R.A. Miller's Blog

I never thought I would get here.

Two weeks ago, Saturday at 9 AM was my last cigarette. My past post was a detailed explanation of the hell I went through over the first three days.

Fourteen days in and I can tell you for absolute certain that I am a brand new person. I’ll go ahead and lay out a bullet list of some of the changes I’ve encountered.

I am no longer craving cigarettes at all. About 3-6 times a day, I’ll think about them. I’ll see someone smoking and it will come to mind.
I can be around smokers and I’m not tempted to ask for one. Not even a little bit. The smell is beginning to turn me off.
My sense of smell and taste has returned. I am overwhelmed by smells. Things like perfume or food are really hard to get adjusted to.
My sense of taste has fully returned. I can taste individual spices in the foods I eat.
I sleep through the night and I do not wake up coughing.
I am not coughing throughout the day.
Every few days, I’ll have a coughing fit because my lungs are trying to clear themselves out.
I’ve returned to the gym. I am able to run 2 miles again and I’m slowly easing myself back into it. I can do an hour of intense cardio and not be out of breath. Stairs no longer fatigue me.
I can take full, deep breaths.
I am not nearly as tired as I was before. I have energy again.
I barely think about smoking cigarettes anymore. Small stressors are not a temptation for me to want to smoke. Dealing with getting yelled at by my boss, or dealing with the chaos of my son, or juggling my homework assignments do not make me want to smoke.
I bought a pack of smokes for a friend of mine. I took the wrapper off and smelled them. (I will always love the smell of unsmoked tobacco…it reminds me of my grandfather). I missed them for a second before I closed the pack and set it down. I handed the pack to my friend and none of the smokes were missing.

I am still not out of the woods yet. I don’t consider myself a “non-smoker.” But I do consider myself an “inactive smoker.” I feel like I need to make it 6 months before I can call myself a non-smoker. I am not out of the woods yet.

But at this time I definitely feel free. I feel like I have my power back.

Again, I did it without any aides at all. No nicotine gum. No patches. No vaping. Nothing. Just will power and chewing gum.

If any of you are trying to quit, please message me. I’d love to try to help you.

I haven’t been a long time smoker. In truth, I’ve smoked between 2 to 3 years. For the first year I smoked about 2 packs a week. For the second year I smoked around 1/2 a pack, to a full pack per day. In the third year I’ve cut it back down to around 2-3 packs per week.

I’ve made several attempts to quit, trying a myriad of methods:

Vaping with low grade nicotine
Cold turkey and will power. Telling myself no.
Putting my smokes in the trunk of the car so they’re harder to get to.
Quitting with an activity.
Destroying my cigarettes.

Nothing worked. I could make it between 2-3 days or so, and then I would finally cave. I would be at work, (as a delivery guy I might add! I drive past gas stations 100 times a day!) and do great all day. Then I get home and something would stress me out from school and I’d be lighting up again.

The weather. The constant snow, rain, and ice, made me want to smoke.

My son’s (sometimes) chaotic behavior would make me want to smoke.

It was a vicious cycle that just kept repeating over and over again.

I kept making concessions:

“I’m young. I don’t have to quit now.
It’s not a major drug, and it’s even legal!
I do feel better when I smoke. It helps me relax and deal with the chaos.

It’s all a terrible lie. It only makes you think you feel better. It might help your brain relax, but those moments are fleeting. It triggers the dopamine responses in your brain which are responsible for happiness, but it fades quickly. Within an hour or two you’re ready for your next smoke.

Your whole life is seen through a cloud of smoke, and you really have no idea the kind of damage it is doing to your body until it is too late.

And now I am ready to get to my point. Here is how I quit. Watch this video and it will explain everything.

I used to tell myself I didn’t have the power. That I was weak. I used to tell myself that I wanted to quit, and that I needed to quit. I used to tell myself no.

It was how I continued to fail over and over again. This video changed my perspective and it gave me my power back. I began repeating these things that I saw in the video:

I love smoking. I want to smoke. I love the way it makes my mind feel.
I don’t have to quit. I can smoke if I want to. I can choose how I die.
Think about my benefits.

And it was like a switch was flipped. It gave me my power back. I realized that they didn’t have power over me. Instead, I had power over them. Every time I wanted to light up, I said the things that Rocky said to do in the video.

And. It. Worked.

So far, I am only 4 days in and I feel like I am finally done. I know I am not out of the woods yet. (How long does it have to be before you can say “I quit smoking.”?) I know I could cave. It could happen. If it does, I’ll do the same thing I did before. You can’t look at relapses as failures. You have to look at them as practice runs. If you look at them as failures, you’ll damage your own view of your personal strength and willpower.

I want to talk about the changes in my life, just over the past 4 days:

0 to 24 hours:

This was absolute hell. As soon as I got rid of my last smoke, I felt a panic rising within me. I started thinking about a lifetime without smoking a single cigarette. After the panic faded, the cravings began. I was fine at first, even when the first one hit. I told myself “I got this.”

Then, when my body realized I wasn’t giving it what it wanted, it began to retaliate. I started getting horrible headaches after about 5-6 hours or so. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mind knew what it was doing and still it fought, and it fought HARD. I was consumed. Nothing took my mind off of lighting up. I was at a point in my car, sitting at a red light. I had my hand to my head and I just screamed because it was driving me crazy.

I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to play games. All I wanted to do was smoke. Around hour 12, my brain went into war mode. I started to sweat. My stomach started churning. I rolled over in my bed and pulled the covers over my head as I tried to push past the cravings.

Then the battle started to turn in my favor. The nicotine was beginning to lose it’s power. I felt like I was in a Wrestlemania event with Andre the Giant himself. As the fight went on, he began to get smaller and smaller.

The sweating ceased and my stomach started feeling a little better.

24 to 48 hours:

I was victorious. I made it a full day without a single smoke, and already I could feel a change in my body. I awoke the next morning craving a cigarette, but I powered through that one. It was probably the worst craving of the day.

The day prior, I was suffering a 2-3 minute craving, about every 5 minutes. In day two, I felt a craving about every 30-60 minutes. They were strong, but I was determined. It felt like an itch, but a BAD itch. The kind you get on your back that makes you twitch a bit until you scratch it. More and more time started to elapse between cravings, and each craving was getting less and less intense.

48 to 72 hours:

My sense of smell and taste had finally returned. For the past few years, my mouth and nose had deadened nerves and it was masking everything. I couldn’t smell anything. I couldn’t smell flowers unless they were right in my nose. I couldn’t smell a lady’s perfume. I couldn’t smell food unless I was right there cooking it. I couldn’t smell fresh cut grass or burning leaves.

Now after my senses returned, I smelled everything. It was overwhelming because there was so much sensation. I could smell the rain. I smelled the nastiness that was in my fridge (speaking of which, it’s scrubbed and cleaned now! My son and I worked hard on it yesterday!).

And taste…man…taste.

My morning coffee tastes like heaven now. Breakfast cereal is blowing my MIND. The taste of a simple pepperoni pizza is borderline euphoric. I took Lucas out for Chinese food yesterday, and I ate two whole MASSIVE plates of food, including about 15 pieces of sushi. I just couldn’t stop. I tasted individual spices in the lo mein noodles. Hibachi grill practically melted my mind. I literally ate myself out of breath because I was really tasting food for the first time in YEARS.

The cravings aren’t nearly as bad. They’re happening once every 1-2 hours, and it’s just an annoying itch that I can easily ignore now. Within minutes it fades, and I can get back to living my life. 

I should also note that today was the day I started going back to the gym.

After about 8-9 months of not working out, I was amazed at what I could actually do. I was to the point of being able to run 15 miles at a 5-6 MPH pace, and now I could do one mile at the same pace. However, I was able to do a full hour of cardio without coughing. The stair machine tires me BAD, though…

72-96 hours (Today):

I woke up this morning to a severe coughing fit. I am beginning to cough up some of the gross crap that I’ve ingested over the past few years. I stood over the trash can, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. But after I was done, I felt…liberated. This weight that has been on my chest for the past few years was finally gone. I still have a LOT of healing to do, but this is what happens after just FOUR days of not smoking. I am encouraged to think about what I am going to feel like after 2-4 weeks.

The cravings are still present. I am having one even right now. The craving itself is mild, or a minor annoyance. Like a ringing in your ear that doesn’t stop you from hearing. Or an ear that won’t “pop.” I acknowledge it and then I ignore it.

My hope is that this will inspire you all to quit too. I have done this WITHOUT any aides. I haven’t used patches, or vaping, or gum. The only thing I am really doing different is going to the gym, which is perhaps the best replacement/coping mechanism I can think of.

Remember, those smokes DO NOT have the power. YOU DO. You can do anything you put your mind to. The mind is more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

You are strong.

You are enough.

You. Are. Worth. It.

 

Chapter Nine

“Follow our instructions, and no one has to get hurt,” Said the bandit leader. He was a large man, and he held his two handed, iron greatsword over his shoulder with just one hand. The broadside of the blade, rested gently against his leather tunic. His black beard was trimmed, and his long hair fell down past his shoulders.

The rest of his crew, moved about the town. Many of them were dressed similarly to their leader, each of them with their weapons drawn. They stood over the townspeople, who were all kneeling. Their heads were down is if bowing in shame.

“We’re just about done, Marrus,” Said on one of the bandits. He waited for the nod from his boss before heading into another house. The rest of the bandits moved in and out of them homes, each of them tossing valuables and other cherished mementos onto the town lawn. Gold and silver knicknacks, including candelabras, a silver compass, gold rings, and much more, laid about all over the place. Other bandits proceeded to gather the belongings and throw them into a large burlap sack.

“You all know the drill,” Marrus said, turning his two-handed greatsword around atop his shoulder. He felt its heft. It’s density. He wanted to use it.

“Where’s that boy with the long blond hair?” Marrus asked. He turned toward the townspeople who all remained silent as he spoke.

Marrus moved the two-handed  greatsword over his shoulder and stabbed the point into the earth. “Someone is going to speak, or I am going to start taking heads off of shoulders.” Marrus said, his voice gruff and demanding.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” Said Ralios. When he spoke, the rest of the townspeople looked at him in horror.

Marrus walked toward Ralios and stood before him. Marrus brought his sword back up over his shoulder, squeezing both hands around the hilt and twisting it.

“And why is that, little boy?” Marrus asked.

Ralios didn’t take his eyes off Marrus.

“Because this town is protected with a very powerful and capable wielder,” Ralios said. “He’s going to stop all of you,” Ralios added.

Marrus chuckled, his throaty laugh causing the rest of the bandits to laugh with him.

“Laugh all you want, he’s coming,” Ralios said.

Marrus reached down with his hand; a giant mitt covered with long, thick black hair. He wrapped it around Ralios’s throat and lifted him into the air.

“I welcome it!” Marrus said.

Marrus dropped Ralios and let go of his two handed greatsword as soon as he was tackled by a large furry creature. Thunder’s paws pinned him to the ground, and he began snarling and snapping at Marrus’s throat.

TWANG!

An iron bolt flew from a loaded crossbow, and slammed into the dog. Thunder flew off of Marrus with a loud, heart-shattering yelp. He didn’t move.

“No!” Ralios screamed. He took one look at the dog before charging Marrus.

Marrus’s greatsword was lifted up, and it swung in a skyward diagonal arc, slicing all the way across Ralios’s body. He flew, his arms and legs dangling lifelessly. He crashed several feet away.

The towsnmen screamed, and it took everything within his parents to dash to their son’s side.

“Does anyone else want to fight?”

“Me!” Rohrisem yelled, while leaping off of the top of his watchtower. The bandits turned to see who yelled, and as soon as Rohrisem landed, he removed the throwing knives from the leather straps on his legs. He threw them simultaneously.

One of them struck a bandit in the throat, and the other slammed into the ribcage of another bandit off to Rohrisem’s left.

With a violent scream, Maren charged in and brought her wielder’s blade down overtop the neck of an unsuspecting bandit. His head fell from his shoulders and he slumped over.

Rohrisem’s staff was drawn from his back and he spun it around. He leaped into the air, twirling it around behind him. He used the inertia to slam it into the head of yet another bandit.

The side of the bandit’s face, caved in beneath the blow.

The townspeople were now on their feet, and running to Darril’s house, who was already there. He was handing swords, pitchforks, daggers, as well as one handed iron maces to the townspeople. They ran screaming battle cries. Townspeople all over, engaged in battle with the bandits.

Marrus reached into his pocket and pulled out a curved horn. It was grey, and dotted with gold around the edge. He raised it to his lips and blew into it.

Darril raised his blade into the air, and brought it down. It slammed into a bandit’s sword, and he brought the blade around for another strike. Before the strike could fall, the bandit surged forward and slammed his shoulder into Darril’s face.

He fell over backward, and the bandit raised his blade into the air. His strike came down, and Rohrisem’s staff slammed into the bandit’s throat. Rohrisem pushed him backward into Darril’s house and pinned him against it.

Rohrisem dropped the stick and rushed him, and he proceeded to use one of the techniques his mother taught him: Snapping Twig

Rohrisem’s closed fists, slammed repeatedly into the man’s ribcage. After several punches, Rohrisem threw his fist upward, slamming it into the bottom of the man’s chin. He heard the resounding impact of his teeth smashing together. As the man’s head neck remained exposed, Rohrisem removed another dagger and slammed it into his soft flesh. Blood flowed freely from the wound while the man choked and gurgled.

Rohrisem aided Darril in standing and reached for his staff. He sprinted toward the front of the town.

The rest of the bandits outside of town heard the horn that Marrus blew into, and they came rushing in.

