Young Writers Society

James

He heard footsteps coming from behind and stiffened. Josephine appeared at his shoulder. She didn’t say anything for a bit, looking at the Cobham twins fighting. Then she stepped forward to a weapon rack and tossed a practice sword to James.

What?

She was pulling out a sword of her own, beckoning for him to join her.

“Are you mad?” James hissed at her, trying to keep his voice low.

Josephine didn’t say anything, but beckoned for him to come one more time. When he didn’t move, she strode up to him and casually brought her blade down to his head.

James’ hand reacted almost by itself, his sword coming up to block her blow – and everyone at the benches heard the resounding crack that split the air.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he said furiously, pushing her away and rising to his feet. She had that cheeky smirk on her face again, her eyes not leaving his as she slowly backed into one of the sparring rings.

“You afraid of that girl there, James?” Nathaniel and Richard had seen them. He groaned inwardly.

“Come on, be a man!” some voice from the benches called. Josephine cocked her head at him. James looked down at the wooden sword in his hands. It was shaped like a sabre, weighted and balanced the same as well. The kind of sword he’d used when training.

Josephine would have the same skills as I.

His eyes swivelled to her slim figure, then back at the sabre.

But does she have my strength…?

Clenching his teeth, James walked into the ring, feeling the eyes of the Crows’ two leaders watching him. “Come now, James.” Josephine stepped back to allow him room. “En garde.”

The bitch still has her stupid smile.

Putting in a monumental effort to keep everyone but Josephine from hearing his voice, James said quickly, “They’re not meant to know we can swordfight. I’ll pretend to lose, and-”

He got no further as Josephine’s sword suddenly dove towards his chest. He leaped back, barely avoiding the tip of the blade.

Fine.

James raised his arm, feinting a high attack to Josephine’s left and then cutting low to her hip. She anticipated this and blocked him easily, smoothly parrying him and launching a cut of her own in the same movement. James came an inch from having his side sliced open, barely avoiding the Frenchwoman’s sabre, and from there it was instinct. Cut. Parry. Sidestep. Lunge. Cut again. James was on the offensive, but it was obvious to all watching that Josephine was having no trouble defending herself. He tried feinting again – with no change from the last time.

We’ve both been trained the same way.

…Should have.

She sent a cut at his left and James almost went off-balance as he parried it – and then before he realised what was happening another cut came from the opposite direction and landed on his ribs.

“Argh!”

James lunged to stab at the Frenchwoman again. Expecting this, she sidestepped him again, and-

James’ free left hand caught her in the chest. Her eyes widened in confusion for a split second before he pushed and shoved her off-balance, cutting her arm as she stumbled back.

His voice came out through his teeth. “Fucking stop.”

Josephine’s usually-composed face was nothing but shocked, and for a moment James thought it was over, that she was going to give up – and then her hand whipped out and he felt her sword go into his knee, making him roar in pain and sending him staggering backwards. She reasserted herself, clothes dishevelled, peppered with dust – but instead of turning into a frown, her cocky smile had widened.

God damn you.

Mark and Max had finished their fighting, and were now watching as well.

“Get ‘im, Josie!” yelled Max.

“C’mon, James!” hollered Mark.

James spat into the dirt and straightened up. With Nathaniel and Richard watching, a small crowd had begun to form by the training arena. More and more people left their tables to see what the fuss was about.

They circled each other carefully, neither of them eager to be the first to attack. James’ brown eyes matched Josephine’s.

She’s smaller.

Her sabre came for his shoulder with lightning speed and he stumbled back, his defence far too slow. James growled as his muscle stung.

And also faster.

Another attack came and this time James managed to barely deflect it. He returned with a hasty cut of his own, lazily parried. The Frenchwoman was smiling at him.

There has to be something-

The Cobham twin’s sparring suddenly came to the forefront of his mind. He hesitated slightly, and then James raised his arm, winding up for a massive downward slash.

Josephine’s eyes flickered up to his sword.

Not missing a beat, he stepped in and kicked her. She saw his movement and tried to avoid it too late – his foot caught her square in the stomach and her small, usually-graceful frame was sent reeling back, wide-eyed, desperately trying to find her footing before falling over remarkably ungracefully in the dirt at the edge of the ring.

(page break here. perspective change.)

Josephine

God, that hurt.

Josephine lay curled into a ball on the factory floor, coughing. She felt like vomiting. James was approaching.

He is good.

She struggled to breathe properly. There was but seconds before James got to her. The crowd was already cheering, saying he had won.

The woman could feel the sabre in her right hand, and gripped it. She waited until the man’s leg came into view then lashed out at it, hearing a satisfying crack as her sabre hit his kneecap. She rolled out of the way as James was brought crashing down, screaming what Josephine assumed were very angry English swear words.

Josephine got her feet under herself, stood and tried to go and kick his other knee, but even before she took one step she was hit by a wave of nausea and nearly dropped her sword as her vision darkened. The watching Crows roared their approval and Josephine clutched her head, trying to block out the noise. A more-than-displeased James was getting up, heavily favouring his uninjured leg. He didn’t look like he could do anything either.

Josephine didn’t want to admit it, but neither of them could move. The result of their duel was clear: a draw.