by Heath Pfaff
“I fell on one of the poles under that damn crossing section, landed straight down my center. Thought I was going to die.” He said, groaning. “It was my third time back there and I thought I had it that time. I ran the last part and slipped.”
“You touched ground for too long.” Ori said, laying back in her bed. “The longer your feet touch the wood the more chance they have to slip. You need to maintain constant, smooth forward motion. You’re not running, you’re flying and just touching down when you have to.”
Zarkov laughed darkly. “I was flying alright.”
“By the end of your first year you’ll be making a second run at it assuming you survive.” Ori replied. “The first year is the worst, but it never gets easy.”
“How many times did you cross?” I asked her, needing to know what impossible level she’d set.
“Fifteen.”
My eyes opened in surprise. “How is that . . . that is incredible.”
“No, it’s not.” She said quickly. “Rain is an easier run. Snow is the hardest. People have died on snow, and sun can kill you if you don’t make it to the reservoir in the middle.”
“I’m confused.” Zarkov spoke, echoing my own feelings. “Rain, snow, sun?”
“You mean in the summer and winter?” I asked. It was late spring now, though the rain had been unusual.
She shook her head. “No, the weather inside the Rift isn’t natural. It can be manipulated. It runs through different phases. Today was rain. If they’re feeling generous they can run it with no weather effect, or maybe just fog. Fog isn’t difficult once you memorize the course. Rain is punishing, but Snow is terrible. You can’t see anything. The white blinds you and makes things slippery, and the cold seeps into your bones. It’s by far the hardest. The sun is bad too. There is sand everywhere and it gets into everything. You might not realize it, but sand is abrasive. It will rip your flesh from your body, and the sun dries you out. If you don’t make the reservoir and clean yourself off and drink, you’ll die of dehydration. It happens a lot. They won’t run snow or sun for at least two or three more Rift’s.”
I shivered. It all sounded horrible. “How often do we have to do the Rift?”
“Well, this week you’ll be doing it twice, but most weeks it’s only once.” Ori replied. “Though punishment often gets you extra Rift runs. I had to run it every day for a week once.”
Despair welled up in my chest and I had to shove it down. I would have to do that once a week for as long as I was here. It was hard to stay positive with that reality hanging over me.
“I can’t do that.” Zarkov said quietly, voice sounding strained, almost agonized.
Ori replied dispassionately. “Then you’ll die. Those are your choices.”
“We could escape this place.” I said, the thought crossing my mind, though not for the first time. Alone I didn’t think I could do it, but Zarkov and Ori would be a great help, especially Ori. She was incredible. I thought that beyond the walls of this place she’d be an invaluable asset.
“Clever.” Ori snorted. “Do you think no other deady has ever thought of escaping? I’ve seen four escape attempts while I’ve been here. None of them have ever made it beyond the walls of this place. The golems come for you. They can sense your intent, and they are designed to keep us here, keep us training.”
“Golems?” Zarkov asked, though he quickly added. “Those are what those things in the Rift are, right?”
Ori just nodded.
“They’re not people then?” I asked, surprised, but also remembering how one of them had grabbed me and lifted me into the air.
Ori grinned darkly. “Alright, kids, one last story and then it’s time for bed. If you want to know about the golems, let me tell you what they are. The Wardens created Everburn Academy as a place to train new members of their order in the ways of the true Iron Will. It was named for . . .”
“Well obviously for the Blackened, right? They were the first wardens, the men and women who stepped into Everburn and came out of the fires unscathed, gods?” Zarkov interrupted which got him a snarl from Ori. Beneath her skull tattoo was a pretty face, though when she snarled like that it looked fierce. Zarkov snapped his mouth shut.
“Yes,” She almost growled. “It was named for the Blackened. The Wardens needed a place where they could train new members of their order while keeping their ways mostly secret from the rest of the world. Running an academy, though, takes a lot of manpower, and they didn’t want to have to rely on those who understood nothing of Will and what it meant to be a Warden.
