Seras, the Floating Mountain
Spring, Sun Year 299 A.T. of the Serenian Calendar

The life of a warrior-trainee was simple. Be at the training grounds at dawn, bash each other with wooden sticks until noon, then hunt, forage and fish for an offering for the noon meal and disperse to bathe in the lake or do whatever else young men and women did in their free time.

The bashing each other with sticks was the worst part for Eliah. The training grounds were on the edge of the village, but most of the soldiers, shieldmaidens and Titans with claimed children liked to watch the warrior-trainees spar – just to make sure that they hadn't picked the wrong progeny.

Regis, however, refused to show his face, stating that his presence would cause more trouble than it was worth. So Aramir had taken it upon himself instead, making sure to swing by and shout some encouragement whenever he was home. Aramir on his own wasn't too bad, but Eliah couldn't stand the swarm of swooning shieldmaidens and wannabe-Titans that constantly shadowed him. Being distracted by the constant shrieks of 'Taitenschild!' behind her had resulted in far too many extra bruises.

That was what she told herself, anyway. Truth be told, she didn't stand much of a chance of not getting bruised in the the first place.

Of all the warrior-trainees that remained in her sun year's ranks, Eliah was the smallest and the slightest. Where she had grown only scant inches in the last three years, most of the other 16-year-olds had shot up like weeds and gained muscle like bears. There were a few exceptions, of course; at least two more trainees in their rank of ten failed the physical expectations of the Clan. Yet, every training session, she and the other stragglers found themselves facing the biggest, most advantaged, opponents they could spar.

None of them had dared to complain for fear of being kicked from the ranks, but their Trainer, Sten, could read the growing despair and frustration on their faces after every session they spent eating dirt. 'War doesn't care if match-ups are unfair,' he'd said.

Of course, it was highly unlikely that he'd feel the same way if someone used magic to even the odds.

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she and her opponent circled each other. She was aching, bruised and shaking from fatigue. Her hands could barely keep a grip on her quarterstaff. Thankfully, the sun had almost reached its peak. Just a few more moments and it would be over.

Some pairs had already stopped sparring, choosing to stand around looking like they were about to go another round while actually stalling for time. Unfortunately, Eliah could not expect the same. Her partner, Balint Gunnarschild, was considered one of the most promising in her sun year. A pair of Titans had spent the last year or so brawling over who got to claim him as theirs, inflating his ego and inciting a desperate need to live up to their expectations. So long as she was on her feet, he'd spend every last minute of the session beating her into the ground.

The smart choice would be to let him. Make a glancing blow look like a solid hit and stay down until midday. But that meant admitting she was weak, and Eliah was too stubborn for that.

Running her tongue over her dry lips, she widened her feet into a defensive stance. The girl wasn't stupid enough to think that she could bring him down, but she could at least try to stay on her feet until the call.

Balint rushed her, weapon raised overhead like he was wielding a sword. But even though her mind read the overhead strike, her body was too slow to respond.

It was always too slow to respond.

Hands spread wide across her staff, she caught the blow just above the top of her head. Her arms were shaking with the struggle, and he hadn't even brought his full weight to bear.

Expression neutral, Balint pressed down a little harder, calculating just enough weight to force her to take a step back. Eliah hissed in disapproval. He was going easy on her. If his parents weren't on a mission beyond the Gate, he would have gone full force with the first strike and knocked her to the ground without a trace of mercy. They both knew it too.

He looked down at her with a half-lidded gaze. 'Why do you even bother?' asked Balint.

Eliah pursed her lips. 'What – ' She grunted and pushed back as he added a fraction more pressure. ' – is that supposed to mean?'

'You're not going to pass muster.'

'You don't know that.'

Eliah shifted her feet, anticipating another increase in weight. Instead, he hooked a foot around her ankle and swept her legs out from under her. One minute she was standing – the next she was staring at the sky, disarmed.

Balint leaned in over her and extended a hand. 'I do know it. You'd get hurt less if you stopped trying so hard. You should know your limits.'

A familiar heat spread across Eliah's skin as anger welled up inside her. She inhaled sharply and forced the emotions down. 'Screw you,' she muttered, and got to her feet on her own. Picking up her staff, she took up position again.

Balint sighed. 'Clan mothers are treated better than you think, Regischild.'

'Just shut up and spar, Balint.'

'I mean it. It's better than being a menial or a helot.'

Eliah's eyes flicked over to her arm wraps then back to Balint's face. His expression was unreadable, but there was no way he knew. 'Either fight me again, or swap with a partner that will.'

He came at her from the side – but this time he didn't hold back.

The block was late. Eliah's own weapon smacked her in the face as it was ripped from her fingers and she went skidding sideways across the sand.

Coughing, she rolled back onto her feet and forced herself back up again.

'If you can't last one strike, you won't pass your Initiation. You don't have to win, but you have to at least show that you'd be useful if we're called to war.'

'Don't have to pass the Initiation if I pass the Rite.'

For once, a readable expression crossed Balint's face. His eyebrows snapped together and his jaw clenched. 'Are you insane?'

Eliah didn't blame him. She'd thought the same thing when Regis had suggested it too. She shrugged. 'I hear Ylva's meant to return soon, which means the ward will finally be repaired. You'll be taking it too, won't you? Titan parents and all.'

'I am, but you – '

The sentence went unfinished as Sten's booming voice gave the call for midday. Training was over. The nervous-looking helot boy standing beside him rushed out to collect the trainees' weapons for cleaning and maintenance. As they handed their quarterstaves to the boy, Eliah caught Balint staring at her.

'What?' she asked.

