The Four Violent Acts Of Peter Valentine: Chapter 61 - Chapter 65
Act II
Chapter 61
“You can’t do that.” The girl sitting across the chess set from me introduced herself as Mina. She’s seventeen and wears glasses. “The pawn can only move diagonally when it attacks.”
This new game Mina teaches me makes my heart beat fast. Sixteen pieces working together. Pushing and fighting. My eyes dart over the board, and my head spins. There’s so much going on at once. Caesar, the strategy instructor, hovers near our table, slowly massaging his temples with one hand.
“It is attacking,” I say. “It’s going for your horse.”
“That’s not a horse; it’s a knight. And it’s too far away to attack so you can’t move the piece diagonally. You can only move the pawns one space forward.”
“But it’s blocked by your pawn.”
“Right, so you have a couple of options. You can—”
“And if I don’t move forward, you’ll capture me with your bishop.”
“Good, you must think ahead if you want—”
“Can I move this here?”
“No, because—”
“What about this?” I move a piece and hold my breath as I wait for Mina to move.
“You can, but then I can move here and—checkmate.”
I stare at the board, and then at Mina. “So, I lose again?”
Mina smiles and nods.
“Draughts is easier,” I say. Caesar chokes on something, and then wanders off, maybe to get water. He already gave me a lecture that I’m coming to expect from each of the trainers. How strategy is the most important skill of all, and how I must come back every day to practice during free time. Because I’m not good enough.
“But this game’s strategy is much deeper.” Mina spins the board. “Here, look at the board from my side. Try to remember the last five moves.
The board looks different from her perspective. Like a different game.
“Let’s play again, and show me how you did that.”
Mina says nothing. I glance up and see her face is stern.
I think back on what I said, then let out a breath.
“I’m sorry. I order you about and interrupt you. Thank you for showing me the game. Would you please teach me more?”
Mina considers the question, then nods.
I lean forward again as she resets the board.
Chapter 62
The last class of the day—strength training—comes just after noon. I ate plenty at breakfast, but my stomach already growls in protest.
I follow some Browncloaks into a small building. It has open windows, but the air is still somehow stale and stifling. Heavy weights meant for lifting lay scattered about the area. I watch other Browncloaks pick them up from the ground and drop them. Curl them to their chest. Hold them straight out. Raise them over their head.
Melvin is the instructor here. He’s a short man, powerfully built. He gives me little guidance, other than to “go slow.” There isn’t much to do except watch others and then mimic their actions.
The effort seems wasted, and I wish I could work in the communal fields instead. Then at least you can point to an accomplishment at the end of a day’s work. A pile of feed stacked high. Wheat, ground and bagged. A freshly dug trench.
Here, you start with a weight on the ground and end with a weight on the ground. By the time training is complete, my arms and chest burn. Shaking. I want nothing more than to go outside and gulp fresh air.
Melvin approaches me. I sit on a bench, rubbing the muscles in my calves. His arms are folded and his mouth forms a thoughtful frown. After a moment, he sits down next to me.
“Dahna wants me to tell you to come back after lunch. To practice hard because you need it. It’s what all the teachers tell the new recruits.”
I wipe my wet forehead with my wet forearm and accomplish little. “I noticed.”
“But you’re already lifting more than most of the other students. Two weeks at this, and you’ll likely best everybody but Harvey over there.” He motions to a boy who appears to be in his seventeenth or eighteenth year. He stands a little taller than me and about as big. “And in six months, I wager you’ll be able to beat even Harvey.”
I shake my head. “I’m behind in every other class. If I’m already stronger than nearly everybody here, I should spend extra time working on the other subjects.”
“No.” Melvin’s grip is tight on my forearm. The word is a command. He leans in and I can smell onions on his breath.
“Listen to me. You have strength. You could spend a year or two and improve your speed or your aim with a bow, and you’d do about as well as most. As good as most. Spend your free time here, with me, and I’ll make you the strongest man Camp, able to best anyone. With a sword, with your fists, with a broken plank picked up off the floor.
He leans closer. “The others tell you their skill is the most important. They are important, but Peter, I’ll show you what’s most powerful of all. Might. After everybody has fired their arrows and finished their fancy footwork and chosen their position with care, all that’s left is you and your opponent and balled fists. That’s when you’ll reach out and end the fight. It’s a simple truth, Peter. The strongest always wins.”
Chapter 63
Walking away from the weight room, I ponder on Melvin’s words. I sense he’s sincere and that he believes his own words. But so did the other instructors.
Each trainer tells me their skill is the most important, but which is right? Is it better to know a lot of one, or a little of each?
By the time I get to the mess hall, I haven’t come any closer to an answer. If I move too slow to catch somebody, or I’m struck down with an arrow, what good is my strength?
Chess shows even a queen can be brought down by a pawn.
I enter the mess hall and load my plate with braised chicken, roasted root vegetables, and fresh bread. I take a pitcher of milk and scan the room.
Anya is tucked into a table, surrounded by friends. No open seats.
I miss her.
Joshua sits alone. When our eyes meet, he looks away. Cara sits at a table with a few Browncloaks. She’s been friendly, and often asks how I’m doing. I’ve thought about eating with her, but it feels like an admission that I don’t fit in anywhere.
Finding an empty table, I set my food down. I clean my plate and go back for more.
Allen joins me halfway through my second plate. Brad and Connor Gardner—twins—are with him. The twins seem to be putting on a show any time they’re around other Browncloaks. They like attention. They finish their conversation with Allen, and then Brad turns to me.
“Are you excited to see your first competition on Saturday?”
“What?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
Connor giggles. “Allen hasn’t told you about the competitions? Allen, what kind of tumble-butt mentor are you?”