Everywhere Rohrisem looked was chaos.

He saw his mother, engaged in a three on one fight, against three different bandits, each of them wielding swords.

In the blink of an eye, she completely disappeared from sight and reappeared next to the first bandit. Her sword strike, cut across his throat and she disappeared once more. She reappeared this time behind the second bandit. Her diamond studded wielder’s blade, came out the bandit’s ribcage. She ripped it free and charged the last bandit who was backpeddling.

She wound her arm around and let her wielder’s blade go, and it was deflected by the backpeddling bandit. She surged forward and caught the man’s wrist before he could make his next offensive move.

Her right arm came in, her elbow smashing the bandit’s nose. Blood burst forth and before he could start coughing, she switched hands, grasping the man’s wrist with her right and letting go with her left. She swun in, making contact with the man’s elbow. It shattered under the weight of the blow. As the man bent over in pain, Maren’s hand came underneath his throat. She used her thumb, pointer finger and middle finger to dig into the man’s flesh. She squeezed hard until she pulled his windpipe free. In an instant, she let him go and reached for her wielder’s blade.

Once again, the bandit leader blew into his horn and the rest of the bandits began tucking tail and running.

“Flee! We need to regroup!” Marrus yelled, and the townspeople chased after them.

Their horses awaited them outside of the town, and within seconds they were mounted up and sprinting off. At that time, the townspeople gave up their chase.

Rohrisem let his staff go and he sprinted for his friend who landed just near Darril’s house.

“Ralios!” Rohrisem yelled as he knelt down next to him. He propped his bleeding friend up in his lap, and Ralios coughed.

“Roar…” Ralios managed to get out. He coughed blood from his lips. His eyes were darkened, as if he were ready to sleep for a week.

“You’re going to be all right,” Rohrisem said, swallowing hard.

Rohrisem reached down and moved his tunic aside and saw the wound. His flesh had been torn free, revealing his ribcage. Blood slowly oozed out over the the edge of the tunic.

“You were so brave,” Rohrisem said.

Ralios’s hand came up, trembling. He placed it against Rohrisem’s face. “I was honored…to fight…by your side…” He said, coughing blood yet again.

“I’m sorry I won’t get to see you become a wielder…but…I just wanted you to know…” Ralios said.

Rohrisem remained quiet. His hand thumbed away a tear from the side of his friend’s face.

“That…you’ve always been…a wielder…to me…” Ralios said.

Rohrisem’s attempt to hold back his emotion failed in that moment.

“Tell everyone…that Ralios Rilian Everton, stood by your side,” Ralios said, and then his hand fell from Rohrisem’s face.

“Ralios?” Rohrisem asked, gently shaking his friend.

“Ralios?” Rohrisem repeated, sniffing deeply. When his friend looked back at him with glassy eyes, he lunged in and hugged him tight.

Then Rohrisem heard a soft, pained whimper. He slowly and respectfully let his friend go and turned toward the source of the sound.

Thunder was bleeding from his side, the iron bolt protruding outward at an awkward angle.

“Hey buddy…” Rohrisem managed to get out, though his throat was so constricted he felt as if every breath was pained.

Thunder whimpered softly again, and Rohrisem laid down next to him, their eyes meeting, he held him face to face. His eyes were open, albeit barely.

“I’m so sorry, Thunder,” Rohrisem said, his hand coming to the side of his head. He began to pet him, as gently as he could.

“I’m gonna get them, I promise,” Rohrisem said.

Thunder’s breaths were slow. He wheezed with every inhale and exhale.

“I love you, Thunder,” Rohrisem said. “You are such a good boy, and I promise I’ll never forget you. I’ll remember you as long as I live, and I’ll bury you next to Ralios so that you always have someone to play with.” Thunder’s tongue came out and gently brushed Rohrisem’s nose.

And as Thunder exhaled for the last time, Rohrisem let himself cry. He squeezed his furry friend as tightly as he could while letting himself grieve loudly into his soft fur.

He cried only for a few moments before he felt his mother’s hand grasp his shoulder. Regretfully, Rohrisem let his dog go and let his mother help him to his feet. His arms came around her and he gripped her tight.

And Maren said absolutely nothing to him as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

*

Rohrisem knelt down beside his best friend’s, freshly dug grave. Beside his grave, was Thunder’s eternal resting place. Both graves had already been covered and the hard work was already done.

Ralios’s mother and father knelt down beside him, the former with her head hanging and the latter with his arms around her, clutching tight.

Rohrisem wanted to cry. He wanted to weep, to alleviate this horrible pain he felt inside. They were gone. Both of them, were gone in a moment of pure audacious stupidity. Had the bandits left them be, then they would be sitting by their midnight campfire. They would be enjoying roasted marshmallows, and Thunder’s eyes would be glued to his master’s in the hope that he might share.

There would be no passing out by that campfire. Ralios would not be by his side, and Thunder’s head would not be resting atop Rohrisem’s stomach.

Rohrisem sniffed and struggled swallowing.

He turned and headed back to his home. Where his mother would be waiting for him. He didn’t relish the idea of having any kind of conversation with her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Ever.

He grit his teeth as he lowered his head. And within his own mind, he began to set a plan in motion.

He walked into his home to find his mother cooking something in the kitchen.

Rohrisem walked up and sat down at the table and kept his silence. Within moments, Maren left her station in the kitchen and had a seat next to her son.

She said nothing, though she kept her unblinking gaze on him. He stared straight ahead, afraid to look at her.

Rohrisem opened his mouth to speak, though the words wouldn’t come out.

“They’re gone,” Rohrisem managed to get out.

Maren said nothing, her lips remaining pursed.

“My two best friends…” Rohrisem said, his voice trailing off.

He opened his hands and looked at them. They trembled like leaves, right before his very eyes.

“And last night, I killed men,” Rohrisem said, suddenly looking at his mother. His lips were upside down, and tears flooded his eyes and he struggled to blink them away.

“I killed people last night!” He said, suddenly sobbing.

Maren was off her chair in and instant and she yanked Rohrisem to his feet. Her arms came around him, and squeezed tight and Rohrisem simply sobbed.

“I killed them! I killed them! I killed people!” Rohrisem cried.

Maren moved away from her son and she put a hand on either side of his face.

“It’s perfectly ok to be upset, sweetheart,” Maren said. “No living human, should naturally want to kill another man or woman.” She said. Rohrisem stared, transfixed. Her bright blue eyes, seemed to dance with the flickering flame of the lantern.

“But these were not men you murdered,” Maren said. “These were men who kidnapped children, ruined and razed homes, raped women, killed your best friend and murdered your dog.” She said. “As a wielder, you will often have to choose when to let someone live, or take their life from them. The more you kill, the more these feelings will fade.” She said.

“I’m going to have to kill more?” Rohrisem asked.

Maren nodded her head. “This is one of the reasons I had so much regret about you becoming a wielder. You have such a strong and powerful heart, but you are also so tender and sweet.”

Rohrisem said nothing.

“I knew that this path was going to bring you even closer to the day when you would no longer be my little boy, and instead you would become a man.” Maren said, a tear frozen in her eye.

“My days of having you as my boy, are slowly coming to and end,” She said, sniffing.

“I’ll always be your boy, even when I’m forty,” Rohrisem said, and offered a slight smile.

At that Maren pulled her son back into another strong embrace. “You fought bravely, son,” Maren said.

Rohrisem said nothing and pulled away from his mother.

“And you’re going to be fighting again.” Maren said. “I want you to eat something and then go straight to bed. Get as much rest as you can, because I’m coming for you at midnight. We’re heading to Darril’s and then we’re sneaking out of here in the middle of the night. We’re heading right for that bandit fort, and you and I are going to kill every  last one of them.”

Rohrisem’s mouth dropped open.

“All of them,” Maren said. “This is what the wielder’s do, and this is going to be your first major test. You’re going to kill Marrus with your own blade, and should you succeed, we’ll head straight for Krenethus so I can present you to the Firstweld.”

Rohrisem’s heart fell into his stomach, and he wasn’t exactly sure why.

“Go get some sleep, because we ride at midnight,” Maren said, and urged her son off to bed…

Chapter Eight

TWO YEARS LATER

A nine year old Thunder, sat just below the watchtower which overlooked the town of Krinne like a powerful sentinel of its own accord. Darril was actually sitting in a chair, atop the tower, overlooking the outskirts of the town. He puffed from his pipe and tried to ignore the thumps and sounds coming from above him.

A blindfolded Rohrisem spun atop the tower, with a staff in his hands. He twirled it over his head, bringing it down before suddenly surging upward in an uppercut motion. He brought the stick down, then swung upward once again, this time at an angle. And again, he brought the staff up and swung around, which carried his body weight in a circle. Using that momentum, he leapt into the air and spun around once again. Kicking outward in his leg, had there been a target before him, his leg might’ve removed the head its body. As he landed, he jumped and spun again, landing with precision atop the stone circle which acted as a hub for the rest of the wood for the rest of the watchtower. Roughly one foot in diamter, Rohrisem had always thought of it as a spider and it’s six legs.

And by this time, Rohrisem had already made thousands of jump kicks just like this one. Sometimes rising in the middle of the night to go out and practice because he couldn’t sleep. He counted one hundred jump spin kicks, as a person might count sheep.

“Hey buddy, why don’t you come down here?” Ralios yelled up to his friend.

Rohrisem pulled his blindfold off and squinted against the bright burning sun. As soon as his eyes were adujusted, he ran down the roof of the watchtower, placing one foot in front of the other. As he reached the edge, he pushed himself off the edge, flipping completely over.

He tumbled twenty feet, landing in a perfect crouch with his staff in his right hand.

“Wow,” Ralios muttered. “That’s so amazing, and I don’t know how you do it.” He said.

“It’s just training,” Said Rohrisem. “I think anyone can do what I do if they have the determination.”

Ralios simply shook his head.

“Aarf!” Said Thunder.

Rohrisem smiled and held his arms out. Thunder bounced a bit, barking again and coming forward into his arms. “Hey buddy!” Rohrisem said, and Thunder barked again. He licked Rohrisem’s face repeatedly, who made no attempt to get away from it. “I know,” Rohrisem said in his puppy-talk voice. “I wub yoo tooooo,”

“Hey, isn’t that–” Ralios started, and Rohrisem turned around. A ship was pulling into the harbor, and Rohrisem quickly handed his staff for Ralios to take. He took off walking for his home before his father even had the chance to get off the ship. He opened the door, not finding his mother right away. He scrambled up the stairs and knocked on the door to her room. She was sprawled out on her bed, face down and her leg up at an angle.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure father is home,” Rohrisem said, as he continued to jostle her awake. She was up in just a few seconds. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and rose to her feet. Rohrisem went downstairs and sat down at the dining room table. Maren went into the kitchen and started with dinner. Rohrisem simply sat at the table with his hands folded out in front of him.

The front door to their home opened up, and Rohrisem heard the familiar sounds of his father removing his outer coat and walking in to sit down at the table.

Steel’s wielder’s tunic was stained brown, and Rohrisem wondered if it was alcohol residue. He smelled the alcohol coming off his person immediately, and he had to keep from putting his hand to his nose.

Steel came in and pulled a chair out, he slowly sat down at the table and pulled it up. “Get me some dinner!” Steel barked from his seat, his words slurred and slow, yet determined and dangerous.

Rohrisem swallowed. He kept his gaze on the table for fear of making eye contact with his father. He was angry, and understandably so. Not just for not training him, but for his abuse throughout the years. All of the punches and smacks, and being talked down to without end.

“Boy,” Steel said, his voice abrupt. Uncaring.

And most of all, unloving.

Rohrisem grit his teeth. He thought of his techniques and ran over them in his head. He thought of his mother’s lessons to him, and knew that she would have told him to upend the table and knock him over. As he scrambles to his feet, his own blade should be drawn and at the ready. His knees should be bent and he should be aware of the heightened emotions with his body. He should quell the beats of his heart and set into a steady rhythm of breathing.

“BOY!” Steel snapped.

Rohrisem simply looked down the table. I want a fight. Please. Please give me a reason. Rohrisem thought. He looked up and met his father’s eyes.

And said absolutely nothing.

“You wipe that smirk off your face, boy!” Steel said, his gaze determined. His arms were folded across his chest.

Why don’t you try and beat it out of me? Go ahead. Isn’t that what you like to do anyway? Rohrisem thought.

Before Rohrisem could say a word, Maren came walking out with a plate of fish and vegetables. She sat it down in front of her husband, and sat off to his right. She folded her hands on the table, and like Rohrisem she said nothing.

Steel took a bite of his fish and began to chew. “We should be having family conversation, so tell me what’s been going on lately?” Steel said with a mouthful of food.

Rohrisem’s blood boiled.

Maren simply looked down and said nothing at all. And Rohrisem knew that his mother felt exactly the same way that he did.

“I spoke, which means one of you two needs to answer me or I’m going to start getting angry,” Steel said, and Rohrisem looked up. His gaze determined.

“Neither of us have been drinking, how about you?” Rohrisem said.

Steel’s fist slammed down on the table, and Rohrisem hated himself for jumping. “Mouth off to me again, boy,” Steel said.

He wanted so badly to say something to him, and then he looked at his mother who shook her head ever so faintly.

Rohrisem grit his teeth and kept his mouth shut.

Steel leaned back and threw his left leg up and set it atop the chair across from Maren.

“So listen, some things are going to start to change around here–” Steel started and then sat forward. He reached over to the chair and pulled something up.

Rohrisem’s plan had worked perfectly. His father always stretched out and put his foot on that chair, and he knew that if he placed something there that his father’s foot would come into contact with it.

