Bastial Energy (17 page)

“Lastly, who knows how many student warriors will graduate with a certificate stamped by the King, the certificate that officially recognizes them as warriors? You, what do you think?” He pointed down the line again.

“Most of the third-years?” the nervous student replied, just loud enough for Cleve to hear.

“All of them! Every year, all of our warriors have graduated, and each first-year and second-year warrior has moved up to the next grade. Twenty-two years this has happened, and this year will be no different. Follow our rules to ensure this is the case: Do not do anything to decapitate yourself or anyone else. Do not do anything to break bones or lose limbs—yours or anyone else’s. Do not speak ill of the King or of your instructors. Do not drink alcohol during training, and do not show up drunk or hungover. I will repeat that—
do not
drink during training or step on this grass drunk or hungover! You can get silly and stupid on your own time, but when you’re on this field, it’s time to work. This grass is to remain clear of alcohol, piss, and vomit, three things that go along with drunken warriors.

“Now, jog a lap around our section to warm up your body because we’re starting with duels. Let’s go.” The instructor clapped his hands twice. “Move!”

They hurried off like a herd of sheep, zipping around the square section of field designated for their groups of fifty for evaluation week. Their instructor barked commands at them from the center. “Don’t cut corners! Stay together!”

As Cleve jogged, he wondered the same thing that had been bothering him all morning. W
ho has my bow, and what will happen to it?
He figured it was unlikely that one of the King’s men was involved because he hadn’t been arrested yet. That meant that someone had stolen it, but only his roommates and Terren knew of its existence, or so he’d thought until speaking with Alex last night.

While some memories of last night couldn’t have been clearer, mostly those with Reela, many were riddled with holes. Reela had told him that Alex knew something about him, something Alex had really wanted to say. Cleve remembered that clearly enough. He also remembered most of his conversation with Reela before talking to Alex.

Something had started Reela on a path of guessing everything she could about Cleve. “You’re not ticklish,” she’d said and then quickly added, “You don’t bruise easily. You’ve never broken a bone. You can’t remember laughing so hard you cried. Am I right so far?”

It was a dangerous path, a psychic starting at his skin, moving deeper through muscle and bone, getting to raw emotions underneath. If she kept at it, she was likely to discover something he didn’t want her to find.

“Yes. What about you?” he asked in an attempt to shift focus away from himself.

“What about me?” she asked back with a playful smile.

“Those same things, what are your answers?”

“I don’t bruise easily. I’ve never broken a bone. The last time I laughed so hard I cried was a couple months ago.” She didn’t let her eyes off him as she sipped from her glass.

“And ticklish?” It felt strange to ask her but still better than the mute stare Cleve found himself slipping into when she stopped talking. He hated how his eyes were always drawn to her.

“I’m only ticklish when I’m not expecting it,” she answered. “Surprises can be quite powerful. When we’re not prepared for something, it’s far easier to become emotional and act in ways we normally wouldn’t.” The way she raised her eyebrows at him made it seem as if she was referring to something about him.

Is she saying I surprise her?
Just the mere idea of having any effect on Reela’s emotions caused his breath to catch in his throat. He couldn’t even formulate a full thought. The silence had grown too long. He needed to say something. “What do you mean?” was what came out.

“So you’re telling me it’s
normal
for you to wildly spit out drinks as you’ve already done twice tonight?” She seemed to be holding back a laugh.

“Oh, that,” Cleve chuckled in relief, and she joined him. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t have spit if I wasn’t so surprised by the taste.” His heart calmed.

When their laughing subsided, she said, “It’s not often that I find something to be surprising. It seems to be the same for you?”

He nodded. “But that’s not because I don’t surprise easily. Surprise just doesn’t find me. There’s no room for it in my day, too much routine.” As he reflected on those words now, he was amazed by how much surprise had reached him since then. Just waking up to find his bow missing was enough shock for a lifetime.

“Let’s change that.” She’d taken his hand and tried to pull him toward Alex. “Come on, let’s confront him,” she’d said. “Find out what he knows about you.” Even though Cleve was half numb from the liquor, her touch gave him chills of pleasure that made it nearly impossible to let go, but somehow he managed to slip free.

“I’d like to speak to him alone,” he’d told Reela. He figured Alex knew something of his family and didn’t wish for Reela to be there in case he became emotional. As if she’d known it was just a matter of pride, she’d nodded with an understanding smile.

She’s always smiling
, Cleve thought as he reflected on his memories of last night,
but I hardly know what about
.

Alex hadn’t denied knowing something of Cleve, but Cleve remembered being stunned to find out what it was. “My brother told me they’re looking for someone proficient with the bow,” Alex had said. “And you’re being investigated. He said they’re looking into the son of Dex Polken, Cleve Polken. That’s you, correct?”

Cleve couldn’t recall his own answer or anything else of that seemingly important conversation with Alex. He didn’t understand why that was, especially when he could remember not only what had been said with Reela, but also what he’d felt during each turn of their conversation.

He’d hoped to find Alex on Warrior’s Field to speak about it again but hadn’t spotted him yet.

When the lap was finished, Cleve focused to prepare himself for duels. He expected he would be more nervous about them if his missing bow wasn’t causing far worse alarm. He’d dueled many times but only against Terren. Cleve worried that he’d learn to fight the man, not the sword, so he was concerned someone who fought differently than his uncle might use techniques to which he wasn’t accustomed.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough
, Cleve thought, taking a slow breath to ready himself.

