by Masha Leyfer
“Your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” I ask, touching my hand to my cheek involuntarily.
“Nothing is wrong with it. You have a very nice face. You’re just looking at me in a funny way.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, no. It’s all good. I know I can be like a robot sometimes. Emily tells me sometimes that I never smile.”
After the sentence, her expression immediately hardens again and her voice returns to the metallic monotone it was before. “But keep in mind that in the wild, things are not human, and being human is a weakness. Where were we?.. Ah, yes. Poisons. In terms of plants and mushrooms, there is not a common sign of poisons, so avoid eating anything you do not know is good to eat. Do not eat anything with a white sap or white berries. Those plants are almost always poison. Most tree bark is edible. Aspen, birch, willow, maple, and pine bark is all edible. Eat the inner layer. In my opinion, the best way to eat it is to boil it.” She looks at me. “You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Time for you to prove it.” She points to a tall oak tree. “See on that tree is a bird’s nest? Go get an egg. Do not bring it down,” she adds, “because you do not need it and we should not give unnecessary disturbance to the birds.”
I look up. Near the very top, I can make out a little cluster of sticks. I walk around the tree, looking for a good foothold. There are none. That’s not gonna be easy to get, I think and swallow nervously. I didn’t climb trees much in Hopetown, so I don’t really even have a benchmark for how well I climb.
I appraise the tree. The lowest branch is several meters up and not low enough to reach, at least not with my climbing skills. But I must have something… My survival pack. Right. I pull out my rope. I unroll it and tie several knots at the end to weight it, making it easier to control. I throw it over the closest branch so that I hold one end in each hand. I tug; it is firm, so I undo my snowshoes and begin to climb up. My boots don’t have the best friction, so they slide several times, but I make it to the branch unharmed. I look down at Rebekah. She nods at me and I continue climbing. From here, it’s easier, since the branches are closer together. I still have to use caution climbing on the slippery snow-covered bark, but my hands quickly fall into the rhythm of climbing. When I finally reach the top and hold the blue egg in my hand, a sense of triumph fills me.
Down below on the ground, Rebekah nods in approval and shouts “Very good. Now get down.”
This isn’t actually that hard, I think, climbing down. Maybe I’m so worried about nothing.
Of course, the climb down is harder than the climb up, but it, too, passes uneventfully.
“Not bad,” Rebekah says, when I climb back down. “Put your snowshoes back on and we will keep going.”
We spend the next several hours hiking around the woods while Rebekah explains how to collect a full canteen of water from morning dew, build an optimal shelter, and not get myself killed. She points out the tree that hold the main lookout post, invisible from the ground. She has me do several more survival exercises and boil bark to keep in my survival pack. After approximately two hours, we walk up to the bank of a river.
“This is where we stop for today. Remember how we get back. Also, in case you get lost, you can almost always follow your footsteps back.” As we walk back, Rebekah says, “It might all look the same to you the first time, and there are no paths, but we will walk around more times so that you will develop and instinct for the forest. You should know at least where camp, the lookout post, and the river are. This river is how you stay clean, so please, please remember how to get here. Training makes you filthy. And remember the lookout post, because you’ll have lookout duty soon, so learn fast and don’t die. Fast is an important word in the wild. Schnell, Schnell, Schnell. You live fast, you die faster. You have to outrun death if you want to survive. Let’s review: What’s the number one rule of the wild?”
“Stay alive?”
“Yes. Stay alive and don’t be a fool.” She looks at the sun. “All right, if we move fast, we will make it back in time for lunch.”
We follow our footsteps back. I suddenly become grateful for the snow. The forest does look like a repeated stretch of the same several trees to me.
When we return, Big Sal is just starting to distribute lunch. Rebekah and I quickly take off our snowshoes, get our plates, and get into line.
“You did well today,” she tells me. “After lunch, find Emily. She will teach you how to use your crossbow. We will go into the woods together again in several days.”
“Uhuh. Thanks.”
I eat quickly, eager to learn how to hit the target as effortlessly as Emily does. I know of course that I won’t learn in one day, but the satisfaction of the bolt against the board is alluring. After the break, we start. Emily corrects my grip and walks me through the step by step process of how to shoot.
“The main problem you’ll run into that requires a weapon like this is bandits. There are more bandits on the road from here to our raid sites than you would expect. They’ve bothered us less in the last several years because they’ve begun to recognize us. But some of them are fools and expect defenseless travelers. Exiles who couldn’t pay their taxes because they were too poor, old, or weak. People who left their towns looking for a better life that they will never find. You are neither of those things. You are stronger than them. Your goal is to not be the defenseless traveler that they are expecting.” She walks around me in circles and moves her fingers emphatically as she talks. I move my head back and forth so that I can see her at all times without having to spin in circles.
