Pangaea: Unsettled Land

Chapter Four

The grassy field at Burrow University’s athletic facility was freshly cut. Five young men stood atop the lawn practicing their sword skills against one another. Douglassaire was among them. He had inhaled the calming scent of the grass when he arrived, but now as he swung, dodged, and blocked, his adrenaline rushed and his sense of smell was limited . Of course, they didn’t practice with real swords, which were outlawed on the campus. Instead, they used the school’s provided bamboo swords. The people of the North had an aversion to war that permeated all aspects of their culture . Hardly anyone carried a weapon even in their own homes. So, it was understandable, but still a disappointment to all of the warriors of the South who enjoyed the sword’s technological enhancements. While purely cosmetic, all swords were able to be customized from weight to color. The Middle Third had swords that were even collapsible. If a scholarship hadn’t been offered to these guys for their outstanding fighting skill, they probably wouldn’t be here at all.

The stretchy black material in which they were all outfitted felt light against Doug’s skin. It was form-fitting with sleeves that stopped just below his shoulders and the bottoms just above his ankles. While it was a similar fit to what warriors wore under their armor, the lack of protective gear allowed him to enjoy the freedom of movement it gave him. It would keep him cool despite the intensity of the exercise. Atop his shoulders sat rounded spaulders with layers like the wings of a ladybug, an adornment used specifically for this activity – training for the Power Battle. It’s a fight between the Southern Third’s forty best warriors and all any of these men cared about – especially Doug. This battle would decide the next leader of the Southern Third – the next Southern Commander. Some wanted to fight for the fame while others wanted the power. For Douglassaire, winning the Power Battle meant freedom. He left his orphanage as a teenager to join the military. With no money and no family, it was the only way he saw he could survive. He’d been training for the Power Battle ever since, anxiously awaiting the chance to fight and win. This was his way to leave behind his life of poverty and begin making his own life choices.

Douglassaire’s muscular frame was a favorite among two onlookers at the sideline who whistled their approval. He ignored the ladies, too focused on his training to bother, but his peer (who was busy taking the role of drill sergeant) did not.

Lesech paced back and forth with his hands folded behind him, scrutinizing each move the men made – a thrust here and a parry there. He shook his head and sucked his teeth in disappointment, none of it satisfactory. Douglassaire practiced with another, but kept notice of Lesech out of the corner of his eye. Lesech smirked and said, “You look horrible , Douglassaire. You’ll die minutes after the doors open if you don’t get it together .” He stood the same height as Doug, but was much thinner. His olive-skinned, angular face was framed by a bush of big white curls, and his piercing hazel eyes were enough to command the attention of anyone.

The two ladies on the sideline cheered for Douglassaire once again. Lesech glanced back at them and then stood behind their idol as he continued his exercise. He stuck out his foot at just the right time and sent Douglassaire falling face-first. Trying to stave off embarrassment, Doug quickly recovered and broke Lesech’s personal space with a glare just inches away from his face. His would-be fans had already laughed and walked away.

“Yes, that’s it,” Lesech said, “get mad.”

“You’re taking this too far, Lesech ,” said Doug, trying to decide whether to drop the bamboo sword and use his fist.

“What are you going to do about it? Huh?” Lesech stepped back and spread his arms, yelling, “What are any of you going to do about it?”

The others in the group stopped their exercises with puzzled expressions , nervous laughter, and anticipated what was coming next . “Beat his ass, Doug,” one said. “Someone needs to be put in his place,” said another. These Southern men didn’t have the luxury of a real structured training like they would back home, so they mimicked the exercise on a much smaller scale to keep their skills sharp. With all of the fighting going on, it was commonplace for a duel to break out. And just like home, all training stopped to watch and take notes when two warriors got serious.

“What do you say, Lesech? Me and you. Right now.” Out of the three duels he and Lesech had, Douglassaire defeated him twice. He was itching to add another win to his record.

Lesech simply stuck out his hand and caught a bamboo sword thrown by one of the other men nearest him. He lowered his eyes and grinned. “You ready for this?”

Without warning, Doug leapt ahead for the first downward swing to his rival’s face . He anticipated the block and followed up with a surprise punch to the gut. Lesech’s eyes opened wide as he doubled over clutching his abdomen. Doug struck him on the right shoulder with his sword as he went down . He lifted his sword and went for the left, but Lesech blocked and shoved Doug away.

“That was a cheap shot!” he exclaimed, rising back to his feet.

Doug caught his balance and hopped back to his stance with a grace that almost seemed out of place for his stature. “No rules in the Power Battle.”

“Oh really? Says the man who’s going for the pauldrons instead of the kill.” It was true. Doug could have simulated Lesech’s death with a simple blow to the head, but instead hit his shoulder, more in line with the official rules of the Power Battle.

The rules were simple. The warriors would all be outfitted with armor including two big pauldrons on each shoulder. Once the fight commenced, if both pauldrons were removed, you were eliminated. Some saw this as the more honorable way to win, but in the Southern Third, a warrior’s death in the midst of battle was the more honorable way to lose. The kills are what kept the world watching, and Lesech always wanted to please the crowd. “Let me show you what the Power Battle will be when I’m involved.”

Lesech ran forward and began swinging. Doug successfully blocked a barrage of attacks and tried to counterattack by swinging at what would be Lesech’s one remaining pauldron. Lesech was already fast, but his speed seemed to increase with each dodge. The day was clear and the air still, but Doug suddenly felt stray gusts of wind blowing in front of him. The air resistance increased his difficulty in fighting. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening. How is Lesech not affected? He tried his best to counterattack, but Lesech parried Doug’s last swing and thrust his bamboo sword into Doug’s chest. Doug fell hard.

Lesech stood over Doug, straddled with one leg to each side. He brought the point of his weapon down hard onto Doug’s chest , just above his heart. “The record is 2 – 2. Now, we’re even, orphan! If you still plan on joining the Power Battle, I hope you enjoy these last few years, because that is where you will die.”

The rest of the group stood there in awkward silence. Doug always knew Lesech to be a bit on the eccentric side, but at that moment something had changed. He looked into Lesech’s eyes and believed the intent behind every word. What was once a petty rivalry had now evolved into something more. Doug was never easily rattled until now. He just remained on the green grass looking up at Lesech – staring into the face of insanity.