Three years later, here I am, climbing a pine tree on my trainer's command.
"Higher, boy!" Sir Isaac's voice is bitter and commanding, with feral undertones. As usual.
I immediately snap my arm upward despite the burning sensations that are pounding against my core. My fingers brush the rough bark of the branch I aim for, and circle it securely.
I let out another groan as I muscle my aching body upward, into the depths of the uppermost limbs of the tree.
"Now pull into position!" The order reaches me and my body reacts automatically.
I raise my body into the shape of a flag, using the tree and my abdominal muscles for support in defiance of gravity. It takes about ten seconds for my body to start screaming in utter agony, but I hold. Out of sheer stubbornness, if I'm honest with myself, I hold. I can't give Isaac the satisfaction of breaking me. I just can't.
That thought becomes a mantra as the screaming in my muscles turns into shaking, and it becomes nearly impossible to keep the position. I turn my focus away from the pain, and into the details of the branch. I see the sticky sap of the tree clinging to my fingers in pale chunks. I notice a red beetle scurrying across the inconsistent terrain of the trunk and into a hole.
But then, a bead of hot, salty sweat drips into my eye, and I lose focus for a second.
Muttering a curse and shaking my head to blink away the stinging droplet, I don't have time to see the stick come flying at me from the below.
I feel I it though. The projectile made its mark tip-first into my groin.
A dull urge to vomit springs upward through my stomach, and my grip weakens. Then, I am falling. Another branch catches me in the stomach, and it sends me into a dizzying spiral downward as I heave for a breath. If I could breathe, I would be screaming.
I brace for impact on the earth a moment too late, and as I land on my back, what little breath I had fought for on the way down is forcefully expelled. My lungs are screaming for air, but my muscles, having been relieved of their struggle, are sending waves of pleasure through my limbs and core, as they rest.
As soon as I get my breath, I notice a flash out of the corner of my eye and another stick comes flying in my direction, away from Sir Isaac. I flinch involuntarily, and it hits my forearms and tumbles to the ground.
But, before I realize that the "stick" was actually my sword, Isaac is running in my direction, with his clothes flapping like flags, his hand holding his own wooden sword above his head, and his stubbly lips parted in a fierce battle cry.
I force my muscles into motion, and dust clings to the sweat on my tunic as I rise, sword in hand, to deliver a fierce stab that would have gutted him like a fish had it landed. But, as it was, he sidesteps my attack and catches me under the jaw with a looping underhand blow that knocks me back onto my shoulder blades and blasts my eyesight into a red haze for an instant.
Gasping, I just manage to raise my blade across my chest before Isaac is above me, with his strange scent clouding my nostrils, and the tip of his blade lightly pressed against my Adam's apple.
He growls out a mirthless laugh, and withdraws to let me stagger to my feet like a drunken man. Anger floods my vision in a black mist for a moment, or maybe I am just close to passing out.
Isaac draws his hand to his hip and idly picks at the hem of his trousers as he remarks, "Better, but you are still weak. You should have dodged that stick in the tree like I taught you to, and your stab wouldn't have hit the side of a house, but at least you managed to grab your damn weapon when you fell, and you lasted about a minute and a half this time before I knocked you out of the tree."
An furious retort containing many unsavory words springs to my lips, but I bite my tongue and look away.
"You are to put on the chain mail today, as you make your laps around the course. And then you can make me my midday meal."
As I turn away to drag myself toward the shed, I hear him holler, "And, if you're to at all get better, you must move your ass a little faster! My mother has more life in her, gods rest her soul!"
I make half an effort to move faster, and stumble. My legs burn as they catch themselves, and I wonder how I'm going to make it around the course.
The musk of rotting wood stabs into my nostrils as I step into the gloom of the shed. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I drag my weary shell over to the dirty links of metal mocking me from the hook on the wall. I grasp a cold length of the heavy folds, and exhale- defeated.
Then, I loop my arm through the corresponding hole in the hauberk, and slide my grimy head into the other armhole, before realizing my mistake and correcting it. Once it is on, I secure it around my waist with a thick leather belt.
