ONE | CAELUS THE FIERCE

Emesh darts forward, the sandal of his forefoot kicking up the ground in a spray of sand. The edge of his Sunblade sings along the bottom length of my glaive. He’s quick, immediately spinning away from our brief contact and making his next advance. Tilting on his side, his foot finds my torso and sends me reeling backward. I save myself from falling, using the butt of my weapon against the earth to regain my balance, twirling around the new center of gravity until I’ve found my own.

            The Sunblade catches the early morning light, and it is the glint off the metal that gives me early warning as the sword whispers past my throat. I pull up on my own weapon, driving the hilt toward his thigh. Emesh easily deflects, his shield dipping down to bat away my attack. Changing my advance, I swing from the left with the head of my glaive, sending the blade toward his exposed shoulder.

            He parries. I make another attack. He parries again. I thrust forward with my glaive, the pointed end aimed at his gut. Emesh’s shield arrives just in time to take the hit, but it’s what I hoped he would do. I leap, driving a push kick against the center of his shield. Emesh’s feet rock out from beneath him as he topples backward into the sand. Another jump, and I am hailing down upon him, the force of my weight and the added gravity coursing through the end of my glaive.

            Emesh rolls, and the flat of his shield collides against the back of my legs as I land. My knees buckle beneath me and I land chest-first in the dirt. I’m barely afforded a moment to recover when I feel the warm metal of the Sunblade against the nape of my neck, it’s sharpened point like the fine tip of a needle.

            I roll onto my back to see Emesh standing above me, his blade held firm at my throat. My grip tightens around the pole of my glaive. As if sensing my instinct to retaliate, Emesh’s sandal lands on the hilt of my weapon, pinning it against the earth.

            “Don’t be so obvious,” he says, the humor on his face dancing within his cool, green eyes. Sweat glistens on his bare torso, the taught muscles beneath flexing from exertion.

            “I barely moved,” I say. “You have the eyesight of an eagle.”

            “And you should expect as much of your enemy. Do not wait for him to prove himself the exception. Prepare for him as if he already is.” Emesh stabs his Sunblade into the sand and removes his foothold from my glaive to help me up. My hand wraps around his forearm as he pulls me to my feet.

            The two of us brush the grit from our bodies. I stoop to pick up my glaive, running the heel of my hand along the smooth metal of the blade to clean it. I look out across the valley, watching as the wind stirs the leaves of the poleppo trees. Overhead, fishbone clouds creep along a pale blue sky.

            “Your footwork has improved,” Emesh says, reclaiming his blade and moving toward the large rock that protrudes up from the edge of our training ground. Beside it is a budding Caelus tree, its blooms still wrapped in the vibrant green of new life. Emesh retrieves his waterskin from the end of a low-hanging branch. “But you attack too much. What is the purpose of having a shield if you refuse to use it?”

            He has a fair point. I get overeager. I watch him as he drinks, the intricate sinew of his throat moving beneath his tanned skin as he swallows. “Do I not use my glaive to deflect?”

            “You do,” he says, tossing the waterskin in my direction. I snatch it from the air, the liquid rocking inside. “But that’s a great way to cost you your weapon. And you shouldn’t put all of your reliance on one thing.” He sheaths his Sunblade, setting it down on the flat stone beside him. Rejoining me in the sand, he reaches for the skin once I have drunk my fill, his hand brushing over mine. His fingertips toughened, but somehow still smooth. “Come, let me see your defensive position.”

            I do as instructed, coming into a forward stance. One foot leads, the other is angled at the back to create defensive support. My left arm is raised on a diagonal, fist turned in, while my right firmly grips the handle of my glaive, holding it at the ready.

            “Shoulders rounded. Forward. Yes, that’s it,” Emesh says as I take his direction, rotating my shoulders and curving my spine. “It’s the same as you would in hand to hand combat. Make yourself small and compact. Minimize your enemy’s chance to strike you. Good.” My focus tightens as I lock my gaze onto one of the wooden dummies posted along the perimeter of the ring, transforming it into my imagined opponent. Emesh moves around me, becoming my shadow. “Glaive to the side.” I once again feel his hand on my own, guiding it backward so the weapon is positioned parallel with my hip. “Not only does it allow you a greater field of movement for your shield, but it also gives you added momentum when it is time to strike.”

            I play with the movement, feeling for where my power should be coming from. It starts from the shoulder and travels through the elbow, but the real flourish is in the wrist.

            “Exactly,” Emesh says from behind me. “Let’s see a stutter thrust advance.”

            I move three steps forward across the field, feeling the sand splash over my feet and settle around my toes. On the last step, I snap the glaive forward and pierce into the center of the dummy’s wooden chest.

            “Retreat step center block.”

            I pull the tip of my glaive free from the bark, stepping back two paces and using the shield to parry a nonexistent thrust.

            “Sidestep parry then Falling Rain.”

            I execute both moves to Emesh’s approval, Falling Rain being the maneuver I used to knock him to the ground during our first sparring round. When he does not issue another directive, I turn to face him where he stands in the center of the ring, thick arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his handsome face.

            “What?” I say, curious of his expression. He cants his head toward the Caelus tree where my sister stands in the comfort of its shadow. She steps out into the sunlight, where her blonde hair glows like golden thread. Woven into a single, thick braid, it wraps around her neck like a snake. Twin blades adorn her back, their sheaths crossed one over the other.

            “Caelus the Fierce,” Prea says, grinning. “May all inanimate objects tremble at the sound of your name.”

            “I know where you sleep,” I say, positioning my glaive in her direction.

