Helstone’s grief had been so raw, so desperate, Sonia couldn't quite look at her without flinching, and she recoiled from the idea of meeting the woman again. She had get away, get out into the light of day. The woman was teetering on the brink. Sonia paused at this thought--on the brink. No wonder. Helstone only reminded her of herself, standing on the edge of the abyss, looking into her own personal well of emptiness, and then the condor's words: you can never rise up until you've descended below. She wasn't sure what that even meant. How would she do this? She couldn't save herself, much less anyone else.
Letting herself out of the east doors, she strode out onto the grounds. She glanced again at the crumpled piece of paper that Faal had given her, and she took another deep breath. Gymnasium.
In gymnasium, she would see where Arrow and Grater Barren were similar. There would be physical combat drills. Penalty runs. Skin blistering commands for more, and still more sweat, sometimes even blood.
Sonia didn’t want to pick up a weapon and wave it around at an opponent, even a Barronite, who she’d been taught to hate. She had never wanted to fight. Not even for sport. Sergeant Bowie's words--passive waif--echoed in her head. No aggression. No killing instinct. No amount of gymnasium could change her.
She rubbed the stiff wounds at the back of her neck. She hesitated at the door for several minutes, until a boy wearing a similar white tunic entered behind her. Sonia glanced at him a second time. He was young, but maybe he wasn’t such a boy. Though he wore a tunic like a student, he also had a banner. He walked with a slight limp, and expression was heavy and seemed somehow burdened. His gaze caught hers and she flinched for being caught staring.
“You’re the Avem Child," the sun-bronzed youth said.
“I’m Sonia.”
He nodded. “I know who you are. Come inside. I know where you’re supposed to be.”
*
The gymnasium was a rustic, oval building with a floor of packed dirt--spartan. A running track surrounded the exterior and a dirt field occupied the track’s interior. Fencers, mostly boys, stripped but wearing crude chest guards and a few girls with carefully wrapped chests and the same crude armor, clustered in a group on a canvas square at one end of the inner field. Coach Axon Slate lectured them from the front of the pad.
Sonia’s eyes widened as metal flashed and she whispered to Nexius. “Students spar in class with steel, not wooden swords?”
“Where would we get the wood?" The boy shrugged. "I'm Nexius by the way."
In Arrow’s military, rifles had all but replaced swords and Sonia had only the barest training with steel. “Does the city really expect to use swords to defend themselves against enemies?”
Nexius whispered back. “Fencing is an ancient discipline. Everyone learns. We have firepower, of course, but we don’t have the resources for rifles and guns. We keep what we have in an armory, and there’s a militia now, but most of the army died in the Fall. Don’t you know anything?”
Sonia shook her head, “No.”
Nexus’s face softened and he whispered, “We had plenty of enemies at the surface, but our greatest threats now are lack of resources and well…never mind.”
Sonia cocked her head aside wondering what never mind was supposed to mean.
A stern hand clapped onto Nexius’s right shoulder, “What are you chatting with Sonia about Nexius?” Axon Slate had circled around and surprised them from behind.
Nexius stiffened, but Sonia answered, “Sorry to disrupt, Sir. I don’t know how to fence and I didn’t know how to admit it to you.”
“What? A Barronite without training with a sword? Where did you grow up? In Arrow?”
Sonia flushed a deep red and wished to sink even further into the abyss.
The class stared at her, incredulous.
The words, “She can’t fight,” whispered through the cluster of white tunics.
“Have you ever had training in any form of close combat?”
Sonia denied, because though she had, she’d never been any good.
Coach Slate threw an arm up for silence, which he achieved instantly. “I apologize for calling you Arrowan. Non fighters are definitely not from the north. Are you a pacifist? Is fighting against your system of beliefs?”
Sonia didn’t know what she believed, but Slate had supplied her a way out, and she nodded her head.
Coach Slade sighed and shrugged as though there was nothing he could do—as though he couldn’t command her to do whatever he wished her to do. Officers had always had that power this apparent indifference confused Sonia. “You can take some laps while your classmates spar. I’ll see if I can get you an exemption. This is an elective course anyway. Skipping swords isn’t encouraged, but it’s going to be hard to catch you up to white tunic standards at this stage.”
