The Prophecy of Water | ✔️ 🎖 [2018 Wattys Shortlister]

CHAPTER 22-The Three Judges

They say: follow your heart ... but my heart wants so much while my mind wants only one thing.

The choice is clear.

LoG, 65

The twelve door posts opened. Boys and girls marched into the centre of The Arena guided by the older Vigils–monitors.

Squinty frowned at the tuft of the red hair. It's that kid, Odon. She spat into the sand.

Her hand had already hurt her from all that trying to keep contact with Grizzly's fur. They both went down to a lying position. Squinty's head rested at his side.

She noticed they gave armours and weapons to some competitors. Others were determined to use their equipment. How come they are allowing this? That repulsive oaf should get a training axe too. His weapon is better than most, and that's not fair.

As far as Squinty could see, during The First Trial, the monitors split all the candidates into pairs. The goal was to wear out and disarm the opponents and to show the techniques of the fighting you knew. They strictly forbade them to hurt another participant, but few followed that rule. The monitors were walking around them, watching duels, and scribbling something on their parchments. The relatives and friends cheered them on from the stands.

Squinty thought the judges had their favourites. The Chief Weapon Trainer certainly had them. It was evident to Squinty that this was the part he liked most.

"Well, at least 'Wolfgrik' is having a good time," Squinty said to Grizzly, pointing at the hairy man.

Wolfgrik was jumping up and down, slamming his fists on his desk, criticising a manoeuvre he had just noticed. "I'll be damned! Is that how you hold a hammer? Now I'd like to come down to show you!" the giant grumbled, his face drenched in sweat.

He shuffled and spat sideways; then he spoke to Borna with a sweet voice: "I apologise for this, my Prince ... But these fools ... They will never be good Vigils! They don't have legwork; they don't have muscles! They have nothing!"

The Prince raised his hand as a sign he received an apology. Then he covered his mouth with another hand, yawning. He seemed bored although at that moment a beautiful woman was sitting on his lap and stroking his chest.

"Can this man be interested in anything at all?" Squinty whispered out loud. "And why is he here anyway, if he doesn't intend to watch the Trials?"

"Well, a good Vigil must also have a good physical constitution," Wolfgrik continued, addressing no one in specific. "To strike as hard as possible and to endure the blow, not like these wussies!"

"Not everything is in strength," Radan noted with a smile.

Wolfgrik looked at him from above as if he were saying, "What do you want now?"

"There is something in speed, agility. A fast Vigil who has no armour on him, if he moves swiftly enough, can defeat a larger, fully armoured Vigil," the acorn man added.

Wolfgrik tried to exchange a conspiratorial glance with Borna, in which he failed. Then he told the man from Lug off. "What are you babbling on about, old man? Stick to your useless "War Dogs". They don't serve for anything. They eat bread for free."

"The War Dog and The Vigil are one. The will of The Vigil is the commandment for The Dog. He transfers his fellow fighter from one place to another and can fight alongside him while being ridden. He will never abandon his Rider to his fate," Radan recited.

The master of ceremony ran to the loggia. He was carrying the parchment with the ratings of the monitors.

Squinty craned her neck.