Becca Fox - Asta and the Barbarians

I was paired up with someone of my stature, and handed a polearm and shield. I struggled with the shield. Not only was it heavy but I was unaccustomed to having both hands full. And every injury I’d sustained the night before had been made worse due to my earlier sparring.

My partner defeated me.

Viggo approached me at the end of the class to demand what I was doing there even though it was quite obvious. He scoffed and said there must be some mistake. To which I responded with a scowl and my fleeing-from-confrontation strategy.

Frode sat with me during Arithmetic, murmuring his own commentary while the instructor taught up front. Frode elaborated on things the instructor didn’t. His words seemed to open my mind in such a way that, when I looked down at the assignment, I understood what was being asked of me. I was so thankful I could have kissed him.

We were shown how to scale a tower made out of stone and gravel during Breaking and Entering class. In the first few attempts, we were allowed to use ropes and hooks. During the last half hour of the class, however, our instructor took our aids away and watched us struggle to climb without them. It wasn’t just the climbing we were being graded on, but the stealth and speed with which we accomplished our goal. I was successful in scaling the tower, but was docked points because of the broken window, the new injuries I gained, and the string of profanities I hissed during my attempt.

I complained about this during lunch, but received no sympathy.

“You’ll alert the enemy archers of your presence if you can’t scale a wall without making noise,” Viggo said with a roll of his eyes. “Your instructor is strict because he’s trying to save your life.”

He was right, of course, but I didn’t voice this aloud.

An hour of notes on Holger’s government later, and I was in Battle Strategy, my favorite class. It was my team’s turn to defend the castle keep. Our commander was terrified and couldn’t think of a sound defensive strategy, so Rainer and I took over. Since leaving the strongest fighters in the keep hadn’t worked for the opposing team, we didn’t assume it would work for us. We divided the team in half. Rainer led the half that defended the gatehouse and I stayed behind with those guarding the keep. I shouted words of encouragement to the archers and gave commands to those who were unsure of their positions on the ground. My team dispersed at the end of the hour, victorious once again.

While learning about the battles Holger had fought in centuries past, I couldn’t help but wonder if my parents would be proud. I was fraternizing with the enemy. Graduates from this academy were destined to join the general in his crusade, work for the king, or become law enforcement here on the island. If my parents were alive, would they be able to look at these young men and see innocence? Or would they lump these warriors-in-training in with General Halvar? I was training to become a Defender. Despite my plans to use my new knowledge to avenge them, would my mother and father approve of what I was learning? Would they even approve of my plans to kill the general and the king whose orders he was carrying out? I honestly didn’t know. But I knew I wouldn’t be at peace unless I saw my mission through.

There were no longer any trampolines in Acrobatics class. We were expected to perform back flips without them. Swinging padded mallets were installed above the tightrope. Needless to say, it was even harder to walk back to the living quarters that evening. I sat in a shower cubicle and let the hot water pour over my battered body while everyone else went to dinner. Then I lathered myself in more muscle relaxant and lay in bed, unwilling to move and agitate my fatigued muscles. Viggo came knocking at the door with another tray of food.

“If you make this a habit, I’ll stop bringing you dinner,” he muttered after I had snatched the tray from him. “I’m not your servant.”

“I’m eternally in your debt,” I said around a strip of chicken.

Viggo rolled his eyes and left.

A routine soon developed. I ate with my friends, gave my all during my lessons, tried not to think about Kenshore and my family, and missed Bryn in the quiet hour before bedtime. I didn’t have any more unwanted visitors. The young men who still disapproved of my presence at the academy resorted to glaring and muttering about me under their breath. Viggo was more of a grudging babysitter than a friend, but I soon became grateful for his company because he was the only person I could talk to about Bryn. He was a constant reminder that we would graduate someday and see our mutual friend again.

The director never confronted me again. He called Viggo into his office once but didn’t unearth new information about his son. He left the grounds for a few days to conduct a search, only to return alone and with no new information concerning Bryn’s whereabouts. For that both Viggo and I were glad. No news was better than bad news.

Every day I grew stronger. Soon my sharp senses and quick reflexes were no longer a burden. By the end of the month, I was given a new name. It was without my consent and I chafed when I first heard of it, but my fellow warriors-in-training seemed determined to make me a part of their academy’s tradition. So I let them.

It rained on graduation day. The sand pit became a mud pit. My peers sat in their elevated stone benches, muttering about the cold and anxiously waiting for the fight to begin. Viggo loomed even from the other side of the pit. We hadn’t started yet because we were still waiting for our guests of honor: General Halvar and King Torvald. I was told they had arrived earlier today to witness the grapple matches of the other candidates for King’s Defender. I supposed they had stepped out of the coliseum to discuss what they saw.

I grinned at Viggo. He couldn’t forgive himself for graduating on the same day as I was. He’d been certain he would leave the academy before me, but I had worked hard to advance quickly, pushing myself beyond my limits so that I would complete the program in time to graduate with his same group of warriors instead of the ones predicted to graduate in five months’ time. Despite the many classes we had come to share over the past year, I had never wrestled with him. The instructors were prudent about pairing up grapplers who were of similar size and build. But today was different. As a nominee for King’s Defender, I had to prove my worth against a seemingly stronger and more skilled opponent. I was a little nervous, but mostly excited. Viggo wouldn’t make winning easy.

I brushed the wet strands of hair from my face then pulled the cord out of my hair entirely. Re-braiding the soaking wet tresses was difficult, but I couldn’t afford to have it falling into my face when the fight began. Despite Viggo and my instructors’ suggestions, I had kept my hair long. In a sea of close-cropped, spiky, and even shaven heads, I was determined to be different.

My eyes strayed to the topmost tier of the coliseum. The rain and the distance didn’t hinder my sharp vision. A tent had been set up for the director, the general, and the king before the sky had opened up and poured down gallons of water over us. There were cushions arrayed over the protected benches and refreshments on short wooden tables waiting for our guests. The director sat leaning back against the cushions, but his bouncing knee betrayed his nerves.

General Halvar strode onto the tier with three men in tow, drawing everyone’s attention. He looked very much the same with his black hair, beard, and mustache—covering the unburned side of his face—crisp uniform, and shiny black boots. I felt the weight of his cold, mismatched eyes even from forty yards below. I shuddered. Even if he were an honorable man it would be difficult to meet his gaze.