Cordolium - Part 4

Outside, the sun was high overhead casting its light and heat onto the ground below. It was hot, even for a summer day, but the heat had never really bothered Emma.

“This is stupid,” she grumbled as she sat on the ground, beneath the shade on one of the few trees within the confines of the compound walls. Despite the shade, she was still sweating, her clothes clinging to her humid skin. She had been given her old clothes from before the incident, but as the weather changed while she was unconscious, she had also requested some new pieces better suited to the season and her training. Emma had lost a lot of ground, and no amount of new scars would hold her back.

“You need to take this slow,” Frankie insisted. “You know what can happen if you try and force this. Let’s go again.” Frankie sat cross legged on the ground. 

“Yes, miss Frankie.” 

“Please. No miss,” Frankie shot back. “No miss or misses or she. Just Frankie.”

“Okay,” Emma sighed. “Sorry.”

Frankie rested their hands on their knees and took a deep breath in. Emma settled down and followed suit. It frustrated Emma to be forced to do this training again. She had learned the art from a tutor when she was fourteen. She couldn’t remember who the tutor was. Some random person from a prestigious school that her father had paid to come over and school her. Emma only cared about learning the skill, and once she had that, the tutor was gone. But if she was ever going to fight again, she needed to prove she could still do it.

“What do you remember about it,” Frankie asked, leading Emma through the meditation.

“All bodies have a soul and a heart. They each hold a part of what makes us who we are.”
“Go on.”

Emma rolled her eyes. This would not help her hit something out in the field. Knights were warriors, not scholars. “The heart connects everyone to the Well of Life, it is the place from which all hearts are born. Deep in the earth the Well of Life gave humanity emotions. Everything that we feel is said to come from the heart. When someone dies, their heart returns to the earth and a new heart is born in the well. 

The soul bonds us to the Well of Memories. Souls are said to be eternal, and within them is held the memories of all past lives. The Well of Memories is where they wait for a new body and a chance to learn from the mistakes of their past lives. When a person dies their soul returns to the Well of Memories and the cycle begins again.”

“Wonderful,” Frankie rolled her eyes, “Such a textbook answer.”

“You wanted me to tell you what I remembered.” Emma leaned back and put her hands on the ground. She could feel the grass between her fingers. “We had to study the legends of the wells in school, so I guess part of it stuck.”

“Only because I had to drill you on it.” Oron stood on the pavement by the garage. Like Emma, he was eager to get back to training and had taken the day to exercise. He had been doing crunches before his wound began hurting him and he needed a break. He stood in the sun, shirt off, wiping down his neck. The two knights had entered a routine the last few days. They would cycle through time with Homer to heal their wounds and time with Frankie to practice their skills and recover lost memories. It was a steady process, but it was moving too slow for Emma’s liking. She wanted to get back out on the road as soon as they were ready. 

“I'm fairly certain that was your job, Oron,” Emma shouted over her shoulder. 

“One of my many duties.” He chuckled.

“I never heard you complain.”

“About the work? No, I had no right to complain about that.” Oron lowered himself to the ground and started a round of pushups. “But the boss was a real pain in the ass.”

Emma twisted her whole body to look at Oron. He looked up from the ground and their eyes met. Emma laughed, deep and real. She smiled. Laughing was good for them. They needed it.

“That was good, Oron. I’ll remember that though.” She gave a sly grin. Her hand felt a small stone hidden in the grass. She picked it up and chucked it at Oron. The rock smacked his back and he shot up, a playful angry glare plastered on his face.
“It was Frankie,” Emma pointed to the innocent one. Oron dropped his knees and picked up the same rock and threw it back. Emma leaned to the side and let the rock sail by and hit the trunk of the tree they were under. Oron snapped his fingers in disappointment. “Frankie, Oron tried to hit me with a rock.” Emma felt playful. She wanted to tease them.

“Frankie, Emma threw the first rock.”

“No one likes a tattle tale, you stick in the mud.”

“You tattled first!”
“Excuse you, but nobility does not tattle,” Emma closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her chest. “Nobility merely points out the truth.”

