The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis

A “rumble” is the colloquial term for a sportsmanlike duel between two invokers. Rules are agreed upon before summoning; to break them during a match is considered dishonorable. Gambling on such events is a violation of Borges law.

- Information available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet I

Two days had gone by before the three travelers reached the outskirts of Melville, none of them particularly eventful. To wile away the time, Hayley had attempted to teach Anthony and Philip self-defense; she gave up when she found they had the collective attention span of a bumblebee.

Anthony scuffed his boots in the road, watching the dust swirl about him. “What’s the capital of Ocean Zone?” he asked Hayley.

“The capital of Kamisha,” she corrected him, “is New Haven.”

“New Haven. That sounds weird.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, “It doesn’t sound etymologically similar.”

Hayley squinted at him in a who-even-are-you kind of way. “That’s because the Borges named it New Haven. It used to be nothing but coastline until they took over and built a port city. Even though Kamisha has been around way longer than Ocean Zone, New Haven hasn’t.”

“That’s confusing,” Anthony scratched his head.

“Tell me about it,” the young girl snorted, “the Borges have been trying to get all the Atosians to call their districts by their zone titles for forever—Ocean Zone, Forest Zone, Mountain Zone—but you know how it goes. You can order districts to pay tribute, but try to get them to call something by a new name—that ain’t happenin’.”

She ran her knobby fingers through her hair. “You remember when we used to call ’em starfish and the Borges tried to make us call ’em sea-stars? More scientifically accurate, or something.”

“No, what are you talking about? What’s a starfish?”

“Never mind. It’s an Ocean Zone thing.”

“Hey you guys, check this out,” Philip called the other two to the nearby tree that had caught his attention. Anthony peered at the paper that was nailed haphazardly into the sycamore. Above the print were crudely drawn pictures of him and Philip.

“Well I’ll be,” he whistled, “a wanted poster for us.”

“Just you two, actually,” Hayley said. “Where am I?”

Anthony scanned the small print. “How much are we going for? Oh man! A thousand spikes? They must want us pretty bad.”

Philip pulled the poster off the tree and read it closely. “The Rogue Invoker and traveling companion. A thousand for both, five hundred for the invoker only, and…one hundred for me only? What the heck! And they drew my nose too big.”

“At least you’re on there,” Hayley muttered, kicking at the dirt, “ I’ve committed assault and battery on a Public Safety Officer at least ten times. All you did was make a thing.”

“I am pretty special,” Anthony bragged, “The Rogue Invoker. How about that!” With unnecessary pomp, he presented a giant multicolored butterfly invocation into Philip’s face.

“Ah! Why man, why?” Philip sputtered, dropping the poster. Anthony chuckled as the butterfly floated away.

“The Rogue Invoker? More like The Dorky Joker,” Hayley suggested. Philip and Anthony shook their heads.

“I thought it was good,” she muttered.

Anthony skipped past her. “Come on, let’s go into Melville and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“Alright, but keep your hood on and head down,” Philip said in tow. “The closer we get to the heart of Forest Zone, the higher the chance of us being recognized. There’s probably a bunch of bounty hunters searching for us as we speak.”

They started walking down the road. Behind them, Hayley picked up the poster and studied it. She looked up at the two walking in front of her, then back down at the poster. A thousand spikes, she thought to herself.

#

The town of Melville bustled with the midday fervor of a luncheon rush. Bowls of chicken stew, skewers of beef, fresh vegetables, and loaves of bread with cracked crusts were being hawked to throngs of hungry customers. Street performers tumbled and sang, city officials sniffed and tiptoed through the crowds; the air was full of liveliness.

“Shepherd’s pie! Get your pies here! Shepherd’s pie!”

“Extra, extra, read all about it! Rangers attacked by The Rogue Invoker outside Lanaya!”

“Dragon’s Scale armor! Authentic Rykersmith’s from The Failed Rebellion. Perfect for the modern traveler!”

“Is that real Dragon’s Scale?” Hayley snubbed, looking over the armor, “doesn’t look like it.”

The peddler scowled. “How would you know, little lady?”

“Could anyone not? No striations along the plating, proportions are all wrong, buckles are dull…and,” she rubbed the material between her fingers, “too thin. This wouldn’t stop a bee sting. Knockoff trash.”

