Test of Fae

by S L Mason

  Off in the distance, lower Fae clean the castle, humming the cleaning songs, reminding me of my mother. She hums all the time. The castle could have cleaned itself, but Deston didn't want that either, the dick.

  I tear my mind from its wandering journey and force my feet out to the training yard. “You’re awake. Are you ready to train?” Janice inquires while standing next to other nameless, faceless Fae, all waiting for me, apparently.

  My heart jumps with the timbre of his voice, it’s nothing compared to the swooping butterflies in my belly. Who wouldn’t get hot and bothered? Janice’s jet-black hair hangs down to his mid-back in soft waves, covering muscles honed to kick your ass over a thousand years. And now he was willing to kick mine.

  “Yes, and yes,” I announce to him, along with all his pretty Fae friends.

  Janice began the lesson of the day. "Holding a sword is not like wielding a butter knife or fork. It's a weapon and should be treated with proper respect."

  My eyes roll. I don’t know how old he assumes I am, or if he actually thinks I’m a moron. But I do know the difference between a sword and a butter knife.

  "Can we get past the baby shit?" I ask and pretend to examine my fingernails, over-dramatizing my boredom.

  "Sarah,” He says with a sigh. “I understand in the human world you learned a thing or two about weapons. But those are your modern-day, projectile-shooting weapons. What I'm about to show you is a classic weapon. One invented by Fae. Somehow humans managed to wield them with a monochrome of proficiency, but they gained no true mastery.” He waves his sword around a few times. I'm sure he considered it some kind of flourish. Don't get me wrong, it resembled something from The Last Samurai. “The actual use of it comes nowhere near to the level of proficiency of the Fae. Very rarely does a student surpass its master." He finishes with a thrust and a slash along with a bit of fancy footwork.

  I just don't have any interest in waving around a poisonous sword. It isn't poisonous to Fae, only humans, and I don't want to carry it. I don't want to be someone who kills my own kind. Whether I was human anymore or not, deep down I still feel human.

  I uncross my arms, I’m telegraphing my irritation and it’s not a good idea to tell your enemies exactly what you're feeling or thinking. I’m working on it. Is this how it's gonna be for the rest of my life? Having to carefully orchestrate every move, every facial expression?

  "Sarah, are you listening?" Janice asks, sheathing his sword and moving to stand in front of me with both hands on his hips.

  Janice’s voice pulls me back into my new reality, forcing my participation. I respond. "Sorry, I know I should be listening. I just don’t want to kill anybody. And I don't want to get anybody killed. I don't… I don't want to become like you." I bite my lip at my own words, wishing I could chew my tongue off and somehow take them back.

  His aura visibly changes, the bright purple fading to pale lilac.

  I could kick myself. I rush on, "I'm… I’m, I didn't mean it like that, Janice.” I swallow back my apology. “I just meant… I don't want to be a killer. Fae seemed to kill because they like it." It comes out feeble.

  He doesn't turn his back on me, but the cold chill waking off of him is unmistakable. Me and my stupid big mouth.

  He continues, "If you're done whining like a Fae-ling, can we begin? I'm not teaching you this so you can become a killer, Sarah. I’m teaching you this so you don't get killed." His aura wakes back as chilly as the cold color it gives off.

  "Oh, you mean Fae and the Hallowed Hills aren’t done trying to kill me?" One hip cocks to the side with my hand on it, and I raise an eyebrow. I just can’t control my mouth.

  "No, the Fae aren’t done trying to kill you and there's a great deal in The Hallowed Hills you've never dreamed of, heard, seen, or could have possibly imagined. And yes, some of it is going to try and kill you. My job is to make sure you survive. Now, are you going to work with me? Or should I just send you into the next challenge unprepared so that you can be slaughtered like all those other girls?" Janice’s cutting retort burns my ears.

  I hate it when he's right. My hand finds the grip of my sword and it naturally fits my palm as if it was made for only me. Silver slides from its scabbard soundlessly. It is infused with magic to help me wield it. And truthfully, I love the feel of the tang in my hand. It didn't feel like I was holding a sword, but an extension of myself.

