by Jacinta Jade
Was Kovi relaxed because he knew his own experience would see him through this test? Or was he calm because he was Kovi?
Siray tried to refocus her mind on the task at hand and finished strapping on her leg gear. As she reached to pick up her arm protectors, a hand knocked into hers unnecessarily, and she twisted her head in annoyance.
‘Sssshhhh,’ Deson warned her as he picked up an arm pad and strapped it into place.
Further irritated, and her nerves building to their highest tension yet, Siray opened her mouth to deliver a cutting remark, but Deson spoke before she could.
‘Forget the rules of sparring for this test. The aim is just to last until the end.’
Siray saw Tamot, who was on Deson’s other side, lean in closer to hear the whispered conversation, and she pointedly ignored him as she looked back at Deson, narrowing her eyes. ‘How do you know?’ she asked, looking down as she finished strapping on the arm guards and reached for a helmet.
Deson picked up a helmet of his own, almost speaking into it as he pretended to adjust the chin strap. His voice carried the same matter-of-fact tone. ‘I’ve heard rumours about this test. Trust me.’
Siray didn’t nod but watched Deson from the corner of her eye. Deson still annoyed her greatly, with his imperious manner and tendency at times to fault the others too easily. Yet even though she didn’t like him, his attitude always came from a place of confidence, and she didn’t think Deson would make such a claim unless he had good reason to believe it himself. Unless, of course, he was trying to set her up to fail the test.
Still she thought there could be no harm in acknowledging him, so after securing the strap of her helmet in place, she gave Deson a quick nod.
‘Thanks for the tip.’
She moved off to join the line starting to form in front of Dirl. She was unsurprised to see Kovi at the front, followed by Fomil (trainee twelve), Tira, and Tamot. Behind her, Deson stepped into place, closely followed by Rowp, Loce, and Jorgi.
As the last of the trainees joined the line, Siray’s heart began to pump just a little harder, and she felt her muscles tense as adrenalin began to course through her. In response, she forced herself to inhale deeply and tried to focus her thoughts on just that breath. Then the next one.
No point in her system flooding with adrenaline too early.
Gesad and Sergeant Bulmer came across to Dirl, who waited until all three of them were standing together before addressing the file of trainees. Dirl lifted his chin, his voice carrying easily.
‘Trainees six, twelve, and eight—you’re with Trainer Gesad.’
Kovi, Fomil, and Tira moved off with Gesad, heading for placement in the section of the field closest to where the trainees currently stood.
‘Trainees ten, fourteen, and four—you will follow Sergeant Bulmer.’
Siray’s heart sank a little at the realisation that Bulmer would be her assessor during the test. The sergeant was a hard taskmaster and had little to no humour when it came to the trainees and their training. She would have to really perform in order to ensure she met his standards. More pressure.
She turned and followed after Tamot as the sergeant led the three of them in the direction of the field.
After they had passed Kovi, Tira, and Fomil, Siray heard exclamations come from behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Tira looking disgustedly at her feet as Gesad moved her into position. Siray frowned but twisted back and continued to follow in Tamot’s wake.
When the sergeant reached the fourth marker on the side of the field, he wheeled inwards and motioned for Tamot to follow. While Siray and Deson waited to the side, Rowp, Loce, and Jorgi walked by, following Trainer Dirl, and Jorgi gave an energetic wave to them both.
Siray gave a small shake of her head but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Jorgi, ever the joker, even during moments like this.
The sound of murmured expletives from Tamot make Siray turn back curiously.
Sergeant Bulmer was already heading back towards her and Deson, but like Tira, Tamot was eyeing the ground at his feet, an annoyed expression on his face.
Siray frowned and was just turning to comment on this behaviour to Deson when the sergeant spoke to her.
‘Trainee fourteen, follow me.’
Shrugging to herself and dismissing Tamot’s odd behaviour as something to be pondered when she was safely through the test, Siray followed the sergeant into the middle of the field. The grass, usually always very short due to its use by the trainees, was now high enough to brush her calves.
They hadn’t trained here in days, instead using large clearings within the forest.
As Siray followed the sergeant farther onto the field, she felt something begin to pull at the bottom of her boots. Frowning, she looked down for an instant and just missed walking into the broad back of the sergeant. Taking a quick step backwards, she watched as the sergeant spun and pointed at the ground next to his feet, where a coil of brightly coloured rope lay, almost hidden from sight by the long grass.
‘Your position, trainee fourteen.’
Siray nodded to him and moved to stand in the indicated position.
Grunting, the sergeant moved off, accompanied by a squelching sound.
Siray glanced down at the sergeant’s feet, then looked to her own. Grimacing, she lifted her right foot clear of the grass so she could study her boot. Thick mud covered it all the way up to her ankle.
As she put her foot back down, the mud squelched and slurped, happily taking back ownership of her boot. Annoyed, Siray tried to take a step away from that spot, but as her right foot came down, her muddy boot slid out from under her, causing her to windmill her arms in an attempt to maintain her balance. After a moment or two of wavering on her feet, Siray shakily recovered her balance, standing up again slowly to her full height.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Siray looked up from her feet and across to Tamot on her right.
