The Ranger (Book 1)

by E. A. Whitehead

  “That’s it!” Vincent exclaimed triumphantly as he returned to the present. “During the tournament; but I still don’t know how I did it.” Vincent reviewed the moment in his mind once more. “Mayberry said something about lacking concentration, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with what we’re doing,” Silva commented emphatically. “To become a Pallàdrim, concentration is essential. Your whole mind must be focused on, and consumed by, the flames you are wielding. At the same time, you must be able to control the fire without thinking about it.”

  Vincent stared at Silva, waiting for him to continue. Silva rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

  “So, the first step of your training is to make a ball of fire,” Silva instructed. “Then focus your mind, your thoughts, and your strength into that ball.”

  Vincent stared at the ball of fire floating between his hands; thinking hard, pouring his very soul into it. Suddenly it erupted into roaring blue flame.

  “I did it,” he exclaimed excitedly, looking at Silva.

  “But look, now you’ve lost it,” Silva said reprovingly. “You lost your focus.”

  Vincent looked back to the orange ball in his hands, the feeling of accomplishment fading quickly.

  “When you can maintain that ball for an hour, without losing it for even a second, we’ll move on with your training. In the meantime, you will sit in that exact spot every day while you practice. There will be others training around you, but you must not get distracted.” With that, Silva left.

  Vincent sat with his little ball of fire, the color shifting from red to blue and back again. A few times he managed to hold it for as long as a minute, but something would always catch his attention and the ball would flicker back to its original color. He had managed to hold it for five minutes by the end of the four hours of training. He had become so engaged in it that he had lost all track of time.

  A small rock hit him hard in the side of the head. The fire puffed out with an odd pop.

  “Oww,” Vincent cried, grabbing his head and looking around for the culprit. Lauren stood a few paces away, bouncing another rock in her hand.

  “Hurry up, Fire Boy,” she said, sounding irritated. “I haven’t got all day.”

  Vincent got up and stretched before walking over to where she stood at the edge of the field. She glared at him as he walked over.

  “I don’t know why I have to waste my time training you,” she said coldly. “Let’s just make one thing clear: I neither like nor trust you. And after your episode last night, it’s going to take a lot to change that. However, Jason’s word is law, so I’m stuck with you.” She glared for a few more seconds.

  “Follow me,” She said at length, leading him to one of the rails at the side of the field. She walked up to it, placed her hands on top of it and, without breaking stride, threw herself into the air landing firmly on the beam.

  “Acrobatics and agility,” Lauren said condescendingly, “are not skills taught in the academy. But they are skills that are essential as a Ranger.” Lauren walked confidently across the beam before telling Vincent to climb up.

  Vincent looked at the beam with uncertainty before trying to climb up. With great effort he eventually found himself on top of the beam, struggling to maintain his balance. It was narrow, not even as wide as his feet, and long.

  “Now walk across it,” Lauren instructed, rather impatiently. Vincent managed three or four steps before losing balance and falling heavily to the ground.

  “Do it again!”

  Vincent pulled himself from the ground and climbed back on to the beam. He made it half way this time before falling again.

  “Again,” Lauren sighed in frustration. Vincent climbed back up and fell again.

  After about a half hour he had managed to make it all the way across the beam.

  “Well done,” Lauren said mockingly. “Now walk back.”

  Vincent turned and slowly walked back across.

  “It’s a start,” Lauren said as she dropped from the bar and picked up two staves from the grass. She returned to the beam and jumped up without any difficulty. She casually tossed one of them to Vincent. He caught it, throwing himself off balance, but he managed to recover without falling off.

  “Jason tells me you’re good with the quarter staff,” Lauren was smiling malevolently at him. “Let’s see just how good you really are.”

  Vincent cautiously made his way out to the middle of the beam to meet her, the staff providing needed help in maintaining balance.

  Lauren attacked without warning. Vincent managed to get the staff up to block the first two blows but he missed the third. Her staff clipped his legs, knocking his feet from the beam and sending him crashing to the ground, cracking his head off the beam on the way down.

  He lay motionless on the ground as the shock wore off. He could feel blood pouring down his face from a gash above his right eye. Groggily, he got to his feet. Lauren was shaking her head in despair.

  “That’s all for today,” she sighed. “Go get yourself checked out at the sanctuary, then go get some lunch.” Lauren walked off through the rows of cabins, still shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

  Vincent stumbled toward the sanctuary on the other side of the encampment. The world seemed to be spinning and he lost his balance and fell more than once. Vincent was relieved when the sanctuary finally came into view through the rows of cabins. He tried running, hoping to get there a little faster; longing for relief from the throbbing pain in his head, but this just resulted in him falling once again. This time he just lay in the grass, his head pounding too intensely for him to even try to get up. The idea that a nap would been nice right about now was floating across his mind, but something told him that he could not sleep, so he struggled to stay awake.

  As he lay, staring at the cloudy sky, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Your face is one I don’t recognize,” a gentle, airy, woman’s voice said from above his head. “You must be new.” The speaker moved so Vincent could see her. Vincent’s jaw dropped slightly as a beautiful woman stepped into view, wearing the robes of a priestess. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up,” She said, offering Vincent a delicate hand.

