Cordolium - Part 5

I figured it was finally time to revisit my main project. My precious baby. I’ve been hard at work developing and refining things. Many of the first chapters that were posted here have been updated and look a bit different than what some readers may remember. My dream is to have Cordolium in its entirety published so that I can begin to share the other parts of this story. I desperately want to talk about the timeline of this project. But until I’m lucky enough to get to that point, here’s the next chapter.

I may not post much of Cordolium beyond this point in the story. Simply so that the rest stays a mystery. I would love to have posts explaining the world more. We’ll see what the future has in store for us.

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The air was still and carried the scent of tall grass and baked earth. Alma and Ezra stood next to one another waiting. Oron planted his feet several yards away, giving the two a wide berth. Emma hung to his left, just out of grasp. Emma’s gaze was locked on the other two. Oron found himself bouncing between them and Emma.

Ezra held out his hand as a long whip made of his will, molded to look like black leather, sprouted from his palm. He tightened his grip on the handle and wrapped the thong of the whip around his arm and shoulder. A small smile was hidden in the shadow of his face. Alma was less subtle. She summoned a large warhammer, the head of which was thick and angular. A block of hardened steel on the end of a sturdy handle. Once the hammer had formed, Alma bared her fangs in a smirk and slammed the head of her hammer into the ground. The earth rumbled and cracked beneath her strength. 

Oron took in a long breath, his mind clearing. Deep inside, a voice lost at sea warned him of the challenge before them. Neither he or Emma had been able to forge since waking up. Instead, they were forced to use substitutes. Oron felt the weight of the steel sword in his palm. It was not as balanced as his own weapon, but it had a certain heft to it. Emma spun a wooden bo staff in front of her. She was ready to pounce.

The ground was level. It would make moving easy and balanced. The sun was angled to the side; if Oron could rotate the fight, he could put it in their eyes and give him an edge. Alma would be focused on close range with that hammer of hers, and Emma seemed more interested in her than Ezra. He’d have to get in past the first whip crack and watch his feet.

“You ready?” Oron asked.

“I was born ready.” Emma blazed with energy and sprinted forward. She held her staff low. She made right for Alma. Emma may look smaller than other knights, but she was strong and lean. And fast. She moved like the wind, racing across the field. Just feet from her target, Alma swung her hammer down again, hoping to stop her dead in her tracks. Emma rolled to the left and bounced back to her feet. Her hands tight on the wooden pole, she swung the end at Alma’s back. Alma dropped to her knees and let the bo staff crack the air above her head. When Alma spun around and tried to grab Emma, Emma pushed off the ground and jumped out of reach. 

“You’re certainly fast,” Alma taunted.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” Emma charged again. And again. The two knights swung and dodged one another, digging their heels into the ground.

Oron ran toward Ezra in the commotion of Emma and Alma fighting. Nowhere near as fast as Emma, Oron needed only an opening. The whip rippled out and came for his shoulder. Oron stopped and lurched to the side as the whip cracked by his ear. Oron rushed forward, the tip of his sword leaning forward. As he closed in, Ezra jerked his arm back, pulling the length of his whip in. He snapped the whip again and Oron was ready to dodge. Instead, the end of the whip wrapped around a branch in the nearby tree. The cord went taunt and Ezra jumped. He swung through the battlefield out of Oron’s reach.

“Sorry, Oron.” Ezra dangled from the branch. “But I don’t think I want to fight you head on.”

“Smart call.” Oron gave chase, running toward the tree.

Oron was used to sparring matches like this. As their memories slowly came back to them, he remembered the countless hours of training he and Emma would do in the garden behind the Hughes Mansion. Once they could forge their own weapons, Emma wanted to test herself at every chance she got. When the prospect of becoming a knight presented itself to her, it was as if the clouds parted and Emma found her calling. Oron was intrigued by the idea for sure, but he committed himself to serving Emma. Where she went, he followed. 

Knights were chosen by the great cities to serve the people. They used their skills in combat to fight the monsters of the wildlands and keep humanity safe. At least, that was the story they pushed. Most knights ended up working for one of the big corporations or noble families as bodyguards. That, or they worked as high-ranking members of a city’s guard. Few knights actually went freelance and roamed the wildlands, taking jobs from the smaller towns unshielded by their walls or money.

