Chapter Five

Theia liked flirting with Remias, but fighting with him—she loved.

Logging had carved out vast swaths of land, leaving rows of headless stumps as gravestones. The wind swelled up the hillside, it dragged litterfall high into the air, carrying it across the land in a dance of currents. Surrounding trees, an open blue sky, each made more vivid by his presence. Remias sat on a nearby stump. He had a wooden training sword resting across his lap. The morning sun kissed his olive skin, framing his features. The sword was made of Ipe, notoriously difficult to work with, but highly durable. He ran his hand along it, a gentleness and affection to the motion, checking for hairline fractures.

She flexed the muscles in her wrist and arm, feeling the strain. She looked down at her own blade, an arming sword. It was dented in a few areas, and the leather strips surrounding the grip were starting to come loose. She caught her reflection in the blade. It wasn’t particularly large, or heavy. Yet after hours of swinging the damn thing, it was starting to feel hefty. Clunky even. Remias had said it would start to feel more natural, after she had trained her muscles enough to move it smoothly. So, she fell back into the flow of her first exercise, spinning the sword in hand.

Remias looked up, analysing her, giving occasional direction. She stepped back and forth, going through each of the exercises, and trying to conserve her energy. Throughout the training, he poked her halfway through a step or a lunge. She stumbled the first few times, then started to predict it, keeping her feet planted in a way that maintained her balance. He also flicked twigs at her. He said it was to keep her reflexes sharp, which she would have believed, if not for the stupid smile he wore while doing it. Eventually, Theia found herself exhaling heavily, sweat forming beads in her hairline and across her back. She hadn’t realised that by conserving her energy, he would make her train longer. Why did she feel both annoyed and grateful at that?

“Excellent,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

Remias tended to tire her before they fought, which used to get on her nerves. He was stronger, well-rested, and he was Resonant—so naturally he already had the advantage. This process of stacking advantages against her till it was impossible to win, could there be anything more distasteful? Her cooler mind had prevailed. On reflection, she realised he had done this for her benefit. He had made it abundantly clear, time after time, that when a real fight came: she would already be disadvantaged. The harsh truth was that most men were stronger than her, which meant she needed to be faster. Smarter. The weaker fighter could beat a stronger opponent, through skill and experience.

Remias procured a small tuning fork from his side and tapped it against a rod of metal, inlaid into his uniform. Strangely, the fork made no sound—it never did. He did this before every fight, touching the vibrating silent fork to the sword, then returning it to his beltloop. She wondered if that’s why the wood was so pristine. When they had fought for the first time, she had the reasonable misconception that metal would cut wood, especially her arming sword against his flimsy stick. And sure as the wind blowing and stars above, she swung with all she had. Yet to her surprise, her sword was sent scattering across the floor, not his. She hadn’t even marked the wood. It had something to do with that tuning fork. And she had learnt a valuable lesson. Lose all expectation when facing a Resonant.

“You were too aggressive last time,” Remias said, rubbing a spot on his elbow and then stretching. “Your frustration creates openings, we need to keep working on that.”

Theia shook her muscles too, reinvigorating herself. It was happening. She had been waiting for this. Feeling both terrified and excited, she attempted to steady her breathing, and she held his gaze as they raised their swords. Iron against wood. He held a defensive stance, as always. Okay focus. She had to break through that defense. Three weeks and she hadn’t so much as cracked it. She slid her foot forward slightly, and in return he slid his back.

The hillside was a little awkward. Emergent roots were a tripping hazard, exacerbated by the sun shining in her vision. A halo of light surrounded Remias’ head, further up the hill, masking his features. A technique Remias had taught her, was to tap the tip of her blade against his. He had said it was useful to gather an opponents reflex speed, tension and temperament—but she could barely see his face in this light. Instead, she looked down at his feet, noticing a stump not too far behind. If she could back him into it, it might give her the opening she needed.

Whack. Theia’s vision went white. She blinked, touching the headgear on her head. There was still a slight ringing as she stepped back into a defensive stance, her eyes searching for his sword. She spotted it slipping from the light for her right shoulder. She blocked, but the strength behind it pushed her own sword towards herself. Theia diverted both as she used the motion to roll to the side. She quickly looked around, sun glaring, and spotted him approaching. She dashed up the hill, putting her back to the sun and getting a clear view.

