“You talked back again, didn’t you?” he would always ask with a sigh. He wasn’t disappointed or upset, just worried. Always worried, always needing to worry. He pressed a cold rag to his friend’s face, keeping it there as the injured boy winced.
Reuben’s pain did little to dull his ferocity. He snapped back, “It isn’t fair. He bosses us all around, all day everyday. Telling us what to do, how to do it, punishing us when we do it wrong. What does he do for us? For any of us?”
While Reuben sat there grumbling and cleaning the cut on his face, Louise was dividing up their daily rations. Reuben’s insolence and complaining would cost him his food for the day, so Louise was forced to split their meager portions into two. It was an act Reuben had never properly thanked Loise for.
He wouldn’t thank him today either. His mood was too sour to even consider the gesture. He just took the bread and ate it with a sullen expression on his face. After they finished their small half of the bread they nibbled on a small dry piece of meat together.
When they had finished eating and Reuben's cheek ceased bleeding, Louise said, “You really need to wise up one of these days. The chief can only take so much before he does something… permanent.”
“I’m not wising up to that arrogant ass,” Reuben declared. “In fact, I’m leaving. I’ll save up rations for a few days then I’m getting the hell out of here.”
Louise laughed. “How are you going to save up rations when yours are constantly being
cut or withheld? You need to just make the best of your situation here.”
“I can’t,” Reuben objected. “I can’t handle staying here anymore. There’s gotta be more out there than this. There has to be. Toiling away all day for someone else’s food? I can’t keep doing it. Come on- Come with me. We could go anywhere!”
A grim frown stretched over Louise’s face. He said, “I can’t do that, Reuben.”
“Why not?” Reuben asked, ready to beg. He had put off so many plans to leave due to his friend refusing to part with the village. If he could just get him to agree to come with then he would have left in a heart beat.
Slowly Louise’s face sank and dimmed. He croaked, “Because I’m dead.”
Suddenly the walls of the home rotted away and collapsed. They were no longer inside the dusty home of theirs but now on the path leading through town. Ambient screams were all around and a feeling of dread filled Reuben. In the distance mountains shifted and trembled as howls and roars nearly deafened him.
All at once Reuben realized he couldn’t find Louise. He began a frantic dash through the town, racing around buildings and past corpses. So many corpses.
At last he came upon his friend. That smear against the ground. The never ending pile of meat strewn about that he couldn’t forget. The image broke Reuben and he collapsed to his knees. From the corner of his vision he could see the beasts coming near him. There were dozens, hundreds. They walked through walls, stepped in pools of blood, they came for him. Closer and closer.
“NO!” Reuben screamed, shooting out of his bed. All around him people shot up and shouted, wondering what was going on.
For a few more seconds the guards looked around and muttered confused till they saw Reuben and realized what the source had been. Someone near Reuben called out, “Damn it kid! We’re trying to sleep…”
If he expected an apology, he got none. Reuben simply stayed there as still as a statue. He could feel himself tremble as his wet clothes stuck to his skin. Slowly he forced the thoughts away, he tried to forget the visions and memories. He couldn’t let them linger, he couldn’t see them. Slowly they vanished. Slowly he drifted back to sleep.
March, march, march. Swing, punch, pushup., squat, march, swing, pullup, punch. Days and weeks blended together. Men sat together, laughed, and drank. As they ran they would tell jokes. When they sparred they would congratulate one another. They were a brotherhood. Friends who would fight to the death for one another.
Reuben was not one of them. When they joked he didn’t laugh. When someone got a hit on him he only felt spite. The longer he stayed amongst all of them the more alone he felt. The more they supported one another the more he realized he had nothing.
It was the first time Reuben truly felt the loneliness of his dream. The feeling deepened as he sparred against his opponent. He knew nothing about the man he went against, not even his name. All Reuben had concerned himself with was the fact that they were now near equals with Reuben managing to get almost as many hits in. Despite Reuben’s ignorance, the man knew of him.
By now the others were ready for Reuben to be on his way. The duel- only a day away couldn’t come sooner. He had become a constant source of misery and gloom in their ranks. Any attempts to socialize with him or get to know him were constantly met with disdain and resistance. Not that the men tried very hard anymore.
Even Captain Jacobs had given up after the night of Reunion. It was a sad defeat and he wished he had been more successful, but reality was what it was. Since then their relationship had gone beyond formal- it was like two husks talking to one another. The only time Reuben showed any emotion or sign of being flesh and blood was when his anger boiled over and passion coursed through his veins as he tried to best Jacobs- something he still had never been able to do.
