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Notes: This is a story with sex - rather than a sex-story. If these people had birth certificates, you would find that they are old enough to do what they're doing.
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My father had worked as a castle guard my whole life. I grew up hanging around the training grounds, watching the soldiers spar and practice. I had trained to fight since I could walk and hold a sparring wand. A sparring wand is a crude wooden sword that, when wielded poorly, resulted in bruises - rather than wounds. Over the years, I had collected many bruises. Most of those came from my three older brothers. Those injuries served as my greatest motivation to train, to be sure that they were never able to touch me again.
As each of my brothers passed into adulthood, they joined the ranks of the guards, following in the footsteps of our father. Last week, I had my eighteenth birthday. It was my turn to be tested.
I stepped into the sparring-ring and faced off against my opponent. Both of us were trying to get into the guard. The guard-captain watched, judging each of us. My defense was flawless; the other combatant could not touch me. However, whenever I had an opening, I could not force myself to strike him - or touch him with my wand. Finally, I connected with his weapon - and disarmed him - but I still could not bring myself to hit him. After a few moments of the two of us standing there, the captain declared that each of us had failed the examination.
The next day, I tried once more. This time, I faced a new opponent. This man was much larger than the previous challenger. He was harder to evade but he never struck me. Again - when the time came - I could not strike my adversary. Once more, I failed to achieve a passing mark.
Neither time - during the matches - was my opponent able to touch me with their wand. However, because I didn't have the will to land a killing blow - or even injure my opponent, I failed.
My father looked on, shaking his head in disgrace. My brothers ridiculed me as I left the testing-area. I'm ill-trained for any other profession and will, undoubtedly, be ostracized from my home.
Despondent, I headed to the inn, to talk to the hostler. My hope is that he has an opening for an apprentice. If so, I would end up living above the stables. At least it would be warm and dry. I would barely make any money but, at least, I'd be able to afford enough to feed myself.
The stable-manager knew my father. When I asked him for a job, it didn't take much for him to figure out that I had been rejected by the guards. He understood the predicament I was in. He mentioned that there is a traveling merchant, who was leaving soon, that was looking for a road-guard. I stepped into the common room, greeted the trader, and asked about the position. I learned that three others had applied as well.
At mid-afternoon, the trader drew a circle in the dirt, halfway between the stables and the inn. The middle-aged merchant announced the rules to the four of us who had applied. The winner of the bout would be the first person to strike his opponent or to place his hand on his opponent's chest without being struck.
I stood with the rest of the curious spectators, and watched, as the first two applicants sparred. The winner disarmed his opponent and struck him lightly, on the collarbone, with his wand. He stepped up beside the trader and surrendered his wand.
The last applicant and I accepted the wooden swords and stepped into the ring, waiting for the signal to begin. My opponent attacked furiously. I deflected his attacks until he opened himself up. Taking advantage of his lack of defense, I disarmed him, reached in, and placed my hand on his shirt. I was declared the winner.
The loser handed his wand to the other winner and I prepared myself, once more, to battle.
This man's attacks were faster. The other man would never have beaten him. As it was, I was barely able to block his blows. I wondered if he had tested with the guard because he would, surely, have passed their test. Finally, I knocked his thrust aside and he was off-balance because he had overreached. I leaned forward and quickly pressed my hand to his chest, pushing him back slightly. Offended, he reversed the wooden blade in his grip and thrust up at my pelvis. I had, however, used the force of my palm, striking his chest, to move myself back a step. His final strike missed and he tumbled to the dirt. He had, once again, left himself off-balance because his blow had missed. I was declared the winner. I offered a hand to my opponent, to help him to his feet, but he swung the practice wand at me instead. I caught it in my palm, closed my fist on it, and wrenched it from his grip.
I turned and handed the blades back to the trader. As he took them, the merchant's eyes widened. From his reaction, I knew my foe was swinging his fist towards the back of my head. I ducked, took a big step backwards, and shoved upwards with both feet. At that point, the man's arm was across my shoulder. When I pushed off, I carried his body with mine. He landed, hard, in the dirt, on his back. I landed on his stomach, winding him. I rolled off the man as he struggled to get air back into his lungs.
I was pretty sure I had figured out why the guard had not accepted him. He had no control over his temper. Before the man could come after me again, I stepped back up to the merchant. He told me that I had one hour to return with whatever I wanted to take with me. He informed me that it would be at least a year before we returned. I nodded and took off, jogging, for home.
When I got there, mom already knew I had been rejected by the castle guard, no doubt thanks to my loving brothers. I told her that I had hired on as a road-guard for a traveling merchant and that it would be at least a year before I returned. I gave her a hug and a kiss. I hurried to my room to load a pack with everything I thought I would need - not that I had much. Other than the clothes I was wearing, I had one other pair of pants, freshly patched, and two more shirts. When I returned to the kitchen, my mother gave me a hand-made leather coin purse. It held two copper pennies. She also gave me a small sewing kit and a crust of bread wrapped in a clean cloth. She hugged my neck and told me to take care of myself. I kissed her cheek and darted out the door.
