by Cody Loewen
I crane my neck to look over the other tables into the kitchen. I see a woman with a scarf tied around a curly mop of red hair doing its best to escape. She is turning strips of smoking meat on a metal tray over a fire. Another woman, much older, but with the same unruly, curly hair in a faded shade of auburn, is cracking eggs into a large bowl over another small fire. Chopped up peppers, onions and tomatoes sit on a table next to her, waiting to be added. My mouth starts to water from the thought of all this delicious food, so different from the plain breakfast of fruits and vegetables my father would cook. Just when I think my stomach might begin to eat itself, the two women cooking the food begin to bring out plates loaded with meat and eggs, setting them in front of each person in the room. My father always taught me it was polite to wait to begin eating until everyone has their food, but I am too hungry to heed the lesson this morning. I wolf down my breakfast, hardly tasting it, before returning to my solitude in my room and waiting for the return of the helpful guard from last night.
“Good morning!” William announces cheerily as I open the door to his knock. He is wearing the same dark green guard uniform I saw him in last night. “I know I said I would send someone to show you around town and help you this morning, but I decided to just come myself! I assume you’ve eaten already, so let us get on with the tour.”
If last night’s view of the town was focused on the buildings and layout inside the walls, the emphasis today is on the people. They are everywhere, teaming like ant in an anthill. I see children of all ages running in and out between houses, parents yelling after them to be careful. I see adults hard at work already, performing tasks to keep the town alive and functioning. I even see animals all around me. Chickens peck at corn that has been tossed on the ground in a nearby pen, and I think of the eggs I ate this morning. A group of pigs inside a short fence farther down the wall squeal as they fight over the slop that has been poured into a narrow trough. A dog barks as it chases a little girl, who is waving a stick and squealing with glee.
William talks as we walk back toward the center of the town, pointing out different houses and explaining who lives in each and what they do for the town. I half listen while I take in all the chaotic excitement of the morning.
“…If that is where you decide to go,” I catch William say. I turn my head back toward him, realizing I had completely stopped listening to everything he was telling me.
“What?” I ask, my cheeks hot as he smiles, clearly aware that I was not paying any attention. “Sorry, I should be listening to everything you are telling me. You’ve been so kind to help me last night and this morning.”
“I understand,” He tells me, chuckling at my embarrassment. “There is a lot to take in here. Between all the people and animals, there is never a dull moment. What I was just saying is, that a group of young men and women plan to leave for the Reaver training grounds by midday, if that is where you are still set on going.”
“There are others going to join the group too?”
“They are going to the training grounds,” William repeats. “That doesn’t mean they will be allowed to join.”
“The Reavers turns people away?” I ask, confused.
“Of course,” William responds, looking me up and down, obviously appraising my slight build. “Not everyone is cut out to be a solder. I told you it is a hard, dangerous life. From rumors that I have heard, a very small part of each group of trainees actually makes it through to become Reavers. The ones who fail either end up going home defeated, or they join the regular army.”
“I can handle hard and dangerous,” I say, raising my chin in defiance. He had better not make some stupid comment about my being a girl. “And I am going to make it through the process. I will be a Reaver.”
William holds my gaze for a second before a grin takes over his face.
“Where are they meeting?” I ask, nodding to him in confirmation.
“The group will meet after the midday meal at the same gate through which you entered Willowdale last night. The training grounds are a two-day hike from here, but the town will provide all the rations and supplies that you need, so don’t worry about carrying anything besides your personal belongings.”
We reach the far end of the wall around the town, and William stops and turns toward me.
“Well, that’s the end of the tour,” he declares. “I’m on guard duty in a few minutes. Wherever your path takes you, I wish you well. It was nice meeting you, Lykara.”
I return his smile and wave goodbye as he turns and begins to climb into the tower. I am a little surprised at how nice everyone here has been to me. It would be easy to stay here, to be part of this quiet town. For a moment the thought tempts me, but I quickly toss it aside. I don’t need easy right now. I need to find the monster that killed my father. I need to kill him, to watch his blood drip off of my blade…I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself. My hands hurt from where my fingernails have dug into my palms. I flex my fingers and force myself to relax. Be patient, Lykara, I tell myself. Be smart.
When the smell of cooking again fills the air, I follow a group of people to the back of a house where a whole deer is roasting over a crackling fire, and I am immediately welcomed by the gathering group. This might be my last hot meal for the next couple of days, so I dig into the perfectly roasted meat, enjoying the food and the company. The light banter around me helps keep me focused, keeping my thoughts from feeding the growing anger inside of me. After the meal, I head straight to the gate William had mentioned, afraid group might depart without me. I am the first one there, but within just a few minutes, I am standing among fifteen other people, next to a pair of horses hitched to a wagon loaded with supplies. We wait a few more minutes for any stragglers to trickle in, and then we are off.
