by B. T. Narro
He’d noticed that he’d been more volatile recently, and he’d heard the murmuring between Effie, Alarex, Reela, and Steffen. Even more so, they’d been distancing themselves from him more and more each day. This was painfully obvious. But still, he couldn’t help his behavior.
Hopelessness was eating its way through him like a ravenous parasite, squirming through his body and chewing on his insides. It was the cause of all his rage and misery. But he knew there was nothing he could do to fix it, which might be why it seemed to get worse the more he thought about it.
He let out a long breath to ease the burning anger he felt burgeoning in his chest. “I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he said. “But I don’t know what you can do about it.”
She surprised him with a strange look—a knowing smile, a confident one at that—like she really knew something about him that he didn’t.
He dismissed it from his thoughts as best he could and started from the beginning with his role within the tribe: gathering Krepps who were in need of punishment because they didn’t fulfill their weekly tasks to the tribe. This was how his work with Vithos began and what eventually led him out of the encampment with the Elf, never to return.
He went on and on, mostly because of her endless questions, many of which were quite odd to him. When he brought up Doe and Haemon lying about sending Vithos north to find the Slugari, the old woman wanted to know how it made Zoke feel when he found out and how he felt about Doe and Haemon now. She even asked questions about his family, forcing Zoke to tell her that his mother had died when he was young, killed by Doe when she was found in the garden of eppil plants.
Soon, he grew too weary to wonder what the point was behind her questions and simply answered them as best he could. He told her about his sister, Zeti, and how reuniting with her was all he cared to do. Surprisingly, she asked what he missed most about Zeti, why she was more important than any other Krepp, and other difficult questions that no Krepp would ever think to ask him.
By the time he was done, his throat was raw and his mind tired, but something within him felt different. It was like he had a grasp on his hopelessness, a hand around the slippery parasite within him. It was hard to hold onto, but he was able to as long as he didn’t squeeze too hard. He could guide it, somewhat control it, even. Although it was still there squirming around, with the tough skin of his hand closed around it, it didn’t bother him.
Marie stood. “That’s enough for today.” Her smile came back—a coy grin as if she was hiding something. “Tomorrow evening we’ll meet at my house here on campus. I’ll make you some food to eat while we talk.”
Zoke stood as well, completely confused. He wondered why she would offer this, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst way to pass time while he waited for battle.
“I agree to be there,” he said.
“I wasn’t giving you a choice, but I’m glad you agree anyway.” Her smile went wide. “Now you must get to Warrior’s Field. You’re late for your first battle training.”
Zoke nodded and left. His grip on the hopelessness started to slip when he remembered that the infuriating young warrior he’d spat on in Redfield was going to be there.
Chapter 7:
ZOKE
No one mentioned Zoke’s tardiness. But it was clear by their expressions that they were hoping he wouldn’t show at all—except for Alex, who jogged over with a forced grin.
“Hi, Zoke,” he said, shooting a glance over his shoulder and pointing. “That’s Warrior Sneary, our instructor.”
Zoke followed his finger to the one older man of the group of about fifty. Sneary seemed to be battle worn, with a tough face creased by deep lines and a thick set of arms for a Human.
“Don’t spit,” Alex whispered, walking over to their instructor. “Don’t openly disagree with him, and be silent when he speaks.” By his tone, it seemed like these rules were made out of respect instead of fear, as they would with Doe and Haemon.
The instructor held out his hand. Zoke reminded himself of the proper way to shake and grasped it firmly.
“Sneary,” Alex said with a strange smile. “I didn’t get a good look at you yet. You’ve lost a lot of weight while I was gone. This war finally giving you reason to get in shape?”
“Shut up and get ready for laps,” the instructor grumbled.
Though Zoke didn’t know the word “laps,” he was too perplexed by this interaction between Alex and his superior to even think of asking. A comment like that to Doe would’ve resulted in at least a burning across the wrist, possibly worse.
“Follow me, Zoke,” Alex said, waving him over as he ran toward the group.
