Chapter 1 (Part 1)
Swords rang out in the confined space, sharp tings of metal on metal, followed more often than not by curses or grunts. Sometimes with a small yelp of pain and the dull thud of a body- a tiny body- hitting the ground, before hurriedly scurrying back to her feet.
“You might win a fight,” began her master with a sneer that bordered on cruel, “against the runt of a starved litter of kittens. Back.”
The small girl, her greasy and unkempt hair plastered to her head with sweat, and wolf-like ears on either side of her cranium alert, offered no complaints, as was often her reply to her master. She responded to the command by taking three swift steps back and presenting her blades- two kris blades, wavy and as long as her forearms- in a formal manner, one held upright and slightly out, in front of her face, and the other an extension of the arm she had folded behind her back. Her left foot she turned outward while her right foot she kept light on the floor but planted and pointed forward. She put her master’s degen blade- about a foot and a half in length, whereas her own blades were just over eight inches- nearly to shame by the straightness of her spine, all the way up through her neck.
Neither of them labored for breathing this early into training. It had only been four hours, after all. Her master’s shock of messy ivory hair didn’t seem as unkempt on him as her own hair did, she thought. Though, she noted, his hawkish yellow eyes did have a cold glimmer to them today… colder than usual, that is. His own wolfish ears were in their customary place in an angry, downcast position. By his order and threat of a slow and painful death, the girl hadn’t spoken out of line since he had taken her on as his apprentice. That was- what? Two months ago? Three? She couldn’t tell nor remember, though she kept her oath to not speak unless directed to do so. So the girl simply stared at her master, silent and patient as she always tried her best to be.
Ghost, the man, looked on to his little whelp of a student with a mix of disdain and sympathy. She was no older than seven, but no younger than five. It was hard to tell with malnourishment. Though even he had to admit that the kid had a determination about her, a will to survive that had chased the child within her to the darkest, most secured corners of her mind- reasonably speaking. He wondered for a moment what she might look like if she was well fed-if she’d look older or if she really was at the bottom of his expectations of her age- without the protrusions of bone here and there, and minus the haunted and sunken deep blue eyes with a dash of lighter ice blue around her pupils. He’d come to know those unjudging eyes quite well in the past few months.
“Dodge. Block. Soft.” Ghost commanded just before he lunged forward, keeping his degen light in his hands and quick to strike. The girl had only an instant to set her stance before her much larger opponent closed the four foot gap between them in two swift strides, beginning his assault. ‘Soft’ was a term her master used to demand that she refrain from counter attacking any of his blows, no matter how battered and frustrated she became. Though the girl was a natural with any sort of bladed weapon, she couldn’t yet match up to the dexterity or skill any other novice in the complex where the two of them were held. Ghost intended to make anyone who picked on this girl rue the day they had been sired, by her own hand, no less.
Again, the room was filled with the sounds of their exertion, his no more than a quiet hiss or curse this time around, and hers no less than another yelp or cry of pain. Ghost was scoring hit upon hit on the young girl, who cried out at any hit that cut deeper than was ignorable for her. None of that was unintentional. Ghost was fair, but brutal. He didn’t go easy on her for her gender or her age. Despite this, she blocked about a fourth of what he dealt, and dodged half-again that many. He was impressed by her rapid learning- regardless of how he felt, however, he never let her see what he was thinking through his expressions. Ghost wanted her focused on his sword, stance, and intentions, not his feelings.
“Back.” He demanded, frowning. With tiny puffs of breath she took her three strides and put herself to attention, her face forming a frown of her own. No doubt wondering what he was thinking. Or what she did wrong. “You were too slow to get balanced and defensive, first off.” He started, “Though I’ll grant a small levity to that, since it will come naturally with time. The second fact you need to have drilled into your over-thick skull was that your defense would not have fended off the playful bats of that kitten’s - which we previously discussed- runty paw. Keep your balance, don’t let those blades- regardless of what kind- fall out of your boundaries if you are on the defensive. All movements should be a small movement away, ready to defend any opening that you have left open. Be it carelessly or purposefully.”
Willow’s eyes had the beginnings of tears in them, though her jaw clenched and unclenched in irritation. Despite Ghost thinking she had done well, the girl thought she could do much better. The tears were from the repeated stings of Ghost’s degen, but her master had never seen her shed any of those tears. As he talked, the tears faded, and she devoted herself to listening to him.
The girl touched her kris to the ground in front of her, after listening with abnormal attentiveness for a child of her age, indicating to Ghost that she wished to ask a question. He waved his hand at her, “Speak then, little Willow Switch. One question then back to silence with you.”
“Why would I leave a opening, master?” Willow asked. ‘Switch’ was something of a surname to her, since she was so stick-thin, and even emaciated, the frame of her body was narrow. Willow being her first name made the second seem all the more amusing and degrading to those who had first given it to her, though she knew Ghost only used it because she was his lesser- it was almost affectionate. Almost. Few in the complex knew, cared about, or used her real last name- Wolfblade.
