Bastion

by Kyle West

  “Sounds like I have nothing to be afraid of, then.”

  Now that I thought about it, it was rather strange that my Flameform had been so effortless. I shouldn’t have been this proficient at it. The thought that I wasn’t the one who was fighting returned to me, and it wasn’t at all comforting.

  “Are you all right?”

  I made myself nod. “Yeah. I just got cold, all of a sudden.”

  Isa laughed. “It’s warm outside. You’re acting very strangely.”

  I forced myself to smile. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s try again.”

  “You still want to keep going?”

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  We kept practicing, but I couldn’t get into the flow like I had before. Maybe I was thinking about it too much. The majority of the time, I scored a hit on Isa, but there were times where she got me.

  After a time, we went inside to prepare for heading down to Nava Village.

  * * *

  I made sure I was wearing a clean initiate’s robe before joining the stream of people heading down the path. The village below was laid out, and on its central green was a ring of tarps and tents. Even with the distance, I could smell meat cooking and the sounds of laughter and the jangle of guitars, flutes, and drums.

  By the time the road evened out and we were entering the village, it was clear it wasn’t just the villagers who were putting on the celebration. There were farmers and homesteaders from miles around. There was cooking, eating, dancing, and games. The Sanctum-dwellers filtered among the crowd, going from tent to tent and game to game, smiles already stretching across their faces.

  It was a little strange losing myself within the crowd. The Spring Festival was something that happened in most places across the Red Wild, and something like it even happened in Colonia, although a bit earlier in the year. At least as far as Colonia went, it had grown out of a need to beseech Annara for a good crop, and that was the source of the surreal feeling. No matter where I went, or how hard I tried, I couldn’t not be reminded of Anna. She permeated every facet of Elekai culture, and was completely unavoidable. And I couldn’t just shut my eyes, because I was constantly reminded of it internally, too. Whether it was strange thoughts forming, excelling at a sword form I’d only known for a day, or dreams and memories returning — I couldn’t avoid who I was and why I was placed here. It was so overwhelming that all I could feel was numb. Even if it had only been a couple of months, coming to grips with the past seemed impossible, even if the reminders were incessant. I always felt balanced between accepting it, and denying it.

  It helped to think of Annara as a different person — a non-entity, almost. I still found myself thinking of the gods as real, until I remembered that they had just been people once. And for that matter, I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure I truly was Anna. In my mind, that still needed further confirmation. I would hold on to any hope I could.

  The initiates’ duels were first — the Seekers were the real show, and as such were saved for last. The apprentices would fight in between.

  I went to find Apprentice Martin, who would be officiating the initiates’ matches. I found him easily, as his tall, lanky form made him visible in a crowd halfway across the green. I noticed that a crowd was clamoring around him, and as I neared, I saw that there were the initiates who had all enrolled to fight. There were eight in all, and among them I was the only girl.

  “Right,” Martin called out. “I believe we’re all here. Each bout is a best of one. Each of the four beginning matches will be determined by random draw. There will be three rounds of fighting, given that there are eight initiates.” He nodded. “May the best man…” He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at me. “Er…or woman…be crowned.”

  The initiates crowded around eagerly as he held up a sack containing the assignments. I drew last, picking up a wooden chit that had the number one carved into it.

  “Does that mean I’m going first?”

  Samal sidled up to me with a chuckle. “Looks like you’ll be up against me. That’s perfect; I need someone to warm-up on.”

  “Really? I was thinking the same thing.”

  Isaru, who was nearby, chuckled at that.

  “We’ll see, darling,” Samal said. “I was hoping it would be you. I’ve got some special things planned.”

  “So do I.”

  Presently, the field cleared and a roped-in enclosure, roughly circular, provided the field of play. If I had to guess, it was perhaps fifty paces across. The dueling swords were already in place, encased in stands on either side of the ring. The field grew more crowded as people made their way toward the ring, wanting to catch a sight of the first bout.

