Lesray and I were often pitted against each other. The tutors soon realised that Josef and I would never attack the other. We always worked far too well together, and that was a dynamic the tutors wished to endorse and nurture rather than break. I think the tutors believed we would keep each other strong and dedicated to the Orran cause. Looking back, I think they were right. Josef didn't have my loyalty to Orran, and I kept him true. I didn't have his power or wisdom and he kept me alive.
But Lesray hated me. I had no idea why. We were paired against each other because the tutors of the academy considered us of nearly equal strength. I was attuned to six Sources and Lesray to five. That we both could use Pyromancy and Portamancy was another reason. The tutors deemed it important that we learn to fight using magic that the enemy could also control. In a battle of magic, countering an opponent is often as important as striking a blow.
We were in our third year of training when Lesray first tried to kill me. She claimed otherwise, of course, but I know the truth of it even if the tutors believed her.
Pyromancy is not, as many believe, the magic of controlling fire, but temperature. A well-trained Pyromancer can burn a city to the ground or freeze a lake. We were trained to fight with both fire and ice, trading fire balls and freezing the ground beneath us. I have always found myself to be strongly attuned to the magic, and especially to the flames. Despite that, Lesray was stronger. Or maybe just better. Or maybe just more ruthless. Whichever one it was, she was also a cunt.
I have always preferred to tint my fire green, for no other reason than I can, and I like the colour. Lesray preferred an icy blue, I think to confuse her opponents. It made it harder to tell if she was trying to freeze or burn me. Though in truth it was usually both.
The sparring ground lit with the light of flames crashing against each other. The sandstone walls were blasted with so much heat the rock had long since turned black. Even the ground underfoot was brittle from so much fire and ice. I don't remember the fight as clearly as I'd like; the memory is blurred by the pain that followed it. I remember we spent some time trading flame, turning each other's attacks upon themselves. Footwork is important, as it is in any form of combat, and we circled each other, always on the move. Always watching for an opening.
The bitch-whore attacked me with a plume of fire that rippled across the ground towards me like a wave. I was about to leap over it, only my foot wouldn't move. I didn't even notice when she had frozen it to the ground. It was all I could do to throw up my arms and block the wave of fire with my own raw power, which obscured my vision. That should have been it, a victory claimed by academy rules. I never saw the icicle coming, only felt the frozen agony in my side.
I remember dropping to my knees, screaming. As the flames died down, I saw the icicle melt away and looked up to see Lesray wearing a nasty grin, knowing she had won. Knowing she had killed me. It was short lived as Josef hit her with a psychokinetic blast that crumpled her against the far wall. It was still too late though. I collapsed onto the ground, bleeding out from a hole in my side as large as a fist.
Josef reached me first. I remember feeling his magic flood into me as he tried to heal me with his Biomancy. Just twelve years old and he knew more about the terran anatomy than most of the tutors. I remember those tutors arriving and feeling other people's magic inside of me. I remember the pain. Then I blacked out. Josef liked to tell me how scared he was when I stopped screaming. He could feel my heart beating through his Biomancy and he later told me he was certain he felt it stop.
When I woke, my head was pounding and my side felt like it was on fire. The irony was not lost on me. Josef was asleep in a chair next to my cot, his face pale and drawn. His skin waxy and sunken. I'm told the tutors tried to remove him but he fought them. You might think a twelve-year-old is mostly harmless. You would be very wrong. Eventually they let him stay, and I don't think he stopped healing me with his magic even for a moment. I lost five days of life in that attempt, and a few weeks spent recovering. Josef spent almost as long regaining the health he had poured into me. All magic takes a toll on the Sourcerer, and Biomancy is no exception. As far as I'm aware, Lesray was never even punished. At least not by the academy tutors. I, however, have a long memory and a passion for holding grudges.
Rope was something of a rare possession down in the Pit. Not because there was no rope to be found, it was everywhere from buckets to carts to lifts. It was rare because all the rope that was delivered to the Pit was needed. Deko was a thug and ran the Pit like a criminal empire, but he had people keeping track of every resource that was brought in, and things like rope were allocated sparingly. That wasn't to say there was none to be found for scabs like me. You just had to know where to look.
I knew the man I was after and had a good idea of where he might be. Lepold was a tall, gangly scab who had peculiar habit of taking old rope worn beyond use, peeling it apart and then braiding it back together. I think he somehow found the mind-numbing tedium of it fun, or relaxing. The Pit had no shortage of madmen. He carried a number of lengths around with him and used them as stakes for particularly valuable games of chance. I was confident I could best Lepold in most of the games he liked to play, but I was less confident that I had something valuable enough to entice him to put any of his precious rope on the line.
Given my soaring infamy amongst the scabs, I probably could have jumped ahead of the people waiting to sit at the table. Everywhere I went I drew stares and whispers, and every time Deko summoned me, the rumours grew. I think the scars and healing wounds helped as well. I was fairly certain I looked like a feral crag cat, and a vicious one at that. Yet I waited my turn, and watched the game unfold, studying Lepold and the other players for their tells.
When a spot opened up on the table I slipped onto the stool and smiled at the others. I had something of a reputation on the tables as well as off, and two players laughed and packed away their stakes when I sat down. Luckily, Lepold wasn't one of them.
He gave me a nod of respect and I returned it. "I was hoping to get a chance at some rope," I said quickly, before anyone could decide on their stakes.
"Not trading on your name, I hope." The gangly rope braider replied. "I'll want something of equal value up for stake."
I reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box, setting it on the table.
"A snuff box?" Lepold asked. "With respect..."
"It doesn't have fucking snuff in it," I said with a knowing smile then let the silence hang between us.
"Uh, so what's in it?" Lepold asked.
I tapped the lid of the box. "You'll have to win it to find out."
I saw the other two players look to Lepold, and I saw Lepold bite at his lip. From the games I'd watched him play I discovered he always liked to see the other players' chips even after he'd gone out of the game. He was curious by nature, and I was going make him hang himself on that curiosity. After a few moments, he pulled a length of rope from his belt and laid it on the table. It wasn't a long braid, maybe as tall as Hardt, but it would be enough; we'd make it work. The other two players put up their own stakes. I had to admit I'd be a rich woman if I won the game. Well, rich in Pit standards, which is to say a fucking pauper anywhere else.
"Mind if I play?" Josef slipped into the last remaining seat. I bit back a curse. The voice in my head warned me he was trying to derail all my plans, and at the time it seemed like truth.