by Heath Pfaff
Only candidates for the Wardens passed through those gates, and the ones who came back, the ones who didn’t become Wardens, they didn’t talk about what happened beyond the walls. Either they didn’t want to, or weren’t allowed. Still, people whispered and guessed at what happened inside.
People spoke of Warden magic, called the Will, and what it could do to a person. They said it could make a man take his own life without the Warden having to do more than glare with their strange, hazy eyes. They said Wardens could heal wounds that would kill a normal man, and that they could fling objects without lifting a finger. I’d never seen a Warden up close until that moment in my cell. She’d felt every bit as scary as the stories made them out to be, and I’d felt something when she questioned me. She’d done something to make me talk, to force me to tell her things I didn’t want to speak of.
I frowned at myself. The face staring back at me in the reflection on the floor, however, was barely recognizable. I’d never been pretty, not by anyone’s standards, but with half my face covered in a grim skull visage I was far uglier than I’d ever been before. No one who saw me now would be interested in me physically. I was flat chested, with a jawline that was too well shaped for a woman, a nose that was unfortunately long, and heavy eyebrows that made my already dark eyes seem darker still. My hair was long and dull brown. The skull staring back at me from the reflection made me not just ugly, but frightening. Perhaps that was for the better. If I couldn’t be beautiful, I might as well be terrifying. I thought it a fair image of what I was truly like inside.
“Get dressed. Your new uniform is on the bench.” A female’s voice broke my focus on the reflection. I stood up to see a tall, lean woman standing at the door to the room. She was dressed in tight fitting, plain clothing that looked like it had been designed to be rugged and flexible. “Woman” may not have been quite right. The girl was maybe a year older than I was, if not the same age, but she held herself confidently. Her posture was stiff and proud, her shoulders wide set, and there was a clear definition of muscle visible through the fabric of her clothing.
“Who are you?” I asked. This was the first time I’d seen anyone that wasn’t a prison guard since they’d moved me from my cell inside the wall of the school to this new location. I’d been surprised when they’d left me alone here.
“I’m Trilla Illfin, I’ll be responsible for your orientation into the training grounds.” She answered calmly.
“The training grounds?” I asked. I’d known I was going to be training to be a Warden, but no one had told me when that would start, or how it was supposed to happen. No one had told me anything really.
“Yes, deady, the training grounds. This is where you get to spend the rest of your life trying to learn how to be something that none of your kind have ever managed to be.” Trilla’s voice was cold and impassive. “I was lucky enough to be assigned to you out of all the new recruits. All of my friends got groups of ambitious newcomers to take care of, but I got stuck with you.”
I touched the tattoo on my face that was still sore and swollen. “A ‘deady?’ Because of the tattoo?” I was thinking of the skull design.
Trilla laughed derisively, an unpleasant and nettling sound. “No, a ‘deady’ because none of you ever survive the training process. In the entire history of the school none of your kind have ever made it to become a Warden. You’re basically only here to give the other hopefuls something to abuse during training.”
This sent a scowl to my lips, and I responded in a snarl. “I’m not taking abuse from anyone.”
Trilla’s reply was another round of laughter. “Oh, we all take abuse, deady, but your lot get the worst of it. You’re not going to have any friends, and no one is ever going to take it easy on you. The minute you mess up, they chop off your head and ship it to the wall to scare the kiddies with. None of the deadies from my cycle even made it through the first year, and looking at you I don’t see that changing.”
I swallowed hard, suddenly cold as though the icy water of my shower had just gotten to me. “I’m not like them. I’m stronger.”
Trilla sighed and rolled her shoulders. “I don’t really care. Just get dressed so we can get to the yard for the welcoming speeches.” Her eyes flicked over my wrists and her already angry expression darkened. “Are those broken??” Her voice went up a notch in tone. “By the damned Blackened, that means even more work for me. I must have done something particularly bad to get stuck with not only a deady, but an injured one.”
I tucked my hands behind my back self-consciously, though that only helped to expose my nakedness to this hostile new girl, which made me feel even more vulnerable. I turned and walked quickly over to the clothes provided to me and began trying to get dressed with my broken wrists fighting me the entire way. It wasn’t easy. Every turn and movement of my hands hurt, and Trilla just watched me with a steadily growing ire. Even with the help of a begrudging city healer the injuries were still fragile and painful. The bones were partially knit, but they weren’t solid.
“My name is Lillin.” I told Trilla as I finished pulling on the restricting shirt that came with the outfit. It fit tight, especially around my chest. For once I was glad that I’d never really grown much in that department.
“No, your name is ‘deady.’ I’m not calling you anything else, so get used to it.” Trilla snapped. “Let’s go. We’re probably going to be the last group out there.” She turned and walked out the door, forcing me to run along after her.
