by Will Crudge
Finally, we get the order to halt. We must have gone for miles. But we’ll never know how long. It’s hard to keep track of distance since we never left the courtyard. But, at least the endless hours of marching in circles was over.
I’m totally relieved, despite my intense pain. I don’t know about the other candidates, but I have no idea what’s going on around me, and I really don’t care. All I know is exhaustion… Pain… Defeat.
But if I was a little bit more aware of ‘the now’ then I would have seen what a horrible mess the courtyard was in. It was horrifying, but that won’t register in my mind until the second day of training.
A circular trail of human nastiness marked our marching path. Vomit, blood, sweat, more vomit, urine, and… You get the picture, so I digress… The cadre of drill instructors weren’t about to clean up our mess. That was lesson two. Scheduled for day two.
Which had already begun…
THE YEARS FLY BY
Twenty long years have passed since I last saw my father. None of us have seen our families. But all twelve of us are still alive. I’ve been told that we’ve broken some kind of record, in that regard. We were expected to be whittled down to eight or nine by the end of the first decade. We’re badasses. Who knew?
Long gone is the hazing. The shocking training methods we had experienced on our first day, were nothing more than distant memories. The hazing lasted for several months, but began to taper off. My team’s drill instructor is one of the Zodiacs. His name is Onslaught, and he is a wolfhound. War Master Barnes is our squad’s drill instructor, but we seldom see him outside of swordsmanship drills.
That’s right. Swordsmanship. Don’t get it twisted, okay? These are not laser swords wielded by celibate monks, like in the ancient movies… These are something entirely different…. But you’ll find out about all that soon enough.
We are nearing the end of our second phase of our training. The second of two decade-long phases, I might add. In case you’re wondering, the answer is no. I haven’t hardly aged a bit. We age very slowly, remember? A War Master is generally expected to remain in peak physical form for about five hundred years beyond training. Many can go much longer. The only downside, is that when we do begin to age beyond our physical peak, it happens rapidly.
Zodiacs don’t have that problem. They are immune to aging entirely. They never get sick. They never lose their edge. But they’re not immortal. They may be extremely difficult to kill, but they are still biological animals. Eventually they all sustain some kind of injury that they can’t heal fast enough. It’s how it’s always been.
Onslaught leads us to the main courtyard. We’ve just eaten breakfast, and before that, two hours of deep meditation. So, we’re ready to play with swords. Big damn swords.
So, remember when I told you that we weren’t Samurai warriors? Well, we kinda-sorta are, in retrospect. Our swords are essentially scaled up Katanas with long grips. They’re made of an extremely rare alloy that I can’t even pronounce. Not only are they the sharpest metallic blades ever created, but they also have a neat little tech-edge…
Remember when I told you we didn’t use ‘laser swords’? Well, that’s still actually true. Our swords are certainly metal, but with the added benefit of energy shield tech. Someone, who is vastly smarter than I, figured out how to use a scaled down version of space ship energy shielding tech, and applied it to our swords.
Granted these blades never need to be re-sharpened, and can easily cut through most modern battle armor, but why tempt fate? The energy shield forms its own invisible cutting edge over the metal blade, itself. This ‘energy edge’ is the real secret to a War Master’s sword.
Too bad we get stuck with heavy wooden practice swords. We may not even be allowed to hold a real sword for three more decades, if we’re lucky. I take solace in my lack of desire to be impregnated. Always keeps me centered.
“Listen up, candidates.” Onslaught says. “Barnes will be here in a moment. Begin to warm up on your own.” We all just nod in response.
I watch Onslaught walk away. I try not to chuckle aloud. Something about dinner plate-sized paws slapping a stone floor makes me smile inside. They’re even funnier than his grapefruit-sized testicles that dangle down his backside.
“Stop staring, Kat!” Miranda scoff at me. She’s one of the two other females in my training cycle. We’re good friends.
“Okay, okay!” I whisper. But it’s fruitless. The wolfhound has insanely sensitive ears. It’s not like he can’t hear me. We know he can… But ‘he’ just doesn’t give a shit.
