Cytonic (Skyward #3)(83)
“Simba stood his ground, perched atop the tip of the tower known as the Rock of Pride Fortress. ‘You fool, Uncle,’ Simba growled. ‘For though you presumed to cast me to my death like you did my father, in reality you have ceded to me the high ground, granting me the upper hand in our duel.’
“Scar shouted and lashed out, but Simba’s training as an outcast among the Knights of the Lost Savannah served him well. His ghostly father appeared behind him, glowing like a halo of light. Mighty was the clash! Perched as they were, the entirety of the kingdom could see them atop the fortification! But Scar was an assassin, no trained knight, and his subtle ways could not uphold him in the full light of day and truth!
“Channeling the No Fear of Reprisal technique taught to him by the lanky Timbaa, the bold prince grabbed his uncle by the neck and threw him to the side. The elder of Lion Clan, unable to maintain his footing, slipped and fell over the edge of the Rock, barely holding on by the tips of his fingers.”
I paused for effect, like Gran-Gran always had. Giving them time to imagine the bold warrior prince atop the tower, at last victorious after his long exile. My audience leaned forward, eager for the next words.
“Simba stood tall,” I said. “The fighting of the armies below ceased as eyes turned toward the two monarchs. ‘Now,’ Simba proclaimed, ‘you will announce your betrayal of my father to all, that they may know your treachery.’
“?‘I admit it, nephew!’ Scar shouted. ‘I betrayed your father—the Hyenas forced me to do so! I was but a pawn! Please let me live!’
“Now, down below, the frenzied queen of the Hyena Clan warriors paused in her duel with Nala, mistress-at-arms. Among barbarian culture, you must never beg for your life. Upon seeing the cowardly act from Scar, Hyena Clan turned their weapons away as one from the Lions—refusing the fight.
“Simba looked down upon his uncle, the author of so much pain and suffering. ‘I cannot forgive you, Uncle,’ he declared, ‘for the gods themselves demand justice. And so, as rightful king, I now declare your sentence to be death.’
“And then, with a mighty roar, Simba cast his uncle to his doom. Now his father’s wandering soul could finally rest. Revenge had been exacted, and balance had returned to the land. The circle was at long last complete.”
There was some romance stuff after that, which I didn’t mind so much now as I had when younger, but this had always felt like a better ending to me. It was a story about barbarians and knights, after all.
It was strange to me how well I remembered the story—all of the stories, actually. Other things about my past were fading, but the stories remained perfectly cemented in my mind. Like an anchor in my past, tied to my soul.
The conclusion brought cheers from the other pilots, and Nuluba—ever quietly going about making life easier for everyone else—opened the blinds to better light the hangar. We’d all gathered to feast our victory, and I had offered a story. I hadn’t realized how well it would be received.
They’re eager for reminders of the world outside, I thought, watching the pirates chat. Even if they come from a different culture.
Others wandered toward the tables, where we’d set out various foods that had been found on salvage runs or raids. We didn’t need food anymore, but Maksim said there was something about the act of tasting that helped restore memories.
I spotted the other human chatting with RayZed, a young female tanuzedran from one of the other flights, whose species looked kind of like red pandas. She was nibbling at the food on a little plate. I felt like I should recognize the varieties, but…that part of my memory had well and truly faded. There was a red bit of food, and…and some little yellow bits of something?
Chet wandered over to me, his arm still in its sling. “Spensa,” he said, “that story was fantastic! I feel as if I once knew it. At least, parts are familiar to me.”
“Gran-Gran loved it because it spoke of a warrior in exile,” I said. “She taught me that although my people had been exiled, we could remain strong.”
“Your performance at the duel today was inspiring,” he said. “You are truly as skilled as your earlier boasts implied. And these, they are a good family to you.” He nodded toward the gathered pirates, but I sensed a certain melancholy to his tone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Merely an old man’s foolishness,” he said to me. “I fear I am not of much use to pilots. What need have these for an explorer who cannot fly?”
“I have need of you,” I said. “You led me to those ruins—and you knew that the next stop was in Surehold. And besides, there’s your hunt…”
Chet had been quietly going among the pirates, asking carefully about icons and reality ashes. I’d finally asked Peg about my icon, and she had been surprised—claiming that none of her people had seen it. I didn’t know that she would lie to me, but Chet and I had decided it would be good for him to investigate a little on his own.
“You’ve been great at this part,” I whispered to him. “Far better than I’d be. People genuinely like you, Chet. They talk to you.”
“If that were true,” he said, “and if I were as good at this quest as you indicate, I’d have located the…missing item by now.” He shook his head, then glanced at me and raised his good hand. “No need to bolster my ego further. It is taking on a little water, but not sinking. I merely…I fear we stay here too long. I fear being in one place.”