XVI

Nase came from Southtown and, unlike the typical Pandoran, he was not xenophobic. Eventually, a little group of racial outcasts of our grade formed. There were Randi Wipu and his brother Aicaca, and Mayctar Jampule, all Kakkaran; Jema Patati, a Tasnican (he got it a little easier because of the alliance during the Resurrection), Nase, and myself. I only really felt close to Nase during my entire time there – it’s not easy being a reptile in a mammalian school, let me tell you.

Sure, there was Syoro Ki. But Syoro Ki couldn’t be everywhere. And some of his punishments did not work on some people – either because they did not know about Syoro Ki’s punishments, or because they were not daunted by them.

Let’s just leave it there before anyone’s reputations get stained.

It wasn’t entire plain sailing at Luka. And events in my final year there brought out the truth of this statement.

The first of them happened early on in the year. The seniors had gathered in the assembly hall for our weekly session of “Future Planning” – things like careers and the final exams and so forth. Usually they would bring in someone from the “outside world”, usually an ex-student, to tell us about life skills, such as what to do if we had to use the legal system, or what to do if we had to organise a funeral all of a sudden.

One of the first people that they brought in was a lieutenant from the Pandoran Army. We were all muttering to one another as we entered on what he was here for – “Careers in the Army”, “What to Do in Case We Go to War-Unlikely-As-It-Is”…

“Conscription,” I overheard someone say. “My brother was conscripted; that’s what he’s here for.”

“Thank you…” the teacher said on stage, waiting for us to be quiet. “Lieutenant Palogo Tenovos is here today to talk to you about events at the end of the year…I’ll let him tell you about them. Please welcome him to Luka College.”

“Told you,” I heard the student say as we clapped.

Everything suddenly seemed to lose its rightness – the teacher walked off the stage and out the door. We’d become accustomed to the teacher staying there.

There was an uneasy silence as we finished our clapping. The officer was inspecting us with his eyes.

“I would have expected a better appearance from private school students,” he growled. “I can see two people missing ties, seven people with them loose, eighteen who haven’t fully ironed their shirts, twenty with them untucked, and everyone in the front row has shoes that mutually excludes the word ‘shine’. Had this been a morning roll call, I would have given each of those people latrine duty.”

There was a titter of laughter, which was suddenly cut short by “I am not joking!”

There was absolute silence.

“All of you: stand up.”

We looked at each other as a murmur began.

“There will be no talking,” he snapped

You could hear a pin drop.

“Now, to attention!”

We eased ourselves into a stereotypical attention pose, those who had offended Lieutenant Tenovos tucking their shirts in and fixing their ties, and some giving their shoes a hurried scrub on the back of their trousers.

“I suppose I could call that good enough. Now, you will remain in this position while I give my talk. Gents, I am here today not to tell you of careers in the Pandoran Army, nor am I here to tell you about war. Conscription, gents, conscription, and how you may be fortunate enough to avoid it.”

I expected the student who mentioned conscription to make some comment, but he was silent. Lieutenant Tenovos had us hooked with fear. With his reddened face and popping eyes, he appeared to be the sort of military character who would yell and scream in his subordinate’s faces. No-one wanted to be embarrassed.

“Since the Resurrection of the Mana Fortress, it has been traditional for Pandora to conscript its young men into the Army, should another country attack us, or seek to resurrect the Fortress again,” Lieutenant Tenovos continued in his brisk, condescending tone. “However, with the rise of advances in education,” he said, his voice hinting resentment, “the government has decided that conscription may not be ‘a good thing’ for those who wish to pursue high-order careers. Of course, to get into those high-order careers, you need a good mark in your final exams.”

He began to pace back and forth on the stage. All of our eyes watched him warily as he looked over us.

“So, with this ranking system they have with your final exams, the better your mark, the less the chance you have of being conscripted. It’s a lottery, gents. The worse your mark, the more tickets they put in for you. Therefore, if you have top marks, then goodbye, you won’t be joining the Pandoran Army at all, as you have a zero-percent chance of being conscripted. If you have bottom marks, then you had better start learning to polish your shoes and maintaining a neat appearance and adjusting yourself to wake at first light, because you cannot get out of being conscripted at all. One-hundred-percent chance. Everything in between, which the majority of you are going to get, has a particular conscription weighting. Get yourself exactly in the middle, and you will have a fifty-fifty chance. They go down into parts of percentages depending on your marks; it’s a complicated system, gents, and I am not here to explain its inner workings because, quite frankly, I am just a lieutenant in the Army, not a statisti–WHAT, BY DREPATOS, ARE YOU WEARING! TAKE OFF THAT STUPID COSTUME AT ONCE!”