Trilla led us out a door different than the one that I had been brought in through. We walked past a long hall crossed by other halls, each with sets of doors on either side the hallways. “This is the dormitory. You’ll have a room in here with two other bunkmates. They will be randomly assigned tonight, after your first day of training. Men and women aren’t separated, so you might be sharing a room with guys. You better adapt quickly. The men aren’t to treat you as anything other than a partner in training, and you aren’t to treat them any different. Sexual relations are punished violently on the first offense, and on the second offense you are thrown out of the school. Sometimes they throw you out on the first if you’ve gotten far enough into things.” Trilla looked back at me with a mean smile. “Not that I think you’ll have anyone wanting to carry on sexual relations with you, which is just as well since deadies are not thrown out of the school, they’re just executed. It’s quite the show.”
I felt my face blush, stuck somewhere between being insulted and ashamed. “I’ve had sex.” I snarled back, realizing as I spoke that I should have just kept my mouth shut and accepted the insult on my looks. The rest of her warning was far more troubling, really.
“That poor man.” Trilla said with a sharp, mocking laugh. “Did you have to kill him to get him to fuck you, is that why you have the tattoo?”
I froze immediately in place, shocked at her stinging, venomous words. “Why are you being so mean to me? I haven’t done anything to you!” I demanded, and I was angry at myself to hear the tremble behind the words. I sounded weak, and at that moment I felt weak as well.
Trilla stopped and turned on me. “Why should I or anyone else be nice to you? We had to fight for a chance to get into this school. You got in here by being a murderer. While the rest of us were struggling for a place on the training list, you broke the law and somehow ended up in here, and you’re probably just going to die. On top of that, your fucking wrists are broken, deady. Today will set our squad placement. Because of your broken wrists this ‘squad’ isn’t even going to last past this afternoon Just by being here you’ve made my life worse, and it isn’t that great to begin with. Right now I am the only person who gives a shit about you at all. If you, by some miracle, succeed today, we will be placed as a regular squad and might get other, more capable, members. That looks good on me since I’m in charge of this team.”
“I don’t even want to be here.” I snapped in a petulant way, and even as the words slipped through my lips I was keenly awar
e that they were the wrong ones. She’d just told me that she’d gone through hardships to get her place here, and my words would serve little purpose other than to punctuate that I didn’t belong.
“Yeah, great. We fought to be here, and you get the chance for nothing. You killed someone, so you get shoved in here. Why should we like you? Maybe we should like you because you’re a murderer? Maybe we should go soft on you because you don’t want what we fought to get? Just shut up, deady. Try to stay alive until you’re off my team.” Trilla didn’t say anything else. At all. She led me out of the building and onto a field that was already covered in other groups of people. Most of them stared at me as we walked past them.
“Nice deady you got there, Trilla. Guess you really screwed up!” A guy called at Trilla as she passed. She didn’t look at him, but I could see her face grow dark and forlorn. She led me well past that group and to an empty area at the end of the field before she stopped. A few other stragglers joined ranks beyond Trilla and myself, but not many. After a few moments the chatter in the courtyard became quiet as a group of Wardens stepped out onto the field. There were three of them, two females and a man. Their faces were all the same shade of dead white. They wore outfits of gray that were tight fit to their bodies except for the sleeves which hung down over their hands. Their shirts were hooded, but none of them wore their hoods up in place. Though their outfits were similar in nature, I noticed each had a slightly differing style, unique portions that seemed a matter of preference. Each had the Warden symbol emblazoned on their uniform somewhere, either on a sleeve or on their back. The fist clenching Everburn was an unsettling symbol for some reason. It was a reminder of the Blackened, of what they’d done for us so long ago.
Each of the Wardens also carried a different weapon. One of the women had a long staff with a knotted, spiked end, the other had a short sword. The man was carrying a set of curved long knives, one at each hip like someone might wear a sword.
The woman with the staff-like weapon stepped forward. “This is the first day of a new year of training, and for many of you this is your first day of any type of training. By the end of today one in twenty of you will have quit or died. Over the course of the next two years of training the majority of you are going fail, die, be kicked out, or quit. Few of you will even be considered for stage two of the Warden training, and that is because few of you are strong enough. When I look at you I see little other than weakness. Even those of you who might finish this part of the training are still weak now.
“Your bodies are undisciplined, and your minds are not prepared for the rigors that you’re going to face. I want you to look at the groups you’ve been placed in.” She said, pausing. It seemed to me that no one was doing what she’d told them, though I was looking at Trilla. Trilla, however, wasn’t sparing me a second glance. “I said,” her voice sharpened. “Look at the groups you are a part of.” Trilla still didn’t look at me again, but she did jump when the Warden’s voice rose.
“We have carefully chosen the placement of every trainee. If you look around you and see weakness, that’s because you are weak and we want you to fail. If you can’t prove that you are strong enough to carry yourself and the others in your group, then you do not belong here. If you think that is unfair, it is. Life is not fair. Life is cruel, and it will destroy you at any chance it gets, and life has nothing on the cruelty of the Wardens. To become a Warden there must be nothing harder than your Will, and for that to be true you must succeed when failure is the only option. I am Yulin, and I’ll be your lead martial training instructor.” With that, she stepped back, and the male stepped forward.
“Few of you will survive the first two years of training, and fewer still will choose to go on to the second stage of the Warden program.” He began. “Many of you only joined this training so that you could find a place in the elite guard, and those of you with that as your only ambition will probably fail. If your goal is to be wealthy and comfortable, then this training will destroy you. Here you will learn the true meaning of resolve, the true nature of our King’s Iron Will, and the importance of adherence to its principle. Strength is the only absolute. I am Sedth. I will destroy your bodies and rebuild them into weapons. I am the master of shaping.”