“What the hell is this?” Steel asked as he set down Rohrisem’s wielder tome. He began to open it and flip through it, and after a few seconds he looked up.

Rohrisem had never seen him angrier. His nostrils flared and his eyes lit up bright as stars.

“Oh you’re a wielder now because you have this book, am I right? Steel said, and slammed the book shut.

I am more of a wielder than you’ll ever be. Rohrisem thought.

“So, you’re doing this on your own? You think you know wielder techniques? I told you no, and you go behind my back and do it anyway?” Steel said. “I was going to come home and offer to train you. You’re getting close to the age anyway, and yet here you are already trained. You’ve disappointed me ever since you were born–”

“Shut up!” Maren yelled, her voice louder than he had ever heard it be. Even Steel looked at her in shock. “He’s not reading through that book on his own, because I have been training him! I’ve been training him for two years because you’re not man enough to do it yourself! He’s your SON!” Maren surged to her feet, her face reddening and spit flying from her mouth.

“I’ve had ENOUGH! You’re DONE!” Maren screamed. “You will never again talk to him in that way! In fact, you’re going to pack your shit and get the hell out of my house! YOU are the disappointment! What kind of piece of shit father–”

Maren had no time to finish, for Steel surged to his feet and threw his body weight forward. His clenched fist, connected with the side of Maren’s cheek. The impact sounded like a metal ball slamming into a wooden floor.

Maren went stumbling backward to the floor. The next thing to happen, was for Rohrisem to stand to his feet and grab the table. He threw it to the side and kicked the remainder of chairs over as well.

Steel smiled. “You’re journey is over,” He said, and reached for Rohrisem’s wielder’s tome. With one hand, he threw it over, landing it in the roaring fireplace.

Rohrisem made a move for it, and Steel cut him off. His hands were up and raised to his face.

Rohrisem rolled his shoulders back and raised his hands too. He squared off with his father, facing him fully. He kept his body low and his knees bent, just like his mother taught him.

Rohrisem’s hand sped forward, aiming for his father’s nose. Steel deflected it quickly, slapping the top of his hand. It stung something awful, and Rohrisem was surprised that his father was so quick despite the fact he was drunk.

Again Rohrisem’s hand reached out like the bite of a snake. It was deflected again, and Steel’s hand came forward and slapped Rohrisem hard across the face.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Steel said.

Steel looked down just as soon as he felt something touch his leg. Maren reached out to grab it, and in response he kicked hard and punted his wife in the side of her head.

Rohrisem screamed as loud as he could, and surged forward. He threw a punch at his father and as soon as it was deflected, Rohrisem knelt and threw a hard chambered punch into his father’s stomach. His father exhaled against the force of the blow, and Rohrisem stood. This time, he threw in a closed fist which narrowly missed its mark. Steel’s retaliatory strike came in, and Rohrisem side stepped the strike and came underneath his father’s arm. His own fist made contact, slamming hard into his father’s armpit.

As Steel shook his now numb arm, Rohrisem stepped forward and slammed his opposite fist into his father’s face. The impact shattered his nose, and he went down hard. Rohrisem was on him in an instant, screaming.

This was no longer a fight of two trained professionals. This was an angry beating. Rohrisem repeatedly punched his father in the face, using both hands. Rohrisem’s fists caved in his father’s nose, blackened his eyes and spilled blood from his lips.

Rohrisem went to throw another punch, which was quickly grabbed by his mother. She pulled him off of his father and turned him around. Rohrisem’s arms came around his mother and he held her tight, his tears coming in quiet sobs.

“Come on, let’s go get help,” Maren said. “Someone needs to come and take your father to jail until we can figure out what to do with him.” Maren said. “Her face was bloodied and bruised. Her right eye had already turned black, and blood dripped slowly from the side of her lip where she had been kicked.

Maren ushered her son outside, and after stepping out into the cool evening air, they turned right. Just three houses down, was the city’s townhall. They moved into the open entranceway, which was constructed from oak. They turned a corner and pushed through a wooden door, which let out a slow creak as it moved.

They walked down the hallway, toward the fireplace alit at the back of the room. Sitting at a table, were two middle-aged men, each of them sipping from a flagon of mead. Their dinner of baked chicken and roasted vegetables sat in front of them.

“We need you to come to our home,” Maren said. She reached up and wiped away the blood from the corner of her mouth. “Steel attacked us in our home and he fought with my son,”

The two men looked at one another, each of them setting down from their flagons.

“Are you all right, son?” Asked the taller of the two men.

Rohrisem hadn’t interacted with the man all that much. He knew that he mostly kept to himself, and that he was kind, brash sometimes.

“Please, Jarron,” Maren said. “We really need to hurry,” She added.

Both men nodded and proceeded to follow Maren out of the townhall, and into the cool night air once again. They hurried to Maren’s and Rohrisem’s home and made their way inside.

And Steel was nowhere to be found. The result of the battle that took place was still evident, and something else had been changed too.

Rohrisem’s wielder’s tome that had been given to him by his mother, was smouldering in the fireplace. The cover of the book, sat atop the table and it had a dagger shoved all the way through it, and into the table.

Rohrisem ran to the fireplace and fell to his knees.

Maren shook her head, her mouth agape. “That son of a bitch,” She said, looking up at the two men.

“You need to be on the lookout, because this isn’t over,” She said, and both Jarron and his cohort nodded their heads. They turned to leave without so much as another word.

Maren walked over and reached down for Rohrisem. She hoisted him up to his feet and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry about all this, sweetheart,” She said.

Rohrisem sniffed while gritting his teeth. He didn’t want her to see his tears, though he knew they would come later. He didn’t understand it. How could a man treat his own family that way? Had he really fallen so far, as to hate them so? Is there any way he could fix it? Could he reach his father?

Maren pulled away from her son and looked toward the door.

She looked at Rohrisem, her face stern. “Go out the back window and get Thunder,” She urged. “Stay back there until I come and get you.” She added.

She moved quickly, her footfalls light as she approached their front window. Rohrisem followed her and looked outside.

The bandits who made a habit of harassing them every few months, had returned…

Chapter Seven

Rohrisem’s voice was growing hoarse. He lost count of how many times he had screamed for help. He heard nothing, save for the occasional wind that blew across the inside of the box, and he savored every sweet scent of that air coming into the box with him, little as it was.

His throat hurt so badly, the he knew he could no longer scream. They simply became whimpers which he still uttered, even though he knew no one could hear him.

His tears had dried long ago, and he began to focus on what he could do. He could feel and practically hear his heartbeat, which slammed within his ears. He could breathe, and he got himself into a rhythm, focusing on breathing through his nose and out of his mouth. He closed his eyes and tried to envision himself stepping outside of the box. He pictured the door opening up and being enveloped with the sweet cold, post-sunset breeze. He was going to taste it. He was going to become it. Never again would he ever take breathing that cool air for granted.

Rohrisem realized he could move his toes and he wiggled them within his boots. He moved them up and down in waves, counting three times before taking a break. And again he wiggled his toes in a group of three and took a break. He did this until he did one hundred sets.

Then, he realized he could move his fingers. He moved those in waves, raising the pinky first, then his ring finger, followed by his middle finger, and finally his pointer finger. Then, he put them back down in the same order: pinky, ring, middle, pointer.

He repeated the process with the opposite hand, and resumed the process with his other hand as soon as he finished. He counted one hundred repetitions before going back to do his toes once more.

He tried not to think about the time. He focused on his breathing. He tried not to think of how hot he was, instead he envisioned himself trying to warm up from being outside in the snow too long. He pictured the hot cocoa in his hands, the crackling fireplace, and the blanket over his shoulders which did nothing to eliminate his shivers.

He tried not think of his next meal, for that hurt his stomach even worse. His stomach felt fine for the moment, but he knew he was going to have to pee eventually. For the moment, he tried not to think about that.

His breathing was now settled and he was no longer trying to scream. Instead, he focused on his breathing and repeated his toe and finger exercises. He ran his mind over the Wielder’s Code, as well as several of the techniques that he had already memorized in just two days time.

Chirping Cricket

A defense against an assailant with a dagger, assuming an inward slashing attack

Step one: Skip step backward one foot.

Step two: Focus energy in back leg and surge forward with a closed backfist into the nose of your opponent.

Step three: Grab opponents wrist with right hand, swing in left arm just behind the elbow, push through the arm, snapping the bone.

Step four: Step into opponent whilst bringing their arm toward them, and thrust the dagger into the enemy’s throat.

He ran over all of the techniques he had memorized, though he didn’t have the chance to perform the techniques or put them into practice, understanding them as theory only.

His bladder felt as if it was nearing the point of bursting. He tried to think of anything else in order to take his mind of the pressure he was feeling. There was absolutely no possible chance he would make it the entire rest of the day. He was going to have to relieve himself in the box.

Then, he heard a sound. It was something being shaken just outside of his wooden prison.

He wasn’t sure what the sound was, and he was hoping the door would open. If only so that he might relieve himself.

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Light flooded the box and Rohrisem winced against the sun’s rays while covering his eyes. He held his arm over his face and waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. He moved his arm slowly, letting in just a little light at a time.

Within moments his arm was away from his face and he was squinting, opening his eyes a little at a time.

His mother stood before him, and Thunder jumped up, putting his paws on Rohrisem’s chest. Ralios stood with a smile on his face and folded arms.

“Go to the bathroom,” Maren said.

Rohrisem nodded and sprinted out of the box. He rounded the corner of his house, and threw open the front door, sprinting inside. He nearly tripped over one of the dining room chairs before making it to the bathroom. He gasped as he began to relieve himself, leaning against a wall for support.

He washed his hands and slowly walked back outside. His stomach rumbled, though he was determined to make it until evening. He still had several hours to go. His mother, friend, and loyal companion turned toward him when he came walking over to the box. Without a word to any of them, he stepped inside of the box and put his hands to his sides.

But his mother wasn’t closing the door.

She stood outside, with folded arms.

And she was beaming.

“Are you going to close the box?” Rohrisem asked.

Maren laughed quietly and kept her smile.

Then the realization dawned on him. He had walked back into the box completely on his own, and it didn’t even bother him. He wasn’t afraid for the door to close. And he was no longer afraid.

“I’m…not scared anymore?” Rohrisem asked, looking up at his mother.

He smiled, letting out a soft, surprised laugh. “I’m not scared anymore!” He yelled and sprinted out of the box.

He was into his mother’s arms in an instant, and even she had to laugh as she wrapped her arms around her son.

“I’m not afraid anymore!” Rohrisem said, and began to softly weep to his mother’s chest.

“I know baby, I know,” Maren said.

He pulled away, though holding fast to her arms. “Can I start training now?!” Rohrisem asked, and took the back of his right hand to wipe away his tears.

Maren nodded, and wiped her face as well. “You’re ready,” She said.

*

Rohrisem raised his arms in an X, a cross block designed to either catch a leg mid kick, or an incoming punch. Maren’s leg came down hard, nearly buckling his arms as he caught her strike. He moved his arms to the side, throwing his mother’s leg away. He raised his right leg, bring his knee up first and throwing his foot forward. His intent was to slam into her chest and send her sprawling.

Instead, Maren’s arm swung in and knocked Rohrisem off balance. Before his leg could even touch the earth, Maren dashed forward and slammed her open forearm into Rohrisem, slamming into his collarbone. The impact sent his legs upward, he fell back and grunted as he met the ground beneath him.

Maren reached down and offered a hand. She pulled Rohrisem to his feet and he dusted himself off.

“Your footing was weak and you were too close to me for that kick,” Maren said. “You should have attempted a knee or an elbow strike instead. An elbow strike can do far more damage at close range than a kick can.” Maren said.

Rohrisem thought about the action for a moment and considered her input. He knew she was right and he even thought about the kick before he threw it.

Maren turned around, clasping her hands behind her back. “You must always watch your opponent, and never take your eyes off of him or her,” Maren said, and spun quickly. She threw her hand out with a closed fist in the attempt to smash it across the side of her son’s face.

Rohrisem ducked underneath and pushed off with his feet, tackling his mother over onto her back. He was atop her in a second and as his punch came down to strike her nose, his mother’s arms came up and wrapped around the entirety of his arm. She held is wrist first while rolling and throwing her legs over his arm.

Rohrisem now lay prostrate on his back, with his arm held in his mother’s cast iron grip. Her legs came up over and locked tight over his chest and throat. In an instant, he felt as if his shoulder was being violently ripped from its socket.

He instantly brought a hand up and tapped his mother’s leg twice so that she would let him go.

“And do attempt to capitalize on a presumed advantage,” Maren said after rising to her feet. She reached her hand down once again for her son to take.

“You must assume that your opponent is just as skilled, if not more skilled than you are,” Maren said. Again, she clasped her hands behind her back and she walked around her son.

She did this often, talking and teaching Rohrisem his lessons. While doing so, she often surprised him, coming in with an attack from the side, forcing Rohrisem to go on the defensive. Or coming behind him and putting him into a powerful chokehold. Rohrisem even recalled several nights ago, his mother attacking him in his sleep. At some point in the middle of the night, he was in a fistfight with his mother in the middle of his bedroom with the crickets still chirping outside.

Maren stopped walking and turned toward her son. “Today’s lesson is done,” Maren said.

“Before you eat dinner tonight, you are to practice your staff exercises on the tightrope,’ Maren said.

