by N E Riggs
He pressed his head into the pillow and tried not to think about it.
The next morning found him with his one bag of possessions in Valal. He’d gotten there without help from Brigid. He didn’t know if she would have come to help him. He left very early in the morning to avoid her.
The gymnasium was empty. David sat on a bench and put his head in his hand, waiting.
Slowly over the next hour, other people arrived. The first to arrive was the man with the lance who had passed the test before David. He wore a sleeveless shirt which showed off his muscular arms. He sneered at David. He was followed shortly by another man – slim with brown skin and dirty blond hair. He looked around twenty or so, the same age as the first man. He carried a sword at his hip. He moved calmly and confidently and nodded politely to David and the other man. “Hello,” he said, reaching out both hands to the man with the lance. “I am Conal Vikor of Lilipan.” His mouth only briefly didn’t match his words.
The man with the lance snorted at that and didn’t let Conal touch him. “A farmer?” he sneered. “Farmers can’t become Sword Priests. Go back to your home world and live a long life.”
“I passed the same test to become an acolyte as you did,” Conal said. “We are equals. And not everyone on Lilipan is a farmer!”
“You’re a charity case,” said the man with the lance. “They take in far more trainees than can ever become Sword Priests. If you’re lucky, they’ll take pity on you and let you join the infantry.”
“You talk pretty big for a man who won’t even do the courtesy of giving his name,” Conal said coolly, arms crossed over his chest.
David covered his mouth so they wouldn’t see his grin. He liked Conal’s style.
The man with the lance puffed himself up. “I am Bellon Phera of Valal. Unlike you, I have always been destined to become a Sword Priest.”
Conal scoffed. “Not everyone who grows up in Valal becomes a Sword Priest. And not all Sword Priests grow up in Valal. When the training begins, we will see who is more skilled.” He turned away from Bellon to sit closer to David. Bellon scowled at him, but Conal ignored him. “And you are?” he asked.
David grinned. “David Kemp. Of, um, Earth.”
Conal blinked. “A traveler?” he asked. David nodded. “How wonderful! I’ve met very few travelers and none who are so dedicated to Bantong that they would pledge themselves to the priesthood!” He reached out and grasped David’s forearms while David tried not to wince too much at what he’d said. “Some time you shall have to tell me about your home world. I’ve never been anywhere but Bantonan worlds.”
“Sure,” David managed. He wished now that Conal hadn’t been so friendly. He was already feeling guilty after his fight with Brigid. He didn’t need more guilt.
He was saved from responding by the next two arrivals – the blonde woman who’d tested after David and a woman with a sword. The second woman was black with long, straight hair and a broad smile. They too were around twenty. “Hello,” the second woman greeted them, holding up three fingers on each hand. “I believe we are the last two acolytes. I am Anur Isha of Vele. This is Niam Garna of Takam. We met in the elevator.” She placed both hands, still with only three fingers up, to her chest and bowed at the waist.
Conal stood and returned to bow. “I am Conal Vikor of Lilipan. The brute is Bellon Phera of Valal and the shocked one is David Kemp, a traveler. We’re all happy to meet you.”
Bellon snorted loudly. “The test must be getting easier,” he said, “if a farmer,” he looked at Conal, “a drone,” he looked at Anur, “a school girl,” he looked at Niam, “and a traveler made it,” he finished, looking at David.
Conal and Anur glared back at him, looking ready to pommel him. Niam winced and shifted from one foot to the other. David rubbed the back of his neck and wondered what he’d meant by all of that. Some local prejudice, if he guessed right from Bellon’s earlier remark about Conal’s home. Before Conal or Anur could start a fight with Bellon, a woman stepped out of the elevator and marched towards them.
David stared at her, mouth gaping. She had long, red hair and bright green eyes and looked about the same age as David. She wore a brown shirt with black at the collar and cuffs, but didn’t wear the stiff jacket that seemed to double as armor for Sword Priests. She carried an agitator on one hip and a long knife on the other. The way she moved was amazing, as if she were stalking some unfortunate prey. And she was gorgeous, more so even than Brigid. At the sight of her, the other acolytes stood up straight. David quickly hopped to his feet and also stood at attention.
