She met his eyes frankly and gave him a brief nod. There was really no point in lying. “The past does not hold the same dangers as the future.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said cryptically, turning away and walking out the room, leaving her feeling more than a little confused.
By the time Allyra found her way back to her room, her muscles ached with exhaustion, but her transition between the sixth and seventh forms could not be faulted.
* * *
Allyra started making her way to the sparring room every night. Luckily, Jason was a heavy sleeper and she managed to steal in and out the room each night without his knowledge.
Some nights, she wouldn’t find Alex there, and those she spent training and practicing by herself. But more often than not, Alex, or a memory of him, would be waiting for her. Sometimes, Mandla would be with Alex, and then, she would remain silent, quietly training alongside them, making sure not to disturb them. Even when Alex was alone, they never spoke much, and when they did speak, it was always focused on whatever they were working on. He would point out a flaw or offer some advice, but they never asked personal questions. Since that first night in the sparring room, there was an unspoken understanding between them that while both their Gifts lay in the manipulation of time, it was best not to know too much about their own pasts or futures.
Allyra hadn’t realized it at first, but this past version of Alex was the perfect training partner. While they could clearly see each other, they were not really together. Separated by the vast expanse of time, they couldn’t touch each other, and therefore, their weapons did nothing to harm the other. It gave them the freedom to attack furiously without fear of doing any permanent damage.
Alex’s sword stabbed right through her, where her liver would be. They both looked down at the offending weapon.
“You’re dead,” he stated.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
She shook her head. “Forget it.”
He studied her curiously for a minute and then shrugged. “You’re swinging too hard, leaving yourself exposed. Power does not always mean strength.”
Allyra huffed out an exasperated breath. Alex had a tendency to spout impossible to comprehend and vaguely philosophical musings at her.
He seemed to realize it. “You need to know your weapon,” he clarified.
“Still not helpful,” she retorted.
“I’m. Not. Finished,” he said deliberately, drawing out each word.
She waved for him to continue.
“You need to understand your weapon—the distribution of its weight, how it cuts through the air. Every weapon has the perfect swing, the precise balance between strength and speed, you just need to find it.”
Alex nodded at the wall of weapons. “Go get an axe,” he told her.
Following his instruction, she hefted a massive axe from the wall. It was as tall as she was, and its mirrored blades were as wide as her shoulders.
“Swing it. Its weight is centered at one end. Do you feel how it wants to pull you forward?”
She nodded.
“If you give the same swing to this axe and to your sword, you will end up with two very different outcomes. The sword has a natural recovery, but the axe will probably swing you forward and topple you over.”
“So, I should pick my weapons carefully,” she asked.
“Yes, but that’s not the lesson. You need to be proficient in every weapon because you never know when you might need it to save your life. My point is that you should learn to adapt. That axe may be too large for you, it might be poorly balanced, but if you adapt, you can still use that to your advantage. Swing the axe, prepare for it to pull you forward, and use its weight to propel you into your next move.”
“I should adapt my fighting style according to the weapon I’m wielding?”
Alex nodded and rewarded her with a rare smile. “Exactly. The more adaptable and fluid you are, the more difficult it becomes for your opponent to anticipate your next move, and the more deadly you become.”
* * *
Allyra watched Jason carefully. They circled each other like two lions defending their territory. She was drenched in sweat, making the metal batons in her hand slippery and difficult to hold on to. She tightened her grip.
Thanks to her extra lessons with Alex, her sparring sessions with Jason had turned into more evenly matched affairs. However, they were both as stubborn as old donkeys, which meant, as a rule, neither one ever emerged from a sparring session unscathed. They had kept the nurse busy treating an endless procession of cuts, bruises, and sprains. Sometimes, Allyra thought it might prove to be a miracle if the two of them even made it to the First Final without killing each other first.
Darting forward, Allyra feinted to the right before delivering a sharp blow to Jason’s ribs. He responded with a furious series of swings. She managed to parry each one away. Seeing an opening, she drove her elbow deep into Jason’s gut, sending him stumbling backward, gasping for breath.
She prowled after him but hesitated before delivering another blow. With his arms clutched around his waist, Jason cut a sorry figure.
Jason leaped forward. Allyra cursed silently—he was faking it, and she should have expected it. Jason never played by the rules. Playing dirty was his defining characteristic. He slammed into her, shoving her backward. She stumbled into the wall, her head hitting it with an audible whack. Stunned for a second, she didn’t see Jason approach, and he kicked her knee
