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TRAINING
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THOUGHTS NAGGED AT her through the night. Her eyelids hung like dumbbells slowly slipping from her grasp, but she couldn’t let them close. Not now, and possibly not ever. Savara feared she would never again be blessed with a decent night’s sleep. It was all too recent: the kidnapping, the forest, and the two almost-murders her hands had longed to commit. Not my hands, she reminded herself. How could they be her hands? Hers were hands that lovingly petted puppies and warmed with a nice cup of tea. Familiar, gentle hands. These hands were new: foreign and unforgiving.
Not my hands, she realised, the hands of whatever’s inside me.
***
“WELL DON’T YOU LOOK like chilli flakes on a chocolate sundae,” Sebastian remarked as he sauntered through the door. The injuries from their kidnapping made his usual summer breeze walk slightly off-step but, considering what she’d seen of his back and bruises, he played it off well. Savara almost couldn’t believe how well he looked, but of course, it was Sebastian. He could probably get mauled by a bobcat and still look like a fallen angel.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Savara grumbled. Her eyes stung with the bitterness of a long night of little sleep.
“Well, Miss Right Side of the Wrong Bed, it was supposed to be a compliment.”
“...I don’t think you and I have the same idea of a compliment...”
“Not my fault you have no taste; that’s my favourite topping,” he laughed. His normally warm and infectious laugh had gained a hiss to it that Savara imagined came from bruised lungs. She turned over in the bed, feeling even worse about what had happened to him. She could feel his prodding gaze on her back. “Have you spent the whole night like this?” His voice was riddled with concern.
“I couldn’t sleep...” she replied softly, staring down at her hands. The image of them covered in spidery red veins had burned itself into the backs of her eyelids. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off her soft, plain, and yet entirely unfamiliar hands.
“I see that,” Sebastian said as he sat himself down at the edge of her bed. “It’s been a week since... you know.”
A week, five hours, and twenty-seven—no, twenty-eight minutes. How could she forget? The many nights had dragged into one excruciatingly long one, whose little pockets of sleep were marred by nightmares that kept her up for another thirty-six hours. And in all that time, she’d seen Jasper once and Griffin in passing. If it weren’t for Brass’ occasional check-ups, she would’ve been entirely alone.
“So, listen,” Sebastian added. “How about instead of wasting away to sleep deprivation, you come training?”
“I think I’d rather be buried alive,” Savara replied, hugging the blanket closer, though she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t partly touched by his offer.
A devilish grin spread across his face. “That’s not really on my itinerary right now, but if you’d like I can call Storm for you. I’m sure she’d be eager to oblige.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered hoarsely.
The last person Savara wanted to see was Storm. Somehow, she knew Storm would find a way to blame her for everything that had happened, the wrath that would follow would make hurricane destruction look like gardening—and she would be right.
“Good, so you’ll come then? It’s better than wallowing in self-pity, and maybe I’ll even let you land a hit on me,” he said with a wink.
“Will it get you to leave me alone?”
“Possibly, though who’s to say you won’t end up glued to my side?” he teased. Savara sent a wild pillow flying, which Sebastian caught all too easily. “Not to be a bad cough about it, but this,” he added, tossing the pillow back at her, “is exactly why you need to train.”
He was right, of course. Savara hadn’t the faintest idea of how to hit or where to strike. That night, and the attack in the alley, made it clear that learning to fight was a necessity. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that in this world there were things that would eat her alive without even blinking, and since she wasn’t about to use those powers again, defending herself the normal way was better than nothing.
***
SEBASTIAN HAD BECOME her shadow over the past few weeks. Any time Savara thought about sneaking off for a moment’s peace, he would find some way to keep her on her toes. After various fruits to the head, a face full of mud, and a swollen shoulder from a flying chair she “should’ve dodged easily,” she was finally beginning to get the hang of it.
Savara learned to punch on sandbags that left her knuckles bloody and swollen, and then to block, which came with its own set of aches and pains, and as for the dodging part, there was still room for improvement. She continued through the pain. If she was ever going to survive in this world, let alone avenge her uncle’s death, she needed to push on.
Since the day in the forest, Jasper had taken to spending long hours in Griffin’s tent—something Savara couldn’t understand considering they’d fought like cats and dogs at every point before then. She’d even seen him hanging about with Storm on various occasions, though he always looked the worse for wear afterwards. She missed talking to him, about everything and nothing important. Jasper had been her only friend for the better part of a decade, but being here had practically made them strangers.
As for the rest, Griffin spent most of his time in correspondence with strange people with even stranger names. Storm hated her, so her company was out of the question. Brass would occasionally ask her to tea, but Savara usually found she was too anxious and fidgety for the kind of calm and quiet teas that Brass enjoyed. Simon kept to his animals for the most part, which only left Sebastian, who somehow always managed to keep her busy. She didn’t mind though. His constant company was the only thing keeping her sane, which is why she happily suffered through the growing number of bruises on her arms and thighs, and even a limp that had only just healed.
––––––––
ON THIS MORNING, AN open field lay before them. Skies that looked like they were holding out for rain hung above. Sebastian strolled into the centre and dumped a heavy sack onto the ground. Swords, knives, daggers, spears, scythes—all sorts of sharpened metal weapons fell from the sack.
“Pick your poison,” Sebastian called to her with more energy than she’d ever had on a good day. It didn’t matter which weapon she chose; he could best her with them all. While Savara looked them over, he etched a large circle into the ground. “The object of the game is to stay in the circle.”
