The Ironrite

Before, Lysandra loved the Ironrite. The way the sunset painted the trees. In the fields, the way the grass swayed with child-like excitement. Now the breeze whispered like a dying wish, and the grass shriveled under its weight.

When they traveled to the Ironrite festival, they passed through echoes of Neoreus’ evergreen nature. This year, a blackness stained its trees. It crawled through towns and crops before harvest. Grass that once danced had been reduced to thin roots.

But like every Ironrite, tents littered the surviving fields, and within—murmurings of nervousness. Before the day’s end, a nominated ironling would duel their peers, and Lysandra’s friend, Rex,took on the challenge. Before the day’s end, a Steelbrite would be forged from battle and marked with a tattoo. Lysandra hoped he would win this festival, but she prayed that he wouldn’t.

Near his family’s tent and campfire, he sat alone on a log. Lysandra touched his shoulder before sitting near him.

He responded with a quick smile, then receded back into his thoughts. Ironlings were usually left alone—an unspoken etiquette to leave them for meditation.

“You’ll do fine,” Lysandra said.

“I will,” he replied blankly.

“What’re you worried about?”

“Nothing,” he said.

After hearing their voices, his mother —Myrin—walked over from another campfire, holding water. Rex took most of his physical qualities from her. The same oaky-colored hair, and doe-like eyes.

“It’s best to leave him alone,” Myrin said.

Lysandra nodded and stood to leave. Before she walked away, Rex grabbed her hand and tugged. His gaze mellowed when it caught hers, and he gnawed on the inside of his lip.

“Don’t,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

His mother smiled and gave him the water. “It’s hot,” she said, ”Don’t gulp it, sip it.” She glanced at the both of them and turned back to the other campfire.

Rex waited until Lysandra settled back on the log. “Remember when Lyam won the Ironrite?” he asked.

She chuckled. “It seemed more like a formality than a competition.”

He smiled and continued. “Your brother broke a lot of hearts that time. But I’m talking about us.” He took a sip from his water and pointed at a distant hill ridden with dead trees and grass. “We played over there and watched him.”

“I remember,” Lysandra said, then tilted her head, waiting for his true message.

“There’s nothing here in Neoreus anymore, Lys. I see you after every bout. That thing you do when you’re upset.” He aggressively rubbed at his arms and whimpered, acting as she would.

Lysandra jabbed his shoulder with slight embarrassment. “You got me. What do you want from me? I’m not going to tell you to lose.”

He took another sip. “You didn’t accept it, being an Ironling. I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Are you judging me for wanting this?”

“Judging you—? No, I just don’t want it. I see my brother after every contract, and the waypointers—? Trust me, I don’t want it.”

“I see him too. But, we need this. If we…” He chewed on his nail.

“We?”

His knee bounced. “If I lose, what’re we going to do? We can’t just sit back home and wait till next year. This is it. I have to win.”

“Winning isn’t going to grow more food,” Lysandra said.

“I know, I know. But we don’t have to stop the blight. We just need some money and we can go wherever. I can take on the Steelbrite contracts. Even just one, we’re set.” His eyes dropped to the ground.

Lysandra scoffed. “I know your parents. They’d rather die than leave Neoreus. They likely stocked up with decades’ worth of sweet-root or something.”

Eventually, Rex’s eyes bounced from the ground and met her gaze. “I’m not talking about my parents.”

In the distance, a shout rang across the field, calling for Rex.

He exhaled three rapid breaths, and shook his head. “I have to go.”

When he stood, Lysandra pulled his arm. “Don’t win.”

He turned away. “I have to,” he said.

Lysandra ran her fingers through her hair. In her pocket, a wooden bracelet she carved and spent weeks polishing, meaning to give it to him before the final match.

Her dad walked by, on the way to the match. He noticed her. “You’re going to miss it.”

“I don’t know if I want to watch it.”

“Nonsense,” he said. He extended out his hand, and she took it.

Lysandra lagged as they walked, eventually, her dad had to stop so she could catch up.

“He wants to be a Steelbrite for me,” she confessed.

“That’s sweet.”

She huffed, “It’s not.”

“Maybe if you didn’t beat him up everyday, he’d have more confidence,” he said. “He’s looking for validation.”

“No—I don’t know.” She stared at the ground. “What if he wins? How did you and mom be the way you are after being Steelbrites, and—and why is Lyam so different?”

