SWORD ACADEMY (censored)

At lunch the charges line up in groups of four at the ends of both corridors, splitting the spark elements between the entrances. I sit at a center table offering suppressive fire in the event someone tries to be a greedy gorger in either direction. I don’t need to blitz anyone’s junk, so I deem it a success. Of course, there are a few who protest loudly over the new arrangement, which means we’ll still have to watch our backs, but most are happy to comply, some surprisingly eager to.

My continued stubbornness about willingly relinquishing my sparks means I’m toeing the line on my energy well at all four corners in a way Archie would appreciate. I understand the need to, especially after we spent the morning learning about it, but I still haven’t come around to the idea of enthusiastic participation. I reckon I never will.

We’re scheduled to spend our afternoon at the Stadium. I’m hopeful some exercise will relieve some of the pressure building inside me before my shackle roars its defiance. I know emotions are a definite trigger for spark overload. The best way for me to keep those in check is physical activity. It’s impossible to focus on a breaking heart when you’re breaking bones.

The Stadium is split into stations in the open space for all manners of training. There are groups focused on blocking and shielding, projectiles and aim, sparring, weight training and strength endurance, general aerobic exercise and any other horsecrap that might constitute physical activity. At the front of the open space is a long table where nurses sit waiting to dole out healing to anyone who gets a little overambitious in their butt kicking. Glorious. No holding back.

Our training is self-progressed, meaning we can wander around various stations at our leisure. I’m drawn to the sparring station, eager to discharge some of my restless energy by way of my fists. I spot Keira standing next to Aspen and Maverick, so I head over. It isn’t until I’m too close to walk away without looking like a squib I notice Luke sparring with the Earth Registry Guard I hurled my desk at earlier.

The behemoth notices me too, turns his back to Luke, and breaks into a wide grin. “Oh hey, Skittles. I think you’re at the wrong station.” He points to the far side of the room. “The projectiles are over there.”

Luke doesn’t waste the opportunity of his distraction, flipping him straight on his back and knocking the wind out of him. He steps on his neck, blocking his airway. The behemoth wheezes, “I yield.”

“Never turn your back in a spar,” Luke scalds him before turning to me. “You can boost us.”

“I’d rather kick the snot out of you,” I quickfire.

“Yeah, no.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Sheaths don’t spar.”

“Good thing I’m not a sheath then,” I clip.

“All Sparklers are sheaths unless they choose to become a wielder,” Keira bubbles.

“Let me get this straight,” I aim at him, ignoring Keira. “You expect me to just stand here like a dang battery for you to plug into when you run low? I can’t participate?”

“Yes,” he spumes.

“That’s about as likely to happen as me cranking your propellers with my tongue.”

“That’s your job,” he seiches. “Sheaths generate the spark, and wielders use the spark.”

“I reckon I’ll be choosing the mutiny option,” I report. “Your freaking move, White Horse.”

His eye ripples, so I can tell he’s about two seconds away from putting his hands on me which is what I’m counting on. Then I’ll bang his butt into the floor and feel a whole lot better. Game on, Fartface.

“Fine,” he breakwaters. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll spar for it. If you yield, you’re our battery for the session. If your opponent yields, you can train however you want.”

“Fine,” I holster, appreciating the challenge. “Giddy-the-heck-up.”

“Not me,” he clarifies. “This should be fair. Pick someone else.”

I look between Keira, Aspen, Maverick, and the behemoth. Since I have a little beef to pick with that giant over manhandling Grady earlier, he’s a good enough choice. I point him out. He points at himself like he’s sure he saw me wrong. He’s the biggest blitzer of the group by double, a hulking beast towering over everyone else.

“Yeah, you,” I slamfire.

“Frank?” Luke asks incredulously. “Seriously?”

Frank looks over to him and shakes his head like he doesn’t really believe Luke’s going to agree to this craziness, but I have Luke figured out. He won’t say salty balls all because he thinks Frank’s going to spank my butt like a petulant child, and he won’t miss the opportunity to witness that.

“I’m sorry, Skittles.” Frank gets in a fighting stance. “Just try to remember you brought this on yourself.”

I brrrt a laugh and move to circle him, closing my fists in front of my face. We draw a little crowd of star gazers. Everyone’s eerily silent around us.

“Three. Two. One. Fight!” Keira erupts.

I know right away I’ve chosen my opponent well. Frank’s strong as an ox but slow as one too. When he lunges at me, extending a fist to punch me in the jaw, I sweep under his arm, spin around, and kick him forcefully in the back of the knee. As he loses his balance and drops down, I follow up with a hook kick straight to his back. That brings him crashing forward to the floor. Timber, you behemoth bumblebum!

Before he can recover, I jump on his back like a wild freaking monkey, grab his hair, and hammer his face three times into the floor in rapid succession, each contact increasing in volume and velocity. He groans pitifully. I yank his head back further to drive him down for a fourth blow, but before his face can connect, he whimpers, “I yield.”

So, I stop my attack short, lean down to kiss him softly on the cheek, and send a little rumble of my earth spark through my lips as a consolation prize, whispering, “Just try to remember you brought this on yourself.”

“What happened?” Frank bumbles, shaking the stars from his vision.

“You just got your hive handed to you by someone a quarter of your size,” Luke sprays.

“I like her,” Keira pops. “She’s feisty.”

“She’s a force of nature!” Frank whoops, finally managing to stand up while blood pours from his face like a river to the floor.

“She’s definitely something,” Luke foams.

The crowd dissipates. I look around the Stadium deciding how I want to spend the rest of my time training. There’s a group learning blocks near the projectiles. That might be worth a try. Not all these spark suckers will be slug slow like Frank.

I start that way, but White Horse calls after me, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To train.” I narrow my scopes at him. “Obviously.”

He shoals his brow.

“You said however I want to,” I snick, “and I sure as heck don’t want it to be with you.”

I turn and start away again.

“Ainsley!” he billows.

I know why he’s calling me this time. I know even though I ruined the dang shackle screen. I can feel the surge as keenly as anything. I might’ve released enough earth spark to settle that chamber down, but those other slugs are sloshing over the edge of my well. Apparently, physical exertion is a catalyst too. Screw my life and screw S.W.O.R.D.