The student warriors started jogging in a circle on the grass field, Zoke beside Alex in the back. Then Zoke noticed Sneary coming up behind them.
“Pick up the pace!” Sneary yelled at the entire group.
Zoke couldn’t help but feel silly running with the cluster of Humans. And what was the point?
He gave himself time to see if he could figure it out without asking. In the meantime, Sawdar slowed down to run beside Alex, who was now between them.
“Do I need to worry about him spitting on me again?” the young warrior asked in a snide tone.
Alex seemed annoyed by the question. “Just keep your distance, Sawdar.”
“Whose stupid idea was it to put him with us?” Sawdar complained. “He’s just going to slow down our training.”
Sawdar had to have known Zoke could hear him. This was a strange thing to Zoke—to talk about him as if he wasn’t there listening. He didn’t understand it when Gabby did it earlier, and he certainly didn’t understand it now.
“If you have something to say to me, then why don’t you just say it?” Zoke muttered.
“Shut your mouths!” Sneary yelled so loud from behind them that it managed to startle Zoke. “I won’t stand for this in my group.”
Zoke was tempted to turn and wrestle the man to the ground just to prove that he could. But he knew it was a childish thought that would get him nowhere, even when he won.
When their “laps” were done, which Zoke realized meant running aimlessly in a circle, Sneary lined them up shoulder to shoulder. Zoke was on the end with Alex—probably the only man who would stand next to him.
“As I’m sure we’re all curious how a Krepp fights,” Sneary bellowed, “we’re starting with duels and then following with team combat.”
Duels. It was the word he’d asked Marie about. Does this mean I get to fight them?
Krepps fought each other all the time, usually with no intentions of killing. Although it did happen sometimes.
Zoke had killed before. Two Krepps had refused to come with him to the judgment chambers for punishment, attacking Zoke with their swords instead. They underestimated me because of my size. But only about half of these Humans are taller than me, and surely none even come close to my weight. They can’t be dumb enough to make the same mistake as those Krepps.
However, Zoke knew better than to expect any death to occur on this field even if the Humans exposed their bodies through confident aggression. Every sword was made of wood, and each Human had on a thick leather shirt with sleeves down to his wrists.
Zoke figured their fighting would be a form of training, like Marie had mentioned. Krepps trained with each other as well, though no good session ever ended without the dirt being stained by blood.
He licked his teeth as he readied himself for battle.
But his excitement was shattered when Sneary retrieved a thick leather tunic from the grass behind him and tossed it to Zoke.
“Biggest one I could find,” the instructor said. “Put it on.”
Zoke didn’t need to ask what the point of it was, as it clearly was meant to protect him, but he did wonder why they thought he needed protection in the first place when their wooden swords were unlikely to injure him. A Human—a creature with half his strength—couldn’t deliver a powerful enough blow for that.
Perhaps they don’t know this yet?
Zoke felt himself frowning at the thought of it. After today, they’ll realize how hopeless it is for them to fight against Krepps—they’ll realize how hopeless this war really is.
Zoke decided to wear the thick tunic without complaint. But putting it on wasn’t as easy as he expected.
Krepps had chests with about twice the girth as Humans, and this shirt surely wasn’t meant for a Krepp. First, Zoke hadn’t worn a shirt in months, the last time being when he was still part of the tribe with his sister. When the cold wind had grown to bother me enough, he remembered.
Second, the tough leather had such a grip on his chest and shoulders he couldn’t even fully extend his arms. Even when he tried to relax them at his sides, they wouldn’t obey, his shoulders and elbows bending inward because they wouldn’t fit within the shirt otherwise.
The Humans laughed at him. He would’ve been more annoyed, but at least they made no effort to hide it.
Zoke started struggling to take off the garment, muttering, “I don’t need it.” But he couldn’t get it off. He needed one of his hands to get the other one free, but he couldn’t even maneuver himself in the right position.
“Don’t rip it,” Sneary grumbled.
