The Test of Ostra

by Rory D Nelson

  Merlin finishes it by sweeping her feet. She falls to the floor on her back.

  “Well done.” He says.

  “Which part? Having you throw my sorry ass to the ground just now or earlier?”

  “You’re improving. You’re keeping your form and many of those moves would have worked on someone less proficient than me.”

  “That’s my problem. I need someone to work with who is more on my level.”

  Merlin sighs. “I don’t think it will happen soon. You ken?”

  Merlin peers into her with his other worldly vision and penetrates her mind. Chelsea feels it coming and imagines her mind as a vault. She has thought of some fictitious secrets she is trying to keep from him. And, she compartmentalizes herself in the middle and imagines a vault surrounding it.

  She feels Merlin’s talons rip into the vault. He reaches the first sanctum. She concentrates on another vault. And in that sanctum, she knocks Merlin out. He tries to break into the next one, but Chelsea has created another steel vault.

  Merlin clears his mind and steps out from the mind vault. “Well done.” He says. “You kept me out.”

  “I wish my physical abilities were a little better.”

  “You’re progressing better than I had expected.”

  “Really?” She asks.

  “Absolutely. You’ve only been training for three years. I’ve been training all my life.”

  “And you’re unusually gifted.”

  “Ai.” He says. “So, you shouldn’t compare yourself with me.”

  She looks at him with intent, and he feels her heat. It has changed Chelsea’s aura and her reluctant demeanor.

  “You trained me Merlin, and I love you included me. But to what purpose? To amuse myself and survive a bar fight?”

  “So you’re not vulnerable and you don’t feel powerless. And, to protect yourself from mind assaults so I can include you in my life.”

  “When am I going to do something worthwhile for you?”

  “What? Like go on a mission or something?”

  “Something to make your life easier, Perr.” She approaches him and puts her arms around his shoulders. “I can help you. There is so much I could do for you, but you’re too afraid to ask. You always have been. I want to be a part of your life-help you with what’s going on. You don’t have to fight this war alone. You ken?”

  “In time, you will. I will have something for you. Set watch and warrant it.”

  She walks away from him in a huff and then turns towards him. “In time. In time. Always in time. You wouldn’t ask for my help if you were lying in a pool of blood. I’m tired of the lone warrior bit, Perr. It gets old!”

  “I’m protecting you-as it is my duty to do.” He says on the defensive.

  “You can’t protect everyone all the time. The great Merlin can’t be everywhere all the time. You are not a god!”

  “I never claimed to be one.”

  Chelsea walks away to the wooden turnstyle. As she picks up her stick, she begins the drills, and strikes out as the turnstyle spins. She moves, blocks, pivots, swings and deflects each assault with perfection. Chelsea continues for several minutes, sweating her workout. And with it, her frustration dissipates.

  Chapter 41: The Lead Title

  Another pounding headache throbs in his temples and increases with each second until he wants to cry out. Before he can, it subsides. His full vision returns in its magnificent splendor, revealing everything not available to anyone else who can see.

  The pulsating images is too much for him to take in, sensory overload amplified. He shuts his eyes and then opens them. The clock on the wall ticks away, counting the seconds. It would be imperceptible to the average person. To Dante, the sound is obnoxious. But with minimum effort, he can drown the sound to a point where he is unaware. If he so desired, he could concentrate on that and nothing more.

  He picks up two musket balls and glides effortlessly across his body. Dante concentrates on their energy and keeps them from dropping to the floor. Although it is a difficult challenge to the average recruit, it is a child’s play to Dante. On one ball, there is a small indentation because someone used it in a gunfight.

  Dante concentrates and drowns out the sound of the clock from the wall. The pulsating beat of small wings cries out in his ears, along with the mad buzzing drone. Two large horseflies have made their way into his room. He drowns out the other sensory input and focuses. As he runs the ball through his fingers, he transfers one ball to his left hand. With a tin imperceptible flick of his wrist, he launches the tiny ball across the room. It hits the horsefly square and splats it across the wall.

