On the Hills of Eden

The three of them slowly sipped away at the tea, breathing in its soothing floral vapours as they felt its warmth in their mouths and down their throat.

“I’ve had that sword for a long time now,” Qingxi said. “Since I was eight, I believe. When I first proved my worth to my father by breaking into a duel between two other children and winning against both of them.”

“Ever since then, that blade has not once left my side for longer than a few minutes. It was the only thing I had that reminded me that my father had his hopes in me,” she said. “And I have used it in every single fight since that age. Every single tournament, every single mission. And I won each and every one of them.”

Qingxi sighed, the tea’s vapours billowing out from her cup after catching a ride on her breath.

“But it would not last,” she said. “Do you remember what I said about those who get sent abroad, Rumi?”

Rumi lowered her cup, her expression blank as she stared into Qingxi’s eyes.

“Rumi?”

“Oh, uhm, you said…” she said, trailing off.

Qingxi nodded along slowly.

“That they were failures?”

Qingxi hummed.

“Precisely,” she said. “And on that day, on that damned tournament…”

In a time not so far detached from the present, Qingxi found herself hard-pressed to keep herself in the competition. The three talismans still affixed to her forehead, chest and back indicating all too clearly to her adversaries that she was a target of utmost concern. Shuffling to the side with her socks half-burnt through by the friction of the tatami mats beneath her, she jerked back just in time to avoid a left hook headed straight for her jaw. At once, she placed her hand upon her blade’s hilt, drawing it from its sheath with such ferocity that her opponent had not been able to even turn to attempt to block the windblade, its last glowing band fading to a dull blue. The blunt wave of wind struck him firmly on the chest, ripping the talisman there into shreds and sending him flying through the paper walls and out into the open.

Hearing the shuffling of feet behind her and the whirring of wind in her ears, she spun around, slipping to the side just in time to avoid having the blunt end of a staff buried in between her ribs. She ducked, avoiding a wild stab at her head, before finally jumping back to completely evade another attempt at her chest.

She turned and sprinted down a dusky, hazily lit corridor of the compound, all three of her talismans decorated with the hastily painted Sinitic word for ‘victory’ fluttering in the wind. Their calligraphy messy and unpleasant, as if they had been scribbled in as an afterthought.

She burst down the pathway that connected the main building to an adjoining tower, surging along with the wind as she heard her pursuer tail her relentlessly.

“I failed.”

She heard a faint noise from beyond the walls she was running towards.

Suddenly, just as she emerged from the corridor’s threshold and into the tower, a third combatant lunged at her, wooden dagger in hand. They thrust it towards her throat, though she managed to block their arms on instinct, reorienting her leg to pile drive it deep into their liver, sending them sprawling across the wooden floor as she herself slammed into the walkway’s railings before rolling off and towards the opposite end of the area- just in time to avoid another jab at her stomach by her pursuer.

The tower had been built with a giant hollow column going straight down its centre to a little sand garden filled with rocks, each level consisting of a square walkway only a handful of metres in length that ran along the column and against the walls of the structure.

Seeing as he had stuck his staff into the grills of the railing, she took the opportunity to lunge at him with her sword, though he managed to yank it free just in time to beat away an attempt to stab at the talisman on his chest. She slashed her blade at him, the cold steel of her sword stuck hovering just centimetres from his staff as currents of wind held it from making contact.

“I failed to prepare.”

The combatant with the dagger had already gotten back to his feet, surging past her pursuer and driving his dagger deep against her forehead.

Blown back by the force of the winds generated by the now disintegrating talisman to protect her face, she was sent sprawling against the floor. Eyes filled with outrage, she saw as the two of them sprinted in synchrony towards her. Pushing herself backwards and up to her feet, she evaded yet another stab at her face by the staff-wielder. She slipped back again, this time rounding the corner to get out of the way of a dagger hungering for the talisman on her chest.

Fully realising now that two supposed enemies were cooperating in a free-for-all tournament against her, she leapt over the railing and into the air, aiming for the level just above her.

“I was not privy to the ways of diplomacy.”

And suddenly she felt as a foot slammed itself into her back, its rounded, salient form digging repelled by the winds of her chest talisman- it too being torn to shreds.

“I didn’t know it, but the other contestants had formed a pact between them and their clans,” she said. “They made the agreement to hunt me down as a group, even though the tournament was supposed to be a show of individual skill.”

She fell like a rocks through the column, too stunned by the sudden force upon her spine to react in time to save herself from slamming belly first into the mass of pebbles and sand and stones at the ground level, feeling as the miscellaneous objects dug into her ribs and her thighs and her forearms.

“And I couldn’t fight back. Because I hadn’t prepared for such a fight. And because there was no one who would fight with me.”

“There weren’t any judges to stop them?” Pallas asked.

Qingxi shook her head.

“What they were doing was dishonourable, but not disallowed. In fact, when I went to try and appeal the loss afterwards, they told me there was no way to prove they weren’t simply ‘acting in coincidence’.”