  It felt odd to Vincent to be supported by such a slender woman, but he accepted the hand without complaint. She helped him through the door of the sanctuary and into a seat at the back of the large room within.

  This sanctuary was very different from the one at the abbey. The general shape was the same, but instead of rows of benches, there were mismatched desks and shelves covered in ancient books and parchment. It still had the high altar with the statue of Sandora, which seemed to be the best kept part of the room, but that was the biggest similarity. Four other priests were seated around the room each reading or writing at one of the many desks.

  “Let’s take a look at you,” the priestess said, pulling back Vincent’s hair to look at the bleeding gash on his head. “My name is Cynthia by the way,” she added.

  “I’m Vincent,” he replied, feeling much better now that he was seated.

  “Nice to meet you,” Cynthia replied without thinking as she continued to examine Vincent’s head. Suddenly she seemed to register what she had just heard. “You’re the new fire user, aren’t you?” She had become very excited. Vincent nodded, and she clapped giddily, like a small child presented with a jester. “Oh, everyone’s talking about you, Vincent. They say the time is coming when we’ll finally challenge the Eresians and take back the kingdom. I hope it is. My family was very powerful in the old kingdom. We lost all that when the Empire took over. I’m all that’s left of that line. I’d love to be able to see the kingdom restored, in honor of my forefathers, before I die. You know, we’re a lot alike. I was orphaned as a child too. Master Silva took me to live with a nice little family near Vangelico.” She had stopped examining Vincent and was staring off vacantly.

  Vincent’s stomach growled l
oudly, startling Cynthia from her daydream.

  “Meaning no disrespect, but if we could hurry this up a bit, I’d like to eat before I have to continue training.”

  “Right,” Cynthia said, composing herself. The orange glow of the token of healing surrounded her hands. “I’ll have this healed in no time.”

  She was right. Vincent had never seen anyone else heal a wound of any size as fast as Cynthia did. Vincent put his hand to his head. There wasn’t even a mark. The headache was gone too.

  “Thank you,” Vincent said with a sense of wonder.

  “Anything for the Chosen of Sandora,” she replied happily.

  “I’ve got to get going,” Vincent said hastily, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Thanks again.” He rushed from the sanctuary.

  He was grateful to reach the open air again. The incense of the sanctuary had almost chocked him. Despite that, he was almost sorry to have left the company of Cynthia. She was by far the nicest person he had met at the encampment. He would have to go visit her again.

  Vincent jogged over to the Hall, hoping there would still be something left for him to eat by the time he got there.

  The increasingly familiar group was huddled around the fire. Trent was missing this time, obviously taking his turn as sentinel. A thick stew bubbled in the pot suspended over the smoldering coals.

  “Vincent,” Ben said, handing him a bowl of stew, “you, my friend, are a monster.” The others nodded in agreement; except Lauren, who seemed to prefer to ignore his existence unless absolutely necessary.

  “What do you mean?” Vincent inquired; not sure if this was a compliment or insult.

  “Four hours,” David responded, “of actively using your token. I mean it’s one thing to hold your token, but to actually control your element with it takes a lot of stamina. I can’t use mine for more than a half hour at best, but you were going strong after four.”

  “Then you went and trained for another hour,” Ben added. “I mean, I’ve got a fair bit of stamina, but after doing what you just did, I’d be out cold for the rest of the day; that is if it didn’t kill me.”

  “Maybe Silva’s right about him,” Weston said with a laugh. “That would be a first.”

  Vincent was already spooning himself another bowl. Weston’s laughter had faded, and the three men were staring at Vincent in curiosity. Vincent was resigning himself to the fact that he would probably have to put up with this for a while, but it was still uncomfortable.

  “Who died in here?” Trent asked, walking loudly into the room. “You’re all so somber. I half expected to hear that the kid had died from the intensity of Silva’s training.” He laughed to himself as he ruffled Vincent’s hair on his way by.

  “We were just thinking,” Weston replied quietly.

  “Well perhaps you’d like to think about taking your turn on sentinel duty. You’re twenty minutes late relieving me.” Trent was no longer laughing; his voice had taken a very authoritative tone.

  The colour drained from Weston’s face.

  “Yes sir. Right away, sir,” he stammered. He stumbled getting up, tripping over his own feet as he ran through the door.

  Vincent was already serving himself a third bowl as Trent sat down.

  “Are you going to leave any for me?” Trent asked looking at the small amount left in the pot.

  “Sorry Trent,” Vincent said, also noticing how much he had taken. “You can have my bowl if you want.” He tried to hand his bowl to Trent but Trent wouldn’t take it.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Trent said; smiling as he grabbed his own bowl and spooned himself the remaining stew. “This is more than enough for me. Besides,” his smile turned to an evil grin, “you’ll need the energy a lot more than I will.” The rest of the group laughed, including Lauren this time.

  “Did they ever tell you about Shadow Knights in the Academy?” Lauren asked smugly.

  “I think they may have mentioned something about them, but I can’t remember exactly what,” Vincent answered.

