Becca Fox - Asta and the Barbarians

“You mustn’t treat me differently because I’m a woman,” I said. “I have to learn.”

Brandt frowned uncomfortably, but nodded all the same. I was thankful for his resistance during the second attempt. It took more strength to free myself, but I felt some measure of accomplishment. When he rushed at me, I was thankful for my enhanced reflexes. Without them, he could have easily overwhelmed me.

Once ten minutes had passed, the instructors called the class to order and proceeded to a new series of holds. I was tired, slick with sweat, and bleeding from my back by the end of the hour, but exhilarated as well. I would be better prepared for another attack if and when more disgruntled peers gained enough confidence to do so.

“Thank you,” I said before Brandt could flee.

He nodded and hurried after his friends, who peppered him with questions the moment he was close enough. It didn’t bother me. They were merely curious about what it had been like to wrestle with a woman. I believed I had successfully held my own and was proud of myself. I left the classroom, already looking forward to returning.

Religious Studies bored me. I didn’t care for the Heavenly Masters of these barbarians. The legends of how each had ascended into godhood sounded like fables created to put children to sleep. I wrote down as much as I could follow on the parchment-like paper I was given only so that I wouldn’t die from overexposure to tediousness. How was I supposed to remember the difference between Rumatoa, the Master of Labor, and Alun, the Master of Food? A baker labored to make his bread and yet his Heavenly Master would not be Rumatoa. Vuseth and Ishem were terribly similar as well. Why couldn’t there be only one Heavenly Master of Minds instead of a Master of Science and a Master of Intellect?

Nua, Lisodinae, and Dotharr were the only ones I could keep straight; Nua being the Master of Holiness, Lisodinae being the Master of Mortality, and Dotharr being the academy’s namesake. Oh, and there was also Sippa, the Master of Artists, but no one seemed to care too much about her.

A new energy had been awoken in me during my previous class; I couldn’t seem to stop tapping my feet or my fingers during the lecture. I raced out of the classroom once the hour was through.

I rejoiced upon discovering that my next class was fencing. We were going to start with every kind of sword known to man, but would eventually move on to other weapons. In this class, our instructor was going to teach us how to hold each weapon, different ways to strike and defend ourselves with them, which foot patterns were most appropriate while fighting with them, and how to maintain them.

I was given a short sword and paired with a scrawny redhead who was terrified of me. I defeated him in two moves. The instructor then paired me up with a taller, beefier young man who smirked at me as if I were no competition. Despite wielding a new kind of sword, I defeated him in four moves. Slightly frustrated, the instructor paired me up with a third man, the leanest and swiftest in the class. Then he handed me a different sword and hovered nearby while we fought. I defeated my new opponent in nine moves. To my immense satisfaction, the instructor declared that he had never seen a beginner adapt so quickly.

The entire class lined up to fight me after that, determined to be the first to beat me. I was eventually defeated by the fourth to last because I was so exhausted. The instructor said I would be allowed to move on to the ax tomorrow, ahead of schedule. He thought me intermediate course ready but I needed to know how to handle shorter-range weapons before I could be transferred. I couldn’t wait to brag to Bryn.

I stared at the chalkboard as my Arithmatic instructor wrote out the problems we were to solve. I copied them down on my parchment, hoping it would help to see them in my own hand. But, no, the combination of numbers and words were just as foreign and frustrating as before. Huffing, I leaned back in my seat.

“Girl.”

“Asta,” I said, looking up. “And I’m twenty years old. I’m hardly a girl anymore.”

My instructor had abandoned the board and walked down the row to stand before my desk. A tall young man with straw-colored hair and a shy smile stood beside him, clutching his books and scrolls to his chest. He reminded me so much of Kustaav that it almost brought me to tears.

“I realize that this may be the first time you’ve ever seen numbers,” the instructor said with a haughty air that irked me immediately, “but I haven’t the time to help you catch up to the other members of my class.”

“I’ll have you know that I took a whole year of arithmacy before I came here,” I muttered. “I’m well-versed in the history of the mainland, and I can read and write as well.”

The instructor drew back and stared down his nose at me, apparently affronted. “So you won’t be needing assistance?”

Smothering my pride, I said, “I might have studied but I’m no expert.”

“Very well,” he said with a sniff. “This is Frode, the brightest student in the class. If you should need anything, ask him.” Then he returned to his lectern at the front of the room.

Frode slid into the empty desk beside me. “At your service, miss,” he said softly.

I swallowed with difficulty and nodded in his direction. He stretched out a blank scroll of parchment and weighed it down with two smooth stones he’d extracted from his pocket. He copied down the problems from the chalkboard and worked on them with his head bent over his desk. The scratching of quills filled the room. It seemed I was the only one who had no idea how to proceed.

I cleared my throat. “Frode?”

“Yes?” He looked up, but not directly at me, as if ashamed to meet my gaze.

“Can you…?” It was a struggle to get the words out. “Can you help me with this?”

“What specifically?”

“All of it, really.”

I was pleasantly surprised to see him smile.

“Very well. Let’s start with the first problem.”

Ten doorways had been installed in the room of my next course. The instructor stood on an elevated platform and spoke about each tool in our lock-picking sets. Then he demonstrated how to pick the lock of one of the doors, explaining each step as he did it.

“Your turn,” he said once his door had been successfully opened. “Form lines before each door and practice.”

It took longer than I liked to unlock my door. The young men in line behind me sighed heavily, rolled their eyes, tapped their feet impatiently, and murmured insults under their breath. But I eventually did get my door unlocked. I hurried past my disgruntled peers with my eyes downcast. I reviewed my tools while my classmates unlocked their doors, determined to be faster next time.

Whispers drew my gaze to a group of approaching young warriors. My guards abandoned their posts by the door and came to stand by me, weapons drawn. The young men faltered for a moment before continuing on their way.

Bryn beamed at me. “And how was your morning session, Miss Asta?”

I eased into the seat across from him, too ashamed to admit that I had enjoyed myself. “It went well.”

“Rumors of your prowess are already spreading,” he said. “You can’t hide the truth from me. You know you belong here.”

I sighed. “All right! I had a wonderful, enlightening time. Except in Religious Studies and Arithmetic; those two classes are the worst. Satisfied?”

“Very,” Bryn replied before he spooned rice into his mouth at an unnatural speed.

I found myself eating my lunch similarly. I had consumed so much energy this morning it didn’t bother me that the fish on my plate still had eyes. I devoured it along with my asparagus.