Black Crescent Moon

Thought It Was Training, Did You?

It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to breathe, my chest constricting more and more by the minute. In my hands was a heavy wooden staff that had just been polished, and damn was it hard to hold on to. The muscles in my upper arms were straining, and the sweat that was starting to coat my palms definitely wasn’t helping.

Ignotius was standing across from me, a slightly amused expression on his face. He too held a staff in his hands, but he was busy twirling it between fingers, occasionally tossing it up in the air like a drum major. He was watching me out of the corner of his eyes, patiently.

I wasn’t quite sure what he was waiting for. I just knew that Ignotius had handed me the staff right when I’d finished stretching, shown me how to hold it properly, then backed away immediately after I’d gotten the hang of it. We’d been absolutely still for about five minutes, and I was starting to question the point of standing there, holding a stick.

“He’s waiting for you,” Adrian said, sitting at a desk he’d had brought in to the ballroom so he could watch us and do paperwork at the same time. He hadn’t bothered looking up, and was busy signing each sheet of paper from a stack that was at least ten feet high. “Hit him, if you can.”

I stared at him incredulously. “How am I supposed to hit someone who is faster, stronger, and more experienced, than I am?” I demanded, frowning.

Of course, Ignotius took the exact moment I finished my sentence to rap me across the knuckles with his staff. “You pay attention,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth twitching. “And you hope that I am lenient enough to let you.”

Adrian cursed, his own knuckles blossoming red when the pen flew from his fingers. “Oi! Not so hard, would you? I’m trying to work here,” he complained, rubbing the pseudo-injury with his other hand. “I only have so many extra pens here, you know.”

Wait...he’d prepared to break some of his pens? Just what kind of ‘training’ was this supposed to be?

“Perhaps if you had attended to your work when you first received it, you would not have had to do it now,” Ignotius retorted with a light shake of his head. “I would apologize for the inconvenience, but truly, it is your own fault.”

I struck out, swinging the staff like a baseball bat. My arms were getting a bit too sore to hold it properly, and I had no idea how to use the darn thing otherwise.

Ignotius easily parried, somehow managing to tap both of my wrists in the process and knock my staff out of my hands. “You won’t hit anything wielding it like that, young lady. Try again.”

I glared at him. “How else am I supposed to use it then? To me, it’s just a long, heavy piece of wood. I don’t know what I’m doing with it,” I bit, bending to pick the unfamiliar weapon back up.

“That will not be a problem, Miss Taylor. You simply need to hit me. Finesse comes later.”

Later? “Hold on a second. Later? Nobody said anything about becoming proficient with a weapon,” I said warily, loosening my grip and scowling pointedly at said nobody.

Adrian snorted. “It was implied, Kathryne. It takes discipline to master anything, whether it’s self-defense, self-control, or magic. Showing you how to use a weapon is simply the easiest way of teaching you how to master yourself; something you’ll need to do before you start actively using your powers,” he replied, as if that would make me feel any better about it.

“What makes you think I have any intention of ever using magic?”  I snapped angrily, not liking the assumption one bit. “It’s a pain in the ass, and sounds like it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” Not to mention it was the one thing, besides blood, that I have in common with the family I hated, and I want nothing to do with them.