Chapter 10
Ryan:
Sensei taught me to walk, jump, and float with the wind. The more I practiced, the easier it became, second nature to dance away from a strike and bring in a breeze to knock my opponent down. I was fighting warriors older than me, much more experienced, and winning. Most of them, though, exhibited no supernatural talent.
Almost by accident, one day I discovered that by converging two winds on a single point I could create explosive pressure, not just picking up and tossing a target, but dealing damage before it even hit the ground. Sensei seemed especially proud.
By that time, everyone had been pulled out of regular classes by their talent experts. Kris showed us her ability to squeeze herself smaller, bend at incredible angles, agile as water. She was also closing cuts, healing small wounds, whenever the medics gave her a chance.
After graduating to the heaviest mace available at the compound, Jason regularly tested himself by rearranging the massive dining room tables. The crowd returning to classes after lunch would often stop to watch him, and cheer him on. And we regularly caught Erin sparking a fire from her fingers, with little more than a gesture. She didn’t talk that much, and never showed off, only practiced. More than any one of us, it seemed, she missed home.
I wished for a way to comfort her myself, but Kris told me not to worry. “There’s not much time to talk except just before lights-out. She and I talk, like you and Jason talk. She knows you care. Don’t worry.”
I tried to hide my reddening cheeks. “I didn’t mean to act so serious…”
Kris gave me a knowing grin and left the issue alone after that.
Focused on developing my own style, I spent days, it seemed, throwing my staff and trying unsuccessfully to bring it back. Finally, once I tried pulling on it long before it hit the ground, I started to make real progress toward catching it. Once I could do the simple throw-and-catch reliably, Sensei had me spin it, then, and bring it back spinning, boomerang-style, a much more difficult task. Once I could do that well enough, Sensei told me I had graduated to another weapon. He showed me a staff with curved wooden panels on each end. Its resemblance to the double-scythe from my first day at the Sun Tower struck me immediately. I felt honored. It was the most tangible symbol of my progress, and the closest thing to an award given by the teachers at the Sun Tower.
“It’s a one-of-a-kind weapon, quite dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Sensei warned.
Every time he caught me hitting myself with a wooden blade, he made me stop, bind the area as if it were a serious wound, and continue practicing as if injured. In some ways, the painful monotony of repetitive, unnecessary bandaging was a better motivator than the idea of cutting myself accidentally. But I quickly grew tired of the drills.
After a week of no self-inflicted injuries, Sensei gave me a special challenge. He brought me a deck of playing cards—strange to see something so normal from back home that was also apparently normal here—and scattered them on the grass of the Sun Tower field. Binding my hands behind my back, he told me I had the whole day to get the cards back in a stack. I didn’t dare ask if I could simply turn a flip and use my hands. I spent most of the day creating and honing a technique to get the cards to cooperate. Sensei returned after sunset, fed me a little bit of cold dinner leftovers, and planted a torch at my side. I knew better than to complain.
About 45 of 52 cards toward the finish, a giant scorpion, about as large as a house cat, emerged from the night shadows. I jumped to my feet, set my back to the cards, and called in a gust, blowing the creature on its side. As its eight legs wriggled helplessly in the air, four more scorpions appeared. Very carefully, I sent in a pair of precisely aimed gusts, and, with a pop, the intended pressure bubble hurtled three scorpions into the shadows.
The last scorpion was quickly closing in on me and my cards, and the original scorpion was back on its feet. I formed a breeze around the first scorpion, and launched it into its remaining ally. My aim had been good. The first scorpion’s stinger bit deep into the last scorpion, and the two began fighting, stabbing and nipping at each other, until both were motionless on the lawn. I drew a sigh of relief, and closed my eyes, listening to the wind for more enemies coming from the trees. There were none.
Returning to the cards, only two had been slightly upset. I carefully returned them to the deck, and, energized by my victory over the scorpions, finished the remaining cards quickly. Sure that Sensei had gone to bed, and wouldn’t be happy about being awakened, I realized that I had no way to prove I had stacked each and every card with only the wind.
