Chapter 21: Innocence

I walk to the gemchaining building five minutes away then enter through the doors where Petra coaches a girl with messy white hair reaching her jaw.

She looks upward at me with lavender eyes and white skin. She does push-ups with her hands at her waist showing striations throughout her shoulders. This must be Joan.

Legends whisper of people with utterly pale skin. Joan must be a piece of these rumors as her visage made ghosts glare in envy and stare in yearning. She fumes with enmity as I approach Petra who watches her. I say grudgingly, “Hello Petra. I am ready for my training.”

Petra looks up with a quizzical glance then says, “How are you out of bed?”

I reply mischievously, “I recover quickly, though not as quickly as Joan.”

She replies rationally, “Take off your shirt. I need to see if you lie.”

The powers of females and their emasculating stares leave me anxious, so I respond suspiciously, “I don’t really think that's necessary. I would not be so mobile if I lacked good health.”

Petra replies with stone in her voice, “I have seen fighters continue on into later rounds during tournaments with broken bones. If you want my training, then listen to me boy.”

I cringe as I remove my shirt showing my gangly frame. She sizes me up then says quickly, “Put back on your shirt. Now.”

I hurriedly do so noticing the stares of several other fighters. They whisper at my appearance, but Deluge’s enhanced hearing catches their every word.

“He’s only thirteen? What?”

“How is his body so undamaged? I saw the fight the other day. He was mush.”

“He isn’t human.”

“What a body.”

The last one sounds rather appealing by contrast.

Petra then replies, “GET BACK TO TRAINING. Alright, since you fight with your fists we will first train your knuckles so they can handle the stress of combat. There are wooden beams at the back room you can hit.”

She walks to the back room leaving Joan to her push-ups. She performed several dozen during my check in. Her strength is incredible.

We reach the same back room covered in grime and stray straw. Other fighters lash out in organized assaults or drill with repeated combos. Sweat’s pungent scent fills my nostrils, but the stench reminds me of why I am here.

I hit the wooden beam shaking the floor. I begin with light blows, but as time progresses, I mix in heavier strikes to where the head and body would be located. I torque my hips into my blows then dodge after each series of strikes.

Trelling still frames my shots, but I incorporate some foot movement that Deluge suggests with great effect. I swap stances so my non-dominant right hand sits back then I practice alternating stances by taking big steps forward alternating between right and left handed fighting styles.

The movement pattern closes the distance while allowing me to cut off sideways movement. I enjoy the physical activity as my heart races. I smile as my strikes gain fluidity on the stationary target.

I gain greater and greater momentum until I crack the beam with a heavy left overhand. I rotate a right hook into the side of the pillar causing another crack. I finish the target by pivoting both legs gyrating my waist up through my shoulders channeling force into my fist.

The blow accelerates until It lands on the wooden beam snapping the training tool. A piece of the wood stays connected hanging from the side of the wooden beam. I pant for breath noticing the other fighters stopping their training.

I ignore them as I roll the stiffness from my shoulders then return to Petra who orders Joan to flip a stone with handles of wood. Petra looks at me expectantly then says, “You're gonna pay for the wooden beam.”

She walks into the back room taking out a ludicrously sized  battle axe then hands it to me. The weapon easily weighs 30 pounds. She then finishes cheekily, “You will cut down a tree and produce another training board with this axe. You have to finish before the sunsets as well.” She smirks, “Good luck.”

I reply with another confident smile while throwing the axe over my shoulders. I walk through the building reaching the outdoors where I look around for the closest batch of forest.

I head past a couple of varied buildings reaching a batch of pine trees were I start hacking with strikes over head. The dull axe carves far less than I expect, but Deluge enhances the muscles of my core and back allowing me to whip the strikes rapidly cleaving the tree.

The first few minutes yield very little progress until I learn how to alternate my strikes. This chips the wood one piece at a time sending the bits whizzing through the air. I swap sides of the tree every few minutes until I sweat profusely.

The simple work takes my mind off of all that has happened recently. I contemplate each strike carefully like a master mason placing bricks. I jerk the axe downwards hearing loud, satisfying thwacks against the wood. I chop the tree down feeling an instinctual satisfaction as the timber falls.

I take the log of lumber then use my father’s knife for whittling large slivers of wood. I jerk with violent and precise motions that look like a man trying to murder a dangerous beast. I finish the project then start walking up a hill when I hear a distant conversation.

I creep closer then spy on the two people talking as they discuss recent school events.