Spotting her glance, he pulled a face as he pointed at his feet.
Siray pulled a similar face and nodded back at him. Mud. Thick, pulling, slimy mud. The trainers must have been adding water to the middle of the field for days to get it to this sucking kind of consistency. It was also becoming apparent to Siray that the longer she stood in one spot, the deeper she seemed to sink into the stuff.
Looking to her left, she saw that Deson was just being arranged in his position by the sergeant. Beyond him, Rowp, Loce, and Jorgi were almost in their positions as well. Siray thought hard. The mud would significantly increase the difficulty of this test.
Better figure out just how much.
Looking up to check where the trainers were, Siray confirmed that she still had a few moments before the test commenced, and she took a few experimental steps in another direction. Mud squelched and slurped at her slightest movement.
Okay, Siray thought to herself. The mud might slow her down, and she would have to watch her footing, but it shouldn’t impact her sparring too much.
She turned back confidently to face her marker and took a step towards it.
This time, though, her foot flew out from under her, and her balance, already shifted backwards to minimise any chance of falling forwards, resulted in her landing with a hugely dissatisfying wet smack on her back in the mud.
Stunned, Siray lay there for an instant, blinking.
She might have taken another moment to get over her shock, but she was spurred to action when she felt a cold moistness beginning to seep into her skin.
‘Ugh!’
Instinctively trying to get that part of her body away from the mud, Siray rolled onto her front and quickly gathered her hands underneath her body, pushing herself up and off the ground, her chest coming away from the mud with a wet slurping sound that should have been impossible for mud to make.
Disgusted, Siray straightened herself up and looked immediately around at her fellow trainees, hoping no one had seen.
That hope died when she saw Tamot t
rying not to go off into hysterics, his face continually twisting to try to hide his grin.
When Siray looked away from him in the other direction, it was to see Deson sporting one of his small, annoying smiles.
Growling under her breath, Siray looked down at herself. Her long-sleeved tunic and pants were now slimy, cold, and heavy, with her protective gear also covered in mud.
Exasperated, but unable to do anything about her new look, Siray lifted her head and did another quick scan of the field. The trainees were all in their positions now, and Sergeant Bulmer’s division was splitting up and making their way to their allocated trainees.
Siray forced herself to turn away from that daunting sight to look straight ahead at the trees beyond the field. She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes.
Focus, she told herself. Nothing else matters, just focus, and everything will—her eyes popped open, and she frowned.
Then, turning very carefully in the mud to look back up the field, Siray looked to where she had just seen a very odd sight.
Yep. There he was.
Kovi.
Stripping.
In the middle of the field, moments away from their sparring test, Kovi already had his arm and leg pads off, his overshirt and helmet barely visible from this distance as they lay off to the side in the grass.
Siray continued to watch, stunned, as Kovi shed his undershirt, exposing his lean and muscled body to the mildness of the morning.
Had he cracked under the pressure?
An instant later, though, Siray dismissed that theory. Given how Kovi’s calm exterior had not changed, and especially given his performance in all their hand-to-hand combat training over the weeks gone, she knew there had to be another explanation.
She continued to watch Kovi for a moment, then soundly berated herself after finding she was not so much watching him as she was checking out his physique. So much for her focus.
She could appreciate his level of fitness later, she told herself sternly.
When she refocused, Siray’s amazement grew as she watched Kovi take off his pants and throw them aside. Now wondering if her first theory had really been that far off, her eyes shifted to the trainees between her and Kovi, who were having varying reactions to this curious activity.
From her position, Siray could just see the reactions of Fomil and Tira.
Fomil’s face was one of surprise and confusion. No doubt he, too, thought that Kovi might have lost his nerve.
Tira, on the other hand, had flushed red and seemed to be trying to look away.
Siray couldn’t see Tamot’s face, but his slack posture told her that he must have been disbelieving of Kovi’s recent decision to bare all.
Looking back to Kovi, who was now just in his undershorts, Siray saw him squat down, doing something with his hands on the ground that she couldn’t see.
And although Tamot was turned away from her, she clearly heard him mutter, ‘Guess he couldn’t hold it …’
Siray was just wondering if this was a good time to turn away before Kovi took anything else off when he stood once more, his legs now covered in mud. As he stood, his arms continued to work, and, slowly, he covered his chest, shoulders, arms, back, and even his neck in mud.
Her eyebrows raised high, Siray puzzled over this for another moment. Then she looked towards her opponents.
She felt her face relax from its confused state as the purpose behind Kovi’s actions became clear to her.
Then she grimaced.
Taking a deep breath and sighing, Siray began removing her body protectors, throwing her leg and arm pads far off to the sides. She discarded her torso protector and removed her helmet, keeping the helmet close but casting the torso protector away in the direction the other pads. Next, she stripped off the soiled long-sleeved overtunic and pulled off the shirt underneath, the cool air caressing her skin.
‘Gee, I want to get a tan too, but you have to choose your moments,’ said Tamot.
