Chapter 35
Folami
Ihated everything about the northern part of Elyria.
The cooler temperatures, the abundance of green, the excessive number of cities tucked together in close proximity, the elitist attitudes.
But, most of all, I hated what the north meant to me. The memories it brought back in abundance. The ghost of metal shackles I felt around my wrists. The pain in my soul each time my Mage drew from me.
I shuddered inwardly.
We weren’t even in Vespera, nowhere near the Academy, and I still felt the vestiges of nausea.
Like bile was sitting as a lump in my throat, threatening to expel at any given moment.
Over the years working with Torin, he’d tried to get me to confess, to open up about my experiences as a Vessel in the Warlord’s army.
But how could I?
How could I rehash the worst parts of my life? Especially to someone who only knew love and acceptance.
I stomped across the garden-turned-training-yard, spear firmly in my grip, toward a group of younger recruits who were decidedly not taking their training seriously.
Didn’t they understand this was life or death?
That joining the rebellion wasn’t just the ‘cool’ thing to do—that we actually had a cause to fight for and would have to fight for it? That there was no way we were getting out of this without bloodshed and death? That the likelihood any of them survived in their unAwakened state was slim to none?
Even the beads in my hair clinked angrily as I stalked toward the group of laughing teenagers as they tried, and failed, to spar with each other.
We were working on physical combat today—something that the Mages and Vessels at the Academy taught for use only in extremely dire circumstances.
Hand-to-hand combat and weapons training were something that the magical, in their selfish and elitist way, refused to train extensively.
Focusing instead on using their magic for both defense and attack.
But what happened when their crystals ran out or their Vessel was killed?
The Warlord’s army used its sheer size to cover for these weak points, but that was something our smaller force couldn’t rely on.
We had to be better, smarter, if we were to win this war.
So, we trained in all forms of combat—magical and otherwise—especially since many of our recruits were well below the age to Awaken. A majority of those that remained were Mages with lower power levels or Vessels without access to any magic.
We’d lost two of our more powerful Mages—an Earth and Pain Mage—when the Matriarch sent Torin to Isrun to fetch the Bondsmith’s daughter.
That mission, in my eyes, was a complete failure.
Not only did we fail to retrieve the girl, but we lost many—too many—because of the Warlord’s second-in-command, a powerful Destruction Mage.
After that defeat, I’d subtly increased the training our recruits received, and for the most part, they’d taken to it with gratitude and gusto.
Except for these idiots, apparently.
My approach to their small group was silent as I traversed the flattened grass, eyes focused on their movements. On their laughter.
The sound grated.
Why should they laugh?
Other groups paused their practice to bow in deference to me as I passed.
The action was something I paid little attention to—I had no use for deference.
I’d spent my whole life, up until I found the Matriarch, in constant supplication to another, and I hated when others now put me in a position of higher power.
The sounds of frivolity grew louder the closer I got to the group, and I noticed quickly that the grappling holds everyone was supposed to be practicing were quickly turning into something sexual.
There was too much flirting and not enough fighting happening.
They weren’t even sweating. No mud marred their pants and tunics, and their cheeks were pink from the cold rather than exertion.
“Anders, that’s too tight!” A girl with braided blonde pigtails giggled as one of the boys put her in a light headlock.
“I thought you liked it like this? A little rough?” The boy—Anders—whispered coyly into her ear, loud enough for their friends and me to hear.
The group laughed as the girl giggled and pushed her ass back into Anders’ crotch.
He grunted low before grasping her lower belly and bringing it snug against his lower half.
“Maybe we can practice these moves later? When it’s dark and we’re alone?”
The girl let out a breathless moan, and I took that moment to make my appearance known. I’d heard enough.
“Is this what you think training is supposed to look like?” I called, my voice deceptively even. The group of teenagers froze as the training yard went silent.
My voice had that effect, whether I liked it or not. When I spoke, people listened. When I moved, people reacted.
Torin said it was part of leadership.
I hated it.
Anders quickly pushed the girl away from his body, and she stumbled a few steps before catching herself. The four friends stood together, none of them choosing to meet my gaze head-on.
Spineless.
“Well?” I asked again, tightening my grip on my spear.
“We were practicing chokeholds like you instructed, General,” the other girl—a small thing with mousy-brown hair—said quietly, eyes still downcast.
“Mmm,” I hummed, allowing an uncomfortable silence to stretch for a moment. “And do you think this is how ‘chokeholds’ will play out in battle?”
Anders snickered slightly, and I slowly turned my head to face him. The girl with the mousy hair relaxed a bit now that my gaze was turned away from her, and she had the wherewithal to back away a few steps from Anders.
Smart girl. Maybe they won’t all die in battle. She at least has some self-preservation.
“Something funny to you, Anders?” I asked, my voice growing cold.
The rest of the yard was silent now, no longer pretending to practice.
I ignored them.
“You just keep talking about battle. Battle this, battle that. Attack by the Warlord. Be prepared for attack.”
I raised my eyebrows imperceptibly.
“That’s why you joined the rebellion, is it not?”
Anders scoffed slightly, clearly growing overconfident since I didn’t put him in his place immediately.
Fool.
“That’s just the thing . . . we’ve been here for months now and”—he gestured around—“no Warlord. No battles. Nothing. Just the same shit training day in and day out. Absolutely nothing has happened. So what are we even preparing for? Is it all in your head, maybe?”
There was a collective gasp, and I felt a buzzing in my ears as my blood heated. My chest tightened as familiar rage burned through my system. Something must have flashed in my deep chocolate eyes because Anders flinched for a moment.
“Interesting.” I kept my tone casual and indifferent, even though I felt anything but. “Tell me, Anders. When did you and your friends join the rebellion?”
He chewed his lip for a moment, clearly confused as to why I was asking this question. I knew when he joined—I knew almost everything about each of the people in my training yard—but I wanted to hear it from him.
“When you arrived on the ships,” he said, a bit of the bravado leaving his voice.
“I see. So roughly six months ago?” My voice was still eerily calm, and he nodded a quick assent. “So you’ve only ever seen this training yard.”
He nodded again, his hands fidgeting with the end of his cream tunic. It was well crafted and clearly new. A quick glance around the area showed that he had discarded a winter cloak as well as goatskin gloves before starting his training.
“I’m going to assume you’re the son of someone important in Lishahl. A councilor’s son, perhaps?” Anders winced at my words, and I nodded like I understood.
“Must be so hard for you, training like this all the time with nothing to show for your efforts.”
Anders blinked in surprise.
“Uh, yeah. Like I said, there’s been no fighting. We keep training for something to happen, but nothing ever does.” There was murmuring now amongst the crowd, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to Anders’ insolence or if they agreed with his assessment.
Either way, I had to shut it all down. Quickly.
“Did you hear tales of what happened in Isrun?” Anders nodded his head. “Oh, so you have? Interesting. How about the Valley?” He shrugged noncommittally.
“Hmm. Yes, that one I’m sure has made its rounds since that was the basis of our rebellion and all. Though you weren’t with us when the Matriarch was the head of our efforts, so I’ll give you the pass. But it is a story you really should know.”
Anders opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a raised palm.