The Oneiro Rangers: First Night Read Free Page A

light to
drown out the bright morning stars above. Teenagers drenched in sweat crossed
the track’s starting line for the last time, finishing up their ten kilometer
run. Nothing special, just a warm-up. For the kids who forgot their first class
was physical education and ate too much for breakfast, their run sent them
straight to a nearby trashcan; heavy liquid splashing noisily into the bins.
Errol and Roland were near the back of the group, taking it easy on the first
day back into training.
    But, that didn’t mean their undershirts weren’t soaked in sweat; a
ten kilometer run making anyone need a break.
    Roland wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his
shirt. “I think that run gets shorter every year. Either that or my legs are
getting longer.”
    Errol looked down at his shorter friend, seeing no difference in
his height since last year. “How can you tell?”
    Roland pointed a finger up at Errol, pressing it under his nose.
“Hey! No lip from you, mister high and mighty. It’s not my fault you’re made to
be a lumberjack.”
    Coach Dirga made himself present from the shadow of the bleachers,
blowing his whistle. “Gather up, maggots! In a line! Let’s go!”
    Roland snapped his gym shorts higher up, wearing them over his
stomach in a horrible attempt to intimidate Errol. “Yeah, big show, let’s go.”
    Against the concrete edge of the track, the students filed up as
quickly as they could, most of them still out of breath. Being next to each
other, the heat and smell within the line was unbearable, despite the soothing
cool air blowing across the field. Anyone who was too foolish or slow to not
cooperate right away was quickly shoved into a spot by one of Dirga’s big meaty
hands; the coach marching forward like a walking steamroller, shoving students
left and right. His buzzcut and cleft chin made him seem more appropriate for
an army sergeant than an academy coach.
    Grabbing one of the puking students by the collar, Coach Dirga
lobbed him into the line.  “You’re done, let’s go!”
    The strong, sour, smell of bile and sweat was all anyone could
think about while trying to stand up straight in the line; most of them
fighting back the urge to gag.
    Coach Dirga paced back and forth alongside the line, on the
lookout for anyone ready to complain. “All right, now listen up. Last year, you
chose the fighting style you felt most comfortable with. Now, it is your job to
master it. Punching, kicking, grappling; even if it’s poking your opponent to
death, you’re fighting style is not going to be effective against a Nightmare
until it is mastered.” He stopped pacing, turning to face the students. “Pick a
partner, find a mat, and show him what you’re made of. Now, move!”
    The line exploded in acknowledgement. “Yes, sir!”
    “Yeah, sure,” Roland said right after.
    Coach Dirga instantly caught Roland in his sights, homing in on
him. He shouted at the top of his lungs, veins popping out of his neck. “Don’t
back sass me, you pile of mud! Drop and give me a hundred push-ups! Move, move,
move!”
    Roland got into position, hiding a smirk under his hair. “Sure
thing, bub.”
    The coach bent down to get close to his face. “None of those girly
ones, now. Go all the way up and all the way down, like a man.”
    Roland effortlessly did his pushups, not a sign of slowing down
after ten. Huffing angrily, coach Dirga marched away. Some of the kids
snickered, watching the example Roland made himself into. Errol shook his head,
squatting down to talk in secret.
    “You better quit while you’re ahead, Roland. I heard that guy
challenges students to fights when they get on his nerves.” Errol looked to see
the coach walk with his bulky arms hanging far out — too big to keep flat
against his triangular chest. “And if you ask me, I think he wins them too.”
    “Yeah, yeah, he’s lucky it’s not me challenging him .
Twenty one... twenty two...” right when the coach entered a