Panara
Panara
“Seek the truth for yourself; unsheath the black blade, and take out your heart.”
—Mazentyr’s Bible, Gliese 6:67.
Two blades clashed then pulled away. Jet against Silver. Kylo felt the silence of the room, like an astronaut in deep space. His heart was a drum, and breath, a respirator. Daylight and shadow painted the room like a barcode. He caught each bit of glare off the metallous decor. With each movement, he felt a cold wind pour over him—the glass-shield was misaligned. It took him out of the fight at times. He orbited his opponent in nervous steps, and made sure not to leave the dueling ring. Kylo held the black blade. He moved in. Jabbed low to his opponents side, but his intention was read, and his wrist caught. The grip was iron. He endured the sharp discomfort of his arm twisted outward, and was pulled toward his opponent; forced into a chokehold. The bicep over his neck was heavy and denied him air—he could pick up the faintest hint of lavender, it was more bothersome than the lack of oxygen. A cheeky voice whispered in his ear from under a thick mustache, “Nothing to do from here?”
“There’s plenty,” Kylo muttered with an adolescent stubbornness.
The cheeky man tightened his hold as the young man wiggled. “Not if you honor the fight,”
Kilo closed his eyes... Ungripped his knife.... Before it hit the ground, the short sword stood in mid air. His lovehandles shivered at a tingling sensation that rose from the base of his spin to the crown of his head. The inside of his mouth went numb, and it felt as though someone held a finger between his eyes. The discomfort of his body left his awareness. ‘’Take out your heart,’’ he quoted an ancient prayer in his mind; focusing his senses. The dagger swayed around and above the two men—it moved as though held by string.
“Don’t try it—” the cheeky man warned.
The knife spun like a saw, and shot at the pair; coming for Kylo’s own neck. The cheeky man threw Kylo out of the way, and staggered back. The blade stuck into the floor. The young man, still on his feet, whipped drool off his chin, and pulled the dagger from the ground. “Looks like I win. That’s three to two today, master Gideon.” Kylo gestured at the circle beneath the the cheeky man’s feet.
Gideon looked down to see himself outside the circle. He frowned, “you call tactical suicide a win,” Gideon sheathed his weapon behind a weighty belt across his waist. It was dark blue. And had a look of tough leather, with circular, crystal like plates on its face and sides. “A duel isn’t about tricks. If you really on your powers for everything, your value as a Mazentyr becomes nothing,” Gideon said.
The young man stood with a palm held out, and his weapon hovering above it. As he moved his fingers the knife followed suit. “A duel is about winning, and winning is about knowing your opponent; if I weren’t fighting you I’d have figured something else out. Plus I can’t be expected to master something I can’t use,” Kylo snapped. His skin was like cocoa against the slits of morning light. He had sharp—raven like—features, and dark kinky hair, it was scruffy, almost overgrown, and natural looking. Unlike his eyes. They were amethysts. Glittering.
Gideon shook his head, and stepped into the circle. “Wining isn’t learning. Failing, and trying again. That is learning. If you want to become a master one day, you’ll remember that.” He smirked. “But if you want to talk numbers... Then, what is it.... Thirteen to sixty-four this month?”
Kylo sulked, and the blade fell in his hand.
The man pat Kylo’s shoulder. “Your still too impatient.” He looked into the young mans eyes, they shimmered on there own, and only seemed more blazon the longer he stared. So he looked away. Gideon took the knife from Kylo to admire the blade. “Your too eager, Kylo. A high Mazentyr is more than his psychics, more than his sword...” He handed the knife back to Kylo, and wandered toward the glass-shield. “If you can prove yourself to me then you can prove yourself to the council; until then, it’s no tricks in the dueling ring.”
Kylo sheathed his blade behind a similar belt to Gideon’s. He ran his fingers across one of its circular faces—the surface was like pearl—and it went from all white to glowing a soft blue. Kylo began to hover an inch off the ground, “Let’s try dueling with float-belts then, I bet I do better,” he said.
Gideon gazed at the city skyline beyond the glass-shield, “You’ll be the death of me Arris, I swear... If you can’t beat me without it, then what you can do with it doesn’t matter.”
Kylo rolled his eyes. He studied his master from across the room, although the scenery from beyond the glass-shield diluted his awareness: vast azure, tall structures, levitating plazas, odd bulky shapes, and even odder vehicles flying between them. He was compelled to collect datum.
Gideon marvelled at the height, or rather depth, of the vertical descent. Many buildings were connected by enclosed bridges, the further down he looked, the more connections he saw. Beyond a certain point it was just shadowy and abstract. “Kylo... I want you in ceremonial dress tonight.” he shouted from the window side.
Kylo sat with his legs crossed as though meditating—he was several inches off the ground. “Ceremonial, what’s the occasion?”
“Dinner with the imperial family is a good occasion as any... And I’m sure you’d like to look presentable infront of the princess,” Gideon replied.
Kylo lost concentration, and fell to the floor. “Theresa is coming back, today?” He clicked the belt, throw it off, and made his way to Gideon. “It’s too early though, right? She shouldn’t be back for another month or so?”
Gideon stiffened, “officially, yes.” He turned his head skyward, caught sight of the three moons—two of which dominated the sky—taking interest in the smallest, almost invisible, satellite: Kedus. He thought of his pupil bearing the same name—Kylo Arris’Kedus—and dreaded the terrible future that might fall upon him.
Kylo moved to Gideons side. “And unofficially? ”
“Listen Kylo...” Gideon turned to face his student. “We must stay vigilant. That’s all. I’ll be at your room in an hour, be ready then.” His gaze returned to the city.
Kylo studied his masters face: tawny hair, rose cheeks, thick mustache, and a ‘lioness’ demeanor; he had facial lines that belonged to a man far from middle age but no longer young. Deep blue eyes. Natural looking. And at the moment, a slight biting of his lip. ‘What are you hiding from me?’ Kylo thought. “Alright then, I’ll be quick about it,” he said. He walked toward a circular door. It split into the adjacent walls once he got near, then he paused. “Master Gideon... Do you think she will be excited to see me? It’s been almost three months.” Kylo kept his eyes on the lip—from across the room he could see it clearly. With those eyes.
Gideon smiled. “It’s not even a question. Relax, Kylo; trust your thoughts... Not your feelings. I’m sure her majesty will be at a lose for words when she sees you,”
The lip relaxed. ‘What’s he hiding...’ Kylo thought. “Thank you, master. I’ll have to come up with something to say to her then.” Kylo left, and the door closed behind him.
Gideon stood there still looking over the city. The sense of a terrible future only grew.