By the time I’ve cleaned the yard, it’s starting to get late, but I am not willing to go to sleep just yet. I do, however, skip back into the cottage to sneak a quick shower before slipping right back out again. I don’t want to risk walking around smelling like horse manure, but I also don’t want to answer any questions right now, and Calli’s bound to have a zillion of them.
It's so refreshing and calming to wander about with freedom. Well, relative freedom. I'm not sure if there's a curfew here. I hope not, but there aren't any other students walking around that I can see.
Still, I enjoyed my treks to the trees back at the orphanage, and walking around here makes me feel as if there’s something normal to my life despite it being turned dramatically upside down.
I’m not sure I’m ready to try magic again, and I still need a supervisor, but there has to be something else I can do, something I can study or practice.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I return to the stable, the scene of the crime, but instead of stopping there, I continue onward to the barracks. Master Vanhylde did say we could lift weights whenever we liked. Not that I’ve been to a gym before or know what I’ll be doing, and I’m not exactly dressed for it, but still. I’ll just have a quick peek inside. If anyone is there, I’ll leave. I do not want an audience for this.
My boots echo across the tiled floor. I glance into each and every room until I find the room the master mentioned. No one is inside, but the lights are on, and rock music is playing, so I don’t see how I can possibly get into trouble here.
Unless I drop a weight on my foot and break a toe.
The air feels a little heavy in the gym, and I’m not sure what to do with the plates and the bars, so I bypass them and head straight for the free weights that are lined up in pairs on several benches in front of floor-to-ceiling glass. I don’t know if I like the idea of watching myself look like a fool, but I suppose it’s a good idea to watch what you’re doing, to make sure you’re doing it right. Too bad I don’t know what’s wrong from right.
Well… let’s see. Bicep curls shouldn’t be that hard.
I go to pick up the fifteens, but they’re way too heavy for me. The fives, at least, are too light, so I opt for the tens. I can only do a couple of reps. Maybe I’m trying to lift the weights too slowly, but I’m careful to make sure I bring the weight all the way up and then down again.
Man, am I pathetically weak.
Um, are there any guides in here? Videos or programs I can follow? Because I do want to get stronger. I don’t want to be weak, not in my body, my mind, my soul, or my magic.
Maybe working out while no one else is here is actually a reckless and even dangerous idea. I put the weights back on the rack and leave the room and then head back to the classroom where the master had addressed us. All of the weapons, all of the shiny, sharp points…
I have to admit that I’m just as worried about sword fighting and weapons training as anything else. I need a lot of help in a lot of areas. I’m already used to little sleep, having suffered from insomnia for years now, so I can have extra time to devote my studies, all of them. I can do this. I can.
Trying to feel confident, I remove one of the swords from the wall. The blade has a bluish tint to it, and the hilt is long and brown. The design where the blade meets the hilt is beautiful, intricate, and detailed.
I step back and swing the blade around a few times. It’s heavy but yet also not as heavy as I would have anticipated. Maybe my arms are sore from the few bicep curls I did. That would be really sad if that’s true.
I pretend to strike a foe. The momentum is too much, and I stagger. Come on, Mirella. Get it together.
I bring the sword up, stagger again, and plant my feet. Okay, now I’ll—
The door opens, and I turn around, holding the blade right at a troll.
He laughs, the sound brutish even though he doesn’t look so much like a monster up close despite his grayish skin tone and red eyes. Of course he has tusks, but he has a cropped beard, which makes him look more human than beast.
“Be careful with that,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” I swallow hard, suddenly unsure that I’m allowed to be here. “I, ah…”
"You can train. Don't worry. I'll train over here." He selects a massive weapon off the wall. It kind of looks like an axe on a long shaft, but there's also a spike at the top.
“What is that?” I ask.
He grins. “It’s called a halberd. You new?”
“First day,” I admit. “I’m Mirella.”
“Malak." He nods several times, his expression pleased. "It's great to see a newb here wanting to train already."
“Oh, ah, I can’t even really train,” I explain. “I don’t have any experience with weapons.”
“Just holding one at first will help,” he assures me. “It takes a long time to get comfortable holding something so dangerous. You have to respect the weapon first before you can truly master it.”
“That makes sense.” So far, I’ve been holding the sword up with both hands, but he’s holding the halberd with one, so I try it. I can just manage to hold it upright.
“Want to practice with me some?” he asks. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
“But your training,” I protest. “I don’t want to keep you from yours.”
“It’s fine. You can learn by teaching others. Or do you not want to—”
“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” I blurt out.
He just gives me a look.
“I’m so inexperienced. I have no idea what I’m doing. That makes me dangerous.”
“We won’t spar,” he says gently. “I’ll tell you how to move your blade and where, and I’ll demonstrate how to block those blows.”
“And if I can’t move the blade like you want me to?”
“I do have eyes.”
I flush. “If you’re sure…”
“Not everyone will train with a troll,” he says.
“Why not?” I ask, hoping it’s not as simple as he’s a troll.
“Unfair. I have far more muscles than you magical beings that are more human in appearance. Plus…” He grins, his tusks gleaming. “I have a tendency to become overzealous.”
“You don’t turn into a berserker, do you?”
Malak throws back his head and roars with laughter. “No. Not at all but even I don’t want to go up against a berserker. There’s only one, no, two training here now. There aren’t a lot of them nowadays.”
