Alek

The sword’s hilt breaks my nose, a waterfall of blood spurts out and down my front. This is not the happy surprise I was hoping for. The red splatters my recently cleaned poncho, the garment destined to be eternally filthy. My practice sword is crafted from Ferrum wood and covered in my blood, thank Uke it hasn't activated with my Searing Blade. The duelling ring would be a poor place to announce my Chaotic powers to the tribe. An even poorer place to demonstrate my sword skills.

“Toomas said you were slow smoothskin, I was not expecting the pace of a Rubus.” Alek mocks me while twirling her blade through the air.

“That misconception about the speed of a Rubus is going to get someone killed one day.” I nasally exclaim.

“If they are not slow then explain how you defeated one?” She continues to shift around me with her spinning blade continuously moving.

“See there was this…”

She cuts diagonally at my semi-exposed neck, I lazily parry her blade away, the vibrations jarring my forearm causing me to grimace in pain. Swiftly observing my weakness she kicks the back of my knee. Landing solidly on my back, the wind escapes my lungs faster than the blood left my nose.

Now unable to breathe from either, I gasp for air, holding my chest as if that will help.

“Swordplay is more than hitting your opponent with an edge, it is an art form of reading behaviours and emotions. You display your emotions like a mating Guardian displays its crest.” Alek paces around me throughout the lecture. I have a sarcastic response on the edge of my tongue but no air to form the words, for the better I imagine.

“Never stop moving, loose muscles are quick to react and exploit openings. Building a constant tension in your opponent will create mistakes from their anxiety.” She dances around on nimble toes, always balanced and moving.

I recover and stand, holding my sword across my chest in a basic stance. She glares at me until I start shifting my feet, mimicking her steps.

“You need to separate your mind's understanding of the lower half and upper torso of your body. Legs must glide like leaves on the wind, your shoulders will lock onto the prey like a hunting Verox’s eyes.” We move around each other, not attacking but focusing on the flow of our bodies. The weight of my fire-hardened Ferrum sword is beginning to strain my arms, it felt so light at the start. Toomas’s climbing session in the morning will not have helped.

She steps out of the duelling ring and into the surrounding fern sea, the leaves brushing my flank as I give chase. Rocks, roots and fallen branches tug and trip me, I stumble and topple sideways, only recovering due to my improved agility from the Bullman's athletics lessons. Alek strikes the instant my balance is off, twisting my arms to recover from the fall, she cracks my exposed ribs with no mercy. The bear poncho cushions some of the impact however my bones feel the might of Ferrum wood moving at speed.

“Living in Silva will mean fighting in Silva’s terrain. The delusion of easy footing is the penance for training in duelling rings.”

“Then why did we begin my sword skills there?” I snap at her, wincing in pain.

“Tis a good place to warm up, on your feet.”

We continue through the day, sweat layering my skin and bruises. Barely stopping for water leaves, she even attacks me during refreshment breaks to test my vigilance. As the session is ending with some light Satyr yoga, I fantasise about the cool waters of the river washing the grime away. I keep Alek in my sight, wary of any more attacks when a horrible dark form appears behind her in the shadows.

“Shepherd Seth, I hope you still have some energy for me.” Toomas bellows with joy at my dismay.

“Master Alek has already concluded today’s training.” I plead.

“Do not call me this!” She snaps from a resting tree pose.

“You have two trainers now, think of your body as a hammer and us the craftsmen. The hammer does not decide when the work is done. Come hammer Seth, with me!” He yells with delight as he races off into the wilderness.

“Toomas is a worthy tracker and scout, but terrible with words. You are the item we are crafting and the result will be worth it.” Alek shows a rare smile which I return.

“Thank you Alek, I will try my best to help along the way.”

“Mother knows you need to. I would start running or Toomas will start wielding you like a hammer.” I wave goodbye and pursue my torturer.

I find Piia cooking by our shared tippee, the waft of frying potatoes causes my mouth to drool more than Schrödinger's dogs’.

“That smells heavenly, what is it?” I say with a stuffy nose, inspect the sizzling hot plate to find chunks of root in a blue ichor substance.

“Timbre root in shroom oil.” She flips the food into a wooden bowl and hands it to me.

“Seth, your nose is larger than Cane’s rump.”

“Alek said I was too pretty and she doesn’t like pretty. Isn’t timbre root the sleep forever food?” I poke the bowl’s content with my hand, the temptations almost overcoming my worries of eternal slumber.