“Shit,” Soleiman remarked.

She nodded.

“It didn’t help that I was the only one out of all the contestants without a clan to pledge allegiance to.”

“Wouldn’t you be a part of your father’s clan?” Soleiman asked. “At least, that’s how I heard it works in Xiafa.”

“I should’ve,” she said, pausing for a moment and setting her cup down. “But he disowned me.”

“What?” the three of them said almost simultaneously.

Qingxi picked her cup back up, nodding as she took another sip of the calming tea. Soothing her nerves.

“Why?” Rumi asked. “Why did he disown you?”

“Yeah, I thought you said you proved yourself to him?” Soleiman added.

“That was after the fact,” Qingxi said. “He disowned me the moment I was born. Because I was born out of wedlock.”

She paused, and there was silence.

“Because I was born a bastard.”

…

“Is that the right word for it?”

Pallas and Soleiman nodded.

“Mm, okay. So that meant that I was born to no one, and had no clan to fight under,” she said. “But I refused to accept that. I refused to accept that me and my father were separate. That my mother’s only legacy would be nothing but a useless bastard. So I fought to show that I was worthy. That he should be proud of me.”

…

“That I was his daughter.”

Feeling the sting of the rocks against her entire body, Qingxi gritted her teeth as she struggled to get herself off the sand. Hearing the whir of wind as her three enemies began descending the column towards her, she dug both of her hands deep into the sand pit, spreading her fingers slightly apart to maximise their surface area as much as she could.

Estimating that the first of the three, the one had who slammed her into the sand in the first place, had come within a metre of her using all four of her ears in tandem, she blasted herself forward and through a doorway to the outside, throwing up a massive cloud of rock shrapnel and pebbles and sand back up at her pursuers as she did so.

“But it was already over.”

Landing on her feet as she emerged from the tower, she shuffled backwards in anticipation

Suddenly, her ambusher emerged from the level just above her, the talisman on his head now ripped and torn. Without even giving her a moment to breathe, he lunged from his height, Qingxi only just able to block a wicked blow to her temple with her blade in the nick of time.

But from the dust clouds of the tower emerged the staff-wielder, and he closed the distance in between them in mere moments. He thrust his staff forward with the entire might of his body, its blunt wooden edge barrelling through the currents of wind that formed about her chest as her final talisman crumbled away. So much force had been thrown into it that it managed to tear its way through the shield of wind, parting its currents and digging deep into Qingxi’s solar plexus, sending her flying backwards and sprawling against the earth breathless.

“On that day… on that damned day,” she said. “I lost.”

Sliding across the earth, she curled up into the foetal position, her arms clutched about her paralysed diaphragm as she coughed and sputtered and fought to breathe. The pain screaming through her abdomen second in intensity only to the crushing fear of what would become of her future.

“I couldn’t look my father in the face after that,” she said. “So after I appealed the loss and got rejected, I hid in my room for two days straight. I was so scared of what he’d say to me that I didn’t even go out for any food.”

“For two days?”

Qingxi nodded.

“I guess I thought that by locking myself in my room without food… imprisoning myself, in a sense, I could somehow make him forgive me for my failure. And it seemed like it was working, too,” she said. “But… on the last night, I was visited by some of the maids working under his master’s dojo and who were in charge of managing our lodgings. And when they came, they told me I was leaving. For Minerva.”

Starved, sleepless and sluggish, Qingxi made her way down the docks to the ship that would carry her to her future. The dark night sky above devoid of any light, of any hope. And the ship that would transport her itself was poorly illuminated too, what light was present on its deck giving it away as a mercantile transport ship first and foremost.

A mercantile ship that would be her home for the next three or so days she would spend at sea.

The maids carried her singular bag for her despite her protests, also taking it upon themselves to bring along with them a little hamper filled with food and drink and other miscellaneous items, like a little Southern Lion doll. They escorted her down the pier, out into the harbour and towards the ramp that led to the ship. Going all the way to see her off.

But when it came time for her to ascend, she refused.

“Do I really have to go?” she asked, her teary eyes reflecting what little light was present in the dockyard. “Aunty Yanfei? Sister Yijing?”

“Yes, dear,” the older of the two maids responded. “This is what your father has decided is best for you.”

“Why didn’t he come to send me in person?”

The two maids were silent.

“Please,” she begged. That soft, faltering voice of hers the two of them had grown to love and care for over the past eighteen years.

“You’ll be fine, Qingxi,” the younger maid said, putting a hand to her cheek. “If anyone can survive out there, it would be you.”

Qingxi felt the warm gloved caress of the girl who had raised her as her own little sister for as long as she could remember. Her tears welled up under her eyes as she struggled to accept the situation, mouth left agape as she searched for words to describe the torrent of emotions roiling within her.

“What about Mom? The others?”

“They’ll be with you, Qingxi,” the older maid responded, passing the hamper over to her and pushing aside some of the well-packed food items to reveal a collection of letters placed at the bottom. “We’ll all be with you.”