I had previously thought that the armor of a knight was something romantically beautiful. You couldn't have a knight without shining armor, after all! But, that was before I first tried on these links- these cold, crushingly heavy shackles.
My legs are shaking considerably now, just standing up has now become a strenuous task. But, I breathe another sigh, straining my shoulders as my
lungs struggle against the metal on my back, and head outside to the course.
The course is roughly an oval shaped path that is about a quarter mile in circumference, and peppered with various obstacles. With spinning turbines armed with wooden sticks, ropes to climb, pits of mud to watch for, and bars to hurdle or duck under... It actually would have been considered fun if Isaac didn't throw things at me the whole while I was running it, and yell at me to move faster.
The rule was, if Isaac hit me with a stick, I had to do another lap. It used to take me going eight or nine times before I missed lunch, where as I was only supposed to do one lap.
Usually, this isn't a problem anymore, and I stick around three laps, but now that I'm wearing chain mail... I'm not so sure.
I take my mark, tentatively placing my hand to my belt and adjusting it higher, so that the links of metal hang around my thighs instead of my knees.
Sir Isaac sits astride his ancient mare, with a bundle of sticks and stones in his hand. He tosses me a round disk of glazed planks and a metal rim.
A shield. Great- more baggage. The belt slides lower, and the metal links tinkle maliciously over my kneecaps. I loop an arm through the leather straps, and my bicep wails in agony as I attempt to hold the disk at waist height.
Suddenly, sir Isaac whoops and throws a spear of wood my way spurring his mount into motion. I manage to duck under it, and I take my first step forward into a frenzy of motion across the dusty track. I keep my eye on the figure galloping across the track ahead of me, watching for obstructions with my peripheral vision.
Just when I think I can't go anymore, I hit my second wind of energy. I push a little more, savoring the cool, sweet wind against my brow, as I plow forward. The air hisses to my left, and I turn to deflect another projectile with the rim of the shield. "Faster, you worthless lump!"
The shock runs across my torso, and I turn to keep going. I have to keep going. I clear the first obstacle with ease, dodging in between the pits and holes in the road. A stone whizzes in my direction, but it is off its mark, so I ignore it. It soars off to my right.
The spinning wheels come to meet me, whirling and clicking at high speed. I knock away one bar with my forearm, leaving my shield across my torso to guard me against more missiles. The chain mail rattles as it absorbs the shock, and I step across it to leap over a bar at my feet, but the armor on my back pulls me back to earth faster than I anticipate, and I end up landing on the bar, which sweeps my feet out from beneath me.
Just as well too, because a stone flies into the space where my head was just a moment before I begin to fall. "Weakling! At least make this interesting!"
The ground rushes up to meet me, but I loosen my body, and tuck my head to my chest. My shoulder absorbs the impact with a shock, and I drop my shield, but I successfully transfer my momentum into a roll.
I clear the obstacle as I rush forward to the part I had been most dreading- the climbing rope. The dangling length of cord whips to the side as a stick hits it, and I jump to meet it. I feel a sickening crack as my wrist explodes with my weight and the chain mail, but I grunt and pull myself upward in the 20ft climb.
About halfway up, a stone flies in my direction, so I kick outward towards the wall, and swing outward into the wind, away from the small, grey object. "Put your back into it!"
I muscle my way upward slowly, in defiance of every nerve in my body screaming to let go.
When I get to the top, I've expelled most of my energy, but the finish is almost in sight. "Boy! I told you to run!"
I only have the hurdles yet. I duck another stick, and fly on winged feet towards the hurdle. I clear the first unsteadily, and look to my right. Isaac is riding up, arm cocked back with a stone, so I hit the brakes.
The stone comes flying in front of me, and snaps apart one of the hurdles, so I step over it and keep moving. I take a chance with the last hurdle and duck under. Sure enough, the stone goes flying over my head. My energy is fading fast, and I worry if I'll make it to the finish. But, just out of sheer muscle memory, my legs propel me over the line, and I immediately collapse onto my back. I was not hit. Not once.
Sir Isaac trots up beside me, and looks at my form, plastered to the earth.
"I suppose I've seen worse, but don't get a big head! I'll see you back here tomorrow, boy." As he turns about, I think I can see the hint of a smile playing across his lips.