“To draw in an attack. When you’re at a standstill in a fight, sometimes leaving a convincing false opening will cause them to attack, leaving them, in turn, open to a counter-strike from you. Of course, you’d have to be able to adequately defend the opening that you left, in order to pull off any sort of parry. And it’s ‘Why would I leave AN opening.’ Not ‘A’ opening.” He sighed in exasperation, ready to give her a wallop. Until he realized that she was so young. He forgot sometimes, in the face of her steady and patient character. Willow simply nodded, returning to her previous silence.
“Dismissed.” Ghost said with a disinterested wave of his hand as he sheathed the degen he wielded today. Every time the two of them trained, they used a different weapon. Ghost knew she favored little daggers or stilettos, so he steered her away from them for the time being, making her learn the basics of attack, defense, and dodging by way of disinterest in the specific weapon she bore for the day.
Again, her face turned to a frown, though this one was more befuddled and curious. She tilted her head at him, not even needing to ask permission to voice her question.
“You need food. Until you bulk up and build muscle you’ll be mediocre at best. You don’t need to be bulky or over-muscled, but you do need some muscle at the very least. Go find something to eat.” Ghost dismissed her with a wave again, striding to a large cabinet on the east wall of his chambers, to the right of the doorway. Willow dutifully followed him to the cabinet and placed her kris blades within, in their rightful places with the other daggers and shorter blades he had- after he’d placed his and stepped away, that is. Willow knew he wouldn’t be anything less than harsh if she were impatient with him. Though the girl wasn’t too keen to go out of the safe little room Ghost had and into the inner-workings of the complex where the Master’s subjects dwelled. She almost felt like they had it in for her specifically, but she knew deep down it was just because she was the smallest and weakest of anyone that she- and likely anyone around her- knew. Best to put those kinds of people in their place before they get a false sense of control.
The Master and her master were two very different people. One owned everything and everyone within the vast and complicated underground complex, while her master was simply her teacher. While Ghost sometimes bordered on vicious, he never touched her without a reason, and never anywhere he wasn’t supposed to. Something Willow wished the other denizens would take after, but never did.
She sighed but didn’t dally long enough for Ghost to shoot her a glare. When she got to the door she paused, looking back at the dingy room. It was a perfect square of ten feet by ten feet on every side. To her left, the cabinet took up some seven feet of that wall, and jutted a foot from it. The rest was empty, save for a mismatch carpet that covered most of the dirt floor, and served as their training area. To her right, on the western side of the room, was single-man cot, elevated only six inches off of the ground. The bed part of it seemed to be made out of whatever leftover filthy carpet her master had scrounged, and had neither pillows nor blankets.
“Out. Go get food. Come back after you’ve slept. You had a short day, and we’ll make up a bit tomorrow, before you go out and get yet more food.” Ghost never fed Willow. That was her job. She’d pushed his patience when she’d begged him to teach her how to fight and defend herself. He’d pushed back, drawing her to the ends of her endurance, and then drew her out some more, until she’d simply collapsed in front of his door and not been able to get back up. He took her in then, nursing her for a while before laying down his laws for their relationship. The only thing she paid him in was silence, at his demand.
Willow exited his room, hiding a small smile from him as she left. She’d seen a side of him he never showed- let alone hinted at that that side of him even existed. He had been concerned about her health, and a wound he’d given her a few weeks prior. It had only recently stopped from aching all the time. The girl didn’t know it, but that wound had nearly killed her of blood poisoning, and Ghost had fought it off with a small stash of medicine that he kept. More important to Willow, though, was the fact that he had cared. It’d been so long- to a child’s mind, anyway- since anyone had shown anything resembling concern and affection towards her. She ached for her mother’s arms. She looked back and gave Ghost a small wave, which he snorted at, and closed the door quietly behind her.
The girl pushed thoughts of her mother out of her mind and made her way down familiar passageways in the maze of halls. She avoided halls with other rooms- she didn’t care much for their owners, and made her way towards the only place to get food in this section of the underground maze; The Hatchet. The hole in the wall that was The Hatchet was a bar that gave out rations of food to those who could pay with enough bones. The Hatchet also was home to the only area that sold alcohol in this section of the complex, as well. Bones were a form of currency, specifically small bones that were easy enough to fit into a purse or pocket. Bones were easy to find here, so the residents had put a use to most. That being the case, most bones had simply ended up in the purses of the residents, and Willow was left with two choices; sell herself to get food, or steal it. The young girl always opted for theft.
