Heavy, deep breathing, and the occasional rumbling snore are the only sounds besides the periodic creak of beds, typically signaling that someone has slipped off to the bathrooms. Most have been asleep for hours, the strain of the climb enough to send them into eternal slumber. Only a few lay awake, proved by frustrated sighs. One of these restless individuals is myself, my mind whirring with everything important and things that would be better off left dead.
As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, Alec’s threat plays a constant toll in my mind. But as much as I wish to hate him, it’s hard to not be understanding. If my family was killed by someone's horrific mistake, I would likely hate their entire bloodline, too.
What will happen if I do make it to the choosing, and am placed into the White’s? Will I be allowed in? As the daughter of the man who took out an entire legion. I think not. It is more likely that I will be burned at the stake, an example of what happens to those who come from a line of terrible mistakes.
Releasing a long sigh, I turn on my side, and look across the room. Alec and his brutes lay five rows away, claiming two bunks for themselves. Panthera lounges on the top of Alec’s bunk, his hands cradling his head. He is another who has not succumbed to slumber, but unlike myself, he has hardly moved at all.
Greyson is deadly quiet, and almost too calm for normality. I have to wonder if he is always that way, or if these coming weeks will pull that panther out to play. I know it’s there, lurking somewhere under his skin. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have such a reputation.
Hopefully it isn’t around me, but based on Alec’s cutting words, it seems that all of those boys have felt loss because of my father. It is only a matter of time before Alec holds true to his promise, no matter what Ryker may say.
The minutes tick by painfully slow, and just as I feel that I could at last get some rest, the students begin to stir, and the room combusts into a storm.
With my fingers, I brush through my hair, attempting to smooth the knotted strands. It helps a little, but not by much, and I find myself frowning at the gift that refuses to amend.
Predictably, though a touch annoying, Ryker is as cheerful as last night. His hair is perfectly roguish, and his bed has been made clean. Making me feel better, Kieran is a bit of a mess, with half of his hair standing up at the side.
“Morning!” Ryker booms, making me wince, “Ready for the first day?”
“Mm,” I grunt, waving a hand and hobbling off to the bathroom.
When I emerge, it is to Ryker and Kieran, one smiling and the other running a hand through frazzled hair.
Ryker slides an arm across my shoulder, having the insight to leave Kieran be, “Come on then, it's nearly five.”
Sergeant Pineherth awaits outside the dormitory, surrounded by the rest of our group. She nods her approval as we all arrive, and winds up the spiraling, stone stairs.
Every part of the castle has been carved from the mountain. The stones change in coloration and texture, each different and a test to the mountain's composition. It is beautiful, the variation of rock, and aids me in my oath to never get lost.
After traveling for a while, she throws open a door, carved into the oak is the symbol of Etari. Inside, the room is only smaller than the muck hall. It is open and tall, the back wall wholly consumed by floor to ceiling mirrors, finished with large cracks in the ceiling, looking quite like a tiger's swipe, which allows for the risen sun to pour in, lighting the room with a strange glow. It is beautiful, the way the rays shift, aided by more floating candles, which tend to drift to the more shadowed spaces.
“Right, then,” Pineherth claps, the sound echoing through the empty room, “This is the Moonridge training room, it will be used by our group alone. You will find that it adjusts based on what we need. For now, it’s open. Care to guess why?”
Pineherth points at the girl with long braids, the one called Caline Casanova. She falters at the request, and scratches her neck, thoughtfully looking around the room,
“Er, to run?” She says, a victorious twitch to her lips.
Pineherth nods her approval before continuing, “Every morning you will run before you take breakfast. Do not overlook this. It is an essential part of your training.”
At this, I physically recoil. Exercise is not my forte. Especially not running, which tends to leave me winded after a mere lap around what was once my home.
“Push yourselves, do not be lazy. I will not hesitate to assign more training if I deem your performance unsatisfactory.”
