Edwin shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean, Lady Nemain?”
“I mean, did the Medgards teach you about the mines? About
staffs, swords, or the aegis?”
Edwin shook his head. She was acting like she was meeting
him for the first time, and he wondered whether she was doing this for the
others’ benefit, to show he would get no special treatment, or if somehow his
stepping on the tree had changed things and this was a test.
“I see,” she said. “Then there’s much you must learn. Chardwick’s
Aegis is required learning for any child of Chardwick, and today is a good day
to start. As everyone else here is aware, today we will be practicing with the sword.”
As though reading his mind, she added, “Don’t worry, the swords are blunted.
They can’t hurt you much.”
Again the class tapped their swords against the ground in
acknowledgement.
“One last question, Edwin,” she said, circling him and his sword
as she talked. “Did the Medgards ever tell you anything about the Fury?”
“No, erm, they d-didn’t, Lady Nemain,” Edwin replied.
“Today will be a treat, then.”
Noticing that Nemain’s smile seemed false, Edwin gulped. Nemain
resumed her pacing.
Turning to Walt, Edwin mouthed, “What’s the Fury?”
Walt leaned towards Edwin and whispered, “Chardwick’s greatest
defense. It’s supposed to be a secret. Outsiders aren’t allowed to know.”
“Silence, children!” Lady Nemain yelled in a commanding tone
that Edwin would never have suspected from her. “In these dangerous times,
knowing how to wield the sword may one day save your life. Proper usage
requires discipline that it is your duty to learn and respect.” She eyed them
meaningfully. “Now, it has been said that this is a heavy burden for children
to bear, but I survived the training, and so has every other person living in
Chardwick. Edwin, the training is about to begin, so stand up straight.
Everyone, ready yourselves.”
Following the others’ lead, Edwin stood across from Walt
with his sword planted in the ground. The sword was long enough to dwarf him. Looking
around at the other children, he noticed that they were all staring forward
intently, awaiting their next command. Across from him, Walt also had the same
blank expression.
“What is going on?” Edwin mouthed, but Walt didn’t move or
respond.
Lady Nemain lifted the horn to her mouth, and a low,
rumbling scream filled the air, like the noise in his most hated dream. It was
much quieter than the cry in his dream, when his mother had just entered the
village square, but the effect was the same. All around him the eyes of the
other children were consumed by blackness, as though their pupils had exploded
into the whites of their eyes, but the effect only lasted an instant. Edwin
noticed that whatever the sound did to them, it seemed to have no effect on him.
And right then, he realized something. People in this
village hunted anyone or anything with powers like his to destroy them, but
they weren’t above fighting power with power. He tucked that knowledge away for
later, because right then he sensed the spirit rushing towards him. Forgetting
their quarrel, he whispered the words to call it into him. It spread itself
into a long thread, and though he didn’t see its essence as it crossed the
snow, he knew it had obeyed his command. Joining took precious energy he didn’t
have, but even as its essence drained his body, he felt whole and strong.
In a trance, the other children all took a step towards each
other and tapped their swords together. Directly in front of him, Edwin saw
that Walt was also moving, and he quickly raised his sword to meet the blow.
The harmonious sound of their swords hitting simultaneously echoed between the
four walls, and Edwin realized that the battle had begun.
In a fury of activity, the children raised their swords and
began parrying blows faster than the eye could track. Without even realizing he
was doing it, he saw that he had been backing away, but Walt was coming at him
fast. Even while he noticed himself breaking out in a cold sweat, he felt the
spirit reassuring him and asking him to trust in its judgment. Holding the sword
with only his good hand and balancing it on the arm of his bad one, he stopped
retreating and tried to let the spirit gain control.
Walt attacked, and Edwin, with the spirit’s help, parried it
easily and countered. Walt’s sword came at him from above, from the sides, and
after an impossible flip over Edwin’s head, from behind, but each time Edwin’s sword
met the blow. That horn, that sound—Edwin wondered what it had done to
them.
