Second Kiss

by Robert Priest

  Back at the front, Lighthammer gestured to the first recruit, who stepped forward and laid down the staff he had brought with him. When the blind Thrall girl gave him the other sword, he did his best to grip it in the way they had been instructed. Lighthammer inspected his grip, corrected it, and when the recruit held the sword up before him, disarmed him so quickly there was a gasp from the crowd. “To the right,” Lighthammer directed. The recruit proceeded through the great doors, to the end of the chamber, and then disappeared into a hallway on the right. And so it was with the next fifteen recruits, whether they were male, female, Thrall, or Phaerlander, the sword was stricken from their grip, usually with the smallest of movement on Lighthammer’s behalf. After each, Tiri Lighthammer gestured with his sword into the chamber beneath the stadium. “To the right,” he ordered.

  Finally, as the front rank was fed into the lightning of Lighthammer’s sword, the girl Xemion thought must be Saheli emerged from the shadow of the Thralls and stood unmoving before Lighthammer. Tharfen had by now resumed her pestering of Xemion. “What’s happening?” But Xemion refused to acknowledge her in any way. “Tell me, you coward. If he leaves without me … you will be in such trouble!”

  When the girl with the topknot took the blade and Lighthammer inspected the grip, he looked surprised and nodded with a pleased expression. He bowed his head courteously. “Are you ready?” he asked. The topknot nodded. “Fine then.” Lighthammer flicked at her sword, but amazingly she held it firmly. Lighthammer was stunned. There was another swift swing but still she held her blade.

  “Well, well, well.” Lighthammer seemed truly impressed, almost flustered. He stared at her for a long time, until her head turned a little to the side — almost enough for Xemion to see her face, but not quite. Here, with a final ambush-like flick, he managed to disengage her. “Can you be ruthless?” he asked.

  The girl shrugged.

  “Well, you will need to be.” Lighthammer raised his voice sternly. “You will all need to be ruthless. You saw the treachery of the Pathan prince this morning. They are not like us. They can only be met with complete ruthlessness. People, we have the first of our thirty-six. To the left,” he said.

  Xemion watched the back of her head drop from sight as the girl bent down and retrieved the weapon she had arrived with. Saheli’s staff had been made from the hard, hollow stem of one of Xemion’s giant sunflowers. It was very distinctive-looking, and if he could just catch a glimpse of it, he would know for sure if it was her. But she lifted the weapon horizontally in one hand only to waist height so that it remained below his line of sight. With that she proceeded straight on into the chamber under the stadium, until she stood in the shadow at the end where the two hallways diverged. If her hair had remained up in the topknot, Xemion would have been able to see her high cheekbones, her full lips as she turned, and he would have known for sure it was her, but all the effort of the contest with Lighthammer had dishevelled her hair enough that one side had released numerous tresses, which now hid her face.

  And then she was gone.

  In that instant, Xemion’s fear that he would lose her increased markedly and his heart thumped double and then triple its pace. It had to be her!

  “Tell me what’s happening,” Tharfen growled, jabbing her thumbnail into the crescent-shaped wound she had already left in the back of Xemion’s hand.

  “It’s Torgee’s turn now,” he hissed. For the first time he squeezed her hand back angrily, using all his strength. With the effort, though, he unwittingly increased his pressure on the hand of Montither on the other side. Until now, Montither had seemed inert, almost unaware, of Xemion, but now with a quick, furious glance he squeezed back and maintained the pressure.

  Xemion wasn’t unduly surprised when Torgee also held onto his sword. Back in the mountains, Saheli had insisted on teaching him the Phaer grip, as well. Still, when Lighthammer called out “to the left,” Xemion’s stomach heaved with a painful emotion that he did not yet have a name for but which the world knows as jealousy.

