Tao Wong
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Aeres Academy - Chapter 20 preview
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 13:00:03 +0000 UTC“Welcome to combat mastery. Now, run.”
The speaker was a tall, angular man dressed in court finery: bright colors and soft cloth. Not at all what you would expect for the training ground, nor the powdered face, mascara and rouge on his lips. Memory spoke of eighteenth-century France, when men were fops, and of glimpsed individuals down the streets of Haeros, a society of fashion-forward individuals with their own code. Eccentric but harmless as far as I could figure it, though there was some discrimination over such choices.
More interesting than his fashion choices, though I overheard a few muttered words from the kids around me, was the large bucket on a stand, and a couple of other buckets resting on the ground beside him showcasing a wide variety of stones.
We were standing in one corner of the large depressed arena bowl, a raised gray stone wall and pillars holding up the earthen embankment before rising to ground level. Above, columns held up a covered walkway that allowed others to watch the trainees below. Packed earth and sand ground beneath our feet, some of it deeply stained burgundy, the smell of hot sand and the hint of upchuck and old blood lingering in the air. This early in the morning, it was just a little chilly, but that would soon change I expected.
To my entire lack of surprise, Rayzan took off on command, followed moments later by myself and Kira. The others were slower, such that the slowest let out a yelp of pain as a small stone pitched underhand struck them. We were all clad in hemp tunics and pants, the medieval equivalent of everyday clothing, rather than armor, since today was supposedly a light day. Now that I thought of it, I wasn’t even sure where that rumor had started, but seeing the stone strike and crack, I was regretting listening.
The students too slow off the mark sped up, attempting to take over those of us who had begun immediately. Head down, I made sure to match pace with Kira, ignoring Rayzan who was pulling ahead of us. As suspected, a stone flew outward to strike the slowest runner after thirty seconds. Another thirty count and another stone.
One glance at the number of stones and I took my foot off the pedal, letting a few other overenthusiastic kids or those with appropriate physical skills take my spot. I fell behind, still in the top third of the pack, but no longer at the front.
Rayzan continued to lead the group and Kira, desperate not to lose, was hanging on to fourth by sheer dint of will. She was also, not surprisingly, burning herself out. Not that she was unfit – the line of muscles showing underneath her pants and laced bodice clearly highlighted trim muscles. However, she was not a physical skill recipient like many of those at the front.
Pride was going to be a problem for that one, I could just tell.
By the time we hit the ninth circuit, at least half of the noviates had slowed down. The gap between the physical skill users and the rest of us widened, with Kira the lone participant running in the gap between the two, pushing herself as rivulets of sweat shed from her form.
Idly, I noted the lack of hovering wisps. Checking the corners of the arena and the skies still failed to show where they were, so I made a mental note of the disparity and kept running, safe in the pack so far.
Twelve circuits in, the stones kept coming and tempers were fraying. There was a distinct back of the pack, a group that were just not that fit that were taking the brunt of the stones. I wondered how much of “combat” training was going to be endurance training.
“Enough!” The poor student at the end, the one who had received the last dozen stones, raised a hand. The stone coming at him flashed, spun around and flew backward with a crack, its speed increased significantly as it returned to sender. It missed, continued and nearly struck another noviate before it shattered against a pillar, scattering shards everywhere else and drawing a trace of blood from one unlucky student’s arm.
No reaction from our trainer at the skill use, or even the cursing and snarling. Instead, exactly on the count, another stone was thrown. There were, however, two minor changes. Firstly, the stone was thrown with more force. Secondly, it arced not towards the frustrated and angry boy standing at the back of the pack, still trying to catch his breath, but towards another student near the front.
Impressive reflexes had them grab the stone before it struck, cursing as they shook their bruised hand out. Fragments of the stone fell to the ground. Definitely not going to be shaking hands with that one… Perhaps that was why fist bumps were the thing here.
Again, no reaction from our trainer who had returned to filing his painted nails.
“That hurt.”
“Do you require a wet nurse to kiss it better, boy?” The words were spoken slowly and languidly, as though speaking was an effort and the answer obvious.
“I don’t… it doesn’t… you didn’t tell us to bring our weapons!” spluttered the strong kid, then he had to stop speaking as he tried to catch his breath. Breaking his breathing pattern after so many rounds was costly, as no one had stopped running.
“Well, next time, I’ll make sure to send a messenger to wash between your crack and to lace your boots too, shall I?”
No reply, beyond a spectacularly red face.
More than a few of the students were watching the man now, twigging onto the fact that the rules had changed. I edged sideways, moving away from the others as individuals either bunched up from inattention or through fear.