He laughed and stroked his chin, opening his mouth a few times and closing it before speaking. Finally, he found the words. “Your mom and I, we didn’t do too much as Steelbrites, I suppose. We never took any of the high contracts—y’know. Just made some money here and there and came back. And Lyam… he was always ambitious. Looking back, I think I shouldn’t have taught him the things I taught him, y’know, let him fail a little.”

“You didn’t teach me much,” Lysandra said.

“No,” he sighed. “Lyam did.”

After a second, he tossed his arm around her shoulder and walked with her. His breath smelled rotten with beer, and he chuckled when she winced from the stench. “Gross,” she muttered.

“Your mom doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Disgusting,” she laughed.

The bout started when they reached the Ironrite ring, a crude wooden circle. Inside, two fighters. Rex and his opponent—a woman hailing from Berava—circled inside the wooden ring. In their hands, they readied hardened wood—a mimicry of Neoresian blades.

One of the spectators yelled, “Get on with it!” Jeers of agreement followed.

Rex moved first. He faked a lunge. His feet stuttered, prompting a reaction.

His opponent parried an empty strike.

Rex’s attack continued, striking her on the neck. His opponent snatched the wooden sword as it hit her. She growled, then pried it from Rex’s grip.

Now weaponless, Rex dove to tackle her down, but she sidestepped and struck his back. He stumbled forward and distanced himself.

The crowd leaned forward. They knew it was over. For a second, he caught Lysandra’s eye and bit his lip.

Once the woman was midstep, he dove in again, this time with wicked speed. he sprawled, but it was too late; he had hooked his hands into her legs. While he pivoted, she struck him three more times in the back. He roared in pain, but continued twisting her to the ground. The ground stole the woman’s breath, and Rex maneuvered his knee to her neck, stealing more breath.

“Enough!” a spectator yelled.

The woman flailed her sticks around until Rex twisted them away. He tossed them to the side and forced more weight on her neck.

“I give,” she said, breathlessly.

He released his knee and offered a hand to his opponent. After a slight frown, she took it. Rex winced and stretched his back. The Beravan woman laughed and massaged her neck.

After, the crowd cheered for the newest Steelbrite as they poured over the ring, congratulating him.

Rex’s parents ruffled his hair and pointed to a bonfire. The bonfire burned with the melting sun, giving new light for the day’s end. Food and drink were already being passed around for celebration.

Lysandra’s dad rested his hand on her shoulder. “Cheer up,” he said.

“I’m cheer,” Lysandra responded flatly.

The crowd scattered towards the bonfire and her dad joined them. A cold wind blew, chilling Lysandra, and she rubbed her arms.

After everyone left, Rex made his way to Lysandra. He smiled, then his expression thinned. “Well,” he said, “I won.”

Lysandra looked away. “I’m happy for you.”

“Are you?” he asked.

She continued to rub her arms. “You’ll have to choose a contract tomorrow. How many marks does it take for you to murder?”

“It’s not like that. You know that.” His eyes narrowed.

“Do you?” Her eyes snapped to his.

“It’s different Lys. We’re not assassins, and the kill contracts are only for bandits, dangerous criminals, just bad people. Steebrites—they… make sure they can’t take more lives.”

“Sure,” she said, looking away again.

“Lys.” He gnawed on his lip. “You’re right.”

She stayed silent.

“What would you rather me do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “stay?”

“And what? Rot away like everything around us?”

She thought for a moment. “Is that so bad? Is it so bad that I want that?”

“No,” he said. “But, is it so bad that I want more?”

“More what? More money?”

Rex touched her arm, pulling in her gaze. “More time.”

For a moment, his touch fought off the cold, and her thoughts melted away. Shouting rang from the near bonfire, calling for the newest Steelbrite. “I—I think they’re waiting for you.”

Unmoving, he blinked and bit his lip, begging for her response.

“I’d only want more time if you could promise it to me,” she confessed.

“I promise,” he said.

“You can’t—”

“I can. As a Steelbrite. I can.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t a contract, Steelbrite.” In her pocket—a bracelet—she pulled it out and handed it to Rex.

He brushed his finger along the polished edges, stopping at the letters burned into it—L & R.

“I want it back when you return,” she said.

He placed the bracelet on his wrist and stared at it longer. “It’s beautiful.”

Lysandra grabbed his hand and pulled it close. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

Myrin hurried over. “They’re ready for you.” After a look, she teased a grin. “I’m sure they can wait.”