Although, I wouldn’t feel so terrible in a dream world.

Actually, Toomas would still find me.

“This batch has had the toxins drawn out to make it edible, we skin the outside of the root and layer it with water leaves. It’s perfectly safe now.” She chomps on her own to ease my anxiety. I timidly nibble a corner and nostalgia of eating chips as a child overcomes my senses, the bowl is empty in five leaf falls.

“Amazing, can you show me the process one day?”

“If either of us can find the time, these rutting patrols are constant. The Thorns break the daily patrols into three sessions to cover all times. Separate groups are organised into one, while I have to do two back to back.”

“That’s Guardian muk.”

“It is, I am looking for the flowers amongst the brambles. I spend a lot of time with different Thorns in the wilderness, where their eyes are vigilante but their tongues are loose.” She winks at me with a broad smile. Is she hooking up with the guards in the bush? I have seen lots of children around the village, however I assumed Piia is focused on the trepidations of her people rather than adding to their woes.

“I jest, a lady Satyr can not have a little fun.” She giggles at my prudeness.

“Hey, I wouldn’t judge even if you weren’t joking. Everyone should have some fun, regardless of gender.”

“What does gender have to do with it?” She puzzles at me.

“In my world, men can fool around as much as they want and get congratulated for it. While women get judged if they have too many partners, it's a primitive behaviour that we have struggled to grow out of.”

“I am confused, more lovers would result in a better experience. Why would men want women with no experience?”

“I don’t know, it’s a very old generational way of thinking. Times are changing for the better, just slowly.”

“At least it is happening. Our ancient tales of Uke describe his harems as vast, an army of lovers that warred together and mated afterwards, without petty envy or judgement. He was a mortal God to Satyrs. If a legend like Uke could share his women and men, then all of us can. It has always been our way.”

“Sounds fun, so your culture isn’t opposed to same-gender lovers either.”

“Of course not, Mother’s wisdom encourages it. There is far less stress of bringing more litters into a world of hungry mouths. Tell me, is this a problem in your world?”

“Unfortunately. There is a library of misguided and poorly interpreted texts from multiple religions that sway different populations. Image Uke was controlling and selfish, how that would influence your culture to this day.” She mulls over my words while chomping on more timbre roots.

“It would have changed a lot, what is a library?”

“Kind of like Livingston’s emporium, however instead of junk and magical trinkets, it houses books of information about everything known to man.”

“A collection of your entire race’s knowledge. Is it a large structure to store so many books?”

“There are lots of them, all over the world. I am sure Silva will have a few in the human settlements, even if Livingston believes no one can read here.”

“The Voice can read.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“The loose tongued Thorns I have been speaking with on patrol mentioned a locked chest in his Sanctuary. They once saw it open and full of books and scrolls. Either he can read or they hold value for he always keeps it locked.”

“Interesting, could be typical Voice stuff. A guide on communicating with Mother?”

“The previous Voice never had books or that chest. Satyrs pass information by word of mouth, we are not scribes.”

“He is from another tribe that used to trade with men, at least that is what he told me during our fun chat yesterday.”

“Did he mention the next trial?”

“Nope, only that there is definitely going to be another one. He needed to talk with Mother about the details. Have the Thorns mentioned anything else about him?”

“He is in another trance, and still meeting young Satyrs in the night. A few Thorns expressed hints of resentment towards him, but became reserved when I pushed them. They fear their Captain and being ousted.”

“Their position brings pride and meaning to themselves, can’t fault them for wanting to hold onto that.”

“You are right, I will continue to woo them with my words and other means in hope it aids our cause.” We both chuckle at her crudeness this time.

“And I will continue my beatings with Alek for the same reason.” Piia splurts out her food as she laughs.

“Are you so terrible?” I show her my tapestry of bruises that elicit more raucous laughter.

“I am, thank the Gods they gave me some power or I would have died a few times.”

“Yes, the exact Gods that create all our enemies. Let us thank them.” She kisses her teeth at my comment.

“You know I would be dead by now.”

“I do, I also think you should be thanking our God for providing me.”

“Thanks Mum.”

Piis slaps my bruises.

“Thank you Mother.” I say without sarcasm, looking into the swirling mist above us.

“Good follower, now you should rest. A sleepless Volt sees not the tree branch.”

“How very poetic.”