Time Holders: The World of Balance

In the next second, I was already tangled in battle with one of the four wolves. I had slain more of those dogs than I could count while on our journey toward the island, but my friends had always been with me, and I had rarely been forced to take on more than two at once. However, I now realized how important teamwork was and how unpleasant things would get. I could merely pray I’d grown strong enough to survive a four-on-one.

One of the dogs lunged at me, clashing with my blade. I was still working on easing my nerves when my arms were pushed closer to my chest on impact. I looked at my trembling sword, now mere inches from my face, while I held my ground with considerable strain. For the first time since the day of our capture, I truly missed the loneliness of my garden and the echoing ring my training sword sang with each hit. It was the ring steel makes—true steel. And now I might just die without that sound, holding instead a sword of stone and string a newfound friend had put together.

How pathetic.

I tightened my jaw and slid my blade between the beast’s fangs, forcing it to the side, and as the grip of its maw loosened enough, I leaned back and kicked the monster in the chest, setting my sword free.

I had expected the poor thing to fly backward at my blow; I had forgotten how weak I really was without my powers. Still, that was no excuse; the beast couldn’t use its powers either. What was I disappointed about?

Thinking about it, I felt a flush of rage blooming in my heart, and I scorned myself for blaming Cedric and his swords, or the monster for not dying at my whim. It was ridiculous; the situation was what it was, and I had no right to complain to anyone but myself. I had found an ugly side of me, rising to the surface in desperate times. Stone or steel, string or leather, it didn’t matter. I just had to do the best with what I had and drive my selfish thoughts away.

I took a deep breath and promised myself I’d leave complaints for later. Then I adopted a defensive stance and waited for the incoming attack.

This time came two wolves, one being the one I had just kicked. They ran at me, switching places from side to side as if wishing to confuse me, but inwardly I was relieved they hadn’t sprung facefirst like before. Their approach gave me the space I needed to fight back on equal footing.

I waited till they came closer, lowered my weight, and unleashed a horizontal cut with my blade. The two wolves reacted fast, dodging the swing, but for a second they stopped dead, which I took advantage of. I took a long step forward and swung my sword again, repeating the movement in reverse. Now the one I’d kicked wasn’t quite quick enough and got a large cut on its side, and then a sorry yelp escaped its mouth. I couldn’t help but feel bad for it; it truly looked just like a dog.

The injured wolf limped back to stay behind the two that hadn’t come to fight, and the remaining one glanced at them as if asking for their aid. I watched the scene unfold in the vain hope that they would flee, but their crimson eyes didn’t show signs of defeat. Instead, as if making fun of me, this time two more came forward and joined the one nearest to me. Three at a time, I thought, narrowing my eyes to discern the shape of the wounded one—it seemed that one was done fighting.

The next three minutes I spent in what felt like an endless struggle. Slowly I grew exhausted, and the claws that hadn’t been able to reach me were now dangerously close to my skin with each passing second. Eventually, one struck me in the arm, and I didn’t notice until my blood began pouring from the wound and the heat brought me to my senses. I was having a rough time returning the favor.

With the beasts unharmed and my body worn out, it should’ve been a matter of time before I lost; however, I kept going back to thoughts of the specter and its voices. It drove me insane.

Clank, clink, slash. Roll, dodge, jump. Somehow I didn’t want the battle to end; every noise that wasn’t friendly helped replace the ghost’s song in my head. I truly, truly wanted to fight forever, even if it killed me.

Not long into the fray, I staggered and lost balance for a second, which gave one of them time to sink a fang into my shoulder. The pain came late; like a cat in water, I twitched and grabbed the monster by its head before hurling it away with all my strength. Only then did I allow myself to cry.

I began to lose my will to win in as foreign a manner as could be. Like the sleepiness of mornings, when the power of your diligence is tested hardest, or a gripe you’d like to vent to Dad and Mom, but pride swallows your words whole. In such an annoying state of mind I found myself, trapped with the fog. Blood from shoulder to hand, dressed in rain.

And yet I smiled. My wounds hurt, but it took more than a sharp bite to make me cry.

”You’re still here,” I said. ”Playing tricks on me.”

For a moment even the black wolves looked surprised, but that was until the fog grew thicker and almost seemed to click its tongue.

I knew it.

It made sense, really. My groggy self only wanted to disappear from its sight, but with just a little musing, I ended up wondering: why would an intangible monster run away from fangs and claws? The answer—it never really did.

”What a clever creature you are,” I quipped. ”But you shouldn’t have waited till I cleared my mind.”