An exception? She’d been given an exception? Sonia could hardly believe it. Nothing like that had ever happened to any qualified soldier in Arrow—no matter how well-liked they were. No matter how well connected. Exceptions were not for soldiers, not for instruments of the State. Exceptions were for people, and Sonia had never been treated like an individual. She hardly knew what to think. Was this a way with Barronites? Had the exceptions compromised their forces? How had they matched, even triumphed over Arrow’s relentless force?
She took the track. And as she circled, she watched the sparring students with their deadly metal weapons. They were good. All of them. Though they wore armor and face guards, they slashed and cut like they meant it, and Sonia was glad she wasn’t fighting opposite any one of them.
Pricipal among sparers was Faal, even in his rotation against three different opponents of greater height and weight. He dominated every one of them. His technique was excellent, reflexes animal. His skill was mesmerizing—enough that she found herself trying to watch him over her shoulder as she made circles around the track. She could hardly force her gaze away. She hurried on the side of the track where she couldn’t watch, and slowed down on the back half, sprinting and jogging the circles at weird, irregular speeds. At last when the whistle blew, she fell in line for her ration of water, and filed out of the gymnasium.
Faal stood waiting outside the cafeteria double doors. “White tunics take the north table in the cafeteria,” he said. He pointed to a counter at the top of the hall where several cafeteria staff stood ladling soup into bowls. “Take this ticket and get one white bowl.”
Sonia took the ticket then entered a separate queue where only white tunics stood waiting. It seemed the green and gold tunics had to wait for the upper class to finish. Sonia tendered her ticket and reached for a bowl from the table. A gruff hand grabbed the bowl back.“Not that one. Take this one!”
Sonia glanced up to see the bearded man with the ladle pushing a bowl toward her. It contained at least a third more broth than the other bowls. Sonia nodded her thanks. A moment later, she found Faal at the head of the north table surrounded by his friends.
“Sit here,” a white tunic clad boy jumped up from his seat for Sonia to take it. “That’s Shale, he was just finishing,” Faal said, though the boy wasn’t finished. He simply found another space further down the table.
Sonia squeezed between Faal and a red-haired girl.
Faal clapped his hand on the neared boy’s shoulder. “Sonia, meet Rezza, Schist,” he nodded to the red-headed girl. “That’s Gneiss. All. Sonia, my newly adopted sister, about who you know as much as I know. No more questions for me, kids. Sonia, they’re all coming for you. I hope you’re ready.”
Sonia widened her eyes and managed a rather subdued “hello.”
“Be nice Faal. Don’t scare her,” Gneiss said, smiling, her eyes straying to Sonia’s almost full soup bowl. “We’re all just a bit over eager because you’re such a celebrity.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Faal drained his bowl, then smacked his lips as he set it back onto the table. “I make no promises. Sonia. Before you sat down, they were all badgering me to tell them your story. Now you can defend me. I know nothing about how you got here or anything related to you and the Magnus Avem, isn’t that right?”
Sonia took a sip of the warm broth and set her bowl down. “He doesn’t know.”
A pause lengthened at least midway down the table as all eyes turned to stare at Sonia.
“I—it’s a long story,” Sonia said.
“We’ll take any version," Rezza said.
Sonia frowned. “It’s not a cheerful story--even what I can remember of it.”
Gazes on all sides softened, but Sonia could tell. They were all holding their breath tight in their lungs.
She exhaled. “My mother died when I was born and my father eventually abandoned me. I scavenged for food in the desert and would have died there, if the Magnus Avem hadn’t helped me.” Sonia hoped no more questions would come, but of course, they did.
“The Magnus Avem took care of you since childhood?” Rezza said.
Sonia shrugged. “Well, he did as little as possible, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have survived without him.”
Faal nodded. “That sounds right. He throws you a little help, but not too much.”
“SSShhh! Disrespect.” Rezza shoved Faal by the shoulder.
“He wanted me to do everything I could, I think,” Sonia said.
“Hey now, it’s my turn.” Schist elbowed Rezza, “Did he give you any instructions? What did he tell you about us?”
“That’s two questions," Gneiss muttered.
“He told me you were my people and that I couldn’t survive without a people.”
“But you did survive without a people. All your life until now.” Faal corrected.
“I—no. I didn’t thrive, though. I should have died!” Sonia’s voice broke.
