Chapter 19: Anarchy

Light shone through slits in the stone roof overhead, proof of a freer world above. Morgan’s gaze rested upon she who bore the weight of all schemes, clenched fists, hair bound, passive façade, these were all signs that Meena was deadly serious about the task at hand. Lips pressed together, Meena took decisive steps down an ominously sloped isle past dead eyed stares and indifferent stances. Morgan’s party reached the bottom step continuing onwards until they came to a stop at the centre of the arena, the stone walls around them tiered on two levels creating an underground amphitheatre. If it wasn’t for the oppressive occupants and the massive marble throne that dominated one end of the room, it would have been strangely beautiful. Morgan was sure however that a lot of lives had been discarded here, destroyed in entirely thoughtless acts. She mirrored Meena’s resolve, gritting her teeth in determination, there was nothing left to do but wait and hope that her plans would provide a semblance of victory, even if that victory was a death of her choosing.

Before long the proceedings started, those who weren’t fighting were forced to the edge of the arena, probably so they could see the action that decided their fate. Meena, on the other hand, had been handed some flimsy-looking armour with holes in spots that inferred death had been swift to the previous occupants. Thankfully, she had also been given her swords back. Kurja had little armour himself, apparently the emphasises was on movement, not defence. Morgan hated the fact that her friend was shouldering most of the responsibility, but it was now pointless to dwell on such. Although she had no measure, the man sitting upon the throne before them was a poor excuse for a father, as a toddler her friend was regularly wacked with the flat edge of a blade, mostly for the slight of being a worthless child. Meena proceeded to stretch as soon as she made it to the middle of the room, working all her muscles groups in a well-practised manner. Kurja lifted an eyebrow, then he stood, unsheathing as he did so. Interestingly, the self-appointed King was also a user of the same twin single-edged style, his swords close in design to Meena’s, the only point of difference was in length, Meena’s Liuyedao fell in the middle, while Kurja held a shorter and a longer version of such. Worry deepened, any fighting style that would require one to properly wield such weapons would also be hard to beat, especially if he was as good as Castain had implied. Morgan whispered a quick prayer to Nia’s Goddess, then she closed her eyes and calmed nerves for what was to come. Brought out of her reverie by harsh treatment, bound, she was pushed from behind, forced to her knees at the edge of the fighting area. She made her displeasure clear, after all keeping up pretence was an important part of her plans.

The fighters finished stretching, they flicked into a deadly dance, moving wordlessly in a concentric pattern, their stances, and swords in a ready position. Meena struck out first, a probing swipe of her sword. Morgan was pleased to see that her friend held back in a restrained manner. It was Meena after all who had taught her, that sword fighting against a worthy opponent was like a game of chess, you must at first understand to overcome. Although, her friend was generally the first to forget such advice.

Kurja took a break from defensive tactics, joining in a similar probing. The only problem being that he was erratic and lighting fast, before long Meena’s slight form was marked with cuts, energy lost with every drop of blood. Morgan detected a change in pace, as if the participants before her had reached unspoken understanding, the attacks gaining in deadly force and speed. Kurja spoke, his icy words paired with steel, “How pathetic, you still don’t know how to defend using the flat edge of your blade.”

Meena parried, then aimed an upward kick that connected with her foes chin, sending him stumbling backwards, “I’ve got my own style, not one that you chose for me,” she replied defiantly.

Kurja flicked his swords, visually irritated, moving his jaw as if checking if it were broken. The King of the Black Cloaks bounced back quickly gaining a sickly smile he changed his stance so that the longer sword was in front, then he executed a series of attacks. Kurja brought one sword down then the other, his brutal display advertising the alarming fact that he had been holding back.  He showed no signs of tiring, Meena on the other hand was desperately channeling her energy into survival breathing heavier with every blow, parry, block, dive, or roll.

“As always, you are useless and alone,” Kurja announced, with a cruel tone of finality. Meena was brought to her knees by a forceful stroke of his sword, her arms straining, barely keeping steel at bay.

“The only time I was alone, was when I was here,” Meena affirmed, her eyes met Morgan’s as she pushed upward with a determined grunt adding a flick at the end, spinning her swords around as she did so, sending Kurja backwards.

Morgan mouthed the word, “Now!” In Sha’s direction.

Sha called out, the amphitheatre walls delivering his words to all, “I got to say Kurja you really are ugly, I mean two wrongs don’t make a right, take your parents for example.” The target of the immature words frowned, “I mean, you are so ugly, when you were born your mum must have tried to shove you back in.”

Kurja’s annoyed glances worked, the Black Cloaks nearest to Sha all moving at once, desperate to control his unseemly outbursts. Bella had been waiting for just such an eventuality, she moved with speed and inhuman flexibility, after flipping on her back she got her bound hands to the front, then she flipped back onto to her feet. Opportunity gifted Bella a pair of butterfly swords, the owner of such the very Black Cloak whose job it was to ensure her submission. Unfortunately, for him a turned back was an easy target, one thrust sending him groundward. Bella’s next act was to slice bindings; now free and dangerous Morgan joined the fight. After borrowing a sword, she got busy channeling her anger into maiming the assailants who were beating upon Sha. Thankfully, after being rescued the prince wobbled only a little before appropriating a weapon himself.  Morgan’s party put on a display, they were more than happy to show the Black Cloaks what they thought of poor hospitality, the message clear, you are dealing with ill-tempered impeccably trained pirates, not simple merchants.