  I stepped over the rope and headed for one end of the ring. Both swords would be identical, so it didn’t matter which I chose. The sun was still high enough so as not to matter, though by the time the initiates’ matches were over, the sun’s position would matter. Bouts, at least among initiates, typically didn’t last long, which was why there was only one ring dedicated to them. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that two other dueling rings were being set up, which would allow the fights to pass more quickly.

  Samal already stood at the other end of the ring, and had drawn his sword and was practicing a basic Treeform sequence with impeccable form. I felt a bit nervous; Samal was one of the most skilled initiates, and it was a toss-up between who was better: him, Isaru, Nabea, or Alaric. But if what Aela had told me was any indication, I had a good shot of beating him.

  Just then, I saw Aela across the ring. She gave me a single nod and thumbs up. Her face seemed to say: “You know what to do. Trust yourself.”

  I sighed, drawing the dueling blade from the stand outside the ring, giving a few testing swings. It was exactly the same size as the swords Aela and I had practiced with, and its weight felt familiar in my hand. The dull metal gleamed in the sunlight. It felt as if I had held it hundreds, and maybe even thousands, of times before.

  Was that my thought, or hers?

  I closed my eyes, seeking Silence. It came to me easily, despite my nerves, and I moved my blade to assume Treeform’s most basic stance: the blade held up in front at a forty-five degree angle with both hands, blade pointed out. From this position, I could move either left or right efficiently. Calm settled into me, and I allowed my thoughts, my nervousness, to pass through my consciousness in a steady stream, until nothing was left but movement and awareness. I focused intently, never taking my gaze off Samal at the other end of the ring. He was also staring me down, and there was no gloating in his eyes, now. Despite his bravado, it seemed he respected my skill, and was going to take me seriously as an opponent. I was a little disappointed, but at the same time, it was all the more challenge to overcome.

  Martin approached the center of the ring, looking from Samal, and then to me.

  “You already know the rules of engagement,” he called. “One touch, to any part of the body, enough to be clearly seen by me. Clothes do not count. The strike has to leave no room for doubt. This bout will be a best of one. Do or die. If you are touched by your opponent’s blade, you are dead. If you step outside the rope, you are dead.” Martin paused. “Are the rules clear?”

  Samal and I both nodded to show our understanding.

  “The match begins when I lower my hand.”

  Martin raised his hand, keeping it there for several seconds. The wind blew, and the field was utterly silent. I had expected the crowd to be a bit more rowdy, but I supposed there would be plenty of time for that.

  Suddenly, Martin lowered his hand, scurrying out of the way to give room for the fight.

  * * *

  Samal wasted no time. He came forward, his posture strong and sure. I moved toward my right, holding the same form. We circled each other, mere feet apart, each refusing to make the first move.

  Then, Samal came at me with a testing cut. I easily parried while repositioning myself. He attacked again, and this time, his
attack didn’t let up. I either blocked his attacks or stepped out of the way. After practicing with Aela, this was almost too easy. I didn’t even feel as if I was trying.

  Samal seemed to sense this, and he attacked with renewed vigor. I internally critiqued his stance, realizing that his posture was too aggressive for Treeform; he would have been better suited to Flame. He growled, backing away to take stock of his situation. From his tightened features and the beads of sweat coursing down his face, I could tell that he didn’t think I would be this much of a challenge. I was still calm and felt as if hadn’t exerted any effort at all. I wanted to look over at Aela, but I remembered what she had told me: when you are fighting, you always fight to win. There can be nothing else taking your attention.

  Samal switched his stance to Flameform. I remained in Tree, walking forward to let him break himself on my defenses. I knew if I became overly aggressive, I could neglect my defense, allowing the possibility for Samal to score a lucky hit.

  Samal came at me again, and this time, his attacks were furious and I had to work harder to defend. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and I saw that he was throwing everything he had at me. Indeed, his attacks were powerful; he had a lot of strength, but Treeform was good at redirecting the energy of your opponent’s attacks, letting them go to waste. All I had to do was wait for him to tire, and then I could press my own attack.