Gneiss poked her finger into Faal’s ribs, “I liked Schist’s other question—did the Magnus Avem give you instructions for us or about us or anything?”
Sonia rested her head in her palm, trying to think. “We didn’t really talk about what I should do. At the time, I was just worried you wouldn’t accept me.”
Nervous laughs echoed around the table. Rezza spoke. “Not accept you—of course we were going to accept you. I mean, you’re quite literally god’s gift.”
Sonia’s face heated. “I don’t think the buzz—the Magnus Avem, thought of me as a gift to Grater Barren. And I don’t really know why he saved my life, but that’s what it was. There’s absolutely nothing special about me, sorry to disappoint.”
Gazes turned down. Only Faal shrugged. “It might be that there’s nothing super special about you, and it might not be. Maybe you’ve just got to warm up.”
Sonia raised her gaze to meet Faal’s.
She could see it there. The same look of challenge that had been there on that first night.
Faal didn’t blink. “Last question: can you show us the scar on your neck?”
*
Every year at harvest season, Grater Barren Academy dismissed classes early and encouraged the students to go to the fields and help the farmers to bring in the crop. After morning gymnasium, most of the white tunics changed into working clothes and headed for the school gates—most students.
Faal lingered, sword in hand, and he nodded to Sonia. “What’s your hurry? Stay behind and spar with me.”
Sonia hesitated at the invitation. “I can’t fence, Faal. I’m a pac--ifist,” she stumbled over the lie. No Arrowan in one hundred years had ever claimed pacifism.
“Having no aggression doesn’t mean you can’t defend.”
“I doubt it’s worth your time.”
“You’ll wear my guard and mask. I swear I’ll just teach.”
Sonia didn’t want to spar with Faal, but she hated to have to reject an attempt to make friends, if that’s what this was. She exhaled. “Okay, but don’t ruin me for helping with the harvest.”
Faal grinned. “Promise.”
“First, let’s choose your weapon.”
Sonia sidled up beside him as he surveyed the wall of weaponry. “Nothing too heavy.”
Faal nodded. “You want something to complement your speed. Anyone whose seen you run knows you're quick.” He glanced at her sideways, startling her with his expression full of unsuppressed respect. “Here, heft this one. See how it feels.” He brought a slim, almost feminine sword down from the pegs that held it on the wall.
Sonia gripped the hilt and gave it a cautious wave “Okay. This is good.” In fact, it was the best forged steel she’d ever touched by a long distance and they both knew it.
A moment later, strapped in a chest guard and face mask, Sonia took a lesson in posture, stance, how to carry her weight. Faal stood close by, adjusted her posture with his hands. “Shoulders down and back,” he said then he startled and withdrew a pace, staring at her neck wound. “Skies that must have hurt,” he whispered. Sonia stiffened.
“Can I?”
Sonia tightened her grip on the sword. “Don’t. Please.”
Faal's face turned deep red. “I won’t mention it again. I promise.”
He drew his sword. “Now keep your arms loose, and your weight forward. I know you don’t really want to do this, but pretend you care—like its an emergency. Get a little scared,”
In one swift motion, he drew his sword and cut fast inside her guard and she dropped her weapon with a clatter. “Okay, that was too much, but you get the idea.Instead of paralysis, use the energy to move. Here. I’ll show you.” He demonstrated a series of defensive blocks. He brought her patiently through the movement, showing her how to reinforce her blocks with the weight in her core and her hips.
Then he attacked again. Right. Left. Middle. Sweat soaked her brow and hairline. Sonia cursed. “I told you, I—”
“Just getting your attention. Don’t worry about your counter attack. Strictly defensive blocks, okay?”
Sonia nodded, and they went through it again, until the motion became more natural.
With a snap, Faal cracked his neck so loud Sonia flinched. He laughed. “Startled you, but I shouldn’t have been able to. Over and above knowing what you’re doing, you have to watch your opponent. Watch their movement—their center of gravity. Watch their eyes. You can read a million intentions in an opponent’s eyes for a clue about what’s coming.”
Sonia followed Faal’s finger as he brought her gaze up to his and he held it there with a perfect coolness. She stared and probed for the promised legible intentions, but his were locked up like a vault. “I can’t read yours.”
