Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, VISH the poppy-seed-addicted assassin, RISS the spirit-summoning girl, and QUEL the water-projecting bard. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they are competing in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD…

EPISODE FORTY-TWO: THE TOURNAMENT: SEMI-FINAL ONE

“Alright, team huddle time,” Nuthea said when she had got everyone assembled in the dugout.

The tournament officials didn’t seem to mind that they were congregating in the stuffy underground chamber even though they weren’t technically all combatants.

The party formed up, linking arms and making a face-to-face circle. Though the newcomers hesitated at first they got the idea easily enough, even if Cid and Elrann had to stoop slightly to fit Riss in.

“Right,” said Nuthea. She needed to be quick, as after Cid had healed Huld the Governor had said they had five minutes before the next match. “Let’s review how things stand: Ryn, Captain Sagar, and Shadowfinger Vish all won your Quarter-Final matches–well done!”

Ryn nodded. “Thanks.”

Sagar grunted the barest acknowledgement. He appeared to be sulking about something.

Vish didn’t say anything.

Nuthea suppressed a sigh. “Grandfather Cid will heal all of you too so that you’re ready to fight again, since the Tournament is going to be carrying on straight away.”

“Why did the Governor change his mind on that?” asked Ryn, wasting time.

“I’m not sure. Probably something to do with the change in weather. That has gone in our favour.”

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that?” said Elrann.“Clear skies all day, and now all of a sudden it looks like it’s going to pour.” She looked over at Quel. “You have water powers, right, music-man? Are you something to do with this?”

Quel shook his head, the blue hair of his fringe quivering. “No, Mistress Elrann; it has nothing to do with me. The Sapphire-touched can manipulate water in gaseous and solid as well as liquid form, true, but it would take quite a lot of us to influence the course of an entire weather system, and I am just one man.”

“Never mind that now,” said Nuthea, eager to move the discussion on. “What’s important is that the Governor has decided that the tournament can conclude today. Now, the two semi-finals will be Ryn against Shadowfinger Vish and Captain Sagar against Brother Huld. Sagar against Huld is straightforward enough, as we know who we want to win–”

“Do you think you can take him, Sagar?” Ryn asked, cutting Nuthea off.

“Hm?” said Sagar, attention coming back from wherever it had been. “Oh, yeah, you had better damn well bet I can take him. I’m not afraid of Baldy.”

“You are aware, aren’t you,” Grandfather Cid said before Nuthea could get another word in, “that the element of wind is completely ineffectual against the element of earth, in combat terms?”

Sagar blew the air out through his nostrils. “Yeah, I know, old timer. But that don’t mean I can’t use my powers to my advantage. Just you watch. I’ll beat him without blowing him over.”

“If you’re sure…” said Cid.

“Anyway,” said Nuthea, “what is more pressing for us to talk about is Ryn and Shadowfinger Vish’s match, since both of you are in our party.”

“What’s there to talk about?” said Sagar. “The scumsucker is the better fighter. You should just let him win,” he said to Ryn, “and be done with it.”

“Hey!” said Ryn, and the air in the huddle got a little warmer. “Shut up, Sagar! Vish may have been fighting longer, but I have fire magic!”

“Well it’s not like it matters anyway,” Sagar said, “as I’m just going to thrash whichever one of you goes through in the Final in any case.”

“Shadowfinger Vish,” Nuthea said, before Ryn could rise any further to Sagar’s posturing, “what do you think is the best course of action?”

Vish regarded her coolly above his face covering. “It makes no difference to me, girl. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it. I will win this battle, I will lose this battle, I will stay out of the Final, I will go into the Final–whichever. All I care about is that you give me some more poppy when this is done. As long as you do that, I will do whatever you want.”

Nuthea saw Cid hold himself back from saying something.

“Okay…” she said. She knew that Vish was by far the better fighter as Sagar had said. But she didn’t want to hurt Ryn’s feelings. “What would you rather do, Ryn?”

