• Chapter 1
    Symbols and Swords

    “Begin!”. Ryoku Fittir was struck before he had any time to react. His breath was knocked from his body as the ball of concentrated lightning hit him in the chest. Gasping for air, the young symbologist concentrated on his hand. A red ball of energy grew in his hands almost instantly. He tightened his hand into a fist and brought it back. “Fireball!”, he shouted. The constricted elemental flew from his hand straight toward his opponent.
    That was a pretty good shot, he thought to himself, maybe I’ll beat him after all. “Him”, of course, being his opponent, a boy a little older then himself. He didn’t look like much, but he was the top in the class.
    He watched to see of he would dodge his attack. He didn’t need to. To Ryoku’s dismay, he stuck out only a finger, and a small, blue ball of energy shot from it, going right through the fire ball Ryoku had unleashed and dispersing it like paper in water, while the small ice energy elemental fired toward Ryoku. He barely dodged, but even so, the sharp Ice Needle grazed his shoulder and let loose some blood.
    Ryoku groaned, I just had to fight him, didn’t I? His thoughts were interrupted by three Ice Needles fired at him in quick succession. On impulse, Ryoku stuck both arms forward palms out, and circled them around quickly. “Molten Shield!”, he yelled, and red lava erupted from his hands, circling his body in a sphere. From inside the fiery sphere, Ryoku heard the Needles sizzle out against the Shield. Through spaces in the churning lava, he could see his opponent with a rusty-red glow around his hands. He was going to use a rock symbol. He must want this fight over quick. Rock symbols are powerful, but hard to control for novices.
    A rock symbol would only disrupt the lava shield, though, not go straight through it. An idea dawned in his mind. He held his hand forward, fingers spread out. A bright yellow light danced around his hands. His opponent unleashed his symbol. By the sound of it, probably Rock Throw. Ryoku tensed. This is it! The rock smashed into the Shield, and instantly the shield dropped to the floor. In that split second, Ryoku unleashed the symbol. “Lighting!”, his voice quavered with the drainage the symbol took. Tendrils of white-hot lightning sped from his splayed fingertips. His opponent was still grounded, and had no time to react. The elemental hit him dead in the center of his chest, blasting him from the field.
    Ryoku stood there in stunned silence for a second, as did everyone else in his class. It . . . worked? Then someone started to clap, and then the whole room was in an uproar. Ryoku whooped and punched his fist into the air. This small exertion made him fall to his knees in exhaustion. His symbology teacher came over and performed a quick Healing symbol on Ryoku and his opponent, who had landed several yards away. “Very good, Ryoku,” he said when he finished healing him, “I’ll admit you surprised me with that last symbol, it is a difficult one for a symbologist of your age. Once you are able to say the release words only in your mind, you could be a tough opponent to beat.” He looked him over again, then turned to his opponent, “And you did very well to, Clise. The Ice Needles were a nice touch, though the Rock Throw was a bit careless, as you no doubt found out.” He turned and addressed the class as a whole, “That is it for today, class. Tomorrow we will start studying scrying.”
    The group of young runologists all went over to the racks to hang up their robes. As Ryoku passed Clise, he held out his hand saying, “Good duel, Clise.” Clise looked at him angrily. “You won on pure luck, Ryoku, and you know it!” He threw his robe at the racks and stormed angrily away.
    Yeesh, talk about a sore loser, Ryoku thought. He finished cleaning up, then hung up his robe and turned to go down the hall to his next lesson.
    As he walked down the narrow hall, a door opened up on the left corridor and a boy of about Ryoku’s age walked out of it. He was in a rush, clutching a thickly wrapped package in his arms, and didn’t see Ryoku. He stealthily dashed down the hall in the opposite direction, casting furtive glances as he passed joining hallways. Ryoku grinned, then quickly said a symbol that muffled the sound of his footsteps and ran after him. The boy stopped at a corner and looked around it, then closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he slumped against a pillar. Ryoku took this chance, and came up behind him. “Well, what did you do this time, Al?”. Alphonse Nox jumped back and spun around, but when he saw Ryoku, his look of terror quickly changed to relief, then to mild anger. “What are you doing, sneakin’ up on me like that? I nearly killed you with my bare hands.”