Siray ignored his quip and bent to loosen the laces on her boots, then sat down to pull them off, determinedly ignoring the cold, wet feeling seeping into the seat of her pants, and through them, into the Mother knew where. Throwing the boots away, she stood up again to shrug off her pants, which were heavy with mud. When she was done, she bent and reached for her helmet, strapping it back into place.
Now wearing only her chest strappings, her undershorts, and her helmet, Siray pivoted away from Tamot, meeting Deson’s eyes as she squatted there.
As she reached her hand out to scoop up mud, she looked away from Deson’s sceptical gaze.
The first slap of mud against her bare skin was shockingly cold, and Siray worked to catch her breath as she spread the cool mud over her shoulders. As her body worked to adjust to the sudden switch in temperature, she toiled quickly for a moment, covering her torso and legs. When she was done, she stood, rubbing her hands together to shift some of the remaining mud off her palms.
Now that she had gotten over the coldness of the mud, Siray found that she actually felt warmer with the layer of muck against her skin than she had felt wearing her sodden clothes.
Assured that she was completely covered in mud, Siray looked up to see Deson watching her with interest. She thought for a brief moment but then decided she owed Deson for his earlier tip.
Even if he was irritating.
So, catching Deson’s eye, Siray nodded at the ground, pointed to herself, and made a sliding motion with her hands. She held Deson’s eye until he began to slowly nod, and then she shifted away.
Practically naked bar a couple of scraps of clothing and a coating of slime, Siray carefully turned to face the opponents she knew were lining up across from her on the edge of the field.
As the sergeant had promised, there were three of them, and as she eyed them, Siray slowly lifted each foot to yank her socks off, both going the same way as her boots. Instant cold washed over the toes of first one foot, then the other, as Siray placed them back on the ground, mud seeping between each toe and sticking to all the dips in her skin.
She grimaced at the initial feeling, moving her legs slightly and scrunching her toes as she dug her feet deeper into the mud. As she worked her feet, Siray felt her them sink farther still. And that’s when she felt it—the harder bottom layer of soil underneath the mud. Siray smiled grimly to herself and pressed her feet more firmly into that harder ground.
A quick glance thrown in Deson’s direction revealed a flurry of movement and flying clothes and some confused expressions on the faces of his opponents.
Fighting a strange temptation to see the results of Deson’s efforts, Siray instead focused her attention back on Sergeant Bulmer as he reached what appeared to be an ancient-looking drum that had been set up on a miniature platform.
Then she shifted her focus from him to the three opponents lined up across from her—one female and two males. She assessed her opponents even as she saw them assessing her, her eyes pulled to the female first—maybe due to competitive instinct, she wasn’t sure.
Siray judged the female to be a hand or so taller than her, although lightly built for her height.
Shifting her attention to the males, she considered them. The first male was also tall, but he had a lanky look, as if he had never grown into his own height. The second male, and her final opponent, appeared to be around Siray’s height but was more solidly built.
From her quick assessment of the three, Siray judged the second male to be the biggest threat. The other two might have the reach of her, but she could adapt to that, while that male would have both reach and significantly superior strength. She would need to be careful not to let him gain a hold on her; otherwise he would be able to pin her easily, forcing her to submit the fight.
All three of them locked their eyes on her.
When Siray pictured what they had to be seeing, she almost smiled to herself. A slightly built female of average height, standing in her underclothes and a helmet in the middle of a field,
covered in mud.
She pressed her lips together to force the rising smile back down. Test or no, her amusement had no place here. Only true focus would see her through this.
Assessment of her opponents complete, Siray kept her face impassive as she watched them, waiting.
Breathing.
Listening.
The drum sounded once.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE LANKY MALE charged onto the field, and Siray flexed her toes in the mud even as she bent her knees to drop her centre of gravity. As the male came within grabbing distance, she could see that the mud was already causing his boots to slip beneath him.
She now used the mud to her advantage, pushing off with her bare right foot with enough force to spin her body out of the male’s reach, the tips of his long fingers scraping against her arm as her body twisted away. As she spun, Siray dropped even lower, causing the male to instinctively try to turn and lean over to follow her movements.
As his head and upper torso turned in her direction, though, his boot-encased feet failed to find purchase in the mud, and his lower body continued to travel in his original direction, causing his feet to fly out from underneath him. The male landed heavily on his side with a wet splat.
The sight of her opponent going down in the first few moments made Siray feel triumphant, but she fought to push aside the feeling, knowing that she still had a long time to go.
As the male struggled on the ground, Siray threw herself down on top of him, slapping his hands and arms aside even as she wriggled her legs up on either side of his chest so she could pin his arms with her knees. The male, however, was highly experienced and picked up on her intentions quickly, and he began thrashing about even more wildly. Siray felt him heave his strong core as he tried to buck her off his abdomen, and the second heave caused Siray to lose her balance, her weight now thrown forwards towards the male’s head. Realising that a head impact was imminent, and something that she would most likely come out the worse for, Siray threw her arms out to brace her hands in the mud and stop the collision.