Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Memoirs of a Mercenary ❯ Chapter 4

And so I began to train the boys. Everyone was a little uneasy with it, and I was of course the talk of the town. No one said anything to oppose me to my face, though, and after a while everything settled down to the usual uneasiness. At first, I only taught the youngest boys their basic positions, but soon enough I was covering the entire span of lessons involving wooden swords. The idea was that this early, students were expected to make mistakes, and therefore the wood would not injure them. There were plenty of bruises to prove it, too. Gradually, the students learned to control their swings enough that when pairing off they would only just lightly touch their opponent, which with a blade would only nick them. This meant they could still prove a hit without seriously injuring another student. As I mentioned before, this didn't always work, but it was usually due to a huge error on the part of the student who ended up injured.

 

As I trained, my skills grew. I was allowed in the building, and witnessed the training of higher up students. By the time I was 16 I knew everything they had to teach me about sword fighting without ever touching a sword. Ironically, I became the tool by which my students moved on to handling dull and then live blades. At some point, the teachers decided that any student who could beat me properly with a wooden sword could advance.

 

For this trial, the edges of the sword were painted with a sticky red ink made of fruit pulp which would not dry for hours. In order to pass, the student must leave 3 marks shorter and thinner than a joint of the finger. This accurately demonstrated the delicacy of the touch necessary to continue training. Of course, these three marks had to be laid before the challenger (me in this instance) did the same. If the student landed a mark longer or wider than the measure, he failed. If I did, the match was fouled and another trainer or older student would take the student on. Except that never happened.

 

The reason I was chosen to be the standard by which students passed had nothing to do with my skill. As a girl, I would not see any of the boys as rivals, and so was supposed to be unbiased. Why was it necessary to be unbiased? Because these matches were rigged. The instructors would meet and decide whether the students deserved to move on or not. Skill was not the only deciding factor. Respect for trainers, obediently carrying out chores they were expected to do around the training ground, and enthusiasm for the sport counted too. I was never part of these meetings, but I never resented it. I was told which students I was to default to and which I was to beat soundly. If a student were skillful enough to actually beat me fair and square, he earned the right to go on regardless of what the trainers had decided. Of course, that never happened either.

 

But something else did.

 

It was the summer I turned 17. One of my students had completed all of the necessary tests with flying colors, and now wanted to graduate onto metal blades. The problem was, he was a jerk. He was the son of a well-accomplished warrior, and thought that meant something. He refused to do any of his chores, and was disrespectful to everyone except me. The only reason he didn't back-talk me was his fear of the consequences. If anyone else tried to discipline him, they would have his father to answer to. My “husband” however, was not to be trifled with.

 

I was not surprised when the trainers told me their choice not to pass him, a good dose of reality and humility would have probably done him some good. Unfortunately, the lesson didn't go so well.

 

I was told to beat him as quickly and humiliatingly as possible. I made the first mark, but surprisingly he got one on my neck before I landed the next two. It was all over in less than a minute, alarmingly short for such things.

 

He stood there a moment, staring at his wrist, where I had marked him last. Most of the students knew the matches were rigged, and so did he. It was a slap in the face. For a moment, I thought he would swallow his medicine and move on, but it was not to be.

 

“No.” he said, quiet at first. “That's not fair! I won't loose to a girl! It's preposterous!!” Quick as a flash, he turned around and grabbed the live sword of an advanced student. He came at me, and I retreated further onto the courtyard ground, giving myself space.

 

No one came after him, because in his state of mind there was no way to stop him without injuring either of us. It was my duty to wear him down until he calmed. The problem was, if I was anyone else I would have been tossed a live or dull blade to defend myself. But I was a girl, and I was lucky I was allowed a wooden sword. But the problem made itself very clear with his first swing: he neatly cut my practice sword in two.

 

I dodged him then, as my sword was ineffective. I had to do something, and fast. Dodging was going to wear me out much faster than him. I made a few tentative hits, which would have made a mark with a full length sword. That wasn't going to work. I had to do something different.

 

My thoughts must have been written on my face, because Tarmac chose this moment to remind me of the obvious. “Don't touch his sword, Tera, it's forbidden!”

 

“I KNOW that!” I yelled back. Several other suggestions came from the others, mostly involving invoking my “husband.” I wasn't that desperate, though. I dodged a while longer, and then saw my opening.

 

I rushed inside of his guard and caught the hilt of his sword against my own, careful not to touch it. I had meant to disarm him, but his grip was too tight. So instead, I began forcing the blade back towards him, until he was staring it in the face.

 

There were calls to the boy to give up, it was obvious that I was going to win. I held it where it was, waiting for him to yield. For a moment, he looked as if he would. But then he looked at me, and I saw the hatred in his eyes. I knew he had just a little bit of strength left, and he was going to use it. He would kill me.

 

So I moved first.

 

The blade went to the left of his face, tearing only the proper amount of skin to mark a hit. It was deep, though, and began bleeding immediately. He jumped back, dropping the sword, his hand flying up to his cheekbone. His fingers came away from the wound bloody, and a single drop fell to the earth. I saw it move as though time had slowed, pummeling towards the ground. It was silent, but it could have been the loudest sound ever, for all it meant.

 

For a whole moment, everyone stood still. I realized too late what I had done. I had not touched a sword. I had drawn blood. And the blood had gone into the earth. And it hadn't been an accident. And I wasn't a shaman woman.

 

Technically, I was now a boy.

 

Tarmac spoke first. “Tera, you had better go home. He will be disciplined.” I nodded, dropping the useless practice sword on the ground as I went. As I passed him, he stopped me a moment.

 

“He was going for a kill, wasn't he?”

 

I nodded.

 

“Alright. I'll see what I can do.”