At dinner Reuben quickly ran through his food, eating it as fast as he could. The feeling of everyone around him laughing and talking had become far too suffocating. Rather than continue to stay, he stood up and if anyone noticed, no one bothered to say anything. It didn’t matter whether Reuben sat with them or not, he wasn’t one of them. They knew it as well as he did.
So Reuben went outside and grabbed his pole. The setting Sun stood out on the horizon in front of him basking him in a faint orange glow.=
One more night. That’s all Reuben had. He whacked against the pole. He had gotten better, much better. He could get strikes on most of the newer guards as much as they could him, and the older ones had to give all their effort to get him.
Would it be enough? Could he face Gryeson? He turned and shoved the pole into the chest of the dummy. He had to. He had to win.
Slowly the visions danced at the edge of Reuben’s consciousness. The memories began fading back. He started frantically attacking the statue to keep them at bay. None of that mattered. He had to look forward. He had to keep going forward. That’s all that mattered, all he had left.
In the distance Reuben could hear the laughter from inside the barracks. He could hear the table shaking from people smacking it. The flicker of candles danced over the open windows, but Reuben paid it no attention.
With every strike the dummy seemed to change. At one point Reben was attacking Jacobs. Striking against his limbs and piercing his throat. A second more and he was against Greyson. Dodging rocks, charging after him, slicing his leg clean off. Finally it was the beast. Reuben stood against it face to face. He wouldn’t back down, not this time. He rushed after it, slid to its side, sliced its skin open and watched with glee as its innards spilled out. Over and over he would be victorious. He would win.
A few more hours passed until finally Reuben decided he had grown too tired to continue. It was time for him to go to bed. It would be his last time sleeping in the barracks. By tomorrow he would be back in the shack of Greyson’s hut, he would be training as a sorcerer.
The mood at breakfast was lighter. Knowing it was their last few moments with Reuben seemed to inspire ease into their spirits. Reuben didn’t care. Truth be told, he understood. He knew he had done nothing to make himself sociable. As he watched them laugh and eat, a part of him regretted that. Maybe if he had-
No. He had bigger things to focus on.
A man sat beside him. Reuben knew it was Jacobs without looking. He asked him, “How are you feeling? Big day of the duel.”
“I feel ready. You trained me a lot,” Reuben answered honestly. Regardless of everything else, Jacobs was a master class swordsman. In all the weeks of training Reuben had never managed a single hit, and still struggled to defend against the whirlwind of wood that was the captain. He had to acknowledge it.
Jacobs smiled and said, “Another month or two and you would have been poking and slicing me before long. You’re sure you don’t want to be a guard?”
“Of course not,” Reuben said sharply. This again? He thought he had made himself more than clear. “Besides, no one here wants me to stay anyways. That’s more than obvious at this point.”
Indeed, the men had much to say about Reuben when he was out of earshot. The little demon that came to their doorstep. Him becoming a guard was unlikelier than ever unless he decided to try in a town quite far away.
Still, Jacobs couldn’t resist offering, “If you smiled a bit more, maybe they wouldn’t be so upset with you. Kindness can go a long way.”
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“Not where I’m going,” Reuben replied. He stood up from his chair and grabbed his pole and bag, his only two permanent possessions. As he began walking towards the door, a few guards and Jacobs followed after him.
Confused, Reuben asked, “What are you doing?”
“We’re coming to watch your fight, lad,” Jacobs replied. “We’ve all spent a month helping you get to where you are so we could see you whoop that sorcerer. I think we should at least get to see the fruits of our labor, don’t you?”
Not only that, but Jacobs hoped with that many witnesses, Greyson would be hesitant to do something truly damaging to Reuben. Or in the worst scenario they could rush to his aid. No matter how unsociable Reuben was, he was still a boy with no permanent guardian to look over him.
Reuben shrugged. He had no reason to argue. There could be no one present or a thousand people. He would give it his best regardless.
With every passing minute, Reuben’s worry only rose up. All the hits he took during training, all the times he failed to strike Jacobs. What if Greyson was too strong? Slowly he began to feel himself shake. Him? Shaking? Damn it! How could he still be so cowardly!
“Did ya know sorcerers seldom bother with their swordsmanship?” Jacobs asked, seeing his slight tremble. “They all think its beneath them. Why bother with a blade when you can control an element?”
“Really?” Reuben asked excitedly, trying to hide his delight. He felt his shaking slow as he remembered Greyson’s fight against the beast. His saber had been a single killing blow followed by his onslaught magic, nothing more. Maybe he really had a chance.