He’s killed more people than Chinese pharmaceuticals, after all.
Miranda and I begin to stretch, as is our routine. Catalina, the third of the females, is keeping to herself, as is her routine. She’s been struggling with holding on to the meditative state for more than a few hours at a time. So, she’s been keeping to herself in order to focus.
I’m being nice… No, that’s not it. She’s a bitch when she’s on her cycle… a three year long cycle, if you ask me. We’re supposed to eventually be more accepting, and all in harmony with nature, and all life, and only shed blood for justice…. Blah, blah, blah… I guess that’s why I have eighty more years of this shit, right?
Right.
Kyle is nearby, as well. He and I get along really well… And lucky for him, my libido is suppressed… Oh, yeah… high-grade man-meat, right there! The icing on the cake, is that he’s War Master Kaylen’s, like, second cousin, or something. I don’t know. But what I do know, is that he’s the first human being to ever test my full ability to control my urges. I’m successful, of course… But sometimes I kind of wish I wasn’t so good at it, you know?
Perverted thoughts, aside… I love swordsmanship. It’s what I’m best at. Even though we’ve spent years doing the same core drills over and over and over and over… Still doesn’t get boring for me. It’s my own meditation. I’m damn good at it too! Did I mention how good I was? Just checking.
“It’s not like Barnes to be late for training.” Miranda says. She’s right.
“It is a little odd, isn’t it?” I say with a strained voice. I’m stretching out my left leg while breathing deeply. Our kind are naturally left-side dominant. Not sure why, but we’re all lefties. It’s just our thing, I guess. I’ve spent several months trying to match my right-side’s strength and flexibility, but I’ve neglected my left-side as a result. It’s as if I’m starting from scratch.
“I wonder what the deal is. It’s not like the Guild has been very active for a while.” Miranda says. I look over at her, and she’s just sitting on her butt. She was staring off, as if she were in deep thought, so I bump her with my elbow to get her attention.
“Stay focused, doofis!” I tell her. She jerks back into reality, and gives me a light slap on my thigh. Her scornful expression is a mix of irritation and playfulness.
“Hey now!” She scoffs at me. “Aside from the occasional raid on a pirate facility, the Guild has been operating in the shadows. I wonder if something has Barnes rattled.”
“Pfft! Not a chance!” I say as I shake my head. “Barnes doesn’t get rattled… And how in the hell do you know about these alleged ‘pirate raids’ anyway?”
We’re not permitted access to the outside world at this stage of our training. Not until we master a suitable level of focus that we can sustain, in any case. Miranda’s mention of piracy has my curiosity peaked.
“Uh… You know. Lucky guess?” She shrugs, but her eyes don’t lie. They always get a twinkle in them when she’s being mischievous.
I just fold my arms in front of my chest, and just let out a ‘Huh’. My eyes are squinting with my head tilted back slightly. It’s the glare a parent may give a fibbing child.
“Okay!” She says with an exasperated whisper. She looks around nervously, as if to see if anyone else can hear her. “I overheard War Master Glint speaking to Numidia.” Glint was over projectile and energy based small arms tactics, and Numidia was a Zodiac. Cheetah, to
be exact. She worked logistics for the Temple Cadre.
“Stop right there!” I say, albeit as quietly and assertively as possible. “Where the hell was that, and how did Numidia not sense you?”
“They must have thought I was still unconscious.” She replies. We both knew what that meant. Last week, she’d been struck in the temple with a bo-staff during a Kobujitsu demonstration. The Okinawan martial art was centered on weaponry that could be easily concealed as common farming tools. Therefore, she was distracted while she was trying to figure out the farming application of a pair of tonfa, and she wasn’t focusing on the staff being whirled around her thick skull.
“And what, exactly, did they say?” I asked with a soft voice. She had me darting my eyes around for eaves droppers also. Paranoia can be contagious, I suppose.