At that, Rohrisem’s heart fell into his stomach. The tight rope was a rope that was tied from the watchtower, all the way to Darril’s house. It was a even rope, and plenty thick. But balancing was beyond difficult. The rope was ten feet off the ground, and Rohrisem lost count at the number of times he had fallen. He was to practice with his staff; a stick weapon roughly six feet long. It had been made by Darril and it was honed to perfection. The ends were sharp points and could do some incredible damage if stabbed into a target. It was lightweight and it moved about within Rohrisem’s hands without much effort. He would have to practice all of his strikes, blocks, and spins before he would be allowed to eat. The last time he attempted the exercised, it took him the better part of 5 hours. Dinner was long cold by then.

“Yes Master!” Rohrisem said, his hands held at attention, closed and in front of himself as if holding two pints of Oldlund Brew.

“We’ll be back out here tomorrow morning, right as the sun comes up,” Maren said.

“Yes, master,” Rohrisem said.

Maren nodded her head. “You’re dismissed,” she said, and immediately Rohrisem let his shoulders slump.

Maren held open her arms and he walked forward, embracing her tenderly before moving away from her.

She stood and watched her son leave. He walked a different way now. He walked with his head held high. His arms swung when he walked and he wasn’t slouching.

He was tall. Proud.

She worried so much, about how much damage his father had done to him when he was still so little. Beating him, ignoring him, never embracing him. She wanted so badly to heal those terrible wounds his father inflicted. She wanted to protect him from it all. She wanted to erase those pains and fight all those battles for him so that he would never have to.

Because that is what mothers do. To her, that young man was single handedly the best thing she had ever done with her life.

That is what love is. And it wasn’t from anything he was doing, or had done. All of his actions were like icing on a cake, because she loved him from the moment he began growing within her body.

And as she watched him walk away, like the proud lion warrior she named him after, she sank to her knees and wept…

Chapter Six

Rohrisem limped into his house, his legs nearly buckling underneath him as he collapsed into the dining room chair where he typically sat for meals. Maren walked into the kitchen and began pulling some items from the icebox.

On the counter, she sat down some wrapped brown parchment. She grabbed a large vegetable knife from the butcher’s block and she began to cut some cauliflower, potatoes, and carrots into bite sized pieces. After she was done, she threw a log into the stove and set her pan atop the flames. Then, she poured some oil into the pan and made sure the bottom was fully coated.

“Ok, while you’re training,” Maren said, and turned to face her son. “You don’t say a word of this to your father. Since most of your training is going to be done outside, I will need to go speak to the members of the town to make sure they don’t say anything to your father. I’ll do that while you’re resting.”

Rohrisem swallowed. “Are you afraid of him finding out?” He asked, wringing his hands together atop the table.

Maren nodded. “You let me worry about your father,” She said. “When he is home, you need to make sure you’re practicing what I’ve already showed you,” Maren said. “Take Thunder with you and practice in the woods to the southeast of town. Your father never goes there, and if he asks, I’ll tell him I’ve sent you on an errand.”

Rohrisem nodded. His stomach was beginning beginning to twist with excitement. He felt himself smiling. Is this really going to happen? Am I really going to become a wielder?

“In addition,” Maren continued. She paused a minute and scooped the vegetables up with her hands and threw them into the now smoking oil. They sizzled to life and Maren immediately reached for the salt, pepper, and whole garlic cloves. She smashed them with the bottom of the knife and threw them into the mix. She stirred them around with a giant wooden spoon.

“‘In addition,’ what?” Rohrisem asked.

“In addition, you’re going to be studying,” Maren said, setting the wooden spoon down inside of the pan. She walked back into her bedroom and came walking out with a large tome. She set it down on the table in front of Rohrisem with a THUNK.

“That’s the Wielder’s Tome,” She said, and Rohrisem immediately opened it up.

His mouth fell open.

In front of him was page after page of reasonably drawn stick figures, standing in various motions. There were names of techniques, with accurate steps underneath them of how to complete the technique accurately.

Rohrisem flipped several pages and found various wielder exercises for improving efficiency, which included knife throwing, bladework, blind fighting, tactics, etiquette, wielder’s code, and much more more.

And what was perhaps Rohrisem’s most liked aspect of the book, was all of the notes that were hand written in the book. He had to assume they belonged to his mother.

“You will be reading that every day, and every night,” Maren said, and stirred the vegetables again. She threw the fish in with the vegetables and seasoned it lightly. She waited a few minutes before flipping it over with a flattened spatula.

“When your father is home, you need to be extra careful,” Maren said. “I am going to connect a string that runs from the kitchen window, all the way outside and up to your room. It’s going to connect to a bell. If you hear that bell ring, you need to put the book inside of a wooden plank which I’ve already loosened underneath your desk. I’ve already tested it, and there is plenty of room for the book to fit. As soon as your father starts going up the stairs, I’ll run to the kitchen and ring the bell. He never hurries, so you’ll have maybe 10-15 seconds to put it away.”

Rohrisem felt himself grow nervous at his mother’s words. He absolutely did not want to lose that book,

Maren lifted the fish and placed it upon a metal plate, and she dumped the vegetables right on top. She filled a glass with some ice water, and she set it all in front of her son. He hungrily dug into the food while he began to read about a technique called Chirping Cricket, which was a brutal defense against an opponent who has you trapped against a wall. He turned the page.

Maren sat down and placed her head in her hands. “This is going to be very hard, and I am going to be very hard on you. I am going to push you until your body breaks. You will throw up and you will cry tears of blood.”

Rohrisem swallowed his food as he tried to swallow his nervousness.

“But once this is all said and done, I am going take you to Krenethus and plead with The Firstweld to take you as his pupil. I’ll make sure he sees the talent before him,” Maren said, and reached her hand out. She took Rohrisem’s hand into hers. “All you have to do is give me everything you have, and promise me that you’ll never quit.” She said.

“I promise,” Rohrisem said.

Maren smiled and took her hand back. “Finish your meal and then I want you to go straight to bed. I want you reading up on the wielder’s exercises, and familiarizing yourself with the techniques. Day after tomorrow, I am going to become your absolute worst nightmare,” Maren said, smiling sweetly. She kissed her son on her cheek before going back to the kitchen.

And Rohrisem raised a bite of fish to his mouth, and try as he might, he could not get his spoon to stop trembling.

*

TWO DAYS LATER

Rohrisem stood in the open grassy knoll, behind his house. The grass rose and fell with the hill like gentle, permanently-still waves. The wind blew, caressing the leaves of the trees out in the distance. The air was crisp, and still held the faint scent of morning dew. He shivered, only slightly and regretted for the moment not grabbing his wolfskin jacket. He stood with his hands clenched, out in front of himself just as his book had taught him. He recalled the last few nights, staying up late and studying and learning the techniques contained within his book.

He made the attempt to memorize the Wielder’s Code by repeating it to himself over and over again in his head. In his mind, he attempted to practice the techniques contained in the tome.

His mother had instructed him that morning, to eat a full meal but drink very little. Then he was to come out back behind the house and wait for her arrival. To pass the time, he tried not to think about what was to come. He knew this training was not going to be easy. It would be grueling. Impossible. Insurmountable. And yet, he knew that by mustering his perseverance, he would somehow overcome the challenges that his mother would eventually throw his way.

And in that moment, he had no idea of the horror he would be facing for his first lesson.

Maren came walking from alongside the house, and she was dragging with her a large wooden box that looked not unlike a burial coffin. It was small, barely big enough to fit a person, and it certainly wouldn’t fit a grown man. She seemed to drag it easily enough, pulling it over and setting it up against the house.

“Turn and face me,” Maren said, and Rohrisem did as he was told. “Yes Master,” he said, loud and confident.

“Your first lesson is not going to be any type of physical training,” Maren said, and she clasped her hands behind her back. She bore her wielder’s tunic which shimmered in the early morning sunlight. Her wielder’s blade remained strapped to her side, and not behind her back as it was a few nights prior.

He looked at her in envy. He wanted it. He wanted that tunic to cover his body more than anything else ever wanted in his life.

“Your first lesson as a wielder is to learn to overcome your fears,” Maren continued. She spoke without looking at her son. He stood with his hands in front of himself, clenched as if holding a candle in each hand.

“What are you afraid of?” Maren asked.

Rohrisem bit his lip a bit as a vision of his father swam within his mind. “My father,” He said.

“What else? What is something you are so afraid of that it gives you nightmares?” Maren asked.

In an instant, Rohrisem’s heart fell into his stomach. He suddenly recalled with clarity, being four years old. It was his most profound memory, as well as his first. His breathing began to grow heavy and instantly he felt sweat begin to form within his palms.

Maren stood to face him, her head inclining toward him.

“You know,” Maren said.

Rohrisem recalled, suddenly, slipping and falling off Darril’s roof when he was just four years old. Both he and Ralios were playing, and getting into trouble as boys often do. He slipped and fell and wedged himself in between Darril’s logs and his house.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. It was as if he were the perfect puzzle piece to fit in that spot. It took the town hours to remove the logs in order to get him free. He recalled the feeling of compression on his chest, the logs to his back and his face to the side of the house.

He couldn’t move his head left or right. He could not look up or down. His breath was hot against Darril’s home. His body had been covered in sweat from the sweltering sun that day. There was no air.

And all he could do was scream for those hours it took to remove the logs from the side of Darril’s house.

“No mama, please! Please no!” Rohrisem begged, putting his hands at his sides.

“Unless you learn to confront your fears, you will never overcome them. They will haunt you until the day you die.” Maren said.

Maren walked over to the box and opened it up. Rohrisem looked inside of it and scrambled backward, falling completely to his backside.

“MAMA NO! NO PLEASE!” Rohrisem screamed.

Maren stood over her son, her face emotionless. But there was something else in her eyes. What it was, he didn’t know. It was as if there was a side of her she was trying not to show him.

“Darril made this box years ago, with the very same wood that trapped you against his home,” Maren said. “I had him drill holes all through the sides so that you will have air to breathe.”

“What…what about going to the bathroom?” Rohrisem asked.

“You must learn to overcome that as well,” Maren said.

Rohrisem’s breathing went heavy. “How…how long am I am going to be in there?” He asked, and was loathe to consider the answer.

“Sunset,” Was all Maren said.

He wanted to run. He didn’t want this anymore. He didn’t want it that bad. He could be a farmhand, or work as a blacksmith.

“Here’s the thing though, sweetie,” Maren said, and she knelt down by her son. She cupped a hand to his face and a single tear streaked down the side.

“This time, you’re going to choose to go into that box,” Maren said. “I am not going to make you go in there. You will choose to overcome your fear and tonight you will revel in the truth that you chose to overcome something that has haunted you for years. If you can do this, you can do anything.

Rohrisem slowly rose to his feet and he looked at the box. He walked forward and looked inside of it for a moment. He turned to look at his mother.

“What if I don’t want to do this? What if I want to quit?” Rohrisem asked. “Am I allowed to quit?” He asked, his eyebrows raising. He swallowed.

Maren walked up to him and cupped his face in her hands. “My boy,” She said, pausing. “Doesn’t know how to quit.” 

Rohrisem nodded, and turned again to look at the inside of the box.

Maren continued to speak. “I will put a loaf of bread in your pocket, along with a canteen of water. If you are careful, you might be able to eat and drink. I would be careful doing that too much, because once you’re in there, I will not let you out to relieve yourself.”

Rohrisem shook his head and refused to take his eyes off the box.

Maren continued. “As soon as I lock it, I will turn the box over and set it on its back. You’ll be lying on your back the entire time. Everyone in town knows not to come to your aid, no matter how much you scream.” She said

Rohrisem said nothing and simply stared at the inside of the box. Maren put a hand to his shoulder. He trembled beneath her touch.

“You can do this, my son,” Maren said.

Rohrisem gave one last look at the inside of the box and turned to face his mother. “Ok, I’m ready,” He said.

Maren smiled deeply, her eyes shining. In one fluid motion, she pulled a loaf of bread from her pouch and shoved it into Rohrisem’s tunic pocket. She strapped a canteen to his side and walked over to the box, holding open an arm as if to beckon him inside of it.

Rohrisem walked up, slowly. He turned around and stepped inside of the box. In an instant, the lid came closed and his vision went dark. He heard the clasp snap on the side of the box, and the subsequent lock clicking. Merely seconds later, he felt himself be moved. He was suddenly falling backward, which took the pressure off of his feet and put it on his back.

And then there was nothing.

“Mama?!” Rohrisem cried.

“Mama, are you there?” He cried again.

Silence.

He tried to gauge his movement, starting with his head. His had stared straight forward and he could not turn it one way or another. He could not even look to his left or right. He tried to move his feet and they were stuck firm. He wouldn’t be able to stretch or alleviate the pressure in his legs. His arms hung at his sides, touching the bottom of the box. He could bring them up and touch his sides, but only barely. He knew he would not be eating or drinking anything at all for the day.

His breathing began to grow heavy. Hot. Within minutes, the early spring sun was already beating down on the box and he felt himself sweating.

“HELP!” “HELP!” Rohrisem cried, sobbing and wetting his eyes. They stung from his tears, and what was worse was that he couldn’t even wipe them. He simply had to blink them away.

“MAMA, PLEASE! HELP ME!” Rohrisem cried, and again he heard nothing.

And what he didn’t know was that his friend Ralios sat outside of the box, legs folded underneath him and his chin in his hands. A tear rolled down his cheek as he heard Rohrisem scream for help.

And Thunder laid down next to the box, whining repeatedly and looking to Ralios as if asking for help in releasing their best friend.

Rohrisem’s screams were only just beginning…

Chapter Five

Rohrisem awoke the following day to no sound at all. As he sat up in bed, he became instantly aware of just how badly his body was hurting. His head felt as if a shard of glass was imbedded inside of it. His shoulders and arms felt as if they had both been pushed through a meat grinder. Every little twist and turn, brought excruciating pain. He could have sworn they were on fire.