She tossed it back on the table with a clank. “Real Dragon’s Scale would also make a clunk sound.” Potential buyers muttered and moved away.

“Get outta here street-rat, you’re scaring off the customers,” the peddler snapped.

“Good! Maybe you’ll stop lying about selling Rykersmiths!”

“C’mon Hayley,” Philip muttered as he pulled her away, “we’re trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

“Whatever, I’m out. I need some food.”

She shook his arm off and disappeared into the crowd. Philip settled next to Anthony into a seat at the open-air market, shifting uneasily. “We can’t stay here for too long. Best eat and get a move on.”

“Phil, I hear you and your concern has been duly noted,” Anthony said, holding up his hand, “however, this is delicious and I would like to eat it and put it in my belly.” He took a large bite out of a beef skewer, juice dripping down his fingers.

Philip eyed two Public Safety Officers walking past, and pulled the collar of his jacket up.

Anthony stared at his friend. “You know, if I were a pisso, I would arrest you just based on how suspicious you’re acting.”

Philip sighed. “I guess you’re right. Best to act more natural and eat something.”

“Yea. Have you seen Hayley? I swear I could hear her yelling about something earlier.”

“Yes, she was getting very excited over some armor—”

“I’m here, ya mopes,” she sang as she bounded towards them. She wedged herself in between the two, throwing two loaves of fresh bread on the table. The straw on her jacket poked Anthony in the ear, and he grunted.

“Took you long enough,” he grabbed at the bread.

She slapped his hand away. “It’s fresh baked. Worth the wait.”

“Thank you, Hayley,” Philip said, “we really appreciate it.”

Hayley smiled, looked at the ground, then back up. “I forgot! You definitely need butter with this. And some honey! I saw someone selling it…I’ll be right back.”

Philip watched her as she sprang up and bounced away.

“Definitely could use some butter,” Anthony chewed thoughtfully. “Hey, check out those losers.”

Anthony pointed at some children—each wearing a tier one patch—who were summoning avian crony invocations. Barely the size of chickens, the tiny and somewhat adorable monsters scuttled around to the children’s squealing delight.

“They’re not losers, they’re children,” Philip said, “believe it or not, you were once like them. If I remember your Ma correctly, your first invocation was a circle. Not a ball, just a circle. It didn’t even have a third dimension.”

“Yea, Ma told me. I was only a year old though. And Munroe…” Anthony paused at the mention of his younger brother. “Munroe was invoking even earlier than that…we were prodigies! Don’t act like we were those kids. They should be in their prime right now…Munroe could summon a colossus at their age. They can’t get higher than crony level.”

“How do you know? They could be doing cronies just for fun.”

“Because Phil—and you should know this—they would have been snapped up already by the Borges if they were higher than one-drops. Look, those pissos don’t even care. They’re walking right past them.”

Indeed, the Public Safety Officers were walking past the kids… and right towards Anthony and Philip. Realizing too late, Philip made a hasty attempt to stand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said one PSO, lowering a pistol at Philip. Many of the people sitting nearby noticed the four Public Safety Officers and moved away.

The silver-clad captain of the outfit also had a pistol drawn. “I’ll take that,” he said to Philip, relieving him of his revolver, “tell your invoker friend here if he moves to summon anything I will blast a two-inch hole in your head, then his.”

Philip sniffled and wiped his nose. “Please don’t do anything, Anthony.”

“Anthony?” mused the captain, “That is good to know.”

Anthony pursed his lips and shot an angry glance at Philip, who shut his eyes and mouthed “Sorry.”

“Come on, fellas,” said the one PSO, “let’s get a move on.”

Before they put a bag over his head, Philip thought he saw a pile of hay shuffle around a corner…

#

Black cloth obscured his vision, but Anthony could feel himself being marched down hallways and through doors. He could hear other Public Safety Officers loping next to him. He thought he could feel Philip next to him, but when he tried to speak he was roughly pushed from behind. No talking, the officer warned him.

Want to invoke. Need to invoke. Can’t see; can’t move my arms. It’s not happening yet. Once we stop moving and I get my bearings I can let loose.

When the burlap bag was finally removed from his head, he was shoved heavily into a small grey chamber; Philip tossed in unceremoniously beside him. The officer pointed at the low ceiling, which glowed an ominous purple.