Lieutenant Tenovos’ eyes had fallen on me, the only Yoshi student in the whole school, part of a rare minority group that most people would not have even known were living on Yamauchi at that time.

In all my experiences within the Kingdom of Pandora, I have come to associate its people as being generally xenophobic. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule, such as the Royal Family, but travelling in the train, some days, there would be a lot of space left around me, and my parents would often (and still do) receive customers who are nervous, and cut their stay short at the inn. Occasionally, I run into people just like Lieutenant Tenovos, who feel it is worth their while to make some sort of racial comment. Even with my Guardianship, I still get the occasional “Go home” from some people (though, these people often eat their words once I reveal my position).

I did not realise that Lieutenant Tenovos was talking to me at first.

“I SAID, REMOVE THAT COSTUME! ARE YOU STUPID? YOU IN THE ORANGE COSTUME!”

I flinched as Lieutenant Tenovos leapt off the stage and marched up the aisle and down my row towards me.

“DO NOT DISOBEY ORDERS!” he yelled as he approached.

“S-syoro,” I whimpered, “I am a Yo–”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU ARE, TAKE IT OFF! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS!”

Now he stood before me, spittle forming on his lips, his eyes staring into mine over my nose.

“S-syoro, this is my skin,” I whispered, reaching my right hand across and pulling at my wrist.

“LET ME SEE!” he bellowed, and roughly grabbed my hand to inspect it. A second later, he dropped it with a look of disgust on his face. “IT FEELS AWFUL!”

“S-syoro, it is my skin.”

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU! TAKE IT OFF!”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Tenovos,” a voice boomed from the stage.

We all looked up to see the headmaster, Syoro Apos, behind the dais with our teacher.

“This would happen to be our Yoshi student, Dyluck. If you wish to insult and assault my students, then I will ask you to leave the campus or I will call the police.”

“Fine,” Tenovos snarled, and marched out of the assembly hall.

“Dyluck Yoshi, please come to my office,” Syoro Apos continued. “Everyone else, your Future Planning will move on to the next section as planned. When it is finished, you may have an early lunch.”

Syoro Apos beckoned to me and accompanied me to his office, which was nearby, from memory. There, he asked me what happened and gave words of sympathy and encouragement, and sent me off to an early lunch as well. I arrived in our usual eating place as the others did (the section of Future Planning must have been short), Nase patted my back and gave me his sympathies. The whole experience was one of the biggest insults I have received, and it jarred me off-course for a little while, particularly with my studies.

However, the anger I had towards it channelled itself into my fencing, and I made leaps and bounds that year with it. I was very good at fencing – I was the champion in my grade, and I attended the national championships a few times. However, there was another fencer – I forget the name – whom I never did beat. I only ever got as far as the semi-finals each time, my want to beat this fellow pushing me into training for the next year. There was always a champion – all I ever knew of him was that he came from Potos and attended a club.

Until the final year, that is.

School-wise, I had gained some semblance of popularity, the fencing helping. I had gained respect among my peers (there was a change of Headmaster – he came from Gold City and had attempted to reform everyone into accepting other races), my marks were good; I was studying Advanced Mana Development, Great Forest Languages, Music, and Yamauchian Studies. Life seemed on the upswing – my fencing spells were powerful (for a high school student), my “natural talent” was so refined that Syoro Arak had said that I was one of the best fencers ever to go through; I had the award banners – much like pennants – on my wall but no trophies as they only gave them to first and second. My life seemed to have some meaning; something was filling the place Ark had.

Everyone expected me to be captain of fencing in my senior year, but for some reason that puzzles me still today, I was overlooked, and it was given to another fellow called Tharo Pereo. He had better organisational skills and demeanour than me, I suppose, but I was the one with the skill. Whatever the case, I had prepared for that year’s nationals, and was more than ready to take on my recurrent foe.