“It’s fine,” Lysandra said. “I’ll release him.” Reluctantly, she let go of his hands.

Myrin led him to the bonfire, but at each step Rex glanced back.

For the first time, Lysandra stood alone during the Steelbrite celebration. She looked towards the sky. Even after the sun disappeared, the sky clung onto its fading orange. Fighting against the oncoming darkness, the Ironrite’s waning bonfire. Smaller fires around it cooked nostalgic haze, carrying charred venison and likely rodent stew.

The scent was enough to pull Lysandra forward. After a couple minutes, she rejoined her family’s fire. Both Rex’s family and hers shared it, like they always had, for as long as she could remember. Rex and his mother were the only two missing from the typical Ironrite gathering. Around the fire, her family cooked skewered venison chops. Her mom and dad leaned against each other using their shoulders, keeping each other upright.

Lysandra found a long tree stump to sit on, and as she sat, the chatter quieted. Instinctively, she stretched out her arms to ask for a skewer, then noticed the hushing.

They stared, their faces waiting for recognition, as if holding in a collective sneeze.

“Yes?” she asked.

Her dad guffawed, and the rest followed. Rex’s father, Kaer, dropped a hand on her dad’s shoulder.

Kaer held in a fit of laughter to ask Lysandra a question.“Who said it first?”

Her dad eventually handed her a skewer. “I bet it was Lys, she’s not a wimp,” her dad said, elbowing Kaer.

“My son’s a fully, soon to be, completely formalized Steelbrite. I wouldn’t call him a wimp.”

“Please,” her dad said, “they give that tattoo to anybody.”

“I suppose they gave it to you, didn’t they?” Kaer raised an eyebrow.

They both cracked even more; whatever held laughter had now burst into fits.

Lysandra shrugged, and kept a steady eye on her food.

“So?” Kaer asked again. “Did Rex tell you?”

Lysandra reeled in her food. “Tell me what?”

“That he—” Kaer giggled. “He—uhm, fancies you.”

Her dad snorted, “you can’t even say it!”

They punched each other’s arms, then remembered they were waiting for her response.

“I— I don’t remember who said it first,” Lysandra said.

“Aww,” her dad groaned.

Kaer flicked his hand away. “She would’ve lied anyway!”

Lysandra’s mom leaned forward, her face glowed as she neared the fire. “You’re a bunch of fools,” she said. In many ways, Lysandra carried herself like her mother, admiring her qualities. Her mother pushed up her chin, and scoffed. “Knowing them—it’s blatantly obvious my daughter said it first.” She busted into laughter and jabbed surrounding shoulders. Perhaps not all of her qualities.

A finger tapped on her shoulder. “What’re they laughing about now?” Rex asked.

They all threw up their palms, pointing at him.

“Show us Neoresian’s Might,” Kaer growled flashing his own Steelbrite tattoo.

Rex grinned and turned so that they could see. Blood lined some of the tattoo and began to dry.

Lysandra’s dad winced and sucked in his teeth. “A couple of mistakes there, might need to get another one.”

As Myrin circled around the fire, she swatted Lysandra’s dad and sat next to Kaer. As Myrin settled, Kaer wrapped his arm around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder. It seemed as natural as the wind.

They all shared the same smirk, waiting to see where Rex would sit, how he would move, or if he even noticed that they knew. But, like every year, he sat next to Lysandra. Like every year, they shared the same skewer, taking turns on every other bite. The families kept their smile but subsided into their own conversation, leaving the two alone.

“Did it hurt?” Lysandra asked.

Rex took a bite out of the skewer and checked to see if anyone kept out an ear. “It hurt so much,” he whispered. “It was awful.”

Lysandra snorted as she took her bite. “Serves you right,” she said with a mouthful.

“Serves me right?”

Lysandra swallowed. “For not listening to me.”

He responded with a tired smile. “That’s right,” he said. “I hope it’s forgivable.”

“I’m considering it.” Lysandra rested her head on Rex. “I’m pretty forgiving,” she said.

For the rest of the night, the families laughed and cried in shared stories. Some of them retold, but still enjoyed nonetheless. Rex and Lysandra whispered to each other. Explanations on how their house should sit on the hill, crops they’d need to grow, and an argument on how long venison stew was supposed to cook. Once the fire settled down, they slept next to each other, both dreading the next day.