“So,” she continues, “I’m going to teach you three main shooting positions. All three have their benefits and downsides. They don’t have any special names, so we’ll call them standing, kneeling, and ground. The first one I’ll teach you is the one I showed you. It’s kneeling, as you might have guessed, if you’re not a total dimwit. This one is a compromise between standing and ground. It’s more supported than standing, but less than ground. Same goes for your vulnerability: more vulnerable than standing, less than ground. You can’t start running without jumping up first. The downside of the standing is that it’s unsupported, so you need to have a steady arm, but you can basically shoot on the go. The ground shot is the exact opposite: It’s the most supported, but it makes you a sitting duck. It also requires a slightly different aiming technique. We’ll discuss the advantages and disadvantages some more later. The point is, you need to know them all. You’ll develop the eye for where to aim as you practice.
“All right. Take a moment to examine your crossbow. This is an extension of your own arm. Shoot with intention, and you’re twice as likely to hit. In the center of a battle, this is your main source of survival, so don’t blow it. You can let the pressure distract you into making a foolish mistake, or you can learn how to center it into a ray of energy. When you shoot, you shoot for a reason. You shoot for your right to live, got it? So make sure you don’t shoot away your life.
“Okay. Let’s begin. A common beginner's mistake is changing your perspective to line your crossbow up with the center of the target. Don’t move your head. Hold it lightly. These are designed to minimize the amount of weight you have to hold. Let the body rest in the space between your thumb and forefinger. As so. Yes, good. Now take a deep breath and pull the trigger. With practice, that should land you every time. Let me repeat: with practice. You practice the crap out of this crossbow, because for now, this is your main weapon of offense and defense. When, and let me repeat, when, you have to fight someone, you better be ready. You got it?” I nod. Emily takes out her own crossbow. “Good. Watch: keep your arms steady and bent at a right angle. Then…” She breathes out and presses the trigger, landing the bolt with a solid thump straight in the center of the target, scarred by the groove left by previous shots. “...Release,” she finishes.
“You got it?” I nod. “Well, I hope you were paying attention. Now it’s yo
ur turn to shoot. Shoot it hard.” I shoot. The bolt hits the right edge, embedding itself in the wood.
“Not too bad. If you had skimmed someone’s side with that strength, you might have caused them damage, but they probably would have lived. Which means they can still kill you. Using a weapon is an art and a game of intuition. You’ll never get the full experience until you depend on it to save your life, of course, but since I’m not going to try and kill you, you’re going to have to use your imagination. Try again.” I shoot once more, moving my crossbow a little more to the left. It hits the board a little closer to the center. Emily nods.
“Good. Before you shoot again, any questions?”
“No. Actually, yes. Why crossbows?”
“Good question. Crossbows are the most efficient weapon, because they’re easiest to learn, relatively cheap, easy to transport, and most effective at long range. I’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, of course, as well as sword-fighting—which is really most valuable for its aesthetic appeal, but it’s still good to know—and how to shoot a gun. But ammunition is seriously expensive, so we avoid using guns unless it’s a very important raid. Mike will teach you hand to hand combat, so between me, Rebekah, and Mike, in a few months, you’ll be all set for basic combat situations. Most people don’t have guns, so if you encounter trouble on the road, you should be able to deal with it with a crossbow and a well placed kick. Now shoot another bolt.”
I shoot again.
“Good. Remember to breathe.”
I spend the next several hours with Emily perfecting my shooting technique. My arm goes from being enveloped in a dull ache, to feeling like it will fall off, to just numb. Most of the time, I manage to get the bolt to hit or at least skim the edge. Five times, I hit within the painted target, but most times it only hits the sides.
“Practice and more practice,” Emily keeps repeating. “In your free time, practice. You might not be able to feel your arm, but you’ll have more a chance of surviving. Never assume that you’re good enough. You can hit this target smack in the center every single time? That’s great. What about a moving target that’s also trying to attack you in the center of a high-stress attack? Even if you know for certain that you can do that every single time while also avoiding anything else that might be trying to kill you, don’t assume that you’re safe. If you assume that you’re safe, you’re as good as dead, you got me?”
“I got you,” I say, massaging my arm.
“You’ve done well. What are you going to do a lot of from now on?”
“Practice.”
“Yup, exactly. I hope you survive.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Thank me if a weapon saves your life.”
Apparently, thanks aren’t taken lightly here.
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
My training tomorrow will begin with hand-to-hand combat with Mike. The second half of the day will be more crossbow training with Emily. I lie in my tent, letting the night air run through my body and wash away the ache of the first day of ‘practice’. The air smells so clear here and feels lighter in my lungs than the heavy, contaminated air of Hopetown. I let the night take me in its embrace. Tonight, I don’t fight it, although letting myself succumb to sleep is still a scary concept to me.
But I am not disappointed.
This night, my nightmare doesn’t...weigh on me as much. Part of me knows that I am safe. Instead of sinking deeper into the ground as I had every day before, I wake up earlier, with a full breath left before the mud swallows me.
When I wake up, it is already light and I feel rested for the first time in ages. I don’t know if it’s the mountain air or the fact that I have a reason to live up here, but I’m okay.
I’m really okay.
When I exit the tent, Big Sal is already up.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning, Molly. How are you?”
“I’m good. Do you want help?”
She smiles broadly.
