Page 32 of Above
After waking up to Altair above me, I took extra precautions. Warding clearly didn’t work against him, and seeing as I watched him nearly kill a trainee in combat training, I figured I couldn’t take him in a hand-to-hand battle. With fight out of the picture and forethought pointless, I was left with one option: flight.
Every night I went back home and snuck into my lab, spending as much time as I could testing out different amounts of my blood and utilizing magic on my elixir, which was coming together nicely after I spent an entire night foraging for what I could and splurging on what I couldn’t. So far nothing was being altered. While Zade’s take on magic and the will behind it did aid me with fusing and even working on my defensive magic, it did nothing to help me figure out how the fuck I would keep my family alive for hundreds of years without hurting or killing them in the process.
When I was ready to give up, I practiced calling to my shadows and trying to shape them, furiously scribbled in my journal, and even attempted to control elements. As exhaustion crept in, I let myself sleep there with Death curled up at my side, setting birds to wake me.
Dawn would call me back to the academy, where I would creep into my shared room and slide beneath the blankets, pretending to wake as the others stirred. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but I was surviving, and that was all I could ask for.
Our mornings started off the same, a hearty breakfast with better food than I have ever had, often paired with scathing remarks from the other trainees, who would then flock—and fawn over—the cores. Once the Otarn girl even did her own dirty work and knocked my tray off the table. The hazing was always followed by training.
We stretched, ran, lifted impossibly heavy objects, and carried our packs for hours on end despite not formally ruking. I found that I wasn’t great at any of it, though I wasn’t the absolute worst. Dove Zade seemed incapable of falling, and I could have sworn her hands stuck to surfaces like a spider as she climbed. Another trainee who seemed close to the cores was able to wear weight, stuffing a vest full of rocks at the start of our day. The best of us was the other Zade, who was faster and stronger than the rest. He seemed to never waver or grow tired, always moving. Outshining us all.
Weapons work began directly after lunch. Swords, bows, and knives handed out like sweets. I wasn’t bad with the sword, though it was damn heavy. None of my arrows ever hit their mark. My dagger throwing was decent. I could manage a staff. But where I excelled, which was surprising seeing as it was least favored, was the whip. We rarely got to use them in our combat sessions, but having an idea of what weapons we could utilize was important regardless. Though, watching Priya Otarn flingknives like it was nothing—hitting her marks every single time—or Quinn Elders swing two swords at once—beheading practice dummies as if cutting through butter—was unsettling.
Physical combat took up the rest of the afternoon, which was Altair’s time to show off. Captain Zade often made a bit of a spectacle out of him. She would pair him with obviously stronger men, sometimes even pulling actual elites out to battle him. But Altair never lost.
It wasn’t that he was simply stronger than everyone, rather he was smarter. He tracked his opponents closely, seemingly studying them. During the start of each of his matches, Altair rarely made any moves. He would duck, dive, bend, and most importantly, watch. Once he had an idea of what to expect from the other person, his eyes would go from analyzing and bright, to lethal and dark. I watched the other cores just as closely, especially Zade and Dofrel, who were probably the second and third best fighters, but neither of them did what Altair did.
Perks of having a father who led one of the two companies in the Strategist Division.
Two weeks into Elite Academy, my time to face Altair came.
He looked amused as he stepped onto the large circular mat, the dome-like structure around us doing nothing to keep out the slowly rising island heat. I wore my training uniform, just as he did. But for some reason, he looked infinitely more put together. His icy hair was slightly longer than when he first arrived, but still expertly laid. Mine, on the other hand, was a mess of curls and tangles that I had wrestled into a plait at my back.
Around us, everyone began to shout, the common theme for these exercises. One would think trained warriors would have more control over themselves.
But this was an of eadi against the metaphorical prince of shaytan. A battle that not only waged here, but seemingly allacross the continent. This was more than just training. For so many, this was personal.
Captain Zade walked past Altair, and I caught sight of her hand grazing his upper thigh. My mind swirled as she neared the center, her words a mumble behind the sound of my own internal voice.
Was Altair sleeping with the captain? If so, in exchange for what? He had his pick of anyone, so it had to be a strategic choice on his part. Did he get extra training? Lighter packs? Hints about the curriculum? Insight into the other trainees?
It might have just been an accident, but I could have sworn her hand lingered longer than it should have. And, quite honestly, there was no reason for her to graze him like that when she had ample space to walk around him.
Altair nodded, and I realized that I had missed all of the introduction commentary. While these fights were mostly the same, there were rules different for each type of battle. Now, thanks to my idiotic carelessness, I had no clue what I was walking into.
“Let the fight begin!” Captain Zade shouted, cheers, even louder than before, erupting.
Okay, I could do this. Altair watched his opponents, but he couldn’t gain any insight into my style if I was smart. I doubted he paid any attention to my previous fights, so I could play this—
Air whooshed out of me as his fist connected with my gut, a cry of pain stumbling out of my lips before I could stop it. Damn, he didn’t usually start off on the offensive.
“What’s wrong, Little Void? Scared?” he taunted, backing up before stopping to bounce on the balls of his feet.
Focus, Nova. Focus!
Altair raised his arms, curling his finger toward himself, inviting me to make a move.
And that’s when the idea struck.
Altair, as always, was bragging. Performing. I was everything he stood against. Everything he hated. Of all victories, this would be the one he’d most want to relish in. So he’d draw it out, make it a show. I was, as all of eadi were in the eyes of the pure, the joke.
His underestimation of my abilities was my greatest asset at that moment. Altair was expecting me to charge. He wanted me to make a hasty decision and look like a stupid, worthless akhata.
A plan formed quickly in my mind. This would hurt—oh, would it hurt—but I had no other option. I knew I couldn’t win, obviously. However, I could show him that I was more than he could have ever imagined.
So, I did what he expected. I ran at him full speed, swinging my weaker leg towards his face and bracing for the pain. Altair was waiting for me. He stepped to the side, moving his hand up just in time to catch my ankle, which had only reached his shoulder. If the brunt of my kick stung his palm, he didn’t show it as he used the momentum to rotate his wrist, tucking my leg against his ribs. I was allowed half a second before his free elbow came down and slammed into my knee.
Screaming was all I could do, the pain expected but still nauseating. Definitely broken.
