7
Jackson leaned up against one of the columns that held up the roof of his usual guard tower post and sighed. Things had been very inactive for the past several days, and he was starting to feel that itch again.
That terrible, sickening itch that seemed to come from inside his body where it could never be scratched. He knew full well that it was part of the curse, and if he didn’t feed it with another magical creature’s life soon it would only get worse.
Rowan, as usual, picked a bothersome time to visit, but the message he brought was at least mostly a welcome one. “Hey up there, Jack! Since it’s a slow day, the Chief says you can come down for a bit, if you wanna have dinner with us. One of the others will take your post.”
The Chief was Rowan’s father, and was a close friend of Jackson’s own father when his parents were still still alive. If it weren’t for him, the people of the clan would have probably had Jackson exiled outright rather than assigned to full-time guard duty.
* * *
It was a simple meal, and a short one. They would soon be coming up on another dry season, so food would have to be rationed soon. Conversation at the table was light as well, Rowan being nearly the only talkative one at the table, but it was pleasant. At the very least it was enough for Jackson to take his mind off that itch of his.
“So,” the Chief addressed Jackson politely, “how has guard duty been?”
“No issues to report,” Jackson shrugged.
He chose to leave out the fact that there hadn’t been many monsters around lately; the Chief knew about the conditions of the curse and he didn’t want to cause any undue alarm.
“I’m kinda jealous. Sure, there’s slow days, but you get plenty of action on the days that aren’t, and it sure beats training or manual labor!” Rowan said, a bit too loudly.
Jackson made no comment on that. The three of them continued to eat, occasionally exchanging words or responding to whatever topic Rowan brought up until they had finished.
“Hey, so, I’ve been wanting to tell you this,” Rowan said to his taciturn friend as they washed their ceramic dishes afterwards, “I’ve been putting my all into training lately, even picked up some new tricks.”
Jackson was somewhat interested; he had indeed noticed an improvement in Rowan’s movements the last time they fought those Sand Gomes together a few days ago. “Yes, and where are you going with this?” Jackson prompted.
Rowan grinned. “I want to try another sparring match with you. It’s been ages, seriously!”
Jackson wasn’t sure what to make of this, but had no reason to turn him down. The two of them agreed to hold their match at the front gate, so that Jackson could return to his post at a moment’s notice if he needed to.
* * *
The two of them stood and faced each other, weapons drawn. Jackson was still pretty sure he was stronger than his old friend regardless of what practice he had been putting in, but he didn’t let his guard down just yet. Rowan shifted his weight from foot to foot, eager to get started, but managed to keep himself from recklessly rushing in.
Suddenly, they both moved at once, as if agreeing on an unheard signal. Jackson started slow at first, but Rowan made a good show of keeping up with him as their weapons whirled and clashed in the air.
The fiery redhead's weapon of choice was a custom-built makeshift glaive. It was once a regular spear, but he had had the spearhead replaced with the blade of a sword on a whim one day, and just kept using it ever since. Now, he handled it with expert precision, shifting his grip on the fly for both quick, strong slashes and wide reaching sweeps.
Jackson began to increase the pressure. Rowan had started to sweat, but was otherwise surprisingly showing no signs of failing to keep up. Suddenly, with a shower of sparks from a particularly powerful clash of blades, Rowan broke away and made some distance. “It’s about time I showed you one of those tricks I told you about!” he called out to his opponent confidently.
Jackson could have easily taken the opportunity to close the gap, but he was curious to see what the other would do. Rowan lifted his glaive into the air, twirled it with both hands, then swung forward with a flourish. With a crackling burst of magical light, his weapon was now arcing with electricity.
To think this hothead would even take the time to learn magic, Jackson thought, he must really be serious about beating me.
As a show of respect for his friend’s determination, he rushed forward and struck with full force. Rowan winced and nearly stumbled, but was able to take on the blow. He smirked as the sparks on his weapon grew brighter.
Jackson was barely able to step to the side before he was hit by a sudden bolt of lightning from the end of the glaive. Apparently, no extra movements needed to be made to activate this enchantment, making it quite a potent ability for a close-up fight.
Rowan took this chance to push forward, returning the two of them to their whirling dance of blades, but this time unpredictable bolts of lighting lashed out between every other strike and doubled the intensity of his onslaught.
Against an opponent that matched his skill, Jackson would have been in trouble here. But, with a little bit of regret, he could tell that this was not such an opponent.
With a flourish of his own, his blade took on the same black-light gleam as it had when he took down the Sand Gome, and his own range was effectively multiplied as well by the dark flashes that appeared from it at every swing.
Rowan’s lightning was an impressive trick, but the range was comparatively short. In this duel of enchanted weapons, he was at a clear disadvantage, but he didn’t give up.
Unfortunately, as he still wasn’t used to channeling magic during combat, his movements became sloppy while Jackson’s only grew sharper. The outcome of the match was quickly decided.
* * *
Rowan swore as he struck the ground with a fist.
Suddenly flustered as if he had somehow forgotten the other man was still there, he looked up and tried his best to put on his usual grin, “I mean, well, good match, Jack! You’re still just as tough as ever.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced.
“Don’t worry about it. You did fine, and I’m sure you’ll catch up some day,” Jackson said, trying awkwardly to be supportive.
It didn’t work. Rowan’s grinning facade cracked. “Just ‘fine,’ huh…” he muttered, half under his breath but loud enough for Jackson to hear.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
Rowan stood up, roughly brushing the sand off his clothes. “Whatever. You don’t need to be giving me pity or anything.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do. The way you were able to use magic was impressive.”
“Ha, hardly, not compared to your—” Rowan stopped, suddenly aware of what he was about to say, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be comparing myself to your curse.”
Jackson looked away, and didn’t say anything. He was used to this kind of treatment from other members of the clan, but had hoped it would never come to this with Rowan. “If we could go back to the days before the curse, when you would beat me in all our sparring matches, I would take it in a heartbeat, Rowan.”
Rowan’s frustration gave way to shame, “I get it. Sorry.”
Jackson took a deep breath. Maybe now was the time to tell someone about what he had planned to do next. Rowan had, at least in a way, proved himself strong enough to take over the guard post, as he always claimed he wanted to. The clan wouldn’t be without a guardian if he left.
“I’m planning to go on a journey, far from Heite Mesa. If I stay here, nothing is going to be solved, and I’ll only put others at risk. If there’s a way to dispel my curse, it’ll be somewhere out there. Tell the chief that you can take over for my guard duties, I know you’re capable of it.”
Rowan was taken aback. “You’re leaving?” he asked incredulously, “Damn, I mean, if you think what’s best, then…”
He trailed off, then shrugged, “Right then. When are you going to head out?”
“No sense in putting it off,” Jackson answered without hesitation, “I’ll pack up my things and be gone by tomorrow morning.
Despite still being a little bit shaken by this news, Rowan was determined not to make his old friend’s parting any more difficult than it needed to be. “Got it. Good luck out there, Jack,” he said steadily, “and when you get back, you better be ready to show me what you can do without your curse!”
He grinned widely, only it seemed like this time, for the first time in a while, there were no darker feelings hidden behind his smile.
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