'Weaklings shouldn't fight Fal'mor.'

Eliah opened her mouth to retort, but stopped short as she caught sight of another pair of trainees brawling on the ground out of the corner of her eye. 'That's Sune and Ketill. Why are they still fighting?'

Ketill Raghildrschild was like Balint – a beast of a boy with all the hallmarks of a future front-line warrior for the Clan and the mothersname of a Titan to fuel his ambition. Sune Clanschild, on the other hand, just barely made the cut. Not quite tall, but not quite short. Not skinny enough to fear being kicked from the ranks, but not muscular enough to be claimed by a mother or father in the shieldmaiden and soldier ranks either. Normally he didn't stand out, but from the way Ketill was laying into him, he'd done something to draw ire.

Eliah wasn't the only one who had noticed. The other trainees were starting to draw together and make a circle around them. Sten, however, was too busy barking at his helot to care.

'What's going on here?' asked Balint as he joined the spectators with Eliah close behind.

'No idea,' muttered Iliana, the scarred, willowy girl beside him. She jerked a thumb at her sparring partner. 'Loker and I were nearby. Last I saw, Sune had Ketill on the floor. Turned around after the midday call and Ketill's got Sune pinned down, trying to beat him to death.'

'So you decided to just stand and watch?' Eliah demanded.

Iliana pressed her lips together tightly.

Loker, on the other hand, gave Eliah the side-eye. 'It's their fight, weakling. If Sune gets beat, it's his own fault. We wouldn't step in if Balint tried to beat you to death either.' He smirked. 'Or if you tried to beat him to death, but we all know that would never happen.'

'No one's supposed to die during training,' said Balint. He moved to step in.

Ketill heard him coming and turned around with a glare. 'Don't you dare interrupt, Gunnarschild. He cheated! Magic-wielding son of a helot summoned some gods-cursed light fire and hit me in the face with it before he took me down.' He raised his fist again. 'He belongs with those heretic menials, not here!'

'You sure you didn't just look at the sun?' asked Eliah drily. She fought back a flinch as Ketill's gaze locked with hers.

'Shut up, Regischild, or you're next.'

A fresh wave of heat rose from Eliah's tattoos at the threat.

Sune's voice wheezed and gurgled as he struggled to speak through the blood pouring from his mouth and broken nose. 'There was no magic, Ketill, I swear.'

'Fell. Blighted. Liar!' Each word was with iterated with a punch. 'There's no other way you could have beat me and you know it!'

'I didn't—! Help – please – '

Eliah's hands shook. Heat rose from the metal in her skin. At this rate, Ketill was actually going to kill him. She took an involuntary step forward.

Iliana looked uncomfortable too. The back of her hand nudged Loker's elbow. 'Maybe we should stop him.'

'We can't take him, Ili,' said Loker firmly.

'Then I'm getting Sten.'

Balint had had enough too, and unlike the others, he was more than capable of standing toe to toe with Ketill. Without a word, he closed the gap and grabbed the other young man by the arm before he could strike Sune again. 'That's enough.'

'Let go, Gunnarschild,' snarled Ketill, trying to pull free.

'No,' replied Balint. 'You'll kill him.'

Seizing Ketill by the collar, Balint dragged the other boy to his feet and away from Sune. With a quick glance at each other, Eliah and Loker moved in to check if he was still alive.

When they were safely away from the others, Balint released Ketill's arm and gave him a shove. 'If you still want to fight, you can fight me. Otherwise go jump in the lake and cool your head off.'

'He's a blasphemer! He deserves what he got!'

Eyes transfixed on something behind Ketill's head, Balint didn't reply. That silence only served to fuel his indignation more.

'Gods, you disgust me. You think you're so much better than the rest of us with that silent and stoic act, don't you? Because you've got Titans fighting over your name. Well, guess what! All it does is show that you're full of – '

'Sten's behind you.'

With hesitation written on his face, Ketill turned around. He was met with a backhanded strike to the cheek from their Trainer.

Sten's eyes were steely as he took in the scene. His eyes lingered on Eliah and Loker supporting a bruised, bloody, barely-conscious Sune between them, then on Ketill's bloodied knuckles. He frowned. 'I believe I said that training was over for today, so why does Sune look like he's dead?'

'He used magic on me,' snarled Ketill, rubbing his jaw. 'He deserved the punishment.'

Sten eyed the rest of his charges. 'Did any of you see magic?'

The trainees shook their heads.

'Did any of you sense magic?'

An even more vigorous shake of the head.

'Good. I would have hated to have to expel any of you.' Sighing, Sten turned back to Ketill. 'Son, have you ever seen someone be expelled from the ranks for menialism?'

Ketill swallowed and opened his mouth to say no. Sten cut him off before he could.

'No, you haven't. You know how I know, boy? Because otherwise you'd know that when you beat a menial to the brink of death, their magic explodes out of them. Did you feel any of that while you were trying to kill your fellow trainee, hmm?'

Ketill swallowed again.

'No, you didn't,' continued Sten with a growl. 'And you know how I know that, son? Because if you had, you'd likely be on the verge of death yourself, depending on what kind of magic your friend, Sune, had. And you're very much alive.' His gaze swept across the training ground. 'Let me make something very clear to you, trainees: strength is the word of law here, not senseless violence, especially in the face of something as dangerous and dishonourable as magic. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Trainer Sten.'

'Good. Now, get Sune to the Clan Mothers' house to be treated. Ketill, you get to spend the rest of the day with me. Another six hours of training ought to cool your head. The rest of you, disperse!'

Seizing Ketill by the ear, the Trainer walked away.

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All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.