First Year by Rachel E. Carter

stop me again.
    “What now?” I was unable to keep the exasperation from my tone.
    “Stop being so tense!” she ordered. “If you don’t loosen up those muscles, you are going to strain something. You need to be relaxed and fluid when you block, like you are dancing.”
    “I’ve never danced.”
    “Well, like you are water then,” she said quickly. We began our practice again. “Really though, no dancing?”
    “You wouldn’t have either if you saw what Demsh’aa had to offer.” I attempted a block and overcompensated, swinging wildly to my right.
    Ella chuckled. “You’ll be doing this dance every day now.”
    “I hope it works.”
    We were practicing in the shade of the armory building, but the air was still thick with humidity. Flies swarmed about. I was almost tempted to use them for my target. At least then I’d get some satisfaction out of our endless drilling. I was so exhausted from parrying blow after blow. And after so many endless deflections, it didn’t matter that Ella was holding back. I could have been facing the great Sir Piers himself.
    I took my turn leading the assault. “Will I really get better?”
    “I know it doesn’t seem that way now,” Ella replied easily as she blocked, her voice a relaxed lull in contrast to my heavy gasps for air. “But all this—the soreness, even the fatigue—if you keep at it, it won’t come any easier, but you will improve.”
    The burning ache in my side challenged her claim.
    I swung a more concentrated pass, and for the first time it met its mark with a resounding smack. Ella actually faltered for a second, more from surprise than the weight of my blow.
Still,
it was an improvement.
    “Pain is a sign you are working your body to its limits,” Ella continued as we kept on. “My dad always said that is why lowborns usually outperform nobility in battle.” She paused and remarked somewhat ironically, “Though you wouldn’t guess it here.” Ella lowered her staff and glanced up at the darkening sky, “Well, I guess that does it for today.”
    I followed my friend to the armory to dispose of our weapons. My entire body ached, but for once I was comforted by the prospect.
    “We’ve got about an hour left until they make us go back to our quarters,” I observed.
    “Definitely not enough time to wash up if we want to catch up with the rest of our group.”
    I eyed my friend skeptically. While she was certainly not sweetsmelling of peonies and fresh linen, her clothes were not nearly as sweat-stained as mine, and the light tint of perspiration on her forearms only highlighted her complexion. I looked like a sunburned rat dripping with sweat.
    “Yes,” I said, fingering my tangled locks and trying not to breathe too deeply into my own stink, “that’ll certainly be a shame for some of us.”
    That evening I spent hours pouring over my assignments, fighting fatigue and dreaming of my family back in Demsh’aa. I missed my old life. I missed my little brother’s jokes and my parents’ patience. I missed their support. It was nice to have Alex here, but I missed the easygoing life I had left behind. One where I was not a fumbling mishap among a crowd of prodigies.
    When I saw the familiar flicker of light emerge from Darren’s first floor study, it only fueled my determination.
    I am no fool.
I was not as incompetent as he and the rest of the school imagined.
    I read about war mages that had fought tens of knights with a simple sweep of their staff, mages who had learned archery only to invoke a rain of razor sharp blades upon their rivals, mages who had studied the foundations of architecture and then sent their enemies’ castles crumbling to the ground.
    It was time to train. Hard.
    I had a robe to wear after all.
    “Come on
, Ryiah, pay attention!”
    “I am!” I groaned and deflected another blow, scrambling to get my defense up in time.
    I barely managed.
    “Again,” Ella shouted.
    I made another mad attempt to