  The shortest of three Thrall sisters who had been blocking Xemion’s view managed to hang on to her blade. Her taller sister was next, and Lighthammer found her even harder to disarm, which delighted him. “For you I will have to switch to my good arm,” he said, with something close to a chortle. With this the blade flew from her mighty hand and she followed her sister down the hallway to the left, as did the massive third sister. Lighthammer now had six of his three dozen. At this point, the other faculty members, including Veneetha Azucena and Glittervein, with nods to Lighthammer, slowly filed into the chamber and were gone.

  All this time Montither had been squeezing Xemion’s hand harder and harder. Xemion was meeting him strength for strength, but Montither was clearly quite strong and it was beginning to get a little painful. By the time their rank came to the front of the stadium there was quite an intense struggle quietly going on between them. Then, in rapid succession, another three recruits passed Lighthammer’s test, one of them a triplicant. Montither’s thugs, Gnasher and Ring’o’pins, were next. Each of them stepped forward jauntily and both were quickly dispatched and sent to the right.

  Finally, it was Montither’s turn. Just before he released Xemion’s hand, he gave his arm a quick twist and a yank that hurt so much he almost cried out. Xemion looked down at his hand, which was mottled white and bloodless, and gritted his teeth. Montither stepped forward and set down his own well-made blade. He grabbed the hilt of the rusty sword, expanding his chest wide and arcing his arms a little so as to look even more muscular than he was.

  Before he could display his grip, though, Lighthammer lifted the point of his own blade so that it hovered in front of Montither’s thick neck. He did it fast, but Montither did not start.

  “Do you see this point?” Lighthammer asked him dryly.

  Montither grunted in answer.

  “If that was a yes, you say yes, sir. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Montither answered.

  “And are you sure that this is a real sword this time?” Lighthammer asked contemptuously.

  “Yes, sir.” Montither answered.

  “You are sure that it is not some painted stick then?”

  Xemion could not restrain a small smile at this. The man with the red hand, Vallaine, had warned him to never use his painted sword again, but Vallaine had been wrong. Without the sword, Xemion couldn’t have prevented Montither from threatening Saheli earlier today. With it, he had backed him up against the outer wall of the stadium. He had executed this manoeuvre so quickly and so convincingly that he had briefly managed to terrify the bully. All who had witnessed it had seen his face turn white with fear. Who knows where the fracas would have ended had not Lighthammer himself intervened.

  “I know how to tell a sword from a stick,” Montither answered haughtily, “when it is bravely put before me in a manner befitting a member of the Phaer militia like yourself, sir. It is a little more difficult when one is ambushed in a cowardly way as I was.”

  “Well, what of the Pathans then?” Lighthammer asked sharply. “Do you think they announce themselves before they come up from underground in the dark of night and slit our throats as we sleep?”

  Montither said nothing. He stood motionless.

  “Will you ever be fooled by a painted stick again, do you think?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “So you have learned something.”

  Montither nodded and turned his hand to show Lighthammer his grip upon the sword. Quickly examining it, Lighthammer saw that it was strong and tight and correct. The two faced off. Lighthammer flicked at Montither and Montither flicked back at Lighthammer and almost disarmed him. There were gasps from the crowd. A look of livid rage crossed Lighthammer’s face and he hacked back once, twice, three times, before, with the fourth quick flick, he disengaged Montither. Montither stood there proudly, his hands open at his sides, his head tipped aslant as though questioning.

  “You’ve h
ad training,” Lighthammer stated, doing his best to restrain the anger in his voice.

  “Not enough, sir.”

  Lighthammer said nothing, though his eyes squinted a little tighter as he took in the full measure of the beefy, well-dressed lad before him.

  “And I know I have much to learn.”

  Lighthammer lowered his blade. “What is your name?”

  “Brothlem Montither.”

  “Norud Montither’s son?”

  “In blood only, sir. I have repudiated him.”

  “But not the finely turned coat and the double-edged bronze blade?”

  Lighthammer was clearly referring to the fact that Montither’s father was the richest and most powerful of the turncoat traitors known as kwislings. Montither remained quiet.

  “To the left,” Terri Lighthammer said almost reluctantly.