His stomach twisted like a dagger had been thrust inside. Hanging by those bars the night before had certainly taken a toll on his core. His throat felt like it was closing, and in that instant he remembered the previous day, his father closing his fingers around his throat.

And despite all the pain his body was currently going through, none of it hurt as badly as when he recalled the horrible things his father said to him the night before.

‘You’re garbage!’

‘Absolutely worthless!’

‘You ruined my life!’

Rohrisem’s breathing began to grow heavy, and he began to weep. His hands came to his face and he cried. He sniffed deeply through his slowly clogging nose. Breath trembling, he struggled to inhale. Now he knew. He knew why his father didn’t love him. Why his father mistreated him so. It was his fault. It was all his fault. If it were not for him, his father might still be happy and in love with his wife.

With legs of stone, Rohrisem rolled out of bed and rose to his feet, wincing all the way. He lifted his bag on the edge of the bed and walked to his chest of drawers. He grabbed a few clothing items from inside and he placed them gently into his bag.

He traipsed downstairs and walked slowly into the kitchen. He grabbed his mother’s parchment and one of her ink pens and sat down to writing.

Dearest Mother,

I am so sorry that I must say goodbye to you this way. After last night, I finally learned why father hates me so. I am sorry for my behavior as a baby, for separating you from him. I take responsibility for that and I truly feel terrible. I want you to know that I am always going to think fondly of you. I’ll find my way to Krenethus somehow, even though I have no money or real supplies to get there.

I want you to know mother, that you are wonderful. You are the best mother a boy could ask for, and again, I am so truly sorry for being the wall that divided you and my father.

I’ll love you, always.

And maybe someday I’ll come back with that wielder’s tunic that I might at least make one of you proud.

Your son,

Rohrisem

 

Rohrisem left the pen atop the parchment and didn’t even bother to re-read it. He grabbed his bag and headed out the front door to his home. He walked right past the watchtower and headed for the main gate.

“Rohrisem!” Came Ralios’s abrupt voice from behind him. He came sprinting up, skidding to a halt so that he wouldn’t crash into his friend.

“Where are you going?” Ralios asked.

“I have to go away, Ral,” Rohrisem said, and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ve…I’ve done a terrible thing,” He added.

Ralios shook his head. “I don’t understand?”

Rohrisem thought back once again to his father’s words from the night before. He wasn’t wanted. He wasn’t loved. He had ruined a life. His presence was unwelcome.

Rohrisem offered a smile, though it lacked any kind of life. “I’ll come back one day when I’m a wielder, but for now I need to leave.” He said.

Ralios’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“Goodbye, friend,” Rohrisem said, pulling his friend into a fierce embrace.

Rohrisem turned to walk away, leaving Ralios behind. After about ten steps, Rohrisem heard him call out: “You’re my hero!”

I’m no hero. Rohrisem thought. He wasn’t sure where to go first, and he decided on north. He had always read of Du’Gar’Osh and he knew they were closely allied with Krenethus.

After an hour of walking, his stomach gnawed at him suddenly, and he remembered he had nothing but clothes in his pack. He stopped and despaired, setting his backpack down. How could he possibly make it out in the wilderness? He wasn’t even intuitive enough to consider bringing food and water along with him. In fact, his canteen belt was left at home in his room atop his dresser. It had fallen to the floor when his father threw him into it.

“Roar,” Came a familiar voice. He looked up to see his mother striding toward him. She was wearing a simple crafting tunic, and black cloth pants. Her shimmering blonde hair, hung down over her shoulders.

“Mama…” Rohrisem muttered, and rose to his feet. His mother said nothing else and just came forward. She pulled him into her arms and quietly sobbed against the top of his head. Her arm came up and she used her hand to caress him.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, sniffing deeply. Rohrisem couldn’t help but weep too. “When I read your letter, I broke down. I left the town and I began tracking you right away. I’m so glad I caught you.” She said.

Rohrisem wanted to say “Me too,” but he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry for breaking you and father apart,” He said, and in an instant Maren moved away from him. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, sweetheart,” Maren said. “You were just a baby and you needed me. You needed us, and it is just so unfortunate that your father is selfish. He turned to alcohol to cope instead of being a man and taking the role of being your father. He probably turned to other women too and he simply began to hate himself.”

Rohrisem hung his head.

“I don’t–” Rohrisem started, and choked on his words.

“I don’t think I want to be a wielder anymore,” He said, his lips trembling.

“But why?” Maren asked, mouth open and eyebrows raising.

“Because…because he doesn’t believe in me,” Rohrisem admitted as a single tear slid down the side of his face.

“Listen to me Roar, you listen to me right now,” Maren said, and cupped her hands to the side of her son’s face. “Your mother believes in you and that is all you need to know. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life, what you did last night, hanging on those bars. I am so unbelievably proud of you, and I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. You are going to become a wielder, and I’ll die to make sure it happens.” Maren thumbed another tear from the side of her son’s face.

“You’re Rex Gladius,” She said.

Rohrisem smiled through his tears, even chuckling slightly.

“And more importantly, you are my son,” Maren said.

“Who is going to train me though?” Rohrisem asked. “According to the code, I have to be trained my father in order to be accepted into the wielders.

“I am going to take you there in just three more years, and I am going to plead with the King and Firstweld to let you in,” Maren said. “I have a plan for that, and you just let me worry about it, ok?” Maren said.

Rohrisem nodded. “But, there isn’t anyone to train me? How am I going to learn the techniques, and the stances, and bladework? There isn’t anyone to teach me!” Rohrisem pleaded, and Maren could see the fire in his eyes.

“I will,” Maren said, looking up to meet his gaze. She took her hands away from his face and backed up a few paces.

“But you’re not a wielder, mama,” Rohrisem said, his voice sounding almost as if he were explaining it to her.

Maren pulled off her tunic, revealing a shimmering silverish white tunic underneath. She extended her hand sharply, and a dagger popped out from the inside. She used it to cut her pants off, all the way down the hem. She cast them aside.

Rohrisem stared open mouthed at the woman before him. Her tunic went all the way down to her feet. Maren pulled off a band from her wrist and she reached back behind her and tied her hair into a ponytail.

“H–how?” Rohrisem asked.

“Sit,” Maren said, and Rohrisem followed her instructions. Maren sat too, her legs folded and back completely straight.

“Before you were born, and even before I met your father, I fought as a wielder. After I was initiated, I was on a contract with a man named Karo,” Maren said.

“Karo and I were in love, and we were keeping it a secret because we were afraid of the consequences,” Maren said, pausing. “It was one of my first contracts. We were tasked with following the trail of what we thought were bandits. A precious family heirloom had been stolen from one of the wealthy in Krenethus, and we were both being paid a hefty sum to retrieve it and punish the thieves. On one particular night, I fell asleep while I was on watch, and Karo was apprehended.”

Maren swallowed and looked down. “It was his screams that woke me,” She said.

Rohrisems sat with his chin in his hands, his eyes glued to his mother.

“When I found the source, it was too late,” Maren said. “They tortured him, flaying his skin, branding him, and finally disembowling him. I found the love of my life, resting on a table with his entrails laying atop his chest.”

“By Justice…” Rohrisem said.

“I killed them,” Maren said. “I killed every last one of them, and I was far from merciful,” Maren said. “Their deaths were not swift, and after they were slaughtered, I took the love of my life and buried him in a field, just south of Peni’khen forest, near the edge of the Eastern sea.”

Maren sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “I vowed that I would never again work as a wielder. I failed the love of my life that day, and I didn’t deserve the title. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, perhaps he might not have been captured.”

Maren finally looked up. “And I am sorry for keeping this from you, son,” She said. “I wanted your father to train you, and I wanted to forget I was ever a wielder.”

Maren stood quickly to her feet and held her hand out for her son to take.

Rohrisem grabbed it and was pulled quickly upward.

Maren put her hands to his cheeks once again. “I will ask you one final time, do you want to become a wielder?”

Rohrisem met her eyes. “With everything I am,” He said.

Maren nodded her head. “Then from this moment forward, I am no longer your mother. I am your master and you will refer to me as such. Is that understood?” Maren said, her voice firm.

“Yes, Master,” Rohrisem said quietly.

Maren’s hand came up and slapped the side of her son’s head. “You will let your voice be heard, for from your voice comes your strength. Is that understood?!” Maren snapped.

“Yes, Master!” Rohrisem said.

“Your first task is to head back home and eat a filling, healthy meal,” Maren said. “Then you will sleep the rest of today, and tomorrow too. Your training will begin the day after tomorrow, is that understood?” Maren asked.

“But–” Rohrisem started, and Maren finally unsheathed her wielder’s blade from behind her back. It was out quicker than Rohrisem could blink, and it was held just under his throat.

“You will not question me, boy!” Maren yelled. “You are in no condition to train right now, and you will follow my instructions. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!” Maren yelled.

“Yes Master!” Rohrisem said, his back rigid.

Maren removed the sword and sheathed it in its scabbard which was slung over her back. The two began walking together back to the town of Krinne.

After twenty paces, Maren’s arm came up and wrapped around her son’s shoulders, pulling him close as they walked.

Chapter Four

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Rohrisem held tightly to the bar which stretched back and forth between two of the legs of the watchtower. His palms were open, and facing away from himself. From a low position, he easily pulled himself up over the bar and let himself back down. Again, he pulled himself up and let himself down.

He was shirtless, and his sun-tanned body, simply beaded with sweat. After counting 50 pullups, Rohrisem let himself go and fall to the ground. His hair was long, stretching past his shoulders. Without even taking a moment of a break, he ran for the yoke which he kept outside of his home, which held two buckets of water on either side. He hoisted it over his shoulder and took off at a run, past the tower and across the town, running in a circle in order to cover the entire perimeter.

“Woof!” Came the all too familiar sound of his companion. Thunder quickly caught up alongside him. He was a beast in his own right, with muscled haunches and a massive cranium which bobbed as he ran. His lop ear, never straightened out, which made it difficult for Rohrisem to ever take his dog seriously.

Thunder panted heavily. Excitedly. He bounded up alongside him, running in circles, and barking repeatedly. For some reason, whenever Rohrisem ran with the yoke of water over his shoulders, the dog always seemed to object. He never barked any other time he ran.

And then he wondered if it was because he was carrying water, and Thunder was thirst.

He stopped running and set the yoke down. He knelt down and removed the canteen from his belt and took a nice long draw before putting it back.

“Hey, Rohrisem!”

Rohrisem heard the voice, and he turned to see where it had come from, though it wasn’t necessary. He knew immediately that it was his childhood friend, Ralios.

“Hey yourself!” Rohrisem said, offering a smile.

“Man, are you ever going to be done training?” Ralios asked. He knelt down next to Rohrisem, and eventually found his way to his backside. He leaned back, using his hands as support. Rohrisem decided to match him.

“Never,” Rohrisem said. “I am going to become a wielder, no matter what,” He said. “I just have to keep training so that I’m ready. My mother has been talking with my father about training me, though I haven’t heard anything yet. He never even talks to me, let alone acknowledges that I’m even alive.” He added.

Ralios shook his head. “That’s terrible, Roar,”

Rohrisem said nothing, and instead he rose to his feet. He ran at the watch tower and leapt into the air, catching the bar as he came down. He let himself go still before he began doing his pull ups. He lifted himself quickly, dropping down and pulling up again.

“Wow, you make that look so easy!” Said Ralios. He came out in front of Rohrisem and simply watched him. Over and over again, Rohrisem lifted himself up and dropped down, and Ralios couldn’t help but wonder how he could possibly look like he wasn’t struggling.

After twenty pull ups, Rohrisem let himself drop. He bent down and began to stretch his legs, pointing his toes skyward as he did so. He lowered himself all the way to the ground before rising back up and repeating the process with the other leg.

“All it takes is training and discipline,” Rohrisem said. “Do you want to follow me up?” He asked.

“Sure,” Came Ralios’s reply.

Rohrisem dashed for the leftmost leg of the watch tower and kicked off, effectively propelling himself to the bar, from which he swung to the next bar just a few feet up. He hefted himself upward, barely uttering a sound. He placed his feet on the bar and leapt up another foot, grasping onto the edge of the tower, he swung his legs over and hit the landing.

“Hello, Farin,” Rohrisem said.

Farin sat in his chair, and was overlooking the landscape out to the east of Krinne. Rohrisem looked out and could see for what he thought was miles. The grassy knoll, rolled and tumbled in waves. It was a simple, open plain with nothing but grass as far as his eyes could see.

“Hey little buddy, are you training atop the tower again today?” Farin said, and finally looked toward Rohrisem. He had his trademark pipe in his mouth, from which he was puffing from. Smoke wafted up in slivers before dissipating into the air.

“That I am,” Rohrisem said, and leapt upward one more time, grasping the roof of the tower. He pulled himself up all the way and stood at the center. He reached down for the rope which was fastened to the top of the tower, with a singular, metal hook. He threw the rope over, and within seconds, the rope grew tense. It vibrated several times, and within a minute Rohrisem saw Ralios come up over the tower roof.

“It amazes me how you can scale this thing so fast,” Ralios said, as he worked his way to his feet. He walked over toward the edge and sat down, being sure to turn and face Rohrisem.

Rohrisem stood in the center of the tower, being careful not to step on the hook. He set his leg backward and raised his hands. He began punching outward, his left hand first, which was immediately followed by his right.