“Who’s alone now?” Morgan called out defiantly in Kurja’s direction.

Kurja’s scream of rage was interrupted by one of Meena’s swords slicing into his torso, the cold steel sending him sinking to his knees. Although it was planned, and perhaps because she was not ready for such, Meena did something very out of character, she let her guard down and froze.

Time slowed, Morgan’s brain worked faster than her legs were willing to move, but Kurja was moving, his sword speared deep into Meena’s side, leaving it there he then brought the other sword upwards. Morgan was still too far away when the sword reached the height of a sweeping arc, a movement designed to kill. Morgan heard herself scream and yet she was disconnected from the feral sound. It was hopeless, and yet, when all hope was lost, the sight of an object embedding itself into Kurja’s neck brought it back once again. The King of the Black Cloaks dropped his sword, one hand at his neck where blood flowed freely. Another flash of metal for good measure, two silver glints caught the light as Kurja went down.

Meena sunk to her knees, releasing sorrow in the form of unrestrained tears. Anarchy assaulted Morgan’s senses as she fought to get to her friend’s side, movements and sound, furious swords crossing, boots banging, yelling. Thankfully, time normalised when she reached her destination. She checked the deepest wound; the blade had missed all the important organs and the blood loss seemed minimal. Morgan ripped Kurja’s Shirt, then she pulled out the blade in one swift but precise movement. She bound the wound with the shirt, a slight flinch and an intake of breath was Meena’s only reaction. Bella and Sha took up protective places around her. Morgan searched for the shuriken thrower in the suddenly silent arena, there, a level above was Castain and her crew, the sight of their resolute faces lifting her spirits greatly, “Meena, we have to go now,” she plead.

Meena did not respond, instead she collapsed. Morgan caught her friend in her arms, she looked to Sha, “You will need to carry her, I’ll take the front, Bella the rear.” Sha took Meena in his sturdy arms, cradling her protectively, his eyes searching for danger.

Morgan placed Meena’s swords into their sheaves, then she picked up Kurja’s weapons, they aligned with her need to deal with her enemy swiftly and without mercy.   

“TAKE A LEFT AT THE FIRST INTERSECTION,” Castain called from above. Morgan moved, the words giving her much needed direction. She met any who came before her, with skill and Kurja’s well-balanced weapons. Before long a left turn produced the uplifting view of her crew members and Castain, his bandages blood stained and hanging. She wordlessly ushered her friend’s past and took up a position at the rear, letting Castain lead them in freedoms direction.

After a while Brady took over so she made her way towards the front of the column, it was there that she witnessed Castain’s impressive skills as fighter, even as injured as he was the man would have given Kurja a run for his money.

Morgan’s party continued through endless tunnels, time seemed impassable until she noticed Castain favouring his side with a hand, “Let me cover the front while you direct, we need you alive to get us out of here,” she asserted. The pirate captain wordlessly moved behind her, “We need to get to the Garrison. They will be able to flush out those who are left.”

Castain responded in a chillingly neutral tone, “The Garrison and the Black Cloaks are in league with one another, that’s why we are here. They tried to murder your crew.”

Suddenly, it was obvious why her crewmembers had followed him, he had earned their respect, “Thank you, Castain, I owe you one,” She affirmed appreciatively.

Castain tipped his head in Sha’s direction, his words edged in sadness, “I was doing my duty, as always.”

“Thank you anyway,” she affirmed.

Before long Morgan was readying herself to impart a brow beating, Sha’s complaints about aching muscles were tipping her towards irate, that is when they walked into the Grotto. Castain’s description of the picturesque area was highly inaccurate; the fact it symbolised their freedom was incomparable to the ambience caused by the eerie light. Morgan helped Sha lower Meena into a boat before boarding herself, placing her thighs either side of her sick friend. Meena’s pallor was pale and clammy. “We have to hurry,” she asserted. Castain ordered everyone aboard. Like her crew, Morgan was happy to be led through the confusing caves that awaited them.

Eventually the caves opened out, the dark sea welcoming them. Morgan cradled Meena under the lantern light, cushioning her from the impact wherever possible. She sighted the enemy’s ships in the harbour silent and relatively low on activity, thankfully Castain had stayed well clear. She was pondering the fact that the night felt dangerously peaceful when the cannon fire started. The Tempest livened the night, a broadside of fire, light from the ship’s cannons illuminated the darkness as they recoiled from the blasts. Stunned, Morgan watched on as the kingdom ships were pebbled with cannon fire, she could not fathom why Marlo would want to fire upon three heavily armoured kingdom vessels and in the harbour, nonetheless. As if to add to the surreal nature of the happenings a deafening boom shook her to the core, cannon fire of another kind, but oh so much louder. Morgan turned towards the sound and witnessed a massive column of fire that stretched into the sky. It dawned upon her as the heat wave hit that the majestic, pristine, sentinel class ships, were now burning hunks of debris. The flames were an unnatural orange, and she could have sworn they continued to burn as they sunk beneath the churning sea. Strangely the carnage, fire, and sounds of death suited her mood, then vindication brought guilt, turning away she was reminded of unwanted feelings by the heat at her back.