Meet Guy Erma
Galactic Empire of Guy Erma
|HIS ONE AND ONLY DREAM IS TO JOIN THE DOME ELITE|
Extract: In the Light and Shadow of the Dome, Chapter 2, Guy Erma and the Son of Empire
With a whispered prayer, Guy Erma kissed his Dome medallion and slid it inside his shirt. He stepped up to the edge of the mat. In truth, he knew he did not need God’s help today. No, all he needed to win this fight was to be ruthless, and to be quick. The bell had rung. To delay now was to be disqualified. Guy gripped the short fighting blades and somersaulted forward. He landed within easy reach of his opponent.
He twisted into a spinning high kick that caught and whacked the other’s shoulder pad. He found his feet while the other was still off-balance, then crouched and sliced his other leg in a circle just off the floor. In so doing, he swept his opponent’s feet from under him. The other boy fell. Guy was quick to leap up and on top of him, riding astride his adversary’s chest with two blades pressed to his neck.
“Do you yield?” Guy roared into his face. “I yield… I yield…” The other was so fearful he almost wept, and to see this sent a thrill through Guy stronger than any other emotion. His heart beat fast. He rose panting, exhilarated and joyful: He had won!
No-one was watching. Why would they? Across the vast competition space there were over two dozen blades mats. Almost all played host to a fighting duo. As always, his gaze was drawn to where the gym opened onto the vast panes and verticals of the Dome. The light was bright, yet dark geometric shadows fell across the space. Guy loved this gym. He felt he always fought better here, in the light and shadows of the Dome.
In the light and the shadows of the Dome, so help me God.
It was a prayer of the Dome Elite.
One day I will say those words, thought Guy, and wear that uniform.
Now that’s a real prayer. He sighed. So help me God.
“Well Done, Guy.” Tilson, senior blades instructor, and Commander of the Dome Elite, bent to help him up.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
“You do us all proud, you really do…” Unexpectedly, the man drew him over and patted the space on the bench beside him. Guy sat down. For a few moments, they unbuckled Guy’s forearm braces, each with a line of three curved blades. Next, off came the calf greaves and the three blades along the back of his lower legs. Finally, they released the latches of the springing blades he wore beneath his feet. Soon Guy had set aside all his fighting equipment together with the two fighting daggers.
“I hope to join the Dome Elite next term, sir.”
“Did you submit your forms before the deadline?”
Guy nodded but winced. Meeting the deadline had been the least of his worries. Guy’s application to join the Dome Elite was flawed in another, rather more fundamental, way.
“You’re not registered, are you?” Both Tilson and Guy knew that without his birth having been registered, Guy would struggle to have his application accepted. “Do you know who your parents are?”
“Well…” Guy hesitated. He rarely spoke of his home life but this was important. He swallowed, then whispered: “Well, one of the models in my house, she always says I…” Guy coughed, hardly daring to say the words: “Lloulou says I am her son…”
Tilson paused, considering.
“Lloulou, huh? I know Lloulou. She’s beautiful but she has to think of her career, and if she were to register you… well, the Press…”
“Yes, it’s a secret. You can’t tell.”
“I won’t say anything. And you don’t know who your father is?”
Guy shook his head.
“No,” Tilson said, and sighed: “Thing is Guy, I have boys who are fully registered – both mother and father – both of whom are pleading with me to take their sons. So you see.”
“But I am the blades champion for my year group. I won the championship, and I was due to fight the prince…” Guy was angry.
“They said he had an injury,” Tilson said thoughtfully.
Guy made a clucking sound. “Chicken more like. My maths average is 97.4. Maths and blades. And I was born on Old Mill Lane. You need the best people for the Dome Elite!”
“Calm, Guy. Control!” The man took his hand and patted it gently: “Calm Guy, control. You never know, maybe the fight with the prince will be reinstated.”
Guy looked up curiously. At that moment a communicator beeped a reminder and Tilson patted him on the shoulder.
“Keep training. Try to get one of the older boys to prep you. If you did beat the prince, you would be pretty much guaranteed a place in the Dome Elite.”
Tilson stood up but before he left, said again.
“Be ready, Guy. Be ready.”
Be ready for what? wondered Guy. Be ready to beat Prince Teodor at blades, when the fight had been cancelled?
Images of Guy Erma: Blades Fighter
|Concept of a blades fighter||First draft||
Final image with blades
Guy Erma: Domeside orphan