by Jacinta Jade
Silence for a moment before he responded with, ‘It’s a strength. Having more information than everyone else always tilts the balance in your favour.’
Siray admitted grudgingly to herself that it might be at least partially true, but she didn’t have to let him know that. ‘Unless, of course, someone punches you in the face for eavesdropping. Then I would call it a weakness.’
Beside her, Jorgi snickered, and Siray answered Deson’s original question without deigning to turn back to look at him. ‘And, yes. I’m going to make it through.’
Now Deson snorted, causing Siray’s muscles to tense. The more she talked with him, the less she liked him.
‘Well, statistically, it’s not likely that you will. Make it through, I mean. With your injury and all,’ he clarified needlessly.
Yes, Siray was definitely annoyed. So she asked imperiously to the air before her, ‘And what if we all make it?’
A pause. ‘Well, I think I’d be safe in saying that that would be a first. We were not born, as a people, to fight, so this camp will either make us into soldiers of the Resistance or we’ll have to assist in other ways. The Resistance can’t afford to let unprepared youths fight—we’d do more harm than good.’
Siray glanced at Jorgi and raised an eyebrow in a can you believe him kind of way.
Jorgi nodded back, rolling his eyes, and said over his shoulder, ‘Alright, then. Who do you think will drop out first?’
Deson was silent for a moment, but Siray felt her skin scrunch as he leaned forwards to respond, his breath brushing the back of her neck.
‘It’s an even bet between Loce and Amital. He’s clearly meant to be in charge of construction somewhere, as he can’t seem to focus on much else besides building things. And Amital—can’t stand the sight of blood?’ he said incredulously.
Siray frowned. ‘Well, we don’t know how we’ll perform during training. If I had to guess who was going to make it through, I’d pick Kovi. He seems like he could handle himself.’
Deson moved up so he sat on the other side of Jorgi and nodded in agreement. ‘I hate to think what made him become such an experienced fighter at this age.’
It was his tone that made Siray pause for a breath, and she shifted her head quickly to regard him properly.
Had he really been talking about Kovi? Or about himself? It might explain a bit about his blunt approach to things, she reasoned.
She looked back at Jorgi. ‘I think Tamot will also pass. He’s very determined.’
Another snort from Deson. ‘I think competitive might be a better description.’
The derisive tone was back again, and Siray sighed to herself. She would definitely not be sitting next to Deson at dinner tonight.
But Deson wasn’t finished. ‘I can’t believe so few of you have Changed. How I ended up with such a dysfunctional group of—’
Siray’s patience snapped, and Jorgi’s arm didn’t reach for her swiftly enough as she spun on her knees and leaned forwards into Deson’s face. He jerked backwards a little in surprise, but Siray glared at him and, risking her balance, leaned even farther forwards, putting herself almost nose to nose with him.
‘Dysfunctional? The only dysfunctional one here is you. And if you think you’re so far above the rest of us, why don’t you go and eat with the trainers tonight?’
She looked at Deson in challenge for a moment, but he just looked steadily back at her, and she turned away again in exasperation.
Looking to Jorgi, who stumbled a little as he stood up to assist her, Siray stood and gave Deson a final glare before she hopped off with Jorgi, the other trainees also shooting glares at Deson.
Later that day at dinner, Siray and the others happily ignored Deson as he sat down at the far end of the table and remained quiet for the whole meal.
CHAPTER THIRTY
IN THE TURNS that followed, all the trainees faced new challenges. Some were simple, such as getting up early. Yet one of the females in cabin one could never accomplish even that unless Gesad stood over her, yelling at her to get up each morning.
She was the first to be dismissed from the group of trainees.
Another challenge involved their fitness. Thankfully, Siray’s foot had healed rapidly with the attentions of the camp healer, and she was soon able to leave her own tortuous sessions with Trainer Dirl and join the others. Apart from the running, which still required her body to regain some lost strength in her legs, Siray enjoyed the physical training. Her sessions with Dirl had strengthened her upper body and core, and the slim look of her arms belied the strength they now contained. She found tree and rope climbing easy but struggled with some of the rock climbing, which required leg strength above all.
Yet, what she valued most was the combat training. Whether the trainees had experience in fighting or not, the trainers approached it the same way with all of them, slowly introducing them to the principles of fighting and gradually increasing the amount of time they spent learning to fight as the season progressed.
Siray’s group of trainees spent almost every span of the sun together. Sometimes they would argue amongst themselves, but the arguments became fewer every day as they learned to deal with each other’s different ways and habits.
Siray was never lonely, although she did sometimes find herself thinking of her old cycle class, her cycle guide, and even her parents, during the quieter moments, which were usually when she found herself awake at night for whatever reason.
But mostly, those moments were spent thinking about Baindan and her brief time travelling with him.
Yet the more she came to understand the ways of the Resistance, and the fight that was ahead of them, the more doubtful she grew that she might see him again.
She tried to ignore the odd twist her stomach gave at those times.
