. . . By EvilIndigo

Shima

I dropped from the branches with my mango and, crouching on the ground, began to peel off slices with my knife. I bit into the meat, devouring the fruit quickly.

The music from last night's ceremony rang in my ears. I considered the significance of that ceremony. It was good, at least in the minds of the island's natives. It meant my acceptance into the community. But it also meant my adoption into their culture. I would have to kill to live—kill my fellow students—in the training program. Up until now it had only been training with the wooden swords and staffs and bows. Now began the duels to narrow down the worthy warriors. It disgusted and scared me even though I knew little but the island's way of life.

I remembered bits of stories from my early childhood, tales of the outside world. I was the child of a pirate, no doubt. It was the only explanation, since pirates were the only souls that came near the island. I had washed up on a piece of ship as only a small child—I barely remembered that night.

I finished the mango and stood up, tucking a wisp of my blonde hair back into my braid. I returned my knife to my belt and untied my wooden sword from the branch above me. I had received the sword at the ceremony last night: my very own. It was of a dark smooth wood, the scabbard carved with leafy designs, very different from the crude practice swords we had used previously. The designs mimicked branches of the Yatu tree, my namesake. The weight of the sword felt strange on my hip as I secured it to my belt. I sprinted the narrow path inland toward the village where the elders lived and where our training took place.

I joined the group of older students gathering in the training space. Previously we had been separated by year, but now my year joined the larger group of graduated students for advanced training and for duels, where we split into our specialties of sword, staff, or bow.

I spotted "the pirate", as he was called, among the swordsmen. He was the only other lighter haired inhabitant of the island. I remembered his arrival to the island, several years after mine and only two years ago. He was already barely of age so the elders had put him straight into dueling, figuring that he would likely lose immediately and be disposed of. However, he had adapted quickly to the different sword and, using his strange fighting style, won his duel. Once allowed to train, he quickly learned the new style of sword fighting and was now one of the top swordsmen.

I made eye contact briefly, by accident, but turned away quickly, and he made no move to acknowledge me. Us associating, since we were different from the crowd already, would only make our lives more difficult. Instead, I joined a group of swordsmen from my year. My friend Koi hit my arm in a friendly gesture and complimented the designs on my new sword in the sharp native language.

Before we could begin duels, we had a week of learning how the duels worked and improving our specialty skills. We started the day with typical exercises and then watched some of the older students duel. I had seen duels before so I wasn't surprised when both members walked away with minor injuries. These weren't fights to the death. Yet.