“Good,” he said. “Your positioning and footwork are improving. How’s your head?”

“How do you think?”

His laugh sounded dry and flat, but she felt the mirth hidden beneath it.

“You best give me one in return then,” he said—eyes squinting against the light.

Clarity quickly returned to Theia, except for the high-pitched ringing deep in her eardrums. It also sounded like it was coming from his sword, was she imagining it? She tapped her blade against his, and noticed something peculiar. Not in his expression, but a flinch in his right elbow. She recalled him rubbing it before the fight. Had he injured it? Did it have to do with the three missing people? The realisation filled her with excitement, at the thought that she finally had something she could use against him. Victory was within reach, and with the knowledge of that possibility, within her stomach bubbled dread. There had not been an opportunity like this before. All of his training crashed into a single path forward. It would be so easy to take the first step, but what lay at the end? He wasn’t wearing armour. He always wore some form of armour.

Her sword glinted in her eye, the reflection of him in the metal. Could she really do this?

Remias stepped forward and Theia was pulled from her thoughts. He swung and she stepped back, deflecting the attack. A contest of strength, a losing battle. He pushed forward again, forcing her further and further up the hill—holding the initiative, blade swiping faster. Theia kept defending. Pushing through the exhaustion, sword meeting his to deflect the full force. Then her foot snagged.

She looked down to see a stump behind her. Toppling. The hillside turning. Remias pushed forward again. She swung her blade wildly, leather strap slipping from her hand, sword escaping her grasp. It narrowly passed over his head, then her back crashed into ground. Grass against her back. Her eyes and body clenched. She anticipated another blow but none came and instead, as she opened her eyes, watching the light recede, his face an outstretched hand remained against the blue expanse. Remias’ green eyes reflected the land beneath her. He was like one of the Thirteen descending from the sky. Hard eyes. And yet, caring eyes. The wind swept around them, a mirror to their stillness.

Then she took his hand.

“You hesitated,” Remias said, helping lift her.

Theia glanced at the sword lying on the grass, glinting amongst the other greener blades, “I did.”

He remained silent.

“You’re elbow isn’t actually hurt is it?” She asked.

His eyes lit up. “No, it’s not.”

“You were creating another advantage, by showing weakness where there was none.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She nodded at that, then walked over to her arming sword. The leather wrapping along the hilt was still barely holding on. Picking it up and sitting on a nearby stump, she waited until Remias was seated as well.

“I understand why you insisted I use iron now, instead of a training sword. You wanted to test whether I could bring myself to cause harm.”

Remias remained quiet, hoping for her to say more, when she didn’t he eventually spoke. “There is no shame in choosing not to harm others, Theia.”

She clenched her fist.

“So what? This is all for nothing?!” She stood up, facing away.

Her shoulders sagged and her head fell, slumped between them. The fight had left her. She had started training the day after the first went missing, because she had wanted to be able to defend herself in case the worst happened. Now she realised, she did not want to just defend herself. She wanted to cut the throat of whoever had done this, whoever had made her feel so afraid—so helpless. She hesitated, because she realised she could harm Remias—if only she pictured him as someone else. In those few seconds it had come easily, like dousing a flame. She saw him not as himself but as something else. Something that was not the harbour of her… affection. Instead, he became a thing. A target to pour all her anger into and she had felt herself slip into a space that she didn’t recognise, which terrified her.

“Why does the guard want Laudanum?”

He stood up, a flash of anger.

“Don’t ask me that. It’s Pyre business.”

“Pyre business?! Who, these new guards none of us know? The one’s who spit on your name in front of you, who try to goad you into using your powers, so they can have you reprimanded? And now they want a sedative? And you’re just going to let them? That isn’t a good look Remias, betraying the town that took you in.”

He fiddled with the edge of his shirt, staring at her before breaking eye contact. He took both swords then turned his back on her.

“Don’t you care about me at all? I’m scared. Please, tell me something. Anything.”

“Today’s lesson is over.”