By the time I returned to the inn, the merchant was seated on his wagon, holding the reins to a shabby-looking mule. I threw my pack in the back of the cart, which looked empty, and jumped up, onto the seat, to his right.
"Emmit," he said, extending his hand.
"Derik," I replied, shaking it.
He asked if I had a weapon and I shook my head no. He leaned to his left, reached into the wagon, and pulled out a wooden stave that looked to be about as tall as me. He handed it to me. Although I took the weapon, I wondered how effective it would really be if we ran into trouble.
As we passed through the city gate, moving beneath the watchful eye of the guards, I looked back at the only place I had ever lived - and the only life I had ever known. After we crossed the bridge, over the small river, the city was far behind us. When we eased around the gentle curve, we could no longer even see it.
We passed through a small stand of trees that bordered both sides of the road, hugging it closely enough to provide cool shade to those who passed through. As we came out the other side, the trader pulled the reins, directing the mule to hug the edge of the wood, taking us across the right shoulder of the dusty road and into the ankle-high grass. Once we were a few rods off of the path, he tugged on the leads until we came to a complete stop. With our backs to the traffic behind us, we had some privacy.
The older gentleman turned and looked at me. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a pendant, which he handed to me. A dull green stone hung from a long, thin, leather thong. The stone was slightly larger than my big toe. It was oblong, taller than it was wide. The thin strap was looped through a hole that had been bored through the upper half of the stone.
"Put it on," he told me. "Keep it beneath your shirt, touching your skin."
The plain-looking stone felt cold against my chest.
"What does it do?" I asked.
"It stores energy."
"Energy for what?"
"For you to use - to protect us both," he replied.
From his bag, he pulled out a small clay ink jar and a tiny odd-looking quill. These, he set on the seat between us. He unstopped the jar and filled the quill. It had the finest point I had ever seen. The ink was red. It almost looked like blood.
"Hold out your hand," he said.
He took my hand in his, to steady it, and began to draw a small and intricate design. It looked like a hexagon formed from three obtuse triangles - which left an upside-down equilateral triangle in the center. The whole design kind of looked like a helmet. Each outer triangle held three runes, drawn one on top of the other. I only recognized two or three. Later, I learned their meanings. The top triangle held: bind, strengthen, and protect. The right cheek of the helmet held: speed, agility, and dodge. The left cheek held: perception, discernment, and foresight.
"Now, the staff," he said.
I thought 'staff' was a generous description. The thing looked like a piece of a sapling that had been cut about six feet in length. I would have called it a stave. The bark had been shaved off; leaving the surface smooth, but it wasn't much more than a long, straight stick.
I held the thing horizontal to the ground, between us. He scribed a glyph onto the wood that looked identical to the one on my palm. The two symbols looked to be the same size as well.
"Press the glyph on your hand to the one on the staff," he ordered.
I obeyed his instruction.
Just before the skin of my palm touched the staff, something that looked like a small bolt of lightning passed between the stick and my hand.
When I gripped the thing, and held it, it felt different than before. When I had taken it from the man the first time, it felt like a walking-stick; now it felt stronger. Before, I had worried about how I would be able to use the thing to defend myself; now it felt like it was made of the finest steel.
The old man lightly snapped the reins and I realized that he had put the ink-pot and the quill away once more. The mule began plodding forward, along the path, carrying us to the next village. My palm felt itchy. I moved the staff to my other hand and looked at my palm. The glyph had disappeared.
As we rode along, I experimented with the staff that had, once, simply been a stick. Either its balance had been improved or my body now, just intrinsically knew, where the balance-point was. Although it seemed no heavier in my hand, it somehow seemed weightier than before. Even though it seemed to retain its earlier flexibility, it did not feel like it was as fragile as it once had been.
~~~
We passed through several small villages without stopping. Each of them was too modest to have a market or an inn. We came to a fork and took the road to the left. We traveled for hours, stopping only when we came to a stream. Each time, we watered the mule, refilled our canteens, and relieved ourselves.
Dusk had fallen by the time we reached the next inn. The merchant arranged for a stall for the wagon and the mule. He pointed me at a curry brush and told me to take care of the beast and to guard the wagon. He went to talk to the innkeeper. The hostler had brought hay and water while I was brushing the beast. I had just finished my task when the merchant returned. He handed the stable-master chits that showed that he had paid for spaces for the wagon and the mule - as well as lodging for the two of us - in the hay-mound, above the stable.
We climbed the ladder, found hollowed out places where somebody had slept before, and set down our packs. The trader handed me a crust of bread and a chunk of cheese, telling me he had bought them from the innkeeper. When I asked why we were sleeping above the stable, he said, "Because it's cheaper." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "... and because I didn't like what I felt from the inn or its owner."
