A Hero's Journey: Rivalry

     Jeran stormed through the corridors of Meridell Castle. Most of the staff and nobles gave him a wide berth, but a yellow Aisha did not hesitate to follow him.

     “What’s wrong, Jeran?” Lisha asked calmly, although her forehead was creased in worry. “I heard from Tuffold and Fidelity that the mission was a success…”

     “Nothing’s wrong,” was the brusque reply. He halted so suddenly in front of a set of double doors leading into a meeting hall that Lisha nearly collided with him. “I’m just…I need to blow off some steam, that’s all.” Jeran opened one door and strode into the room before proceeding to look under portraits and tables, and inside the supply closets.

     “Why?” She blinked as she watched him turn the hall upside down. “Wait, are you still looking for Sir Reynold’s locket?”

     “It’s his fault.” Jeran straightened up so abruptly that he hit his head on the underside of a chair and bit back a yelp. “Ugh…”

     “Huh? I never blamed you for…”

     “It’s his fault, not mine! If it weren’t for him…” The Lupe inspected some large vases placed against one wall before shaking his head in disappointment, without a care for the words “Chet Flash” engraved in minute letters on the edge of one vase.

     Lisha approached him and reached up to place her hands on his shoulders. She frowned in thought. “Are you talking about…”

     But instead of an answer, Jeran broke away from her and walked out of the hall, leaving her behind.

     * * *

     “Tuffold, Tuffold!”

     Halberd still in hand, the yellow Lupe turned at the sound of his name. “Lisha, what in Chet Flash’s name is going on?”

     “You said you were able to capture Ramtor’s mages in Marbury, right?” she asked.

     “That’s what we told you,” he clarified. “We found their hideout and busted Winters and the other mages. Of course, looking back, we probably should’ve brought a mage of our own considering there were zombies and golems and trees that came alive…”

     Lisha cut to the chase. “Something’s not right, especially not with Jeran. He’s acting like you failed the mission and says it wasn’t his fault. What happened?”

     Tuffold stroked his chin. “Hmm…let’s just say it wasn’t really smooth sailing even though it ended on a good note. I noticed that Jeran was really quiet on the way back to the castle. Come to think of it, so was Rohane. They barely said a word, not to us, not to each other. I figured they were exhausted or something…” His voice trailed off when he saw the Aisha shaking her head vigorously.

     “No. It’s more than that. We have to find him and Rohane.”

     * * *

     Jeran found Rohane on the way to the training grounds. They faced each other squarely, the tension between them tighter than a taut bowstring.

     “What do you want?” asked Rohane, scowling.

     “Did you find the locket?”

     “If I did, you’ll be the first to know.”

     Jeran snorted. “I’m not surprised. After all, you couldn’t find that trap in the mages’ lair.”

     “What are you saying?” said Rohane dangerously.

     “I’m saying it was your fault we were trapped in that net because you just had to step on the magic floorboard,” the blue Lupe snarled. “Thanks to you, we barely did anything to capture Winters and his friends.”

     “Maybe if you hadn’t run into the town hall alone, we wouldn’t have gotten into that mess. Verderie told me to run after you!”

     “Oh? And what would you have done?” asked Jeran, his voice beginning to rise. “You saved five whole lands in Neopia, I’m sure you have some ideas!”

     “I wouldn’t throw our teamwork out the window!” Rohane shot back, taking a step forward. “And don’t forget that Winters beat you with a chair!” He threw up his hands. “Sir Jeran, my father’s greatest squire and one of Meridell’s best knights, bested by a mage with a stool!”

     Jeran pointed at him. “But did you do anything to help? No, you didn’t!”

     “How could I help when you were literally dead weight on top of me?” The Blumaroo spread his arms in a resigned shrug.

     “Are you calling me dead weight?”

     “Well, I heard you failed to beat Ramtor and fled to Brightvale,” Rohane retorted swiftly.

     Though he continued to glare at Rohane, Jeran made a strangled noise in his throat and raised his hands, fingers twitching, as though wanting to do something yet not quite knowing what.

     “That’s right. Maybe if you had been able to defeat Ramtor then, we could’ve cleaned up his messes sooner…and I would still have a father!”

     Those last words were a knell that echoed throughout the corridor. For several moments they stood there, glaring deeply at each other, hands clenched into fists and bodies tensed as though ready to spring at each other.

     Though they didn’t spring at each other right away, Jeran did break the silence by growling, “If you’re still crying for your dad, you aren’t worthy of joining the Order. And you aren’t worthy to be called Sir Reynold’s son!”

