Page 19 of In Between Darkness
“I know bu-” He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, and her brows furrow even more. He leans in intimidatingly close to her.
“You realise what could happen if word gets out. This cannot happen again.” He aims a fierce stare at her.
“It won’t,” Miss Worthington says, cowering under the man’s presence.
“Remember what is at stake for you.” He brings a hand up, and a dark shadow emerges from it, causing Miss to step back. “Don’t make me call our little deal off.”
An unknowing gasp escapes my lips… He’s a Moon. His head snaps in my direction, and I dart back, hiding myself from view.
“You told me all the students were in bed,” he spits.
“T-they are,” she stutters. “It’s just an old school.”
Shit. I really should be getting out of here.
“Hmmm. Don’t fuck this up. Next time I won’t be so understanding.”
He spins on his heels and walks towards me. I don’t bother waiting around. The sound of his footsteps are getting closer. I unstick myself from the wall and rush over to the door to the First Quarter, pushing it quietly and slipping my small frame through it. I warily make my way up the left-hand stairs to my faction. I arch my back low and grip onto the bannister, cradling the stairs and proceeding quickly and with caution. Still hearing his footsteps loitering through the corridor, he swings the double doors open, but I am already at the top of the stairs now. With light feet, I run through the long and windy corridor until I am finally outside my dorm room.
Damien Solice is staring all high and mighty at me through the picture frame. I shoot him a look as if to say, ‘quit judging me,’ and open my door lightly. My breath is still shaky from the rush of adrenaline. I don’t worry about waking up Nala; she can sleep through anything. I fling off the hoodie and chuck it onto my bed. glancing down at my dirt-stained pyjamas. I take them off, add them to my washing pile and throw on a clean set before getting into bed. What on earth was Miss Worthington doing with a Moon? I pull the hoodie on over my head, liking the way its huge size makes me feel small. A strange wave of comfort washes over me as I find myself drifting deeper and deeper into the slumber’s abyss.
***
Thank the Gods it’s morning. I’ve never been so happy to see the sunrise over the valley. I sit up in my bed, still wearing Ryder’s hoodie. I quickly remove the evidence before Nala wakes up. I don’t know how I would even begin to explain to her what happened last night. Holding the hoodie in my hands, Ibrush my face against it, only for a moment. It smells like him. Butterflies begin to roam around in my stomach, but I bat down their wings and squash the feeling. Nala fidgets a little, making me panic, and I quickly shove the hoodie in my suitcase along with the rest of my contraband. My conscience is getting heavier.
I get out of bed, swinging my legs out onto the floor. My feet stare back at me, bruised and muddy. Another thing that’s completely and utterly unexplainable. I grab a pair of fluffy socks and pull them onto my feet. Good enough, I think, looking at the temporary fix. Nala is still sound asleep, so I walk over to her bed and nudge her slightly. Of course, she slept through first bells again. She turns over and squints at me.
“I’m just getting in the shower. First bell rang a minute ago,” I whisper to her.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Thanks for waking me.”
I turn on the shower and stand in front of the mirror waiting for the water to turn from icy cold to steamy hot. I get lost in my reflection for a moment. I don’t recognise myself. My hair is frizzy and wild, and my face is smudged brown with dirt. Ryder’s words play on repeat in my head, ‘there’s something off about you.’ I stare a little harder, wondering if his words ring true, and pluck out a twig from the tangled nest that is my hair. The thought of seeing him again tonight makes me shudder, but the butterflies start to fly again.
***
The first years gather by the combat area after first meals. Ciara got her Gift last night, visited by Shirin. Looks like she will be joining her parents after all. She hasn’t stopped going on about it all morning. The first one of the year to get her Gifts. Becoming a healer right before combat—how fitting. No doubt she’ll be on the sidelines waiting eagerly for blood to be spilt, like a hungryshark, so she can use her Gifts. Five other classmates are getting their Gifts tonight, from what I’ve heard. Maybe more. Nala only has to wait three more days for hers.
“Come in closer, first years, I don’t bite,” a husky voice jokes as he ushers us all in towards the platform.
This must be the combat instructor. He has chocolate-brown skin and short curly hair tied up in a man bun at the back of his head. He is wearing a tight-fitted beige vest that hugs his muscles and black jogging bottoms.
We all shimmy our bums closer to the platform as he requests. “That’s better. I’m Mr Martyr, and I will be your combat trainer if you choose this class. Combat is all about visual learning. Watch your classmates, observe how they fight, look for their weaknesses, their knowledge, and use this to your advantage. Combat training will help you develop your physical skills, discipline and confidence. The stronger you are, the stronger your Gifts will be.”
I think about Ryder, his weight against mine on the forest floor, the hardness of his arms and chest. His Gifts must be strong.
“I am going to split you into three groups,” he says, and his hands make a cutting motion around each section of first years to split us up. “Each group will make its way around each activity. We have hand-to-hand combat, archery and knife throwing.” He gestures to each activity in the courtyard. “There are third years situated at each post to help you. Group one will be staying here with me for combat, group two for archery and group three will be on knife throwing.”
All students start splitting off into their respective groups. I look around at mine. No Nala or Charlie. I can see her trailing off to archery. She turns round for a second and sends me a consoling look. This may be harder than I thought. Alex is staring at me from across the combat platform. Of course, he isin my group. I narrow my eyes at him to show I am not scared. My father used to tell me,‘The size of the opponent should not matter; everyone has the same weaknesses and pressure points.’And I have memorised them all - under the armpit, the fleshy gap between the neck and clavicle, inner thigh, back and front of the knees, the solar plexus bridge between the ribcage, the sides of the face just below the temples and lastly, the chin. When hit at a certain point, it almost always leads to a knockout due to the impact on the jaw. I may not be overly strong, but I have speed on my side, and I will be aiming for these areas.
“First rule of combat, show no mercy.”
I feel a lump form at the back of my throat and force it back down. Alex is still glaring at me, this time with a huge smile.
Mr Martyr continues, “Just because these may be your friends around you doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to put your blood, sweat and tears into this. Holding yourself back will only stunt the growth and learning of yourself and others around you.”
Chatter arises around the group. You can tell who the scared ones are. The droplets of sweat forming on each brow, a face slightly paler than it was ten minutes ago, the nervous laughter spurting out of William’s tight-lipped mouth. The tension is building up, and one of us is about to explode.
“I have not seen any of you fight, therefore, I have no expectations, and I cannot match you evenly, so we shall begin in alphabetical order. Winner stays on to fight the next one.” My heart beats out of my chest. “All students whose names start with A, please stand up.”