“They designed the first golems from metal, infusing suits of armor with their Will and guidance of their principles and absolute loyalty to preset tenants. For a time it seemed that this would work well enough, but the golems didn’t always understand their orders. Occasionally they would take rules too literally. They caused trouble and acted improperly. They made mistakes that no thinking man would and that was because they did not think. This was a problem, and became moreso when a misunderstanding with one of the golems led to the death of one of the King’s advisors.
“It was a huge mess, and afterwards the King almost ordered the golems be destroyed entirely, and the project stopped. The men working on the golems, though, didn’t want to give up on their project, and the school still needed loyal servants that it could trust to be silent and vigilant. Well, one of their number came up with what he felt was a brilliant idea.
“As you know by now training results in casualties. People die, and some people have to be killed. Deadies, are particularly useful. You see, we can be dead without actually dying which makes us ideal for experimentation. Once we fail the training we aren’t considered alive anymore and we lose all rights to determine what we intend for ourselves. The Wardens decided that the best way to make sure the golems could interpret the rules accurately was to ensure that they had minds, minds carefully shaped by Will of course, but minds.
“They started taking deadies who’d failed the program and putting them into the armor, merging the golems and the failed Wardens into what they are now. The golems are deadies in a can.” She explained with a shrug, but there was a spark in her eye. She was waiting for something.
I didn’t see where this was that disturbing at all. This seemed like a good thing to me. Maybe it was miserable to run around in one of those tin suits all the time, but it was a chance to live even after failing this program. It seemed like some semblance of hope really.
“So failing here doesn't mean that we have to die?” Zarkov said, a small smile on his face.
Ori’s grin told me this was what she was waiting for. “No, you could become a golem if you’re good enough, but you don’t really want that. You see, they don’t need all of the deady to make a golem, only pieces. The golems have their own system of metal bones and bits inside them already. The only thing they need is a mind and just enough to keep them connected to the armor.
“The first thing they do to turn you into a golem is cut away all of the excess, most of your body, arms, legs, the majority of your torso. They keep the skull and the spine, your brain, the connecting nerve tissue and your eyes. They remove the jaw and hook the vocal chords to the suit itself so that they can make their metal rattling voice sounds. The nerves are reworked to the golem’s insides and then it’s all closed up and permanently sealed.”
Horror and revulsion rolled through me. “That’s . . . doesn’t that kill the person in the suit?”
Ori shook her head. “No, they’re kept alive through the Will of the Wardens, trapped at the cusp of nonexistence until they can be fed into the machine and kept alive by its design and the trapped Will of those who created it. You’re alive through the whole process and you feel it all. Worse, those things, they know what they are. They’re not unthinking even if they’re slaves to the Wardens. They know what they once were and what they have become, and they will never die.”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head in denial of this. Zarkov w
as strangely quiet as well. He normally had so much to say, but he was completely tight lipped.
“The first few attempts were given too much control over their mind, not tightened down enough. It is said that they screamed and screamed non stop for days either from pain or horror, but that was fixed by tying them behind walls of Will. They still scream, but now it’s only inside their shell. Put your head up against one of them and you can hear the agony inside of the armor.” Ori finished her story and tucked her hands behind her head as she smiled up at the ceiling, clearly happy to have horrified us.
“It’s not true.” Zarkov said. “That’s shit. You’re lying, or just spreading some rumor that people like to toss around when they don’t know what the truth is.”
Ori shrugged. “You can believe that if you want, but they’ll teach you about the golems in year two. If you get the chance to talk to her, ask Warden Emeline. She’ll tell you just as I did. Now sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Zarkov was quiet. I climbed into bed next to him, and instead of turning my back to him I found myself curling up close to him. He moved a little closer to me as well. It wasn’t about intimacy. We both just needed a little comfort after that story. Now there was something even worse than being killed here. I found myself hoping I’d be killed in the normal course of events rather than being eliminated some other way. It might be better to go as Trilla had then to end up as a golem. I wondered if it was really just deadies that were taken, or if that was an embellishment of the story? Maybe none of it was real. Ori had clearly gotten some grim satisfaction out of recounting the story, as though it didn’t bother her at all. As though she was immune from the horror.