“The instant you try to summon something, that ceiling will drop. It’s charged with the same Disarray Tech that Spectre Men have in their railguns. Your invocation will be destroyed, and the last thing you feel before you get crushed by four tons of reinforced steel is your mind exploding. Don’t test it.” He closed the door and it locked with an ominous shuh-shunk of deadbolts sliding into place.

Small. This room is too small. Can’t breathe. Anthony slammed his fists against the cell wall, furious. “Damnit! I can’t be in here. I can’t be in here!”

Philip put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Ant. Let’s try to stay calm.”

“Calm? How can I stay calm?” Anthony ground his head against the wall, shaking it in disbelief, his eyes rolling wild. He fell to the floor. “I’m sorry Mama. I’m sorry. They got me. I failed. I won’t be able to save you.”

Philip adjusted his glasses. “We need to get out of here.”

Anthony wheezed. “Can’t breathe in here. Too small. Don’t like it.”

“Borges officials will be coming,” Philip continued, “they’re going to take us to Cirk Malpy. That’s the only reason they haven’t killed us or even beaten us yet.”

“Tell me something I don’t know! Like, for instance, how we’re going to get out? Can’t stand it. Can’t breathe.”

Philip ran his hand along the smooth wall of their holding cell. “I know this place is crawling with pissos and a whole bunch of Spectre Men. Even if we break out of this cell, it’s going to be a hard fight. Our best bet is when they come to move us to Cirk…the door will open then at least.”

“Wait a minute,” Anthony said suddenly, “the guard said that if I invoked something, the ceiling would fall and kill us.”

“Yes…” said Philip, warily.

“Phil, they can’t kill us! They’re taking us to Cirk Malpy, they can’t hurt us!” Anthony began to swirl his hands in a summoning sequence.

“Anthony, don’t!” Philip shouted, but it was too late. A giant metal creature with four legs hissed steam and clanked proudly as it activated a large drill on its hood.

“We’re outta here!” Anthony beamed, but his smile faded quickly. The ceiling didn’t fall, he had been right about that. But the floor began to glow an ominous purple…

#

I liked ’em. They’re good kids. Jaggo buncha kittens, but good kids. Hayley spun idly in the swivel chair, chewing on a piece of straw. Her gold eyes darted back and forth, noting everything in the room—extra wanted posters, plaques, ceremonial guns, and medals, all in neat plastic collector cases. She decided that she despised the Borges more than ever.

Still, I gotta do what I gotta do, right? Who’s gonna look out for me if I don’t? I’m on my own, now and always.

Right?

“Where’s my reward at?” she demanded when the captain walked in. He was in a silver dress uniform, which clashed horribly with the keycard lanyard he had looped around his neck. He’s got Philip’s gun, she noticed.

“Where is your reward,” he corrected her grammar, “yes. One moment.”

The captain maneuvered around his plastic desk and methodically pressed a button on a boxy intercom. “Please bring in the bounty designed for the capture of The Rogue Invoker and his friend for Miss…”

Hayley twirled the straw in her hand. “I didn’t say.”

The captain raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Four PSOs came in, the last one shutting the door behind him. Hayley eyed everyone in the room. All of them were wearing pistols and billy clubs. One of them was holding a stuffed envelope. She shot a glance at the door.

“Tell me again, Miss,” the captain asked silkily, “how did you come by the invoker and his friend?”

“Saw ’em in the eating commons.”

The captain aligned one of the wanted posters of Anthony on his desk with the others, picked it up, placed it down. “Did you now? Quite serendipitous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Seren-what? How could they be found any other way? Give me my money, you pompous highcollar.”

She heard one of the officers behind her lean against the door.

“In a hurry to leave?” said the captain, “but we are just getting started.”

Then she saw it. Under the wanted poster of Anthony, was a wanted poster for her.

With both feet she pushed off the desk, shooting it forward into the captain and launching herself backwards in the chair, its wheels squeaking across the floor. She curled into a ball and spun the chair around so that its arms and back took most of the blows from the PSO’s clubs. She sprang up, push-kicked off the PSO with the stuffed envelope—sending him flying into the plastic cabinet of plaques and medals—and landed lightly back in her seat, one half of her quarterstaff held in each hand. Counterfeit spikes bounced plasticky on the ground. She grinned, her tongue stuck playfully out of the side of her mouth.