“Well, I think that–”

“People of Farr!” came the shout of the tournament announcer from outside all of a sudden. “For your first semi-final, I give you Ryn of Efstan versus Vish of Aibar!”

“Was that really five minutes?!” said Ryn. “We haven’t—”

“There’s no time!” Nuthea said, breaking the huddle. “Quick, get out there into the arena, both of you! I’m sure you’ll figure it out! Er, good luck!”

She ushered Ryn and Vish off in the direction of the entry tunnel.,

As Ryn looked briefly over his shoulder at her before walking out Nuthea ignored the twinge of guilt in her chest.

Neither of them moved.

Vish just stood there in his black uniform and head covering, eyes bleary and bloodshot. He didn’t even bother adopting a fighting posture.

A memory flared unbidden in Ryn’s mind of the first time he had fought Vish. How the Shadowfinger had suddenly fallen upon him and the others in the woods outside Ast, how he had been vicious, methodical and deadly, in the end only stopped by an unexpected pistol-shot from Elrann.

Did Ryn really have any kind of chance in a contest of hand-to-hand combat against such a skilled and highly trained fighter as Vish?

Probably not, no; not even if I have trained hard and gotten a lot better at fighting since then.

But Ryn did have something which Vish didn’t.

Damn him if he was going to use it straight away though.

“Begin!” shouted the announcer.

Ryn ran at Vish, crossing the arena floor in a matter of moments, and punched him in the face.

To his surprise the punch connected, the impact flashing across Ryn’s knuckles, and Vish’s head snapped back. The Shadowfinger took a couple of steps backwards, then steadied himself.

Huh?

Nobody in the audience cheered or made any kind of noise. They were as confused as Ryn.

Investigating, he stepped forwards and kicked the Shadowfinger in the chest with his right foot, using a kick that Vish himself had taught him. Vish grunted, taking the force of the blow, and stepped back a few more paces. Ryn followed through with a series of punches that finished with an elbow strike, using another sequence that Vish had taught him.

Every blow hit home. The Shadowfinger took the full force of each one, shuffling backwards and coming to a halt a couple of paces away.

“What are you doing?” Ryn whispered to the Shadowfinger, hoping that nobody else would be able to hear.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing’?’” Vish replied, having the courtesy to keep his voice low too.

“Why aren’t you fighting me properly?”

The Shadowfinger shrugged. “You didn’t say what you wanted me to do yet.”

“I want you to fight me!” Ryn hissed.

The Shadowfinger raised a dark eyebrow. “You do? Are you sure?”

“Yes! Don’t go easy on me just because we know each other! That won’t impress anybody, and it might get us disqualified for cheating!”

The other eyebrow raised. “You are really sure?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then.”

Ryn took two steps forward and swung a right hook at Vish.

The Shadowfinger sidestepped as easily as if he was performing the learned steps of a dance.

And then his leg lashed out.

Ryn lifted up into the air, came down, hit the ground on his back and rolled over a few times.

Then he felt the pain. He curled up, clutching his stomach, which ached horribly where Vish had kicked him.

Now the crowd cheered. The noise of it filled his ears, hurting him even more than the kick had. Why were they cheering for Vish, and not him? Ryn supposed that Vish’s attack had had a bit more of an effect than his own…

“One!” called the announcer, beginning the count.

Ryn pressed his hands to the arena floor and shakily pushed himself up onto his feet, stomach still smarting.

Vish was standing a long way away. He had kicked Ryn so hard that he had flown across half the arena.

And yet, he sensed that the Shadowfinger had still held something back. Vish could have finished this match in one blow had he wanted to, like he had done in his last match.

Fire rose in Ryn’s chest, but he willed it down and breathed out, letting the energy dissipate through his nostrils. He wouldn’t resort to it yet. He had more pride than that.

He ran at Vish again, this time arriving with a jumping kick–another move the Shadowfinger had taught him.

Vish stepped lazily out of the way and countered with a punch to Ryn’s chest, quick and precise as a pistol-shot.

