C_P_Tuck

Alright, a little bit of an explanation. this is an uncompleted, WIP story that I will be uploading on this site for reviews, insight, and so that I have another way to view it for future improvements. So, while I don't intend to continue the story right now, you can get a sneak-peek at the story, and enjoy the improvements with me!

So yeah. One chapter of the story will be uploaded every day. I look forward to what y'all think of my story. Help this inexperienced author learn and improve. Much love!

“Begin!”

The instructor’s call rang out around the square, cutting through the brisk early morning air like a whip crack, spurring the two combatants into action.

The first to move was a burly youth, with close-trimmed  black hair, and scarlet eyes. He leaped forward, swinging his long sword down at his opponent in a two-handed execution stroke. The instructor for the match, Instructor Korm, had to admit that the bloodthirst in the boy’s eyes troubled him a little. However, as he reflected, this was only to be expected.

 The young men and women under his wing were expected to have a thirst for fighting. They were training to join the Maravino, the elite force founded and controlled by Bora Bora. The Maravino were known for their ruthless fighting spirits and their brutal tactics, not to mention their lack of fear. It was important to foster these traits at a young age, but not to allow it to go too far. Bloodthirsty and ruthless were good qualities, but only if they could be harnessed.

The bigger boy, Markus, showed a strong sense of these preferred traits. But he was quick to anger, and was well-known for letting his emotions get the better of him. It had caused a great deal of trouble for him more than a few times in the past, and Korm wondered if it were possible to mellow his character out a bit before graduation.

The other boy, slim with shaggy silver hair cut to frame his face, waited until the larger boy was nearly upon him before reacting. Korm noticed how his eyes, like chips of ice in his focused face, watched Markus’ movements closely, gauging the best response to the new attack. The weapon in his hand, a thin rapier, moved like the body of a snake, sliding down the length of his opponent’s weapon without actually blocking it. A simple twist of his body sent the heavier weapon arcing away from him harmlessly.

The boy, Enri, was a excellent fighter already. His focused and rational approach to fighting allowed him to take many of his sparring partners by surprise, and he almost never let his temper flare in a fight. He fought calmly, analyzing each move before reacting. Korm felt that he’d already mastered the basics of combat, as well as most of the more advanced techniques the instructor had started them on two months ago. His stance was light and balanced, and there were no faults that needed to be corrected at this stage in his training.

Markus, encountering no real resistance to his swing, stumbled forward slightly in the follow-through. He never even saw the counter-strike coming, busy as he was with trying to regain his balance. He became aware of it only after the rapier had cracked painfully on the point of his elbow, striking the nerve there and instantly rendering the arm numb. He let out a gasp of shock as the weapon fell from his useless hand, clanging noisily on the cobbled surface of the training square.

Korm was impressed with the speed and efficiency of Enri’s reaction, though he made sure to let no trace of it show in his face. It was never smart to let a recruit become too full of himself, he thought. Instead, he sighed deeply in a show of irritation, turning to face the black-haired boy where he kneeled on the ground.

“Markus, what the hell was that?” The boy, still cradling his elbow, looked up fearfully as Korm barked the question at him. He avoided direct eye contact with his frowning superior. He stammered a short reply.

“S-sir?”

Korm’s eyebrows came down like a dark storm cloud, and Markus cowered, wishing he could melt into the cobbles and escape the furious stare his instructor directed at him. Everyone knew that the only thing Korm hated as much as a lazy recruit was when a trainee responded to his questions with another question.

Instructor Korm was not amused. “I said, what the hell was that? That stroke was so obvious, my grandfather could have parried it!”

The comment drew a snigger from the other recruits who had been observing the rather short duel. The instructor’s grandfather, of course, was none other than Atlas Ciayol, the previous king of Tyrman. He was a famous warrior, the fabled son of Bora Bora Ciayol, the current God of Dragons, Family Bonds, Earthly Pleasures, Chaotic Magic, and Death. Atlas had been the founder of the Maravino, and was now a god in his own right, presiding over the domain of Thieves, Beggars, and the common people.

Instructor Korm let his glare sweep around the square, and the momentary mirth evaporated like steam in the cold air. The trainees around them hurriedly lowered their eyes, not willing to meet his angry stare. He returned his gaze to the terrified boy in front of him.

“That’s enough for today. Markus, clean and repair all the practice gear.” The boy’s face fell at the punishment. He knew that would take a while, given how many students practiced on a daily basis. Korm added, with a hint of steel in his voice, “Before dinner.”

The boy stood up hurriedly and saluted. “Yes, sir!” Korm disregarded the large apprentice, having already moved on to the silver-haired boy.

“Excellent work, as always Enri. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to find you a better opponent.”

Enri’s only response was a brief nod of his head in place of a salute. The instructor frowned again, and Enri gave a very brief salute. “Yes, sir. Thank you, cousin.”

Korm scoffed dismissively. “You are no cousin of mine. Now go back to your barracks.”