“Oh, is that how it works?”

“Naturally. You should know by now.”

“Forgive me, fair maiden.” Oron lowered himself into a dramatic bow. “I did not mean to almost hit you with a rock.”

“Thank you.”

“I was aiming for a gremlin but I must have mistook you for it. My deepest apologies.” His face held a smile. It wasn’t often that Oron would smile, especially now. And yet each smile Emma got from him felt like a ray of light. A reminder of a calmer time.

“No need to worry. Odds are you saw your own reflection. It must be difficult living a life so ugly that you scare yourself.”

“I manage. I watch you face the same battle and it gives me courage.”

Emma squinted and tilted her head. “Eh, not your best comeback. You just threw my insult back at me again.”

“Yeah, I ran out of ideas,” Oron conceded. “Something about a giant hole in my chest seems to make it hard to think.”

“I hear you on that.”

“And pay attention,” Frankie snidely added. Emma stretched an exaggerated frown across her face as she looked at Oron.

“Oron, you got me in trouble!” She smiled and turned back to Frankie who was huffing, eager to continue. Oron laughed to himself and went back to his workout.

“Ready? We were talking about the wells and the forces. Let’s forget about the textbook definitions,” Frankie dictated, trying to pull Emma’s focus back in. “Tell me what the forces mean to you.”

“To me?” Emma grimaced, confused. “I guess, I don’t know. Power, probably. They each bring something to the body, memories or emotions, but only someone who can fully feel the forces and manipulate them can unlock their full potential. Without the art of Orenda we wouldn’t have knights, and the daemons would overrun the world.”
“So is that why you learned the practice?”

“I didn’t have a choice over learning it. All members of the Hughes noble family are taught the skill. My father always spoke about how that showed our dedication to the city and our status.”

“Fair enough. But why did you choose to become a knight? A noble like you could have your pick of careers. Or you could’ve just laid around at home.”

“Being a knight…” Emma trailed off. It was hard to explain. Her older sister, Scarlett, had been raised for a life in politics, She was to be a council member one day. And once Miles, her younger brother was born, father had found his heir to the family company. Emma was just there, part of the family. Her mother had died shortly after Miles was born, and father was always more concerned with anything that was not Emma. Hell, part of the reason he got Oron to be her retainer was so that she had someone her age to talk to.

To feel alone at a family dinner, to be lost in the shadow of those around you or those that came before, to have so much expected of you but never given a purpose. All of these were feelings Emma was too familiar with. But when she learned that she could be a knight, and suddenly she was hopeful. A path where her worth was based on her actions and not just her name?

“Being a knight meant freedom,” Emma finished.

Frankie nodded, rolling Emma’s words over in her mind. “Then let’s go with that. Don’t just think about trying to forge or summon your gift. Think about the freedom that comes from it.” 

Emma sighed, but tried again. In the shade of the tree, she closed her eyes and turned her attention inward. She reached out and tried to grab the tendrils of energy pulsing in her body. She had been doing this for so long, it was almost second nature to her; but now, it was harder than ever. And it pissed her off.

Anyone could describe the soul, the heart, or the wells. Yet the actual art of Orenda was much trickier; something few managed to do. The soul and the heart lived in the body, swirling together as a pool of energy and force. Once you learned to visualize it, people learned that it was possible to manipulate them. Emma breathed in and out, the air filling her lungs with life and strength. 

She could feel herself grab a hold of her heart’s energy. It was warm and pulsing. Emma always imagined the landscape of her inner world as a ring of fire. She sat in the middle, untouched, admiring the flames. The flames though got out of control at times, and it was Emma’s duty to reign them in, control them. She never knew why she imagined fire inside her, especially since her gift was ice. Scarlett, her sister, taunted that it was a reflection of her temper. Emma remembered throwing something at her sister when she said that.

If someone with enough skill were able to separate their soul and their heart, pull them apart so they were two entities and not one, they would leave an emptiness inside themselves. And nature hates empty voids. There must always be something to fill the space. It was from that void that weapons and gifts came from. 