  Janice’s cold instructor voice drones on. "When you wield your weapon, it should feel as if it's a part of you.” He raises his blade holding it with two hands to demonstrate.

  Check.

  "How is it your sword can be wielded with one hand? My dad took me to the Metropolitan Museum in New York. They had swords with different grips. Some were longer than others, and they were specifically listed as single-handed or double-handed swords. Some were so long and large I couldn't imagine anybody waving it around with just one arm. Yet I watch you and you're able to wave your sword with one hand or two hands as you choose." My inquiry is an attempt to lighten the mood.

  A dry laugh issues from between his lips. "Why don't you answer your own question? How is it possible that I am capable of wielding a two-handed sword with one hand?” He volleys my query back at me.

  I hate the question, with a question answer, but sometimes I'm an idiot. The wake lines coming off of his sword whisper different kinds of magic. Spells layered over spells each imparting a special ability. I’m a moron, why did I ask such a stupid question? "It's enchanted," I say with a half huff.

  He turned just enough for me to catch the curve of his cheek hinting at a smile. "Yes, everything in Fae is enchanted. That's why humans have those huge grips they can only wield them one way or the other not both at will. In Fae, swords are crafted to be wielded any way the bearer chooses and still have perfect balance. The grip adjusts to your desire.” He turns to face me and flips his sword in the air, letting go before it drifts back down to his waiting hand. “Also, we’re not weighed down by the constraints of mass. A sword can be made as light as a bubble and float on air." He slashes at the empty space before him, then sheathes the blade.

  "Okay, that's pretty cool. Can you enchant a sword so that it will only go to your hand or always return to your hands when you want, like a boomerang?" I inquire.

  He scratches his chin, something he never used to do. The shadow on his otherwise pure, opalescent face is disturbing, almost as if he is growing hair. That's silly, as the only Fae I’ve ever met with facial hair is Puca. And that's only when he turns into a horse or rabbit or something.

  "There was once a song capable of forcing an item to always return to its owner, but I have never heard it and I know of no one who knows it. With your abilities, Sarah, I'm sure you'll be able to figure something out. Shouldn't be too difficult—after all, you seemed to do the impossible quite often these days." He smiles with his full and inviting lips.

  I quirk an eyebrow at him, then hitch my mouth to one side. “How comforting to know that you can’t help me, but that doesn't mean I can't solve it all on my own. Thanks for nothing, Janice. No offense, but you're supposed to be training me, yet you don't even seem to know half of what I'm asking about." Just when I thought we were going to make nice, nice my mouth gets in the way, again.

  He sighs and twirls a strand of hair. "Sarah, the questions you ask, most Fae would never think of. We know what we learned as young Fae-lings. Your questions baffle me. I don't know how to make new magic. All I know is the magic I was taught. I listen to you, you create as you go. It happens without you willing it. It’s simply an instinct in use, ‘I want this’ and your desire makes it happen. I can mimic you but I cannot re-create what you do. I don't know any Fae that can. So, when I tell you I've heard of something, but I don't know how to do it, it’s simply because I haven't been taught.” He crosses his arms in defense. “It disappeared with time, or perhaps it was something only one Fae knew and never shared with another. We don't create magic, we recreate it — that is our true weak
ness.” He takes a breath and charges on, “It limits us and binds us. We all know the same spells, we can only attack each other the same way. Everything in Fae is old and repetitive. You are the first person I've ever met able to create magic from thin air, never having encountered it before.” Janice uncrosses his arms and moves toward me. “All of Fae knows it, and many will try to kill you to stop you from using it. They don't want anyone wielding that kind of power. It frightens them.” His brows draw together and his eyes grow dark. “Instead of feeling hope, they feel nothing but fear, anger, and jealousy. So, pick up your sword and learn how to defend yourself, or someone will come along and chop off your head to stop you." The tone of his voice grew cold and desperate. Before I have a chance to reply, he unsheathes his sword and slams it down towards my head.

  Without thinking, I immediately hum a bit of Bohemian Rhapsody and a magic shield closes around my crouching form to avoid meeting his blow. His sword crashes against my shield several times.