            “I shall be sure to warn my pillow,” she says, lips still curled on her feline face. Though we share the same blood, Prea and I are physical opposites. Where her hair is spun gold, mine is midnight made firm. Her nose is angular and regal like our mother’s, from whom she earned much of her features. Her neck strong and her gait proud.

            “Go on, have your fun. I am not so beyond my childhood and resourcefulness to find other ways of getting my revenge.”

            “You wouldn’t dare!” Prea says, her smug disposition turning to one of dread. Of all things, my sister holds no love for the spotted geckos that sometimes find their way down to our village from the surrounding mountains.

            “Tempt me,” I say, now the one to grin. “I am never above being your brother.” Her amber eyes narrow at me and the blood is pressed from her lips. “So, Captain, to what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

            “I’ve invited her to be your sparring partner for the morning. There is only so much you can learn from me.” I turn to look at Emesh, and in the way I’ve stolen my sister’s joy, he has stolen mine. I would not give my sister the satisfaction of admitting it in front her now, but she is the most seasoned fighter of our clan.

            “You jest,” I say, hoping to uncover the rouse. “Prea is far too busy with her own work to train with the likes of me.”

            “So bored with your own affairs that you’re now concerned with mine? You don’t know my schedule,” Prea says defensively. “You don’t know what I have time for.”

            Emesh concedes to her point, gesturing toward Prea to indicate she requires neither of us to speak on her behalf. My sister reaches past her shoulders to the twin hilts of her short swords. Metal sings against metal as they are pulled free. Prea holds them out at her sides, so familiar with their touch that she does not need to measure the weight in her hands.

            “Do not go easy on him,” Emesh says as Prea and I crouch into our respective battle stances.

            “I never intended to,” she says, amber eyes locking with mine; blades framing her face. She gives a yell, pale red lips pulling back to expose rows of white teeth. Her tongue is pressed to the base of her mouth, curving like a bowl. Prea charges, and when I expect her to go up, she goes down. She slides through the sand, sandals carving grooves in the dirt, as she swings for my legs.

            I jump, feeling the metal whisper through the air just beneath my leather-clad feet. As I land, I lose a knee to the dirt. Leveraging myself with my glaive, I rise back up, swinging round just in time to meet another of Prea’s strikes. Her swords collide against the staff, clanking sharply as they do. Driving up, I create an opportunity on her left side.

            Taking a stutter step, I thrust my right foot toward her hip, but my sister is quick. I am convinced she lives one second in the future. Her left blade pivots beneath my glaive, licking against my calf. I feel the cut immediately, but refuse to retract in the pain. Prea makes yet another move, which I aim to block with my shield. The hunk of metal feels too cumbersome in my hands, clattering between the two of us as it’s struck.

            Another flurry of swipes, and another attempt to block. The brim of the shield twists in my hand, moved about by my sister’s raining force. In a moment of pure frustration, I cast the thing aside and grab hold of my glaive with both hands. It feels like a lover’s body, familiar and enticing. Explicitly wrong, but undoubtedly so right. With the shield out of the way, I’m finally able to give my sister a fair fight.

            We move through the training ground like water striders gliding over the surface of a lake. Sliding and flying and weaving around one another, familiar with each other’s fighting style since childhood, before we had weapons in our hands.

            My glaive tickles Prea’s cheek, leaving behind a red kiss. She swipes at the blood, glancing at it with angry eyes. I feel a moment of elation, finally feeling as though I belong in the same echelon, as though my training is amounting to something.

            It is my undoing. Prea’s fury doubles, her stamina far outweighing mine. Her swords seem to multiply as they swirl about from varying angles. I can only deflect so many with the handle of my glaive, the clattering of metal creating a shower of sparks that sink into the soft earth. Her blades nip and bite at my flesh. My shoulders, my thighs, my hands. Pain blooms along the edge of my right palm, hot and strong. It clouds my mind for only a fraction of a second, but it is just long enough for Prea to seize the opportunity. She knocks my weapon from my grip, and with it go my feet, pulled from beneath me in a sweeping kick.

            Small flashes of light pop before eyes, and a weight sinks onto my chest. When my vision clears and the world settles, I look up to see Prea pinning me down with her twin blades scissoring my neck.

            “Not bad, brother,” she says, blood beading along the cut I’ve put on her cheek. She dismissively swipes it away with the back of her hand. “Emesh just may make a warrior of you yet.”

            Prea stores away her short swords, deftly finding the sheath for each blade though they are strapped to her back. Just as Emesh did after the first round, she stoops to help me up. I pull Prea into an embrace, feeling the course grains of sand where it has stuck to the bared areas of our skin. I cup her face and plant a kiss upon her cheek.

“Sorry for the cut,” I say.

“Ttsh.” She makes a sound at my apology, brushing her fingers over the wound. “Nothing more than a kitten scratch.” I shake my head, admiring my sister’s grit.

“What do you say, Emesh? Did I give our Captain an honorable fight?” I turn to look at my Master-at-Arms. He has since shifted back to the rock beside the Caelus tree, picking up the waterskin and grabbing hold of his Sunblade.

“Thank you for your time, Captain, but I’m afraid your brother still has much to learn should he care to not lose every battle.” Emesh slings the Sunblade over his chest and fastens the waterskin to the loop at his waist. “Forgive me, but I must take my leave.” He turns away from the both of us, heading down the hill toward our village until he is lost from sight. I look to Prea, at a loss for words. She closes the gap between us and rests both her hands upon my shoulders. Her amber eyes find mine. “You would do wise to listen to him, brother. He only means to help you.” She leans forward, her lips brushing against my cheek. She flicks the end of her thick braid over her shoulder and follows Emesh down the hill, leaving me alone in the training field, listening to the sound of the wind.