    Ryoku laughed, “Oh I’m terribly sorry, sir Nox,” he put on an air of mock subservience, “Would your highness please inform his loyal subject what it is he is doing sneaking around corridors when he should be getting to sparing practice?”
    Al grinned, “Well perhaps if the lowest servant of the Prince of Aquios were to lick his boots a few times, I might consider telling him.” The two friends laughed. Everyone knew that Alphonse’s position as the heir to the kingdom of Aquios to be something of a joke. With his, shall we say, sticky fingers and a knack for being wherever trouble is, it was almost a certainty that his older brother’s son would inherit the throne after his mother and his father’s, the current king and queen of Aquios, lives were run. Though this was almost completely unheard of, everyone, including Al himself, agreed that it would be better if he never sat in a position of power as high as the kings. With his long jet black hair, dark green eyes and strong figure, he created a stark comparison to Ryoku, who had short, dirty-blond hair which was never combed, black eyes which sometimes appeared blue, and a lanky form with some muscles from sparing with Alphonse.
    For the first time, Ryoku noticed the large package Al held in his hands.“All right,” he said, “What did you steal this time?”
    “It’s not so much I stole it,” he replied sheepishly, “I’m going to give it back, so it’s more like borrowing.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a large book. It had a green cover with gold leaf surrounding the edges. Ryoku gasped, “That’s a book on runology!”, he said, “You took that from the Royal Library. You’ll be whipped for sure if you get caught!”
    Al just shrugged and said, “Well, do you want it or not?”.
    Ryoku gaped at him, “What?”
    “Well I’m not going to keep it, you know I think runology is a waste of time.”
    “Well then why did you steal it for gods’ sake?”
    “You were just saying the other day that you’d give anything to get your hands on one of these books, so I ‘borrowed’ one for you to read. Now do you want it or not?”
    Ryoku chewed his lip, thinking it over. I could learn so many symbols from that book, he thought, well . . . what harm could it do? Just as he was about to reply, they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Al quickly hid the book in his bag, just before their fighting teacher came around the corner. “There you boys are! What are you doing here? Causing trouble, no doubt.” He stared at the boys, “Well what are you waiting for? Get on to class!”
    The two friends rushed down the hall toward the Dragon’s Courtyard out back. It was called this because, years ago, a dragon of huge proportions had landed here to help with the War of Celestial Beings, that included the entire kingdoms or Elicor, and nearly spelled the end of the whole planet.
    Regardless of what war or another took place there, it was now the sparing court for various lessons in weapons’ technique. Their teacher was a man named Cid Zelpher. He was the best swordsman in the land, and rumor had it that he was a fair Runologist too, thought he’d fiercely tell you otherwise if you had the courage to ask. His family had been with the kingdom of Aquios for centuries, his great-grandmother being none-other then Nel Zelpher of the original Companions in the War of Celestial Beings.
    Once everyone was present, he began, “Today we will be doing free drills. Choose any weapons. Winner is the one who draws first blood. They’ll be one-on-one battles. Outside help is prohibited and-,” he looked pointedly at Ryoku, “No runology.” Ryoku grinned sheepishly. In his last match, he had gotten desperate and used a fire symbol on his opponent’s sword. His father had to pay the unfortunate boy’s family compensation. Cid began again, “Go choose you weapons and then get in your groups.” Ryoku and Al walked over to the rack with the rest of the students. Al chose his favorite weapons, a wicked looking gauntlet with claws on it, and a short katana. He strapped the katana to his waist and pulled on the glove. He flashed Ryoku a wicked grin and said, “You ready, Ryo’?”
    Ryoku looked over the weapons and chose his favorite long sword and strapped on a pair of steel gauntlets. As an afterthought, he took a medium sized pike and strapped it loosely on his back. He and Al stepped over onto one of the many raised platforms.
    They always spared together, even though nearly every time Alphonse won. Al said that this was because Ryoku spent too much time inside with a runology book when he should be training. Their teacher said it was because Al knew his moves too well. Ryoku thought it was a little bit of both.
    They each got into ready position. Ryoku whirled the sword experimentally, then put that hand forward with the other hand resting lightly on the tang of the blade, right above the hilt. Al held the long katana backward in his left hand behind his back, and put his deadly glove out in front of him, forward like a shield.
    “Ready?”, their teacher held his hand up. Around them armor and weapons clinked and creaked as people shuffled around.