The truth was that they were brothers, but of different branch families. They were both of the same generation of Bora Bora’s descendants, counting the god as their great-grandfather, but Enri was very different from the rest of those who had the Ciayol name. His great-grandmother had been a private, one-time plaything of the god Bora Bora, giving her a child that she had raised herself. Each descendant in between, leading all the way down to his own father, had been human, meaning that Erni was born with much less of his divine ancestor’s blood than his many cousins. As such, Enri had none of the typical draconic or fae blood in his veins. This had been a problem for his entire life, and he had been the target of many jokes and verbal abuse because of this.

Suppressing the angry retort that sprang to his lips, Enri turned on his heel and began to walk away. He dropped the rapier beside Markus as he left, hearing the weapon clang noisily on the cobbles, not caring to glance back. He missed the look of rage on the bigger youth’s face, as well as the flash of red in his eyes. Still fuming at Korm’s last comment, he walked swiftly, not slowing down until he reached the door to his class’ barracks.

At the far end of the long narrow street that housed so many military recruits, two men watched Enri enter the barracks, slamming the door behind him. Even from this distance, they could clearly see that every line of his body radiating total anger.  They stared after the youth with interest, though there was no longer any sign of him. Unknown to Enri, they’d been observing him since the beginning of the training session. 

The taller of the two men chuckled softly to himself at the situation they’d been witness too. The mirth was short lived, quickly replaced by an expression of concern. He shook his head in worry, wondering what he could do. He was exceptionally tall and thin, but handsomely so. In his more active days, there were many women who were charmed by his roguish grin.

Dressed as he was in a plain black linen tunic and breeches, the legs of which were tucked into a pair of soft looking leather black boots, there was no doubt that this man was used to working in the shadows. The long cloak wrapped around his shoulders was ragged and thin, yet still contributed to the sense of sinister power about him. He heaved a deep and troubled sigh, then turned to fac his companion where he crouched on the roof beside him.

“As you can see, Shigeru, it’s just as I told you,” His voice, soft and strangely melodic, had a slight raspy sibilance to it. “He doesn’t fit in here. He’s a good fighter. No, he’s an excellent fighter, able to keep up with most of my trained soldiers. But he just doesn’t fit the mold.”

Shigeru rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully as he peered in Enri’s direction. He hummed almost inaudibly as he thought over what the other had said. He appeared to be quite a few years older than his companion, somewhere around forty years of age, judging by by the slight streaks of grey through his otherwise jet-black hair. His olive skin and angular features greatly resembled that of Nihon-Jan nobles, even though his clothes were on the plain side. 

He wore a loose fitting, comfortable looking thick white robe over a dark grey tunic with purple hems. It was slightly longer than the average tunic, the end of it coming down to his knees, overlapping the baggy breeches he wore. The outer robe bore several symbols from his native language, picked out in an elegant style using deep purple thread.

Though he crouched, it was easy to see that this man was a warrior. He was considerably shorter than the other man that shared the spot with him, but what was visible of his arms were hard, with muscles like whipcord. He had the look of a seasoned fighter and he sat comfortably on the balls of his feet, balanced perfectly.

“I see what you mean, Bora Bora. He is quite the fighter. Definitely more skilled than I was at his age.” Shigeru continued to rub his chin as he pondered the boy and his situation. The boy had displayed great skill, to be sure. “But I’m not sure what you mean by him not belonging.”

Bora Bora idly played with the hem of his tunic, taking a bit to answer. Before the words came, Shigeru could sense that this was a sensitive topic. He’d never known his companion to hesitate in his speech. He was known for instantly saying what was on his mind, after all.

“He has my blood in him, I’m sure of that. I’ve taken great lengths to confirm his lineage. But he has no magic.” He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, but his words carried no less weight for the fact. He’d tried his best to find out what caused Enri’s significant lack of magical aptitude, but to no avail.

Shigeru looked at him in some surprise. “He can’t even channel your own powers?” He regretted the question as soon as he asked it, for he saw the brief flash of sadness, even of pain, in Bora Bora’s eyes. “How unfortunate.”

Bora Bora simply nodded. There was no explanation for the anomaly, but it was real nonetheless. He cleared his throat to dismiss the awkward moment and spoke again, a hint of resolve creeping into his voice.

“So this is why I’ve asked for your help, old friend. Is there something you can do for the boy?” Before Shigeru could reply, he hurried on, sounding slightly desperate. “There’s nothing I can do without making the situation worse, but I don’t want him to have to deal with this much longer. Isn’t it well known that you specialize in training those without magic?”

Shigeru appeared to consider this for a moment. It was public knowledge that his followers generally preferred to avoid magic. But he hastened to correct one fact.

“It’s not that my pupils have no magic. They had the choice when young to study magic, just like any other. They just prefer more martial styles. Perhaps he can be removed from the Maravino and join Tyrman’s army? I imagine he’d be quite successful as an officer.”

Bora Bora hesitated as he contemplated that option. “Perhaps. But even there, he would be known as my descendant, and would still face the same ridicule. He needs a new path, one that will challenge him and give him his own glory.”

Shigeru had to admit that he had a point there. Whether intentionally or not, his companion had created a certain prestige to the Ciayol name. Anyone with the name would be expected to live up to a certain standard.