“Why not?”
He lifts his bushy eyebrows.
“I’ve lived a sheltered life. I didn’t get out a lot.”
Malak shrugs. “Most of them tend to not be able to control themselves when they go into their berserker state, and people tend to die.”
“But they can learn control?”
“Yes. No one magical species is wholly evil.”
“Yes…” I murmur, still confused how some demons can be good. Not that I want to think Calli’s father is evil but…
“Are you ready?”
“Sure.” I try to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice.
Malak gives me very simple movements to try with the sword, a jab there, a jab there. He corrects my stance, telling me if I shift and cause my feet to be too far apart or close together, and he keeps harping that I need to bend my knees.
“But you’re already so much taller than I am,” I say.
“That doesn’t matter. By bending your knees, you’re creating more stability for you, a stronger base beneath you.”
“That makes sense.”
“You do bring up a good point. Many of your foes will be taller than you.”
I smirk. Five foot seven is actually tall for a female, but everyone here seems so much taller than I am. Are they all part giant?
My arms burn, and so do my shoulders, my upper back, even my legs. I'm not even really fighting or sparring, and my body is already killing me.
“Sore?” he asks.
I nod.
“Not a surprise but I’ll give you a helpful tip.”
“Better than a non-helpful one,” I murmur, smiling faintly, letting the tip of the sword fall to the ground and wiping some sweat off my brow.
He smirks. “All I’ve given you is helpful tips.”
“Yes. You’re a regular master.”
“Hardly,” he says, but his lips curl into a smile. His tusks always remain visible, too large to fit into his mouth. “I know you’ll be sore, but train again tomorrow. Once your body adapts to the pain, the soreness will go away, but if you only train here and there, this week, not the next, twice the week after, skip a month… your body will be sore each and every time. To combat it, push through.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“If you want fun…” Malak grins. “Let’s have a go.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll go easy on you. Tell you where you go wrong.”
“I guess…”
“We’ll take it slow.”
Closing my eyes, I inhale and exhale. This is so stupid. So stupid.
But I want to learn. I have to.
I open my eyes and bring up the sword.
He’s holding out his halberd between us.
I touch the tip against his.
“Now we begin,” the troll dictates.
He circles around me, and I match him pace for pace even though his stride is much longer, and already, he’s shaking his head.
"Take normal steps. Otherwise, you'll focus too much on your feet and lose sight of your surroundings."
“Okay.”
Malak feigns to the right, pulling back before I can bring my sword over to block.
“Decent reaction time,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose. “You would’ve speared me if you hadn’t pulled back.”
“We’re training, not really sparring. That’s not the point of this exercise. With time, you’ll be stronger, faster. That is the bottom line.”
“The bottom line, eh?”
I immediately pivot, holding the sword up and out, at the ready, just as Malak taught me.
An ogre stands behind us in the doorway. The troll is more muscular, but the ogre is more beast-like. His ears stick out and are triangular. His skin looked to be thicker than most, a slight pink hue.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” the ogre says as he stomps forward and snatches a battle-axe and a morning star from the wall. Malak explained each weapon to me, but I doubt I’ll remember all of them.
“Azir.” Malak grins. “Are you ready to spar?”
I shake my head. “You two have fun.”
“You aren’t going to stick around?” Malak asks, sounding disappointed. “I promise I won’t make Azir bleed.”
“You are welcome to watch,” Azir says. “Or was I interrupting something?”
“I was helping Mirella here. She’s new. New new.”
I groan.
“Ah, fresh meat.” Azir grins broadly, revealing his huge teeth. “Watching might be a good idea.”
“True… All right.”
I move off to the corner, far away from them, and they begin to circle each other slowly, just as Malak and I had in the beginning, but then they sped up, trading blows, the ogre making use of both weapons but the troll seeming not to care. At one point, Malak blocks a blow and then kicks Azir squarely in the stomach, knocking him back.
“Not exactly a fair fighter, is he?” the ogre complains.
Malak roars with laughter. “Says the ogre fighting me with two weapons.”
I can’t help but giggle too.
Azir narrows his eyes at me, but there’s a playful smirk on his face. I love how friendly they seem to be, so eager to help me. It doesn’t matter that I’m a witch and they’re a troll and ogre. We’re all just students trying to become hunters.
But then, Azir lunges at me.
My reaction time is slower than it had been earlier. I’m tired, and this attack is completely unexpected. He pulls back and attacks Malak, but I’m already bringing up my sword. Azir perfectly blocks both my blow and Malak’s at the same time with his two weapons.
I’m breathing hard, but my blood is racing. There’s something unbelievably fun about training with them, and I continue to jab and strike and defend, even though that mostly entails running away.
“Try not to duck or move out of the way with lesser movements,” Malak coaches me. “You don’t want to waste your energy.”
I try to listen, and the two guys are more fighting each other than me, but I want to get in on the action, too. I push forward, but I'm no match for them whatsoever. One strike that the ogre blocks has me gritting my teeth and gripping the hilt with both hands to prevent my dropping the sword. I really can't hold my own.
This time, Malak lazily goes to strike me, and it’s insulting how slow he’s moving. I scowl at him, moving my sword to block with only one hand, my other palm facing him, and I can’t even say how I do it, but suddenly, Malak is yanked backward, blown by a fierce wind that knocks him into Azir. One clatter, two, three… in one move, I disarmed them all.