Jacobs continued, “Indeed. You take away a sorcerer’s magic and face him one on one, he’s nothing too scary. I’ve got faith in you.”
Reuben whispered, “Thank you,” in a voice so quiet he wasn’t sure if Jacobs even heard. He once again felt confident in his abilities. He could do this. He reminded himself of this over and over as they passed through the gates and outside the town where the tall sorcerer waited for him in a cloak of green.
“You actually came, and you brought an audience.” Greyson remarked. He was toying with the long pole in his hand. It was obvious he was disinterested in the entire affair.
“They wanted to see me beat you,” Reuben said, forcing a grin. Now more than ever he had to be confident, he had to be mean. He couldn’t stand down.
It didn’t matter. Greyson just laughed and said, “Well they’re going to be very disappointed. I’m not holding back anymore, boy. I want this win just as badly as you do, if not more. Still, I will give you one warning. Leave now. Forget all this, and don’t come back.”
That was one thing Reuben knew to be untrue. He gripped the hilt of the training pole and said, “No you don’t. You have no idea how badly I want this, Greyson. I told you over and over. I’m going-”
“Shut up!” Greyson roared. “I haven’t seen you in a month and in four sentences you’ve made me tired of this reunion. God! Pick up your pole and just come at me.”
As this was said, the guards parted to give the two fighters a large space to go up against one another. Both members silently stared at one another. Reuben slowly took a fighting stance, pointing his pole towards Greyson. Greyson took his as well.
“No magic,” Reuben reminded him.
“Just pure bodily combat. My favorite,” Greyson responded.
Whether it was some signal no one else could see, both blasted from their spots at the same time as if a bell had rang. Yet there was nothing to announce to them that it was time to start. Their hatred for one another merely boiled over at the same time and compelled them towards each other.
Despite the boy’s month of training, Greyson still expected a clean win. An easy win. He swung for Reuben as fast as he possibly could. Strike fast, strike hard, get it over with and be done with it.
It wasn’t so simple. Reuben stepped back, turned, and blocked the blade. Greyson was quick, but Reben realized he lacked technique in his own ways. He pushed against his pole and smacked it out of the way. His ribs were open for a fantastic whack.
The bastard blocked it! Greyson could tell in one move he had underestimated him. He supposed it made sense. Even a goat could learn a thing or two after a month of training with a professional swordsman. Oh, well. It didn’t matter.
He saw Reuben swing at his ribs and reached out, grabbing the pole in a tight grip. Reuben looked outraged and Greyson reminded him, “Don’t forget, these are not true blades.”
The kick caught Reuben in the stomach and nearly sent him off his feet, but he was stronger then before. He kept upright and went straight for Greyson, not wasting a second’s time.
Back and forth they collided and retreated. Every few seconds they met, slamming their wood together. Suddenly Greyson would lash out with a punch or a kid and Reuben only had a second to dodge or block, yet he was managing.
“I’m not just a punching bag anymore, Greyson,” Reuben hissed.
A vein tensed across Greyson’s forehead. He smacked the tip of the pole towards Reuben, and as the boy dodged it, he spun the pole around and shoved the hilt into Reuben’s stomach. A second later and his elbow was slamming into Reuben’s jaw, nearly knocking him over.
Greyson shrugged and said, “So you’ve learned a few tricks. It doesn’t matter. A month of training will never compare to the years I’ve had. No, this won’t last much longer.”
“On that, we agree,” Reuben replied, and rushed the sorcerer once again. He knew Greyson’s strength was combining unarmed and armed combat. If Reuben was going to best him, he was going to have to surpass him in his own speciality.
Not giving the sorcerer a moment to counter, Reuben kept low and swung over and over. He couldn’t match his opponents ferocity and physical strength, but he could substitute it with technique and finesse. Again and again he struck against Greyson’s right side. Slowly Greyson was turning more and more.
In an instant Reuben leaped forward and punched Greyson in his back, directly into where Jacobs had shown him the liver was. The sorcerer staggered, surprised by the blow, and Reuben took the chance to bash the pole against his leg as hard as he could.
If he hoped that would end the fight, he would have been mistaken. Greyson’s eyes widened with rage and he gripped his pole so hard his knuckles went white.
Greyson’s counter had so much force behind it that Reuben’s fingers rattled when their poles struck one another. With every passing second the man became more of a monster as he rushed towards him. Reuben had no time to attack, forced to focus solely on defense.