He was silent for several long minutes, turning it all over in his head. He understood that Bora Bora couldn’t intervene directly in the Enri’s life. Such attention would only make matters worse for the boy. Yet he was met with the same restrictions. While it wasn’t forbidden, it was highly irregular for a god to meddle in the affairs or lives of mortals. However, as he reminded himself, his companion had done many things for him, risking more than just his life to do so. He could not deny him this one favor.

“I will see what I can do for him,” He said slowly. “I don’t know what I can do, but I will try my best.” 

Bora Bora’s shoulders rose and fell slowly as he heaved a great sigh of relief. There was a part of him that wasn’t surprised at Shigeru’s acquiescence, yet all the same, he felt a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders. There had been just the tiniest doubt, a lingering fear that perhaps his companion, like himself, was unable to do anything.

“Thank you, old friend. I don’t want the boy to have any trouble just because he’s different. He’s still family, after all.” Bora Bora’s voice came to him softly, almost as if it were fading away slowly.

Shigeru nodded in acknowledgment of the words, then stood erect. “Of course. I know how important family is to you.” 

He turned to face Bora Bora, but the taller man was already gone. There was only the faintest trace of energy left swirling in the air. As usual, his ability to come and go unobserved was unmatched. Despite himself, Shigeru smiled slightly, but the smile soon faded as he returned his gaze to the building.

He spent a long while staring at the barracks, as if he could see through it to the boy himself, where he lay on his bunk, silently fuming over the events of the day. Shigeru sighed silently to himself, pondering Enri’s fate, and wondering what was to come in his future.

Enri woke to the sound of the breakfast bells the next morning, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Yawning widely, he swung his feet out of bed. Breakfast was only half an hour in the military, and if you didn’t get there in time, you missed out. This ensured that most trainees were up and ready in time. Nobody enjoyed going through the morning training sessions with an empty stomach. 

Enri quickly became aware of a feeling of antipathy amongst his fellow trainees as he changed into his off-duty clothes. Being the black sheep of the family, this came as no real surprise to him. He was used to the bias shown to him by the others, and to some degree, he could understand their dislike for him. They were all born from large families, and had competed with others to uphold the Ciayol name and prove themselves worty. It was a constant struggle, all for the honor of finally joining the Maravino.

For them, this was the best achievement they could hope for. Great stories were told of the Maravino’s glory and prowess, as they served their divine lord and patron. To see a plain human in their midst, being allowed in on recommendation, made them feel belittled and overlooked. Enri hadn’t worked all that hard to join, despite his more advanced fighting skills. The fact that he couldn’t channel any magic, let alone his ancestor’s power, didn’t exactly help matters.

The looks at him this morning, however, felt different. He couldn’t quite sense how, but he knew that they were. They almost seemed more intense, filled with more hatred and disdain. He felt their glares on his back as if they were a bright searchlight, isolating and condemning him.

He shrugged off the fanciful notion as he continued to get dressed, pulling a pair of warm leggings on, still yawning as he tried to wake up. Angry thoughts of Instructor Korm and the injustice of his current life had kept him up for several hours. When he’d finally managed to claim some sleep, his dreadms had been patchy and filled with visions of Korm, the other boys, and strangely, Bora Bora himself. They had crowded around him in a circle, hissing and spitting at him, telling him that he was not meant for the Maravino, and should leave like the outcast he was.

Enri shook his head vigorously to clear it and began pulling on his boots. They were a little chilled to the touch after being off of his feet for so long, but he found the cool leather to be a pleasant sensation against his skin. He stood up slowly and stretched, feeling his muscles strain slightly as the last effects of sleep left him. He felt some sore spots that remained from yesterday’s training, but they were only minor nuisances.

He turned to tidy his bed, pulling the covers taut and smoothing them flat. Surveying his handiwork, he nodded in satisfaction as he studied the smooth, unwrinkled surface of the bed. So tight you can bounce a coin off of it. The old words of their basic training instructor came to him, and he smirked. The phrase had been an exaggeration for the most part, but he was sure that if he bothered to try, he could have done as the instructor suggested.

In preparation for the cold air outside, Enri also grabbed the light woolen cloak from where it hung beside his bed and swung it over his shoulders. The hood, lined with fur, would be a welcome addition to his outfit when he stepped out into the frigid morning air. After grabbing a thick pair of gloves and bandana from under his bed, he walked between the bunks of his fellow trainees towards the door.

Today was a rare day in which they were free to do whatever they wanted, as long as they didn’t cause trouble. Some took the opportunity to go into town to eat and drink in a nice inn, or spend time gambling with their measly pay. Some went to visit friends or sweetheards, and more took the time to complete written assignments. Most however, behaved like soldiers the world around, and caught up on some sleep while they had the chance.

As he reached the door, he became aware of muttering from a nearby corner. Glancing around, he noticed that some trainees were gathered around a table, playing cards and talking quietly. They were glancing at Enri out of the corners of their eyes as they waited for the hands to be dealt out. When they noticed him turn to look at them, they quickly fell silent and lowered their gaze to the pile of cards between them. He shrugged to himself again and pulled the door open. He could vaguely hear their muttering begin again as he stepped out of the barracks.