Blackgrave

An hour or so passed and Eija stirred from his half slumber. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Letting out a big yawn, he turned and saw Naja was wide awake, staring off into the woods.

“That was a nice nap,” he said to her.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself.” She smiled and stood up, offering him her hand. “The witchbane should be out of your system by now.”

Eija squinted at the Shylar tree and yawned again. Taking her hand and pulling himself up, he took in a shallow breath and blew it out through his nose.

“Well then, I guess there is no point in waiting around any longer.” He drew his longsword from its scabbard and fixed his eyes on one of the trees that stood alone. “That one, right there.” He pointed it out before adding, “You’re mine.”

As he stepped up to it, he ran his hand along its gray bark. Here goes nothing. He drew in his breath, took a step, swung the blade around his shoulders, and with a quick pivot of his hips, he drove the blade into the tree. It stopped just before it found its way completely through.

“Damn it!” Eija shouted. He kicked the tree before crashing his shoulder into it and breaking the crown from its trunk. Refusing to even look at Naja from his embarrassment, he crossed to another tree, repeating the maneuver and ending up slightly worse.

“Come on!” He slammed his fist into the side of the tree. His brown eyes blazed as he found another, the anger inside only growing.

Just as he was about to repeat the maneuver again, Naja’s hand found his shoulder. “Easy,” she said. She wrapped her body around his again, taking him through the movement once more. “Breath,” she whispered as they moved. “I understand it's frustrating to fail, but it's only a failure if you give up.”

“Easy for you to say,” Eija said through his teeth. “You're perfect. You can cut through four of these with such a small sword, meanwhile I have trouble despite the length and weight of my own blade.”

Naja let go of the boy and shook her head. “Perfect?” Her eye screamed rejection. “Don’t even make such a wild suggestion.” She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword and drew it out, laying the blade across her palms.

“I may be skilled with this blade, but I was never able to master a longsword.” She quickly slid her shortsword back in its sheath and grabbed Eija’s blade from him. “You think someone who has reached perfection can’t even use a longsword?”

She squared up against a tree, moving into the same position that Lord Gremmelt had taught Eija. With a breath and step, she raised the blade above her shoulders, swung it around her head, twisted her hips, and drove the blade through the tree, stopping halfway through it.

She let go of the longsword, leaving it sticking out from the bark. “See?” she told him with a gloomy look on her face. “Even a boy who has only just taken up the sword can drive it further than me.”

Shame crossed Eijas’s face the instant he saw the despairing look in her eye. “I’m sorry,” he said as he moved towards her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it's just that to me, you seem perfect already.” He firmly wrapped his hands around the hilt of his sword and yanked it out.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “I’ve always struggled with anything that requires both of my hands. When I was a child, Lord Gremmelt switched me from two handed fighting to one. He told me with my Arcane abilities, it was far better to leave my left hand free than tie it up with a shield or a blade.”

"You can use Arcane?” Eija asked.

“Of course,” she replied. She held up her left hand, manifesting a tiny orb of fire in her palm. “Us Zeniditions have the grace of the elves in our blood. Wielding magic is common for my people.”

“That is amazing.” Eija moved in close and looked at the fire with wonder. “You continue to claim imperfection, but from where I stand, you are so far beyond my own abilities you might as well be perfect.” He gazed into her eye.

“So what if you can’t use a longsword? You're an expert with the blade you do wield. There is no point in mastering something you don’t need.”

“You sound like Lord Gremmelt,” Naja replied with a slight smile. “But”—she brought up her hand, gesturing with an open palm—“sometimes you need a bigger blade. A shortsword is versatile, but when you are staring down a pack of werewolves, I guarantee you would want something a little bigger between you and them.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Eija said. He presented his longsword to her. “Why don’t you keep trying? Eventually, I’m sure you can master it.”

Naja smiled and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to get out of training?”

“Not at all,” Eija replied. I just like watching you move.

“Well…” Naja said as she looked over at the trees. A slight blush fell across her cheeks accompanied by a loving smile across her lips.

“Benard showed me another way to do it with a longsword, but I couldn’t quite get that one right either. Though, it felt more natural to me than what Lord Gremmelt had taught. But by the time I was going to be able to practice with him watching me…” Naja's face changed suddenly and became sullen “...it was too late. He was gone, and all that remained was his Tormented flesh.”

How much pain have I brought to her? How much have I spread with my arrogance? “I’m sorry,” he told her.

“It’s fine,” she replied as she cast her memories away. “Like I said before”—she gently placed her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes—“you aren't to blame for what happened to Benard. He made his choice, and now we all suffer the consequences.”

A simple nod was all Eija could muster in response. His heart ached for Naja and the pain he had caused her. It swelled in his chest and demanded he do everything in his power to appease her for the time. If anyone were to find out that I got in his way when he was about to make the kill… They’ll hate me and I’ll deserve it.

“I have to keep training,” he said to her before making his way back to another tree.

Torment always listens to those who offer themselves.

The words the woman had spoken to him rang in his head once more. He slid his dagger from his belt, unrolled his sleeve, and dragged the blade across his arm. Pain echoed from the slice. “I shed this pain for you, Torment. Give me the strength that I need.”

A peculiar look fell over Naja’s face as she observed the boy squeeze his left arm with his right. “That’s what Benard used to do.”

“I know,” he replied. His eyes were fixed to the tree, his mind resolutely focused on the pain in his arm. Eija sheathed his dagger and took his sword in both hands. This time for sure.

Eija drew in his breath, took a step, swung the blade over his head, pivoted his hip, and drove the blade cleanly through the tree before him. As the crown fell to its side and crashed to the dirt, Eija slowly sheathed his sword on his back.

“I did it,” he said. “I cut the bloody tree!” His eyes lit up and he turned to Naja, hoping to see the same fire of excitement in her own, but he was met with only a pale green, somber gleam.

“You did,” she said suddenly, her eye drifting from his own. “Why did you cut your arm?” She stared uneasily at his self inflicted wound.

“Witch Hunter Benard showed me how to engage with Torment and how to use it to my advantage.” Eija held his bloody forearm, examining the cut he had made. “I wasn’t sure if it would help, but he was adamant on its effectiveness.”

“Be careful with that,” Naja replied. “Torment may always listen to those willing to shed their pain, but your flesh will become his vessel once you fall.” She looked away and said, “I shall go get Lord Gremmelt.”

Naja left Eija without another word. Slowly she disappeared through the trees until she was completely obscured. He looked down at the wound, and a grin slowly stretched across his face.

“Thank you, Torment,” he said softly as the blood dripped from his arm and into the soil below.