  “Tell Torgee to wait for me,” Tharfen growled as Xemion stepped forward to take his turn. Circulation still had not returned to his right hand and no amount of covert stretching of it had brought back the feeling. If anything, there was the slightest tingle of pins and needles in it as he grasped the still-warm hilt of the blade. It was heavier than he thought it would be; much heavier then the painted sword, which was currently reflecting sunlight back at him from the ground where he had laid it. Xemion took a deep breath and assumed the Phaer grip. Now the sword felt firm and right in his hand, and this gave him confidence. He held up the blade in a perfect stance. Lighthammer looked intently at him. “And you are the fellow who fooled that fool by pressing your little prop of a sword up to his neck.”

  Xemion nodded.

  “But could you have pushed it through?”

  Xemion actually smiled. “Quite willingly,” he answered, perhaps a little arrogantly.

  Lighthammer nodded inscrutably. “It is easy to be his enemy, but can you put that aside and trust him now and be his ally?”

  Xemion hesitated only slightly. “I know that I can be trusted.”

  “I see. Do you feel you’ve got the sword held right?”

  Xemion nodded.

  “Show me.”

  Xemion turned the haft of the sword so that his fingers were clearly visible and a twinge ran right up his arm where Montither had yanked it.

  “That is very good,” said Lighthammer.

  Xemion nodded.

  “Do you think you are ready?”

  Xemion nodded again. But he had a strange feeling as Lighthammer’s blade zeroed in on his. Lighthammer struck quick as lightning right at the crook where the hilt met the blade. He hit hard and the sword rang like a bell and was knocked down so forcefully to the ground it bounced halfway back up again. Xemion let out a cry, shaking his hand, his shoulder in agony. People behind laughed. Loudest among them, Tharfen.

  “No!” Xemion shouted. “No.”

  “Yes,” said Lighthammer.

  “No, I must have another chance.”

  “It would be no different.”

  “I must have another chance.”

  “One more word and you will be exiled from these precincts. Do you hear me?”

  Xemion tried to be silent. “But the first one you chose, she is my—”

  Lighthammer cut him off with an angry bellow. “The one thing you need to do right now is to obey my orders, and your vow. Do you understand?”

  Xemion only barely managed to remain silent. Lighthammer turned to face the crowd.

  “Listen to me. Some of you will be separated from your friends by this test. That is the way it is in the militia. But do not trouble me with it. We will all be meeting back here at noon tomorrow. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  Xemion said nothing.

  “To the right,” said Lighthammer.

  2

  Tharfen’s Piece

  Xemion was riding the she-dragon he’d stood face to face with in Ilde, slashing with a paper sword at the sky, slicing away at the darkness of the night till he’d cut a brightly burning X into and through it. He was searching for Saheli. Slowly, the X opened at its centre and beyond it was the green luminous X he’d seen through broken brickwork on the side of the Great Kone. He cut through that X, too, and there was yet another dark one beyond it that shape-shifted. It became a whole alphabet of X’s and the different X’s were forming X-words, telling him an incredible X story. And at the end the X became the X of a kiss and it was that one kiss of Saheli’s. The X of intersection where they crossed lives. The first kiss of his life. Everything else — the sword, the dragon, the sky — melted away like snowflakes in the simple heat, in just the thought of that first kiss, let alone any other conceivable kiss. Let alone a second kiss.

  He opened his eyes. Saheli. Where was she? Somewhere in some other barracks. Nearby? Maybe even with Torgee. No one had been able to tell him anything about where she’d been sent after Lighthammer’s test, and he’d waited all evening in an anxious fury. He clenched his fist in anger now as he felt again the pain in his wrist and shoulder where Montither had injured him. Noon. He would see her at noon. Then everything would be set straight. Then he would deal with Montither.