A person’s weapon was their willpower made physical. Your body felt the void and rushed to protect it, forging you a weapon from your own will to defend yourself. It could be anything: a sword, a rifle, a bow, a hammer. Emma’s family had a history of forging spears. It even became part of their family crest. Emma was not as clean cut. She had always favored a more blunt approach.

Gifts were another thing altogether. They rose from the same void as the weapon, but a person’s gift came from somewhere else. There were so many types of gifts, it was difficult to really figure it out. Some believed the gifts were rewards from the wells for surviving the separation of the soul and the heart. Some believed that gifts came from the earth itself. Honestly, Emma could give two shits where her gift came from. All she cared about was using it.

Not everyone was able to master the art; in fact, usually only one out of a hundred were successful. Most who awoke their gifts, used them to become knights or people of power. But not every gift was best suited for fighting. There were jumpers, ghosts, illusionists, beast speakers, shadow binders, stitchers, empaths, and elementals, like herself and Oron. All varied and unique. 

Emma, an ice elemental, found her gift early in her training and had learned to use it well. She knew it was still within her, somewhere. She had summoned the ice when they woke up in the compound. Yet, it strained her to use it then. If she could just control the forces within her again, she could tap into her strength and use her ice. She could hold her weapon. She could feel less hollow.

It had been easy to separate the forces when there were actually two forces in her. But since her soul had been stolen by the bastard named Erebus, her heart’s energy rushed to fill her, eager to swirl and fight back. Emma breathed in and she tried to pull her heart inward. Maybe, if she could pull it to one side of her imagined ring of fire, that would be the key. But everytime she felt like she had a handle on her heart, it slipped through her grasp.

“This is impossible,” she snapped after failing again. 

“It can’t be,” Frankie encouraged. “We know you summoned your ice, so it is possible. We just need to retrain your body.”

“I can’t,” Emma shouted, snapping at Frankie. She slammed her hands down, angry at everything.

“Careful,” warned Frankie. “Don’t try and force it. You know what happens if you damage your heart, right?”
Emma knew. She rolled her eyes and looked away. It was the risk of pursuing such power. A skilled person could separate their heart from their soul. It took time, finesse to master. But some who tried favored brute strength to pull them apart. The soul and the heart were not immune to harm, and a person who tried to tear them apart in pursuit of power risked tearing something fragile like the heart apart. 

And a damaged heart could heal, but a heart damaged beyond repair faded from the body. There was nowhere for the emotions to go. It left a body filled with nothing but rage and hatred and turned them into… something that Emma did not want to think about right now. No one was supposed to live without a soul or a heart. Emma was not supposed to be alive.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon her ice one more time but found nothing. Not even a chill. Emma brought her knees to her chest and huffed. Frankie had tried for close to an hour to help her find her ice, but today was the same as the last few. It was just frustration and bitter words. Emma scowled at herself. How had she gotten so weak?

“Hey.” Oron came over and sat next to Emma. The scar on his chest was healing fairly well. The red was receding and being replaced by pink and tan skin. He was getting stronger again. Emma’s scars were doing the same. She could feel the fatigue and ache drifting further and further everyday. But the hollow feeling still lingered. “You’ll get it.”

“Not right now, Oron.”

“You’ll get it.” He reached out and put a hand on her back. She flinched when his fingers grazed her. She started to pull back, but instead she lingered. She let him put his hand on her. She let him comfort her. She would push the frustration away to be dealt with another day.

“What about you, Oron? Want to try again today?” Frankie shifted under the tree to stretch their legs. 

“No thanks, I know I can’t do it yet.” Oron looked away. He had been trying as much as Emma had been, but his gift was tricky at best. Until he could forge, he didn’t feel comfortable even trying. 

“The two of you will never get better at this rate.” Ezra sat on the roof of the garage watching them. He held up his hand to shield his pale eyes from the sun. Alma sat next to him peeling an orange and eating it. 

“We’ll be fine,” Oron responded. He stood up and slid his shirt back on.

“No you won’t,” Alma taunted. She offered an orange slice to Ezra who took it and ate it with sincerity. 