The start of our journey is uneventful, yet somehow still exciting. Trying not to be too obvious, I take in the other would be recruits. Most of them are male, varying in age from teens to middle age. I only see one other female in the group. I try my best to appear casual but can’t help the spring in my step as excitement boils under my skin. On my left, a boy named Martin introduces himself. Having worked for his father as a blacksmith’s assistant, Martin is thick and muscular. The top of my head barely reaches his shoulder, and I find myself having to take two steps for each of his strides. He carries a war hammer on his back that I doubt I could even lift. Martin waves at the girl I had noticed earlier, and she joins us. Caria is from a small village like mine, where she helped with the cooking. The only weapon I see on her is a small dagger sitting in a leather sheath on her hip. She is several inches shorter than I am and must weigh 25 pounds less too. Her dark brown hair is cut short and doesn’t reach her shoulders. Even though she seems tiny, I can see the lean muscle in her arms, and she is obviously athletic and fit. Her face is also slim, but soft and devoid of any sharp edges. We spend the rest of the journey talking, learning about each other, joking and laughing. I am grateful to Martin and Caria for offering their friendship, and for a while, the horrors haunting me drift away.
As the sun starts its descent on the second day, we reach the edge of the Evershade Forest, which serves as the home of the elves. The trees are so thick, that from this distance it appears impenetrable. But as we approach, I can see where the main road we have been traveling narrows to a small, dirt path. Entering the trees is like coming into a new world. Our surroundings immediately darken, as the thick canopy blocks most of the sunlight overhead. Unlike back home, these trees, covered in course green needles, are not bare in preparation of the winter. They reach so high into the sky, that it seems they extend forever. Deep within the branches, needles so thick it is impossible to see most of the trunks, I can hear insects and birds chirping, drowning out the crunching of our boots on the ground. The thick trees do not allow much wind in to where we are, and it is suddenly much warmer than before. The path before us weaves back and forth through the trees, as if it were created around the movement of the
forest.
“I’ve heard that the elves know when anyone is in the Evershade,” Martin whispers to Caria and me. “Like they can talk to the trees or something.”
“My mother used to tell me that every elf has magic,” Caria replies, looking all around us. “Maybe they can turn invisible and they are watching us right now.”
At her words, I can’t help but turn my head to peer through the shadows and find evidence of invisible sentries around us. Between the sounds in the trees and the noise we are making as we walk, it would be impossible hear anyone if they were out there. I give up and focus on the path ahead of me once again. We will see the elves soon enough anyway once we reach the training grounds.
After what I guess to be about a mile of walking through the dense, dark forest, we suddenly emerge into a large, open clearing with bright, blue sky overhead. Blinking at the sudden rush of sunlight, our group comes to a halt. We have arrived. The first thing that catches my attention is the openness of the area we are standing in. The clearing is completely clear of trees and brush, but it looks as if it was formed naturally. Like it has always been that way. The ring of metal on metal assaults my ears and for the first time I notice the pairs of soldiers fighting throughout the glade. Tall, short, stocky, lean, young, old. Men and women. Soldiers of all types meet my eyes. As I survey the soldiers, my gaze settles on one magnificent fighter, and I catch my first glimpse of an elf.
He isn’t what I expected. His skin is not green, but rather a golden bronze. And the long flowing locks I imagined are nowhere to be seen. I watch him spin around his opponent, disengaging from the battleax that the huge human across from him wields. He holds two short swords, their straight blades out to his sides as he taunts the man. The man charges at him, battleax held high, preparing a mighty downward chop that the swords could never hope to stop. When the man is only a couple of strides away, leaning far forward and throwing all his weight into the death blow, the elf lightly dives out to the side. He tucks his shoulder underneath him, rolling once to slow his momentum, before bouncing back to his feet, swords at the ready once more. The man lets out a growl in frustration but comes in more carefully for another attack. The elf grins, throwing both of his swords in the air, spinning. He catches them easily after a spin, and bounces on the balls of his feet, side to side like a dancer. He ducks under a sidelong sweep of the axe aimed at his head, throwing himself in a spin down near the ground. I watch him kick his leg out through the spin, taking the man’s legs out from underneath him. Before the man hits the ground, the elf is already back on his feet, thrusting one of his swords at the man’s throat, stopping inches away, ending the match.
The elf extends his hand to help the man up, and I expect the defeated warrior to slap it away and storm off. To my surprise, his mouth opens in a wide smile, and he chuckles as he takes the offered hand and returns to his feet. He says something to the elf that I am too far away to hear, before clapping him on the shoulder and walking out of the sparring area, using the handle of his weapon as a walking stick.
I take my eyes off the elf as he follows the man, and I see another elf walking toward us. He is dressed in fine metal armor that seems to fit him perfectly, moving like second skin with his movements. A thick green cape hangs off his back, and his feet hardly make a sound in the leather boots he wears. He wears a fine scimitar at his hip, and I see a wooden shield under his cape. When he stands in front of us, I take in the sight of the impressive elf, and realize just how tall he is. He stands well over six feet tall, which seems to be abnormal for the race from what I have seen of the other elves in the area. He is well-muscled while not being too bulky, and he moves with a smoothness that comes from being perfectly in tune with your own body and its movements. His hair, almost black it is so dark, is cut short and neat, and I see a faint hint of a scar on the corner of his forehead that disappears in his hair back towards his temple. His eyes are serious, but not angry, and they easily move through our group, taking in every detail in one short movement.