“Yes, yes I do. You know,” she says, “I really like you. The Rebellion should have more people like you.”
“Oh.”
To my agitation, I blush. Her words warm me up on the inside. I guess I’m doing things right.
“The world needs more people like you,” I respond, but Big Sal only snorts.
“If everyone was like me, we would all be eating porridge.”
“Exactly,” I say, and the shadow of a smile appears on my face. “That’s a good thing.”
“Yes, well...maybe it is. And maybe it’s not. But who are we to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? We know nothing, Molly. We really know nothing.”
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
After breakfast, Mike takes me up to a smaller clearing approximately half a kilometer away from camp. Approximately half a dozen wooden, roughly human-shaped cutouts are stuck in the ground several meters apart. Most of them are scarred with cracks and holes from various weapons.
“This is the Field of the Fallen,” Mike says somberly, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture. “It is the smallest of our training fields. There is also the Field of Hope and the Field of Creation.” I raise my eyebrow slightly at the names, but if Mike wants to have these pretentious titles, who am I to stop him.
“The Field of the Fallen is meant for one-on-one training, so most of our training will be here. All right then, let us begin. Have you ever fought anyone before?”
“Um…” The Hopetown drunks that could still stand loved to pick fights, but a good push would almost always end it. “Let’s go with no.”
“I see. In that case, let’s review the basics. Choose the board you like least and try to kill it.”
“Oh. Um. Okay.”
I glance at Mike sidewards, walk up to the closest board, and, very conscious that Mike is watching and judging me, punch it where its chest would be. The board vibrates.
“Your form is okay. Turn your hand out more near the end. The chest is not a good place to hit. It is protected by the ribs, and human bone is surprisingly strong. Hitting your opponent in the stomach will do a lot more damage. The face is a good place as well. People aren’t used to any contact there, so their bodies can’t respond as quickly. This is Bob, by the way,” he tells me, patting the board. “And Bob is still alive. So unless you want to be killed by Bob, kick him.”
He named the practice boards? I think, giving Bob a kick in the abdomen area and watching him vibrate.
“What are you waiting for? Kick him again. He doubled over a little, but he’ll recover soon.”
I kick him in the head.
“Bob pulled out a knife,” Mike says. “What do you do?”
“I disarm him?”
“Yes, you don’t ask me questions. In the time you asked, Bob recovered and you died. On the bright side, you do have good form. On the not-so-bright side, if you kicked someone with that strength, you wouldn’t kill them. So let’s replay that fight. Hit Bob as hard as you can this time.”
I give Bob a solid roundhouse kick. He makes a suspicious noise but doesn’t crack. The strength that I put behind the kick, however, causes me to lose my balance. My left foot slips a little. Mike pulls my coat and I slip entirely, landing on my back.
“You’re dead,” he says, helping me up.
“Does everything I do kill me?” I ask, trying to hide my irritation.
“No. But every mistake, every wrong move, every time you screw up—that’s what’s going to kill you. The moral is, don’t screw up.” I brush myself off.
“All right, then. Why don’t you teach me how to do it right?”
“There really is no way to do it right, unfortunately. You need to get it less wrong than your opponent. So let us try again. Keep your balance. Keep your knees bent. Make sure that if you lift one of your limbs, you will always be able to get it back. Don’t throw a punch or a kick so hard that it throws you off balance. Take a moment to get on balance. When you think you’re ready, kic
k him again.”
I bend my knees, distributing my weight evenly between my feet. I lean back and forth, grounding my feet.
“You think you’re on balance?”
“Yes.” I kick him again, focusing on my balance. I feel balanced all the way through, but Mike pulls on my coat and I fall again.
“Apparently you weren’t. Do you know what you did wrong?” .
“I think you pulling down all the time might be the problem.”
“If you were on balance, I wouldn’t be able to make you budge.”
“Fine. What did I do wrong?”
“Balance, in a battle, isn’t purely physical. Your psychological balance is equally as important. You were focused too much on Bob’s death that you forgot about your own survival. Never forget about yourself and never forget what you’re fighting for. You have to look forward, but always watch your back. Remember who the enemy is. Remember that they have a purpose too. This isn’t about right and wrong. This is about what happens when they meet and everything becomes gray. Balance is about understanding. Understand your enemy. Understand your allies. Understand the ground you’re standing on. Understand yourself. Take a deep breath and balance yourself again.”
Or maybe I just don’t kick well, Mike, but okay. Whatever you say.
I close my eyes and breath deeply, planting my feet deeply in the ground. I take a few breaths to internalize the feeling of balance that Mike keeps preaching about. There’s Bob, and there’s me. After this, there will be only me. I throw my foot at Bob...but end up on my back. Again.
“You want me to go again?” I ask in irritation.
“Until you get it right.”
I narrow my eyes.
Me. Bob. The ground. That’s all there is. I plant my feet firmly again and throw a punch this time; that way I have both feet planted on the ground. This time, I’ll be ready.
However, with a little more force, Mike manages to pull me down before my hand even makes contact.
“If you keep pulling me down, how do you expect me to get him?” I say. But Mike only shrugs.