  The door of the barracks opened and Lirodello, the quartermaster’s assistant, peered in. “Everyone to the Panthemium. You’ll get some vittles there.” Xemion was up in a flash and out the door, jogging through the cobblestone streets of ancient Ulde toward the stadium. There was still a chance he might see her likewise jogging, likewise looking for him, and then noon wouldn’t matter. But it was not Saheli, it was Tharfen who he saw. He rounded a corner and there she was, not too far ahead of him, her sling hanging from her right hand.

  “Hey, Tharfen.”

  She spun round to look at him, her frizz of red hair aflame in the bright morning sunlight. She was clearly not in a good mood. She looked ragged and tired and angry. She scowled when she saw him, shaking her head with disgust and disappointment.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, keeping pace with her. She answered in a great speedy flood of words one after the other without a pause, each one more bitterly spoken than the previous.

  “Well, after that sword just slipped right out of your useless hands, the only way to get back to Torgee was to win myself, and the only way to do that was to beat that old man and the only way to do that was by using my sling. But the old geezer was too yellow. He couldn’t admit it, so he pretended he couldn’t fight me ’cause I’m not thirteen yet. So I argued with him, and he got mad. And he said the sling is a dishonourable weapon that no righteous Phaer soldier would ever—”

  Xemion finally interrupted. “No, I actually meant what happened to you in Shissillil?”

  Her expression changed to one of distaste. “We got spat out of some gate over that way by the castle. And thank you for caring.”

  “I knew you were safe.”

  “No. You just convinced yourself we were safe because you wanted to not care.”

  “No, I knew.”

  She felt his certainty. And he felt her feel it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but it needed to be said. “Ever since we collided there …” She shuddered at the memory: him shooting toward her, dashing through her, and she through him, and out the other side. “It’s like some little piece of you got caught in me and is still there and I can … feel what it’s feeling.”

  She grimaced. “Well, I guess I might as well stop trying so hard to hide my hate for you, then, since you sense it anyway.” She said this with a fair degree of venom and only a slight touch of humour.

  “You only wish you hated me,” Xemion shot back. She actually snarled at this, revealing her large incisors in the process. “Nevertheless, my brother and me took a great risk for you, didn’t we?”

  “For Saheli, maybe.”

  “Don’t think you don’t owe me, Xemion. And I’m telling you, if Torgee decides he’s going to stay here and be some kind of special soldier, it’s you, who can’t even hold on to a sword anyway, who’s gonna be getting me home. I—”

  “I
am definitely not going to be taking you home.”

  “So you’re saying I risked my life on your behalf, faced ghouls and dragons … but you’re too much of an arse—”

  “I’m saying I came here …” He paused. “… I’m saying Saheli and I came here knowing we risked all. We didn’t ask you to—”

  “Saheli and I came here,” she mimicked nastily.

  “And anyway, I’m sure someone else can take you.”

  Xemion had never succeeded in remaining so calm with Tharfen.

  “You do know that my mother is in agony right now, afraid I’m dead?”

  “She won’t know you’re safe any faster whether I take you home or someone else does. My duty is to be united with Saheli, as I have vowed.”

  “What do you mean, you vowed?”

  “I swore to Anya I would stay with her till she was fully grown.”

  “She is fully grown, you idiot. And you still don’t even know if that was Saheli up there or not.”

  Xemion’s nostrils flared. This was the thought that hadn’t stopped niggling away at him all night long. “She was the right height and she was wearing her hair up in a topknot like that when we got separated. So—”

  “So what?” Tharfen interrupted. “I saw two other girls, the same height as her, with their hair up. And one lad! You never did see her face, did you?”

  Xemion didn’t acknowledge the question, so she kept up her assault. “You know how long the gate was open after that crystal-faced Pathan coward marched in. People where I slept said they heard that some kids got dragged away.”

  “Nonsense,” Xemion snapped.

  “Ha ha!” She pointed at him. “Look at your silly love-sick face. You really think she’s your warrior beloved, like in one of your stupid tales, don’t you?”

  This had now transgressed onto holy ground. “She told Vallaine she was my betrothed,” he answered fiercely.

  “Yes, because she was trying to get out of shaking his freakish red hand. Not because she actually—”