Page 27 of Terragnata and the Heir of the Earth

Her lip curled. “Aye, no en mind, but en combat. He es a Wetch by training, but he es half Fae, like ye. And like ye, hes mixed blood didna cower at the combination—et made ‘em stronger. He did a stint en warrior trainin’ at Valfalla. He was me student.”

I gaped. “You taught him?” The thought nauseated me.

“Aye. He wasna always as he es now. I recognized the potential for darkness en him, te be sure. But he was just a young male, a few years yer junior, when he came te me. Et was me hope te make him strong enough te beat et. I didna succeed.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Oh, about three decades ago. Maybe more.” She offered no more, giving the distinct impression she’d finished with the topic.

“How old are you? And Leuffen? He is your brother, right?”

“Me an’ Leuffey, well, we’re a wee bit of Fae anomaly as well. He es not only me brother, he’s me twin. That’s a rarity for the Fae—twins. One Faerie babe es hard enough te get. We come from the north, near Panderen, but were selected to fight en the royal armies. They called us the prized warrior twins a’ Viribrum,” she snorted. “As for our age, we’re close to a century—several decades younger than Jana. Though we don’t show et, a course, since we’ll outlive her by another lifespan or two,” she paused. “And Ezren, ef yer curious, es the oldest Fae amongst us. He’s past a Wetch’s life, and though he doesna act like et, he certainly fights like et.”

Tightness bloomed in my chest—and lower—at the mere mention of his name. I fought to keep my breath steady, to reveal nothing of my reaction.

“Leiya, would you train me?”

“Train ye en what?”

“I know I trained to fight when I was younger. My muscles remember more than I do, but I am certainly not a warrior. And magic doesn’t seem to be safe for me to explore at the moment… I want to defend myself, for if, or when, we meet Fayzien again. I want to be able to fight. Ezren was supposed to train me, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

She waited a moment to respond, for what seemed to be contemplation or holding in laughter, and then said, “I have te scout durin’ most a’ the days at camp. But ye definitely should learn some skills en combat and the like. Leuffen will do et. Ye’ll meet tomorrow, at high noon. He’ll find ye,” she promised, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

I wokeafter a few hours of restless sleep, Leiya gone from the tent. The sun streamed in at a high angle, indicating the lateness of the morning. It had been just over a week since Fayzien blasted into Argention, since he’d turned my world on its axis. Just over a week since I saw the life leave my mother’s eyes. Just over a week of remembering.

A week felt like a lifetime.

It was time for training, but I almost stayed there—weighed down on the small cot. It took a considerable amount of effort to force myself to rise and track down some food. I painted the image of Fayzien’s face—cruel blue eyes sneering—to the back of my mind.

As I wandered around camp in search of Leuffen, something reached around me from behind. Suddenly, I was in the crook of a bulky arm, struggling for breath, my hands pinned behind me.

“Leuffen—What. The. Hell,” I croaked out.

He laughed, a deep barrel from his chest, and released me. “Aye, Terra, yer easy te sneak up on! Leiya told me te spare ye nothin’. I’m te push ye hard, like I would any other Fae. Canna ye handle et?”

I turned to him, facing his broad smile. “I’ll certainly try.”

On day one, my will was tested. He took me deep into the forest, away from our small camp, for ‘conditioning.’

“Ye mighta been a lil’ Fae warrior once, but yer weak as a fawn now. Ye need te build strength. Dinna worry, yer Fae blood will hurry along yer muscle build. Ef ye were trained properly en yer youth, which me thinks ye were, et should only take a few weeks fer ye muscles te remember.”

At first, I ran. I ran carrying a pack full of rocks while he barked at me to go faster. I ran over logs and up small hills, through streams and thick brush. And he ran beside me, shifting into his cougar form, teeth barred and maw nipping to give me a fright, and back to his Fae form to add more rocks to my pack. The Earth gave me no aid while we trained, as if it knew the purpose of my running and wouldn’t interfere. Once I’d soaked the fresh training clothes Leiya lent me well and good with sweat, Leuffen wrapped my hands in cloth. He brought me to a small sapling, no wider than a potato, and made me strike it. He bellowed at me to strike it again, in the same location, over and over. And I did. I didn’t stop until I broke the sapling in half.

Throughout the afternoon, he alternated me from running and striking various hard surfaces, to ground exercises for abdominal strength, to climbing fear-inspiring rock crevices, to running again. He allowed me breaks to sip from a canteen, just long enough to ensure I didn’t vomit, and then we started again. It ended when my knuckles were raw underneath the cloth, and my clothes were heavy with perspiration.

“To the gods,” I breathed on our walk back, holding Leuffen’s arm to remain upright. “Is Fae training always that brutal?”

He smiled down at me. “Aye, but et usually esna that long. Ye have a shorter window te rebuild strength than most. Dinna worry, ye’ll feel like right shit tonight, but yer Fae muscles will heal quickly an yer strength will come weth et. If ye can handle et, I’d show ye the bow tonight, after we eat, but before we set out te ride again.”

A small chuckle escaped through my lips. “If my arms can bear to spread the string, I’d like that.”

That nightI tried my hand at the bow, and though I struggled to hold it, my aim was decent in the dusky light. Afterwards, we rode until early morning, and I slept until midday. And then we did it all over again: him yelling at my muscles for several hours under the afternoon sun, and adjusting me with the bow or throwing knife in the early evening. It took little to improve my shot, for I must have been quite good at a young age, Leuffen mused.

On the fourth day, he said my muscles were progressing and prepared for combat training. Instead of pushing me with his words and feline growls, he struck me and sent me to the ground. I earned a smattering of bruises and cuts—highlights on my cheekbones, elbows, and knees. I learned fast to minimize our contact, to leverage my swiftness, to duck more than strike, and to let him tire out. He taught me combination moves—tricks to outwit his hits and gain an advantage. It was all about gaining the advantage, he said.

When we rode at night, I no longer noted my surroundings. I ran through fighting combinations in my head. By the sixth day we were actually sparring, set in a dance of our own, one where I knew some of his moves, and he mine. I surprised him, finding little openings to add my own unique tactics, an unexpected roundhouse here, use of our environment to gain favor there. We never used weapons, and I never went for his manhood. Leuffen called that desperate. I pushed off nearby aspens to gain leverage and slid away from his strikes in soft dirt and led him to unsure footing.

“Yer early trainin’ es clearly coming back te ye,” he said as we walked back to camp that afternoon. I grinned to myself, not knowing if he meant to reassure me or himself.

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