Becca Fox - Asta and the Barbarians

Rainer nodded. “Very well. This is your chance to impress me, girl. If you fail—”

“Asta.”

He faltered, surprised at being interrupted. “Pardon?”

“My name is Asta.”

“That isn’t a warrior’s name,” someone behind me scoffed.

“No,” I said, unable to contain my annoyance, “but it’s my name and I won’t be changing it.”

The declaration was met with silence.

“I’m due to be transferred to an intermediate Hand-to-Hand Combat course,” a young man close to Rainer piped up.

Our commander nodded. “Very well. Those moving on to intermediate classes soon will join me in storming the keep. The rest of you spread out, stay alert, target one person at a time but be on the lookout for archers. No doubt they will be placed on the walls and upper level of the gatehouse. Ready?”

The group nodded, sharing nervous glances or excited grins.

Rainer raised his sword, pointing at the keep several meters behind us. “Charge!”

Heart galloping in my chest, I charged toward the gatehouse with my team. I felt the pressure to do well like an anvil over my head. Already my peers had begun to talk about my skill. I couldn’t disappoint them and prove the rumors were exaggerations. I suddenly wanted their respect.

When Rainer and the other three separated from the rest, I didn’t follow. I sprinted around the other curtain wall, bow and arrow ready. My father had given me a short, wooden bow with two arrows for my eleventh birthday. The bow I held now was no different.

The enemy shot their arrows at me but I was too quick for them. I ducked, turned, dove to the ground, rolled, and leapt back to my feet. I raised my bow, aimed at one of the white plates on the wall, and let the arrow fly. I didn’t stop to see if it had reached its mark. I moved in an agile sideways jog toward the keep while I drew arrow after arrow from my quiver and fired at every white plate I could see. When the arrows stopped coming at me, I dashed in the direction of the keep. Rainer and two of the warriors with him were clashing swords with those guarding the keep door.

The last man from our infiltration team danced at a distance, firing arrows at the archers on the keep’s roof. As I drew close to him, I yanked the quiver up and over my head, and dropped it beside him on the ground. “Here!”

“What are you doing?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the enemy.

“Giving you more ammunition.” I slung my bow across my back and continued racing to the keep.

Rainer saw me fly past and opened his mouth to say something. He never got the chance to speak; his opponent swiped at his knees and distracted him. I took the stairs two at a time and drew my sword before emerging among the archers. Two swings later and they were down. The remaining archer was shot by my team’s archer on the ground. All three of my now ‘dead’ enemies blinked at me in surprise. I flashed them a grin before darting back down the stairs.

Rainer and my team’s archer met me at the entrance of the keep. Apparently, the other two had been ‘stabbed’ during their scrimmages and had left the scene.

Rainer was the most surprised. “How did you—?”

“No time.” I pointed to the gatehouse. “They need us.” I led them in the sprint back to our team.

The enemy archers began firing as soon as we were within range. I pushed my team’s archer out of harm’s way and took an arrow to the shoulder. Pain raced up my neck and down my arm. I grimaced and glared up at the men along the wall.

“Are you all right?” Rainer asked us both.

Our team’s archer shot to his feet and began returning fire by way of response.

“I’ve been hit. It looks like you two are on your own. Good luck.” I rose from the ground and proceeded to leave the battlefield.

“Asta.”

I sheathed my sword and turned.

Rainer smiled. “Nicely done.”

I nodded in thanks and joined my ‘dead’ peers on the sidelines.

I was still rejoicing when I walked into my History class. I may not have been the one to lead my team to victory, but I had single-handedly defeated six opponents before I was ‘killed.’ That had been enough to impress the men on my team.

I half listened to the lecture about Holger’s educational system’s development and thought about how I would storm the keep when it was my turn to be commander. I drew the keep, the gatehouse, the curtain walls, and turrets in different layouts and determined the most efficient ways to defeat the enemy. I even considered various ways to defend the keep. That was, until my instructor asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to. I stammered an apology and tried to focus more on history.

I couldn’t help sending a prayer of thanks to my father. He hadn’t treated me like he had treated Sylvi. He had known I was interested in more than sewing, drawing, singing, dancing, table decorating, embroidering cushions, and painting wooden handheld fans. He hadn’t tried to squeeze me into the mold of the average country girl. Instead, he had embraced my curiosity and allowed me to study more ‘masculine’ subjects such as literature and arithmetic, archery, and horseback riding. That short bow he gave me had prepared me for Battle Strategy. My father had inadvertently given me an advantage.

I had to stop thinking about him then because my eyes were burning. I blinked several times to get rid of the moisture and studied the map the instructor was pointing at.

Acrobatics was much more painful than Bryn had let on. We began learning how to do back flips on individual trampolines that were about two meters long by two meters wide. We jumped three times to gain momentum before attempting to flip our bodies as the instructor had demonstrated. This resulted in all sorts of painful landings, none of which were on our feet.

To give us a break and a chance to recover from our new bruises, the instructor led us in hearing exercises. He clashed cymbals and screamed at us through a microphone while our partners whispered messages to us from across the room. My partner thought this was a great opportunity to tell me exactly how he felt about being in the same class as a woman. I whispered insults about his mother when it was his turn to listen. He looked angry enough to charge me, but didn’t dare do anything while my guards stood at the ready.

Next, we were lined up before cans of garbage and sewage. There was a freshly-baked pastry somewhere underneath all the filth; we were supposed to find it by using our noses. We were blindfolded and given five minutes. I shuddered and gulped back the vomit, refusing to let my peers think me delicate or squeamish.

Once the exercise had been completed, we were led outside to be doused in water and then called back into the classroom. We assembled beside a tightrope that spanned the width of the room, but was only elevated several yards above the padded ground. We took turns trying to walk across it without falling.

Muscles in my stomach and upper thighs, muscles I hadn’t been aware of before entering the class, were sore when the hour was through. I winced with every step that took me back to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and let out a low moan. Surely my body would grow accustomed to the exercise and abuse it was sustaining, but at that moment, I felt heavy with fatigue and soreness. I was hungry when the bell rang for dinner some minutes later, but I couldn’t move. Footsteps made the floor tremble and my sensitive head ache. I lifted my pillow and pressed it against my face, attempting to stifle the noise.

I’d left my door ajar, and suddenly it creaked open farther. I tossed the pillow aside with one hand and stuffed the other hand into the crease between the bed frame and mattress. I whipped out my dagger and sat up, ready to defend myself. Bryn raised his hands in the air, a sheepish smile on his amiable face. I relaxed and bent to pick up my pillow from the floor.