But her answer would have to wait. Barnes walked in as I finished my sentence, and the whole class jumped to their feet. She and I were both nervously stumble to our positions with anxious faces. But after a few seconds, and a few dep breaths, we were both back in the ‘zone’.
Barnes’ face didn’t betray much emotion. It never did. The man’s grave stone would eventually have a one word epitaph. ‘Stoic’.
“Listen up, Candidates!” He sounds off. There is a long pause, and he begins to pace back and forth in front of the lines of trainees that stand before him. Then he finally broke the silence. “As is tradition, we cadre often isolate you all from news of events that occur beyond the training temple. But when the news may affect our current activities, or give us cause to modify our curriculum, we make the occasional exception.”
This is huge. Unpresented even. I’ve been here for half of my life, and this has never happened. Not once.
“We’ve been given word that pirate activities are on the rise. Normally, this would not be any concern of ours. However, this is entirely different. These pirate raids have begun to establish a disturbing pattern for our guild. Many of our museums, outposts, and a few of our smaller strong-holds have been attacked. Artifacts have been looted, and what’s more concerning, is there are at least three War Master-Zodiacs pairs that are unaccounted for. I will not release their names for now, but I assure you all that none are from this clan. Despite all of this, we’ve been instructed to bolster our defenses. Being short-staffed, we must rely on our students to assist. Training is cancelled for this morning. You are dismissed to your quarters to await an assigned duty. I recommend that you rest in the mean-time. There will likely be long hours ahead of all of us.” He says. It was as if he’d rehearsed the entire speech. It flowed all too naturally.
Miranda and I share a side-long glance. I can’t read her face clearly, but I assume she was as nervous as I was. I can’t shake the sneaky feeling that this announcement may have been spurred on by Miranda’s ‘insights’. Gossiping in the temple was near non-existent. Our genetics, combined with our cadre’s centuries of experience, meant that we couldn’t get away with it. I doubt Miranda is getting away with it either.
We are dismissed shortly thereafter, and all the students begin to put away our training gear, but not before Miranda and I are summoned by Barnes.
“You two, come here.” He says with his ever-emotionless face.
“Yes, War Master!” Miranda and I say in perfect unison. It's not so much intentional, as it is a heavily ingrained rhythmic response. Twenty years of training has us singing in flawless concert when we are spoken to.
We walk towards Barnes with the usual sense of urgency that had been beaten into us…. I don’t mean ‘beaten’ in a figurative sense, either.
We stop about two meters from where he is, and we both stand at attention, as we wait for him to address us. My heart feels like mush. Knees weak, palms were sweaty. Vomit on my sweater already… Mom’s spaghetti! I try not to giggle.
But I fail…
“Wipe that smile off of your face, Katherine!” Barnes says with a deceptively authoritative tone. He never raised his voice, nor changed his facial expressions, but somehow he could always project fear into one’s soul just the same.
“Yes, War master!” I sound off. I also might have peed a little. Hard to tell, since my nerves were causing me to have a minor case of, what I call, ‘The Muffin Sweats’.
He takes his eyes off of me, and traverses his head towards Miranda. It was as if his skull was the turret of a tank in the process of lining up to take a kill shot. “Miranda.” He says plainly.
“Y-yeas, War Master!” She says with a stutter. She’s toast! I think to myself.
“I’m well-aware that you’ve heard a little more than what I’ve announced to the class.” He said. And he left no room for speculation. Now I’m wondering what ‘a little more’ was.
“Yes, War-Master!” She admits. Good! I thought. She had no hope in attempting deception. I just didn’t want her to dig her metaphorical ‘grave’ any deeper.
“And you, Katherine!” He says, but with inflection this time. I don’t know if my chills are caused by his precise emphasis of my name, or by the fact that his eyes are still fixated on Miranda. She and I wisely keep our eyes to the front.
“Yes, War Master!” I respond.
“I don’t know what all she’s told you,” He says… But I’m calling bullshit. He does know. “But I’m certain that you know the gravity of it, none the less?”