***
At first the combat training was simple, its basic level well suited to correct their first clumsy attempts to strike expressionless straw opponents, which Trainer Dirl had placed several paces away from their lineup.
That particular day had dawned clear with a refreshing breeze, a gift the trainees appreciated after returning from a hard run up the nearby hills.
Already exhausted, they were gasping for breath as Dirl paced in front of them.
‘You need to remember that you will never face the enemy under perfect conditions.’ He looked at each of them as they either bent over or rested their hands on their hips as they panted.
‘You will face them tired, scared, injured, and confused. You will face them in heavy rain, clear skies, muddied fields, and on slippery rock. You will be outnumbered, cold, hungry, and alone.’
‘Gee, that sounds inviting.’
Jorgi’s quiet mutter drifted to Siray on the still air from somewhere up the line, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling, sure that Trainer Dirl would reward any jokes with an appropriate punishment. Luckily for Jorgi, Dirl either didn’t hear his comment or chose to ignore him.
‘Under these conditions, you must be able to fight. You must be able to survive.’
This time is was Tamot who muttered, ‘Fight, survive, win. Got it.’
Yet this time Dirl also heard the comment and, spinning on his heel, marched up the line and halted before Tamot.
Siray watched from the corner of her eye as Dirl stood there for a moment, apparently regarding Tamot closely.
When he spoke, he did not raise his voice as Siray had expected but instead talked quietly, and Siray tilted her head slightly to better listen.
‘There is no winning. Not in war. You fight and you survive, or you die. There are no losers, and there are no winners. Only survivors.’
Dirl’s face was intense, and Siray thought his quiet address more unnerving than if he had yelled at Tamot.
Apparently Tamot thought so too, as he quickly nodded once at Dirl, who then turned and moved to the side of the group before turning back to address them again.
‘That is what each of you will be fighting fo
r, if you manage to stay with us. Survival. The right to live a life of your own, free of those who would seek to control you.’ Dirl gazed at them for another moment. Then he switched to a sharper tone.
‘On my command of one, I want you to hit your opponent, aiming for his chin, and then step back.’ He paused. ‘One!’
Siray stepped forwards and hit her straw opponent with her fist closed, her thumb tucked outside of the fist and underneath as they had been shown.
‘One, two!’
Siray jabbed at the straw figure again with her left fist, and then she followed through with a heavier jab with her right hand.
‘One!’
And on the training went.
Once the trainees had simple punching down, they progressed to learning combination attacks and applying them again to their straw opponents. The tightly bound straw also had an added benefit—ever so slowly, it gradually toughened up their hands, allowing them to work longer and harder in the combat training sessions over the turns.
Many days after they had first begun combat training, when Dirl and Gesad seemed satisfied that the trainees were proficient at attacking, they were allowed to progress to learning defence.
‘Now that you have learned how to attack an opponent, you must also learn how to defend yourself, which is infinitely harder,’ Gesad said, emphasising particular words by drawing them out.
‘Anyone can throw a punch, or wave a sword or spear at an opponent, but what is harder to learn, and rarer to see, is a person whose defence is as good as their offence.’
Gesad nodded at Dirl, who took over the commentary.
‘Surviving your first battle requires you to know how to defend yourself. It is more likely in your first real fight that you will actually be on the defence for the greatest portion of time. With time and focus, you will learn how to use your energy efficiently and effectively, blending both offence and defence with little or no thought.’
Dirl nodded back at Gesad, who took the lead again.
The switching of commentary and instructions between the two trainers was a tactic Siray had noted that they liked to use in order to keep the trainees more alert.
‘For now,’ Gesad said, ‘I want you to forget what you have learned about offensive fighting.’
Siray’s brows rose.
‘That’s right,’ continued Gesad as he noted the looks of surprise. ‘Forget it and concentrate on following the next movements I show you, exactly as I do them.’
The trainees were lined up in two rows with Gesad in front and Dirl behind, Gesad leading the trainees through a sequence of defensive poses and techniques, calling out the names of each as he progressed. As the trainees worked their way through the moves, Dirl moved amongst them, correcting their stances and technique.
Gesad kept the trainees drilling in defensive techniques every day for the next five days before he and Dirl announced the trainees were ready to progress to the next part of their training—sparring.
Then they informed Siray and the others that they would have just a little over a turn—ten days—to practice sparring each other before they would face the sparring test.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THOSE TWELVE DAYS were a blur of long mornings and afternoons, bruises, protesting muscles, and of mornings wishing for more sleep.
Siray and the others became adept at maximising the amount of time they could devote to sleeping, even though it never felt like enough.
By rushing through dinner, with a few scowls from Falir along the way for scoffing down his fastidiously prepared meals, they could manage to squeeze in an extra couple of spans a week of rest. Which they desperately needed when the trainers decided to get them up in the middle of the night a few days in a row for additional sparring sessions.
The trainees were beginning to get irritable, and Siray even heard Jorgi snap at someone just days before their test. Yet, somehow, they all made it through, each of them handling the exhaustion and pressure in their own ways. Siray found she wasn’t as hungry as usual, despite the demands of the training on her body, and wasn’t too interested in bantering with the others.