Darril had shown him how to fight and defend himself, but not to the level Rohrisem was hoping for. If he was going to become a wielder, he would need much more extensive training than what Darril was able to show him.

Rohrisem brought his right leg up and kicked high, his knee lifting and right leg extending, with Rohrisem nearly standing with his legs at a 90 degree angle. His endless days of stretching with Darril’s pulley contraption had certainly paid off.

Rohrisem settled into a routine, punching and kicking. He lifted knees and threw elbows and visualized fighting imaginary villains.

“How’s come you like to do this up here? Is it because you want everyone to see you?” Ralios asked. He was leaning back on his hands which were helping keep him supported.

Rohrisem paused his routine and looked at his friend. “No, maybe at first I did,” He said, pausing. “But now, I like to come up here because it helps give a view of the landscape. I can keep an eye out for dangers, and the breeze feels nice. It’s also helping me with my fear of heights, and my balance too.”

“You’re afraid of heights?” Ralios asked. He wrinkled his nose and then scratched it with the back of his sleeve.

“Not anymore, and it wasn’t too bad even when I was afraid of them. I was simply uneasy, and coming up here this high, has helped me to conquer that fear.” Rohrisem said, and once again, he settled into his routine.

He was becoming bored with the techniques he knew, and he was thirsting for more.

Rohrisem sighed and stretched his arms before setting down atop the tower. He turned to face Ralios. “My mother has started talking to my father about training me, but he won’t hear anything of it. He never talks to me or even notices I’m alive.”

Ralios inclined his head and sighed.

“Maybe he’s just going through a lot of stuff? I am sure he’ll come around when the time is right?” Ralios suggested.

Rohrisem wasn’t so sure. He was gone for weeks or months at a time, surely on wielder contracts. When he was home, he was alone in his room, drinking. He came out for dinner on occasion and said nothing for the entire meal. Rohrisem had wanted to talk to him so badly, but he always felt as if he were some kind of inconvenience. Even his mother was silent during those meals.

“Perhaps,” Rohrisem replied.

“Whoa! Look!” Ralios said, and pointed out at the sea.

Rohrisem turned and immediately saw his father’s ship, coming up to the dock. One single wielder leaped off the side, and within moments the ship was turning and heading back out to sea. Rohrisem noticed his father walking at a steady pace along the dock, and he knew he wouldn’t have much time.

Rohrisem pulled on his gloves, and took a running leap off the side of the tower. He fell fast and the grass was coming up on him quick. He grabbed the rope and slid all the way down, landing masterfully like he had done so many times before. He pulled his gloves off and went to catch up with his father.

“Papa!” Rohrisem said, stopping quickly and offering a smile. He longed for an embrace. He had seen so many of the other children in town, be hugged by their fathers. It was tender, and warm. Those children must have felt so safe.

It was a feeling Rohrisem had never experienced from his own father. He had hoped for an embrace now, though he knew he wasn’t going to get one.

“What in the hell do you want?” Said Steel.

Rohrisem knew that wasn’t his real name, but a nickname he had earned from some place, perhaps on his travels. He had only ever her his mother call him that, and he had never asked him what his real name was. He wasn’t even sure she knew.

What he did know, was that his father was annoyed. He was looking at him with distaste.

“I was–I–” Rohrisem started.

“SPIT IT OUT, BOY!” Steel snapped.

Rohrisem swallowed as he tried to get his heart to settle. “I was…I was wondering if you would consider training me! I want to be a wielder, like you, and I’ve been pract–”

“Get out of my way!” Steel said, and shouldered right past Rohrisem, jostling and knocking him to the side. Rohrisem simply looked after him longingly. He swallowed, and tried to find the courage to catch up with him.

Rohrisem ran after his father, despite his better thoughts. “Papa, please! I know I’m ready and I’m eager to lear–” Rohrisem managed to get off, before he caught a quick stinging backhand to his cheek.

Steel said nothing and simply glared at his son in anger.

Rohrisem’s hand rose to his cheek to feel the pain of the sting, while his heart fell into his feet. He backed up and slid down the side of the cabin and put his face into his hands.

*

“I don’t understand why you won’t train that boy!” Maren snapped, while Steel sat at the table, drinking from a bottle of whiskey. He didn’t even bother to pour it into a glass. He said nothing and continued to drink.

“Rohrisem is working so hard!” Maren said, and sat down across from her husband. “He gets up every single morning at the crack of dawn, and he runs for miles on end. He lifts rocks, climbs the tower outside and he swims out by the dock for two hours every single night. He’s been doing this for years!”

Steel said nothing and simply took another drink. He wasn’t even looking at his wife.

“What has gotten into you? You’ve just gotten worse ever since he was born! You drink constantly and you barely even talk to me anymore! Why won’t you be a father to that boy? He needs you!”

Steel looked up and made eye contact with his wife. “That boy…doesn’t have it in him to be a wielder,” He said.

“Oh?” Maren asked, her eyebrows raising. “What does he need to do? Drink a bottle of whiskey every couple of days?”

Steel’s eyebrows furrowed while his eyes flashed with anger.

“Ok,” Steel said, and suddenly shot to his feet. He walked right outside, pushing open the door.

Rohrisem didn’t even have the time to sit up before his father reached down and lifted him up by the lapel. His grip was so tight that Rohrisem thought that he was being held firm by a stone giant. His legs scrambled with keeping themselves upright. He barely noticed his mother coming out the front of their house to see what was going on.

Steel released his son, throwing him toward the watchtower. Rohrisem simply stumbled and fell. He turned to look up at his father. He was angry, that much was certain. Rohrisem could not for the life of him, figure out why.

“Get on your feet,” Steel spat.

Rohrisem responded by kicking himself up off the ground, rolling backward and propelling himself upward to a full standing position.

“Hold out your hands,” Steel said.

Rohrisem held his hands out in front of himself, palms down.

“Turn them over, dumbass!” Steel snapped, and Rohrisem quickly rotated his hands. Steel responded by unsheathing his wielder’s blade with the speed of a viper. He set it, edge down, atop Rohrisem’s hands.

“Hold em’ still, boy,” Steel said, and slowly pulled the blade across Rohrisem’s hands.

He winced against the pain as he felt the blade cut into his skin like butter. The sound of the slow slice was probably worse. He literally felt it’s skin, falling apart from itself.

Rohrisem looked at his hands which were cut, and now seeping blood.

“Get your ass up there and grab that bar,” Steel said.

Rohrisem looked at his hands, and then at his father. “I can’t hold that bar like thi–”

The next thing Rohrisem felt was his father’s giant hand, clopping him on the side of his head. It dazed him, and caused him to stumble.

By this point, some more townspeople were coming out to see what the commotion was about. Maren was now much closer to where they stood now.

Rohrisem didn’t say another word. He leapt toward the tower leg and kicked off, and grabbed the bar. He winced in absolute pain as he felt the bar, dig right into his open wound.

“If you’re still up there by the time the sun rises in the morning, you have my word I’ll train you,” Steel said, and sheathed his sword. He walked away from his son and stormed back into the house, slamming the door as he did so.

Maren hurried up to where her son was hanging.

Rohrisem grit his teeth and did everything he could to keep his hands still. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He tried to think about anything but the pain.

Ralios turned and explained to Maren what Steel had just done.

“Oh baby, no!” Maren said, walking up to her son. “This isn’t right! You get down from there this instant!” She said, putting her hands to her face.

Rohrisem shook his head. “No, mama,” He said. “I have to do this. If this is how I am going to get my father to train me, then there’s no way in hell I’m letting this bar go.”

Maren looked around, panicked almost. Damn it, Steel! She thought. “Rohrisem, we will find another way. I don’t care if I have to take you to Krenethus myself, I’ll find a way to make you a wielder!” She said.

“There is no one else who can train me, and according to the code, I must be trained by my father!” Rohrisem said, and winced again. Maren looked up. Blood was dripping down slowly, in lines. It was beginning to cover his arms.

The townspeople began to gasp, each of them looking at one another. Darril stood at the back, and he held a single hand to his mouth.

“He’s not letting go,” Ralios said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And he’s gotta hang here all night, he said?” Maren asked, looking down at Ralios who simply nodded.

“Ok, listen,” Maren said. “I am going to go and get some food and I’ll bring out some cloth, and some Asatha’la,” She said. “Can you hang on for a few hours until your father falls asleep? Once he’s out, I can bandage your hands and it will make this a little bit easier.”

Rohrisem nodded his head, and he began to speak: “I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,”

Again, he repeated it. “I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side.”

He repeated it over and over again, sometimes quieter, and other times a bit louder as if to give himself courage. Maren walked up and tenderly hugged her son around his legs. “I’ll be back soon sweetie, ok? I am going to be here all night,” She said, and turned to run back to her house.

*

“What in Justice’s name have you done?” Maren spat.

Steel sat in a rocking chair, this time sipping from a bottle of whiskey.

“Do you realize that that boy is not going to let go? Do you have any idea how bad he wants this?” Maren asked.

And still, Steel said absolutely nothing. He simply rocked in his chair and sipped from his bottle of whiskey.

“Are you listening to me? Did your father do this with you?” Maren asked, and this time Steel looked up at her, though he remained silent.

Maren simply stood, with hands on hips. Steel looked away and took another sip of his whiskey.

“You know what? You’re a piece of shit,” Maren said.

This time, Steel rose from his chair and he set the bottle down on the counter.

He walked up to his wife and grasped her by her tunic, pulling it taut, he yanked Maren close to his face.

“I’d suggest you watch the words coming out of your mouth, and I’d also suggest you leave it be,” Steel said, and Maren could smell the whiskey on his breath. Steel let her go and grabbed his whiskey bottle and began to head toward the stairs.

“I’m going to bed,” He said as he began to drunkenly make his way up the stairs.

Just as soon as she heard his door close, Maren dashed into the kitchen and began to gather her supplies.

*

Several townspeople had already gone to bed by the time Maren came running back out to the tower, and she found her son still hanging on the bar. The blood had dripped all the way down his arms and his mouth was moving.

“I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,” Rohrisem said, with his eyes closed tight.

“I’m here, baby,” Maren said, and began to reach into her pack. “Can you pull yourself up and hang by your legs?” She asked.

Rohrisem nodded and pulled tight with his arms, lifting his legs he wrapped them around the bar. And slowly, he began to pull his hands free. First was his left, and when he pulled it free, it made the sound of a hand being removed from wet dough. He winced quietly as he struggled to pull his other hand free. Again, it made the same sound as his first hand. Rohrisem fell quickly backward and dangled precariously from the bends in his knees.

Blood dripped steadily from the open wounds in his hands.

“Ok, you need to hold really still because this is going to sting,” Maren said, and removed the lid from a jar. She stuck a cloth inside and swirled the mixture around before taking it and applying it generously to Rohrisem’s left hand.

He screamed against the pain and Maren didn’t stop.

Rohrisem felt as if searing hot knives were tearing into his wounds. It was just about as bad as the sword wound his father inflicted. Within seconds, Maren began wrapping his hands with a bandage. She tied it tight and secured it at the top.

Maren repeated the process with Rohrisem’s other hand, and this time he grunted through his teeth. She applied the Asatha’la and wrapped a bandage around it, and secured it to the top.

“I’m just going to hang here for a minute,” Rohrisem said, and he began to flex hands and bend his fingers. He rotated his wrists and heard numerous pops before they finally silenced. He opened and closed them many times.

In an instant, and using his full core strength, Rohrisem sat up and gripped the bar firmly with his hands. He was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t hurt as badly as it did before. He let his legs drop and simply hung with his hands.

“I am going to be here all night, ok?” Maren said.

“Yeah, me too buddy,” Ralios said, looking up at his friend.

As the hours continued to travel on, Rohrisem did everything he possibly could to focus on the sounds of the crickets in town. He let their sound relax him as much as he could relax. He wiggled his toes, and even tickled the roof of his mouth with his tongue to keep himself focused and awake.

Every ten minutes or so, he would let go and hang with one hand so that he might flex and stretch his fingers, much in the same way a bird often stands on one foot to rest.

Rohrisem knew the night had to end sometime. His father would come out and find him hanging there, or the rest of the town would tell him that he hung by that bar until sunrise.

His body ached abysmally. His arms throbbed. His fingers were tired and his shoulders burned with fire. The muscles in his back were in a constant state of cramping, and he knew he would eventually run out of strength.

He was determined. He would hang on. He focused his mind and thought about one day becoming a wielder and holding that title. He would wear their sleek, white wielder’s tunics and one day hold his very own wielder’s blade in his hand.

Then, Rohrisem began to hear the birds chirping. His heart suddenly lifted as he realized the night was finally ending. Regardless of the renewed strength in his heart, the rest of his strength was waning.

“I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,” Rohrisem said.

“I will be the King’s sword, feeling his foes on every side,” He repeated.

“I will…I will…be…the King’s sw–” Rohrisem stopped speaking as the tears began to fill his eyes. They fell down his cheeks like a rolling tide. “Sword…felling…felling…” Rohrisem tried to get it out and he was now weeping as he held on. He grit his teeth as he cried tears.

“Oh, honey, you really can let go! You’ve held on for so long!” Maren said, putting her hands to her face.

The rest of the town was now awake, and many of them were rushing the watchtower. Rohrisem heard them gasp and mumble to themselves, though he couldn’t see them through their clenched eyes. He imagined them saying: He’s still there! He’s still hanging on!

Ralios turned and looked at the townspeople.

“No Maren, he’s not going to let go!” Ralios said. He held his hands out, and then turned and pointed with an open palm at his weeping friend.

