Other Worldly Ways (Anthology 1) Read Free

here, same spot at a click before midday," the officer instructed. Giving him a respectful nod, I left to watch other bouts going on nearby. There was room between fighting squares for spectators to watch, and I was one of the first entrants to wander through the matches.
    I found Camala—she fought a stocky, well-muscled Falchani. Camala was better with her blades, however, and won the bout in less than fifteen ticks. Briefly, I wondered where my tentmate was, but didn't see him while I wandered from this match to that, sizing up potential opponents for my next bout.
    * * *
    Back at my designated fighting square ten ticks early, I settled on the ground to meditate. "Always let your body recall the moves. At times, the brain only gets in the way," Crane's oft-repeated instructions sounded in my head. "Meditation helps," he'd remind me.
    I faced a more experienced opponent, this time, although he fought with a single blade, just as Simmas had. At least he wasn't cursing as he stepped inside the square and settled to the ground, sitting cross-legged, just as I was.
    I summed him up in a brief glance—taller, heavier and with a longer reach, I knew he'd last longer than Simmas. Lowering my eyes, I studied my hands. Let him make of me what he would.
    Rising at the officer's commanding "Up!" I prepared myself. He attacked quickly, but Crane would have put him to practicing pulling the blade from his sheath for an entire day—he lacked a smooth draw. After three ticks of sparring, during which I measured his strokes and considered his training, I parried with one blade while the other went to his throat. He backed away immediately.
    "Bout over," the officer declared. "You," he turned to me, "Be here at two clicks past midday." He strode away, leaving my opponent and me behind.
    "My compliments to you and to your Sursee," he nodded to me before stepping out of the square and walking away. Sighing, I resheathed my blades and began walking toward the cooking tents for lunch.
    Some contestants were already leaving, I noticed, as I walked the distance to the cooking tents. Most of those carrying their belongings were the newly-trained who'd been sent by their Sursee or commander because they showed promise—they'd gain experience at the Trials. These were stopping off at the cooking tents for a meal before they left.
    "I'm off to my unit," the young man who sat down beside me said. "My Sursee and my commander say that in maybe two or three sun-turns, I might make a good run," he grinned at me. "What about you? Where you off to?"
    "Back to the trial grounds after my meal," I said. "I got lucky and drew single blades my first two matches."
    "Wow. That usually doesn't happen. And you're new? I don't see many newly-trained who can handle two blades."
    "You should see the man who trained me. He wouldn't settle for anything else."
    "Ah. One of those," the young man nodded his head. "Dalfar," he extended his hand.
    "Devin," I took his hand in mine. "Good luck in the next Trials," I said.
    "Good luck in this one," Dalfar grinned. We ate and talked while the heat of the Falchani sun bore down on the tent over our heads. Very little breeze filtered inside, although all the sides were rolled up to allow air inside.
    I drank extra water so I'd be hydrated for the afternoon match. While I considered how long I might last against my next opponent, I listened as Dalfar described his position in the army. He seemed proud that he'd already seen battle, and had a new panther tattoo as a result.
    Falchani rewarded those who'd distinguished themselves or were successful in battle with a tattoo. A full set—chest, back and both arms—meant the warrior was among the best Falchan had to offer. Crane, Dragon and Veykan had full sets. I had none and honestly, I preferred my skin uninked.
    Often, I imagined that part of any Falchani's prowess was in getting the full set of tattoos to begin with—they often described the pain they endured to be covered in