When Emma learned what a knight was, the idea of earning her own name, honor, and glory lit a fire deep inside her. Oron, on the other hand, said that if he could make the lives of other people a little easier then it was all worth it. Neither wanted to admit that deep down they were really just trying to run away. In the end, despite all the job offers that came in, Oron remembered that he and Emma snuck out of the city of La Rezza in search of their dangerous freedom, over confining security. That had been the start of their hunt for Erebus. But what had driven Oron and Emma to hunt him in the first place?

Oron lost focus long enough for Ezra to swing the whip at him again from a higher branch. He swung his blade to redirect the whip and then rolled away. Ezra was quick and fluid. He pulled the whip back, coiled it around his arm, and hopped to another branch.

“Come down here and face me,” Oron barked. 

“Would it be possible to convince you to come up here and face me?” Ezra poked, a light-hearted air in his voice. He teased Oron from overhead. Oron scowled and tightened his grip. Ezra shook his head. The whip cracked out again. Oron’s instinct was to dodge, but the cord flew past his side by at least a foot, missing him. Ezra wrapped the whip around one hand and pulled back and to the side. Then he jumped off the branch. 

The movements made no sense to Oron, but then he felt the end of the whip wrap around his feet. Ezra was falling and pulling the whip with him. Oron’s feet were pulled out from underneath him, again. He hit his head hard on the ground, sending a pounding pain through his skull. His legs were lifted in the air and the blood began to drain to his head and he hung upside down from one of the branches of the tree.

“You need to keep an eye on everything in the battle,” Ezra said as he drew in close.

“I know that,” Oron grumbled. He strained his core, crunching his abs as he curled up. The sword he held was not his but it was still sharp. He sliced at the binding suspending him and cut the whip. Ezra sighed and pulled back. He dissolved his broken whip, leaving himself without a weapon. Oron crashed to the ground.

Emma had more reach than Oron with her bo staff. She held her staff loose with one hand while the other cupped the end near her abs. Emma thrust the staff forward with all her might. She jabbed at Alma, quickly and precise, putting her on the defense. Alma ducked and dipped from side to side, avoiding a direct blow. But Emma was quick. She struck Alma in the shoulder bruising her flesh. Emma shifted her hands, her training coming back to her, and twisted around as she built up speed in her staff. She swung wide and came at Alma’s other shoulder. 

Alma braced herself. She lifted the hammer to her side, allowing Emma’s blow to collide with her handle. Now she was on the inside, and Alma swung the hammer down toward Emma. Emma bared her teeth and she was forced to pull back. She leaned down low just out of Alma’s range and tried to take stock of the fight so far.

Alma, like Ezra, looked to be in their early thirties. They were still in their prime and most likely had years of experience on Emma and Oron. And if the scar on her cheek didn’t give Emma any hints, then her moves certainly would. Alma was no stranger to combat. She was able to swing that meaty hammer with ease but she knew how to block and how to move. If Emma was going to get in for a strike, she needed to be smart. Emma may have disliked school growing up, but on the battlefield, she considered herself truly gifted. 

To her side, Oron crashed to the ground after freeing himself from Ezra’s clutches. The other knight retreated to reforge his weapon. Both Ezra and Alma were fighting separately and there was so much distance between them. Emma saw an opening.

“Oron,” shouted Emma,” let’s dance.” She ran at Oron.

A vision of a previous life, a life before the mortal wounds, came back to them. Oron grinned and nodded. He ran at Emma. Emma ran past Alma, much to her surprise, and dove at Oron. The sword flew from Oron’s hand as he chucked it at Alma. Her hammer struck it while still in the air and sent it crashing to the ground with a sharp metallic clang. But the sword had been a distraction. Oron had freed his hands to catch the other end of Emma’s staff from the air. He pivoted his foot, threw all his weight and strength into his movements, and spun his body. His tight fingers pulled the staff with him, as well as Emma.

Most people consider themselves lucky to find someone with whom words are not always necessary. People may have complained that Oron didn’t speak much, but in a fight speaking wasn’t important. Trust was though, and he trusted Emma. And she trusted him. He spun her, an incensed tornado, building speed. Emma held on waiting for the right moment. She felt the pull of the spin, the momentum in her bones. Alma deflected Oron’s sword and regrouped. Now was the time to strike. Emma let go.

Launching through the air, Emma rocketed herself at Alma. She led with a fist, firm and strong. Alma saw Emma coming but it was impossible to avoid her. Just as Emma lept toward her, Oron tossed the staff in Emma’s shadow. The spinning bo staff moved faster, flying just above the ground. Alma had to block that blow first, and in doing so opened herself up to Emma’s fist. Knuckles collided with jaw and Alma’s head snapped back. Emma grinned as her weight pounded into Alma. But Alma did not fall.