“-about Hefelston. He hasn’t been seen since yesterday.”

“I hear he had a first year fight one of his senior fighters sending him to the medical building.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, the older student told the other teachers that  the coach asked him to, but Hefelston says he didn’t. Who do you believe?”

“I think the older student is telling the truth. Hefelston always looked sleazy to me.”

“I think so to. I don’t know why he would do that though. Oh well. What do you think about Hank. He is so hot right?”

I drone out the rest of their babbling then take the rough post I made towards Petra. I walk through the campus then enter the gemchaining building where Petra has Joan performing handstand push-ups. She does a rapid set of three then rests. The process looks very strange.

I walk up with the post then set it down while resting on it. I ask while pretending to yawn in an attempt to disguise my interrogation, “So what happened to the first year yesterday?”

Petra’s eyes open wide for less than a second before she restrains herself. She then replies, “So you finished that chore? Rather slow aren’t you. Yeah, Helfeston had a freshman broken down in a hazing event, but he let it go too far.”

I ask nonchalantly, “So what was the student's name?”

She ponders for a moment then responds in annoyance, “Lake, Luke, maybe Larn? It doesn’t matter. I need you to train your footwork now.  I will be giving you a sparring partner who is a second year. Do not beat him down Jack. He just needs to learn how to deal with high pressure opponents.”

She shouts, “Kayle!”

A stocky guy about two inches shorter than me jogs up from a training dummy he was hitting. He has black hair with a forgettable face. We walk into the arena were Petra shouts the order, “Alright, Jack you are going to rush at Kayle while he defends. You are to only strike with soft blows. Do not go for the knockout. Do you both understand?”

Kayle shouts, “Yes man!”

I say impatiently, “Sure.”

We put on the appropriate sparring gear as we walk toward the edge of the room into an arena with gates around its premise. I jump over the rope then set myself into a customized trelling stance.

I lift my guard near my face when compared to my earlier fight with Joan. I must defend my neck better, else any competent opponent with a sword can end me.

My opponent stands on far flatter feet than Joan as though he means to meet my charge head on. His stance lacks mobility, so Petra’s earlier advice sounds with truth. She shouts, “FIGHT!”

I step with small movements forward then slap one of his blows aside with my right hand when I close the distance. Kayle tries dashing towards my left side trying to cut me off like a bull with a cape.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

I jump forward then tackle into him. He flies backward through the air thumping on the ground. I let my arms down then look around in confusion as he fell so easily.

Petra shouts, “What was that Kayle! He’s a lefty so you have to dash to his right! You saw his stance at the start.”

Kayle stands up and shakes his head then readies himself once more. This time when I slap his blow aside he dashes to his right. I take a lunging step forward with my back left leg accidentally landing on his front foot while swapping my footing.

When he tries backing away, his foot catches jerking him towards me. I shoot out a stiff jab with my left hand on reflex that hits his helmet. His body keeps moving forward as his head flies back. I push his horizontal torso with my left hand gently then gravity slams him to the ground.

I loosen up my guard again then start taking off my equipment. Petra shouts, “What are you doing Jack!?”

I reply disappointedly, “This wastes our time. Kayle just comprehends the very basics at best. Joan would crush this guy before he even swings a single blow. Why dissipate my time like this?”

Petra responds with a slight shake in her voice, ”There is a process to these things. I can’t have some first year immediately start advanced training.” She finishes while sticking her head out to me.

I respond perplexed, “Then you mean to decay my time with nothingness. I will learn of combat from other methods.”

I smile ominously then walk out of the building while Petra wears an infuriated grimace.

I contemplate her actions. These coaches think of me as a brute who only knows how to fight. Deluge replies darkly, “Hefelston actually tried killing you last night.”

I freeze for a moment then ask wearily, “Could you delineate further?”

Deluge replies sympathetically, “He walked into your room last night. He had a knife then tried to stab you with it in your neck. I dissipated him after killing him. He is no more.”

The indifference with which Deluge states his killing sends crawling insects of fear down my spine, but I recover quickly and deliberate,

“So he tried killing me last night. He must have known that Luke was my roommate, so he had him injured to an extent where he would be in the hospital rather than my room. He tried killing me while I was alone and asleep. A rather clever plan really.”

Deluge responds arrogantly, “He never foresaw my existence though.”

I respond grimly, “I doubt we will foresee our next enemies either. We should redouble our efforts. I can’t even fathom why he tried killing me.”

Deluge responds dryly, “Your kind needs very few excuses for meaningless murder.”