“This…boy…this…this man, is hanging here! He’s unlike any of us!” Ralios started. “This is my best friend, and I was proud of him the day he told me he wanted to be a wielder. I wasn’t sure if he would have what it takes to make it, but he has! This is no ordinary man! This is the wielder who will one day change the world!”

The townspeople were beginning to mutter, nodding their heads slightly as if to add onto the agreement.

Ralios continued. “This man is the King’s Sword! And I believe in him! He will protect us when we are scared and frightened! He will come to our aid when no one else will! With Rohrisem here, I feel safe! He is the protector of all, and The King’s true sword!”

“Yeah!” Many townspeople cheered, and Maren put her hands to her mouth. And still, Rohrisem refused to let go.

“HE IS REX GLADIUS!” Ralios yelled.

“YEAH!” The townspeople cheered once more.

“REX REX!” Ralios yelled.

“Gladius, gladius!” The townspeople cheered, though quieter.

“REX REX!” Ralios yelled.

Again, the townspeople cheered. “Gladius Gladius!”

“REX REX!”

“Gladius gladius!”

“REX REX!”

“GLADIUS GLADIUS!”

“REX REX!”

“GLADIUS GLADIUS!”

Even Maren was cheering, smiling through tears as she looked at her boy who looked as if he was experiencing the most agonizing pain of his life.

The cheers continued, with Ralios screaming at the top of his lungs and riling the crowd into a frenzy.

“REX REX!” Ralios screamed.

“GLADIUS GLADIUS!” The townspeople cried.

Darril stood at the back of the group, thrusting his fist into the air with every cheer.

Rohrisem could no longer hear the chirping of birds, for the entire town erupted into a cacophony of cheering and applause.

Rohrisem opened his eyes and saw the sun for the what he felt like was the first time in his life.

“You made it! You can let go!” Maren cried, and Rohrisem let himself fall. Maren surged forward and caught him in her arms.

“ROHRISEM! ROHRISEM! ROHRISEM! ROHRISEM!” The townspeople cheered, thrusting their fists into the air with every exultation.

And suddenly there was silence. The crowd dispersed, each of them stepping aside as a single, solitary figure pushed his way through them.

It was Steel.

Rohrisem looked up at him hopefully, with a fully exhausted, half smile on his face.

Are you going to train me? He thought. Are you proud of me? I hung on and didn’t let go. I just want to make you proud of me…

Steel’s arm swung in so quickly that Rohrisem didn’t see the hand that was connected to it. His open palm, smashed into the side of his son’s face, causing him to stumble aside.

The townspeople all gasped, each of them horrified.

“Are you trying to make a fool out of me, boy?!” Steel snapped, and grabbed his son by the arm, the swung his leg in hard and kicked Rohrisem in his backside. He stumbled forward several steps.

“Get in the house and wait for me in your room!” Steel yelled toward his now limping, sobbing son.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Darril snapped, and stepped forward. Steel, in one fluid motion, removed his wielder’s blade from its scabbard and held it underneath Darril’s chin.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Steel snapped as he looked at the rest of the townspeople. They each stood, terrified to the spot. Maren looked aghast.

Steel put his sword away and walked back to his house. He opened the door and slammed it behind him.

Steel made a beeline for the stairs, ascending them two at a time. He threw open Rohrisem’s door, and watched him scramble from his seated position on his bed.

“You trying to make a fool out of me, boy?” Steel demanded. He stepped into the room and hoisted Rohrisem up to his feet. He turned and threw him into Rohrisem’s bookshelf. The impact broke several shelves and knocked the books to the ground.

Steel came forward and snatched him up again, pulling his tunic taut. “Who told you you could wrap up your hands? Who told you the townspeople could cheer your name?!” Steel snapped, and threw Rohrisem across the room again. This time he stumbled and fell into his desk, tripping over the corner post of his bed, his face met the edge of the desk.

Rohrisem shook his head to get the cobwebs out. His head felt like it was splitting. In an instant, he was hefted to his feet again.

“You took my wife away from me!” Steel yelled, spitting in his face.

“You were so sick all the time, you screamed and cried every single night! You never went to sleep! I didn’t see my wife for a full year because of you!” Steel released his hold on Rohrisem’s throat and clasped it tight. “Even when you were awake, you took all of her attention from me! I was alone and it was all because of YOU!” Steel spat, and spit hit Rohrisem in his face.

“I’m…I’m sowwie–” Rohrisem managed to get out.

“You’re sorry?!” Steel spat, his eyes flashing with furious anger.

“I am never going to train you into a wielder! You ruined my life!” Steel screamed in Rohrisem’s face, and a single tear slid out of the corner of his eye just as he began to wet himself.

“You are garbage, absolutely worthless, and you’ll never be a wielder as long as I live–”

“Let. That. Boy. Go. Right. Now,” Rohrisem heard a voice unlike anything he had ever heard before. In an instant he was flung across the room. He bounced off the back wall, hitting his head and falling down atop his bed. He didn’t move.

Maren ran in, fists clenched. She swung in hard and Steel dodged backward to avoid the strike. He retaliated with a roundhouse kick, which was deflected with a sharp outside elbow. Steel’s eyebrows raised, when Maren surged forward and threw rapid fire punches into Steel’s chest and finishing her combination attack by throwing her elbow sharply upward.

The bone slammed into Steel’s chin, causing him to stumble several steps backward, catching himself on Rohrisem’s desk. He pushed off, and Maren was ready for him. She leapt into the air, spinning a complete circle. The bottom of her foot slammed into Steel’s chest with a crunch. He stumbled backward, holding his chest as he caught himself on Rohrisem’s desk once again.

“Get out of my house! Don’t come back!” Maren yelled, fists still clenched and breathing heavy.

Steel tenderly rubbed his chin before casting one last disdainful look at his son. “This isn’t over,” He said, before storming out of Rohrisem’s room. He walked down the stairs and back out into the town of Krinne…

Chapter 3

The following morning, Rohrisem barely had the energy to roll out of bed. His legs tightened as he stood, and his arms felt worse. He tiredly threw on his clothes before heading downstairs. He grabbed a banana from the counter and downed a glass of milk before heading outside. His canteen belt was already filled for him, and it was waiting right near the door for him to throw on before he headed outside.

Darril was out in front of his house, and he was stretching with his legs pointing out and away from him.

“You need to stretch out your limbs from the day before, because we’re going to be running for a while,” Darril said.

Darril rose to his feet and grabbed a leather backpack which was sitting next to him. He turned and threw the straps over Rohrisem’s shoulders, and moved to the bottom to tie the straps around his waist.

“This is really heavy!” Rohrisem exclaimed, and he felt like his legs were going to give in under the weight. “What’s in here?” He asked.

“Rocks,” Darril said.

“Why am I carrying rocks on my back?” Rohrisem asked. He wasn’t sure how much it weighed, but he knew he probably shouldn’t be carrying that much weight.

“Because I am telling you to, do you want to get stronger? This is how you get stronger.” Darril said. He took off at a jog, and Rohrisem tiredly ambled after him.

He jogged to keep up, and the pack slammed against him the entire way. The sun was barely up over the horizon, and Rohrisem could still feel the moisture underneath his boots. He was afraid for the moment of slipping in the grass.

Rohrisem tried to put himself in a different place. He closed his eyes as he ran and tried to think about anything else but the pain. His tongue was dry, parched. He felt as if there were cracks in it, which were just begging for water.

The air around him felt dry, even though the darkened clouds above were playing at rain.

Rohrisem wanted so badly to let the bag go, and instead he held his hands underneath the straps in order to alleviate the pain in his shoulders. He focused instead on his breathing: In and out, in and out, in and out.

The backpack slapped against his lower back, and each time he felt the points of the rocks, stabbing into him like terrible pin pricks. He was certain that by the time they arrived at their destination, that his lower back would be bleeding.

As he focused on his breathing, he put his mind in another place. These actions and activities would make him stronger. More agile. How many wielders start training at the age of five? Every step he took, was bringing him one step closer to his goal. His dream.

“We’re here,” Darril said, and Rohrisem immediately felt relief. He pulled his bag off and let it fall to the dirt below his aching feet. He could no longer feel his shoulders, and he collapsed. He sipped from his canteen as he struggled to regain his breath.

Darril walked toward a tree which sat just five feet away from where Rohrisem sat. He reached up and pulled on a rope while simultaneously lifting a circular mechanism which had the rope winding through it. He pulled it out and away from the tree and let both pieces fall to the side.

Then, he repeated the process with another tree which sat just about five feet away from the first one. Rohrisem knew in that moment that Darril had been out at this spot before.

He turned to face the young boy with him.

“Are you ready for the next exercise?” He asked.

Rohrisem struggled to his feet and walked toward Darril.

“You’re going to put your foot into this strap right here, which is held by one of these ropes,” Darril said, and then pointed toward the footstrap, indicating where Rohrisem ought to put his foot. He slid his right foot into the strap and held his position by grasping the rope in front of him.

Darril brought the other strap over and helped Rohrisem slide his other foot into it. Then, Darril grabbed the rope and stepped out in front of Rohrisem. Without a word, Darril began to pull on the rope.

With a CREAK sound, the ropes began to pull, tugging on either side of Rohrisem’s foot straps. They slowly moved apart, pulling Rohrisem’s legs apart right along with it.

While they moved apart, Rohrisem’s body lowered toward the ground.

Rohrisem gasped as his hands held tightly to two different ropes, each of them connecting to a nearby tree. They were his balance.

Darril spoke while he slowly pulled on the rope. “This is going to increase your flexibility, and it will help you with your movement,” He said. He pulled the rope again, and pulled Rohrisem’s legs even further apart.

Rohrisem gasped. He gritted his teeth and began to breathe in and out with them clenched tightly together.

Again, Darril tugged on the rope, pulling yet another CREAK sound from the grind of the rope moving through the pulley.

Rohrisem gasped once again, and this time he began to weep. The tears that were already in his eyes, were beginning to fall from his cheeks.

Darril walked over and wrapped the rope around a single, thick, oaken tree branch. As soon as it was wrapped around three times, he tied the remainder into a knot and made sure it was secure before he walked away from it. He sat down and leaned up against a tree, stretching his feet out in front of himself and clasping his fingers behind his head.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Darril said, yawning deeply.

Rohrisem continued wincing through the pain. It felt like knives were cutting him, all along the inside of his thighs. He focused his breathing; in through the nose and out through the mouth. His teeth were no longer clenched and his breathing was beginning to steady. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

He closed his eyes and once again, he began to go to another place. He thought of home, and he tried to focus on what he might be having for dinner that night. He thought of his mother, and what she might be making.

Before long, Rohrisem started to find that he too was falling asleep. Perhaps it was from the fatigue of exercising, and that his body was determined to find rest no matter what. He wasn’t sure how long he had slept for.

“Come on, it’s time to head back,” Darril said, jostling Rohrisem once the ropes were pulled from him. In an instant, Rohrisem yelped as he fell to the ground, with his legs finally coming back together. He made an attempt to stand, and yet his body refused to do so. He could feel it in his own mind, his legs being back together and yet still feeling as if they had been torn apart.

“You’re not going to be able to walk,” Darril said while hoisting Rohrisem up to his feet. He then threw him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes as he began his walk back to the town of Krinne.

The walk only took about thirty minutes, with Rohrisem bouncing uncomfortably atop Darril’s shoulder. As soon as he was set down, Rohrisem feel to the ground once again. He knocked a few times on Rohrisem’s door and waited for his mother to answer.

“I stretched his legs out, so he’s going to need to rest,” Said Darril. He reached down and pulled Rohrisem up to his feet. “Make sure he rests at least one day, if not two,” Darril said, and helped guide Rohrisem into the house.

He heard the words, and was suddenly thankful there would be rest.

“Ok,” Said Maren. “Come on baby, let’s get you upstairs and into a bed. You look like you’re about to pass out.” Maren said. Her touch was comforting enough, and Rohrisem could detect both the concern and admiration in her voice.

Rohrisem tried moving his legs, though he felt he could barely walk at all. Maren supported him all the way up the stairs, and aided him with getting into the bed. She pulled off his boots, and removed his pants, setting both items to the side. Next was his tunic, which Rohrisem was no help at all getting off of him.

“We’ll get you a nice hot bath tomorrow, and you’re going to be resting,” Maren said. “Your body needs to heal,” She added.

In truth, he barely heard her words at all, and was asleep before she even left the room.

*

Rohrisem awoke sometime the following day. His window was open, and a cool breeze was blowing inside. It was the thunder that had woken him. He struggled to get out of bed, his back suddenly aching. He felt as if he had been trampled by horses the previous day.

His legs were a whole different beast altogether. He couldn’t even move them on his own. He placed his hands underneath them one at a time, and swung them out of the bed. Bracing himself with his bedstand, he rose to his feet. He took one step at a time, being sure to keep at least one hand on a sturdy surface at all times. Be it a wall, door frame, or anything else he could find.

It took all but ten minutes for him to navigate his way out of his room, and down the stairs barefoot and wearing nothing but his small clothes. Despite all the rest from the previous night, he felt like he could fall right back to sleep. But first, he would have to eat.

He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. There was an empty plate already sitting there.

“Hey you!” Maren said, scrambling over herself to come and give her son a kiss. She hugged him tenderly. “How’s my boy?” She asked, thumbing the side of his face.

“I hurt,” Was all Rohrisem had managed to say.

“Perhaps he pushed you too hard yesterday?” Maren asked.

Rohrisem nodded his head, which was followed immediately by a shrugging of his shoulders. “I need to do it if I am going to get stronger, I am just not used to it,” Rohrisem said.