  His eyes widened in shock and pride. "That is what I'm talking about, on instinct alone you protected yourself. There are others that don't want you to do that. They don't want this to happen. They want everything in Fae to continue on as before, with a Queen they're capable of controlling, one who knows nothing more than they know. It’s what they understand.”

  Janice bashes his sword on the flat side against my shield. I lose focus and my shield cracks, allowing the flat of the blade to smack me in the head, shooting stars in every direction.

  "You bastard." I leap up to hit him and realize it isn't me hitting him, it’s my sword. Silver is in my hand, the sharp edge angled toward him. I watch in horror as I slam the sword down with all my might. Only to clash against the edge of his blade.

  "Hate me all you want, Sarah. But if it means you survive, then I did my job and I'll live with your hate for as long as you’re Queen." His eyes harden to the deep purple of a stone.

  Stepping back, I ask myself. What am I doing? I don't want to kill him. Why am I so angry?

  "Why do I suddenly hate everything you say?" I scratch at the bumps encircling my head.

  Janice’s reply is slow and filled with innuendo. “It is not always easy to hear the truth. Sometimes facing it makes your choices difficult. One way or another, you must learn the truth about yourself, your abilities, and all of Fae. You're right, we are evil creatures hiding behind pretty faces. And every one of the pretty faces here, unless you get a sworn allegiance, will do nothing but try to kill you.” He moves in closer, lowering his voice. “I guarantee you will not get a sworn allegiance unless you can defeat the best by force. Besting one of us will be difficult, to say the least." He lowers his sword and steps back, sliding it into the waiting scabbard.

  "Do you see those two Fae over there?" Janice indicates two males loitering across the courtyard.

  I nod my head.

  "They’re young, I know all Fae look young, but they are young. Not much older than you. They’re learning to fight with a sword.” He extends his arm, pointing to a female Fae whose face holds a long scar from cheek to chin with white hair and poppy-colored eyes. “That is their sword master. Go train with them. Follow the instructions of the swordmaster. I'll be back later to check on you. Do not become distracted by those around you. Some of the Fae here will come to talk or to watch. Focus on what's important. Surviving that is the only thing you need to work on today survival and swordplay." he states.

  I nod my head. I said I’d end this. What if killing is what I have to do to end it? Then that is what I'll do. I join the other trainees, mimicking their stance. Then, I pull my sword from the scabbard, take up position, and begin the movements.

  The swordmaster stares at me with cold eyes and hard-pressed lips. I don’t need her approval, only her knowledge.

  CHAPTER 2

  Days go by before I lay eyes on Janice again. My life settles into a new kind of rhythm. But one look at Janice and the rhythm begins to race along with my heart. His black hair fans out behind him as he strides into the courtyard on a path straight for me. He hands me a coiled rope and a dagger.

  Janice’s first instructions. “Tie Titom up over there, using only magic.”

  He indicates one of my fellow students. Titom relaxes his fighting stance and nods his head in acknowledgment to Janice. Then, he presents himself to us. “It is my honor to serve His Grace in any way Deston sees fit.” Titom crosses his fingers and arm over his chest and lowers his head.

  I shoot Janice a narrow look. Everyone knows I can make up my own magic. The enchanted game zone where Nick died showed them. I purse my lips, sucking in the air to whistle.

  Janice cuts me off. “No whistling, no sound, only your desire. What if you can’t make a sound, or stealth is necessary?”

  Ugh, I hate him. Then, I close my eyes and start to feel the magic around me. The wakes behind me feel off. I turn to face the anomaly, as pain ripples across my face.

  Janice’s voice slams into me just like his hand. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Stumbling back, I shift my weight to my bad leg and fall, crashing to the ground and landing on my butt. My eyes are wide open now, and I plant both hands in the dirt next to my aching tail-bone.

  “Why didn't you say open your eyes? What the fuck? If you touch me again, I’ll… make your clothes burn you for days,” I threaten.

  He tilts his head back and laughs. “I’ll take them off, problem solved.” Janice’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

  My cheeks redden at the thought of him taking his clothes off. Why am I acting like this? No matter what I think, everyone in Fae is beautiful, and I'm not — not anymore. My hand unconsciously lifts toward my face and the scar I know is there, but then stops mid-air.