“I – I suppose.” I say. It was the worst possible answer. Speaking indecisively is a big ‘no-no’ in the temple. I can feel his eyes burn into me now. Fuck me in the asshole! I think… But I may have also said it under my breath, because I sense that he’s smiling inside.
“Then you need to keep your mouth shut, and your mind focused on the task at hand! You get me?” He says.
“I get you, Sir!” I reply.
“As for you, Miranda!” He says as he turns back to her, and then takes a step in her direction. “Don’t you, say a word! Clear?”
“As glass, War Master!” She responds in a shout. I hear fear in her voice, but also an underlining current of relief. I may have been spared a solid ass-fucking! Or at least one with ample lubrication! I think to myself. Of course, by ‘I’ I mean ‘we’. Miranda may have dodged a bullet, as it were.
“It was the cadre’s lack of prudence that caused you to catch wind of this, after all. Therefore, I’ve decided to show leniency. Let this serve as a dire warning to the both of you!” He scowls.
“Yes, War Master!” We sound off, but louder than usual. She and I were on the same page, as we show our appreciation with the volume of our collective voices.
He turns to leave. We just stand there, since we haven’t been dismissed yet. It’s a common tactic of leadership assertion. Making us stand there like two tent pegs that have been pounded half-way into the ground.
“Dismissed!” He says, just moment before he leaves the room.
It’s now confirmed. I have ‘The Muffin Sweats’ AND no shortage of pee in my undergarments. Sexy, right?
Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
POST SHIT-STORM
Decades had gone by since Miranda and I dodged that bullet… and, consequently, ruined our ‘delicates’. I still remember the long hours we’d put in to reinforcing our defenses. We had to replace our blast doors with thicker ones, and add layers of ceramic to them. The ceramic layers would insulate the doors from intense heat, so as to delay the effectiveness of cutting torches or laser cutters.
We toiled for, what seemed to be, endless days and weeks. Automated turrets had to be rotated through upgrades and calibrations while autonomous missile batteries were added. It wasn’t just labor we were providing, however. It was also the experience we were receiving.
A War Master is exactly that. A master of all things, in relation to warfare. We studied military history from every culture and time period. We mastered ancient weapons, horsemanship, and all manner of war-waging techniques. Marksmanship training, being second only to swordsmanship.
Yes, swordsmanship. By now you may be t
hinking, this is a total Jedi rip off! And perhaps you have grounds to think as such. However, it is not. Not by a long-shot.
We aren’t creepy sci-fi wizards… and we’re far from celibate. At least, when we’re not undergoing our century-long initial training. Casual sex, and all manner of carnal exploration, is not explicitly prohibited for us. We are encouraged to not let it consume us, but we can get our jollies under the correct circumstances.
Here I am. Perving out again. Shame on me!
Our swordsmanship training is one of the most vital skill-sets we will receive here. Granted, we have vastly complex pseudo-metaphysical training as well, but it’s categorically different. Our swords keep us focused on close-quarters fighting. Simple, right?
Wrong.
Most War Masters are called upon to advise generals, admirals, and heads of state, as to effective and morally executed warfare. Our goal is to not end war. Or even prevent it, for that matter. We want nothing more than for humanity to be at peace. But humans are violent. War is a part of us, as is breathing, or watching cat videos.
So, why even participate? Easy. Our goal is to minimize the brutality of war. We advise and inspire nations to conduct war from a standpoint of morality and efficiency. We strive to minimize collateral damage done to civilians, and we try to reduce the exhaustive economic strain that war imposes on society. Both economically, and emotionally.
By encouraging restraint, and emphasizing measured force, we strive to reduce or prevent atrocities. This is our purpose. This is our mandate. And perhaps, if our voices are heeded, we may prevent future wars… or the rise of tyranny.
How does swordsmanship tie into this? Short answer… intimately.
The elegance and efficiency of a swordsman is analogous of war itself. Regardless of the time period, or level of technology. It’s a series of precise attacks and defensive movements that require balance and economy of force. It also allows a War Master to stare their own mortality in the face. One mistake, and a century of training turns into a puddle of blood.