The final female stepped forward, her left hand on her sword hilt. She had hair that was blond and bright at the top, but silver and gray at the ends, and her eyes were a milky blue, like the eyes of a corpse that had once belonged to a bright blue-eyed person. “The power we grant to those who can finish this training is dangerous. It can not only be used to destroy others, but if used incorrectly it can destroy you as well. Strength and determination are nothing without drive, knowledge, and a deep understanding of the world. Those of you who wish to become Wardens will need to understand the world in a way that few ever will. When the wind blows, carrying the cold bite of the eastern ocean with it, a Warden must understand what bearing that will have on fighting conditions and the moods of the people they will interact with. Every facet of our environment, and every element of our history and culture is important in fully comprehending the world around us. I’m Emeline and I’m the master of understanding. I’ll see to it that none of you succeed without gaining a stronger understanding of your existence and your place in this world.”
Yulin stepped forward again, her expression stoic. “The Warden training program is your life now. This school is the length and breadth of your existence. You will not sleep unless you are permitted, and you will not eat unless we say that you may. Some of you chose to be here, and others of you are here because you have no choice, but none of that matters. You are all equally without value from this day forward. Now, prepare for your day one combat assessment. All groups form up at the dustbowl. We’ll be starting immediately.”
With that said, Yulin and the three others fell away and headed for the other side of the courtyard towards what looked like a dirt pit that had been hollowed into the ground. It wasn’t deep, maybe two feet at the center and curving up to ground level at the edges that were some six feet out from that point.
“Come on.” Trilla said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me on towards the pit. My mind was still trying to grasp the nature of this training. It had sounded grim and terribly unforgiving. The way they’d spoken had made it sound like many of the rumors I’d heard about this school might be far more accurate than I’d feared. My heart was beating fast in my chest, and my stomach felt tight and knotted.
“You better fight like your life depends on it, because it does, deady.” Trilla’s voice snapped me back into focus.
“What’s happening?” I managed to ask, suddenly very afraid for my life. Everything was happening so quickly, and I was feeling more than a bit out of my depth.
“It’s a combat circle. They’re going to assess our team’s performance in battle, and the teams that have no winners will vote one member out. That member is cast from the training program. In our case, since we only have two members on our team, they’ll cast off the weakest member, the one who lost by the most. That isn’t going to be me, and you know what happens to you if you fail.” Trilla replied coldly.
A streak of anger tinged with fear flared through me. She was saying that if neither of us won, I was going to be the one to die. “If you lose it should be even worse. You’ve already gotten training! This isn’t fair.” I protested.
Trilla laughed darkly. “Of course it isn’t fair! Didn’t you listen to what Master Yulin said? We were put into this group because they’ve decided that we’re both weak and they want to see us fail. They are expecting to kick you out of the program today because you’re not strong enough, and more than that, the members of the teams that vote someone out are punished with an extra session in the Rift. That is how this works. They will have you killed, and I’ll be punished for being weak. That is exactly what they want. When I go to fight they’re going to pick someone that they know can beat me down.”
A shocked expression slipped onto
my face, which I imagined looked unusual with the skull tattoo marking half of it. “That’s just cruel!”
“That’s how they assure only the strong make it through this training, and I’m going to be one of those people, deady. Mark my words, even after you’re dead and gone I’m going to keep on fighting. They can’t stop me from making it through this thing just by being extra hard on me. I have the Will to win.” Trilla’s voice was strong with conviction.
“I’m not going to die yet.” I said, trying to put the same conviction behind my words, but finding it hard to make such a bold statement when everything seemed skewed to assure I lose. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to fight with broken wrists.
Trilla shrugged, “I hope not. I don’t want the extra session in the Rift. It’s grueling enough as is. I wouldn’t wish it on my enemies. Maybe on you, deady, but not my enemies.”
I frowned at her reply, but set my mouth in a firm line. I had to toughen up, I knew, if I was going to get through this. That meant steeling myself against Trilla’s taunting as well. I tried to calm myself, to relax and force myself to focus on everything that was happening. Trilla pushed me forward to the edge of the pit so I would have a better view, and I let her do so as Yulin stepped into the center of the ring. She pulled out a rolled parchment and held it up in front of her.
“Kingston, Hindle, to the ring.” She called out, and a powerful young man and a much smaller female stepped out into the center of the arena. “The rules are simple. You fight until one of you gives up, one of you can no longer get up, or one of you is dead. No weapons, but anything within the ring is fair. Bite, scratch, pull hair, it doesn’t matter. Win. Understood?” She asked them, and then she looked at the rest of us assembled around the ring. “Understood, all of you? I won’t be repeating those rules.”
There was a general consensus of nods and positive acknowledgement. Everyone looked exceedingly eager to see the battle get underway, but I was shocked. The girl was more than a foot shorter than the boy, and not nearly as well built. The fight was so uneven it seemed almost criminal. She looked scared too.