Fedal — Before the Team Match

It has been watching me for days now.

No one else can see it.

It doesn’t appear in front of me nor does it haunt my dreams.

It is only when I look through a window that I see it. The creature was never close to the window and it never moved even to draw breath. Yet whenever my head turned away and glanced back at it, the creature would be standing somewhere just slightly different, ever so slightly more alien, less a living creature and more a frozen frame overlayed on top of life.

Its blue eyes always locked with mine.

It didn’t seem to matter what window I looked through. Whether it would be standing on water or in the middle of a crowd.

The first time I saw the unicorn I hardly slept. My shaking hand stayed by my sword the entire night anticipating an attack that never came. But even after the sunrise, the creature was still there, unchanged from the night before. That’s what I thought at the time. But the night after that I realized it wasn’t quite the case.

After my duel with Martim, the unicorn had been nearly at the horizon, barely visible through the window. Now it took effort to ignore it. Every day it was coming closer and every day it seemed more corrupted. The creature was—aside from its blue eyes—whiter than snow, so pale it was nearly invisible against certain backdrops. But every day, it seemed more stained.

Blood covered its feet now and somehow I knew more and more blood would cover it as the days went by. Whose blood? Martim’s? Mine? What would happen when it finally reached me?

Windows terrified me. You likely imagine I would have panicked and boarded up my room in a manic haze of some sort. It was not like that. There was an apathy inside of me because I could not bring myself to believe it as real. No screams, no panicked steps, not even cold sweat. It was closer to a dream-like haze, as if I were hungover, and by the time I came out of it I had finished nailing pieces of wood to every window in my room.

I need more candles.

With the door closed and windows sealed the room seemed less like a prison and nearly like a portal to a darker dimension of some sort. As if I could go somewhere else, a world different than this one. That the thought didn’t seem downright impossible made it all the worse.

Was it possible for darkness to heighten sound? I didn’t know how it could be so, and yet it was. Every ruffle was a hidden enemy, every creak was a monster coming into the room. I had never found myself to be a claustrophobic person but everything about my room now made me want to leave. What is the outside world like right now? If just looking through a window has…that thing watching me from everywhere, what about going outside? Will it still be there? Will it be worse?

I had to find out. Even if the answer was something I wasn’t going to like, I had to find out.

Yet the beast was nowhere to be found in the outside world. It was early morning when I left and there was nobody aboard the ship for me to greet before I ventured out for a walk without a destination. A light, yet thick sort of rain was falling, less of a rain and more of a greasy mist, and whether it was merely that rain or fog was abound as well I could not quite tell.

It was one of those rainy nights where the rain is more invigorating than inconvenient. Raindrops range from gentle nudges to rude reminders, yet they have little power over your being. As you walk down the streets, you take notice of the sound of your shoes against the cobblestone, of the collision of water and rock, and realize before long that you have not looked up in quite a while. Finally, when you do as your parents raised you and look up, in that greasy mist of a rain, you ask yourself, “Where the hell am I?”

But no one answers, because everyone except you is a sensible creature who stays indoors during rainfall, and so you grin to yourself about your own silliness, perhaps shake your head twice and move on trying to situate yourself. This is how it should be. That rainy night, however, I was not blessed with loneliness. “Ahoy there!” cried a voice. “Lost? Come sit down.”

There was something wrong with the man.

He wore a bowl cap and had set his cane leaning against the bench, right beside a briefcase that seemed just too large for a day’s job. At first glance, he was a well-dressed older man of high status sitting on a bench by the side of the street, reading a newspaper as he ate breakfast and throwing pieces of his hard bread at the birds. All of that, I assure you, were things he was indeed doing. The issue came with combining the aforementioned with this: it was night, and raining. It is not as though there is a law of the universe keeping the man from doing such, but his newspaper was getting wet, no birds approached him in the rain, and the man clearly was eating breakfast at night.

It was only this last behaviour that the man appeared to find odd. “Forgive me. My boss is not fan of breakfast or breakfast-adjacent foods, but I quite love the cuisine, so I often find myself retreating away to enjoy my breakfast at night.” He gestured at the empty space on the bench. It was hard to see in that foggy, rainy night, but I am convinced he was smiling. “Sit down.”

“I’m gonna pass, but thank you, sir. With the rain I can’t imagine sitting down would be the most comfortable thing in the—“

“Sit down, Fedal the Hero.”

I had the ability to prevent my name or title from being displayed and as such I was taken aback. There was an ephemeral quality to his all-knowing smile, giving the impression that staying here was dangerous. I should leave. He regarded me carefully, like a gentleman with a scholarly background studying his field of interest, and grinned from ear to ear. “Ah! I should assume Martim is dead then?”

My hand fell to my sword handle but he held out his hand. “Youngster, I ask you that you stay your hand. I have no interest in fighting. It is my day off and I’m no fighter anyhow.”