Allen rolls his eye at Connor. “A mentor who knows not to dump too much information on someone at once.” He takes a big drink of milk and speaks. “You’ve been to each of the classes, now, strength, weapons, strategy, and so on. Every other week there’s a competition in one of those categories. It’s a different activity each time. One time we moved heavy rocks from one bin to another. Another time we had a wrestling tournament. There are races for endurance, and chess or Go matches for strategy, and so on. They’re always fun, and the Greencloaks award prizes to the winners and losers.”
“You’ll likely get a lot of the loser ones.” Brad barks out a laugh, and gives me an exaggerated wink. Connor giggles again, and I ignore them both.
“You’ll observe for a few weeks, and then you can participate,” Allen continues. “On the weeks that we don’t have a regular competition, we have an overall competition. We had one on Saturday, but you were off picking up pinecones or something getting oriented out in the forest. That competition is meant to test your mastery of all the skills.”
“How do they do that?”
Allen opens his mouth, then pauses. “It’s hard to describe. We have one in two weeks. Probably better to just let you see for yourself.”
Chapter 64
Two days later, we practice with wooden swords. Two older girls are the first to go, and I notice before they spar, each one holds out a fist, then chant “Ichi, ni, san!” Then bump fists.
That night in our bunk, I ask Allen what it means.
“I don’t know where the words come from,” Allen says, his voice already sleepy. Allen falls asleep faster than anybody I know. “But the reason you bump fists is because of the True One Law. You must not raise your hand against another in violence unless they have first committed violence against you. When Browncloaks bump fists, that represents violence has been committed against you, and you may also commit violence against them.”
“But it’s never violent,” I say. “We wrestle. We hit each other with wooden swords. It’s not real.”
The first time I sparred with a wooden sword, it felt right. Deep down. The sword was an extension of my strength, and it made me feel powerful. I had to remind myself this was sparring, not fighting. The purpose is to learn maneuvers, not hurt my opponent.
“Of course it’s not real,” Allen says. “But bumping fists reminds us why the One Law is important. You don’t get a second chance if you knowingly break the One Law. You’re out of Camp. Out of Sanctum.” Allen’s voice becomes more alert. He raises himself on one elbow. “There was a kid here a few years ago, before I came. Had a real mean temper. He was a little on the small side. He wanted to be a good fighter, but he never had it in him.”
Allen lays back on his pillow. His voice becomes sleepy again. “He wrestled with somebody, and they threw him good. He stood up and slapped the other guy. Right on the cheek. That was it.”
Allen’s voice falls quiet. I know he’ll fall asleep if I don’t prod him. “And?” I say. “What happened.”
“He left,” Allen says. “The Greencloaks sent him away. He went back to Sanctum, but they knew what had happened. They wouldn’t let him in. Even his parents. They gave him some food and supplies, and sent him on his way. He never came back.”
Allen falls silent. His breath steadies, then a soft snore drones into the darkness.
I just begin to drift off myself when Allen starts awake, mumbling in his sleep.
“You don’t break the One Law.”
Chapter 65
I spend a week and use my free time to visit each of my classes, working with the Greencloak trainers in the afternoon. I ask them which skill is most important, and how they think I should approach my training. They each repeat what they told me on the first day. “You cannot win without this skill. Come back here every day for six months or a year. You’ll run, play, and fire as good as any Browncloak in Camp.”
I don’t ask Melvin for his opinion.
Cara has a habit of finding me in the mess hall or in the fields. She always asks me how I’m doing. When I see her next, I ask her what she thinks.
“You’re thinking about it wrong,” Cara says. “The most important thing is the One Law. It’s why Sanctum exists. Why we prosper and live in peace. Everything here at Camp is to help prepare you to defend the One Law. Decide how best you can do that, and you’ll know what to do.”
I nod when she says it, but after she’s left, I realize it doesn’t help at all.
I spend a free afternoon with Cam. Anya is there. She trains with an older boy named Eric. A boy who is always at her table, usually sitting next to her. They race through an obstacle course over and over, stopping every so often to drink water and talk. She laughs and smiles with this boy. I remember an evening Anya and I spent on the hill together. Watching the sun drop behind blue mountains. Her head resting against my shoulder.
I wait until Eric goes to the privy, then go to her.
She sees me and glances in the direction Eric went.
“Hi, Peter.” She waves, then looks down. Her hair hides her expression.
It’s like a blow. Back in Sanctum, whenever I saw Anya, her face broke into a smile. There was light in her eyes, and I felt the same light in mine.
The months apart have changed something between us. She eats meals with others. She trains with others. When I try to join a group she’s in, I’m there, but not there.
I want to ask her if she misses how we were in Sanctum. When it felt like a hunger if too many days passed without seeing each other.
I know which answer she would give, but I don’t know if it would be the truth.
I want to share how I feel, but I can’t find the right words. I don’t know if the words even exist. So I ask her the same question I’ve asked the other Greencloaks. “Which skill do you think is the most important?”
Anya glances toward where Eric went. She answers my question, but I don’t hear the words. Don’t understand them. I can’t figure out why it feels there’s an anvil on my chest.
She’s done talking, I don’t know what she said. “That’s true,” I say, and hope my reply fits into the conversation.
Anya looks again toward where Eric went, and says something else. I stare at the ground, nodding.
I think if she looks for Eric one more time I’ll run.
When she’s done, I stand and tell her goodbye. Walking away, I try not to forget the look of relief on her face.
I get water and drink it. Eric comes back. I watch them start the obstacle course again.
The next afternoon I go to Melvin. I lift weights. I pull weights. I push them around.
I train hard.
And I go back every day.