  The other horsefly seems undeterred. It continues to fly back and forth, as if daring Dante to take a shot at it. He smiles and tracks its movements through sound. In seconds, he learns its patterns, knowing where the horsefly is going. With skill, he moves the musket ball from one hand to his right hand. Again, he twirls the ball through his fingers. He speeds the motion until it appears to float in and out of his gifted fingers. With another flick of his wrist, he hurls the ball through the air, hitting the fly. It smacks into the edge of his desktop, severing its thorax from its head. Dante smiles again. It is child’s play, but a great exercise for centering himself.

  Almost six years ago, he arrived in Lycenea of which he spent three years in relative isolation. He senses today will be different. It is the last day of stick tournaments. Someone will be granted the title of lead. Only 35 recruits remain of the original twelve hundred. He is one of them and for good reason. He is well-schooled in philosophy, physics, mathematics, Latin and King’s speech, literature, and military concepts. Dante is also one of the most dangerous combat fighters alive.

  Many men would consider him a mere pube. Let them think it. Today is his day and he will have it. The loud knock on the door breaks him from his reverie. Cammilia nudges him, as if to say Let’s go master. Dante gets up and goes to the door. Before he speaks, Dante knows who it is. Besides having keen hearing, Dante has developed an acute sense of smell. He can identify people from their sense of smell. It is Syrus.

  “Get your stick and head to the gymnasium runt!” commands Syrus.

  “Ai, Sai Syrus.” Dante picks up his fighting stick, made to break-away with a sharp blow. It has three wooden pieces which snap together with small, block channeled grooves. Should one recruit receive a monstrous blow across the head or face, the stick will snap. This reduces the impact and prevents bone breaks.

  As Dante makes his way to the gymnasium, he hears grunts and cries from the other students. “Fye! Fye!” yell out the students. He remembers the students so many years ago who intimidated him. Now, he smiles at the thought. This is his place, and he is now one of the elite. The snap and crunch of sticks colliding into one another reverberate throughout the halls. He smiles in anticipation.

  Dante comes into the gymnasium and approaches Merlin and Germanicus. They stop their conversation when he walks in and nod at him. Dante bows. “Dotore and Merlin. Good day to you both.”

  “And you, runt.” They say.

  “Permission to begin warm-ups, Dotore?”

  Dotore nods. “Ai. Granted. Get to it.” He turns away and Dante finds his place on the mat. Dante stretches. And, in seconds is doing extreme stretching. He lies on his butt with his feet out in front of him. His back spine lengthens, and he reaches for his feet until he can grab them with his hands. Dante stretches his back.

  He stretches further until his back is parallel with his legs. Seconds later, he pushes himself up and does the splits, focusing on the breathing movements of Tak Sul. Dante empties his mind. From the splits, he jumps up, flips in the air, and lands on his hands. His back arches far and stays that way for another thirty seconds.

  He performs other sets of extreme stretching exercises, reserved for only those with the most gifted flexibility. In his elite group, it is nothing extraordinary. The other recruits are doing similar stretching movements, and no one takes no
tice. Cammilia looks on with doting curiosity.

  Dante moves to a free stable pitching post. With his stick, he practices his moves in several motions. “Fye! Fye!” He yells. The other recruits practice their moves which drowns his loud exhalations. The stifling humidity makes him sweat. Dante smiles as he is ecstatic. The competition has remained fierce, and he revels in it.

  Dante moves to one of the power posts. They are electric contraptions powered by water generators, producing electrical currents. He turns on the switch and in seconds the gears come alive. He gets on his headgear and mouthpiece. The wooden posts have rubber guards on the end to temper a blow. But the force is enough to knock a boy unconscious, should he not get out of its path. Concussions are commonplace but it could end a recruit’s career as well.

  Dante turns on the motor and begins. It whirls around and he snaps his stick around lightning quick. He ducks, weaves, and bobs as the machine imitates the moves of a real-life opponent. Dante does this with the unpredictable moves one would expect.

  He ducks down and feels the rubber guard glide across his face guard. Where he in a sword fight that would have been too close for comfort. “Five minutes!” roars Germanicus. “Wrap up your warmups!”

  “Ai, Dotore!” respond the recruits.

  Dante steps away from the post and sits down with his legs crossed. He takes another musket ball and glides it across his body, concentrating on his moves. Dante clears his mind of everything else.