    A soft wind blew over the arena, stirring up the dust at their feet. Their teacher nodded, satisfied with what he saw.
    He brought his hand down in a quick chopping gesture: “Fight!”
    Alphonse Nox was a blur of motion, and was at Ryoku before Cid had finished the word. He lashed his armored glove forward toward Ryoku’s chest.
    Ryoku brought his sword’s hilt down on it, then angled forward, trying to catch him off balance. Al brought his katana from behind his back like lightning and blocked it.
    They both jumped back, then immediately leaped forward again, sword clashing against claw. Al reversed his grip on his sword and brought it slashing to Ryoku’s side.
    Ryoku angled down and the katana hit the shaft of the pike on he wore on his back. Al quickly brought it back and slashed again.
    Ryoku quickly dropped his sword down, dragging the gloved hand with it. The katana scraped down the blade and Ryoku pushed back and brought his other swinging toward Al’s head. Al flinched back away from it, then quickly disengaged from Ryoku and jumped back.
    Ryoku staid where he was, slighting panting. Then both stood looking at each other, Al’s dark green eyes meeting the black that sometimes looked blue eyes of Ryoku.
    Al was grinning from ear-to-ear. Then he crouched down and leaped into the air, swinging the katana around. Ryoku tensed and held the sword up.
    Al spun in midair and threw the sword at Ryoku. Ryoku slapped it away with the sword, but then Al’s clawed hand was grasped and around the sword. It twisted and was wrung from Ryoku’s grasp. Flying and landing a few yards away, outside of the playing field.
    Ryoku reached up and tugged the pike up and crashed it down on Al’s hand. Al hit it away and thrust the hand forward, straight toward Ryoku’s face.
    Something seemed to click and Ryoku’s eyes turned a bright cobalt. A pale green light swirled from his feet up to his face and connected with the clawed hand. Al yelped and pulled away, the tips of the claw almost completely gone. But the green light advanced, the dust where its pale shadow crossed pushed to the side. Ryoku was standing very still, his face contorted.
    “Teacher!”, Al yelled. Up till then Cid Zelpher had been trying (without much luck) to teach one of the students how properly wield the halberd without the adverse effect of cutting of your fingers. He looked up from it and his eyes widened.
    “Ryoku! No symbols!”, but he could see the look on Ryoku’s face: Ryoku wasn’t in control of the symbol anymore.
    He vaulted onto the platform and in front of Al. He clapped his hands and thrust them forward. A gray light glowed dimly from them, but nothing happened.
    Cid looked confused, then did the gesture again, this time saying “Release!”. The green tendril stopped for a moment and kind of shimmered, but then solidified and kept coming. Cid stood still for a second, then ran toward the light.
    It whipped toward him, but Cid dodged right of it and spun to Ryoku. The light turned around and quickly advanced on him. Cid clapped again and gripped Ryoku’s arm, which had gone stiffly to his side.
    “Release!”, Cid said, and the gray light sparkled and jumped around Ryoku. The green light wavered, then collapsed altogether, and Ryoku’s eyes faded back to black. His eyes fluttered, then he collapsed and Cid caught him.
    By now everyone was watching them. Cid seemed to suddenly become aware of this and said sharply, “Class dismissed!” No one moved. “Am I teaching deaf children now? Move!” The student quickly left, putting their weapons back in the rack.
    “Nox, come with me,” Cid turned away carrying Ryoku and walked toward his private quarters.
    “Sir,” Al said tentatively, “Shouldn’t we take him to the infirmary?”
    Cid glanced down at Alphonse, but kept walking. They came to Cid’s current place of rest: a modest sod house with one window facing the countryside. The king had many times offered his master of arms a better living quarter, one in the palace, but Cid always declined. The only extravagance he allowed himself was a professionally built wood roof.
    He laid Ryoku down on the only bed and then sat down himself on a chair in the corner. Al could see no where else to sit, so he leaned up against the far wall.
    “Sir?”, Al tried again, “Shouldn’t we at least tell my father?”
    Cid shook his head, “Don’t worry, Al,” he said, “we will tell your father. But for now he needs to rest.” Then he went silent again.
    Al sighed and looked over at his friend. The gold-leafed book he’d left in his bag outside was the farthest thing from his mind.