“Who are you?” I demanded. “How do you know—are you with Johan?”

“Aye!” His answer came promptly and with a smile. “But again, I’m off the clock and I’m not married to our side ideologically. We are not enemies for the next—“ he withdrew a pocket watch from his front-coat pocket“—three hours. So let us be friendly for now, eh?”

Our eyes locked for a moment and I made a decision. My hand began to withdraw my blade from its sheath when he said—“It must be scary. The unicorn, I mean.”

Hesitation caught me. “What…what do you know about it?”

“Sit down!” he exclaimed, in a tone between annoyance and an attempt to hurry me. “Sit down and I’ll explain it. Don’t make me look up at you. Sit beside me like a person, youngster.”

It doesn’t make me happy, but I’ll sit beside this weird old man if that’s what it takes. The unicorn. Not a moment after I had sat down, I asked, “What do you know about the unicorn?”

“Easy now, Fedal the Hero. You ask a person for information before their name?”

“Fine. What’s your name?”

“Roger.”

“Roger, what’s—“

“—You will address me properly, no? Titles exist for a reason.”

“Fine! Your title is—“ Attempting at looking into his title resulted in failure “—what is your title? Lord Roger? Duke Roger?”

“Were I a duke, you would refer to me as Lord Roger still—pay attention, boy! Lord is the title of address, followed by their origin. To wit, Lord Johan of Arcadia—for army men are granted such origin—and Lord Valle of Cresna! But—and here’s the important part!—should there be two members of the same origin in the room, you should address them by their relation to the highest ranked member in the room. So if Lord Valente of Cresna was in the room, you would then refer to Lord Valle Son of Valente. Were they not related, titles such as “friend of” or “enemy of” and the like could be used. Ergo—“

“Oh my fucking god, what do you want me to call you?” I demanded, exasperated.

“Master Roger,” he told me, raising his finger. “For I hold no lands but office. At a point in my retirement, I may be given the title Lord alongside some land. Until then—“

“Master Roger, tell me about the goddamn unicorn, or I’m going to—“

“—Going to do what? Attack me and get rid of the only lead you have about what is happening to you?”

“If it means you shut the fuck up, then like, maybe?”

He chuckled. “Do you feel better now?”

“I—what?”

“It’s usually an effect of the unicorn. The victim goes mildly crazy, paranoid, avoids talking to people, becomes so overly cautious the stress and sleep deprivation gets to them—usually that kills them before the actual curse does.”

I did feel better. God, I had been acting so weird. Everything about what I did and even how I thoughtwas odd. I wasn’t acting like myself. After yelling at the old man I felt some measure of clarity come back to me. It’s like I could see myself more clearly now. I looked at the old man carefully. “Why help me? Weren’t you on Johan’s side?“

“I said before—I’m not married to his beliefs ideologically. If he has any, that is. It feels like his goals are simply a way to structure his day. If you ask me he would be much happier if he were born incompetent. But when you are given the talent of a god and can accomplish anything in a single day…hard to structure a long term routine around it if you don’t plan big.”

“You—you know what he does right? If it’s what would take for him to accomplish his goals, he would kill hundreds—“

“—Thousands.” Roger’s voice was tired. “Try not to win our battle of words with a shocking attack: I know the man better than you ever could. If you want to land any attacks, sharpen your blade and come at me with a well-practiced move. Surprise is not your friend here.”

“He’s a monster!”

“So he is. But humanity has tamed wild animals over millennia to serve their purposes, have we not? Do you know how we did that? Through hunger.” Roger tossed some bread at the cobblestone again. Rain still fell and there was no sign of birds. “Everything hungers, human or not. Animals were domesticated through food—even if they could crush us without a second thought, they know it is beneficial to engage in a relationship with us. It makes their day easier. Johan is no different.”

“Johan doesn’t want just food or gold, he wants—“

“Power. Most nobles I have dealt with over my lifetime want gold or women. Johan doesn’t want either for the most part. His basest of pleasures come from exercising power upon others. At first, I suspect, it was merely annoyance. The creature likes to live his life as he pleases and anyone who wanted him to act differently was met with an intense dislike. But as his talents matured, he learned to appreciate the feeling of making that annoyance go away. The man is a playwright of his own misery, you understand. He will create a scenario whereupon his annoyance will show and then exact righteous anger—by his standards—upon the sinner.”

“But that’s insane! Do you know how he got his powers? He—“

“Killed all his friends and brother, yes. Lord Johan of Arcadia told me about it over drinks one night when discussing his plan about the copies. I was threatened with death, of course, but he knew I would understand his point and provide for his needs.”

“How can you serve a sick psychopath like that?” The disgust in my voice was not enough to convey how I felt. “What the fuck makes you serve someone like him?”