Chapter 21: Hitting Hard and Clean

CLEVE

“Gather in front of me here,” the instructor boomed. He had a sword drawn now and pointed it at the grass ahead of him. “Some of you may have different dueling rules where you came from, but at the Academy they are as follows: All duels must be done on Warrior’s Field. All duels must be with wooden dueling swords while you’re wearing protective dueling tunics. You will not use your mouth during the duel, which means no spitting or biting, and keep talking to a minimum. These are civilized fights. 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 last thing we need is two imbeciles slamming heads.”

The instructor glanced at the papers on his clipboard. “First to duel are Cleve Polken and Fez Betson. Polken…” His eyes lifted curiously to Cleve. “Any relation to Terren Polken, the head of school?”

“He’s my uncle,” Cleve answered indifferently, hoping his tone would prevent any future discussion of it. If people thought about it more, they would realize that Terren needed a brother or sister for Cleve to exist, and that would only lead to more questions about his family.

“Well then, let’s see how well he taught you. Both of you step forward.”

His opponent had thick brown hair that came down wildly across his forehead, but the fuzzy splotches of hair across his cheeks and chin were faint, almost blonde, seeming to belong on another man’s face. His eyes were hard and glared into Cleve’s. His face was nonthreatening, though. It was without edges, long to the chin, which made his expression to show more anxiety than aggression.

“Ready your weapons,” the instructor announced.

Pretend he’s the one who took your bow,
Cleve told himself so he could draw his sword without showing his reluctance to hurt the likely innocent man in front of him.

Cleve could feel everyone’s eyes on him. This was when he was most comfortable, with a weapon and an opponent…and an audience only amplified the excitement. He wanted to give them a show but wisely knew to focus instead on winning. He breathed slowly to calm himself, drawing Bastial Energy into his hands, one molded around the hilt of his sword and the other relaxed at his hip, closed and set. Fez held his weapon loosely, swaying back and forth.

“Using one hand to make a point or do you actually fight like that?” Fez teased.

“It’s this hand you should watch out for.” Cleve wiggled the fingers of his left hand.

“Without the drama,
men
,” the instructor said. “Fight.”

Fez was as quick as Cleve expected, hopping toward him with feints, but Cleve knew himself to be even faster. He waited for Fez to commit to a strike and then deflected it with his wooden sword, driving his left fist into Fez’s stomach. His wiry opponent doubled over in reflex, and Cleve backed way.

“One for Cleve,” the instructor announced. “We fight until two strikes are made. Ready your weapons.”

If Fez was in pain, he hid it well. “You move quickly for a man built like an ironbark stump, but I’ll find a weakness.”

“It’s that I like to show off,” Cleve answered. It’s what Terren had always told him and a good intro to what he had planned for the next bout. Leading by a point, he wished to take the opportunity to give his future opponents something to fear.

“Shall I find two toothpicks for you to fight with your mouths? Enough talk!” The instructor cut his hand through the air. “Fight!”

Cleve was now the one moving in and out of range with feints while his opponent positioned himself more cautiously. He needed to understand Fez’s defensive tendencies for his next move to work. He let his opponent come at him. After backing away from a quick flurry of swings, Cleve was ready to retaliate. With Bastial Energy bubbling in his legs, he ran toward Fez. It was no more than three steps before he leaped, flipping with a spin. He hadn’t practiced solely for scaring off bears, after all.

He brought down the meat of his sword on Fez, who was only quick enough to raise his weapon in defense. Cleve’s sword crashed against wood so hard, at first he thought his blunt dueling sword had somehow cut through Fez’s weapon. Instead, he saw that the force of his blow had loosened the weapon from Fez’s hand and knocked him over in the process. Cleve put a foot on the disarmed weapon, with his own aimed at his opponent’s face.

He heard a few whistles from the crowd, but they were interrupted by the unimpressed tone of the instructor. “The duel goes to Cleve. Next time try to get the point without risk of shattering a man’s skull. We’re all on the same side here.”

Cleve extended a hand to Fez, uncertain if he would take it, as his face was filled with shock. Soon, though, Fez’s eyes mellowed and his mouth opened slightly in defeat. He accepted Cleve’s hand and was smiling by the time he was back on his feet.

“Do you have springs in your shoes?” Fez quipped. “I was so shaken by the sight of a gigantic man flying that I forgot to move.”

Cleve won the rest of his duels just as easily and with less flair. Fez and he spoke as they watched the others fight. It turned out Fez was from Trentyre, where Cleve had been born as well. Cleve had lived there until he was ten, which is when Terren was offered the job as headmaster and moved to the Academy, bringing Cleve with him. Cleve didn’t mention this, though. Nor did he offer anything else from his past.

Fez won the rest of his duels as well, but he took a strike in many of them, as did most of the other victors. Cleve couldn’t have been more pleased with himself, being the only one not to have given up a point. By the end of it hours later, Cleve was one of only six who weren’t sitting on the grass, exhausted or nursing a wound.

“We’re done for today,
men
. Tomorrow we look at technique and accuracy with the sword and throwing knives. Then the day after is my favorite: the rightly infamous endurance testing. This gives you forty-eight hours for any wounds to heal before the endurance testing begins. I do not recommend any further duels until then. Think of it like preparing for battle. Bring your real swords tomorrow. We’ll supply the throwing knives. You’re dismissed.”

A soft mumbling among students could be detected through the busy noise of each person picking himself up. Fez came over to walk alongside Cleve. “I’ve heard Warrior Sneary is a strict judge of form,” he said.

Cleve had seen their instructor in the years he’d lived at the Academy but had never known his name or reputation. “Why didn’t he introduce himself?” Cleve suddenly wondered aloud after hearing the name for the first time.

“When does a man not give his name? I can think of two reasons,” Fez said. “If he doesn’t believe it to be important, or he has a reputation he would rather not be known. I could imagine him providing either answer if we were to ask.”