Siege State

Chapter Two: Shit-Kicking

Tom’s idea of a perfect day wasn’t getting the shit kicked out of him by arrogant young Idealists. Today, however, was a Firstday, and Firstdays were most definitely for shit-kicking.

Still, he made his way across the Academy grounds to the training hall in the near-full light of the morning. The sun wasn’t slacking on the heat either, and sweat threatened to pour freely down his back if he hurried.

He wasn’t worried though; he was never late for class. His father would make him pay in blood if he heard of it. Tom would never forgive himself either, for that matter. His training was too important, and he drove himself hard. It was the single most important thing in his life if he ever hoped to manifest, and he treated it that way.

The first and last class of the day was always combat studies. Tom was ambivalent towards it. On one hand, he loved to fight, and he was passing good at it. Excellent really. On the other hand, he had little hope of managing consistent wins against opponents that were stronger, faster and more agile than him, even if he was older and more skilled. That wasn’t even counting any skills they’d manifested under their Ideals.

Tom was in an unfair position. He was older than the next oldest students by a year at least, and all of those older students had manifested, most months and months ago, and were just waiting to choose a profession that suited them. There was no real place for him that wasn’t awkward. With the choice of either putting him with early teens who hadn’t manifested yet either, or placing him with Idealists his own age that beat him bloody every match, the Instructors chose the latter option.

Tom was glad for it, in a perverse way. Everyone knew circumstance was one of the three pillars of manifestation. His father always said that to manifest you needed adversity, and by adversity he meant pain. Beating up little kids ten years his junior would not help him. Getting the shit kicked out of him every day by his classmates just might though.

The training hall was a large, low building set near one of the walls of the grounds. One of the long sides of the building was filled with huge, sliding wooden doors. They stood open, facing onto a dusty training yard. On one side of the yard, against a specially strengthened section of the wall, were targets and dummies made for both mundane and mana-based projectiles. Younger students hurried about, sweeping the circles used for matches and pouring new sand from buckets.

Tom cast about and found Rosa standing with a handful of his classmates by one of the outdoor rings. His Instructor, Cullen Mace, a brawny, bearded ex-Guard, barked at some younger students as they positioned a weapons rack nearby.

Tom moved to join them, and stumbled as he was shoved roughly from behind.

“Ready for your hiding today, shit-boy?”

Gad, only sixteen, had manifested Bluntness not a month ago. Tom found it fitting. Gad had always been a spoiled pest, but now that he had manifested an Ideal, he was a hundred times worse. His sister, Ella, stood impassively beside him, a hint of distaste on her face. She was much older and taller than her brother, merely stocky where Gad was built like a tree stump. His habitual smug leer split his thick lips.

“Nothing to say, huh? I’m gonna fuck you up again today, shit-boooy,” he said, sounding impressed with himself.

Gad was just the latest of Tom’s bullies, and not the worst he’d had. He would never have dared giving Tom a nickname like that before he manifested. Now, he thought he was Goddess’ own gift, funny enough to make an orc laugh. He’d gotten after-class work from Instructor Glass, the philosophy instructor, for laughing so much when he’d thought of it.

Tom was under no illusions as to what would happen if they fought outside the ring. Likely he’d get a hiding from Gad, then from his sister, and then from the closest Instructor. The fact that Gad would cop a beating from the Instructor for fighting too didn’t make the idea any more appealing. Well, not much more, anyway.

So, as always, Tom simply bore it. It was hard, though. He straightened, trying his best to seem unaffected. He had a fine line to tread, one he’d been walking for years. Appear too weak and he invited more bullying. Appear too angry and he gave them the satisfaction of a rise.

He clenched his jaw and unclenched his fists, fingers shaking slightly. Save it for the ring. Emotions help you manifest. But he knew it for a lie as soon as he thought it.

Maybe they’ve helped others manifest, but I’m useless.

Misery wormed through him even as anger burned in his gut, and he hated himself for the weakness. Goddess, pull yourself together Tom... I can’t even take a shove from a brat like Gad without my emotions going all wobbly.

But he must have done a passable job of seeming unfazed, because Ella grabbed her brother’s arm.

“Come,” she said. “Don’t waste your time with him. You’re a Courser – this is beneath us.”

Ella led him off, Gad strutting along like a rooster after her.

Fucking asshole, Tom thought. The last thing I need is Gad throwing me off my stride this early in the morning. He took a deep breath to calm himself, wrestling his emotions back under control. It was taking him longer and longer to do these days. He closed his eyes briefly against the low sun, and then followed after them to join the rest of the class.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Again!” Cullen yelled as Tom’s back slammed into sand.

He had been matched with Gad, of course. As he’d only manifested so recently, he assumed it was Cullen’s way of trying for the fairest match possible. The burly Instructor’s beard twitched as he rolled his jaw around, a habit he had when he was distracted. He’d barely been watching the bouts this morning.

