27
“Here, Aldeberan, take this.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
The cuffs—purely for formality’s sake—were removed, and he was handed his liuyedao instead. The conversation was practically a ritual by now, but Al was sharing it not with that rare person on the sword-slave island whom he had permitted into his heart, but rather with the sour guard who had replaced the dead man.
He still missed the deceased Orlan sometimes. Maybe part of his motivation for taking on the Hornet had been some measure of revenge, trying to make up for what had happened.
“Heh. Yeah, right… The assassination attempt on the emperor failed, we got a whole bunch of new faces on the island, and life here goes on as usual. Not a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things.”
Everything changed; nothing lasted. Not Ubirk’s sedition, not the Hornet’s evil, not the sword slaves’ fervent wishes, nor Arakiya’s loyalty, nor Orbart’s cunning. Not even Orlan’s death. Everything would fade in time. The ants could wail and cry, but they couldn’t stop the river’s flow. The rebellion on the island had brought this realization home to Al. The thought was still in his mind as he stepped into the arena, greeted by the wild shouting of the crowd.
As his opponent for today’s death match emerged from the opposite tunnel, Al’s eyes went wide. “Gajeet? So you made it, too, huh? I thought for sure you were dead.”
“Hey, so did I. But I survived and damned if I know how. Karma or something, I guess. Maybe it’s the same thing that means one of us is gonna die here today.”
It was the saber wielder with the half-shaved head. Al had heard he was one of the first on board with the rebellion, but he must have done something to gain clemency, because here he was.
And here Al was, facing off with him in a fight to the death. Everything changed. Nothing lasted. Nothing in the world. Not the world itself.
“Let’s have at it, then. No hard feelings, eh, Gajeet?”
“Yeah, sure. We’re sword slaves till we die. Even the Hornet eventually bit the dust. So will we one day.”
“ ” Al didn’t respond to that. Instead, as Gajeet readied his saber, Al took up a fighting stance, preparing to let his liuyedao have the last word.
Everybody died. Everyone was going to die. It was something no one could escape. Except Al.
“At least for now,” he muttered.
The frenzy of the crowd intensified, and a gong announced the start of the match. Gajeet crouched low and charged in, Al racing to meet him.
Gajeet wanted to chop his head off. Al would just have to chop Gajeet’s head off first. It was how it always went. It was just…
“An unlucky star.” That was all there was to it.
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