Chapter 13: Unlikely Duo

The next morning, after a big breakfast of scrambled eggs and pork sausages with biscuits, Ronan made for the Training Grounds.

With him was Ike, who had only a single crutch under an arm, and his long brown hair tucked into an elegant ponytail. His protruding muttonchop sideburns were oiled, shining, and smelled of chamomile. Ronan touched a finger to the gruff black stubble growing on his own face, then laughed. He wouldn’t be caught dead with such a fancy haircut and beard trimming such as Ike’s, no matter how much it might help him to fit in.

In fact, Ronan didn’t want to fit in. He wanted to stand out so he could win the attention of Maritza, who might be able to help him unlock his Shroud magic.

When Ike and Ronan entered the Training Grounds, they saw rows of dozens of Trainees gathered. Everybody was stretching and limbering up, and Ronan saw that through the cuts in the backs of the blouses and shirts, the other Trainees were all Rank 2 or 3. Everybody, except Ike and Ronan.

Ronan may have avoided the scrutiny of the Trainees the day before, but today, whispers and stares greeted him. He couldn’t tell what was getting more attention: the snake on his forearm, his raggedy hair, unshaved face, or the piece of black metal he wore proudly on the necklace he’d been given.

As he approached the lines of Trainees stretching, he heard all sorts of names sent his way.

The one that stood out to him the most was “The Black Snake,” and hearing it made him clutch the piece of metal dangling over his heart.

“Back to take another tumble, Ike?” Alfred asked, pushing his way past some trainees. Alfred swept a tuft of blonde hair out from his eyes and chuckled. His cobalt blue eyes seemed particularly ferocious. Only one of the beautiful women he’d been sparring with before came to his side. A devilish smile crept on her tan face, and a long, luxurious braid of her auburn hair fell over the shoulder of her white blouse.

Alfred wrapped an arm around her waist and through a smirk said to Ike, “Freya and I here wouldn’t want to see you splatter, again.”

Freya laughed so exaggeratedly that Ronan’s stomach twisted and his nose crinkled.

Freya looked longingly at Alfred, traced a finger down his toned chest, then said, “I happen to think the cast looks cute, Ike. Maybe you’ll even have a deformed little club foot if it ever gets taken off.”

Alfred and Freya roared with laughter and disappeared into the crowd.

Ike’s head hung low.

“Don’t worry about those idiots,” Ronan said firmly, setting a hand on Ike’s shoulder.

But the two had no time to talk further.

“Trainees!” shouted Farrier, his belt of tools around his apron clattering. “Run 100 laps!”

Then Ronan and Ike were separated in the shuffle of dozens of Trainees bursting into a run. Ronan huffed as he ran, pacing himself to not tire out too quickly. Although it was his first time running since he’d put on the weight, he was able to keep up with the other Trainees in the center group of runners. The group ahead of them, led by Alfred, Freya, and the other Rank 3s, were about to lap the hobbling Ike.

Ike saw them approaching and he hobbled on his single crutch, jumping with his one good leg to try and get away.

Alfred was ready to shove Ike to the dirt when Ronan felt his forearm start to burn. He pumped one leg in front of the other, and his speed doubled. Ronan sprinted to Alfred and past all the other Trainees. They gasped and stepped aside as Ronan launched his shoulder at Alfred right before Alfred could hit Ike. Ronan and Alfred connected in a sloppy tackle, and the two rolled to the dirt.

“You’ve ruined this shirt you filthy pig!” Alfred said, nimbly rolling back to his feet and brushing the dust off his sleeves.

Without any grace but still maintaining his speed, Ronan jumped up too. He stood in front of Ike and raised up his fists. Alfred charged.

Fast as the blink of an eye, Maritza appeared between the two of them.

“That’s enough, boys,” she said, her green eyes glaring at Alfred.

Alfred made a face like he was going to hiss, but no sound came out. Instead, he straightened his posture and said, “Of course, Lady Maritza. My apologies for getting involved with the riff-raff.”

Maritza shook her head and didn’t give Alfred the satisfaction of a response. She turned to Ronan, slipped him a soft smile, and said, “You’ll both do another 100 laps for this outburst. And another 100 for every time you disrupt the training.”

Alfred smiled wide. “Surely, Lady Maritza. It would be my pleasure.”

He sprinted off, rejoining those who were running.

“I’ll gladly run 1,000 laps if it means that prick Alfred can’t come within 10 feet of Ike,” Ronan said.

“Duly noted,” Maritza said, trying but failing to hold back her smile. “Now get running, Nightblade.”

Ronan ran back into the crowd, and Farrier and Maritza kept watchful eyes on him and Alfred.

Long after the Trainees had finished their laps, Alfred and Ronan were still running. The two stood side by side, puffing and wheezing.

Nobody, not even Farrier, had expected Ronan to keep up with Alfred, who had to give it everything he had to not fall behind The Black Snake.

Steam smoked from Ronan’s Mark of the Serpent and Alfred’s Mark of the Butterfly.

At the 200th lap, Maritza clapped her hands. Her butterfly tattoo glowed white, and she used her magic to summon the equipment for a Nightblade trial left behind by the temple’s Elders.

Both Ronan and Alfred were knocked off their feet once more as two massive wooden posts rose from the ground. The posts were as high as the temple’s walls, and they teetered in the breeze. Long ropes attached to the posts led to a small platform barely big enough for a single person to stand on.

Alfred smirked at Ronan and said, “Good luck surviving this trial. It’s the same one that broke Ike’s leg.”

“You broke Ike’s leg,” Ronan snapped. For a second, he thought he saw fear in Alfred’s cobalt blue eyes. Quickly, Alfred regained his arrogant confidence.

“No, the trial broke Ike’s leg,” Alfred insisted. “You must climb the rope up to a platform, then jump from one platform to the other.”

“That’s impossible,” Ronan said, squinting. The platform was so high up he could barely even see it.

“Maybe it’s impossible for a snake, but not for a butterfly,” Alfred snickered. “I’ve made the jump twice already.”

“But you may not make it a third,” boomed the voice of Farrier, who clanked over with his belt of tools.

He brushed a hand to his red wavy hair and added, “To pass today’s trial, you and Ronan must climb up the post together and make the jump as one.”

Alfred and Ronan shared a nervous glance at each other, and in the time they did so, Maritza had bound the wrists on one of each of their arms together with tight rope.

“If you can’t complete the jump,” Maritza said to Ronan, “then you’ll never become a Butterfly Nightblade.”

Alfred laughed so hard his eyes filled with tears.

“Ronan doesn’t even have a Mark of Butterfly!” he exclaimed. “There’s no way he could make the jump without Butterfly magic.”

Farrier’s face became the same deadly serious Ronan had seen when they were talking about the Shroud.

“I’ve heard Serpent Nightblades are cunning,” Farrier said. “Today we’ll see how true that statement is.”

“I’ll do it,” Ronan said, getting to his feet and yanking Alfred up by the wrist.

Ronan watched the two platforms sway at their extreme heights. It was as if the posts extended up to the clouds.

But Ronan was determined to earn his Mark of Butterfly.

Honestly and in still awe, Ronan admitted, “I don’t know how, but I will make that jump.”