Need to catch-up? Here's the link to the full collection.
“Do we have to, father?”
“Yes, Ifan. Now leave your sisters and come with me to the training grounds.”
The door slammed behind Ifan’s father, leaving him behind amongst his two older sisters. Placing his doll on the floor next to Gwen’s doll house, he pushed himself off of the ground and out of his crossed legs.
“Don’t worry, Ifan, we’ll be sure to include Ser Tuffins,” Mari said, collecting the doll. Its woollen body was adorned with grey armour and a long sword and shield. The armour’s helmet opened up, revealing the dog-ged knight’s visage. Mari squeezed Ser Tuffins and woofed at the doll in Gwen’s hand and the two continued playing as Ifan made his way out of the playroom.
Jogging to catch up, Ifan reached his father and tugged at his shirt. “Why do I have to train everyday while Mari and Gwen get to play?”
“Because, my son, you were blessed with the Divine Breath, which means you hold the strength to conquer cities, slay dragons and save those in need.” His father swung the doors to the outside open with ease, his large muscular arms barely straining to move the massive oaken wood panels. “But it also means that you must learn how to wield it. Lest you hurt yourself, or others.”
Another child, ragged and dirty, stood at the other end of the training grounds. The threads on his clothes were barely holding together, and his hair was matted and filthy. Ifan waved at the boy, sheepishly, behind his father while clutching at his shirt. Tugging at his own shirt, the boy didn’t reciprocate, instead staring at his feet and digging into the soft dirt with his exposed toes.
“Now, Ifan, this is Jeremiah. He’s five, just like you.” His father stepped forward and placed his massive hand on Jeremiah’s head, ruffling his hair.
“Hi, Jeremiah. I’m Ifan. Named for my great-grandfather.” Ifan offered his hand.
The boy continued staring at his feet.
“Come, now, Jeremiah, shake Ifan’s hand.” The King grabbed Jeremiah’s arm and thrust it toward Ifan.
Jeremiah placed his hand in Ifan’s, and Ifan shook slowly, noticing Jeremiah’s weak and timid grip.
“Good. Good.” Stepping to one side, the King pulled two wooden sticks from a nearby weapon’s rack. “Now, each of you take one of these,” he offered them to the two boys, and Ifan eagerly accepted. Jeremiah took his and let it hang by his side.
“Why do we need these?” asked Ifan.
“You’re going to spar with Jeremiah. His father was one of the greatest swordsmen of Inarell. A perfect candidate to help you train.”
“Spar?” Ifan twiddled with the stick, poking its sharp tip into the ground. It had another piece of wood, running perpendicular at the end of its handle. Ifan thought it felt good in his hand.
Jeremiah had begun swinging his stick, up and down, at such a speed Ifan could hear it whip through the air. “It means that we fight.”
“Exactly right, Jeremiah. Now I was told that you’ve been practicing your swordsmanship with your father since you were three. Ifan on the other hand has never even held a sword, can you believe?” Ifan’s father stepped to one side of the dirt circle in the centre of the training ground. “You’ll begin on the count of three. Try to go easy on him. Three, two –”
“Begin what?” asked Ifan.
“One.”
Jeremiah slammed the stick into Ifan’s shoulder, and he felt his knees buckle underneath him. A punch to his gut soon followed and Ifan felt the sick lurch its way out of his stomach onto the soft dirt in front of him.
“The first bout goes to Jeremiah. You can stop now, boy.”
Jeremiah stepped back and shook his head. He had begun to cry. Tears rolled down his dirt covered cheeks and left dark circles in the ground beneath him. Staring at the floor, he hoped to cover his emotions.
The king made his way over to Ifan and pulled him to his feet. “How was that Ifan?”
Ifan struggled for breath. His head slowly raised above his shoulders, and he could see the tears falling from Jeremiah’s eyes. Gasping for air, he dropped his weapon and let out a blood curdling scream. His eyes flashed white, and his feet carried him to his target. His fist connected with Jeremiah’s face, and following through the punch, Ifan knocked the boy to the floor, kneeling down over his prey. Two more punches and Jeremiah’s face was bloodied. Another three punches and Jeremiah had closed his eyes and simply accepted his fate.
The king watched from the spot he helped Ifan up from with a straight faced, straight lipped expression. He could see Ifan’s hands were red with blood, but he allowed the onslaught to continue. Three minutes passed, and then Ifan fell forward onto Jeremiah in a slump. The king made his way to the boys and lifted Ifan from his victim. Pulling a set of beads from his pocket, Ifan’s father’s eyes glowed a warm white, and with a prayer to his god, Jeremiah’s wounds healed up. His nose clicked back into place and the cuts on his cheeks slowly sealed up. The bruises on his eyes vanished, and his lips closed back up.
Flipping Ifan over, he could see that his son was still conscious. His eyes were open, and back to their pale blue, but filled with tears. Full with snot, his nose streamed greenish liquid down to his upper lip and his breathing was erratic and stuck in his chest.
“That was the Divine Breath. You managed to maintain it for three whole minutes. The first time I used it I lasted all of twenty seconds. I’m so proud of you, son.” His father smiled at him and wiped away Ifan’s tears with his thumb.
“I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.” Ifan found his voice and repeated the same words over and over.
“No, boy. He’s fine. Look for yourself.” The king propped up Ifan, pointing him towards Jeremiah’s unconscious body. “With the Divine Breath, we can take life, as well as give it. Remember that, Ifan.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore, Dad.” Ifan buried his head in his father’s chest.
“Don’t worry. We’re done for today.” Ifan’s father wrapped his hands around his son’s body and gestured to a palace servant stood at the limits of the training grounds. Pointing at Jeremiah, the servant knew what to do, pacing towards the boy’s body and collecting him in their arms. “Come now, let’s go get you cleaned up and you can finish playing with your sisters.”