Pineherth gestures to the room, signaling for us to begin. Hesitantly, and admittedly with a severe lack of enthusiasm, the boys and I start our run. The Thornbern twins have taken off as if they have fire on their heels, and run side by side, easily lapping the room before I make it halfway. I know Ryker could be doing the same, but has decided to hold back, and instead observes my sporadic, and quite embarrassing, attempt to run.
“Mae,” he says lightly, the new nickname taking me aback, shown in the way I almost topple to the floor, “You did learn to run, right?”
“What are you talking about,” I wheeze, blushing scarlet.
Ryker gives that winning grin, “It’s just that you look like a newborn fawn.”
Flipping him off, he snorts in reply, and instead looks to Kieran. It is obvious that both of the boys are in good shape, but nobody outmatches Ryker. Kieran could probably run ten miles straight, but Ryker could do it in half the time. But unless I’m mistaken, Kieran has something of a competitive glint in his eye. Myself, on the other hand, am just trying to survive.
By the time the hour is up, and I’ve run a few miles, my shoes are splattered in the residue of vomit.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I can help, if you want,” Ryker says in full breath, a mockery in itself to my gasping.
I look up at him with somewhat watery eyes, and shake my head silently. Ryker, to his credit, allows the conversation to drop, and merely waits until I’m ready to head to the muck hall, where I will do my best to keep down some food.
This morning we are served ham and eggs, and I realize that this is the first breakfast I have not made since I was ten. Father would like it, but in truth he would prefer anything over my cooking. At least, that is what he always said.
The White’s and Shield’s continue to join us, but the Merikna have vanished, and the Mage’s have still yet to be seen. It is uncommon for the Merikna to join for school gatherings, they were only at last nights because of our arrival. From now on, I will only see them at the occasional meal, and perhaps lurking in a shadowed alcove.
After watching Ryker scarf down enough eggs to fuel a warband, we make our way in peace back to Moonridge. But this time, when we open the door, we find rows of mats and weapons.
Ryker whistles low as we step through the doorway, his eyes wide with excitement, “Those Mages really have a run of the place, don’t they?”
The Mage's power almost everything in the school. Including the transformation of these rooms. It is strange, to imagine their days. One has to wonder what they get up to, closed off and squirreled away.
“The majority of your training is learning defense,” Pineherth booms at our group, huddled around her and silent, “For most of you, hand to hand combat and swordsmanship will be your top priority. For others, archery and knife specializations. And for very few of you, most likely none, you will need to be perfect at everything. But seeing as we haven’t taken a Lynx in over a year, it is unlikely.”
Lynx are another group in the House of Merikna. These students train to be Leiyettan assassins, taking on missions that few could successfully carry out. The roles of the Locks and the Lynx are often intertwined, for it is the Lock’s job to get the Lynx in, while the Lynx is responsible for finishing the job. Both roles are highly dangerous, and hardly any will pass through Etari’s rigorous tests.
“Over the course of the year, I recommend you get your hands on every weapon in this room,” Pineherth gestures to the equipment, all of which making me wish I could sink into my skin, “You never know where your skillset may lie, and it is important that by time you graduate, you know your assets and limitations. The only good soldier is a competent one.”
At this point, Ryker is bubbling over with excitement, shown in the way he hops from one foot to another. Kieran, on the other hand, is staring straight at the throwing knives, where there are lines of wooden figures displaying red painted circles.
Pineherth dismisses us to go about the room, but I find myself almost stuck to the floor, swallowing heavily as I attempt to decide what would cause the least amount of harm. The boys do not hesitate, and move at once. Following soundlessly, I weave with Ryker and Kieran, relieved they want to start in the area I am the most familiar.
Despite how much Dax attempted to teach me, I was never very good at throwing knives. But at least he gave me the basics, so I don’t appear as much of an idiot. Looking at the bows, with heavy, thick strings and arrows made of unbreakable stone, makes me queasy and filled with unquenchable dread. The same cannot be said about the Thornbern’s, who have already hit their targets square in the chest.