The competition was held prior to the final exams, so it was a real balancing act between my academic and sporting commitments. As I made my way through the heats towards the semi-final (of which there was not much in the way of competition), I heard along the grapevine that my usual opponent’s parents had not permitted him to compete due to the exams. I guess I was thankful, but I am not one to support restriction of children’s talents by overbearing parents, within reason. The semi-final was very easy, as I recall – an Acid Rain followed up by a Burst with the odd thrust of my rapier. I was, naturally, brimming with confidence as I entered the final.

Most of Luka College had turned up to watch the competition, and they were seated across the hall from Potos Grammar. The excitement from Luka was almost tangible as it had been the first time in a decade or so that a Lukan had made the final. Potos Grammar was also excited – their un-gentlemanly behaviour and their ethos of exalting their own winners and putting down all losers, even their own, set my teeth on edge as I entered in my crisp, white fencing suit.

“On the eastern side, representing Luka College, please welcome Dyluck Yoshi!” the announcer calmly proclaimed (more like said with respect and no enthusiasm).

Lots of abuse was hurled at me from Grammar. I don’t imagine that even today Potos Grammar “would stoop so low” to accept “non-Pandorans”, especially “aliens”, into their school. Their teachers – probably all Old Boys – did not lift a finger from what I could see to contain Grammar’s behaviour. The competition officials eventually had some grip on them: anyone extremely unruly (more than normal for Potos Grammar) was forcibly removed from the hall. I remember that Luka College parents who were present wrote letters of complaint to their headmaster about their behaviour, more than likely thrown straight into the rubbish bin.

Luka’s cheering was what I listened to more, though, and with the majority of the College behind me, my confidence soared. How soon things would change.

“On the western side, representing the Potos Fencing Society and Potos Grammar Old Boys’ League, please welcome Dogo Tyrope!”

Dogo Tyrope, the finalist and winner for the past three years, the same Dogo, son of Keroco, brother of Returin, came walking in very smugly to the tremendous, deafening cheers of Potos Grammar. They were all up standing as they applauded him as he walked – he was even making motions of twirling a handkerchief in the air. As Dogo gave a flourishing bow to his old school, they all began to stamp their feet in unison and erupted with one of their war cries to the disdain of Luka College.

“Hello, Lich,” he sneered as he approached.

I was stunned by his presence.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? Or have you been speaking your race’s gutter-talk for so long now that you’ve forgotten Pandoran?”

His speed to which he could find an insult astounds me still today.

I replied rather flimsily with, “Dogo, my rival for this fight,” and I slipped into Yoshian and told him where he could stick his rapier.

“Not before you stick your rapier up yours too, alien,” he replied.

As I was formulating my comeback, I was too busy to notice he had wiped his lips to communicate in Rhenzin.

“You two know the rules,” the referee told us before we began the fight as we put on our masks. Seeing that we had donned them, he commanded, “Bow.”

I did so, my angry eyes never leaving him.

As we looked at each other in the face again, he whispered to me, “For Ret and my father.”

“Begin.”

A split second after the referee stepped back, Dogo had rushed towards me in a flurry of swings. I blocked them successfully, yet I was not expecting his rapier to be charged with electricity, a result of a hurried Thunder Sabre spell. My Mana Development classes had produced in me strength towards Undine, Lumina, and Dryad, a combination of spells which I still have my strength in to this day. Due to the nature of the course, focusing on inherent arcane strengths, these were the only spells I had. Therefore, training had taught me to leap back from Thunder Sabres, as they give an electric shock through the opponent’s rapier, and that I did.

Dogo expected this, and gave a thrust towards me. Still reeling from the Thunder Sabre on my rapier, he made contact with my suit.

“Aratu!” he yelled, Pandoran for “Touché”, basically.

“Zero-one!” the referee called.

I did not expect Potos Grammar to erupt into a fit of cheering. This unnerved me, and once again, I was on the last-moment defensive as another flurry of attacks. Whoever got to five first, won, as this was the final, and I was resentful that Dogo had scored the first point. His Thunder Sabre had worn off, so I had to make a move before he created it again. I went for my one-two Undine combination: an Ice Sabre to unnerve and chill the opponent, followed by an Acid Rain.

Fighting off his flurry, I raised my other hand and called upon Undine. Since this time, I have come to discover that this is not the pose that I find natural for the summoning process, which probably explains why my spells never were at full strength. I touched my rapier, and the Ice Sabre kicked in as it tinged blue.