The first successful steal that Willow had gotten, however, was a small bone knife, sharpened to a point and with a thin blade. The handle was wrapped in simple leather strips. Having this little tool made it much easier to lift a purse of bones. Most tied their purses to a belt with a thin rope. Easy for her little knife to cut off. She found that if she planned her thefts before trying to go through with them, it left her with a higher success rate. If she failed, well, Willow was a fast learner.
So Willow watched the patrons of the bar warily as she entered. Some sneered or made mocking kiss faces at her. She ignored their attempts to get a rise out of her and sat on her usual stool near the end of the counter. The bar itself was huge, made to hold all one thousand dwellers of this section of the complex, though it was never that full. It, like every other room in the underground, was a perfect square, and off to the right, behind the bar, was a storage room as big as this one. Unlike the other rooms, however, the bar was tall as well as wide. Most of the other residencies or make-shift merchant’s quarters were short and small. The taverns scattered across the varied districts of the complex were the only exception.
“In to take something that isn’t yours again, Switch?” came a voice like gravel. Willow turned to peer at the caretaker of the bar- which was as close as the big man would ever come to owning the place. She gave him a small, mischievous smile and shrugged. They had a deal; she didn’t try to steal from him, he didn’t say anything to anyone about what she did to survive. He wouldn’t question where she got her bones from either, for that matter. It was all currency to him.
“Well, don’t get caught this time. I don’t wanna have to clean your blood from my counter tops again.” The man growled. Willow rolled her eyes at him, and turned to watching for anyone who seemed dumb enough- or drunk enough, to be stolen from.
A likely patron stumbled his way out of the bar, looking like he’d either retch or topple to the floor before ever reaching his room. She watched from the corner of her eye, as she’d learned to do when someone who she’d attempted to steal from had told her as he beat her that he had seen her eyes on him, and- more importantly- his purse. Willow turned to her only ally in the place and put on her most pathetic face.
“B-but, sir, you have to have scraps you could throw me. Anything. Garbage? Please, sir, I’m so hungwy.” Willow artfully quivered her lip at the caretaker, using as childish of a voice as she knew how to do. He knew this game. She gave him a few extra bones for his own pockets every time something like this worked. When the victim in question was especially drunk, it usually did.
“Scat, you little mongrel!” he growled at her, loud enough for the nearby customers to hear if they had a care. Some did, others didn’t give a lick. “I’ve told ya once, and once was too many! I don’t give out anythin’ to anyone who don’t have the bones to pay up. Get outta my bar before I throw you out, and you better come back with bones if you want food next time!”
Willow shuffled her feet and looked down, hiding the smallest of smiles. “Yessir…” she mumbled before dragging her feet to the door. She looked back, intending to draw the game out, merely for the attention and satisfaction of having someone talk to her. Before she could even open her mouth she dropped to the floor, covering her head instinctively as an empty bottle crashed against the frame of the door just where her head had been.
“I said SCAT.” Willow scrambled out, listening to the snickers of those who’d turned to watch the last bit of theatrics- a bit too realistic for Willow’s tastes, but she wasn’t complaining if it got her a meal or two. “If you plan on comin’ back today, girly,” she heard the caretaker roar at her as she scrambled out of the doorway, “you better get to cleanin’ that s**t up, or yer not gettin’ anything outta me, bones or no!”
Willow looked in all directions; The Hatchet was at the north of a three way intersection of hallways, and heard, rather than saw, the drunken man stumbling down the east hallway. As quietly as she could, Willow started to creep after him, hugging the walls and pausing often to listen to peer into the darkness, her tail twitching in agitation. The complex that existed under the mountains was almost pitch black. What light that did shine neither she nor the other residents knew where it came from. It was just enough to light the hallways, though they were still draped in a mottled and uneven shadow. That was just to Willow’s liking, as she listened for the man, since she was hidden well along the roughly cut rock and dirt wall. She had no idea how the halls were supported, for no beam held them up at any junction. The girl had heard tell that it was the will of their Master alone that held it all aloft. Others disagreed and said that it was because the rock was so tough that it didn’t cave in. Willow didn’t care either way, as long as the walls didn’t fall in on her as she hunted her prey in her own, sneaking way.
The girl’s canine ears perked up when she heard the man start to gag and groan, between unintelligible mumblings. Resisting the strong urge to run up behind the man and rob him with no stealth involved, she crept forward silently, her ears swiveling this way and that. She’d learned the hard way that a man could sometimes remember quite well where his purse had gone the next day. The passageway widened a bit thirty feet from where The Hatchet was nestled, and a bit farther down it curved to the right, disappearing into the shadow. Willow could hear that the man was around that bend, and she was cautious for any surprises. She’d learned a lot- she realized- since the first day she’d come here. Of course, Willow didn’t feel that she had had a choice if she wanted to survive.
Crossing to a point where she could hug the inner curve of the wall, she inched her way towards the sounds of the drunken fellow. Her eyes were alert and fixed on the spaces she could see in front and to the side of her, even the shadows.