“So you got a hit in, huh?” Greyson roared, smashing his pole down towards Reuben’s head. The boy was forced to move out of the way, and immediately had to dodge another kick to the side.
“You really think you’re something don’t you?” Greyson screamed. “The boy who’ll become a sorcerer! Well not in my world, boy! Not at all!”
Again Greyson raised his sword high, planning to smash it down and crack Reuben’s skull open like an egg. This time Reuben didn’t dodge or block, he had a better idea. He gripped his hilt with both hands and shoved it upwards, ramming the point against Greyson’s chin in the split second he was defenseless.
Greyson groaned and coughed as the point jammed against his throat and jaw. Then his coughing turned to a low guttural cry of rage. Finally enough was enough.
In a move catching Reuben entirely off guard. Greyson threw his pole forward with a surprising amount of accuracy. Without his interception, the pole would have hit Reuben right in his face. Of course, Reuben knocked it away easily. Then a second later Greyson’s fist slammed into his cheek.
In one clean punch Reuben’s nose busted open and blood shot across his cheek. The world was a spinning array of colors, up was down, left was right. It-
BAM! A kick to the chest sent the air out of Reuben’s body. He fell down, and saw Greyson coming at him out of the corner of his vision. Yet the sorcerer had never bothered to grab his pole again. He wanted to personally beat Reuben into a bloody pulp.
“What… an… idiot…” Reuben gurgled the words as blood pooled beside his mouth.
He spun around, swinging his pole against Greyson. The sorcerer grabbed the pole again, thinking he was so big and strong. Yet the moron never saw his own dropped pole directly next to Reuben. In the blink of an eye, Reuben grabbed Greyson’s own weapon with both hands and whacked it against the man’s ankle as hard as he could..
For a split second Greyson grip loosened from the pain as he nearly fell to his injured foot. Reuben ripped the other pole from his hands and before he could recover, Reuben began assaulting him with both poles. Left, right, over and over. Greyson didn’t have time to think or even dodge. Reuben battered his shoulder, smacked his ribs, jabbed the tip into Greyson’s stomach.
“I’m not in your world, Greyson!” Reuben screamed. He whacked Greyson’s ankle again, finally knocking the man to his knees. The sorcerer pushed his shoulder forward and sent Reuben back. He reached out and went to grab for the pole, but Reuben didn’t care. He let go of it, and raised the other one as he did so.
With his pole raised high, Reuben screamed, “You’re in mine!” and he swung the pole directly against the man’s face, sending him tumbling over to his side in a limp broken pile of man.
Standing over the beaten man, Reuben cried out, “Mine! I told you! My world! No one else’s! Never again. Never. Never…” A single tear went down his cheek and once again his body trembled, although he couldn’t understand why.
No one else said anything. No one could believe it. They all stood there watching a boy tower over a sorcerer. Blood covered his face, and the grass under the sorcerer was turning red as well.
Greyson’s fists moved, and Reuben prepared to attack him again, but the man merely smashed his fists into the ground. Reuben watched as the man trembled, holding the earth with a weak grip. He slammed his fist against the ground again and in the distance a leg sized rock shot upwards and exploded into dust.
Finally he threw his head back and laughed. It was a vile demented laugh which sent blood splashing off his chin. It continued on for an unsettling amount of time until Greyson finally screamed, “You’ve won, Reuben! You’ve beaten me!”
He shot upwards, towering over Reuben once again. He stared down at the boy with an unreadable expression. Was it hatred? Respect? Curiosity? Madness…?
His words didn’t reveal his feelings. He said, “Very well. Very well,” and let out another wave of violent laughter before saying, “I’ll teach you magic! You win! I couldn’t get rid of you! You’ve beaten me in front of everyone!”
Again he laughed before pointing at Jacobs and saying, “You’ve gotta keep teaching him too. Clearly you’ve shown him a thing or two, haven’t you, Captain?”
The guards looked at one another. None of them wanted to argue with the raving maniacal sorcerer. Reuben began, “I don’t n-”
“No!” Greyson shouted back, and took a step towards Reuben. He pointed at the boy and continued, “Clearly you have an affinity for swordplay. You’ll continue it as well. Everyday.”
Once again there was no room for argument. The sorcerer looked like he would rip open the earth and swallow them in it at any moment if someone so much as shook their head no. Finally his breathing began slowing and he flicked his blood off his cloak.
Having regained his composure- or at least seeming like he had, Greyson asked the victor, “Well then, should we go see what kind of sorcerer you are?”