Traveling Games

“So,” said Shawn. “D’you know anything else about this prophecy thing?”

They were sitting within a small copse of enclosed tree trunks, eating cold rations from Vena’s pack. The rations resembled cubes of cold meat, bread, and cheese, and they were barely softer than the ground they were sitting on. Shawn decided that they reminded him of a trail food his father had once given him on one of their rare camping trips. Memories suffused him for a moment, sending an intense pang of homesickness through him.

“Yeah, a bit. So the prophecy was made way back when, around the time when that guy, High Chief Vallen, was around. There was this person that showed up, up north in Helmengard. They called them the Prorokna,” she paused, chewing. “So the Prorokna was this big sorcerer, Master of Runes and all that. But what no one knew was that they had the gift of prophecy. So one night, the Prorokna stormed into King Fellik’s court and gave him this stone tablet with the prophecy engraved on it.”

“So this guy, the Prorokna, wrote this prophecy?”

Vena swallowed the last of her ration and nodded. “And even now, two hundred years later, it’s been unfulfilled. At least until you came along.”

Silence hung between them, cold and silent.

“I’m turning in for tonight. You’d better as well. It’s going to be a while to Longstriden.”

Hunger Rune Turquoise [https://i.vgy.me/CDVxkK.png]

The day rose early, and apparently so did Vena. Shawn awoke to rocks being dropped on his face and Vena saying, “C'mon idiot. We have to get moving.”

“...do you not need sleep?” asked Shawn, groggily.

“Apparently not as much as you.” They packed their sparse camp and set off through the forest. It was a hot, muggy day, and they spoke little as they walked. Finally, Shawn broke the silence.

“Can you teach me how to fight?” he asked.

Vena turned to him. “To fight?” She responded. “Like, with weapons?”

“Anything. The Inquisitor won’t stop until he finds me, and I need to be ready if he does.”

She chuckled and responded. “Let’s say I did teach you. Would you be ready and willing to do what I say at all times? To respond instantly, no questions? Be ready for anything?” Suddenly, she blurred, and Shawn barely got an impression of a spin before a foot caught his ankles, dropping him flat on his back. “Were you ready for that?”

Shawn spluttered, his lungs vacant of air. “Of course I wasn’t…” He cut off, wheezing. “...ready for that. That’s why I need you to teach me, not attack me!”

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Vena stood over him, hands on her hips. “That was your first lesson. Be ready for an attack at any time. Even among friends. Trusting someone fully will only get you killed.”

Shawn wondered how she got to be so cynical. What had she been through?

“Get up. We’ve got to keep our pace.”

The day went by quickly, conversation coming faster now. Shawn asked various questions about combat, and Vena either answered them or told him that it was a stupid question. Once, he made the mistake of asking her if she’d heard of the saying “there are no stupid questions.” She answered with a punch to his chest followed by another trip. It was possibly the fourth time she’d thrown him that day. When they made camp for the night, they made a low fire and ate.

Shawn munched on his bread, thinking on what they’d talked about today. He didn’t by any stretch think that he knew much about fighting, but he had done karate for a few years in high school. Apparently, that meant nothing, as Vena quickly had him forget all of it, starting from the ground up with “a strong foundation.” That “foundation” apparently consisted of-

A stick hit him on the head. It stung slightly, and Shawn picked it up. It was about two and a half feet long, and he looked to Vena. She had stood up and was hefting her own stick.

“Well? Don’t just sit there, stand up!”

He clambered to his feet, realizing what this was.

“This is your second section of combat,” Vena continued. “The sword. A common enough weapon, but effective. Imagine this is your blade.” She indicated the upper two feet of the “sword.” She pointed to the remaining length. “This is the handle. Position your hands like this, right above left.”

Shawn arrayed his limbs and digits in the correct order, earning a passable grunt from Vena.

She stepped around in front of him, spreading her arms. “Now, swing.”

Shawn blinked. “At..at you?”

“No, at the fire. Of course at me!”

Shawn breathed out slowly. “Alright.” He stepped forward, slowly raising his sword. A breath passed and he slashed downwards at her shoulder in a simple overhand chop. Immediately, Vena dashed to the side, moving her sword outwards, then back in a simple stab to his gut. Shawn doubled over, wheezing for air as the tip of the stick skipped off his solar plexus.

Vena rested her stick on the ground and leaned in. “Your strike was sloppy. Too fast, not targeted well enough, and you didn’t recover at all. In a real fight, you would have been skewered before you knew what happened.”

Shawn caught his breath, still doubled over. At this point, he was getting kind of annoyed at Vena constantly hitting him to teach lessons. Maybe he couldn’t do anything in a straight spar, but he could surprise her. Just once. He whirled, slashing the stick up to her throat. She flew backwards, surprised only for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. She had actually been expecting it. She ran at him, and she slashed at his chest, his shoulders, his knee. Shawn stumbled backwards, barely managing to parry the chest blow. She paused for a moment, then whirled into a final slash at his face. Shawn swung his sword to meet it, but her strike had much more energy than his. Until he activated the rune in his left hand.

The speed of his stick quadrupled instantly, slicing through Vena’s weapon like butter and continuing towards her shoulder, striking like a whip crack. She shouted and stumbled backwards, dropping the sheared half of her stick. She probed at the raised line of skin on her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

“You’ll pay for that,” she said. “But good job thinking on the fly. I wasn’t expecting you to bust out a rune, but hey. It worked, and that’ll save your life some day.”

Shawn smiled. He was glad she wasn’t too hurt, and pleased to finally receive a compliment.

“Now, back to real training. Fifty more overhands and another fifty cross strikes. Count ‘em out.”

Shawn’s smile withered on his face.