Sparks

Part 3 Hate at First Sight

(unedited)

The wagon jerked to a halt and I felt my hands begin to tremble slightly and my heart race. The burliest Attackers launched themselves out of their seats, already on their feet, barely remembering to pick up their packs and began queuing at the wagon’s back exit. I reluctantly seized my own bag and followed Gab, who was lining up at the back of the line. I tugged my cloak hood up to avoid attention and finally stepped down off the back, mud caking my boots almost immediately. I stifled the urge to groan.

We were currently gathered outside a huge wooden cabin – five times the size of our cottage back home –flanked by several gigantic oaks, so great in height that I had to tilt my head right back to even catch a glimpse of the top. Behind the cabin, I could make out large clusters of tents – each the size of a large room – crowding the area beyond. I wondered how many Attackers this year would see.

Tania strode out the cabin with a formidable-looking man, who surveyed our group with a stern stare. He approached and the crowd parted slightly to allow him into the centre. He stopped and the silence was almost tangible. After what seemed like an age, he spoke.

“Welcome, Attackers” his voice was gritty and came out more of a growl than anything; hardly welcoming “Check the list outside the cabin doors to see your assigned tent – Tania linked me your names beforehand.”

I had no idea what ‘linked’ meant - and by the confused murmurs, I guessed nobody else did either.

“Don’t forget – 6am sharp”

And then he vanished. Literally – leaving only footprints in the muddy grass. There was a collectively gasp and a split second hesitation, before the mass swarmed towards the front of the cabin, eager to see which tent they would be spending at least the next year in. I thought wistfully of my warm bed at home – which I would’ve been able to sleep in every night if I’d have become a Crafter or a Scholar. Scouts and Defenders also have considerably cushy quarters in the centre of the kingdom in the capital, where the royalty reside. However, it’s nothing but tents on the edge of the moor that surrounds the kingdom, ready to battle at a moment’s notice for Attackers.

I waited back. Gab shot me an apologetic look before surging forward with the rest to check her tent. The crowd filtered past, before rushing to their assigned sheltered eagerly as I fidgeted at the back. I was one of the last people to view to large sheet of paper pinned to the side of the cabin. I paused and slowly traced my finger down the list until I found my name, scribbled under the inhabitants of tent 14D. I shrugged my bag up higher onto my shoulder and began trekking forlornly down the soggy path that led round the side of the cabin and snaked through the mass of canvas tents.

Thankfully, I was pretty good with directions and found my tent relatively easily, nestled behind a gnarled oak on the outskirts of the tent village. It had begun raining; that light rain that clings to your clothes and soaks you within a matter of minutes. As if I wasn’t already thoroughly depressed by the situation, the sky had remained stubbornly overcast since my arrival and I pleaded desperately to the Gods for a patch of blue, to remind me of home.

The Gods did not reply.

I unzipped the opening, which revealed a surprisingly roomy and well-furnished space. Two bunk beds were pushed against the far canvas wall and a bunker-style naked bulb illuminated the tent, which meant I didn’t have to squint. Four cabinets, which I assumed were for the occupants belongings, lined the opposite canvas wall. A beefy boy – well, by his size, the word bear seemed more appropriate – was slouched on one of the bottom bunks and on the top bunk, a blonde girl with bulging muscles was draped over the sheets, chattering to the bear boy with a flirty smile playing at her lips. Both of them glanced up as I entered.