a battle cry.

“I’m sorry.” The voice barely registered, then something bit Ranvir’s calf. Looking down, he saw Skufi holding a wooden handled knife. He dropped his grip, letting it sit in Ranvir’s calf.

Red overwhelming.

He felt red anger, fury, and betrayal. The coward cut him down after he’d won? Ranvir hadn’t realized he’d grabbed the shield until he hammered the edge onto the worm’s forearm, shattering it like a dry stick. Skufi let out a scream of fear and pain, and it only made the colors grow further. Ranvir screamed right back, lifting the shield to end the fight. Forever.