On the dot – or close enough to it – another stone flew through the air. Its target stuttered their step, pulling short of the stone but causing the student behind them to foul their steps, falling over and rolling with a curse. That set off an entire chain of stumbling, falling and bitching, such that the fallen only had a short period of sorting themselves out before another stone was on its way.
It took three more circuits before a stone targeted me. I had no protection, no skill to take the momentum away or deflect it or some other method of dealing with the attack. Instead, I could only anticipate and dodge the attack, speeding up the moment I noted the flicker of his hand, listening to the crack as the stone shattered against a pillar.
A small grin peeled itself from my lips as I understood the training. Awareness, endurance and evasion training, all in one. Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t likely be as lucky by the time he was done. After all, he had a lot of stones remaining and hours to go.
Most of all, we were all tiring.
***
A stone flashed through the air, shattering as a wisp – called forth into being hours ago – darted through the air to impact it. The explosion of razor-sharp, hot rock caught a few of us at the edges, drawing hisses and muttered curses, but at this point – near noon – none of us had the energy to complain.
A short breather, as we kept running. Or stumbling forward. Or in a few cases, crawling. As time went on, new wrinkles into the rules were introduced – often marked by the direction and angle of a stone. The first – that those who had stopped for longer than a few seconds received a stone, whatever the timing. The second – stones stopped moving in their flat trajectories, instead curving, flying high and dropping or even ricocheting off the ground and nearby pillars to strike us.
After the second hour, the stones started speeding up further such that two participants had to be pulled out from broken bones. Everyone but Rayzan was marked with serious bruising, cuts and other assorted injuries.
Twisted ankles, torn ligaments and tendons, muscles pulled and fractured minor bones littered the group. Rayzan somehow managed to block, dodge or otherwise avoid any attack. He even managed to avoid being an unintentional victim of skill use, a fact that had more than a few students glaring at him with envy.
Few of us were still on our feet and jogging. Even then, most were doing so in a drunken stagger as the continual movement, the constant trickle of adrenaline and state of hyperawareness drained beyond the effects of the exercise.
Oh, a final wrinkle – if you were jogging or uninjured, you were targeted more often.
The a rock came fast, turning at the last moment to fly straight at my chest. I managed to get my hands together in time, taking the strike on my forearms. It was – barely – enough to stop the attack from breaking a rib, but between exhaustion and hasty movements, I was thrown from my feet to land on my back.
I lay on the ground for a moment, breath driven out of me. A foot slammed into the earth beside my face, a barely audible “sorry” uttered as the speaker hurdled my prone form. I gave myself another second to breathe deep before rolling sideways and trying to rise. Pain shot up my left arm as I put weight on it, causing me to hiss as damaged nerves and muscles protested.
It was tempting – so tempting – to tap into my vault. Wash away the pain, make myself whole. I resisted the temptation, knowing that it would just mean further targeting. Better to struggle through and keep moving, for our trainer, that sadist who had not even introduced himself, was nearly out of stones.
So.
Rayzan took the next stone, the knife he had conjured from his rich-boy’s legacy spatial ring deflecting it with a casual flick of his hand. Of us all, he was the least bothered by the entire training exercise. Other than being matted down with sweat, he seemed entirely unbothered by the session so far.
Kira was one of the few on her feet, her movements a variation of limp and drunken stagger. Her wisps were aiding her, but were not particularly good at stopping the stones entirely. Her clothing – like everyone’s caught in the attacks – were ragged. The constant smell of burnt skin, hair and wool rose as shattered stone struck her and those unlucky to get caught in her wake.
Two others were jogging along as well, keeping a pace beyond a dead-man-stagger. The first was the pudgy fellow at the end, the one who had been targeted the most in the beginning. He had taken each attack with aplomb now that he utilized his skill. No matter which angle a stone came at him, the attacks would stop and ricochet back or away. It had soon become part of the trainer’s offensive – utilizing the boy’s skill to attack another unlucky student as the speed of his throws increased.
The last jogger was not Yorrick. I had expected the boy with his healing ability to be standing, but his recovery ability must have been a different type. He had gone from jogging to walking to hobbling to a weird crawl or stagger depending on strength and moment. At least he was still moving.
No, the last jogger was female. Lithe, athletic and preternaturally aware, she dodged the majority of stones; took the others on a conjured shield of mana on her left hand. She was sweating, exhausted, but flickers of green light around her feet indicated some kind of movement skill allowing her to stay upright.
Annoying.
I managed another half circuit before the trainer’s hand dipped into the bucket, found nothing. He looked up at the sky, clapped his hands together and said:
“Good. See you tomorrow.”
Even as we stared at him, dumbfounded, the peel of the city bells rang out. Third bell – just about noon, give or take. Three plus hours of pure torture.
And we would have to do it again tomorrow, it seemed.
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