  “Don’t worry,” Trent cut in. “You’ll learn all about them soon enough.” Another round of laughter followed. “You best head out to the training field and warm up, I’ll be out there as soon as I finish eating.”

  Vincent got up and stretched.

  “I’ll see you all later.” He waved as he walked out. Vincent stretched once again before jogging to his cabin to pick up his swords before heading to the training field.

  Everyone else seemed to have suspended their training for the hottest hours of the day, as the field was now empty. Vincent drew his swords with a flourish and paused a moment to admire the blades as they glittered in the midday sun. They were not overly long, stretching the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist. They had simple hilts, were perfectly balanced, and were very light weight.

  He tightened his grip and started practicing his forms again. The familiarity of the movements was reassuring and he soon lost himself. The blades danced in perfect harmony as he moved about the field, oblivious to everything else.

  “Vincent, look out!” The cry pulled him out of his trance just in time to see a giant black figure swing at him with a huge double headed axe.

  Vincent tried to dodge, but in his shock at the appearance of this new foe, he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his back.

  The blade continued its path, falling toward Vincent. As it approached, it slowly dissolved until it disappeared completely, along with the figure.

  He sat up and looked around, very confused. There was nothing left of his would-be attacker. The grass wasn’t even broken where he had been standing. He did, however, see Trent at the edge of the field. He was doubled over with laughter.

  Vincent got to his feet and walked over to Trent.

  “What’s so funny?” Vincent asked, not amused.

  “You,” Trent managed to gasp between fits of laughter. He suddenly put on an exaggerated look of terror before elaborately falling over his own feet. This triggered a renewal of his laughter as he lay on the ground, clutching his stomach. “That just made my day.” After a time Trent finally managed to compose himself and he got to his feet.

  “I still don’t get it,” Vincent said.

  “This,” Trent said, his hand suddenly glowing bright white, “is a Shadow Knight, one of the highest level abilities for the Shadow Token.” The shadowy figure of a man materialized next to Trent. “Soulless, brainless and, ultimately harmless,” Trent smiled broadly, chuckling again. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

  Vincent stared at him disapprovingly.

  “Anyway,” Trent continued, “They’re excellent for training as they have physical bodies, but when they disappear, so does all the damage they caused.

  “So I’m to fight it then,” Vincent said, sounding rather bored.

  “Essentially,” Trent replied with a smile. “You know all the forms with the sword, but what you lack is the practical application: battle experience. By the time we’re done, Silva expects you to be able to fight five opponents by yourself.”

  “Five?” Vincent asked, disbelieving. “How long does he think that will take?”

  “About three months,” Trent said, unfazed. “Shall we begin?”

  “If we must,” Vincent said with a sigh, taking a fighting stance once again.

  The shadowy figure advanced slowly. It was an ominous specter with no face or defining features. It held two small axes in its hands. Vincent tightened his grip on his blades as it approached.

  Suddenly the apparition charged. Vincent put up his blades to defend, but his foe was much faster than he had expected. The attacking blades slid right past Vincent’s raised blades, digging deep into his left shoulder. Pain shot through his arm, mingled with the burning memory of two nights before.

  The blades fell from Vincent’s hands as he cried out in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder. The apparition dissolved once again, taking with it the searing pain in Vincent’s arm, but the memory lingered
.

  “I thought you said they were harmless,” Vincent said bitterly.

  “And so they are,” Trent replied. “You’ll notice that your arm is completely mended.”

  Vincent glared in response. Trent ignored this and continued.

  “So, what did you learn from this experience?”

  “Obviously nothing,” Vincent grumbled, still massaging his shoulder. “He got me.”

  “If you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’ll just keep making them,” Trent scolded. “Now, what do you need to correct so this doesn’t happen again?”

  Vincent thought for a moment, replaying the fight in his mind. The blades flowed smoothly, but a little wider than they should have. The dance of his blades left huge undefended holes.

  “I need to tighten my defense,” Vincent answered.

  “Very good,” Trent said with a smile. “Let’s try it again.”

  Vincent picked up his swords as the Shadow Knight reappeared. Once again the apparition charged. This time, sword met axe. He fended off the first set of blows, but the second set slipped past, cutting a shallow gash in his chest.

  The specter jumped back, returning to Trent’s side. Vincent winced in pain, biting his lip to try and hide how much it hurt.

  “Tighter,” Trent snapped. “Again!”

  Once again the apparition charged. This time, Trent had not released the knight between attacks, so the gash in Vincent’s chest still burned. The figure attacked relentlessly. Vincent managed to fight off the blows a little longer, but the axes slipped past again. The apparition retreated again.

  “Again!”

  The pattern continued for the remaining two hours. Even with the extended breaks Trent took to rest, Vincent was bleeding heavily when the Shadow Knight was released for the last time.

  “You did well for a beginner,” Trent panted as he gasped for breath. He was sitting on the ground and seemed to be having difficulty staying upright. “We’ll continue tomorrow at the same time. Good work today.”

  “Thank you,” Vincent replied. He too was panting, but not nearly as hard as Trent, who looked as though he might pass out at any second. “Can I help you back to the Hall?”