“You think this is a game?” the captain growled, reaching for the pistol at his hip.

Hayley grinned at him. “Five pissos? Please. For me it is; for you it’s not. Let me show you what happens to Borges who try to double-cross me.”

She dove out of his line of sight, rolling on the ground and striking every ankle, knee, shin, and foot within reach of her staves. Bones crunched, knees popped, and PSOs screamed as they hit the ground. The captain was able to draw the revolver just before Hayley broke his trigger finger with a well-placed blow and took Philip’s gun off him. She yanked the keycard off his lanyard. “I’ll be going now. Have fun learning to shoot with your other hand. Oh, wait.”

The captain roared in pain as she broke his other hand.

#

Anthony woke to the sounds of the sirens blaring and the drums banging inside his own head. He pulled himself to his feet. An emergency strobe light flashed in an upper corner of the cell, filling the room with a pulsing redness that contrasted eerily with the glowing purple floor.

“My head hurts,” Philip groaned, rubbing at his temple. His hair and glasses were askew, as if he had just woken up.

“Mine too…I shouldn’t have invoked,” Anthony stared down at the floor, “I don’t think I can as long as this floor is active.”

They paused for a second to listen to the sounds of heavy footsteps hurrying towards their cells.

“That’s too bad about the invoking,” Philip said, “it sounds like we could use it very soon.”

There was a click as the door unlocked. Anthony had just enough time for a single thought—I wish I took up Hayley’s offer for combat training—before the guards burst into their cell, clutching their billy clubs and taser sticks. Hulking forward, they forced the two into a corner.

Philip counted—six guards, two with taser sticks. He had an inconveniently-timed flashback to a Mint Villager getting hit with one of those. One good jab from those taser sticks and Anthony and I will collapse into a twitching mess. The purple glow from the ground and the red glow from the ceiling alarms made the guards appear inhuman.

“There you guys are!” said a familiarly scratchy voice, “it was hell to find the way here.”

The guards turned around to see Hayley moving quickly towards them. Her staff was more than double the length of the guards’ billy clubs, and before long four of the guards were on the ground, moaning from broken shins, jaws, or knees.

The two guards with the taser sticks turned to meet her, and as soon as their backs were exposed Anthony and Philip grabbed each of them in inexpert bear hugs.

“Inefficient, but effective,” Hayley remarked, as she brought her staff down on the crowns of the restrained guards. They slid unconscious to the floor. “But effective needs only work once. Let’s get out of here. There may or may not be a large group of pissos heading our way, who may or may not have been following me.”

She tossed the revolver to Philip again. “Hold onto your stupid gun.”

“I’m tired,” Anthony said, “my head is aching, I feel like I’ve been zapped by ten railguns.”

“Poor kitty. I don’t care. If we stay here, we’re as good as dead; now move it, jaggos.”

The three headed out of the cell and into the hall, where blaring sirens and flashing strobelights distorted the walls. Anthony felt he would have given up right then and there had Hayley not been pulling him along. Muttering to herself the directions, she glanced at knife marks she had scratched at hallway intersections and moved swiftly down the aisles. She stopped momentarily when she saw a group of PSOs blocking their way.

“Let me handle this.” Anthony cracked his knuckles with intensity, a small part of him excited to have found something to relieve his mounting stress.

The PSOs were bowled aside by the subsequent minotaur that rumbled through them. It bellowed victory, a gold ring jingling in its nose, runic tattoos glowing across its arms and chest. Anthony winked at it and it snorted in acknowledgement before rampaging down the forward hall towards another pack of PSOs, who were hastily trying to backpedal.

“I feel much better,” he declared.

“That’s nice,” Hayley replied, “now follow me. The front entrance is just through here.” She stomp-kicked open a pair of double doors then skid to a halt, eyes wide.

“Do not move,” ordered one of the Spectre Men. The other had charged his railgun and was aiming it directly at them.

#

Hayley moved first, ducking behind a secretarial desk. The Spectre Man with the railgun shot at her and missed, a purple arc of energy ripping a hole in the wall. Anthony used the opportunity to summon a giant serpent, which slithered quickly up the ceiling. The first Spectre Man sighted down his pistol and rattled off three shots, but the serpent fluidly dodged. Speed kills, Hayley’s voice echoed in his head.