Cullen had trained Tom on and off again for his entire time at the Academy, and he played no favourites. Tom liked him, as much for finding no respite in his class as for his solid teaching and fairness. Tom thought he’d been wasted as a soldier, though he’d never dare to voice it. Too many of the Instructors would allow Gad to beat him literally senseless, or pair him with one of the older nobles, almost done with the Academy, just to try to curry favour with their Houses.

Tom was just thankful he hadn’t been paired with Ella again. She had manifested the Shield almost a year ago, and was close to graduating. Tom couldn’t even land a blow on her because of a skill of hers, and she was far more clinical with her victories than Gad. Tom would rather fight someone who showboated, but didn’t require him to be healed after every bout.

His classmates sniggered from the sidelines as he found his feet. He had won two out of six bouts so far, which was a huge victory for a regular person fighting an Idealist, despite every other advantage Tom had. No one seemed to care though. They all fed off his embarrassment like pigs at a trough.

Bluntness didn’t sound like a particularly versatile Ideal, and with Gad only having manifested a month ago he likely only had one or two skills. No active skills – a small blessing. Tom was six years his senior, and far more skilled at unarmed fighting. He had over a head of height on Gad, and was broad, if not as comically broad as the smug little prick. All of it only made a marginal difference.

As an Idealist, Gad was stronger, faster and tougher. His reflexes were better. He was more agile. Tom refused to give anything less than his best though. He had fought monsters before and he would likely fight them again, and they were stronger and tougher and faster than him too. He had to be ready for when he manifested, even if that seemed less and less likely by the day.

He squared himself across from his opponent, feeling the sand between his toes as he reset his stance. Gad was already in position, complete with a look of condescension. He clearly didn’t find this challenging.

Tom drew in the stale sweat-and-dust smell of the yard as he waited.

“Fight!” Cullen barked, and Gad stomped towards him. His steps were heavy, telegraphing his movements. He was obviously not quite yet used to his new physical prowess, but even so there was no avoiding him.

He swung a heavy punch, wide and round. Tom twisted backwards, but caught a glancing blow to his cheek and staggered. He reset his feet and flicked his hands out, managing to push Gad’s wrist just enough so that his follow-up jab missed his head.

He turned his parry into a grapple, grabbing the wrist he’d pushed and pulling on it. Even though his opponent was six years his junior he barely managed to shift him off-balance and start him stumbling forwards.

He envisioned his next series of movements: hyperextend the arm, then strike the elbow to disable it. Step back and sideways to gain distance and force the opponent to turn. Step in and punch through their weak-side guard…

…but Gad regained his balance too quickly, stepping into Tom and slamming a fist into his gut using the extra momentum. He doubled over, his breath blowing out in an explosive “ooft,” and Gad finished him with a heavy knee to the chest.

Tom felt ribs crack as he flipped backward and smacked soundly into the sand once again.

“Stop!” Cullen growled, and Nita, the youthful Healer that was attending the combat classes today, pounced on Tom. A cheer went up from the class, sounding odd and metallic to Tom through the ringing in his head.

Gad gave him a triumphant porcine snort, lording over him a moment before turning around to grandstand to his friends. Tom lost focus as the training yard swam before his vision.

“Tsst,” she said under her breath as she checked him. “Fractured ribs. Possible concussion.” She flexed her fingers, muttering to herself about the stupidity of fighting. The skin on her hands began to go translucent, her bones showing black and her veins picked out like bright red cracks. She smelled strongly of pine, perhaps from some cure she’d been working on. Her deft hands prodded at his head and chest.

Tom gritted his teeth against painful breaths. Enduring pain, at least, was something he was good at.

Suddenly, an intense crawling feeling surged in his head and chest, and his face felt like it was vibrating. The feeling receded quickly, leaving no pain whatsoever in its wake. Nita’s button nose snapped back into focus.

“Thank you,” he said quietly to the Healer, standing and brushing himself off before giving her a small bow.

She looked him up and down, and gave him a small sigh as she wandered back to the raised chair the Healers used to survey the bouts for injuries.

Healers usually disliked sitting in at the training hall, though it gave them good opportunities to practice their skills. Nita, he had heard, had manifested Blood and Bone, both Ideals which skirted the line of being taboo. If it was true, then she probably didn’t get much thanks for her assistance here. The fact that her skills tended towards the Healing arts must have stopped her from being assigned to the Hunters. Healers were much too valuable to have running around outside the walls fighting monsters.

Cullen absently waved him back to the group and called out two more of his peers.

Tom found a place in the sniggering crowd. His mind distractedly ran over his ribs and scalp for injuries like a tongue running over a loose tooth. There were none to be found, and no pain, but after Healing it sometimes took a moment for the mind to catch up with the body.

I should know, he thought. I’ve probably been healed more times than a Guard.

Tom watched the remaining bouts with disinterest, trying his best to tune out the whispered sneers and jibes of his fellows around him. They were unimportant. His dignity was unimportant. He had no pride to hurt anymore. All that mattered was manifesting.