THE FORTUNIST

Wuxhia

“The Tai Forest surrounds the whole of Albeny except the Dropp River and the Albenian Port."

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The struggle in Xihan's study continues, both combatants unable to land a blow on the other. At a point, they both find themselves in defensive stances. Xihan behind the study table where his robbed safe is. Wuxhia by the door.

Xihan stabs his dagger on the table. It sticks in and stands. "Truce."

Wuxhia tilts his head and rolls his eyes. "You have a minute."

Xihan lets out an exhausted sigh. His fighting hand falls limply to his side and he runs a hand through his short white hair. "What you are attempting to do is forbidden. The cryfix was taken from Salem  for this very reason. We were saving them from themselves. If you do it, you tarnish the image of the Dropp House and all the houses subject to it."

Wuxhia scoffs. He removes the comb from his hair causing it to cascade down his shoulders. "We don't know the magic that created the cryfixes but we know of what lies beyond them. I am already halfway through. You are just mad I beat you to it. We both read the scroll. One of us has to go. I didn't say it. The Fortunist did.

"What I don't understand is why you had to bring Bala into it. Why did you not understand the hint I gave for you to leave him out? This should not be happening in fact. I should have been on my way out of Albeny or wait, would you have decided to kill me too?

"Nobody would be able to assume that I am you since nobody knows the true power of the cryfixes. I can utilise your body far better than you can. You rest all your dreams and aspirations on the fickle words of a witch whose identity you don't know. Told you to marry my mother and you did. Told you to have only one child, and apparently you did. Told you to become a general and you became a general. For once, it never crossed your mind that you could have been more. You let a woman set the boundaries of your life."

"It wasn't a woman."

"Well it is now!"

"You will regret this. I know you will."

"I am not supposed to regret making you regret. Have you finally started seeing that you could have been much more than a general and that you could have had so many children instead of just a brat which would turn out to be me? Well, have you?"

Xihan laughs spitefully. "You want to feel like a vigilante at my expense, eh? The Fortunist did not just declare out of nowhere that your 'so called' servant would die. He had it coming. You heard that right. He had it coming when he forfeited his fortune to you."

Wuxhia falters. "How did you…? I… I did not tell you that."

"You are so ignorant aren't you?" Xihan mocks. "You are like a baby bird. You know the true power of the cryfixes. Lords how you know that when you don't know anyone who forfeits their fortune to someone else forfeits their life along with it."

Silence.

"You are lying," Wuxhia finally says.

"Review your life experiences son. I may have done a lot of things, but I have never lied to you…"

"YOU ARE LYING!"

In a flash of rage, Wuxhia is front of Xihan within a second, sword raised. Xihan has anticipated the reckless move. He sidesteps Wuxhia's blow and uses his dagger to flick Salem's cryfix out of Wuxhia's grip. The comb sails through the air. Wuxhia reaches out to catch it. Xihan beats him to it by banging down Wuxhia's elbow and catching the comb. Swiftly, he sets it down on the ground. He raises his dagger. He strikes the glowing purple amethyst.

"No!" Wuxhia's panicked cry chokes him, almost as if he can feel the stab dealt on the magical item. His restraint explodes and his fury rules. He strikes. Blood flows. A growing feeling spreads from Xihan's back. He tries to ignore the blurriness and attempts to strike the comb a second time.

His dagger misses.

Wuxhia quickly picks up the blood drenched comb. The mortal liquid has somehow managed to seep in through a crack in the amethyst causing its glow to fluctuate.

"Look what you've done," Wuxhia hisses. He bends down and starts using his father's robe to wipe the comb.

"Don't do it," Xihan groans, "Don't send me away." His hands give way under him and he crumples. Wuxhia kneels by his side and turns him over. He tosses away his father's sword and directs his grip to Xihan's throat, gradually strangling him.

"Kill me," Xihan chokes, almost managing a grin. He massages his son's wrists. "Do it."

But Wuxhia would not do it. Not because he cannot but because his plans would be rendered useless if his father dies. He wrenches his hands away with a frustrated grunt. Xihan coughs and swallows as much air as he can.

"See what I was telling you?" Xihan asks, still grinning with teeth stained red. "The Fortunist would not have foretold Bala's death if you hadn't allowed Bala to forfeit his fortune to you. He would have died anyway. I only did him a favour by giving him certainty. Don't tell me you thought you could save him."

"From your hands yes. It'd have been better if Bala was crushed by a moving train than for him to die by your hands."

"He didn't think so when I convinced him to put his head through the noose."

"You are just a damned bloodthirsty fool."

The general smirks. No inkling of remorse is detectable on his face. "By damning me you are damning yourself," he says, "we are one and the same."

"We are nothing alike. I'm not sure you would have done what I did that night when the Fortunist asked for a chair to sit on. As if she was a blind queen who did not know she was no longer in her comfy palace. There was no seat and we were too respectful of her reputation to offer her bug infested rags. So should we have left her to stand? Bala did not want me to tell her there was nothing for her to sit on. He wanted to tell her himself— so that if she got royally angry, it would be him struck down by her powers.

"It honestly didn't make sense to me, it still doesn't now. I'd rather be known for being killed by the Fortunist than for returning from a fruitless quest of trying to find her. So, I blurted it all out before Bala could muster up the courage to do so. Bala immediately burst into tears. I didn't blame him. He thought I was going to die.

"I thought if I had let him say it, he was going to be the one to die. I… I think I needed him alive. Right then, the Fortunist laughs and says: 'I wish your master was the one crying though,' as if we were nothing but opera characters."

Wuxhia laughs mirthlessly. He gently places the comb beside his labouring father. He starts gathering his hair in a ponytail.

"Seviem."