Each moment Edwin retreated further and further into
himself, trusting the spirit more than he ever had. Walt’s stamina was
boundless, matched only by Edwin’s. Through his own eyes, Edwin could see the
fight unfolding before him, but he felt numb, a step removed, like he was
watching one of the spirit’s memories. Though he marveled at the spirit’s
agility, and his own agility, he also felt fear that it was all happening too
fast, that everything was wrong, and that even with the spirit, or maybe
because of it, he was in great danger.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Edwin saw that other fights
around him were ending. One combatant would gain an advantage, the other would
fall, and like coming out of a daze, the opponents would blink a few times
before returning to their positions opposite each other, waiting for further
instructions.
But Edwin’s fight with Walt did not end. The winter chill no
longer bit his skin, and sweat was dripping down his face. But since it was his
own body and not magic doing the work—
he
was running,
he
was jumping,
he
was wielding the sword—the death creeping up his
arm was almost imperceptible.
Then, unexpectedly, Walt’s attention wavered, but only for a
second. In a moment of consciousness, his eyes darted over to Lady Nemain and
went wide with fear. This distraction was all Edwin and the spirit needed.
The blow came from below, and with one swift movement Walt’s
legs went out from under him. Edwin stood over him trying to regain his breath
when Lady Nemain approached. Standing in front of Edwin, she lifted the horn to
her mouth and blew, but the sound was different. Instead of a low, hollow sound
overtaking the air, it was more like a sucking noise, like its call was
literally being sucked back into horn. The eyes of the students around Edwin
flashed white a moment, and they came out of the trance. Feeling the spirit
returning his body to his own control, Edwin looked up, confusion written
across his face.
With their wits back, everyone around him began clapping.
Lady Nemain said, “That was a great performance, Edwin.”
Walt had lifted himself from the ground and was holding onto
his sword, which was once again perpendicular to the ground.
“Edwin, you say you haven’t ever trained with the Fury? That
was not the performance of a child who has never heard its call.”
“No, Mistress. What is it?” he asked, aware that the class
was watching his every move.
“The horn has many calls, but to those who have never
trained with it, it has two outcomes: It can either put the person into a rage,
where their moves come fast and furious, but without strategy or consideration.
Or it can turn a person still as a corpse. People spend years learning to
control its call, and every child here has been training since infancy. I
myself have probably been training harder than anybody; I’ve won every
tournament Chardwick has offered the last ten years. With the power of the
horn, things like height, weight, and strength don’t matter. All that matters is
your connection with its call, and it is unheard of for a child to master your
level of control without years of practice.”
Edwin saw Walt’s eyes dart to him, and he knew Walt wished
that he’d lied. Edwin didn’t know what he should say. But at least connected
with the spirit, he didn’t stutter. “I’m sorry, Lady Nemain, I don’t know what
happened.”
“This is very strange,” she murmured. Then, louder, she said,
“Well, onto the next round: group play. Let’s have the winners of the last
round to this end”—she gestured to her left—“and the losers on this
end.” She gestured to her right.
She then broke the winners into two more groups of four.
Edwin saw two of Walt’s friends at his side, the chubby one and the one with
glasses. Neither looked like great warriors, but perhaps Lady Nemain was
correct in saying the Fury had little to do with appearances. There was the
pale girl he didn’t recognize from Hawthorne, and standing opposite them was
Martha, one of her puppies, and Sam. Last was another girl who didn’t reside in
Hawthorne. Most everyone was looking to Lady Nemain, but Edwin noticed Sam’s
eyes bearing into him. At first Edwin thought he was imagining it, but Sam’s
mouth seemed to be moving slightly, almost imperceptibly. Edwin thought he saw
Sam say, ‘__ Going __ Kill __,’ followed by—what was it? Fun? Done? Run?
“Stand ready,” Lady Nemain called, standing between the two
groups.
The horn’s call again gave him chills. It sounded so much
like the horn from the spirit’s memory, but he didn’t hesitate to let the
spirit gain control. Lifting the swords, the opponents tapped them together in
a great circle, and then backed away.
In what may have looked like chaos, the opposite ends of the
melee approached each other. Not hesitating like last time, Edwin approached
the girl he didn’t recognize, who towered over him like Walt, and they began
trading blows. Like with Walt, their movements were a blur, but she fell
quickly. Not far away, he saw that Walt’s chubby friend had also toppled
Martha’s puppy.