“Greetings initiates,” he says, his voice low and melodic. “My name is Ambrosius, the commander of the training grounds. I will be in charge of preparing each and every one of you for combat. If you pay attention, if you listen and learn, you might just make the cut and earn the honor of joining the finest battalion in the world. The trolls have been seen gathering, and we must be ready to drive them back into their caves when the time comes. You will learn to fight with a variety of weapons, first in single combat, and then with your partner.”
“Our partner?” Martin asks him, looking at the rest of us to see if anyone else understands, before returning his gaze to this elf commander.
“The elven-human army’s tactics revolve around combat units made up of pairs of fighters,” Ambrosius explains to us. He speaks in a way that makes it obvious that he has answered that question many times before, with other groups of initiates, but no condescending tones enter his voice. “Traditionally these pairs have been made of a human and an elf, but exceptions are made when a better fit is found. You will train individually for two weeks here. After that, your skill sets will be evaluated by myself and the other instructors. If you make the first cut, we will pair you with another soldier who complements you in combat. From that point forward, all of your training will be done as a pair, to enhance your coordination and confidence in each other.”
“Are we the only new initiates here?” I ask, not sure who our elven partners will be, considering all of us in the group are humans. Even as I ask the question, my face flushes red as each set of eyes in our little group focuses on me.
“You are the last group of initiates to arrive for this training cycle. For the last two weeks, groups have been trickling in from all the surrounding communities. All the elven recruits arrived first, coming from Sylvestra.
“Sylvestra?” I whisper to Martin and Caria, feeling stupid.
“The elven capital city,” Caria whispers back without any judgement, for which I am grateful. “It is where much of the elven population lives, aside from some small outer settlements. It is much deeper in the forest, and I’ve heard there are no paths to it, making it hard for anyone who hasn’t been there before to ever find it.”
Ambrosius clears his throat loudly, looking pointedly at Caria and me, and my face flushes and even deeper red, my cheeks burning. I break eye contact and look down at the ground.
“As I was saying, tonight is a time for you to settle in here and meet the other recruits. You will be living with each other for the next month, and through the war for much longer after that, so get comfortable. Learn about each other and make friends. These people might just save your life one day. Tomorrow, your real training begins. And I will warn you, This training will be unlike anything you have faced before. To join the finest fighting force in the world, you must prove that you are the best that there is. You will be pushed to your limits here, and tested for both mental and physical toughness, as well as for your prowess on the battlefield. The commitment that each of you has made to even be standing here is impressive. I wish you all the best of luck over the next several weeks.”
He spins around and walks back the way he came, around the edge of the clearing, and into the trees beyond. By this point, the sparring in the circle has ended, and we make our way to where the other recruits are milling about around a fire in the middle of the clearing.
“Let’s go meet some of the other recruits!” Martin suggests cheerily. “I wonder if there are any elven girls here for initiation.”
He winks at us, and Caria and I roll our eyes at each other before walking toward the growing crowd by the fire. Our noses discover dinner is cooking before our eyes do. A large deer, set on a spit, roasts as juices drip sizzling into the flames. Martin catches sight of a pretty elf across from us and breaks away from the group, leaving Caria and me on our own. My eyes scan the crowd in search of a friendly face to approach when I spot the elf we had seen fighting in the glade earlier, a huge grin o
n his face, surrounded by laughing recruits. He says something I can’t quite make out and the others laugh. For some reason, I’m immediately drawn to him. He catches me staring at him and a grin lights his face.
“Let’s join that group over there,” Caria says to me, pointing at a small group of initiates off to the side. “They look like they are safe enough.” I nod in agreement, even though my attention is still focused on the elf on the other side of the fire.
“I guess these two aren’t interested in joining the fun group,” I hear a teasing voice yell at us. I turn toward the sound of the ensuing laughter and see the rakish elf smiling at us and waving. “You know you want to come over here and get a piece of this.”
Caria grins at me and grabs my hand.
“If you mean a piece of meat, then you are right,” she declares, laughing as we turn their way. The circle opens to invite us in, and as we take our places, the elf moves in front of us.
“Hey there, ladies,” he drawls, assuming a dramatic stance and extending his hand. “I’m Rayfe.”
Unlike the fine steel armor worn by Ambrosius, Rayfe is adorned in simple leather gear. Everything he wears, from his sheathed swords to his worn boots is plain and practical. Even his close-cropped blond hair screams practicality. He isn’t beautiful like I expected an elf to be. In fact, most people would hardly give him a second glance, except for his high cheek bones, piercing blue eyes, and the magnetic pull of his witty charisma. I try to speak, to introduce myself, and my mouth moves but no sound comes out.
“I’m Caria, and my stuttering friend here is Lykara.”