Dogo increased his speed. He made another lunge, and I spun out of the way.

“Alien,” Dogo hissed.

Seeing an opening, I decided to bring my rapier around to touch him. Unfortunately, he swung out with his quicker than I could get him. His “Aratu!” occurred a split second before mine.

“Zero-two!” the referee called.

Potos Grammar cheered again. I had half-expected this, and decided it was time I launched the attack. My Ice Sabre was still in effect, so I went for him so that he was on the defensive. Behind his mask, I could see him grinning. The Ice Sabre appeared to have no affect on him. Nevertheless, I called upon Undine and brought Acid Rain on him.

This unnerved him as the droplets fell above him, passing magically through his suit and burning his skin slightly. He reeled back, and I thrust forward and with a cry of “Aratu!” I finally began my comeback.

“One-two!”

Luka College clapped, but it was drowned out by Potos Grammar’s booing.

“I’m still winning,” Dogo grinned.

“Not for long,” I muttered back.

With that, I launched myself upon him again. Dogo came into the defensive, but his grin still radiated from his mask.

“Turengato-lon-go! Turengato-lon-go!” chanted Potos Grammar. It was the Pandoran word for “alien”. They would stamp their feet on the “ga”, emphasising the negative prefix, that I was not of this world.

“Hear that?” Dogo smirked as he blocked me.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Nice having contacts. Real friends. Pandorans. Not dirty foreigners or aliens.”

He knew this would be a trigger, he knew. With a yell I increased my flurry, starting to reduce my defence. He waited for the moment he knew would come – I leapt into the air, trying to drive a strike down upon him. He simply rolled out of the way, sprung up behind me and yelled “Aratu!”

I groaned as I felt his rapier tip on my back.

“One-three!”

Potos Grammar cheered again. I gave a quick glance to Luka College and saw them murmuring to each other, what I thought then about my furious attack in the last point. I had told Nase before about Dogo, and how there was bad blood between us. He told me after the fight that he started to spread around then what I had told him, about Returin and about Keroco.

Unawares, I jumped forward and turned around mid-air, my rapier out, ready to block Dogo’s attack. It did not come – he simply summoned Salamando and cast the high school-level strength version of Exploder. I flew backwards, onto the floor. For his size, Dogo was a fast runner, and I managed to block his strike at the last moment, holding my rapier across me with both hands, my left hand falling where Multehx had scratched it.

Well…little boy want to play in the man'sleague, does he? I remembered him saying just then. Well, perhaps he should learn to fight like a man and not a child.

Fueled, I pushed hard against Dogo’s blade, driving him back as I stood up. He leapt back, making me lose my balance, before he swung back with another leaping strike. I managed to roll out of the way at the last moment, bringing my rapier up and making contact with his hip with an “Aratu!”

“Two-three!”

Grammar began the “Turengato-lon-go!” chant again, but then they added to the end of it, “We’ve all got ten fingers, Lich!” Channelling my anger, I decided that Dogo would get a dose of his own medicine. As I leapt up, I called on Undine and swung my free arm in a broad karate-chop motion. Being at a good high school-level strength, a rain of pebble-sized ice pieces hailed on Dogo. He leapt backwards, trying to escape it, only to meet my thrust and “Aratu!”

“Three all!”

I heard an impressed “Ooh” come from Luka College as I scored again quickly.

Dogo looked at me and scowled.

“It’s your fault Returin died, and you know it,” I hissed in Yoshian, knowing his use of Rhenzin would allow him to understand me. “Your xenophobic father put all the blame on me, but you know it’s your fault.”

I had pulled the trigger now. Dogo charged towards me. I simply sidestepped him at the last moment and swung my rapier around.

“Aratu!”

“Four-three!”

I was one point away from winning. Potos Grammar’s condescending war cry sped up and increased in volume, Luka College began its own war cries.

“Reduce the noise, please!” the referee called.

I glanced to Potos Grammar as Luka quietened, seeing the odd rude gesture thrown my way. Their war cry continued, however. I scowled at them, and turned back towards Dogo.

Suddenly, there was a crack of thunder as I was struck by a lightning bolt; not as strong as a storm, but far worse than a spark of static electricity. Stunned, I was wide open for Dogo to leap forward and thrust.