This time Ryn hit the arena floor so hard that he bounced and flipped over, landing face down and seeing stone. Searing pain in his chest joined the pain in his stomach. Had Vish broken one of his ribs?

“Three!” he heard the announcer call over the noise of the crowd. He hadn’t heard the first two counts. Had he blacked out for a moment?

“Four!”

Ryn managed to force himself up by the count of “Five!”

He gave a few agonising coughs and some blood came out of his mouth and ran down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of a hand.

Vish stood a few paces away.

“Are you sure you want me to fight you?” the Shadowfinger whispered, inclining his head. “It does not seem to be going very well for you.”

Fire rose again. “Yes!” Ryn growled through gritted teeth.

“Would you like me to hit you out of bounds to get it done quickly?”

“Just shut up and fight me properly, Vish!” Ryn shouted, no longer caring if the audience heard. “Fight me as if I was a regular opponent! Treat me like a man, not a little boy!”

Some people in the audience laughed.

“Raaargh!” Ryn thrust out two hands and launched a fireball at Vish from only paces away.

The Shadowfinger’s eyes went wide and he cartwheeled to the side, turning over in the air as the fireball rushed through the air where he had just been standing and out over the heads of the crowd, who gasped and ducked.

Ryn chucked another fireball at Vish as he landed, then another and another. He aimed them at Vish’s feet so that when the Shadowfinger dodged out of the way of them they hit the arena floor, scorching it black.

In moments Ryn had the Shadowfinger running and leaping around the arena to get out of the way of his fireballs, which he hurled again and again at him, listening with pleasure as the crowd now murmured and marvelled at his own attacks.

Vish was incredibly fast and agile, but he couldn’t keep this up forever. Could he?

The Shadowfinger executed a leaping somersault to get out of the way of a fireball that came dangerously close to hitting him, sending him particularly high.

Ryn saw where he was going to land.

He flung his hand out, launching another fireball at the spot.

Vish came down exactly where Ryn had predicted, and the fireball hit him in the legs, engulfing them in an orange burst for a moment.

Vish cried out, and fell to the ground, rolling over a few times from the momentum of his leap, which also served to put out the flames around his legs.

Ryn grimaced. His satisfaction at the hit had been immediately tempered by the worry that he might have hurt Vish.

Some fighter I am.

But the Shadowfinger quickly patted out the remaining flames on his trousers that hadn’t been extinguished by his roll, then sprang back to his feet and ran back across the arena, straight at Ryn.

Straight at Ryn, who was too shocked by the speed of Vish’s reaction to get out of the way in time.

Ryn lit himself on fire.

Vish pulled up, stopping just in front of Ryn with his fist held back ready, but not following through with his punch.

The crowd made admiring noises at Ryn, and he smiled. He couldn’t help himself.

“Ingenious…” Vish said, staying still as the flames flickered all around Ryn’s body, enveloping him in a fiery aura. “If you are covered in fire, it will burn me to touch you. Although I might still be able to hit you hard enough once to knock you out of bounds or incapacitate you without burning myself too much. Is that a chance you are willing to take, boy? And what of your so-called ‘mana’, that the old man is always talking about? How long before that runs out?”

That was a fair point, but Ryn wasn’t about to concede it openly. Now that he was using his fire magic he might actually have a chance against Vish, and at preserving his pride.

“I think the real question,” he replied, “is how long you will last against me while I am using my fire. I’ve been working hard at training and getting stronger with it. And Nuthea told me that every time I’ve fought and pushed myself to my limit and used all my mana up, my capacity has increased afterwards.”

Vish nodded. “Then this may be something of an even fight now.”

Ryn bristled. What an arrogant thing to say. But he knew Vish was just stating a fact. It didn’t seem in the Shadowfinger’s nature to gloat.

“Looks like it w–” Ryn started, but then Vish stepped forwards and followed through with his original punch, taking Ryn completely by surprise.