Alex stepped forward and helped Zoke out of the tunic one arm at a time.
“Because it doesn’t fit you,” Sneary said, “you should wait until we have one made that does before you duel.”
“No. My skin is tough enough without it.”
The instructor looked at him, skeptically stroking his thin beard.
“And I’ll prove it to you today,” Zoke added. “I’ll fight anyone and win.” He turned to gesture with his wooden sword at the lot of them. “Any one of you.”
“Fine, but your first bout is with me,” Sneary said to Zoke’s surprise. “And you’d better learn the rules. We’re not out here to hurt each other but to learn and improve.”
The instructor started with a list of what Zoke couldn’t do: head-butt and bite, and then Sneary added “spit” with great emphasis. Next, he explained how the duel was won.
“The first combatant to disarm or strike the other is the victor, so long as the strike is hard and clean. Strikes can be made with the blade or hilt of the sword, or with your fist, elbow, knee or foot, but not your head.” The way the words flowed from his mouth was as if Sneary had repeated the same explanation countless times. “The first person—or Krepp—to do this twice has won.”
Sneary lifted his weapon to point at Zoke. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The instructor made the mistake of letting Zoke charge him. With all his momentum behind his swing, Zoke slashed at Sneary’s chest at a downward angle so that it couldn’t be dodged, only blocked.
But to Zoke’s surprise, Sneary used his weapon to guide Zoke’s wooden sword into the dirt. Then the Human spun with a quick attack at Zoke’s hip. He jumped back, the claws on his feet ripping up the grass. He was tempted to kick it into Sneary’s face, but he wasn’t sure how the others would take such a move.
I don’t need to in order to win this, he realized, then leapt toward the instructor.
Somehow, Sneary managed to move out of the way and even continued to stop Zoke’s following flurry of attacks. Most of the time the Human used Zoke’s momentum against him, guiding Zoke’s sword to the side. However, though impressively skilled, Sneary didn’t have the strength to shut down Zoke’s aggression long enough to make his own attack.
Soon Zoke got his body close enough to shove Sneary to the ground, using his feet to step on his opponent’s sword arm.
Sneary dropped his weapon and grunted, “I yield.”
But in a heartbeat the instructor was back on his feet, his sword back in hand.
“Again,” he said.
The bout reminded Zoke of a certain Krepp he hadn’t thought about in at least a year. The Krepp was deaf, and Zoke never learned her name. She was an ugly old thing, quite tall and thick for a female, with crooked teeth and green eyes. And she loved to fight. In fact, besides playing cards, it was all Zoke ever saw her do.
He’d fought her a few times. It was during those battles that he realized there were certain acts in which a conversation could be shared without words. The lazy strokes of her sword and the cunning smile she wore were all Zoke needed to realize what she thought of him. But everything about her changed the moment he deflected her first swing. Shock hit her face like a punch to the chin. A worried furrow of her brow followed.
He felt himself smiling by then, knowing he was about to prove another Krepp wrong for underestimating him. But then she kicked him in the groin and cackled when he fell to his knees. He remembered her laugh so well. It was like her tongue had become loose, slapping around in her mouth.
He and this Krepp had gone back and forth until each had claimed many victories but also suffered embarrassing defeats. By the end of it, he knew her better than he would’ve from any conversation.
It was why she also played cards, he realized. Like fighting, it was another way to communicate without words.
Zoke had learned something about Sneary from their fight. He couldn’t quite put it into words yet, but Zoke figured he would be able to after they “dueled” a few more times. And Zoke certainly didn’t doubt that Sneary would learn something about him as well.
“Go,” Sneary said. Then he ran toward Zoke with his sword raised high.
As their weapons danced back and forth, Zoke found it to be much more difficult to get close enough to take the instructor off his feet this time. Sneary warded off Zoke with strong slashes at his limbs whenever the Krepp moved his body close, forcing him to find a way in with his weapon rather than his hands or feet.
