Door to the Mist

Chapter 2

     PHWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!  A sudden shrill whistle jolted John up out of the dream he had been occupying.  It was a good one, about a gigantic chocolate pie, and he was drifting gently towards it like a falling leaf… Phweeet! Phweeet! John jerked his head up. There was no falling back asleep. It was time to get up.

     He rolled off the cot and stumbled to his feet, pulling on a set of fresh clothes lying folded at the foot of his bed. Jay was blinking groggily as he tried to make sense of what he was supposed to be doing. Then, as his memory of the previous day flooded back, he jumped up so suddenly he hit his head on the bunk above.

    Everyone stood to attention at the foot of their beds as Sergeant Frerin marched in briskly, making sure everybody was up and awake. He halted at one end of the room and walked back slowly, inspecting every person. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, and everyone, as if on cue, filed out the door. Outside, they met Catrina, who looked as though she had gone through the same ordeal.

    Catrina sidled over to the boys, “Sergeant Linyeturiel woke us with some kind of annoying whistle. She got me up way too early. I can’t wake up until at least noon.”

    John checked his wristwatch, “Um, its 5:00.”

    Catrina looked blank.

    Jay tried again, “It’s 5:00. A.M.? And you’re, um, awake.”

    “Oh.”

   John broke the awkward silence. “Let’s see what these elves have for breakfast.”

    Breakfast was a bun with some kind of orange jelly on it, that john declared to be delicious. The bun was sweet and the jelly tasted like pineapples with a nutty, caramel flavor. The drink stand was now serving a clear liquid that appeared to give off a white light. This new drink had the taste of a very good fruit punch.

    They sat at one of the many tables to savor their breakfast. As they ate, they examined the uniforms they had been given, which consisted of a short, light blue tunic, a pair of darker blue pants, and armor plated boots with studded soles. A few minutes later, the garrison filed out the double door, except for a handful of young elves who stood around awkwardly. Frerin burst out of the forge room door.

    “Get your sorry faces to the training field! ON THE DOUBLE!”

    They shuffled into the huge courtyard where a pair of assistants handed out swords, which John, in the spirit of discovery, found to be blunt.

    “Each of you get to a post, NOW!”

    They obeyed hesitantly.

   A tall thin elf strode confidently out of the forge room. He took up a position at the central pillar and drew a training sword.

    “My name is Jihuivrkht.”  He had a deep voice that projected around the entire room. “I will be your instructor in the art of sword fighting until your dispersal into specialized groupings.”

    His name sounded like the Ja in the French pronunciation of Jacques, Hoi, and a Ver followed by a sort of hacking sound deep in his throat that somehow sounded like he was rolling his Ks.

    “I will now demonstrate the four essential combat maneuvers. First, there is the ‘Slash’.” He brought his sword downward diagonally on the stone column. “Next is the ‘Stab’.” He plunged his sword straight into the pillar. To the astonishment of everyone the blade slid smoothly into the solid rock. “These pillars have been enchanted to allow your swords to pass through them when you stab. Now we have the defensive exercises. The ‘Block’,” he held his sword horizontally as a long sliver of rock detached from the top of the post and whizzed downwards, clanging on his upheld sword blade. “And finally, the ‘Dodge’.” As he spoke another shard of rock sped down. He sidestepped swiftly as the stone slammed onto the floor, throwing up sparks. “Now you try.”