He was knocked backwards, stumbling over his own feet, his fire-aura extinguished. His feet came to the edge of something and he teetered on it, waving his arms in circles to try to regain his balance..

The edge of the arena! He was about to fall out of bounds!

As he began to fall, Ryn put out his arms behind him, flattened his palms, and blasted fire from them.

The audience gasped as the force of the flames thrust Ryn back into the arena.

He kept on going, turning his propelled movement into a run, and lit himself on fire again.

Vish had been shaking the hand he had hit Ryn with up and down, and now his eyes went wide with surprise.

But Ryn was moving so fast he didn’t have time to prepare a proper strike. Instead he just lowered his head and crashed into the Shadowfinger like a flaming human battering ram.

“Ungh!” grunted Vish, from the impact or the heat of the flames, Ryn did not know.

The Shadowfinger fell on his back and Ryn came to a stop standing over him, still on fire. Acting on instinct, he held out his hand where he stood, palm in front of Vish’s face.

The crowd cheered for him now.

Please let Nuthea be watching, he thought.

“One!” the announcer began his count since Vish was down and on his back.

“Move, and I’ll blast you with fire,” Ryn said through the flames that radiated from his body.

Sweat trickled down Vish’s forehead and into his eyes. “We both know you will not do that, boy,” the Shadowfinger said as he pushed himself up onto his elbows so that the announcer stopped his count.

Ryn hesitated. It was true. But he was doing so well, and he still had the advantage.

“You don’t know that for sure…” Ryn said carefully. “Even if I hit you point-blank with a fire attack, Cid can always heal you afterwards...”

“But do you know that for sure, boy?” Vish said. “What if you accidentally kill me? You’ve killed Imperial soldiers with fire attacks at greater distance. The old man won’t be able to bring me back from death.”

Ryn opened his mouth, but he didn’t have a response to that.

“Go on,” said Vish, more quietly this time so that only Ryn would be able to hear, fixing him with his grey eyes. “Do it. Trust me, boy, you’ll be doing me a favour. I am probably never going to change anyway.”

Ryn faltered. Was Vish seriously asking him to end his life? There was no way in Mid he would ever do that. He had made that decision once already, and that had been before Vish had fought alongside him and saved his life multiple times.

Ryn sighed, though he still kept his hand held out in front of him. “Why don’t you just yield, Vish? What other option do you have?”

Vish snorted through his face covering. “I have more options than you think, boy. It is clever, setting yourself on fire, I will grant you that. But I discovered two things in our little exchange just now: One, you need to concentrate in order to keep yourself on fire. And two, if I hit you fast enough I can avoid burning myself too much.”

Ryn gulped.

Vish pushed himself up with his elbows and twisted, sweeping Ryn’s legs with his foot.

Ryn fell on his side, hitting the stone of the arena floor painfully. He had been caught so off guard he hadn’t reacted in time.

He scrambled back up as quickly as he could, but the Shadowfinger wasn’t in front of him anymore.

A black-clothed arm wrapped itself tightly around his neck from behind, trapping him in its crook.

It was then that Ryn realised his fire had gone out again from the shock of having his legs swept.

Poodoo.

Vish strengthened the chokehold and Ryn gasped for air. He found some, but only a little.

“See?” Vish said menacingly in his ear. “One quick little kick, a heartbeat to sneak behind you, and I have you.”

Vish gave a little squeeze, showing Ryn that he could cut off his air supply completely if he willed.

Ryn choked.

The Shadowfinger loosened his grip again a fraction, just enough for Ryn to find some air.

“There you go,” said Vish quietly. “I have done what you asked: I have fought you properly. I expect to be rewarded with poppy later. Now, I suggest that you yield, so that we can finish this in the smoothest possible manner.”

Ryn gripped Vish’s arm tight, trying to wrench it off, but the Shadowfinger was too strong. He kept willing for fire to explode out of his body, like it had apparently done when Rogar the Unsurpassable had squeezed him unconscious, but nothing happened. Maybe I’m out of mana. Maybe his concentration was too consumed by trying to breathe. Maybe he had to actually pass out in order to activate his secret reserves…

“Vish…” Ryn croaked between frantic gasps for air. “Before…I yield…can I…just ask you…one thing?”