“Is everything a game with you?” she called back, rolling her eyes as she picked up a katana. The hilt was wrapped in royal blue silk, and the collar holding the blade was glittering gold. The edges seemed blunt enough that she wouldn’t get hurt too badly when he landed a hit, although he never ended up striking her with the weapons. Landed hits were reserved for fists, that way she’d learn without needing too much medical attention later—or so he claimed. Savara walked into the centre of the circle brandishing the blade.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow and smiled, digging out its twin from the bag. Red silk and a silver collar, just as blunt, but in his hands, twice as deadly. “That’s Storm’s favourite too,” he said, and with a snap of his fingers, the etched circle caught fire. Dancing flames created a burning wall around them. “Try not to get burned,” Sebastian added with a wink as he took up his stance. Ready and waiting, he always let her strike first.
Sebastian moved with the swiftness and grace of the flames that danced around them. Her first few slashes he dodged with tiresome ease, even having the audacity to yawn—a reminder of how slow she was, how she was forcing the blade rather than guiding it. Savara huffed and swung with more force. This swing met steel, shattering the air with a metallic tang. From beyond the blade, Sebastian grinned.
Now, they would fight.
The blades whistled through the air, clinking when they met each other. He pushed her to the edge a few times, the flames licking her boots and once even her arm. Savara pushed back, focusing more on how not to get burned rather than where the next hit would come from. She tripped over a stone and fell with a hard thud onto her back. Pebbles dug into the patches of skin between her clothes. Regrettably, she made the mistake of looking back at the flames rather than at him and turned to find his sword a finger’s length from her neck.
He looked down at her from the other end of the sword. “Never lose sight of the blade,” he said irritably, relaxing his hold on it and offering her his other hand.
“I’m not a fighter,” Savara reminded him as she dusted herself off.
“You certainly won’t be until you start considering yourself one,” Sebastian replied. He took a few steps back and waited again for her strike.
“As if thinking myself better is going to make me better,” she moaned in frustration.
“It certainly won’t make you worse,” he said, flicking her blade out of her hand with ease. “Again.”
The sun made its graceful ascent into the sky. They’d been at it for hours and all she got out of it was a twisted ankle, a scorched wrist, and dirt in uncomfortable places.
“How is it that you—” Savara bobbed, narrowly missing what would have been an actual slice to the forearm, “barely grip the thing and still manage to—” she jumped and landed hard on the dirt, “land almost every hit?”
Sebastian laughed as she pushed herself to her feet. “Believe it or not, there’s a genuine art to sword fighting... like painting. Actually, the people to be most wary of in a fight are those who grip their swords like paintbrushes.”
The earthy, grainy taste of dried dirt filled her mouth. Savara gagged, coughing up as much as she could before wiping her dusty lips. That’s what she deserved for talking when she should’ve been paying attention. “And why is that?” she asked, still unable to remove the taste of earth from under her tongue.
Sebastian winked and readied himself again. Fine, don’t tell me, Savara thought. Paintbrush... She slackened her grip and focused on the tip of the sword, rather than the handle. In her next swing, Sebastian dodged, staring incredulously at the spot on his shoulder the sword should’ve slashed through. A grin spread across Savara’s face like a forest fire.
“Impressive,” said Sebastian, clearly just as surprised as she was that she’d grasped the concept so quickly. Her pathetic stance would be corrected another day. For now, she was happy to finally be able to keep on her feet.
Another hour of whistling swishes and clanking steel passed. The air was starting to feel like water to her underused muscles. They stung in dull waves of pain. Savara imagined that even something so trivial as brushing her teeth later would be a task.
“So, what’s with you and the human?” he asked casually. She knew he was trying to distract her now that she was slowly getting the hang of it.
“Nothing. We’re friends,” she replied, striking again. Another metallic clank echoed through the air.
“I don’t know of any friends that would jump worlds for me,” Sebastian smirked.
“You can’t have many real friends then,” she returned, huffing as best she could to keep the air in her lungs. “What about you and Storm?”
Sebastian faltered. He missed his step, opening his stance too wide. She landed a blunt blow on his arm and looked just as surprised as he did about it.
“You finally got one,” he said with an evasive laugh, ignoring the comment that had made it possible. “I think we can probably head back. I’m starved. And I’ve been listening to your stomach all morning,” he added, packing up the supplies.
Sebastian was quiet for most of the walk back, but she could tell something was eating at him. Savara wondered if she’d crossed some unspoken boundary, cursing herself for alienating the only person that could stand to be in her company.
He slowed his pace as they neared the edge of the grounds. “She’s a case of her own,” he mumbled finally. A bright red blush crept over his nose and onto his cheeks beneath the beard.
“Storm?” Savara asked. He nodded guiltily. “Have you two ever...?”
“No. I tease her now and again but that’s as far as it goes.” Sebastian looked on towards the camp longingly. “I don’t quite know what she thinks of me.” He sighed. “Just don’t mention this to her, please.”
“Why? Are you afraid of her?”
Sebastian bit his lip. “Not exactly...”
“Don’t worry,” she assured. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. She doesn’t like me, remember?”
“Good.”
Savara rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bet she holds her swords like paintbrushes,” she mocked.
Sebastian raised his eyebrows playfully. Along with the blush, a grin spread from ear to ear across his face. “No,” he said with a renewed glow in his eyes. “She becomes the paintbrush.”
