We sparred with each other. I paired often with Voltaire, but also tested my strength with Pidge and Finch. Once, I sparred with Booster for over an hour. Three full matches.

I lost the first match in minutes and did not fare well in the second match. In the third, however, Hosea had coached me from the sidelines, reminding me of the techniques he’d drilled into us from the beginning.

“When you can’t strike, what do you do?” he asked. It had been our second day of training and no one knew what to expect. “Say your opponent has a sword and you are disarmed. How do you defend yourself? Say your opponent is twice your size. Or say, you’ve been injured. You’ve got one good arm to fight with. What do you do?”

No one answered.

Hosea pointed at Finch. “Finch, tie my right arm behind my back,” he ordered.

Finch moved to comply.

“Booster, come here.”

Booster strutted forward, beak up, a few inches taller than Hosea.

“Now, attack me. If you forfeit, tap the ground. Got it?”

Booster had grinned cockily. He lowered his stance and the two had circled before Booster, seeing an opening, attacked aggressively. A second later, Hosea had pinned him on the ground. Booster tapped submission, grunting in pain, no longer smiling. Hosea released him and they went at it again—and again. Each time, Hosea won. When Booster struggled to rise, Hosea called a halt to the demonstration. Finch untied his hand.

“Booster is bigger in size than I am, yet I bested him.”

“How?” Voltaire asked, hungrily. “Teach us how.”

“I have already begun to teach you,” Hosea had said. “The key lies in the art of yielding, the technique of softness. The old world called it jujitsu. When striking is ineffective, neutralize the threat. Throw, lock, pin. Don’t oppose your enemy’s aggression. Take his energy and turn it in your favor.”

I remembered those very words as Booster came charging in the third match. I ducked and scooted between his legs. I had avoided him thus far, but I had to find a way to attack.

Booster heaved with fatigue, annoyed by my escape tactics, which made him look the fool. When he turned to face me again, there was malice in his eyes. All at once, he ran, full force, in a final attack. I set my jaw, cautioning myself to wait. When he was inches away, I stepped to the side. He blew past. I raised an elbow and pummeled his back. He stumbled and fell to his knees, dazed, but not submitting. Hosea’s words came to me again.

“Don’t be afraid to use your weapons,” he said. “Trap, hold, gouge, bite. Your hands are swords.”