Jordan Mitchell's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The next night Jordan carried the box down to the cellar and set it on the barrel. The lizard climbed out and hit the charcoal mark three times without a miss. Jordan watched it return to their hand and felt the problem sit heavy in their chest. A painted eye on a board was not a man with a sword. The champion stood a head taller than Jordan and swung a blade that could split a post. If the lizard froze at the sight of a real fighter, or struck the wrong place, the trial would end in one stroke. Jordan needed to know now, in the cellar, before dawn found out for them. Jordan stripped off their coat and hung it on a peg at their own height. They tied a scrap of red cloth where a throat would be, then pulled the coat onto their own shoulders and stood against the far wall. They pointed at the red scrap and gave the strike command. The lizard did not move. It stared at the shape of a person and flicked its tail once. Jordan waited. The lizard climbed onto the barrel and stopped there. Jordan lowered their hand. They tried it a second time from a crouch, and a third with the lantern shuttered. Each time the lizard refused the living target. It would hit wood. It would not hit a person, even a person it knew. Jordan sat on the stone floor and let the lizard walk onto their knee. The drills were sound. The weapon was not. A creature that would not strike a man could not win the trial, and there were four days left to change that or to change the plan. Jordan latched the box, blew out the lantern, and climbed the steps knowing the fight they had prepared for was not the fight they would have to make.