“Fedal the Hero, you just arrived on this world and you barely understand it. Do you know that there’s a far away land up north? An island nation of creatures that are not human? The Araenses?”

“No! What does that have to do with—“

“—They are fantastic. Their land does not have [Skills] you know and they responded by creating technology beyond our wildest dreams. Yet even their most magnificent ship scarcely can make it through the rough waters separating it from the rest of civilization, so our contact with them is very limited.”

If they can’t make it through rough waters their technology can’t be too amazing. But even something like 19th century technology is probably shocking and overwhelming if they always rely on [Skills]. “What’s your point?”

“Despite the very—and I mean very!—limited trade, Inglaterra managed to obtain some technology from them and used it to advance on us, trying to recapture the Terra Inglesa. Which I think is quite rude—why, it has been ours for nearly a hundred years now, surely the land is less Inglês and more Lusobritania by now? Anyhow, the war went really poorly for us until Lord Johan of Arcadia—then merely “Johan the Swordsman”—heroically won many battles for us.”

“Oh, so Johan is basically just a nuke for you. Got it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good sir, I must remind you that I am not from your land and do not understand your words. Be mindful of them

“Johan is a tool of war for you,” I said. “That’s it.”

“Not simply a tool—my lord is also an amazing commander and leader. His taxation reforms have been quite shrewd. Both the public and nobles love him—we are lucky to have him around!”

“Oh, fucking fantastic. And what about the piles of bodies he needs to operate the way he does?”

“We supply them,” Roger replied without missing a beat. “Less bodies than we would need to pay without him. The former Emperor was kind, but also kind of poor at his job, if you will excuse my candor.”

“That’s very easy for you to say when you’re not the one losing people. People lose their friends, sons, daughters to satisfy the sadist’s amusement…while you are here. Enjoying the benefits of their sacrifice. You never had to offer—“

“Martim was my son,” he said calmly.

I did not know how to respond. My anger didn’t die, but it was stopped at my throat, like a flowing river suddenly blocked off by a rock. “We lost a lot in the war. His brothers. My wife. Lord Johan of Arcadia provided us with safety. Numerically speaking, less people will know the pain I did that day if we let my lord do as he wishes than if we try to persevere without him.”

“THAT ISNT’ RIGHT!” I rose from the bench and looked straight at him. “There has to be a better way—a better way to find a leader that doesn’t treat his people like he does! Why does it have to be one or the other? I’m sick of that bullshit! You’re just taking the easy way out and trying to paint yourself as noble to justify the pile of corpses beneath your feet. So what? Do you expect me to sympathize with you? To feel guilty? Guess what? I DO! I FELT LIKE SHIT EVEN BEFORE I MET YOU! EVER SINCE MARTIM DIED! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY TRIUMPHANT MOMENT OF GLORY BUT I JUST FEEL LIKE SHIT OVER WINNING THAT DUEL INSTEAD!” My hands shook but I did not reach for my sword. “But even if I sympathize with you—even if I feel guilty—your way of doing things is still fucking disgusting and I won’t stand for it.”

To my surprise, Roger looked at me with a gentle smile. “When Martim died…he died happy, didn’t he?”

I stopped. “He did.”

“I am glad it was you he fought, not one of the others. You have a real kind heart, Fedal the Hero. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to be happy that the ones supporting the devil incarnate think I’m a good person?”

Roger stood up, adjusted his hat and started to walk toward the fog without much fuss. Before he left, he said, “The unicorn wants you to fulfill a mission. You should really get to it before it’s too late.”

“What mission? Roger! Come back here!” Should I attack him? Should I use force to keep him from—*he forgot his briefcase. “*Roger, your briefcase!” He did not turn back. “Master Roger, your briefcase!”

He still did not turn, but here he stopped and laughed. “So you know how to be polite. Worry not, it belongs to you now.”

“To me? What is…”

“There is a woman inside of that briefcase. Still alive, worry not. Born with a serious illness, her sister entered Lord Johan of Arcadia’s service to pay for her medical fees. Of course, once her sister entered the academy, returning to her was out of the question. I saw to it that her illness was permanently healed and arranged she was moved so Lord Johan of Arcadia would not question it—he does not like that the people related to the academy disappear or have their lives changed in any sudden way. Attracts too much attention, he says. He thinks her to be dead. Her appearance has been altered slightly—tell her to not use her real name when she wakes up.”

My priority should have been opening that briefcase and confirming his story, confirming that the woman was alive. Instead, I asked weakly, “Why? Why do all you do and still save someone like that? There’s nothing for you to gain.”

Here he looked back for a moment. Beneath that foggy rain, I saw only his outline, but I could swear I saw him smirk. “I do what I must for my country. But as I said earlier, I am off the clock.”

And so he parted.