When I turn back around, my eyebrows hit the cracked ceiling, finding that Ryker has already cleared a rack of knives, having sunk them each into a lethal, red dot, smiling and perfectly satisfied. Kieran has watched, spinning a knife between his fingers, before he cocks back smoothly, and spins the blade to the target with ease.
Kieran throws with a certain grace, his movements soft and fluid. And as the blade submerges into the target's head, it’s like carving through soft butter.
The boys turn to me, one smiling the other serene, and I can’t help but tremble as I approach the line. My mind seems to swallow my heart as I pull out Dax’s knife, shifting my fingers so they fit just right.
I cock my arm, doing my best to avoid the thought of the boy’s stares, and throw the knife, watching as it wobbles feebly through the air. It misses the target, instead ricocheting off the wall, and my face turns hot and red.
To my immense relief, the boys say nothing as I grab another knife from the racks. I try again, this time making a hit, but only on the very edge. I didn’t even strike the body, just the pathetic open space at the end.
Wincing, I turn to Ryker, who is not smiling or making fun, but has his eyes glued to my hand, where my fingers were just pressed into the leather.
“What?” I sigh, already accepting the worst.
“Nothing,” he smiles, going to retrieve the knives, handing me back Dax’s directly, “It’s just…your hold is off.”
“What?” I start, looking at the worn blade. I swear I hold it exactly like Dax, down to the position of my fingers.
“Only a bit,” Ryker assures, lifting my arm to observe how I hold the blade, “But see, you’re too far back here, the hold you have is for someone with much larger hands.”
I look back down at the blade, the adjusted hold feeling strange. Perhaps Ryker is right, who would I be to deny him, but how could Dax be wrong? He was never wrong.
“Swords, maybe?” Kieran offers, steering the conversation away.
Gratefully, I follow after boys, but find myself dreading training even more than before. I watch for many minutes, as Ryker and Kieran spar. It is clear at once that Ryker is far better, but regardless, Kieran holds his own. When they finish, the boys come and meet me once more, pushing me into the circle with Casanova, who is roughly my same size.
She prowls around me, her face filled with confidence, and I know that this will not end well. It takes her only a minute to disarm me, my sword falling pathetically at my feet. As it clatters to the ground, Casanova retrieves it, handing it back to me with a sympathetic smile.
After four more hours of brutal and unrelenting failure, we are released for lunch. I pool on the bench, my face held in blistering hands, and groan softly into my searing skin.
“You’ll get it, Mae,” Ryker says firmly, serving me a spoonful of carrots, “It takes time.”
“How are you so good?” I moan, lifting my face to look at him.
“My brother and I are weapon forgers,” he shrugs, cutting into roast beef, “It’s part of the job, having a handle on the tools.”
This fits, he does have a certain knowledge about weaponry. Kieran, however, is a bigger mystery.
“And you?” I nudge Kieran, picking up my fork, the cold metal burning my fingers.
“I lived in the country,” he explains quietly, “I had a lot of free time.”
“What about you, Mae?” Ryker asks as he shovels down the last of his plate, “You had five years to train. Never thought to get some fitness in?”
“Har, har,” I roll my eyes, my stomach churning as I say, “My brother was chosen. But he died when I was 18. I only had two years after that.”
Ryker stops, putting his fork on the table, “Sorry, Fangera, I didn’t-”
I wave him off, tired of the repetitive things people say, “No, it’s alright. I would have had more time if I didn’t have to take care of my father.”
Kieran perks up at this, his shoulders straightening, “They took his legs, right?”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by his knowledge, “How did you know?”
“My mother would speak of him,” his eyes glass over, “Before she died.”
Nodding my understanding, I chew on a carrot until it dissolves into mush.
The rest of the day is filled with more training, none of which is better than the morning. I seem to grow worse, as the day rambles on, and by the time it is over, and we all collapse in our beds, my hands drip blood and muscles ache to no end.