     Rohane’s fists began to shake with pent-up anger. Though he glanced away briefly, he was quick to meet Jeran’s eyes again. “But you couldn’t avenge him. You’re the one who isn’t worthy of being in the Order!”

     “Me?” The Lupe let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Oh, do you want to see which of us is worthy of succeeding the great Sir Reynold? I guess finding his locket isn’t enough anymore. Let’s settle this the way we should have – through a proper rematch!”

     * * *

     Tuffold and Lisha ran together down the hall and turned a corner as they drew closer to the training grounds.

     “I hear a commotion on the grounds,” the yellow Lupe said.

     He was right.

     Though it was mid-afternoon, the sky was overcast, and a cool, wet breeze blew in from the east. A crowd had covered the benches and bleachers on the training grounds to watch a single spectacle on the grass. Whispers and hushed conversations were punctuated by loud clangs of steel, the scuffing of feet across the ground, and cries of exertion that were raw, furious, desperate. Two combatants were the stars of this show, but they barely seemed to notice the audience that they had drawn.

     As she and Tuffold mingled with the crowd, Lisha found a blue Wocky who was watching with concerned fascination.

     “How long have they been fighting?”

     “They just started,” said Danner, wincing at the ongoing sounds of intense battle. “Jeran and Rohane suddenly stepped out onto the grounds with their swords and went at it. And it looks like both of them have an axe to grind. You’re Jeran’s sister; can you get him to stop?”

     Lisha frowned, gritting her teeth. “Jeran wouldn’t tell me anything when he got back from the mission to Marbury.” Nevertheless, she stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowd and shouted, “Jeran, what are you doing? This isn’t like you!”

     “He’s not listening,” said a red Zafara. She took her wizard’s hat off and tried to cover Lisha’s eyes with it. “Lisha, don’t look, it’s like those two are out to kill each other!”

     But the Aisha shoved Kayla’s hat away from her face and tried to walk toward her brother, who was relentlessly slashing and chopping with a terrible look on his face, not caring that Rohane’s sleeves and shirt were beginning to suffer. However, as she drew closer, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder that pulled her back.

     “No, I’ll do it. You don’t want to get in the middle of that,” said Danner. He strode toward the duel, closing his eyes briefly as Rohane finally retaliated with a swing and a thrust that Jeran narrowly dodged with a feral roar. “Are you two done blowing off steam? Maybe you should – watch it!” His quick thinking saved his ear from a wild sword swing, although he instinctively placed his hand over it just in case. “Seriously?”

     “Give up?” Jeran bellowed, breathing hard as he circled and searched for an opening. “Just you wait, I’ll learn all your tricks!”

     Rohane grinned recklessly and defiantly. That was the only answer he gave before lunging forward, his blade tracing a horizontal crescent toward Jeran’s chest.

     As the Wocky retreated for the safety of the audience, lightning flashed from the gathering grey clouds, followed not long after by a peal of thunder.

     “I don’t suppose you have a potion that can solve this, Kayla?” Lisha asked, grimacing as the two heroes’ blades crashed again and again in a discordant song.

     “She’d have to get close enough to use it,” said Danner, his hand still over his ear.

     “What else can we do?” Lisha paused as more thunder boomed. Many spectators were beginning to vacate their positions in the open grounds in favour of the roofed walkway that surrounded it.

     “Wait for them to tire out, I guess.” Tuffold sighed. “Doesn’t look like they’ll stop for anything.” A drop of water fell onto his nose, and Kayla instinctively tried to shield both herself and Lisha with her hat. “Not even rain.”

     “And hope they don’t kill each other,” said Danner grimly. He turned to look at Lisha and Kayla. “You two should go back inside. We’ll make sure nothing happens to them.”

     “Take care of yourselves, okay?”

     The blue Wocky let out a breath. Opening his palm, he caught more raindrops. “We will, Lisha. I just hope Jeran and Rohane take care of themselves too and know when to stop whatever game they’re playing this time.”

     After one last glance at Jeran trying to disarm Rohane and failing, Lisha followed Kayla toward the covered walkway along the training grounds.

     * * *

     Droplets of rain became sheets pouring down from the sky that thinned out the audience. Grass and soil turned into mud beneath the two knights’ feet; their torn, damp clothes clung to them; cuts, scratches, aches and bruises marked them yet seemingly went unnoticed; and their hands became slick with sweat and rainwater, which made gripping swords properly more difficult.

     None of these would dissuade Jeran and Rohane from their battle. As a bright flash of lightning illuminated the grounds, they locked blades again, struggling and shoving against each other, their feet digging, skidding and sinking into the mud as they did so.