  It didn’t take long. Samal was panting from exertion, his movements slowing. Even as I defended, I found windows to make cuts of my own. This was the true beauty of Treeform — taking those tiny hits and nicks that threw your opponent of balance, forcing them to defend. Murmurs broke out in the crowd; anyone who was at all familiar with how dueling worked had seen this pattern happen countless times, and any time a fight reached this point, the Treeform combatant usually emerged as the victor.

  When Samal began backing away, I knew it was only a matter of time — all the same, I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him. I walked forward, taking control of the space. Just a few more steps and Samal would be on the ropes. I readied myself for whatever last gambit he had.

  But what he did was far from expected. He charged forward, using a sequence I had never seen. His front was left completely open; it was as if was throwing everything into one last attack, all or nothing.

  I stepped back, and I was forced to eat the whole of the impact with my blade, which staggered me. Samal relentlessly pushed forward, his eyes gleaming in triumph. For the first time, I felt panic — Samal was no longer using Flameform, but something else entirely. It was a form Aela hadn’t shown me. Samal moved gracefully, each of his movements flowing like water.

  Waterform, I thought. That’s what this has to be.

  I had been told Waterform was difficult to master, but Samal knew at least a little bit — at least, enough for one sequence. I noticed a pattern in his attacks — he came in from the right, spun, then came in from the top, then switched to the other side. After he did this three times, I realized this was the only sequence he knew. It was wearing on him, but he was determined to win. Defeating him was probably simple, but I just didn’t know the correct counter. I was stuck with Tree, and Tree didn’t give me enough opportunity to take advantage of the holes he was creating.

  I knew I had to do something different, and that meant a switch to Flameform…but for some reason, I knew that wouldn’t work. I didn’t know how I knew that, I just did.

  The only question left was what to do.

  Tree seemed to be sufficient to hold Samal off; he had relied on the shock value to put me off balance, and it had almost worked. He was getting desperate, but he had a lot of tenacity.

  Then, he grunted, heaving his practice sword overhead with all his might. I had been expecting the same sequence, but he had switched it up here. I didn’t know if he was straying from his plan, or whether this had been accounted for. My own blade was moving to parry where I had expected Samal’s next strike to fall. There was nothing I could do to block the blade coming in from the unexpected direction.

  Instead, though, I found myself thinking on the fly. I would get hit, yes, but Samal was wide open. A quick thrust to his gut, and it would all be over. I did just that, managing to stab right before the hard metal thwacked my shoulder. We both cried out at the same time, falling to the earth in a cloud of dust.

  We each lay there, panting, while the crowd broke into cheers and applause. I heard a pair of feet running up, followed by Martin’s voice.

  “The winner of the first initiate’s bout is…”

  From the way everyone’s voices went still, it was clear it was questionable on who had gotten the first hit. I knew it was me, but Samal still looked at Martin hopefully, knowing full well that if he had been standing in the right position, Martin might have seen something entirely different.

  “Initiate Roshar! Congratulations: an excellent fight, I might add.”

  “What?” Samal shouted. “I hit her first!”

  “Not by my eye, you didn’t,” Martin said.

  Most of the crowd was cheering and applauding, but some were also booing; either Samal’s friends or those who believed he had gotten the first strike.

  “I demand a rematch!”

  “It was close,” Martin said, “but Shanti clearly drew first blood. You’re both dead, technically, but you were dead first.”

  Samal spit, staring venomously at me. “I can’t believe I just lost to…”

  “Well…you did.”

  Samal scoffed, and turned and stalked off.

  Already, both Aela and Isa were coming up to congratulate me.

  “Amazing,” Aela said. “I knew he was good, but gods, he pulled out some tricks that would have surprised me. If I had known he’d be pulling out Waterform, I could have taught you something very simple to counter it, but what you did worked, too.”

  “Well, I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Are you all right?” Isa asked. “You got hit hard!”