With two of their four opponents already on the ground,
Edwin hoped this fight would end quicker than the last. He joined Walt’s friend
with glasses in attacking Martha, while the chubby boy attacked Sam with the
non-Hawthorne girl.
But Sam and Martha were infinitely skilled with their swords.
In an unspoken agreement, Sam and Martha bypassed their four opponents and
retreated to each other, watching each other’s backs. Their swords were
outstretched, and they waited without fear. The trance having consumed them,
they waited for the four to attack.
The four attacked with force, trying but failing to separate
Sam from Martha in a flurry of attacks. Moving flawlessly, Edwin attacked with
the spirit’s grace and cunning, but Sam and Martha matched his skill blow for
blow. One by one Martha and Sam brought down or disarmed Edwin’s three
partners. First it was the girl, followed by Walt’s friend with glasses, and
finally the chubby boy fell, leaving Edwin to fight Sam and Martha alone.
But with the spirit, they couldn’t touch him. With one on each
side, attacks came from his front and his back, but he sensed every one. Nothing
had ever felt so natural to him. Jumping over one, he would parry another.
Sliding under another blow from Sam, he narrowly avoided an oncoming blow from
Martha. It was Martha who fell next, the fatal blow coming as Edwin dodged
Sam’s sword. Martha, who had to sidestep Sam’s still moving sword, found
herself outflanked by Edwin, who brought her down with a hard swipe to her
head.
With Martha down, Sam’s moves became no less frenzied. With
the Fury, Sam’s sword moved without effort from hand to hand, while Sam’s body
lithely sidestepped Edwin’s blows and turned to deliver some in return.
Edwin noticed that the group of losers from the first round
had finished their fight and were watching from the sidelines, as was Lady Nemain.
A surge of anxiety hit his stomach, and his arm seized as he unintentionally took
control from the spirit.
That was all it took for Sam to strike. The blow wasn’t
especially hard, but Sam’s opportunity came at the expense of Edwin’s bad hand.
Once it was hit, his own consciousness jolted forward, taking full control away
from the spirit. He fell forward, and his sword went flying out of his hand. He
hit the ground hard.
Pain coursed up his arm and he could barely think. But
somewhere somehow he remembered that with the Fury, he was expected to rise and
return to formation. It was only because of the spirit that he found it
possible to pull himself up off the ground. His mind was clouded and churned
slowly, and he fought to hold back his sobs.
“Very interesting,” Lady Nemain said. The corners of her
mouth were tense with worry. She blew her horn and the Fury left the children
all as quickly as it had come. They seemed taken aback that they were suddenly
forced to catch their own breaths and think for themselves. Martha held the
back of her head and winced.
“That’s all the time we have for today,” Lady Nemain
continued. “Not bad work, bless the Fury. Not long now and some of you will be
ready to take the oath and combat the guard. Go on now and leave your swords
with me.”
After Edwin left his sword at her feet, he headed to the
changing room door as fast as he could without running. “Edwin, wait up,” he
heard Walt call behind him. Reluctantly, he stopped and turned. Behind Walt, he
saw Walt’s three friends. “I want you to meet my three best friends: the tall
one there, that’s Drew; Rash is the one with glasses; and the tubby one, well,
that’s Pech.”
“I’m not tubby!” Pech cried, flustered. “I’m big boned.”
“And retaining fluid?” Walt chided. “You know you’re the
fattest boy at Hawthorne. Who knows how. You’ve been at Hawthorne how long? A year?
With what Vanora feeds us I’d have thought you’d lose at least a little
weight.”
Edwin couldn’t even pretend to care to pay attention. Bile
seemed to be caught in his throat. Every step, every movement, every thought
was torture, and Edwin couldn’t have put on his uniform and left the changing
room faster.
* * *
Outside, past the
Chardwick’s
Aegis
sign, amongst the throng of people, Edwin came across a small
alley. The nearby village square was full and crowded with people, but the
buildings towering over the dark little alley were oppressive enough to muffle
the noise and give him a moment of peace. Settling down behind a pile of trash,
he leaned back against a cold brick wall and held his arm. The spirit floated
to him and began circling and rubbing him soothingly.