     “You spent more time with Father than I ever did,” said Rohane through gritted teeth. He tried to shift his stance, but the muck made it more difficult, and grime splashed against his legs and tail. Instead, he leapt back, paying no heed to the dirt and the rain beating a merciless rhythm against his head and the rest of him. Accusingly he pointed his sword at his opponent. “It’s not fair!”

     “I’ll tell you what’s not fair!” Jeran lashed out as he dashed forward. He swung his sword upward, throwing up clods of dirt and grass in the process. “I couldn’t beat Ramtor, but you did?” That movement forced Rohane to lean away, and the liquefied ground beneath him caused him to slip and fall backwards into the mud. But as Jeran bore down on him, he continued to block and parry from where he lay before finally resorting to kicking out at the blue Lupe.

     Jeran tumbled onto the ground as well, flinching and blinking away water droplets obscuring his vision. Immediately they jumped back onto their feet.

     “You weren’t even a trained knight!”

     “I did what I had to do!” Rohane shouted. It was hard to tell if it was just the rain, or if there were tears in his eyes. In any case, that didn’t stop him from slashing out at Jeran in an attempt to disarm the other swordsman. “He killed my father!”

     The Lupe bit back a yelp when Rohane successfully nicked his hand. Jeran’s retaliatory strike was a swift punch to the stomach that sent his opponent reeling but did not bring him down at all.

     “Everyone wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Jeran hissed between gasps of breath. “I was so sick of it.” He feinted to the right before striking to his left and opening another tear in Rohane’s shirt.

     “I could say the same about you!”

     With a loud cry, he gripped his sword in both hands and swung widely. As Jeran tried to change direction, the white – though certainly no longer looking white from the rain and muck – Blumaroo caught him and sent Jeran’s sword flying. However, the force was so great and the hilt slick with sweat and rainwater that Rohane also dropped his weapon.

     At first, there was a lull where they stared at each other, both unarmed, damp, dishevelled and breathless.

     Then Jeran hurled himself onto Rohane, knocking them down into the mud. They set about wrestling, punching and kicking relentlessly, their swords completely forgotten. Jeran had Rohane in a headlock, but the latter escaped by pinching the former’s arms, wriggled out from his grasp, and threw a hard right toward Jeran’s face. Jeran blocked it with his arm before shoving Rohane onto the ground, face-first.

     “How are they still going at it?” Danner asked from the covered walkway. Tuffold and Colleen could only shrug.

     “They’ve got some serious stamina,” Tuffold remarked. His voice was even, but his brow was furrowed. “But eventually, that’s going to run out.”

     “We need to do something now,” said Colleen, raising her voice to be heard both over the rain and the frantic cries on the training grounds. Jeran and Rohane were back on their feet, punching and blocking punches, but it didn’t take long for them to devolve into grappling with each other as though seeing who would be the first to yield. “I don’t care if we get soaked!”

     The royal Blumaroo stepped forward, ready to run under the rain, but Danner stuck out an arm to stop her.

     “The two of them had a bad mission, and things between them have been heating up until today. Maybe they need this.”

     Colleen stared at the blue Wocky in disbelief. “Danner…”

     Tuffold shook his head. “He’s right, Colleen. And, at this rate, anyone trying to stop them will get hurt.” He winced as he heard Rohane yell on the training ground; the white Blumaroo had attempted to kick out at his opponent, but Jeran had grabbed his ankle, destroying any semblance of balance he had and sending him crashing onto the ground. Rohane staggered back into an upright position, hands and arms trembling either with exertion, exhaustion, or fury, or any combination of the same. His fist connected with Jeran’s cheek, and the commander howled in pain before they began to wrestle in the mud again.

     “They’re slowing down, a little,” Danner observed.

     “Are they?” Tuffold asked. “But they haven’t stopped…”

     “No, they’re going to stop soon. Watch.”

     The yellow Lupe watched. It took some time, but the duel slowed gradually as fatigue and pain set in. Both knights were heaving, hits and kicks began to look more reckless and weaker, and they were no longer bellowing.

     Finally, both of them just fell to the ground, at the complete mercy of the storm and the limits of their strength.

     * * *

     While sprawled on the muddy training grounds, Rohane stared up at the grey sky, even though the droplets falling into his eyes partly obscured his vision. He was surer now that tears were trickling down his cheeks; in any case, he was too tired to contemplate that, too tired to consider how soaked and dirty and sore and cold he was, too tired to do anything else except continue looking up. What he managed was a glimpse of Jeran beside him.

     Neither of them were getting up.

     I guess we both lost this duel.

     Dimly he was aware of footsteps and voices in the distance. Then he slipped into unconsciousness and was no longer aware at all.

     To be continued…