En Fugue (Updated) - Introduction and Part 1

Introduction

When I was young, I wanted to be a scientist, a biologist. Life has always fascinated me. Maybe that’s why I was always at odds with my society.

You see, I’m no fighter. Never have been. I’m not strong. I’m not aggressive. I hate fighting. That is, I used to be that, as a boy. I still hate fighting, but I had to become a fighter in spite of that. I had to take up arms to fight for my life, and for the lives of everyone dear to me.

Things change in the face of fear. Things change in the face of hate. Things change when you have something, or someone to fight for. I've done things I would have never dreaded in my wildest nightmares to escape tragedy. I'm not proud of everything from my past, but I'm proud that those I love are safe.

A.S.H.

The Beginning of the End

I knew from the second I started to run, there was no turning back. – A.S.H.

Nerivad was a large province with a great deal of hearty farmland, which shone, almost blessed. Nerivad held the fortune of healthy crops, clean streams, and a resilient military. At a young age, many parents trained their children for battle. Part of their tradition was a battle between randomly chosen children from each town, or district within larger towns, to show strength and promote a safe and healthy year ahead.

One young resident of the town of Calaban, Andreas Scaevola Huron wasn’t so keen on combat like many of his peers. He was lanky, wore spectacles, and wasn’t really the most popular kid in his class. This springtime day found him examining a den of baby rabbits that had made their way onto the playground of his schoolhouse. He scrawled notes in a small field guide on a page with a picture of similar rabbits.

He watched, doting on the small creatures, worrying that the fast and rowdy area they had made their home would be a dangerous location for them to grow up. His attention was quickly shifted as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind.

“Whatcha got there, Andy?” The tall girl with unwashed hair asked in a glib, sarcastic tone.

“Uh… I-um.” Andreas turned to the voice addressing him, half flinching when he realized the short distance between her face and his.

“Don’t worry, Andy, we won’t mess with your precious rats.” The girl chuckled, tugging him into the air with one arm.

“Come on Andy” Shae spat at his feet, pushing him up against the fence in the schoolyard. Andreas recoiled off the fence, falling to his knees. “Prove to me you’re not a total wimp. Hit me!” He cringed, and rolled to the side, bolting across the playground to the schoolhouse door, the toned and tough girl, followed by her lackeys, hot on his heels.

Andreas had learned early how to run. In a place like this, the idea of fight or flight was a daily necessity. Diplomacy was always rare and temporary. As such, Andreas had learned that if brute strength wasn’t his forte, agility better be, at the very least, a concern. His feet carried him as fast as they could, the pack of wolves on his trail, hungry for blood.

At the uncomfortable age of thirteen, in a province so war hungry, a scholarly kid with minimal muscle mass wasn’t really a respectable thing to be. The girl with a legendary temper, currently trailing Andreas, often led a crew of tougher classmates to torment the young child.

Andreas pounded on the schoolhouse door. The teacher opened the door up with mere moments separating Andreas’ head from the door. Andreas fell to the floor of the shabby old schoolhouse, face first.

“What is this? What is going on?” Mr. Fletcher shouted to the pack of kids preying over the prone-lying child.

“We were just training our combat skills. Andreas hit the door on accident. Sorry for the racket.” Shae said, giving a smirk. Fletcher turned to the boy face down, holding his nose.

“What were you doing that would have you hit the door like that?” Andreas cupped his face, blood filling his hands. “Here, come inside. You guys go train elsewhere. This one needs attention.”

Andreas followed Mr. Fletcher to his desk where he pulled out a cloth for the boy’s nose. “I wasn’t tr-training.” He groaned, holding back the tears, a sign of weakness, of shame. “They were trying to get me to hit them, so they could beat me up.”

“I highly doubt that, Andreas. Besides, you should be able to hold your own. Might is the greatest need for a child your age.” He groaned. Mr. Fletcher watched the whimpering child, fighting off a grin. Andreas was a know-it-all who answered every question without raising his hand, and often corrected Mr. Fletcher on his mistakes. Fletcher hated looking incompetent.

Once class began again, Andreas sat, face down on the desk, letting his red faucets fill the rag until they clotted. Even so, as questions came up about the history of The Duels of Nerivad, he spat out words with a groan.

“When did the Duels first begin, and why, class? Any—”

“Sixteen Seventy Two” Andreas grunted, a bit groggy from the pain, “As part of a religious event to honor deities of old to bless the lands with a good harvest.” A combination of ache and boredom could be heard in Andreas’ voice.

Fletcher gritted his teeth and scrawled 1672 on the chalkboard. “Yes. Yes, Andreas. You are correct.” He cracked his chalk in two as he finished the number two, throwing the smaller piece to the floor. It bounced across the ground.

“And” Fletcher paused for a second, glanced back to the boy with the facial wound, as it began to dry. “How many fighters have won from Calab-“

“Fourteen in the last century, seventy seven since the tournament began.”

“Y-yes.” Fletcher sighed. He began to break into lecture. Andreas sat up, his face coated in a thin layer of dried blood.

“The centuries-long ritual slowly became less ritual and more societal. While it is tragic to lose a few dozen youth every year, the land has been strangely fertile, even when nearby lands are in drought. The benefits of all children being trained in mili—” Fletcher stops. “Andreas. Go to the spigot and clean your face. Throw the towel in the laundry pile.” Fletcher sighed and continued lecturing.

