Elegy for a Star

Gwen gripped the wooden sword in her hands, watching the rotating training dummy with its limp arms of a sword and shield. Each strike would spin it around, lifting the arms to try and connect against the trainee. Gwen had seen novices defeated by training dummies. She always felt bad, but right now it was the last thing on her mind. Right now, the upcoming match was all that she could think about. “Admaris Miraj,” Gwendolyn repeated the name in her head, “Admaris Miraj.”

She was the only one in the training yard that day, so she had all the time in the world to focus on her foe. She’d made sure to get a good look at him before she went to train, imagining him as the training dummy in front of her. Her strikes connected with the head, the neck, the bicep, anything to get a knockout or to disable him. As the dummy swung around, she dodged back a step and then lunged forward for a thrust into the chest.

She knew that Admaris was around Joyona’s height; an Evigkin. It didn’t matter. Gwendolyn would’ve beaten Joyona in their fight if she hadn’t had to worry about Mairaela too. Joyona was easy. Joyona was weak. Gwendolyn was better. She was better. Better than Joyona. Better than Admaris. Better than she’d been when she got that letter from her father. She’s getting better. She’s doing better.

She danced around from leg to leg, bouncing up and down and shaking out her arms.

She gripped her wooden sword in both hands and charged toward the dummy once more. “Fuck you, Admaris,” she thought with a cuffing to the side of the head, “Die, you stupid fuck!”

She parried the swinging blade and slid inside the minimum reach of the longsword, but her own edge pressed up to the dummy’s neck. That’s how she was going to do it. That’s how she was going to win. Admaris wasn’t going to see it coming. He thought she was going to be on the backfoot. That she was afraid. That she was weak.

She was going to show him. She was going to fucking show him. She had cut a slash down the torso, slipping beneath the sword arm and slicing where the hamstring would be. “Fuck you,” she thought, “I’m better. I’m better than you. I am a knight

. You’re just trash.”

Gwendolyn started to feel sick. Why was she thinking this way? This wasn’t her! It wasn’t! She was kind. She was dutiful, yes, but kind. She was determined and strong, yes, but she was a servant to the people, not a tyrant. What had her doing this?

No distractions. No distractions. She wasn’t going to think that way during the fight. She was going to hate her opponent. She wasn’t going to show mercy. He was an enemy. He was evil. He was going to die and Gwen was going to be the one to put him down.

He was the one that was standing in Gwen’s way to greatness. She was going to win her fight. She was going to win all of her fights. She was going to be the one to ascend to the prestige of the champion of Lady Morro’s Day. She was going to tell her father. He was going to write back, proud. She was going to make him proud. She was going to prove that she was a knight. That she was the best. That she was more disciplined, committed and virtuous than any other. She had to. She had to do better. She hadn’t been doing enough. She had been lazy; distracted.

The imagined image of Admaris’ face upon the dummy began to fade. Instead, all she could see was Tess’ face. Gwendolyn teared up, her hands shaking. She’d already requested a change in lodging. In the meantime, she was sleeping in the back of the library. Tess would be okay. She had friends. Gwen brought her to safety and brought her to a purpose. She didn’t need to do anything else. So what if Gwendolyn may have been responsible for her predicament? That’s how the world worked. It was shit. It was unfair, and to survive it you had to be strong. Tess needed to be strong.

“Let me train,” she thought, staring at the face of Tess upon the dummy, “I need to focus, and you take that away.”

“This isn’t you,” The dummy of Tess whispered back, “This isn’t right. This isn’t knightly.”

“Go away,” Gwen hissed, “Go away or you’ll just be my target instead.”

The dummy of Tess began to tear up, “Gwen, I miss you.”

“My name-...” Gwendolyn raised the training sword into the air, “Is Dame-...!” The blade crashed down into the neck of the dummy, splitting some of its stitching and revealing the stuffing and hay beneath, “Fucking-...!”

The sword slammed into the neck once more, splitting it wider and exposing the post that held the dummy in place, “Gwendolyn!” The blade struck the post this time, breaking in half. The top part of the sword clattered to the ground, splintered at its end.

Gwendolyn looked down at the long edges of wood sticking out from where the sword broke. She looked up at the dummy and screamed in absolute rage, plunging the broken blade into the dummy’s gut again. Again. Again. Gwendolyn’s other arm was wrapped around the dummy’s neck, forcing it close while she disemboweled it. Eventually, leaning on it so hard, the post lifted the ground and collapsed. Gwendolyn went down with it, falling forward onto the dummy.

Her body was shaking. She must have scraped her forehead, because blood was dripping onto the ground, running down her brow and into one eye. She got up to her knees, bent over, hands shaking, screaming and sobbing, “I don’t want this. I don’t want this.”

Her body was wracked with shakes by the force in which she shed her tears. She reached into her shirt, pulling out her holy symbol and placing it into her shaking hands. Blood dripped into her palms, soaking the metal circle that housed a small diamond. A symbol of Aros, god of perseverance, self-sacrifice, zeal and worthy causes. She had always felt a greater attachment to Aros than any other goddess.

What was the better cause in this situation? Should she abide by her father’s wishes? Was he right? Does she need to be more honorable? More prideful? She brought a demon into the Corps. Knowingly! If Sir Strand knew, she would be stripped of her knighthood.

What was sacrificing more? Gods, she was sacrificing so much by following her father’s insistence and pressures. Wasn’t staying with Tess the easier path? This was hard. Hate was hard. Loneliness was hard.

Gwendolyn squeezed the symbol in her palm, replacing it upon her neck and rising to her feet. “That settles it,” she thought, “This is the right path, even if it’s far more difficult. This was the sacrifice that she needed to make to be proper. To be strong. To defeat the Black Sun.

No friendships. No love. No distractions.

She twisted at the hips and looked back over her shoulder as boots signaled someone’s approach. It was one of the festival’s volunteers. “Dame,” he said, “Your match is coming up.”

Gwendolyn dropped the half of the training sword she carried.

Amaris was going to fucking regret this.