Clanless (Nameless #2)(27)
Then everything went black. Images flickered in his mind. His mother’s face. His father’s shield. The forest by his home. Flashes of his life burned bright against the back of his eyelids then dimmed again to utter darkness.
The flashing stopped and he was eight years old, hiding behind a tree in the woods while his mother cried again. Weeping because of Father. She always cried in the mornings when she thought Gryphon had left for training. It felt wrong not to watch her. Such sadness demanded a witness, even if it meant receiving lashes for being late.
Gryphon hated his father. Hated him. Mostly because he made his mother cry, but also because of the way his instructors treated him. He was always selected last in every drill. Always forced to do extra work.
“For your father’s mistake,” his trainers would say while Gryphon struggled to lift or push or pull whatever they were training with that day.
And Gryphon would do whatever they asked, knowing that someday he would be the strongest, fastest, and most skilled warrior the Ram had ever produced.
For your father’s mistake.
Gryphon ran to morning practice, determined not to be late today. It was the last day the boys and girls he’d been training with over the past three years would be together. They were splitting them up: boys would go one way and girls another.
Upon entering the cleared field that served as their training ground, eight-year-old Gryphon bent over, hands on knees, collecting his breath while the rest of the kids arrived. He was getting faster. The thought made him smile.
For your father’s mistake.
Gryphon’s instructor was a young woman. Her hair was a warm brown and whenever she smiled, a strange heat always filled Gryphon’s cheeks.
“Gather ‘round,” his instructor said. She was not alone today. A man and a woman, each wearing boiled leather armor and stern expressions, stood behind her. Their legs were spread wide, their hands clasped behind their backs, eyeing the children as they might a potential meal.
Gryphon stood as tall as he could, keeping his chin high and holding eye contact to show he wasn’t afraid of them, even though he was.
“Today,” his young instructor smiled, “marks a day of advancement. You should all be very proud of yourselves.”
Gryphon refused to smile, though he felt the urge.
“The girls may follow their new instructor.” Several girls waved as they ran to keep up with the female instructor. Once they were out of sight, his instructor continued. “Before I send you to work with your new instructor, every one of you will receive a special gift from me. Something that will make you stronger.”
Gryphon couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. Whatever the instructor’s gift, he wanted it desperately.
“Who would like to go first?” she asked.
Gryphon’s hand shot into the air, even though he knew he would be chosen last. He looked around to realize his was the only hand in the air. Did the other boys know something he didn’t? He turned back to the woman who’d trained him for the last three years and found her smiling.
“Follow me, Gryphon, son of Troy.”
Gryphon flinched under the weight of his father’s name. To have it attached to his was cruel. The other boys snickered to each other as Gryphon walked away with both instructors at his side. They opened up the door to a large shed that housed blunted training weapons. The man shut the door behind them and crossed his large arms in front of his chest.
Gryphon didn’t want his “special gift” anymore. He just wanted to leave this room.
“Today is your eighth-year beating. You will receive one every year to help you learn how to conquer pain.” The woman smiled, and lifted a blunted sword off the rack. “You will not resist or fight back. Do you understand?”
Tears gathered in Gryphon’s eyes. He didn’t want to feel pain. He didn’t want to have to stand there and let the pretty young woman hit him. But he was a Ram, and as with everything else, he needed to prove to them that he was better than his father. “I … I understand,” he said, forcing his voice to come out steady.
The man at the door—his future instructor—cocked his head to the side, appraising him. Gryphon balled his little fists and clenched his jaw as the first blow came. The sword flew through the air, and the flat of it connected with the side of his face. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He wanted to cry as he climbed back to his feet to receive another gift, but he didn’t. Instead he looked his warm-haired instructor in the face and commanded his features to remain neutral.
“Good for you, Gryphon,” the woman said, swinging the blunted sword back to strike him again. But there was something evil in her expression that contradicted her praise. The words she intoned rang like a bell in Gryphon’s mind. “For your father’s mistakes.”
The scene shifted to another beating. Then another. Each more violent than the next to mark his growth in skill and size. Gryphon didn’t want to be in the shed any longer. Didn’t want to see his mother’s tears. Didn’t want to have to think about his father and the shame that he’d inherited from the man.
A new face walked into the shed, this man bald with large round eyes that didn’t quite sit inside his skull. He recognized the man, but had only seen him at a distance.
“After seeing your progress, the Seer asked me to administer your twelfth-year beating. Your training has been impressive, young soldier.”