“Aratu!”

“Four all!”

Grammar’s cheering increased their volume again.

“Would Potos Grammar please reduce their volume,” the referee commanded.

They did not listen.

I was scowling at Dogo as he scowled at me. The referee came between us and asked again.

Finally, Potos Grammar reduced in volume.

“Continue,” the referee called and stepped back.

We simply continued to stare each other down, one point away from winning for both of us. Dogo’s left hand faced Grammar, hidden from view of the referee and Luka College, and just out of the corner of my eye, I saw his thumb go up.

“An eye for an eye, we’re all glad that Ark did die!” Potos Grammar chanted. It’s not a literal translation of the Pandoran, but it is what they chanted, in essence.

It was this war cry that got letters of complaint, especially from my parents (my mother had come to watch). But it did its work as it repeated again and again. I was shocked and my eyes welled with tears so that I could not see what I was doing. I lunged for Dogo, but he jumped out of the way. I turned back to him and tried to lunge again, but he stepped out of the way. He could have easily finished the fight, but he wanted to let me suffer. There were about four lunges, before he gave a mock yawn, and as I came to lunge the fifth time, he parried my attack.

“Does it make you feel good that you destroyed my brother and father? Does it?” he hissed as I tried to drive it home. “I’ve finally humiliated you in front of your school, your dirty foreign friends, and your filthy family. But my victory’s not complete – I’ll be back, Lich.”

With that, he spun out of my attack, around, and gave the final “Aratu!” on my tail, something he knew made me different, just to drive it home.

“Four-five! Dogo Tyrope, victor!”

Potos Grammar stood and cheered and applauded madly. Luka College gave me applause of consolation.

I stood, glaring at Dogo as he celebrated his victory. My rapier slipped from my hand and I slumped. In hindsight, this was fortunate, because I would have driven it right into him there and then. Instead, I turned, and walked back towards my changing room.

Syoro Arak waited for me at the door, and he threw an arm over my shoulder. “Where’s your rapier?” he asked.

“I’m never going to use it, ever again,” I said, gulping down my cries, not wanting them to come out.

“With your talent, that’s not a good thing to say. You could go onto international competition after high school, Dyluck.”

“I don’t care, I quit!”

Syoro Arak sighed. “I’ll leave you alone. I understand how devastating a loss like this can be.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the hall, back to the arena. I continued walking and sat down on a bench. Placing my chin in my hands, I stared blankly at the wall.

“Your rapier,” the referee said behind me.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

He put it on the bench nearby and walked away.

Grammar’s cheering echoed down the hallway. I put my face in my hands, and rubbed my eyes with my palms. I looked to my rapier.

“You did this to me,” I whispered, scowling at it.

With a growl, I withdrew my case from Storage, opened it, and picked up my rapier. My cleaning bottle and cloth were in there so, because Syoro Arak told me to always do it when I put it away, I gave my rapier a clean. I then put it all gently in the case, and slammed the lid shut.

My rapier has never come out for battle since.

I put it away in Storage, and continued to stare at the wall. I don’t know how long I stared at it blankly, giving the occasional gulp back of tears, because Syoro Arak came charging in.

“Presentation is in one minute, Dyluck! You haven’t even changed!”

He hurried me into the cubicle where I left my uniform. I shut the door, changed, and came back out.

“Quickly now!” he commanded, and we hurried along the hall. My feet felt like lead weights.

We stopped just before the door.

“I know you’re upset, Dyluck, but please be gracious,” he told me.

“Runner up in this year’s nationals, Dyluck Yoshi!” the presenter boomed into his microphone.

I walked out, with a pat on my back from Syoro Arak. Even in defeat, Potos Grammar booed and hissed. Luka College gave me applause. I headed over to the table where my small trophy was waiting, and after shaking the silent official’s hand, he presented me with it.

“Well done,” he whispered.

I walked over to where I was supposed to go, and wait to see Dogo Tyrope lift the Cup again for the fourth time running. As I saw him do it, he sneered at me.

There and then, I decided it would be the second-most worst thing that had ever happened to me, the first naturally being Ark’s loss. A tear rolled down my cheek. Just as I was starting to get places and leave the past behind me, it came back in the most horrible way it could. My childhood’s horrors had leapt back out of the shadows.