Chapter Seven #2
This must be the combat instructor. He has chocolate-brown skin and short curly hair tied up in a man bun at the back of his head. He is wearing a tight-fitted beige vest that hugs his muscles and black jogging bottoms.
We all shimmy our bums closer to the platform as he requests.
“That’s better. I’m Mr Martyr, and I will be your combat trainer if you choose this class.
Combat is all about visual learning. Watch your classmates, observe how they fight, look for their weaknesses, their knowledge, and use this to your advantage.
Combat training will help you develop your physical skills, discipline and confidence.
The stronger you are, the stronger your Gifts will be. ”
I think about Ryder, his weight against mine on the forest floor, the hardness of his arms and chest. His Gifts must be strong.
“I am going to split you into three groups,” he says, and his hands make a cutting motion around each section of first years to split us up.
“Each group will make its way around each activity. We have hand-to-hand combat, archery and knife throwing.” He gestures to each activity in the courtyard.
“There are third years situated at each post to help you. Group one will be staying here with me for combat, group two for archery and group three will be on knife throwing.”
All students start splitting off into their respective groups.
I look around at mine. No Nala or Charlie.
I can see her trailing off to archery. She turns round for a second and sends me a consoling look.
This may be harder than I thought. Alex is staring at me from across the combat platform.
Of course, he is in my group. I narrow my eyes at him to show I am not scared.
My father used to tell me, ‘The size of the opponent should not matter; everyone has the same weaknesses and pressure points.’ And I have memorised them all - under the armpit, the fleshy gap between the neck and clavicle, inner thigh, back and front of the knees, the solar plexus bridge between the ribcage, the sides of the face just below the temples and lastly, the chin.
When hit at a certain point, it almost always leads to a knockout due to the impact on the jaw.
I may not be overly strong, but I have speed on my side, and I will be aiming for these areas.
“First rule of combat, show no mercy.”
I feel a lump form at the back of my throat and force it back down. Alex is still glaring at me, this time with a huge smile.
Mr Martyr continues, “Just because these may be your friends around you doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to put your blood, sweat and tears into this. Holding yourself back will only stunt the growth and learning of yourself and others around you.”
Chatter arises around the group. You can tell who the scared ones are. The droplets of sweat forming on each brow, a face slightly paler than it was ten minutes ago, the nervous laughter spurting out of William’s tight-lipped mouth. The tension is building up, and one of us is about to explode.
“I have not seen any of you fight, therefore, I have no expectations, and I cannot match you evenly, so we shall begin in alphabetical order. Winner stays on to fight the next one.” My heart beats out of my chest. “All students whose names start with A, please stand up.”
Brilliant, of course I am one of the first. There are four of us standing, and I can feel my blood pressure rising.
Alex is grinding his knuckles. Mr Martyr points at Abel and Alex and beckons them to the platform.
They will be the first fighters. Abel is tall, an even match for Alex.
He has dirty blonde hair shaved around the edges and appears to be in good shape.
They both step onto the platform, their toes digging around in the sand.
“Give it your best, boys.” Mr Martyr gives them a reassuring tap on each shoulder before blowing his whistle and retreating to the sidelines.
Alex and Abel dance around each other in fighting stances, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Mr Martyr shouts from the sidelines. “You hesitate. You die. You think too hard. You die. You think too little. You die… The art of combat is all about mastering the dance with death; it’s about finding that sweet spot between morality and mortality.”
Something about this sentence strikes Alex like a bolt of lightning as he charges with speed at Abel, tucking his body in low and delivering two hard jabs to Abel’s side.
Abel is thrown back by the force and winces a little before shaking it off.
He pushes back and throws two punches aimed at Alex’s head, but he fails to make contact.
Alex dodges each one and lands a couple more hits to Abel’s sides.
Abel looks angry now. He changes his strategy, retreating a little and taunting Alex by shooting a middle finger in his direction.
Alex charges like a bull towards him, but before he can get close enough to land another punch, Abel swiftly changes direction and launches a hard hit to Alex’s chin.
Alex tumbles down into the sand below, blood drooling from his mouth.
I can’t help but feel a little happy at this, and I fight the urge to smile.
Abel basks in this glory, but it is short-lived.
Alex jumps up and returns to Abel with a vengeance, tackling him to the ground before he even has the chance to process the attack.
Alex is now positioned on top of Abel. He tries to squirm out of his trap, but Alex is kneeling on his arms and rendering them useless.
Alex lands punch after punch on Abel’s face, beating him black and blue.
Blood oozes out of him and sinks into the sand below.
This is hard to watch. My eyes well up as I watch Abel submit to the punches. There is nothing he can do. Alex is relentless, getting more excited at the sight of blood.
“That’s enough, Alex.” Mr Martyr steps in and pulls him off his victim. Abel coughs and turns his head to the side, spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He winces as he stands up, clutching at his ribs.
“Abel, take yourself off to the healing quarters.”
Ciara is quick to volunteer to walk him there. What did I say? Shark.
Alex is fighting the next guy now. If Abel couldn’t win, this guy has no chance.
He is a lot thinner than Alex, the type of guy to have a skin-pack rather than a six-pack.
I am afraid Alex will snap him like a twig.
He tries to duck and dodge Alex’s punches, but he is far too slow.
A fast thump to the side of the head knocks him out swiftly.
Alex is on a winning streak. And I’m next.