“No one asked you.” Emma surged up and snarled at the two knights. “So piss off.”

“We can help,” Ezra offered. His voice was smooth. 

“We don’t need your help. We just need time to get back into it.”

“Time’s not the issue.”
“And what would you know of it? Oron and I were the strongest new knights out of La Rezza this last year. We know a thing or two about Orenda.”

“Oh, the strongest?” Alma teased. “And how many months have you been actual knights? A few? Are we counting the months you were unconscious?” Emma crossed her arms and glared. “Other than your little mission to find Erebus, how many actual Knight missions did you go on?”

“Enough.” 

“Enough? My, forgive me for doubting you.” Alma ate a slice of her orange. “And here I thought that two seasoned knights could help the younger ones. But I guess we were wrong, Ezra.”

“Alma, play nice. That’s not why we came out here,” Ezra scolded. His voice remained calming. He hopped off the edge of the roof and descended to the ground. His feet hit the soft grass and Ezra knelt with the landing. When he got up, he approached Oron. “Why don’t you want to try your gift?”

Oron furrowed his brow, taking a step back. “Because I know I can’t use it yet?” His words were unsure. 

“You won’t be able to use it if you don’t try.” Ezra moved closer.

“Listen,” Oron started. “I’m still recovering. I’ll get it back.”

“Not if you don’t try.” Ezra narrowed his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. My gift is broken anyway.” Oron trailed off at the end, saying more than he wanted too.

“Leave Oron alone,” Emma barked, stepping in between the two of them. “Oron’s gift has never really worked right, but he found a way to use it. He’ll use it again.”

“Emma.” Oron groaned. She looked at him, confused, unaware of what she had given them.

“What does she mean your gift has never worked right?” Ezra asked. Oron sighed and looked away. The sun was still bright, but clouds billowed in the west and loomed with the threat of a cool evening.

“I am an elemental, like Lady Emma.” He started slowly. “My element is fire. But, well, I’ve never actually been able to produce fire. Just heat.” Ezra shifted his weight. Oron sighed again, hating every minute of this. “I could only ever produce fire the first time I unlocked my gift. After that, I could feel the fire inside, but I could only ever heat up my body. It’s like the fire is trapped or something.”

“How do you fight then?”

“I would heat up my arms and pass it into my sword.” Oron explained. “My sword became a glowing blade of heat.”

“How could you never fully unlock your gift?” Alma shouted. She jumped down from the roof.

“I just… couldn’t.” Oron looked at the ground, his fingers picking at his nails.

“Your tutor never helped you?” Ezra asked. Oron looked at him, and his green eyes asked Ezra to drop it and let him leave.

“Oron never had a tutor,” Emma explained. “My father hired a tutor to teach me the art of Orenda so I could be a proper member of the Hughes family. But he refused to hire one for Oron. So, I taught him.”

“You taught him?” Alma asked. Her voice had a hint of a laugh, and she tried to hide it by scratching her scar.

“Yeah. It was the only way he was going to learn. I taught him how to forge and unlock his gift. After that, we spared to practice.”

“Well maybe that’s it then,” Ezra thought, clapping his hands. 

“What?”

“Sparring. You two sparred to practice, right? So you’re used to training in a fight. Maybe a fight would help you grab a hold of your gifts again.”

Emma looked at Oron and Oron could see the energy in her eyes. The wide, eager face. Goosebumps formed at the idea. Emma had been itching for a fight. She needed to feel alive again, and the battlefield was where she could feel the most. Some animals are content to take their lazy days and bask in the sun. But other animals long for the hunt, they long for the moment when they could sink their teeth into something else. To feel powerful. Emma didn’t want to fight. She needed to fight. And Oron could use an excuse to blow off some steam. He nodded to her. Emma turned back toward Ezra and Alma. 

Just a couple of knights sparring with another couple of knights. A grin crept from the corner of Emma’s mouth as she thought about being able to knock Alma down a few pegs. Alma kept eating her orange, as if the threat of Emma was not a threat at all.