“I am Vicar Scatha Draste,” she said. Even though she was the shortest person in the gymnasium, the way she stood made her look the tallest. She gazed between the acolytes and didn’t look impressed. “I am the Sword Priest in charge of your training. Over the next three months, you will obey me without hesitation. My word is your law. If at any time I am dissatisfied with your progress, you will be dismissed from the group. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am!” Conal, Anur, Bellon, and Niam shouted. David echoed them a moment later.
Scatha glared at David for being slow. Then, she transferred her glare to the group as a whole. She reached into a pocket and flipped out a com pad. “Bishop Apan Gak will be here momentarily. When I call your name, you will step forward and make your vow before him.” She pulled out her long knife. David stared at it. Why would a knife be needed? Brigid hadn’t mentioned anything about a knife. “I, Bishop Gak, your fellow acolytes, and Aeons will hear your vow.” She turned to the door to the gymnasium and waited. The other acolytes stood straight and still, and David forced himself not to move. He wondered how long they’d have to wait.
A man entered the gymnasium a few minutes later. He had reddish brown skin and black hair that had been slicked back. His uniform was black, and he carried a thin knife covered in decorations. Bishop Apan Gak, David assumed. Apan stopped beside Scatha, barely glancing at the acolytes. “Vicar Draste. Are we ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Scatha turned back to the acolytes. “Phera,” she called, reading from the com pad.
Bellon smirked and sauntered forward — there was no other word for how he moved. He took the knife from Apan and knelt before him. He pressed the blade of the knife against his left palm and solemnly intoned, “My soul I dedicate to Aeons and his laws. My life I dedicate to protecting the weak. My heart I dedicate to upholding justice. May I be struck down forever if I fail.” With every sentence, he pressed the knife against his palm, drawing blood. It dripped down his hand, hitting the ground.
David watched, his stomach churning. It was like something from Medieval times! People didn’t do things like that!
When he was finished speaking, Bellon drew in a sharp gasp. His head fell back, his eyes closed. His face was transported, euphoric. He stayed like that for perhaps a minute. Finally, he lowered his head. His olive face was flushed, and his eyes burned. He handed the knife back to Apan, who nodded approvingly. He took the knife and wiped the blood on a handkerchief. Bellon stood and slowly returned to where he’d been standing earlier.
Scatha looked back to her com pad. “Isha,” she said.
Anur held her head high as she stepped forward. She too took the knife from Apan, knelt, and made her vow. Her blood also dripped down, falling onto Bellon’s. As David watched, it occurred to him he was expected to bleed himself as well. He licked his lips and glanced around the gymnasium.
It was too late to back out now. He’d actually accomplished something for once, something amazing and wonderful. He couldn’t go back to Brigid to have her find him another job. Not after how he treated her. He had no choice but to make the vow.
Anur’s face too turned ecstatic after her vow, tears running down her face, and David thought maybe that meant the vow wasn’t a bad thing after all. He wondered if Bellon’s and Anur’s expression meant they were receiving the gift of strength that Brigid had spoken about.
Anur finally
finished and returned to her place. Scatha consulted her com pad again and said, “Kemp.”
David jumped a bit. He hadn’t been prepared to be next. His fellow acolytes also seemed surprised, and Conal frowned. David stepped forward slowly, his legs shaking. Bellon and Anur had both been calm and confident. He wished he could be as well, but he wasn’t.
Slowly, awkwardly, he knelt before Apan and took the knife from him. He stared at it for a long moment, studying the drawings of swords that had been etched into the blade and hilt. He raised the knife and pressed the blade against his palm. The metal was cool and sharp. He wanted to pull his hand away, but he forced himself not to.
