The Sanctuary

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Hit after hit after hit. Edward held nothing back. His eyes ferocious, the sound of steel against steel resounded across the training room like falling dishes. I could barely keep up.

“Tired?” Edward taunted. “Give up, child!”

“Shut up,” I snarled through gritted teeth. My sword was sliding against his, inch by inch, until I could no longer keep up the pressure. I let go and instantly ducked, predicting his next move. His sword swooped over my head, barely missing my scalp. Anxiety was making my palms damp as I struggled to keep my grip strong on the hilt of the sword.

I launched myself as far back as I could go, raising my sword once more.

They circled each other as I blinked back droplets of sweat from my eyes. I was increasingly aware of the eyes on me in the room. There was an eerie stillness that clouded the training room, the only sounds being the crunching of our boots against the dirt floor. Edward was watching my every movement, seemingly memorizing every move I made.

“Pure luck,” Edward growled, his eyes narrowed. “Pure luck, you made it this far. You are a sixteen year old girl, there is no place on the Riders for the likes of you!”

I tried to block his taunts from my mind, knowing it was a weak move to get me to make a mistake. But he was much better than me. And knowing him, he would not call it until I had him on the ground, begging for mercy.

Which at this point, seemed like a long shot.

Madame Widow was a silent viewer of the Calling, her dark eyes following my every move. It made the small hairs on my arms stand on end, knowing that this was it. This was the point at which all of my dreams would come to fruition. The dream that I had been fantasizing about as I walked into the Calling, showing off my spectacular moves and becoming a Rider; all of that, culminating in front of me, with a sword that felt strange in my hands and an opponent that hated me more than he seemed to hate the Farsay.

With a sound like an arrow flying through the wind, Edward’s sword was once again, slicing through the air. I met him with a resounding clang. He moved off, aiming a jab at my midsection. I blocked him once more. And then finally, I came on the offense.

I parried a few jabs, all of which he seemed to block effortlessly, and he met me, hit for hit. I focused all my might on the sword in my hand, recalling nothing but the Farsay’s words from their training sessions.

“The sword needs to be held steady. With power. It’s not the power in the lunge, it’s the power in the hold. Once the sword is out of your hands, you are done, finished.”

Soon, I saw an opening.

“A classic Farsay move,” The Farsay said, a distant smile on his face. He focused on me, and then proceeded to twirl the sword effortlessly above his head, confusing me. And then he struck down so fast, that I nearly shrieked but he stopped the sword from clanging into my shoulder bone.

“What was that,” I spat, scowling at the Farsay.

“Let’s call it the Rayden?” He smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

I whipped the sword above my head, twirling it with a bit more effort than the Farsay had done. It had its effect. Edward backed up, and I brought the sword crashing down quicker than lightening. It met a resounding clash as Edward barely blocked the shot, his eyes widening in shock. His grip on the sword was flailing.

I faintly heard Jonrick cry some sort of cheer, but Edward’s eyes darkened to a steel grey. With a growl unlike anything I had heard before, he pushed up against my sword, harder than I thought possible, bring his sword down with a powerful strike.