First Year by Rachel E. Carter

in the first place?”
    Ella raised a brow. “I think the only ones who know the answer to that are the ones that already have an apprenticeship.” She tapped her books with her quill, “Now pay attention, you two. I can’t have my only friends leaving me to fend for myself.”
    After four hours in the library and the shortest lunch imaginable, Alex, Ella, and I headed for what was sure to be the worst part of our day: two hours with Sir Piers.
    Expectations did not disappoint.
    After another five-mile run, which was much worse now that everyone was sore from the day before, Sir Piers had us practice again with the staffs. Somehow he expected us to have significantly improved.
    Instead, our exhaustion just led to more mistakes than the last session.
    When I got down the line to Alex, he and I spent our five-minute drill barely moving in order to catch a quick break. When it was Ella’s turn, she spent the entire time trying to helpfully contribute tips that I neither wanted to hear nor heed.
    Sir Piers spent the whole exercise shouting. I was convinced someone had told him the louder he yelled, the harder we’d try. It didn’t work.
    Half the class was at the point of collapse by the time the second hour had finished. It was all I could do to walk my staff back to the armory.
    “Just where do you lot think you are going?” Piers barked.
    The crowd of students froze, and I turned back to see Sir Piers and Master Cedric scowling at us.
    “Gods,
no
,” Alex said in a hushed voice.
    “We are not finished,” Sir Piers bellowed. “I need all of you to return with your staffs. Master Cedric and I have a new exercise for you.”
    My stomach fell. My legs were weak as jelly, and my arms felt like lead weights.
    The assisting mages from yesterday returned, passing out small strips of cloth to each student they passed. Alex, Ella, and I each took one, exchanging dubious expressions as we lined back up in the two-columned formation we had been practicing in.
    Master Cedric cleared his throat. “As all of you now have your cloth, I’d like you to place it over your eyes and form a blindfold. Today’s exercise is going to expose the problem with the majority of your performances yesterday. Of course, some of you already have an understanding for what today’s task is about to explicate, but I feel it is my duty to educate the rest of the masses.”
    As I tied the rag across my eyes, I wondered briefly what it was we were about to learn. Considering yesterday’s experience, I was prepared for something equally offsetting. I felt silly standing there, unable to see anything, hands clutching the staff that Piers had insisted we bring back.
    “Now that you are all lined up and ready, please assume the traditional stance with the person on the left defending while the right leads the assault.”
    Really? Staff fighting
while
blindfolded? This was only going to make me a million times worse.
    Grudgingly, I began the engage with the gangly girl who had been standing across from me. As the attacker, it was much more difficult than I had imagined. My sense of orientation was completely thrown off from blindness. The echo of a hundred wooden staffs clashing was deafening.
    I spent most of my time swiping the wind or accidentally knocking my staff into the person on my right’s shoulder.
    “Change positions!”
    I had thought blindly hitting someone was hard, but it was much worse when I was trying to guess where my offender was coming from. My shoulders ached from being continuously whacked. I concentrated hard on trying to hear the slight whistle of rushing air when the staff was coming down, but I couldn’t hear anything above the clamor. My best bet was to try and focus on the crunching of the grass whenever my partner shifted stance, or the stink of sweat when he raised his arm.
    After a couple more five-minute drills, I was sore but better off than when I had started. I had been able to defend