I respond aggrievedly, “These words come from a genocidal alien parasite.”

Deluge responds with reason, “I offer an alternative to death. Your kind kills with the intent for an absolute end. I offer eternity for those I execute, and I have done so out of defense only.”

I pause then reply conceding loss, “True, but you have killed swaths of people without true need. When you murdered the village it was more from anger than reason.”

Deluge replies with reproach, “I may have done so, but they attacked us. Having unsettled elements unnerves me.”

I reply pressingly, “Don’t you think that paranoia will leave you forever fearful?”

Deluge finishes wisely, “better to live in fear like a maggot then lay under the earth crawling with them.”

I capitulate, “Hmmm. Alright. Candid point.”

I practice trelling using the sparing techniques I developed during my fights with Kayle and Joan. I again lash out with controlled hooks, but I pull the punches inward closer to my body. The strikes rotate my body as I struggle controlling and balancing the hooks heaviness.

I eventually tire as the daylight begins waning. A day of such activity surely deserves leisure, so I approach the music room after traveling for fifteen minutes. The orange hue of the multi-tiered building  layers with the yellow windows creating a second sun on the buildings spherical roof.

I soak the sight in then enter the building with revitalizing passion. No one stands in the entrance or in any of the adjacent rooms. I walk until I enter an auditorium where a girl of snow enthralls herself on a piano.

Joan’s play precisely throttles through the room. The perfection of her work eludes her character. She plays so accurately that my mind hazes before her monotony.

She never wanders from her tedium. She confines herself within invisible walls limiting the appeal of her music as correct as it is. I slowly skulk through chairs until I reach behind her.

I prepare my mother’s harp then imperceptibly start a slow tune. The melody of mine meshes with hers seamlessly and so quietly that only the truly observant may hear the disturbance.

I slowly build upon the simple, near silent hum. I pull strength and power from the success of my past. As the tune flourishes, cracks form in Joan’s play. My melody pulls hers into the unknown embracing all of the wonder in this world.

We effervescently play with vivacity. Joan smiles her pearly teeth as she passionately constructs orchestration after orchestration with me. The jubilant joy of rhythm infectiously defiles her play. The indulgence of life redeems the faults in our melody.

The emotion reaches a captivating climax ending with our notes closure. Joan and I then laugh loudly at our foolish display of childlike happiness. We laugh as though shaking weight from our shoulders. Joan then giggles fiercely as we both chuckle more than we have in many days and many nights.

Joan leans on the piano while asking in her alluring yet hard voice, “Who snuck into my practice session and made a mess of everything?”

I reply with a higher voice than normal, “It is only I, Fossegrimen himself here to tutor a student who hinders her harmony with uniformity and flatness. I merely offer friendship in likeness to two merry musicians.”

She giggles with a surprisingly feminine flair then says impishly, “So Fossegrimen aye? I thought you were a musician, not a poet. You seem rather able with your wording.”

I grin then reply playfully, “As you choose to hear, my music molds into words for fair ears.”

She lightly reddens then continues while turning in her seat, “Fair ears follow fair eyes. Who are you-”

She hesitates with her mouth frozen in place. Her pink lips crease together as she blinks her eyes several times then continues, “Jack?”

I flourish my hands outwards with my palms facing her while turning my head diagonally a few degrees, “None other.”

She puts her hand on her thighs then says  while grinning teasingly, “So you play nice, but you fight like a feral animal.”

Her response surprises me. I reach for words then say shakily, “So you noticed.”

She replies while clenching her fist forcefully and smiling maliciously, “It shall not be so next time. I underestimated your guts, but I shall not do so again.”

Her words ground my thoughts once more. I then reply realistically, “If you had a sword of metal, I would be sliced into fine ribbons of meat. My method only achieved results due to circumstance and nothing more.”

She replies while moving her finger back and forth disapprovingly, “You feign modesty. A single blow from your fist completely floored me. Your movements were amateur, but your strength and fortitude are real.”

I reply with enlightenment in my voice, “Then I may teach you the joys of music as you teach me the fury of fighting!”

She replies with skepticism painting her face, “You believe yourself a better musician?”

I smile with outright assurance, “I vow upon the loving memory of my mother and father.”

Her skepticism abates, but she still asks expectantly, “Then please illustrate in their remembrance.”

A hollow smile and sad eyes engulf my features as I say, “It shall be painful.”

She smiles wittily, “It can’t be as painful as our fight.”

I reply with empty eyes, “There are pains greater than physical agony can create.”