He closed his eyes briefly and remembered the picture he’d seen of Aeons. A deity who looked that sad couldn’t be evil. “My soul I dedicate to Aeons and his laws.” His voice shook. He paused to take a deep breath. “My life I dedicate to protecting the weak.” Scatha scowled down at him as if she knew his innermost doubts. Apan stared at him, gaze steady and solemn. David’s hands shook, and the knife bit deeper into his palm. “My heart I dedicate to upholding justice.” Blood dripped down his fingers and splashed on the ground. He didn’t look at it. The cut didn’t hurt too much. Or maybe he was just in too much shock to feel the pain. “May I be struck down forever if I fail.” He pulled the knife away from his palm.
For one brief moment, nothing happened. David wondered if he’d said the vow wrong. Or maybe he’d made another mistake. Or maybe Aeons knew he didn’t really mean it.
His doubts lasted only a moment though. Then a rush of pleasure filled him. He gasped involuntarily, closing his eyes. Heat filled his entire body, and his extremities tingled. His palm stopped hurting. He felt strong enough to run miles and miles without getting tired. The feeling swelled even further, becoming so amazing it almost hurt. It was like an orgasm, only a million times better. He trembled, trying to contain himself through it.
Then it was over. His body settled back into itself. But not quite as before. He still felt stronger, refreshed. His palm didn’t hurt, and David looked down to see he’d stopped bleeding. His heart beat slowly as he came down from his high.
He handed the knife back to Apan and staggered back to his feet. When he turned, he looked at Bellon and Anur’s hand. They had stopped bleeding too; he hadn’t noticed earlier.
He went back to his place in line, barely noticing when Scatha called out Niam’s name. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.
Even if he wanted to break his vow, he didn’t think he would be able to.
7
Sword Acolytes
David dumped his duffel bag in his new room. It was small and spartan, with a narrow bed, a closet, and a desk beside the small window. He unpacked a few of his things, realizing just how little he really had. The other acolytes each had far more than he did, based on how much stuff he saw them haul in.
A stack of five identical uniforms sat on the bed. They were dark brown and in David’s size. He changed into one and felt like maybe he belonged. A pair of heavy boots sat on the floor beside the bed. To David’s amazement, they fit perfectly. They didn’t even have that stiff, new shoe feeling.
He left most of his things still packed and wandered out of his room. Bellon’s room was to the right of his and Conal’s to the left. The girls were arranged further down the hallway, with the communal bathroom at the far end. Beside the bathroom was a kitchen that contained a cooker and another device he didn’t recognize and a table with chairs. He supposed he shouldn’t complain too much. At least they all got a private room, however small it was.
He wandered through the hallway until he reached the practice room. Only Niam was already there. She glanced briefly at David and gave him a weak grin. David sat down near Niam and tried not to fidget too much.
He wondered what sort of training they’d go through. He thought he was ready for it. How bad could it be?
The other acolytes slowly filtered in. They had also changed into their new uniforms. Besides Bellon, the others looked equally nervous, which made David feel better. As he looked at the others, David realized that he was by far the oldest. The others were around twenty, kids really. He sighed to himself; as if he needed another reason to feel inadequate. Then Scatha arrived, looking as severe as ever. “Right, you miserable excuse for humans,” she said. “We’re starting with a run. Ten miles. That’s forty laps.” She pointed to the track around the gymnasium. “Last to finish has to do extra chores tonight. Go!”
Bellon and Anur immediately started down the running track, Conal and Niam moments behind them. David began running moments later. He winced as he started the run. He’d been in pretty good shape back home, and his training over the last ten days had helped a great deal, but ten miles was a long way. And Bellon, Anur, and Niam were running fast, nothing like a jog.
He put his head down and concentrated on running. He really didn’t want to be last. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle chores. He wanted to prove that, even though he wasn’t a Bantonan native, he was just as good as the others.
He caught up with Conal pretty quickly. There was no way he was going to catch the other three anytime soon, though. He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to run too fast. No point taking the lead early only to be exhausted before finishing. David wondered how long it would take for people to start overtaking him. Anur slowed down after about two miles, running beside David and Conal. Bellon and Niam remained about even at the front.