As Emma landed her hit, still in the air, Alma dropped her hammer and reached up. Emma felt a firm, pinching grasp as Alma clamped down on her frame and rolled back with her. The punch sent Alma flying back, but as she stumbled back she threw Emma’s body over her and slammed it to the ground. Emma hit the dirt, grunting and gasping as the air in her lungs was forcefully kicked out. She skidded across the earth, coming to a stop face down.

“Emma!” Oron shouted. He was on the move. 

Emma pushed up off the ground, her ponytail dangling over her shoulder. She coughed, pulling air back inside, and then rolled over. “Man, that was a good counter,” she laughed. Despite the scrapes and bruises, she felt more alive than she had since she woke up. Her blood felt warm. “You guys are pretty good-” Emma looked up to see Alma looming over her, hammer held high. Oron ran to them, but Alma was already swinging down on Emma. 

Emma rolled backward, pivoting herself away from the blow. The hammerhead hit the earth, burying its steel face a few inches in the ground. Had Emma not moved, it would have shattered a leg, or worse.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Emma shouted, pulling herself up. Alma planted one foot to pry her weapon free.

“We’re fighting,” Alma uttered, too matter of fact for Emma’s liking.

“No shit, but it’s supposed to be a sparring match. You were trying to hurt me.” Alma shrugged her shoulders. Oron grabbed his sword from the ground and lunged at Alma from behind. The blade would have pierced her back and crippled her, but the hit never landed. Not because Oron stopped himself. No, he was ready to give Alma a taste of her own medicine. Instead, his sword glided through Alma as if she was nothing more than air. With nothing to slow his move down, Oron tumbled forward and he too fell through Alma as if nothing was there. He rolled forward, catching himself on his knees with a crunch.

“You’re a ghost,” Oron groaned. Alma held her gift as an ace in her pocket.

“We said no gifts.” Emma stood and bellowed. She clenched a fist at her side and could feel the embers of frustration building inside.

“We never said that,” Alma teased. “Just because you can’t use your gifts doesn’t mean we can’t.” As she spoke, Ezra materialized next to her. He propped an elbow on her shoulder and let his newly forged whip dangle from his other hand.

“A ghost and a jumper,” Emma snapped. “Great.” Ezra knelt down and picked up Emma’s bo staff before tossing it to her. He still had a smile on his face. 

“Trade?” Oron asked Emma. She shook her head.

“I’m not done with this one yet.” She screamed. Not in pain or fear, but in channeled rage. Emma’s vision had tunneled. She darted forward, faster than before. She swung her staff, faster than before. She breathed, faster than before. Her weapon hit Alma’s and the two went back to trading blows. Emma was able to push forward and force Alma to take a few steps back, ducked beneath one blow, and vaulted herself backward using the hammer head as leverage against the ground.

Oron gave chase after his liege, but Ezra popped into view before him. “Let’s leave those two to it. We can have fun on our own.” Oron slashed at Ezra but his figure disappeared before his eyes. Fighting a jumper was tricky. They could transport their body anywhere within their line of sight, meaning they could pop up anywhere on the battlefield. Oron remembered studying a few jumpers, watching their movements. One jumper, in particular, he had seen fight a lot. Emma probably would fare considerably better against Ezra. She might remember more of her sparring matches with her sister, Scarlett: the pride of the Hughes. But all Oron could remember was watching those sparring matches. Well, at least he remembered that he should remember watching those matches. Losing your memories was not a good thing he decided.

Ezra materialized on Oron’s left, he held the whip backward, freshly remade from his will, and swung the handle in circles. He launched the thick club-like handle forward and it hit Oron square in the gut. Oron could feel his inside churn. Ezra vanished again.

“You’re better than this,” his voice grinned, appearing behind Oron and pegging him in the back of the knee with the handle. He jumped away into nothingness. Oron tried to steady his breathing as the waters inside began to toss. These two knights were toying with them. They held back on their gifts. 

“You don’t know me,” Oron moaned, sensing movement to his left. He rolled and dodged a hit from the handle of the whip.

“Are you sure?” Ezra asked. “A young knight, a retainer to a noble lady, what more is there?”

