Those Who Have Never Fought
Would the enemy say the same to you?
Several days had already passed. And I had arrived at one firm conclusion: the spear was a far more tedious weapon than I'd expected.
"Again."
"How many times now?"
"Until you get it right."
Telekles's answer never changed, and neither did my irritation at it.
—Thunk!
The spearhead buried itself in the straw bundle.
"How's that? Dead center, see?"
"You'd fight beautifully—if the enemy stood still like a straw bundle."
Insufferable bastard. But I was in no position to argue while playing the student, so I reset my stance.
Feet, hips, shoulders—and thunk. The point struck the center of the bundle, and I looked up at Telekles with a grin.
"Again."
"Would it kill you to say something nice?"
"Say something nice and you'll start climbing."
Climbing. Exactly right, which only made it worse.
Still, those few days hadn't been entirely wasted. At first the spear had felt like it belonged in someone else's hands; now, at least, I had a sense of where to put my strength so the stance wouldn't fall apart.
The problem was that the instant I let my guard down, old habits crawled back out and wrecked everything—and every single time, Telekles caught it like he had eyes in the back of his head.
"Again."
Feet, hips, shoulders. After I botched the same spot three times running, a curse drifted over from beside me.
"Fuck."
Did this bastard seriously just curse?
"You're using that word now?"
"You told me it means 'focus.'"
"..."
So this was my own karma.
So thinking, I squared up—and Telekles suddenly planted his spear upright.
"This time, walk."
"Walk?"
Telekles set his spear against one side of the courtyard and began to walk, slow and deliberate.
I moved off as instructed, needling him out of sheer habit—and a few steps in, a shoulder slammed into me from the side.
"Wha—?"
My body tipped, but I barely kept my feet.
"Dead."
"What kind of person just shoves you out of nowhere?"
"Does the enemy announce a shove before he shoves?"
That shut me up. I started walking again. Telekles leaned in and shoved harder this time; I gritted my teeth and held.
"Why do you keep shoving from the side?"
"Because when you go, the man beside you goes with you."
Short words, impossible to argue with. If I buckled, my neighbor buckled—and then the whole line went down in order. That was simply how it worked.
"You don't fight alone."
"Again."
This time the words were mine, and Telekles snorted.
That day, I spent more time walking and toppling than I did thrusting the spear.
A few days later, I finally got my hands on a shield.
"Whoa."
Telekles had dug up an old shield from somewhere. The rim was worn, the inside covered in the marks of long use—but it was a shield all the same.
The moment I slid my arm through the straps, I regretted it.
"...It's heavy?"
"Lift it."
"I am lifting it."
"You're hanging off it, is what you're doing."
This little bastard.
When I tensed and brought the shield up, a profoundly uncomfortable sensation spread through my whole body. The thing was not built to be borne on one arm alone.
"People actually fight carrying this?"
"You're the one who wanted to."
"I'm not backing out. Complaining is still allowed, though."
Telekles snorted at that and began leading me in laps around the courtyard.
One lap—I was still fresh enough. Two laps—by the second, my arm had gone numb. On the third, I finally let it drop.
"Hold on."
"Resting already?"
"Equipment inspection."
"You call resting an inspection?"
"That's how it works in the army."
The words were out before I could stop them. Telekles's stare, thick with suspicion, pricked at something in me.
"You keep saying strange things lately."
"I did crack my head, remember."
"How long are you planning to use that excuse?"
"As long as it keeps working."
Telekles clicked his tongue at me—but mercifully, he didn't push it.
"Pick it up again."
This time I took up the spear along with the shield, and the difficulty doubled on the spot. Mind the shield and the spearhead drooped. Watch the spear and my feet tangled. Check my feet and the shield sagged.
—Wham!
"Ow!"
Telekles slammed a wooden staff against the shield, and the shock ran up my arm and into my shoulder.
"What the hell was that for?"
"You think the enemy's going to stand there admiring your shield?"
—Wham!
"Fuck!"
"Focus."
"I am focused!"
—Wham!
On the fourth, I clenched my teeth. On the fifth, my arm shook—but the shield held.
"See that?"
I looked over at Telekles, grinning. It was exactly that moment.
"Your shield sits too low."
Telekles and I froze at the same instant.
At the voice I'd never heard before, I turned—and Father was standing at the mouth of the courtyard.
And beside him stood a man I had never seen.
Gray threaded his beard; he looked his age. But his back was unbent, and his frame looked remarkably hard for an old man's.
Something else reached me before any of that, though.
His eyes.