She tried not to think about what would happen if she failed to pass this stage of the training.
The day of the test dawned foggy and cold. The grass had been touched by frost and the trainees’ feet left wet footmarks as they trampled the grass during their morning run. One of the first three to arrive back at the training field, Siray was panting but not breathless, and she was proud to be doing so well with her foot almost fully healed. After close to ten weeks of training, her body was toned and strong, and she could endure far more physical punishment before it would start to tire. Yet she still worried over her foot, which although mostly healed—and with some interesting scars now showing—still gave a painful twitch every now and then. Just enough to distract her when someone was throwing a punch at her face.
Apart from the differences in her physique, her hair was slightly longer now as well, and although she had been tempted to cut it short, Siray had decided that keeping it long allowed her to tame it more quickly of a morning by tying into a high knot on top of her head.
The group of trainees was also smaller now, with only nine of them left. They had lost another trainee during the last part of the physical preparation, and three more during the combat training. Two had been assessed as not highly skilled enough to continue, and the remaining trainees had found those beds stripped that afternoon when they had returned to the cabins.
The third trainee to fail the combat requirement had been Amital, who had, of course, fainted the first time she had given someone a nosebleed during sparring.
Apparently all of the ex-trainees were offered other duties with the Resistance—indeed, it seemed like there was no shortage of jobs to do.
As the other six trainees finished the run, they fell into two neat lines, performing breathing exercises to calm their respiration into normal rhythms again rapidly.
As Siray breathed in, held it for a count of six, then breathed out for another count of six, she looked about the training field. From her position with the others, Siray could see Sergeant Bulmer standing to the side, watching them all. He had been coming out a couple of times a week to observe their progress during particular sessions, but they all knew he received daily reports from Dirl and Gesad.
She also saw that their protective gear was piled in a corner of the field.
As Gesad and Dirl finished conversing in quiet murmurs, Siray concentrated further on her breathing. She needed her body ready to move quickly again.
As Gesad turned away from Dirl, the stillness of the trainees was almost a tight note in the morning air. Gesad met each of their eyes, and Siray felt that he was trying to sound them out, one by one.
‘Today, we will observe your sparring abilities. You will be positioned on the field in your own space, and you will be expected to defend yourself against any attacks made upon you. You are not to interfere with each other during this test in any way. The test itself will consist of regular intervals of counts of forty-five. At the end of each count, you will hear the drum sound once. This will signal the start of a new interval.’
Gesad gestured to somewhere behind the trainees. ‘Behind you are members of Sergeant Bulmer’s division who have kindly offered to assist with the test.’
Siray twisted her head to look behind her and saw that a division of Resistance soldiers had indeed formed up silently behind them. Their faces were calm, and their gazes stared past Siray and the others as they kept their attention on the instructors.
Gesad continued dictating the terms of the test. ‘Each of you will today face three experienced members from Sergeant Bulmer’s division.’
Siray’s bottom lip parted from her top lip, and although she wanted to, she refrained from exchanging looks with her fellow trainees.
‘At the sound of each interval, your opponent will change. The entire test will consist of twenty-four intervals, or ei
ght intervals per opponent.’ Gesad strolled a little in front of the trainees, holding their eyes as he passed and monitoring their reactions.
Siray kept her chin level and met his eyes as he looked at her in turn.
When Gesad had finished his review, he strode back to the front of their group. ‘The point of this test is to simulate at least one form of battle. Hand-to-hand combat, in this case. You will learn that battles are a churning, chaotic whirlwind, where you will face many opponents with different styles of fighting and where there are no breaks or periods of rest.’
Gesad clasped his hands in front him. ‘As there are nine of you for this test, you will be divided up into groups of three and will be monitored by myself, Sergeant Bulmer, and Trainer Dirl. At the sounding of the drum being hit three times, your test will be over. Any trainee who quits the test before the sounding of those three drumbeats will not progress any further.’
Gesad half turned to Dirl and took a step backwards, handing over to the other trainer.
Dirl faced them. ‘If you do not pass this test, then you will be offered other positions to assist in our cause.’
The trainer looked to Sergeant Bulmer, who gave him a quick nod before turning and walking off towards his division. Dirl spun back.
‘Your gear is ready for you. Get equipped and then line up in single file in front of me for placement on the field. Go.’
Siray’s legs moved forwards almost of their own accord, so accustomed was her body now to automatically obeying the commands of the trainers.
Some of the other trainees seemed a bit stunned by the nature of the coming test and fumbled a bit when reaching for the various parts of the protective gear they would need to don.
Siray didn’t really feel that surprised by the twist the trainers had thrown at them, but she did wonder how she would last through twenty-four rounds of sparring. None of them had fought that many rounds continuously.
As she reached for her leg protectors, she bumped arms with someone who was also reaching into the same spot in the pile of gear. As she looked up and saw Kovi, she noticed that he looked as calm as ever and was even ahead of everyone else in strapping on his gear. If anything worried the male at all, Siray had yet to see it.