“Not real.” I heard Zarkov say quietly, but I thought it probably was real, at least partially. He could try and talk himself out of what he’d just heard if he wanted to, but I didn’t see any purpose in Ori out right lying to us. It would be too easy to disprove, and I remembered the eerie voice of the golems and the way it had felt to be close to them. They hadn’t seemed alive. I was caught by a sudden burning desire to see what lay beneath the visor on their armor. It was perhaps a foolish thing to wish to see, but it would confirm the story and a part of me just wanted to know, to see the truth. I needed to for some reason.
That night my dreams were full of terrible things.
2.3
The morning was filled with pain. As I dressed in new clothing the following day it was an agony just to move my muscles. I felt like I’d been beaten all day long the day before, and I supposed in many ways I had been. It hurt so badly to move my arms that I winced every time I did, and my legs, while not shaking anymore, were stiff and difficult to move with any fluidity. Zarkov seemed to be doing no better.
“My balls still hurt.” He groaned after he was dressed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be having children.”
This made Ori bark a laugh. “I don’t think you will either. Wardens don’t have kids, and deadies don’t live long enough to become full Wardens, so I’d say that’s the least of your worries.”
Zarkov frowned at this reminder of his dwindling mortality. I did as well. The training was brutal and it felt like it was going to kill us, but sometimes I let myself forget that deadies never made it all the way through the academy. We never survived until the end. None of us had yet. I thought Ori might. She seemed so strong.
“What are we doing today?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear it at all.
“Thanlosday is alway martial training every week. Firstday is education, Thanlosday is martial, Willsburn is physical, Vialladay is back to martial, Reasday is education and then Kingsday is the Rift. Of course if you’re in trouble you may run the Rift more than anything else.” Ori explained. She was fully dressed and heading for the door. She didn't appear stiff or beaten at all.
“Wait, they make us work Kingsday?” Zarkov groaned. “That’s supposed to be the day of rest!”
Ori just shook her head and left the room.
“I don’t think we get a day of rest.” I told him, then a moment later. “Shit, we don’t know where we’re going. We need to follow Ori or we might be late!” I jumped up and ran for the door, though it was much less of a run and more of a haphazard tumbling in the right direction.
“Stovin’ shit.” Zarkov cursed as he followed after me into the hall. Ori was already moving at a fast clip and it took quite a bit of effort for us to catch up with her.
“Where are we going?” I asked her.
She glared at me as though annoyed to be questioned. “First food, and then the Forge. It’s the other training yard. If you’re lucky you’ll spend more time there than Rift. Everyone will be headed there. You don’t have to follow me like a starving puppy looking for a scrap.”
“Who else are we supposed to follow? Almost everyone hates us.” Zarkov complained in normal fashion.
“I hate you too. Don’t forget that.” Ori snapped, glaring at him darkly. “I’ve better things to do then nanny for you two.”
I sighed and fell back away from her, giving her the space she seemed to want. I wasn’t sure why she was so angry and bitter. Actually that wasn’t true. I knew why she was the way she was. This place didn’t allow you to harbor friendships or any softness. As much as Zark and I wanted to have someone who knew more than us to trust in and depend on, that wasn’t what this academy was for. This was a school of hard lessons. We were being shaped to be strong, to be like the Wardens, and they didn’t have friends.
“She doesn’t have to be so mean.” Zark said quietly as he fell in next to me. “I don’t think we’re that much trouble.”