  Janice offers me his hand. Instead, I scoff and push off with my other hand on to the balls of my feet, jumping into a standing position.

  Janice laughs out. “Try again, Sarah! Never take your eyes from your opponent and be mindful of the landscape around you. An attack can come from anywhere, even a friend.” The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on me.

  I retort, “I have no friends, and I’m certainly not friends with you.” I let the disdain, I didn't feel hang in the air. I was mad he hit me in the head, but it’s a long game and I know I have to play it.

  I dust my hand on my leather leggings and bend over, and grab the rope and dagger. My irritation fuels the power in my chest. I turn it into magic; the rope creates a slipknot at one end and tightens on the handle of the dagger. At breakneck speed it flies and coils around Titom, crossing over his body up to his neck before pulling him to the ground.

  “For my next trick, I shall unravel him.” I hum a Bruno Mars song as I spin Titom in the air and dump him in the dirt.

  Titom pushes up from the dusty ground, shaking his head. “You don’t need to rub my face in it. I’m here at Deston’s order to help you train, not to become your plaything,” Titom says, seething at me.

  The irony of his words isn’t lost on me. “Fae don't have a problem turning humans into a plaything—don't like it when the tables are turned, do you?” I laugh under my breath and cross my arms.

  He hisses. Now that just makes me want to smash his face in the dirt again. But now isn't the time for a lesson in manners.

  “Titom, get up and stop whining! Sarah, try to keep the grime to a minimum.” Janice’s attempt at diplomacy only spurs me on.

  “Funny, I thought Fae didn't mind a fight. I’m only here as Deston’s plaything, so why should you be any better? Suck it up, buttercup, let’s dance!” My leg itches as the muscle flexes around my wound. I change my stance, dancing on the balls of my feet.

  Titom eyes light up to a glowing ember of fiery yellow-orange. His aura wakes change from a glowing orange, to burning fire to match, with muscles coiled he charges me. I pirouette to the side, spinning on my good leg. As he passes, I hum, creating a bubble of jelly, which makes him bounce across the yard. I bend in half, laughing at his body as it toppl
es over with each impact on the ground.

  “Sarah, remove the charm. We are working on hand to hand and magic.” Janice’s voice was laced with amusement. I humpf, then, hum a counter-charm. The bubble pops, splattering jelly-like goo in a puddle of Titom. I hold my belly laughing as Titom squeezes the clear jelly out of his hair.

  “You will pay for making a fool of me.” His words barely leave his lips before the song starts. The wakes began in his chest, radiating out from there, in a rosie-orange color. The magic wakes race toward me at lightning speed. I brace my good leg behind me and raise my hand.

  Calmly I ordered, “Stop!” the magic wake blasts around me. The force pushes my hair back. The wakes had moved around me like water around a stone. I grab the wakes with my hand crushing them like tinfoil. The force of the magic pulls my arm back, so I turn the momentum back on him and watch in fascination as the magic returns to its caster.

  The wake smashes into Titom’s chest, hurling him back into the stone wall of the castle. His body slumps to the ground.

  “Sarah,” Janice’s voice is laced with horror and concern. “How did you do that?” Janice runs to Titom side, where he checks Titom’s vitals while he studies me through his brows. “We’re done for today,” Janice orders.

  Then, he turns his back on me. I’m dismissed. Faltering for a moment, I quickly whirl around and storm out of the courtyard, only to linger in the arched opening of the stairwell.

  Lavender appeared and remarks, “My Lady, Titom will be fine, come away. You will give the wrong impression,” while pulling gently at my arm.

  I turn at Lavender’s words and raise an eyebrow. “Wrong impression? What impression is that?” I demand.

  “Concern over the injury of a house servant is beneath you.” Her reply is quick and to the point.

  “You Fae and your class bullshit. I just slammed him into a wall and, yet I’m not supposed to be concerned? How should I act?” I retort, with no interest in hearing the reply. I whistle the enchantment on the rope and disappear to the seventh floor and the sanctuary of my rooms.