The courtyard smelled like rain and old stone. At the center, under the twisted silverwood tree, Minny sat cross-legged on a meditation mat. Breath slow. The world narrowed to the beat of her own pulse. She was trying to reach the quiet place again. The place where the fire in her veins stopped roaring.
Then the air cracked.
"HAH!"
A wooden training doll shuddered as a young boy who looked to be in his teenage drove his palm into its chest. The whole frame rocked, chains clanking against the stone post. Again, and again. Each strike sloppy, loud, desperate. Splinters flew.
Minny's eyelids twitched. One breath. Two. The fire inside her flared, hot and annoyed.
"Jack," she said, voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through his grunts anyway.
He didn't stop. Sweat stung his eyes. "Gotta get it right before the the recruitment day!" His foot snapped up, missed the doll's knee joint, and he stumbled. The doll swung back and smacked his shoulder hard enough to echo.
That did it. Minny opened her eyes. Gold flickered in them, just for a second, before she stood up in one fluid motion she walked slowly towards the stumbled Jack.
"You don't have push yourself too hard Jack,the recruitment is still two months away and I believe you are much more prepared than you may think." Minny said. Trying to stop the frustrated Jack from tiring himself out.
The air was still thick with sweat and blood when her voice cut through it.
"Dinner's ready."
From their left, the sliding door whispered open. Jack didn't hear her footsteps. He never did.
His mother stood there, backlit by the warm glow from the kitchen. She was slender, almost delicate, like wind could've moved her if she didn't plant her feet. About 5'6", but she carried herself taller. Shoulders straight, spine like a blade that never needed sharpening.she looked to be in her early thirties but still stood with beauty.
Black hair fell past her shoulders, tied back with a strip of faded cloth. She wore a simple tunic and trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
She held a tray with both hands. Steam rose from it and for a second the whole courtyard smelled like rice and broth instead of iron. Her eyes moved from Jack, panting on his knees, to Minny who was right next to Jack.
"You two will waste away if I don't feed you," she said. She stepped forward, and the light caught the faint scar along her collarbone. The one she always kept covered.
"Let's all go inside and have dinner, besides grandma Neyney has lost her temper waiting too long for you guys.
The small kitchen table was crowded but warm. Steam rose from the bowl of rice and stew in the center, and the oil lamps flickered against the walls. Outside the wind moved through the courtyard, but inside it was just the four of them and the sound of spoons against bowls.
Neyney sat at the head of the table, back straight even at her age. She ladled stew into everyone's bowls first before touching her own. Old habit.
Jack's mom sat to his right, quiet, watching him more than her food. Minny, barely twenty one, sat across from Jack and kept stealing glances at him between bites, like she was trying to figure out if her big brother had grown three inches since morning.
Jack pushed rice around his bowl. He had not said a word since they sat down.
Neyney broke the silence first. "You are quiet tonight, boy. That means your head is loud."
Jack looked up. "The recruitment trials start in two months and..."
Neyney studied Jack over the rim of her bowl. "And? How do you think you will fare?"
Jack exhaled. "I do not know. The other boys have been training since they could walk. Sons of captains and knights. They know formations and sword drills and all the old rules. I only know how to swing and not get hit."
Minney frowned. "That is not true. You beat three of them last month behind the stables."
"That was not a trial," Jack said. "That was just a fight. This is different. There will be judges. There will be rules. If I break them, I am out."
Jack's mom reached over and put her hand over his. Her fingers were calloused from years of work. "Rules do not make a soldier, Jack. Grit does. You have always had more of that than any boy in this village."
"But grit does not stop a spear," Jack said. He tried to sound sure of it, but his voice went a little thin at the end.
Neyney set her bowl down with a soft clack. Everyone looked at her. She did not speak right away. She just looked at him, eyes sharp and calm like they had been when he was small and came home bleeding.
"You want me to lie to you?" she said finally. "No. You will not walk in there and be the best. Not on the first day. The sons of lords will know more words than you. They will have better armor and better teachers. But trials are not won by words or armor."
She leaned forward a little. "Trials are won by the boy who gets knocked down and stands up one more time than the others. By the boy who keeps his head when the others panic. By the boy who remembers why he is standing in that line at all."
Jack did not answer. He just stared at his bowl.
Finally Jack picked up his spoon again. He took a bite. "Then I guess I better not get knocked down too many times," he said.