He wasn't angry, and yet those eyes made a person inexplicably tense. The sense of a man long accustomed to measuring others with a single look.
Apparently Father had only stopped by the house to fetch something. The problem was that today, he hadn't come alone.
"Arista."
Father's gaze traveled slowly over my spear and shield. His voice was low—several times more frightening than when Mother lowered her voice to call my name.
Telekles looked my way. And I remembered, word for word, what he'd said a few days ago.
If Father catches you, you're on your own.
But actually play dumb and I'll kill you.
"I asked him to."
I couldn't bury Telekles in this, so I spoke first.
Telekles's eyes went wide. Father gave no answer.
Instead, the man beside him spoke first.
"Teach you what?"
"The spear. I asked him to teach me the spear."
"Why?"
Short and simple—and yet no answer came at once.
Because it burned me that I wasn't allowed, being a woman. Because I'd been a soldier once, in another life, and wanted to live like one again. Not one of those answers could I give—and not one of them was the right answer anyway.
In the end, I offered the simplest thing I could think of.
"I wanted to learn."
The corner of the man's mouth shifted—barely.
"Meaning to go off to war, are you?"
"That's..."
"Archidamus."
Father spoke, low.
"Do not tease the child."
Archidamus. That name sounded familiar.
Where I'd heard it, though, wouldn't come to me.
Unruffled, the man stepped into the courtyard and quietly studied the shield I held. Then he held out a hand, and before I knew what I was doing, I gave it to him.
"An old piece."
"Yes."
Telekles answered for me. As though the answer hardly mattered, Archidamus hefted the shield once and handed it back.
"Heavy, for you."
"I can carry it."
I got riled up for no reason at all.
"Bearing it and fighting with it are different matters."
"I know that."
"Have you ever fought?"
My mouth closed again. Real war was something I'd never once seen—past life or present.
"...No."
"Then what is it you claim to know?"
That question I couldn't answer.
The man regarded me a moment, then pointed at the spear in my hands.
"Show me."
"Show you what?"
"You said you'd been learning."
Father moved to cut in.
"There's no need."
"I would only watch."
Archidamus said it as if it were nothing. Weighing Father's mood—but finding it stranger not to comply—I finally set my stance.
Minutes ago I'd been cursing through this very drill. Now my palms had gone suddenly slick with sweat.
—Thunk!
"Again."
At the order, I put a little more of myself into the thrust, and the point sank deep into the straw.
But Archidamus wasn't watching the spear. He was watching my feet.
"Dreadful."
Beside me, Telekles swallowed a laugh.
That bastard.
"But I've only been at this a few—"
"Would the enemy pause to ask how many days you've trained?"
I shut my mouth. Right answer, more's the pity—irritating as hell.
A moment later, his gaze shifted to Telekles.
"Still—not bad, for something you taught."
This time the words were for my brother. When Telekles's face stiffened, I snorted.
Now that's even-handed.
Just then, a man hurried in from outside the courtyard. Without so much as a glance at me or Telekles, he planted himself directly before Archidamus.
"My king."
...What? King? That man?
I looked again at the man standing beside Father.
"What is it?"
"The ephors request your presence. An envoy has come from Corinth."
The air changed at once. Father's face hardened too, and Archidamus, after a brief silence, gave a single nod.
"Go on ahead."
A chill crawled down my spine.
I had known the name Corinth for a long time. The place where trouble never stopped brewing between Athens and Sparta. I didn't know exactly what went on there—but if the mere name could shift the faces of two men who'd been perfectly at ease moments before, it was surely nothing good.
More than that, though—my mouth had a talent for outrunning my brain. Before I knew it, without organizing a single thought, something had already left my lips.
"My king."
Father's head snapped toward me. One look in his eyes and I wished I'd bitten my tongue—but it was far too late for that.
"Is there going to be a war?"
With that question, a short silence fell. He didn't get angry. He simply looked at me for a long moment, then asked:
"Do you want there to be a war?"
I hadn't expected the question to come back at me like that.
"...I don't know."
A few days ago, I might well have answered that I wanted to fight. But in front of the king, dragging those words out of my mouth was strangely difficult.
While I wavered over my answer, Archidamus gave a slow nod.
"Better, perhaps, that you don't."
With that, he started for the edge of the courtyard—and spoke quietly as he went.
"Those who have never fought are always the ones who speak of war most easily."
At his answer, I looked down at the spear in my hand. Only minutes ago, this had been nothing more than the thing I either hit the straw with or missed it.
Strange. Now it felt just a little heavier than before.