“I am me.” Another hit came toward him, but Oron threw up a hand and caught the handle in his grasp. “And I will not lose.” Oron’s chest rose as the breath of life filled his lungs. Deep inside he felt a warmth fill his bones. Somehow, he had found his fire, his heat. He didn’t know how, but Oron wasn’t going to question it. He breathed deep, fanning the flames within. An inferno shot forth, filling every inch of Oron’s body with heat.

Like a piece of steel dropped in a fire, Oron’s skin began to glow orange and red. Steam rose from his skin, the sweat of the fight burning away into the air. Oron’s eyes narrowed, two pools of azure in a sea of burning. In one hand, the handle of the whip began to burn from the heat. Ezra held on as long as he could, but as the whip charred and cracked, he had to let go to save his own fingers. He didn’t notice that in Oron’s other hand, the sword’s metal shone bright orange as heat radiated from it. 

Oron could feel the fire within him growing. Most fire elementals were able to push the fire out. He had never been able to do that. He needed to push the heat out in some way or he risked burning up from the inside. His fire was trapped inside, held back by forces unseen. It had always been that way as he worked in the Hughes Mansion and lived in his little shack in the garden. To avoid roasting from the inside, Oron pushed the heat out in any way he could. His skin glowed and evaporated his sweat. The metal blade absorbed the heat as well, turning the sword into a more deadly weapon. 

Ezra felt the heat of the blade before he saw it. His eyes went wide as he vanished, jumping away to safety. He popped back up in the tree standing on a branch. He looked down and saw Oron, a strong man covered in an aura of heat. His clothes were beginning to burn away.

“Oron,” He called out. “You can stop. Don’t want to end up naked.” He gestured at the smoke coming from his shoulders. Oron eased the heat away, remembering how to stoke the fire within and how to let the flames die. He patted his shoulder to stamp out the embers in the fabric. “Besides,” Ezra added, “I don’t think you’d be able to fight me anymore with that.”

The sword in Oron’s hand sagged down. The steel was blackened, having gone soft in the crucible of Oron’s grip and bent over. It was useless now. Oron had found his gift again, but until he could forge his own sword, no man-made metal blade would last long in his hands. 

On the other side of the field, Emma and Alma continued to trade blows. Emma had taken a few good hits to her side that stung and ached like she had fallen from the roof of a house, but she had also dealt some decent bruises to Alma in their fight. 

“Is this the best you can do?” Alma taunted, blocking a blow from Emma’s staff.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do.”

“I know enough. A nobleman’s daughter.” Alma hopped back. Emma lunged forward. “Grew up in a fancy mansion, right? Your family probably ran the city.”

“Shut up.”

“Life must have been easy behind those cozy walls.”

“Stop talking.”

“You even have your own servant out here.”

“Quiet.”

“Decided to play at being a knight. Have you ever had to work for something?”

“I said quiet,” Emma shouted, her voice hoarse. She swung the end of her staff with force and it cracked against the iron head of Alma’s hammer. Her substitute staff had been made of wood, and after countless blows the wear and tear of battle split the wood. Emma was weaponless. Alma pressed the attack. Emma was forced to pull back.

“You are too easily rattled.” Emma tried to ignore Alma’s words as she stumbled back step by step. Her hands were shaking, dying to hit her again and again. She hated this feeling. She hated the memories of people like her sister telling her to control herself. It was easier said than done. 

A burning passion pushed Emma forward in life. A desire to prove herself. She would not be brought down so easily. As she wove around Alma’s blow, she tried to steady the pace of her breathing. She couldn’t let the fire inside overwhelm her, but maybe she could use it to help her. Rather than fight against her heart to pull it to one side, she could use her heart itself. The fire was fed by her heart in a way. As she slowed her breathing, drawing out the words of Alma, she felt the ring of fire inside grow weaker, her heart grew pliable. What once was a challenge that met her with resistance was now a gentle nudge. She could feel her heart slide to one side. Emma imagined plunging her hand past her heart and grabbing at her solid core. 

Alma swung the hammer overhead, bearing down on Emma’s skull. As she leaned into the blow, Emma tossed away her broken stick and held her hands overhead. As she breathed out, air passing over her lips, a long, elegant silver staff formed above her. The ends were capped in black steel, and Emma’s hands curled around it. It felt balanced and natural. It felt like a part of her. The hammer struck the center of the staff and a ringing clang echoed around them. The bo staff Emma had forged from within did not bend. 

Emma pulled her staff down, marveling at the sturdy and weightless feel of it in her hand. She spun and stabbed the end of the staff forward. It phased through Alma’s center. She had not tried to block it, merely became a ghost and allowed it to pass through her.