  “Welcome to the last day of stick tournaments runts!” Yells Dotore. “Those of you still among us should be proud. You are among the elite of Gilleon. Whether someone sends you home today or you continue among our ranks, you have proven yourself beyond measure. By the time your penultima tournies begins, we will send another third home. Whatever happens, take no shame in this. The skills you have gained here will serve you well for the rest of your life-wherever your life takes you. Whether you become diplomats, soldiers, farmers or tradesmen. Set watch and warrant it, Gilleon appreciates your service to our country. You are patriots and help maintain the purity of our exclusive brotherhood. We are guardians of the people, protectors, Christians, priests, diplomats, generals, disciples, men of honor, and we committed to the Chivalric Code. It states, ‘We are the Brotherhood of the People, an embodiment of Christian ideals, committed to upholding the laws of the righteous, guardians of Gilleon. We are the Knights of the Round Table. And we will defend our people against savagery, tyranny, injustice and oppression in all its forms. We commit to uphold democratic ideals; all men are created equal, and we commit to end slavery. No man, woman, or child should have to live under the bootheels of another. The highest among us should be willing to lie down his life for the least among us. No one is indispensable, and no one is dispensable.’

  Germanicus lets the words cement. “This is our creed. Should you be among those lucky few who make knighthood, you will recite it.” He looks around. “Who here is ready for a fight?” The recruits yell out, whistling, grunting, applauding and crying out with vociferousness. Germanicus nods. “That is well. We are well met. Appears I am in the right place and did not stumble into the school for nurse maidens.” The boys laugh. “Look at the boy next to you. One day, he may be your brother in arms, and you may fight side by side. But that is not today. He wishes to supplant you and take your position as a knight. Will you let him have it?”

  “No!” roar the recruits.

  “Will you fight, runts?”

  “Ai, Dotore!” yell the recruits.

  “Then let us begin after prayer.” Dotore prays and the recruits bend on one knee.

  “Samenson, Gaff, you take seven square. Pintus, Cerrain, you take five.”

  Dotore continues giving the recruits their respective places to fight until he gets to Dante. “Dante, once again you are the odd man out. You’ll fight Luke and Jericho. You take center bracket B.” Also known as center stage. Dante knows Dotore has put him there for a reason. That bracket warrants Dotore’s attention as a place of distinction, though it is not official. Dante also knows it is no accident someone forced him to fight two opponents at the same time.

  The recruits hold out their sticks, some holding onto it so tight their knuckles turn stark white. “Ready?” He asks.

  “Ai, Dotore!” yell the recruits.

  “Begin!” He orders.

  Luke and Jericho exchange a conspiratorial nod. He advances towards Dante and Dante advances. Luke strikes out and Dante parries the blow. Dante pivots to the right and strikes out, smacking Luke in the belly. He winces. Luke strikes another horizontal blow, which Dante parries. Dante allows him the offensive, blocking blow after blow.

  Jericho creeps up on him from behind, hoping to be inconspicuous. Dante feels him as the hairs on the back of his hand. He readies himself for a blow and brings his stick down, hoping for a blow across the midsection. Dante ducks down from a blow from Luke, pivots, spins around and sweeps his foot. This knocks Jericho down on the ground. He lashes out with a quick punch to the groin, causing Jericho to double over and cry out.

  Luke attacks hitting him across the shoulder. Dante expects it, tightening up and absorbing the blow. He strikes out with a short but fierce blow, which Luke blocks.

  Dante’s original group, besides Luke and Jericho, are doing well in their bouts. In only six moves, Maximus has forced his opponent, Hilbert to hold up two fingers in submission. Hilbert sits out and expects the worse-removal as a recruit. Maximus moves onto another bout with two other recruits, Falco and Sorren. Unlike Luke and Jericho, Falco and Sorren do not work together, synchronizing their movements. Falco advances towards Maximus and engages him, while Sorren waits for his turn.

  Maximus takes advantage of their short-sightedness. Falco pivots and performs a series of quick blows with his stick, which Maximus parries. He waits for others and continue to parry the moves. Every few blows, he counters with one of his own, sending a jolting blow towards Falco. He blocks several blows. But after being winded with his own offensive, he grows tired. Maximus lands a hard blow across his midsection because of it.