“Maybe because I have no intentions.”
Sonia’s eyes flashed like an accusation as she ignored his high feint and parried the attack from below.
He chuckled. “And maybe I do have intentions. That was a good block. You’re not hopeless. Not hopeless at all.”
Sonia stifled a smile, and forgave him the lie—a mistake, because his next assault saw her pinned with a razor-sharp blade to the neck.
Faal instantly let her go. “We’ll be late to the fields if we don’t leave now.”
Winded and sweating. "Okay," she agreed, but what was behind that cagey gaze?
“Let’s do it again tomorrow morning.”
Sonia frowned, skeptical. "Maybe." Why should Faal take the trouble?
Sonia
Fields stretched on to the golden horizon under the light of the fading day. Most students, both boy and girl and many of their professors had assembled. No one wore their school tunics. The girls wore thin rags and the boys wore ragged trousers, torsos naked above the waist. Most of the boys hefted long, unwieldy scythes and a few of the taller, stronger girls could handle scythes too. The smaller girls and boys carried cords and twine, with which to bundle the freshly cut wheat. Sonia accepted the twine and watched what the others did, mimicking as best she could.
The farmer called their attention, divided them into teams and sent them to the four corners of the field. Sonia fell in with Faal and Nessa, Rezza, Shale and Gneiss. Rezza took the center position, and at his signal, the boys cleared their throats and sang out a pitch.
They began singing a harvest song—low and masculine and the low bass almost dropped Sonia to the ground. She’d hardly heard singing, so much less from boys or men. The ley energy around her begin to pulse to the rhythm of the song as the workers fell into synchrony. She saw the effect the notes had upon them. Soulful and rhythmic, it coordinated their swings. Made them sure and strong, perfectly efficient. She found herself humming along, because she didn’t know how to sing the words, but she noticed how much stronger her movement became under the influence of the song. She recognized the ley energy, though this application of it was completely new to her.
They worked that way, on into the evening, binding and carrying the harvest back to the center field. It felt not so much like work, but a highly skilled craft, to meld into teamwork so rhythmic, so perfectly coordinated. It was as if they were really one body and one mind, moving together. The sensation of communal synchrony was so strange to the girl from Arrow, Sonia couldn’t help but tremble a little at the forbidden, and all the more compelling, use of ley force. Her Arrow upbringing cast judgment upon communal applications of ley energy, but seeing it done, she couldn’t feel anything wrong with it. There was so much right with it. Was this what it meant to belong to something? The sensation was warm, comfortable, almost hypnotic.
The work carried on. Organized. Collegial. Efficient. Until they had harvested several fields. Cleared them of every stalk of wheat. Stored every grain safely and snuggly away into a tall silo standing at the center of the farm. Sonia exhaled heavily to see the cleared fields. The chaff strewn about her feet. Her sweat had dried the salt was tight on her hairline, and she should be exhausted, but she was only a little tired.
The ritual was nothing, really. And it was something. A tear pricked her eye. Why was she tearing up?
Curfew was coming and they had to be fast. The group parted with the farmer and his family, who shook all of their hands in turn. Sonia could feel the friendship in his grip…and gratitude. She’d never felt that from anyone before.
The youths hurried back toward the town in a group, laughing, playing and whispering as they ran. She exchanged glances with many of them —trading smiles or friendly nods. Sonia almost forgot to be afraid—almost forgot she’d been raised to be their enemy to fight these youths in battle and to die in combat against them. She forgot to lower her eyes, to keep her distance. Faal kept close, and at one point, he slung his arm heavily around her shoulders.
She noticed something immediate in the expressions of his peers when he did this--something like awe, and was it skepticism? For some reason, the act seemed meaningful. No one said anything and she didn't know what to make of this kind of familiarity she could neither quite accept or outright reject. But she noticed Nessa watching her brother between narrowed eyelids, and it was not with awe, but it might have been worry.
Back in the cottage, lying upon her woven mat, Sonia knew there would be no harvest moon, but she stared out the window of the cottage anyway. That evening might have been the happiest she had ever lived in her life—and yet the school day had been troubling. The anxiety of outward expectations pressed upon her from nearly every direction. Who was she? Was she Barronite now? Was she still Arrowan? Was she something else, entirely?