“You seem like quite a bit of trouble to me.” I teased, though there was no real malice in it. I didn’t dislike Zarkov. He seemed alright, though his anger was frightening. I could see the darkness in him that had gotten him his tattoo, and I still had trouble forgetting the allegations that had started him down his path. True or not, I had trouble putting them entirely out of mind. I did wonder, though, if he saw the same darkness in me.
“Fair enough.” He replied with a short laugh.
We grabbed another of the tasteless breakfast bars before we walked the rest of the way to the Forge in a somewhat comfortable silence, following Ori, but giving her enough distance that she didn’t even shoot us another angry look. More and more of the academy’s students gathered around us as we approached Forge which had a set of double doors blocking it off just like Rift did.
These doors were shorter than the other ones, and they weren’t tarred black. They still looked old, and almost out of place where they sat, as though they’d always been there and the wall had been built around them. It was curious.
I felt a good deal of trepidation as I approached those doors, afraid what I might see when they opened. As dawn first crept to the horizon, coming in the through the windows along the hall at our back, the doors began to creak open. They split open to expose an area nothing like the Rift at all. There was a massive open area with training dummies and various equipment spread across it. There was some varying terrain, wooded areas, fields, hills, but it looked like a relatively calm and peaceful place, somehow all of it contained by the walls of the school on every side. We filed into it together and standing just a bit in front of us was Warden Yulin.
“Welcome to Forge.” She said. There were three other people with her, all of them clearly not Wardens, though each looking hardened and dangerous in their own right. “Year two, you may go with Igori. He’ll be managing your lessons. “Year three, you’ll be with Kie. She’ll handle most of your lessons, but I’ll be providing work on advanced techniques throughout the year.”
The students began to split up, the second years following the tall, attractive man who’d been identified as Igori. He was muscular and powerful, with deep, warm hazel eyes and a smile that seemed to lay easily on his face. I found myself wishing he’d been my teacher. There were many things I wouldn’t have minded him teaching me. That thought brought a bit of embarrassed color to
my cheeks.
For all that Igori was beautiful, Kie was hideous. The left half of her face was a torn mess of flesh and scar. She was of average height and lean with narrow hips and an almost boyish figure. She moved so smoothly it looked like she was floating, but her face would be difficult for anyone to find beautiful.
“First years, I’ll be seeing little of you, though I will certainly be reading reports on your progress.” Yulin went on. “You’ll be training with Shina. She will see that you find your way to the weapons that best suit you and she’ll make sure that you understand how the others work as well.” Yulin gestured to the remaining trainer with her. As the others were led off and Yulin departed in the direction the third years had gone, Shina came forward.
Shina was short with close cropped brown hair and eyes that matched her hair color. She had a few scars on her face and visible arms, but that seemed to be the way of all of these trainers. Weapons training was clearly a rough job. She was attractive, and it looked like she had large breasts that were tightly bound from the way her shirt fit, but her capability as a weapons instructor was evident in everything about the way she moved.
I couldn’t have placed exactly why, but her movement put me in mind of a saber cat, or a stalker wolf. She was lithe and moved with intention.
“Your first year is hard, and weapon training won’t be any different. I expect you all to learn a great deal and perform well physically each and every day. I will help you find what weapon best suits your body and your attitude, and in return you will give me everything you have. Some of you will fail. Most of you will fail, but that is the way of these things. I expect no hesitance in following my instructions, and I will not accept any arguments about what you think is the best weapon for you. You don’t know anything. I don’t care if your family is rich and paid for sword lessons for you. That probably just means you have a great deal of bad habits that will have to be beaten out of you.” She shrugged her shoulders looking agitated.
“Swords are not the only effective weapon, and if they were, the standard bastard sword that almost everyone who has touched a sword believes to be the end-all of weapons, is only one of countless varieties that all suit different styles of combat. Very few, if any of you, will end up using one as a primary weapon.” She turned and started walking away. “With me.” She snapped over her shoulder as she began to lead us across the field and towards an area with practice dummies and several storage sheds.