“What?” said the Shadowfinger, vaguely curious. His grip loosened ever so slightly again–not enough for Ryn to break the hold, but enough for him to speak more clearly.

“If Huld beats Sagar and ends up in the Final against you, do you think you can beat him?

A pause. “I am not sure,” said Vish. “I have observed the monk, and he is an extremely skilled and well-trained fighter. And he possesses elemental magic. You have the magic but without the fighting skill. To face an opponent with both…I am not sure that I could win, no.”

Ryn could barely believe his ears. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?!”

“You did not ask,” Vish said simply.

“Do you think I have a chance against him?”

“With your fire magic?” Another brief pause as Vish considered. “Against his ‘earth alignment’ which the old man tells us is vulnerable to it? On that basis only, yes, even though he is by far the superior fighter: Yes, I do.”

“So actually what you’re saying is that I would have a better chance against Huld in the final than you?”

“Yes.”

Ryn couldn’t believe that the Shadowfinger hadn’t thought to tell him this before. He must be so preoccupied with his poppy obsession that he hadn’t paid proper attention to the discussion. This was no longer about Ryn’s pride–if he wanted to maximise their chances of winning the Earth Emerald, he needed to be in the Final.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ve changed my mind.” He kept his voice quiet, hoping that the crowd, who had started to murmur and mutter to one another at this bizarrely long choke-hold exchange, would not be able to hear him. “I don’t want you to fight me properly anymore. I want you to let me win.”

“As you wish.”

The Shadowfinger’s grip began to loosen completely.

“Wait!” whispered Ryn. “We need it to look good! We need to make it look like you didn’t let me win!”

“Alright…” said Vish. “That will be difficult, but we can probably manage. Do exactly as I say…”

The Shadowfinger whispered some instructions to Ryn.

“Okay, got it,” Ryn said.

Then he passed out.

Or at least this time he pretended to pass out.

He shut his eyes and went limp, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Vish lowered him gently to the ground and lay him there, for which Ryn was grateful as he wasn’t sure that he would have been able to maintain his act had the Shadowfinger just casually dropped him.

The crowd cheered, but a bit weakly, like their hearts weren’t really in it, presumably because the match had apparently ended in such a boring way.

Eyes still closed; Ryn heard the announcer begin his count: “One!”

Then he heard Vish say, “Would you like me to stay in the arena until you complete your counting this time?”

“Oh…” said the announcer. “Well, it is customary, if you don’t mind. There is a chance he will get up again before the count finishes, isn’t there?”

“No. But I will stay anyway.”

Ryn continued to lie still on the warm arena floor, watching the colours dancing on the inside of his eyelids and listening to the announcer’s count and the mutterings of the crowd.

“Well that was a bit of a disappointing ending…”

“How come he didn’t do his exploding fire trick like last time?”

“The Aibarian was just too strong. He choked him out before he could do it.”

When the announcer got to “Nine!” Ryn opened his eyes and sprang to his feet.

The crowd inhaled collectively.

Vish was standing at one edge of the arena, facing away from Ryn with his arms folded. He began to turn to see what had happened.

Ryn was already running towards him.

When he saw him, Vish held up his hands in what Ryn knew was mock surprise.

Come on Vish, he just had time to think, at least try to look a bit more surprised.

Ryn lit himself on fire and executed a leaping side-on kick.

He hit Vish square in the chest between his upraised hands, and bounced backwards off him, landing on his back on the arena floor.

Vish flew backwards from the kick in the opposite direction, landing in the sand that encircled the arena, out of bounds.

The crowd exploded with noise, whether from approval, or outrage, or confusion, Ryn couldn’t tell, though he hoped it was the former.

And that was how he won his Semi-Final match against Vish.

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