  I rubbed my shoulder, which was still tender. It was the same shoulder the dragon keeper had whipped back in Colonia. That wound had long healed, but this bruise would last at least a bit longer.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just need to rest up for the next bout.”

  “You did well,” Aela said. “Whoever you’re up against next, I don’t expect he’ll be as tough as Samal. Either that, or we have a very talented crop of initiates this year.”

  Maybe Aela was right, but I was leaning more toward the second option.

  We walked off the circle just in time for the next bout to begin.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ADVANCING TO THE ROUND OF four were myself, Isaru, Nabea, and Alaric. All three would present a challenge, but thankfully, I drew Nabea’s name, with whom I was probably the most evenly matched. Even so, his fight against Ret had been decisive, and Ret had gotten the better of me many times during our training under Seeker Garin.

  My upset against Samal had won me many supporters. As my name was called, there were more cheers than last time. I was still a bit fatigued from my last bout, but I forced that out of my mind as I made my way to the ring, taking the sword off the stand as Nabea did the same.

  Nabea was well-built — tall, muscled, and it was clear he had been immersed in strenuous physical activity for years, his dark skin tight from the muscle it contained. My strength was of a different kind, but lately, my training had given me more strength than I’d ever had. Even so, as a girl and as someone who hadn’t been exercising as strenuously or as long as Nabea, he would overpower me greatly.

  My plan for him was the same; stick with Treeform and redirect the energy of his attacks. As Aela had taught me, it was my best way to match his strength, allowing my endurance to come into play. Nabea, if he were wise, would try to counter this, either through outright breaking me with brute strength, as Samal had tried, or playing the long game. For some reason, I felt as if it would be the latter.

  Soon, Nabea and I faced eac
h other on opposite sides of the ring. We both held the starting stance of Treeform; perhaps Nabea would fight more conservatively than I’d imagined. After all, he had seen my fight with Samal, and he and Samal were of a similar skill and practiced together often.

  It was time to see whether my first match had been mere luck.

  Martin waved his hand, signaling a start to the bout. Nabea and I stood facing each other, neither of us moving. Was he trying to get me to attack him? Which of us would move first?

  In the end, it was I who advanced. I wanted to show Nabea, and the crowd, that I was as comfortable on the offense as I was on the defense. Nabea retained his posture, as if inviting me to attack him. I suspected some trick, but that had never been Nabea’s style in the few times we had sparred. Then again, wasn’t that what he would want me to think if he was trying to trick me?

  On the other end of ring, Nabea’s eyes calculated, as if similar thoughts were running through his mind.

  If Nabea was trying to trick me, maybe I could throw him off a bit, too.

  I transitioned into Flameform, crouching lower and keeping my blade to the side. Nabea’s eyes widened slightly, and I was pleased to see that the move surprised him. This was just a feint; I planned switching right back into Tree at my first opportunity.

  I thought of my strategy just a moment longer before advancing to engage. Nabea was large and strong; my best chance of winning was to do so quickly. The longer the fight went on, especially if he remained in Tree, the easier it would be for him to win. Of course, things could change drastically during the course of the fight, but for now, that seemed to be my best bet.

  I envisioned the sequences Aela had taught me, the very same ones Isa and I had practiced this morning. They came to me clearly in the Silence of my mind, and before I knew it, all thought was stripped away. Only action remained.

  I started forward, unleashing my first attack; a powerful, if predictable, side swipe that Nabea easily blocked. His blade ate the fullness of the impact, as he was strong enough to not have problems stopping it outright. I stepped back to disengage, and executed a quick spin to attack his other side. Again, Nabea easily blocked, and the ring of metal showered sparks onto the grass. Then, we were locked in battle. My attacks came quickly — thrusts, sweeps, cuts from above, my blade seeking Nabea’s next point of weakness. But Nabea’s Treeform was sure, and he never struggled much to make a solid defense. I knew I was playing right into his hand, tiring myself on an unbreakable fortress. Nabea had seen my fight with Samal, and he was taking no chances. Despite his size and strength, he was careful. And that was what made him so dangerous.