  When Falco becomes winded, Maximus capitalizes on it and goes on the offensive with an all-out assault. He lashes out and strikes repeated blows to Falco’s inside, landing blow after blow. In one devastating blow, he hits Falco in the groin with the stick’s point. Falco doubles over and cries out in excruciating pain. He strikes at a horizontal angle and lands a devastating blow across his temple. This knocks him unconscious. Upon impact, his stick breaks, but not before the damage is already done.

  Sorren advances with reluctance. Maximus gestures with his hand to ‘come hither’ and smiles, expecting the eventual beat-down. Sorren crouches down, sprints up and performs a quick, low-angled blow, which Maximus blocks. He strikes again at a horizontal angle, but Maximus deflects the blow. Sorren strikes again, not hoping for a direct hit, but attempting to unbalance Maximus.

  Maximus remains unaffected. He plants his feet and each blow from Sorren tires him out. Sorren gets winded. Then Maximus capitalizes by striking a hard blow on the inside. Sorren deflects it. But the next blow knocks him off balance as Maximus drives his stick up into a piston-like movement. Sorren is unprepared. The strike smashes his stick, driving it up into his chin, knocking him unconscious.

  Maximus approaches for the final move and attempts to strike the stick down on his head. Still in a haze, Sorren holds up two fingers in submission. Maximus nods. “Ai, Comp. I say thankee.” Sorren moves off the mat. His future as a recruit is uncertain.

  The first round of bouts has ended. Though it has not been said, the recruits left are safe from elimination.

  “Maximus, engage Caspian and Cole.” Caspian and Cole exchange a hard, determined look with each other. They have been saved from elimination, but the title of lead is up for grabs. They bow to Dotore.

  Luke and Jericho bow to Dante and their fight starts.

  Throughout the fight, Dante has been scrutinizing Jericho’s movements. He knows
his feet movements are not in sync with his strikes. Dante allows Jericho to strike a blow on the back of his neck and feigns temporary incapacitation. He falls to the mat. Jericho strikes down hard on him to subdue him. But at the last second, he blocks the stick with his fist. Throughout the years, the fighting has tempered Dante’s fist. The stick breaks and surprises Jericho. Dante rises on his haunches and sweeps out his foot, knocking Jericho to the floor. He strikes Jericho in the chin, knocking him unconscious.

  In a fraction of a second, Dante is up on his feet and motioning to Luke with a ‘come hither’ gesture. Luke hesitates for a moment. He nods to Dante. Although he cannot see the gesture, he perceives it by the slightest change in barometric pressure.

  Dante swings his stick around in a gyrating motion. The motion is so fast it appears to leave the tip of his fingers and spins around by itself. For a dangerous moment, the display mesmerizes Luke. Dante stops and motions to Luke. He will not win this bout through trickery.

  Luke keeps low to the ground and runs up on Dante. He strikes with a vertical, chopping motion, which Dante deflects. Dante counters with a quick strike to the thigh. It’s a move that will do no damage, though his leg sting with the strike. Luke winces and re-centers himself. He snaps the stick out parallel, hoping to knock Dante off balance. But Dante deflects the blow and counters with a sharp blow to the ribcage. He pulls back at the last second, saving Luke from broken ribs.

  Dante beams, knowing he is in control. With his stick, he can inflict as much damage as possible on Luke or little-whichever he wishes it.

  Luke moves around, scrutinizing him and hoping to get a good angle on him. Dante stays in one place, allowing Luke to be on the offensive. Luke advances fast with his pinwheels and strikes out at full force-but to no avail. Dante blocks it and counters with a move of his own. The direct hit connects with Luke’s stomach, causing him to double over.

  Dante advances and strikes him on his back and side, causing Luke to wince and sigh in pain. He refrains from crying out, not wanting to give Dante any more satisfaction. To intimidate him further, Dante spins the stick around in a hypnotic, gyrating motion. Luke tries to look away, for fear of being caught up in a trance. The slight diversion is all Dante needs. He runs up to Luke and strikes out at him across the side. And he slides down on the ground and pushes his foot out towards Luke’s stomach. This sends Luke flying across the mat.