When he entered the tent, 5 pairs of eyes snapped to him. One of the squad was missing. He didn’t see Caid. The others were all present: Ben, Bask, Lint, Jester, and Jackal. They did not address him as he walked to a clearly open space near the back of the tent. He began to set down his bag, took out his water pouch, and sat down to face his strange tribunal.
“So,” Ben began, “how was your first night?”
“How many times did you throw up,” asked Jester. It seemed that there was genuine curiosity in his question, and the others mirrored, listening intently for his answer.
“I threw up four times. Well, only the first couple times could be considered vomiting. The last two were definitely just me, nauseously heaving nothing onto the ground,” said Rane, a bit embarrassed. They probably had all gotten it after a try or two.
“HAH, told you he didn’t get rotation on the first night. The ditch dreg probably can’t even feel his ambient,” Bask said hurriedly.
Lint snorted and said, “it’s ok, Rane, no one was betting on you for the first three days anyways. Maybe you’ll get rotation next week. I’ve heard the Southeast is full of hard workers just down on their luck.”
Rane felt his pride flare up, and argued back, his voice raising as he spoke, “I’ve been able to feel my ambient for years, and last night, I did at least make it to rotation.” His audience was startled.
“You didn’t get rotation and he did,” remarked Jackal. “Embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not fair, he must have–,” Ben placed a hand on Bask’s shoulder, stopping him from continuing.
“I think you’re right, Bask. It’s not fair. But we can make it fair,” said Ben. He took a step forward, and it was somehow only now that Rane understood that this conclusion had been one forgone. The open area at the back of the tent; their anticipatory gazes as he entered the tent. Since his conversation with Puddles, he should have realized it. He knew that they didn’t like him, but he had been naive. A few of these boys actually hated him.
He opened his mouth to scream for help, but Ben was fast, much faster than he had been in their spar. The first blow was aimed well, directly into his stomach, cutting upwards as if he meant to drive his fist under Rane’s ribs. He collapsed in a heap, letting go of his lunch as the rest of them descended onto him. He tucked his head as the hits began to land. A kick managed to land on his jaw. After that, it was hard to think about anything in particular except that he still needed to stay still and keep his hands over his head.
Even still, there was one clear train of thought that rose, allowing him to focus on something. If they hated him, he could hate them, too. He retreated inwards, no longer fully experiencing his own situation as he focused on his own dark thoughts. He would stand above them as they stood above him right now. But not as a group beating an individual. Rane, now more than ever, wanted true power, like the tally displayed on the first day. Power like he felt from the healer. No, even higher. He may reach it before them, but these boys would reach classient as well. It was nearly guaranteed. Several of them would reach brazient. He wanted to stand at a height that they couldn’t reach, and to torment them as they did him.
Suddenly, he remembered the words of his mother, spoken to him so long ago, You shouldn’t do it because what you do is who you are to others.” Yes, mother, but who are they to me? He did not remember all that she had told him on that day, but it seemed so much less complicated to him now. They were his enemies.
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*****
Rane heard once that you go in life to where you were wanted. That place was clearly not his squad’s tent, and so moving out was suddenly a priority. Unfortunately, it was not his only priority. He had to stop his head from spinning, and see if he could stand up. He would need to be able to attend the afternoon briefing. And he would need to make his walk back out in the bush to practice ambient control. He was close; he could feel it.
Rane tried to sit up, but felt a flashing pain in his lower back. He nearly lost consciousness. He also couldn’t call for the healer. Ben’s boys had an airtight story. If Rane raised the issue to the tallies, they would all testify that he attempted to stab Bask. They even claimed to have a few dregs from other squads to back them up, making it look less like conspiracy. Even without this threat, he shuddered a bit in natural fear at the memory of the brazient class healer. The shudder caused pain to flare again, like he was being branded, but this pain was different, normal. He would try to fix himself. His mother had been able to fix minor injuries.
It was difficult to focus amidst the noise and clamor of the makeshift base. Even still, this was not something that he could elect not to do because it was ‘too difficult’. Currently, Rane couldn’t walk, and so he looked inwards once more, repeating his process he started out in the woods, albeit without the meditative pose or the sound of running water. The dull hum of boots stomping and random yelling would have to suffice.
As he felt his internal ambient, he focused around his lower back. He was no medical expert, but he felt certain that if the problem was that a disc in his spine had popped out, putting it back into place should fix most of his problem. He was unsure if he could do that either. He could move the ambient within his body. He should also be able to use it to move things within his body, and so he began rotating a small section of ambient in his lower back, feeling around his spine, giving him a mental map of what the area looked like. He spotted what he determined to be the problem bulging inwards a bit, and pressed his ambient gently against it, coaxing it back into place with a pop that broke his concentration and nearly made him scream. He was biting his own teeth so hard he feared that they might break.
Slowly, Rane stood up and gathered his things, which he had expected to be strewn about, but blissfully, were not. He did not plan on seeing the inside of this tent again. With a flash of inspiration, it occurred to him that some small, insignificant section of his revenge could begin now. He looked around the tent. Was there anything useful that they had left him?
And so he walked out of the tent, hiding a limp as best as he could, with a pack containing a few extra water pouches, dried rations, and twine. Back in the tent he had left their bags just a bit lighter, and maybe with a few loose threads as well. It would not amount to much, and he would never get to see it, but he could imagine Bask’s next excursion into the bush, during which he would find himself thirsty and with a pack barely holding itself together. It brought a smile to Rane’s face as he considered what Bask’s blood would look like on the outside of his body.
Rane found a secluded spot near the camp, and collapsed in a heap. He had to get some sleep before the next briefing, or they would clearly see him unable to stand. As he closed his eyes, his mind quieted, and he was taken into a dreamless, black, sleep like that of the dead.
*****
“And again, to repeat, check-ins are once a day until you break your ambient through your body, after which, you will only need to check in every three days. Tallies will be on standby to coach those who are struggling, and the cooks will be giving out dried meats and grain to those who wish to train for longer periods of time. At the end of the month, we will hold a final round of sparring that will help to determine your assigned squad.”
Rane listened through the assignment, trying to look as relaxed as he could while standing at attention. A lot of things still hurt, but he had made it here, and now he needed to make it back out into the bush again, where, blissfully, he could stay for days on end, only needing to come back for check-ins with the tallies.
When they were dismissed, many immediately headed for the forest. Rane elected to go get his rations from the cooks. The best way to ensure he wasn’t being followed was just to not go first. He may not be exactly the last to enter the bush, but he would at least not have a whole platoon staring at the direction he took.