“There,” Alma smiled, stepping to the side so the staff was no longer in her body. “Small progress is still progress.”

“Why’d you stop?” Emma snapped.

“We’re done.” Alma walked past her toward Ezra. Emma wheeled on her and saw the others. Ezra and Oron were still, the heat leaving Oron’s body. 

“I’m not done.” Emma marched toward them.

“Lady Emma,” Ezra bargained, cutting in between the two women. “You were able to forge. Let’s stop there for today.”

“We don’t know who won.”

Ezra rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Alma and I’s goal was never to have a winner in this. Like I said, we were trying to help the two of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were able to use your ice gift when you thought your life was in danger.” Alma explained. “Somewhere deep inside you remembered how to separate the forces within. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of relearning the art of Orenda. Maybe you just needed to be in a situation where instincts kicked in and those skills came back naturally.” Alma gestured to her forged staff. “Our hunch was right.”

Emma was clearly frustrated, but Oron could not deny their plan had worked. The simple sparring match had forced Emma and Oron’s hands and while they were certainly sore from the fight, they had regained some of who they were. Emma could forge again. And Oron could access his gift, what parts of it he could use before. 

“I want to keep going,” Emma demanded.

“Lady Emma.” Oron stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. He met her gaze. “We are better now than we were this morning.” He tilted his head forward. Emma narrowed her eyes. She sighed. 

“Fine,” she relented. “We can stop there for today.” Oron smiled. “Only because I know Oron is old and tired and needs a nap.”

“Really?” Oron moaned. “You’re going to try and use me as an excuse?”

“It’s alright, Oron. I forgive you.”
“Listen here-”

“Aren’t you supposed to listen to me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to listen to your elders?”

“So you admit you’re old.”

“I’m one year older than you.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over me being right.” Emma gave Oron a smirk. Oron chuckled and looked down at the ground. To the side, Ezra was enjoying the exchange.

“Glad to see that you two get along so well,” complimented Ezra.

“I would hope so after fourteen years,” Emma stated.

“We’ve been together far too long,” Oron groaned, not seriously, as he plopped down on the grass.

“It makes training easy. We’re always together so we always have a sparring partner.”

“Well,” Alma’s voice cut in. “The two of you need to keep training. You need to get better.”

“Calm down, Alma.” Emma laid down in the grass next to Oron. “Either you want us to keep getting better or you want us to stop and rest. So, unless you want to keep fighting, I don’t know what you want.”

“I want the two of you to get stronger.” Her tone was more serious than theirs. “I want the two of you to control your gifts again.”

“Why?” Oron asked. He propped himself up on his elbows.

“If we’re going to hunt down Erebus, the two of you need to be ready.” There was silence between them as the words hung in the air.

“You want to go after Erebus?” Oron asked.

“You want your souls back, right?” Alma shot back.

“Of course,” Oron answered. Despite all the progress and recovery, Oron couldn’t shake the hollow feeling inside him. He was sure Emma felt it too. “We just thought that since, well-”

“Since it was our souls stolen,” Emma took over, “we would be the ones to go after Erebus. This is our fight.”

“And now it’s ours,” added Alma. “But you can’t rush in unprepared like whiny

children.” 

“We’ll be ready. But we won’t sit around. There’s no telling what the harm of losing your soul is, and we don’t want to wait around to find out.”

“Good.” Alma relaxed. “You need to be ready. It’s only going to get harder. This isn’t like your life behind the walls.”

“We know,” Emma snapped, curt. She had visions of their time traveling and knew the world could be a cruel place. She was ready. She looked at Alma and their eyes met. Emma noticed now that Alma’s eyes were a pale purple. They were striking.  Alma shrugged off Emma’s stare and turned to go, Ezra following her. 

“You’re getting better, yes.” Alma didn’t look back as she headed inside the main building. “But you’re not fully recovered yet. You’ve got a long way to go.” They were gone and Emma and Oron were left in the sun.

Oron felt like there was still so much to do. His body was still healing, but he was getting stronger. His memories were slowly coming back but there were still gaps. He had found his gift again, but still needed to forge. There was so much to do, but for now they needed to rest. 

Emma could not rest. Alma’s words, all of her words from the fight, were still rattling around in her heart. They brought forth memories of back home. Memories of her family. Memories of her sister. Emma needed to contact Scarlett. It had been too long.