The second Spectre Man fired his railgun again, this time blowing a giant hole in the ceiling that made the serpent drop to the floor. The first Spectre Man turned to Philip, pistol raised.

“Hey!” Hayley popped up next to him, swinging her quarterstaff like a baseball bat. It connected squarely with his full-face helmet, cracking it decisively. Blood spurted out where it broke his nose and he grunted as he fell back onto a desk, crumpling it.

The serpent had wrapped itself around the second Spectre Man, cracking his body armor and ripping his helmet off with its teeth. Anthony turned the serpent’s head into a ram’s and it bleated as it headbutted the Spectre Man with its giant horns, the consequent sound like two frying pans being knocked together. The snake-ram cried in pain as three bullets thudded into its head, and it disappeared with a crackle. Anthony dropped the ground, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Anthony!” Philip shouted.

The Spectre Man with the broken nose pulled himself up out of the desk debris with the smoking revolver clutched in his hand. Hayley, standing nearby, swung her staff at him again. This time, he sidestepped it neatly and punched her directly in the chest. She stumbled backwards coughing and fell to the ground.

“Stop there,” The Spectre Man said to Philip as he reached for his own revolver, “I have you in my sights.”

Philip grabbed the revolver anyway and aimed it at the Spectre Man. Wordlessly, the Spectre Man pulled the trigger on his pistol.

It clicked. Philip smiled.

“Six shooter,” he said, “count your shots.”

Then Philip pulled the trigger on his own gun.

It clicked.

“Safety’s still on, you idiot,” Hayley wheezed.

Panicking, Philip slapped the top of the gun. The Spectre Man had holstered his pistol and was running towards him, methodically picking up speed.

Hayley threw her quarterstaff in between the Spectre Man’s legs, and he came crashing right to Philip’s feet. Philip stepped in ready to pistol-whip him, but paused squeamishly.

“Willing to shoot a man but don’t want to punch him in the face,” Hayley said as she punched the Spectre Man in the face, “I don’t get you.”

“You’re one to talk,” Philip said cryptically.

She ignored him and helped a groggy Anthony to his feet. “Time to move.”

They walked out the front doors of the Public Safety Station. Philip watched them leave, turned the revolver’s safety off, and followed them out.

#

Taking back alleys and side streets, they moved quietly and slowly through the closely-knit housing complexes of Melville. After what seemed like a long time, they came to an abandoned building at the base of a dilapidated watchtower. Tufts of brave grass peeked through the gravel that peppered the ground. Philip propped open the door and let them pass through.

“Thanks Hayley,” Anthony mumbled as Hayley laid him down, “I’m glad you’re watching over us.”

Philip took off his jacket and covered him; the boy fell immediately asleep. He turned to Hayley, who was staring dead-eyed out the window.

“How dare you.” Philip said softly as he moved near her. The revolver ratcheted as he chambered and aimed it at her. Hayley didn’t turn around; he could hear her crying.

“You sold us out. You nearly killed us,” he continued coldly, “Why?”

Hayley sniffled, wiping her nose. “I need the money. You don’t understand—”

“We trusted you,” Philip said, “was it worth it?”

Hayley couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with him, so she shamefully continued to look out the window.

“When I figured out that I made a mistake I came for you guys immediately.”

“You were just getting us out of a hole that you dug. That absolves nothing.”

She was trying hard to keep from sobbing loud enough to wake up Anthony. “Philip, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m so, so, so sorry. I’ve done something I can’t fix.”

“Who are you?” Philip meant to adopt an angry tone, but it came out hurt and accusatory, “Really.”

Hayley drew herself up, proudly and with tears. Her chin jut into the air and her eyes shone bright. “I am Hayley Rykers-Dujani, daughter of Samson Ryker, O.F.A., and Maia Dujani, the Tajiman Lion, who served twenty years under Lord Yukimura.”

“Your father a knight and your mother a protector.” Philip’s eyes narrowed, “aristocratic blood runs through you, and yet the apple has fallen very, very, far from the tree.”

The girl shrunk back down. “Look, you wanna shoot me? Fine.”

She spread her arms wide. “But at least let me explain where I come from and why I did what I did. Maybe then you can understand why I had a moment of weakness.”

Philip nodded and leaned on the windowsill, but did not let up his gun.

Hayley took a deep breath and ruffled her jacket. She brushed her hair back and began.