Class concluded and a whirlwind of bodies forced themselves out of the doorways of the school, dispersing across the town. Andreas staggered toward his favorite fountain at Calaban Square. Calaban was the largest town in the province, and the home of the Duels. They had been held there every year for just over four centuries.

Andreas leaned against the side of the fountain and closed his eyes, listening to the soft rushing of the water, not minding the occasional drip running down the back of his neck. While he was resting against the fountain side, his father, Aurelius, nudged him. “What are you doing? You think you can just go about your day, expecting we wouldn’t get word that you got in another fight

“Mmh. I-I—” Andreas sighed. “I just needed to cool down.”

“Did you at least win?”

“I—” Aurelias cocked his head to the side. His father’s obsession with combat skill and strength always rubbed him the wrong way. “N-no. I didn’t even th-throw a punch.” He rolled his eyes, face tilted downward out of his father’s sight.

“I heard you bled everywhere in class. You need to go to the medical tent?”

“No.”

“Get up. Dinner is early tonight. I have to help clean up the town this evening.”

Aurelius dragged his son back to their house, passing the archery and knife-throwing range. “When was the last time you practiced archery? Long-distance combat is key in the heat of battle. If you can take down your opponent—”

“I know. I know, dad. Stop.” Aurelius smacked his son on the back of the head. Andreas winced.

“I am trying to train you to protect yourself. You need to learn to listen.”

 Andreas groaned and rubbed the back of his head, as they approached a small, shabby cottage constructed of wood and cobblestone. Melissa, Andeas’ mother, was already seated at the table. “Ashy, dear. How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“Enough of that, woman. He’s fine.”

Andreas scowled, and then turned to his mother, a reassuring smile masking his thoughts. “I-I’m fine, mom.” He hugged his mother. She hugged him back, tightly.

“Enough cuddling. Sit down. Eat.”

Andreas sat, idly in his seat, staring at the overcooked potatoes and burned bread his father had cooked.

“What are you doing? Grab your fork and take a bite. It’s no wonder you’re skin and bones, you never eat anything.” Aurelius chopped up his son’s potatoes.

“I’m not five.”

“Then stop acting it, and eat.”

Andreas turned to his mother, who stayed quiet, looking at her food, eating with a false air of calm. Sensing eyes on her, she looked up. “Eat, dear.”

Andreas sighed, and forced down a chunk of potato, passing his tongue and attempting to swallow it directly. After a mild choke, causing his eyes to tear up, he decided to eat slower, even though he knew that meant he’d have to spend more time around his father.

The flavor was lacking, and the potatoes mushy, but he stomached them, as he did almost every night. He pushed his chair back and stood up, giving his mother a hug, and walked out the door. Andreas made his way back to the fountain, and hopped up onto the side, now that the clouds filled enough of the sky to cover the sun, mostly.

“Freaky foreigner,” rang in his ears as he heard a familiar voice. He turned his head in the direction of the deep, yet feminine voice. Shea chuckled as she shoved a young boy with blond hair into the edge of a fountain. The boy, confused, attempted to ask what’s going on in his limited English.

Andreas, well aware he needed to help the kid, that nobody else would, he gave an uneasy sigh and hopped off the fountain. Attempting to come up with a plan, he reached the two and wedged himself in the middle, indicating to the subject of his intervention to run in his best German.

“This your boyfriend, Andy?” Shae grabbed him by the shoulder, the other child ran. “If you want to let him go, you’re going to suffer the consequences.” She gave a right hook to his cheek. Andreas fell to the ground, his left cheek now swelling. The unknown kid turned to see what’s going on and headed back toward the tussle. Andreas shouted again for the kid to run, specifying, this time, the marketplace, where Andreas knew there would be too many people for Shae to waste her time.

Andreas wriggled free of Shae’s grasp and ran halfway around the marketplace in question and ran inside when he knew there was enough distance to lose himself in the crowds. He heard an older woman speaking in German and followed the sound.

After squeezing past countless groups of people haggling over swords, fish, and chairs, he found a small tent with purple and white stripes, with the boy from earlier sitting behind a woman chastising him in his native tongue. Andreas came to the tent, where the boy hopped up and waved, shaken by the inflated shape of his new friend’s cheek.

“You didn’t need to do that. We don’t even know each other.” He said in German, hoping Andreas knew more than a few words. Andreas shook his head.

“She is a real bully, but I know how to deal with her. My name is Andreas, yours?”

“Erich.” The boy extended his hand for a shake.

Andreas met it, and gave a smile, fighting the pain of his swollen face. The woman running the tent continued chastising the foreign boy about fighting his own fights and being stronger.

Andreas interjected and continued talking to Erich, receiving a scowl from the woman. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting my aunt.” He pointed to the woman, now shouting to a passer-by to sell her knit clothing.

“Oh, well, I would suggest staying away from Shae. She’s tough and loves to show it.”

“I see, what was her problem with me, anyway?”

“You’re foreign, and trust me, she’s picked fights for ridiculous reasons like that many times before.”

Not long into their discussion, a loud horn rang across the grounds of the marketplace, and, in fact, all of the town. The Marketplace emptied, heading toward the basilica in droves. It was time to pick the fighters for Calaban.

Calaban, large enough to have districts, didn’t have a single combatant, but one from each of the seven districts making up the residential areas of town.