*
During the second stage of his assassin training, Valek hadn’t been able to beat T-quin in hand to hand despite hours of practice and lifting weights until his muscles shook with exhaustion.
In order to move to the next level, he had to win a match against T-quin. Their fights lasted longer and longer, but always ended the same.
“Pinned you, Wanna Be.” T-quin pressed his knees into Valek’s shoulders, proving his point. He released him and stood. Sweat coated his chest and soaked his hair. He puffed from the exertion, but offered Valek a hand up.
Valek ignored it as anger pulsed through him. He sprang to his feet ready to try again.
“That’s enough for now, Wanna Be. I don’t want to injure you,” T-quin said.
“No. I almost had you. You can’t stop now.”
“All right, but don’t go crying to Hedda if I break your leg.”
They faced each other. Both stood in fighting stances. Dark purple bruises stained Valek’s knuckles and circles of red, green and black bruising marked his chest, arms and thighs where T-quin had punched or kicked him.
T-quin shuffled forward and snapped his foot out. Valek blocked the blow with his forearm and countered with a roundhouse kick. T-quin sidestepped and received only a glancing blow. But Valek didn’t wait for a counterstrike. He hooked his foot behind T-quin’s ankle and yanked. T-quin hit the ground rolling. Valek chased him, but he sprang to his feet and, using Valek’s momentum, flipped Valek over his head. His breath whooshed from his lungs as he landed.
T-quin laughed. “So predictable, Wanna Be. You’ve no imagination.”
Fury gave Valek a surge of energy. He scrambled to his feet and rushed his opponent. T-quin once again dipped and threw Valek over his shoulder.
The match continued. T-quin taunted and Valek attacked only to end up on the ground.
“Pinned, again,” T-quin said, digging his heels into Valek’s hips.
Valek lumbered to his feet. Battered with bruises on top of bruises, he shuffled over to the water pitcher for a drink.
“Lose the anger,” Hedda said.
He jerked in surprise. No sound warned of her approach, and he hadn’t known she had watched his match against T-quin.
She regarded him with a frankness he’d learned to admire.
“But T-quin—”
“This has nothing to do with T-quin or your vendetta. T-quin is baiting you on purpose. When you get angry, you make mistakes. Mistakes he can use to his advantage. And you are very quick to anger.”
He drew breath to argue, but she had a point. Fury at the King, the soldiers and even his parents had fueled his desire to learn and improve his skills.
“Lose the anger, then lose all those other annoying emotions while you’re at it. In order to be an assassin, you must be rational, logical, cunning, ruthless and emotionless. Those soft feelings have no place in an assassin’s heart or head. They make you weak.”
While he agreed with her, he’d been holding on to his passion for revenge for so long, he worried he’d lose his desire to see the King’s blood on his hands.
“Determination, persistence, concentration, focus and drive are not emotions,” she said. “Put your emotions aside or you will not succeed in this program. You have ten days.” She strode away.
T-quin stood nearby. He raised his hand and then bent it at the wrist as he lowered it while making a whistling sound. “Hope you can fly, Wanna Be. Even if you miss the rocks, the current will drown you. Splash!” He laughed and returned to the training floor.
Arbon met Valek’s gaze as he took a break from his match. He’d been working with another instructor for the past few weeks and showed an affinity for hand to hand. Arbon would soon advance to the next level.
Was competition an emotion? The thought of being pushed to his death failed to ignite fear in Valek’s heart. The challenge of ten days did more for his motivation than anything else.
However, recognizing a weakness remained easier than overcoming it. Although Valek knew T-quin baited him, the anger boiled inside him, pressing to be released. If anything, his temper shortened. And the heating season’s hotter temperatures didn’t help, either.
Valek’s matches with Arbon and some of the others had gone mostly in his favor until news about his weakness spread. After another frustrating, fruitless day of training, Valek dragged his battered body to his favorite spot overlooking the Sunset Ocean, which was awash in the pinks, oranges and golds cast by the setting sun.
He grabbed a handful of the gray rocks and tossed them one by one out into the sea, wishing he could throw his emotions away as easily. Or rather, evict the anger that had infested him. Valek imagined it as a black, oily rot flowing through his veins, pumping through his heart, twisting around his thoughts.
“Jump, Wanna Be,” T-quin yelled. “Save Hedda the trouble of tossing your sorry ass over the edge herself.”
Valek’s grip tightened. The stones cracked in his hands and the desire to whip them at T-quin’s head rose in his chest. He refrained from the action. Instead, he channeled his anger into the unyielding cold rocks cutting into his palms.
“What? No retort? Afraid I’ll trounce you again?”
Valek stood and walked past T-quin without saying a word. When he reached his room, he sat on the edge of the bed and opened his hands. Blood covered the stones. The force of his grip had cracked them in half. Inside lurked a sleek blackness with glints of silver.
He reached under his bed for the stones he’d carried back during the first stage of his training. The gray outer coating had been scratched off and revealed the same black-and-silver interior.
Taking out his knife, he chipped away at the dull gray on one of the rocks. He concentrated on carving the stone, letting his rage and frustration disappear for a while. When it was too dark to see, he lit a lantern and continued. Instead of reporting for training the next day, he remained in his room, working on the stones. Their inner beauty fascinated him and he scraped away the parts that didn’t belong.
Odd that he saw a shape trapped within the stone. A figure that had to be released. He worked for hours, neither eating nor sleeping until he finished. Then he collapsed.
The sound of knocking woke him.
“Valek,” Arbon called. “Are you okay?” He twisted the knob, but the door was locked.
“I’m fine,” he called.
“T-quin’s gonna be pissed. He bet Eden a gold you jumped off the cliff.”
“I’m happy to disappoint him.”
“Are you coming to training? You only have two days left.”
Valek rolled over and gazed at his collection of rock statues. The crude figurines stood in a row. One wore a crown, three others held swords and a couple held hands. His father had done nothing to stop the soldiers from murdering his brothers. His mother had disowned him.
“Valek?”
“I’m not going.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, Arbon. I’ll be there for the test.”
“You better. I’ve two silvers on the line.”
“I’m touched you would risk so much.”
“Who says I’m betting on you?” Arbon’s booming laugh rumbled through the door.
Valek spent the next two days sleeping, eating and recovering his strength. The morning before his test fight, he stood at the cliff’s edge holding the statues in his hands.
He whipped the king figure out into the air. Determination replaced anger. The three soldiers went over the edge one by one. Persistence would aid him as he hunted down these three murderers. Tossing the couple holding hands together, he sent the last of his weaknesses out into the abyss. If he cared for no one, then the pain of grief would never touch him again.
When Valek arrived at the training room, he squeezed through a press of people. Trainers, students and teachers had all come to watch the fight. A murmur spread as they spotted him.