But the impossibility of landing his sword on Sneary’s skin was the reason he wanted to get closer in the first place.
They fought until Zoke could feel himself losing speed in his attacks, his breath becoming labored. But the same was happening to Sneary at an even faster rate.
Zoke found his opportunity when Sneary swung at him from his hip. Zoke saw the slow attack coming and rolled underneath it, popping up to claw the man across his cheek.
His skin tore open so easily that Zoke was thankful he hadn’t driven his claws deeper into Sneary’s face. He didn’t want to leave a scar. His reputation at the Academy was bad enough already. When students saw the warrior instructor with Kreppen claw marks across his face, it only would get worse. They’d never assume the injury came from a fair bout.
Instead of pain, disappointment came out of Sneary with a sigh.
“You win, Krepp.” The instructor looked to the line of young warriors watching. He made an obvious effort not to wipe the blood from his face before he pointed at them. “Alarex and Sawdar, you duel while the Krepp rests for his next fight.”
Sawdar puffed out his chest. “I’d rather wait until Zoke is ready and then duel him instead.”
“I don’t need to rest to beat you, Human,” Zoke said, incapable of hiding his eagerness to take on Sawdar.
“Are you certain you don’t wish to let others fight while you rest?” Sneary asked, removing a cloth from his pocket to dab his wound.
“I’m certain.”
Sawdar came forward from the line, gesturing at Zoke with a short sword. “Don’t spit on me when you lose.”
Zoke couldn’t help but smile and then felt the need to explain why when confusion crossed many of their faces. “You Humans make me laugh with your unfounded pride.”
“Ready your weapons,” Sneary said.
They did.
“Fight!”
Zoke rushed at Sawdar with a flurry of attacks, knowing the Human’s weapon was not long enough to stop him. Sawdar ducked one swing, then jumped back to dodge another. The Human was quicker than he looked. Zoke tried an overhead slash, but Sawdar must’ve known it was coming, for he was already out of the way quickly enough to strike Zoke in the thigh.
It felt like a mere slap
from a child, so Zoke knew it couldn’t have counted as a hard enough strike for Sawdar to win. He rushed at the Human, wondering why Sawdar was lowering his weapon.
Then everyone screamed at Zoke to stop.
Alex jumped in front of him with his palms out. “You have to stop when he scores a hit,” Alex explained.
“But he barely touched me.”
Sneary came beside Alex to stand in front of Zoke. “This is just training. Because we don’t want to cut each other, a point is scored if the strike would’ve drawn blood or debilitated an opponent, which is what would’ve happened if his sword was made from steel.”
Zoke was confused at first, but then he remembered how soft Human flesh was compared to his. “An attack like that might make one of you bleed, but not me. I don’t have soft skin.” Zoke used his own wooden sword to hit himself on his thigh with a third of his strength. “Better hit me this hard for a cut.”
The students regarded him skeptically, grumbling as they turned to the instructor for a response.
“I really hope that’s not the case,” Sneary said. “Because if it is, then it means all Krepps have skin that tough.”
“It’s better you learn this now,” Zoke said. “It’s the truth.”
The instructor turned to retrieve a steel sword from its casing lying on the grass. He approached Zoke as he held the weapon toward Zoke’s thigh.
“May I?”
“Yes.” Zoke extended his leg and rolled up his leather pants.
The instructor slapped his blade into Zoke with the same motion that Sawdar had used. Everyone leaned in close for a look, then gasps exploded once they realized there wasn’t even a scratch.
The instructor hesitantly ran his hand over Zoke’s thigh. “Bastial hell,” he muttered.
“Understand now?” Zoke asked. “You must swing harder.”
“No point for Sawdar,” Sneary said. “Hit him harder next time.”
The young warrior’s mouth twisted, one half of it showing amusement, the other half frustration. Sawdar had long hair that hung over his shoulders like many female Humans that Zoke had seen, and it was a yellow color—blond, Zoke thought it was called. Sawdar brushed a few strands out of his face.