“I hate running,” Anur grumbled. She was panting, but only a little.
“Then you picked the wrong sect,” Conal said with a grin. “We’ll probably run every day of training.”
David groaned.
Anur laughed. “It’s not that I can’t run. I just hate it. I know we have to be in perfect condition.”
“We do?” David asked. “I was told... that our gift kept us... in perfect condition,” he said between breaths. He was keeping up with Conal and Anur, but his breathing was much harder than theirs.
“The gift takes a month or so to fully come out,” Conal said. “Whatever physical condition you’re in then, you’re pretty much stuck at. You can improve after that, but it’s much harder.”
“That’s one reason why they only pick people who are already in good shape,” Anur said.
David nodded. He might have asked more questions, but they still weren’t half way and he needed to save his breath.
By the sixth mile, Niam and Bellon passed the three of them up, Niam in the lead. To David’s despair, they both looked like they could keep up their pace for another six miles easy.
Around the seven mile mark, he finally started to fall behind Conal and Anur. He had a stitch in his side, and his breathing was very heavy. If he’d run more slowly from the beginning, he’d have been better. He winced and wanted to hit himself for being stupid and going too fast.
By the eighth mile, he slowed down enough that he was a good half track behind Conal and Anur, who were still chatting as they ran.
Niam passed him once more just before David reached the ninth mile, finishing already. She grinned brightly, though at least she was coated in sweat. Bellon finished a little behind her. David tried not to feel jealous that they were already done running and concentrated on not getting further behind Conal and Anur.
When he was still a half mile from the end, Conal and Anur finished around the same time. He repressed a sigh and managed to maintain his pace, pressing a hand against his side and forcing his aching legs to keep going.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he finished, dead last by a good margin. Fucking typical.
He collapsed on the ground, panting and sweating and legs aching. He’d come in last anyway; he should have run slower from the beginning. Anur handed him a water bottle. David downed half of it in seconds, then dumped the rest of it over his head. He glanced around and saw that the other acolytes all seemed fine. He consoled himself with the thought that they’d had more time to cool off.
“That was pathetic,” Scatha snapped. All five acolytes looked at her. She stood a short distance away, arms crossed beneath her breaths and scowling fiercely. David wondered if she ever stopped scowling. “My ninety-year-old grandmother could run faster than that.” Scorn dripped from every word. “You’ll have to do better than that if you hope to become Sword Priests. Now get up! You’re going to learn to fight bare handed.” She turned and led the acolytes over to a large, thick mat.
David barely stood, wincing. Anur handed him a second water bottle, and he took a few more gulps. He didn’t feel like he was going to die anymore, so that was good. He thought that he should feel much more tired, all but unconscious, seeing as how fast he’d run the ten miles. Instead he was just sweaty, thirsty, and desperately wanting to sit down and do nothing for a good hour, minimum.
“Right,” Scatha said. “Let’s see how bad you lot are. Garna!” Niam jumped. “You’re the fastest, so you first!”
Niam scurried out onto the mat. She struck a cautious stance, holding her arms up in front of her. She made no move to attack, merely eying Scatha warily.
“What are you waiting for, an invitation?” Scatha asked. “Attack me!”
Niam jumped again, her face gone pale. Then she drew herself up, took a deep breath, and launched herself at Scatha. David watched in awe as she attacked Scatha over and over again. Niam didn’t have much strength, but she was fast and nimble and clearly skilled. She whirled around Scatha, punching and kicking. She made David’s old karate teacher seem feeble.
But Scatha was much better and utterly without mercy. At first, she just stood there, blocking and dodging Niam’s attacks. After a minute, she finally moved to attack. Niam threw a punch at her chest. Scatha shifted to the side, grabbed Niam’s wrist, and twisted. Moments later, Niam lay motionless on the mat, gaping up at the ceiling.