Above them, the dark clouds of the night parted, and thus did the deluge of rain come thundering down upon them. So fiercely did it fall that she felt her knees give out under her and as she fell into the arms of the two maids.

“There, there,” the older maid said, both her and the younger maid holding Qingxi in their arms for the last time. “There, there.”

And that was the last she saw of them. Of Xiafa.

“I finished all the food they gave me that one night. Partly because I was so hungry, but also because I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I had never slept on a boat as large as that caravel before, so I had a lot of trouble being able to get even a morsel of rest. That was when I discovered a letter from my father.”

“He gave you a letter instead of talking to you in person?” Pallas asked.

“Mm.”

“Wait wait wait, let me get this straight,” Soleiman cut in. “You’re telling me that he just sent you off to a foreign land… just like that?”

“It wasn’t illegal or anything, since I am eighteen. And I already knew how to speak Minervic from my supplementary studies,” she replied. “So it wasn’t entirely unprecedented.”

Pallas and Soleiman gave each other a concerned look.

“Anyway, that letter had a lot of information. In fact, it was more a notice than a real letter,” she said. “Most of the information was just a brief on what to expect once I arrived here, but… the thing that really messed with me was…”

The three of them waited patiently for the continuation.

“Well, he… he changed my sword,” she said. “You three know how Instruments work right?”

“...No,” Rumi said, sheepishly.

“They’re basically magical tools, Rumi,” Soleiman said. “They’re made by imbuing an item with a soul puppet, typically made in the Rosenlunder fashion, and then moulding that puppet to do certain specific things at specific times.”

“Like… creating a blade of wind when unsheathed?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, Qingxi.”

She nodded.

“It’s fine. Basically, he told me that he’d changed the algorithm the Instrument operated by and that I would not be allowed to return to Xiafa until I had killed something ‘worthy’ of his approval using it.”

“Worthy?” Pallas asked.

“That sounds awfully vague,” Soleiman said.

“Mm, but that’s all he mentioned. That and that it would be wise not to return to Xiafa before doing that. Or else.”

“Or else?” Pallas said with incredulity. “Aren’t you his daughter?”

“I like to think so.”

“I’m… not gonna lie, Qingxi,” Soleiman said. “Your dad sounds like a giant asshole.”

Rumi nodded.

“Even still, he is my father. And my mother continues to love him,” she said. “So… one day I hope to see him again. To see them all again.”

…

“Mm, yeah,” she said. “And as for the sword, well, I just haven’t been able to use it again after that loss. Because whenever I touch its handle… I…” she trailed off.

“I am reminded.”

“Of… losing?” Soleiman asked.

“No. Of everything,” she replied, lowering the cup of tea in her hand back down to the tray. “Everytime I used it, every battle I fought in. Every night I spent awake with it by my side because I was so afraid of losing the battle the next day. Every time I cried myself to sleep after winning just out of sheer relief of having not lost. Of everything I once had, and everything I had lost.”

Her eyes beginning to water, she continued, the words rolling out of her mouth so consistently it was as if she was reliving her entire life up until that point and relaying it in speech.

“U-usually,” she said, her voice starting to waver as she looked at her bandaged face in the image reflected in the tea. “I’m very clinical when I fight. Emotionless. Because that’s what allows me to win. But… whenever I try to use that sword, it… it breaks me.”

The image of her rippled, droplets now falling into the small cup.

“You understand, right?” she asked, looking up at the three of them.

Immediately, Rumi rushed forward to catch Qingxi in a tight embrace, wrapping both of her arms about her.

“Rumi?”

Soleiman shuffled forward too, just barely avoiding knocking over his own cup with his leg as he wrapped his left arm around her back and hugged her too.

“Guys?”

Pallas stood up, shifting forward to kneel before Qingxi as she looked at her, her teary eyes wide open.

“We understand, Qingxi.”

And at that moment, the rain fell again. But it was different this time.

As Pallas knelt forward to hold Qingxi’s head in her arms and place her forehead against hers, Qingxi felt as the droplets from above fell gently against her skin. No longer was the torrential downpour from that night. Now, all the rain did was wash her, sliding off her skin and bringing with it everything that had weighed her down.

It freed her at last, for now she was with those who would choose to fight alongside her. Those who would choose to be with her. All in spite of her failures and of her flaws.

“Thank you,” she said, crying through her voice. “Thank you.”

They remained in the embrace for as long as Qingxi needed, and after a while she finally managed to steady her breath.

“Thank you, guys,” she said, drying her tears with a tissue produced from Soleiman’s pockets as they pulled away from the embrace.

They nodded in turn.

She smiled, her eyes squinting and the bandages on her face shifting slightly.

“Oh, by the way,” she continued, her tone now cheery. Lightened and freed of the burden that had been gnawing at her ankles ever since she left the shores of her home. “About the Protoataphoi and the Hashashiyyin… I think I know something we can do.”