Lightning flashed outside, which was followed by a deep rumble of thunder just six seconds later. He could hear the rain, pelting the window, which was left open. And he knew why too. His mother loved the sound of the rain just as much as he did, and every time it rained, it was almost always followed by his mother cooking.

“Ok, so I have some surprises for you!” Maren said, rising up to her feet. “I talked to our blacksmith a few months ago, you remember Zedd, right?” She asked.

Rohrisem nodded slightly. He recalled the man, though he had never personally interacted with him much. He had a protruding roung belly, which looked like it had the density of a rock. His arms were thick and bulbous and his hands looked like they had giant muscles of their own. Rohrisem always thought that the man could crush him with his grip if he wanted.

“Well anyway, a few months ago, I asked him if he could make me a grinder!” Maren said, and ran into the kitchen. She stood next to a machine which had a metal crank out the outside of it. There was a chute on top for something to be put inside of it. The chute moved down into a large stone bowl.

Maren reached to her left and grabed several handfuls of previously shucked peanuts, and placed them into the chute. They slid inside and Maren began turning the crank. Round and round it went, several times. Rohrisem watched his mother strain to turn the crank for a few minutes, before it started to like it was getting noticeably easier.

“It’s made to grind peanuts into powder!” Maren said, excitedly. She reached to her right once again and stuck a spoon inside of a jar. She stirred the mixture around, taking some out and slathering it on a piece of bread. She brought it over and set it down in front of her son, along with a tall glass of milk.

“It’s peanut butter!” Maren said, before sitting down next to her son. “You mix the ground powder with either sugar or honey, and a little bit of milk!” Maren added, and then clapped a few times while bouncing a bit in her seat.

Rohrisem reached for the piece of bread and raised it to his mouth, tentative but curious. He took a bite and began to chew. The flavor swam and take over the entirety of his mouth. He tasted the peanuts, and the faint taste of sweetness of what he was sure was honey. He reached for his glass of milk and took a big drink before setting it down.

He swallowed.

“It’s really good mama, thank you,” Rohrisem said.

Maren beamed and rose to her feet once again.

“Ok, are you ready for your next surprise?” Maren asked, putting her hands to her face. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

Rohrisem simply looked at his mother expectantly.

“So, I know you’re going to be training and it’s going to get harder as the years go on. I know Darril is going to want to run with you forever, and I can’t always be out there with you either. I didn’t want you to be alone,” She said, and moved over toward her bedroom door.

“I want you to be safe when you’re out there in the fields on your runs, and you’ll have to wait until he’s a little bit bigger…” Maren said, and then opened up the door.

And out came bounding a puppy. He had long, pointy ears, with one of them flopping downward near the top. He bounded for Rohrisem, and lowered his body as he got close.

“Really?!” Rohrisem asked, his mouth opening in surprise. He leaned down to pet the creature, and it simply rolled over and offered Rohrisem his belly, who wasted no time before beginning scratches.

“You have to feed him and take care of him, but he is yours,” Maren said. “When you become a wielder, you will sometimes be in charge of other people. You’ll need to keep them safe and put their own needs ahead of your own.”

Rohrisem looked up at her, and stopped scratching the puppy. It rose to its feet and jumped up, putting its paws in Rohrisem’s lap. Rohrisem craned his neck away as the puppy began to lovingly lick his face.

“So this is to teach you responsibility, so when he whines at night, you need to make sure to take him out. Shephards are very loyal dogs, and he will keep you safe.” Maren said.

Rohrisem run up and threw his arms around his mother’s waist, his face barely coming up to her belly.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Maren said. “And you need to pick a name for him too,”

No sooner did she say the words, did a flash of light and a crack of thunder resound outside, and the puppy seemed completely unbothered. “I’m naming him Thunder!” Rohrisem said, smiling wide. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around the puppy, who only responded by offering Rohrisem even more licks.

Chapter 2

As soon as the light entered in through his partially cracked window, Rohrisem’s eyes snapped open. Almost on instinct, he rolled over and threw his feet out onto the floor. He could still hear the crickets faintly chirping outside his window, and he felt the almost-cold breeze blow in from outside.

He walked up to the window and smelled deeply. The air was crisp, and he knew that as soon as the sun rose for the day that it would become warm. Going outside would require a jacket which would be removed within just a few hours.

He closed his window and pulled his leather tunic overhead. His pants came next, and he sat down to put on his socks and boots. He took another deep breath before heading downstairs. His mother was already in the kitchen, moving something around inside of a pan. Rohrisem could see the steam rising from it.

“Good morning, sweetie!” Maren said, setting her metal spatula down. She moved over to her son and wrapped him up into her arms.

“Morning, mama” Rohrisem said. He pulled out his oaken chair and sat down. He began to kick his legs back and forth while he awaited his breakfast.

Maren returned to the stove and grabbed her crude metal spatula. She began to speak as she continued cooking.

“Ok, so I went out and talked with one of our neighbors, Darril,” She said. “I know he’s not a wielder, but he likes to train and stay physically fit. I offered him some gold in return for teaching you how to exercise.”

Rohrisem perked up. “Really?” He asked.

“You bet!” Maren said, more than a little excited. She didn’t take her eyes away from the food. “He wouldn’t accept my money, especially after I told him why I was asking for his help. He said he was honored to have a hand in helping to shape a young, aspiring wielder.”

Rohrisem smiled. His legs continued kicking back and forth.

She scooped whatever she had in the pan and set it atop a glass plate. She walked it over and sat it down in front of her son.

“Listen to me, Roar,” she said, pausing. Rohrisem looked up at his mother with expectant, open eyes. “This is not going to be an easy road to travel. You’re going to have to train for endless hours, and you must practice without ceasing.”

Rohrisem nodded. “I know, mama!” He said, smiling. He grabbed a hold of his fork and looked down. His plate was piled with an egg and sausage mix, with the sausages cut into neat little circles. He began to eat ravenously. He didn’t set his spoon down until every bite of food was gone. Without a word, he got up from the table and put his plate in the kitchen.

“Hang on just a second, I’ll be right back,” Maren said. She walked into her bedroom, and returned only a minute later.

“I made this for you by fastening a few belts together,” She said. In her hands, was a thick, worn leather belt, which held two metal containers on either side of it. Maren came around and fastened it around her son’s waist. She walked back into the kitchen and grabbed two metal canteens, making sure the caps were secured. She moved back over to Rohrisem and slid the canteens into the open pouches.

“You need to make sure you’re drinking plenty of water while you’re training,” Maren said. “Make sure you come back if you’re hungry, ok?” She added.

“Yup!” Rohrisem said, while tightening his belt.

“If you continue to show me that you have what it takes to keep at this, I’ll be sure to talk to your father about training you before the actual age where you’re supposed to. You have to prove yourself to me first.”

At that, Rohrisem deflated. Try as he may, he struggled with the idea of believing his father would be willing to train him at all.  “Ok,” He said.

He hugged his mother once before turning to head outside.

“Roar?” Maren called after him, causing him to stop and turn around.

“I’m proud of you,” She said, offering a smile.

Rohrisem shook his head. “Let me earn that first, mama,” He said. He moved toward the door and pushed it open, letting in the light of the early morning, along with the brisk wind.

The dew was still on the grass in the town of Krinne. It would be a few hours yet before the sun would dry it out.

Rohrisem walked east from his home and knocked on the door of a large cabin. It took only a few moments before the door opened up, and out stepped a man who was at least twice his own size in height.

“Good morning, Rohrisem,” Darril said. He was a clean man, with a neatly trimmed beard and a thin, muscled frame. “Are you ready to get started?” He asked.

“Yes sir!” Rohrisem said, though inwardly he couldn’t help but feel nervous. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

Darril nodded. “Follow me,” He said.

Darril lead the way out behind the house and stopped before a large pile of rocks. They were all lined up against his house, and Rohrisem knew they were going to be heavy.

“Ok, so when you pick them up, you need to lift with your legs. Make sure you’re not bending over at the waist and standing straight up.” Said Darril. He bent down to hoist a rock up before lowering himself and setting the rock back down.

“You need to move all of these rocks, out and away from the back of my home, and put them into a circle, because this is going to become a place for campfires.” Darril said.

“I’ll come out after an hour to check on you,” He said, and then turned to leave Rohrisem on his own.

Rohrisem knelt down, his knees bending. His hands wrapped around and gripped the rock. In that moment, he knew it was going to be the first of many steps toward becoming a wielder.

He rose to his feet and felt the density of the rock within his arms. It wasn’t nearly as heavy as he thought it would be, and for that he was thankful. He turned and began walking with the rock, counting ten steps in his head before setting it down.

He then turned and jogged back to grab another rock, and like the first rock he repeated the process, bending down and standing up before walking back to the fireplace.

Rohrisem wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and he had lost count of exactly how many rocks he had moved. He held his current rock in his arms, and he walked tenderly. His legs felt unwilling to move, and he nearly stumbled, dropping the last one.

“Looks good!” Darril said, as he came from around back at the house.

Rohrisem sat down and removed one of the canteens from his belt. He drank deeply before returning it to its holder.

“I want you to head home and come back tomorrow, because I’ll have more exercises for you to do.”

“I’m not done,” Came Rohrisem’s reply. Darril turned to look at him.

“I don’t quit until I have nothing left,” Rohrisem said, offering a tired smile.

Darril nodded his head, and offered a partial smile. “Follow me,” He said.

Rohrisem did as he was told, and followed after Darril. Every step felt like a battle, and the burning in his legs, seemed to be getting worse. He put a hand to his right leg as he moved, and he was certain it was filled with water.

Darril lead the way to the watchtower which sat near the front entrance to the town. Darril used his finger to point to a single metal bar which stretched across the first two beams. It was too high for Rohrisem to reach.

“Get up there and grab onto that bar,” Darril said, and folded his arms.

Rohrisem looked at both beams before looking back up at that bar. He took a few steps back and ran toward the first beam, he placed his foot on the side and kicked off. His fingers touched the bar before he slipped.

“Oof!” Was the only sound that escaped his lips. Without having to be told, Rohrisem rolled over and stood to his feet, shaking his arms and legs, he took a few steps back before making another attempt. He ran, placing his foot on the beam before kicking off yet again.

His fingers grasped the bar, and he swung a moment before coming to a complete stop.

“Now, you’re going to pull yourself up, using only your arms,” Darril said.

Rohrisem pulled hard until his body began to lift. His arms trembled as he rose, until his chin barely crested the top of the bar. He let himself back down and looked at Darril as if to wait for his next command.

“Again,” Darril said.

Again, Rohrisem’s arms trembled and he pulled himself up completely until his chin crested the bar, and he let himself down once more, and once again, he looked at Darril for confirmation.

Darill nodded his head. “Keep doing that until you’ve done thirty of them total. You can take a break or two if you want, but you don’t go home until you’ve done thirty total.”

Rohrisem watched Darril walk away from him, and he did so without looking back.

Rohrisem steeled himself. His arms were already aching, and his hands cramped. Even though he was hanging, he could still feel his legs cramping.

“I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,” Rohrisem said, and pulled himself up. He struggled this time, wincing against the pain. As soon as his chin moved over top the bar, he went back down until his arms were fully extended.

“I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,” Rohrisem said, and once again he pulled himself up until his chin crested the bar.

“I will be the King’s sword, felling his foes on every side,” Rohrisem said, and once again he pulled himself up.

Over and over again, Rohrisem repeated himself before pulling himself up and over the bar.

“I will…I will…be the King’s sword…felling his foes…on every side,” Rohrisem said. Beads of sweat, glistened on his brow. He could even feel the moisture on his upper lip. He pulled again until his arms cramped.

He began to grunt against the strain until his fingers finally slipped, causing him to fall to the ground. His legs collapsed underneath him and he rolled over, cradling his arms.

He flexed his fingers and rotated his wrists, sending out sounds of corn popping in a pan of hot oil. He grabbed a canteen from his belt and drained the rest of it. The water was now lukewarm, but it quenched him enough.

He looked up at the bar a second time and replaced his canteen. He tiredly rose to his feet before taking a few steps back. He ran at the beam and kicked himself upward, grasping the bar.

And this time, his fingers slipped and he fell to the ground.

This time, his wind left him as he steadied himself to try to stand. He rose to his feet and looked at the bar again. He ran for it and kicked off, grasping the bar and falling down yet again.

Rohrisem tried pushing himself to his feet and his arms collapsed underneath him.

“That’s all for today, boy,” Darril said. When Rohrisem wasn’t looking, Darril had come out to see how he was doing.

“I didn’t get thirty,” Rohrisem said. His arms shook as he tried to push himself to his feet.

Darril reached down and hoisted Rohrisem to his feet. “You’re spent, you need to go home and rest,” He said.

Rohrisem shook his head. He tried his best to make himself look like he had more energy, but in reality, all he wanted to do was lie down on the grass and fall asleep.

“Listen to me, boy,” Darril said. “This is what is referred to as exhaustion, and when training it’s what you want to work toward. Right now, your body is telling you that you need rest. The more you exercise, the stronger you’re going to get. And your body will certainly hurt tomorrow.”

“But I can’t quit, Darril! Wielder’s aren’t allowed to quit!” Rohrisem said, and he could feel the tears filling his eyes.

“You are five years old, and already you have the strength and fortitude of ten fully grown men,” Darril said, and placed a hand on Rohrisem’s shoulder.

“Go. Home,” Darril said.

Rohrisem regretfully turned away from the watch tower and began to head back inside.

“I want you out here bright and early tomorrow morning because we’re going on a run, and I don’t want to hear one word about how tired your legs are!” Darril yelled as Rohrisem walked away.