“It’s the spirit of the law, not the word,” I whispered to myself. Floating upward, I raised my knees and pulled the rope that bound my arms under and up. My shoulders were almost numb, but I ignored the feeling. Releasing the wind, I settled back to earth and reverently picked up the cards in my bound hands. Slowly I returned to the tower dormitory. Jason would untie me. Defeating the scorpions had been a good experience. I had a story to tell. Sensei would approve.
The next day, in the light of the hot sun, in a circle of dirt near the lake, removed from the main tower lawn, we began sparring with each other. Erin and I had the first match. Our weapons were wooden—my pseudo-scythe against her practice sword—but we were free to use our talents as we saw fit, remembering, of course, that the goal was simply to disable the opponent. We stepped toward the center of the dirt circle. She was nervous, breathing hard, and I must have been as well.
“Begin!” Sensei boomed.
I started, arms thrust forth, with a gust of wind, and she went down in the dust, but as I went in to disarm her, a fireball—huge—erupted at me, unbelievably hot. I was able to avoid the full force of the blast, but was so surprised that I allowed it to absorb all my attention. I followed it with my eyes, and it was too late. Erin jabbed me in the side with her sword, and before I had the chance to defend myself, Fain interrupted.
“Decisive strike. Erin wins.”
And with that, the match was over. Erin withdrew her wooden sword, a cocky smile on her face as she stepped out of the ring. I followed suit, slowly.
“Ryan! Accept the unexpected!” Sensei called.
Kris and Jason were sparring next. Neither looked in any hurry to hit the other.
“Begin!” Sensei boomed.
Jason’s attacks were heavy, wide and sweeping, right to left, left to right, high, then low. Kris let most of the attacks miss in dramatic fashion, and only a few came close to hitting her. She deflected one strike, and on the follow-through, her wooden A-blade touched his back.
“Decisive strike. Kris wins,” Fain said, raising a willowy congratulatory arm.
“Wait for an opening, Jason,” Ganic said with a disappointed snort as the pair vacated the circle. “And if I see you doing less than your best again, extra drills instead of dinner.”
Jason and I fought next. On “Begin!” I struck out with a wind gust. Jason didn’t budge from his fighting stance. Wary of the ground under me, I took to the air, and tossed my scythe. It spun viciously, a hovering saw blade, but a rock pillar thrust up from the ground, and the wooden weapon snapped against it. I found myself defenseless, and it cost me a precious opportunity to move. Jason swung his hammer at the pillar and it exploded. On the verge of panic, I dropped below the trajectory of the rock fragments, and before I could grab at the broken scythe, Jason’s hammer tapped my chest.
“Decisive strike,” Jason said.
“Jason wins,” Sensei confirmed. “Ryan, confidence. Don’t toss away your weapon so quickly. Take up those pieces. You and Kris are next.”
Kris stepped up, and I took a deep breath. On “Begin!” she was circling me, making the most of her agility. It was time to test that against my speed. Half-scythe in each hand, I broke into a run, circling her in the opposite direction. Faster and faster I moved, practically flying. I tightened the circle. She struck and missed. I was already behind her, and popped her on the side of the ribca
ge. She rolled in the dirt.
“Decisive strike,” I said, skidding to a halt. Instinctively, my hand went out to pull Kris to her feet, but I pulled the courteous gesture back. No one had said, “Ryan wins.”
“Make sure she’s down,” Sensei called.
I swung both arms and Kris twisted, but I had pinned her between the flats of my wooden blades.
“Ryan wins,” Cor called out, the strength of his voice belying his short stature. “Keep moving, Kris. Change direction. They might be faster or stronger, but if you keep changing direction, they’ll trip up.”
A victory at last! And a great opportunity to take a break. Jason and Erin stepped into the ring. Within seconds of “Begin,” dust and flame filled the air. I had no idea what was going on. Both yelled out “Decisive strike!” The commotion died down. The smoke and dust cleared. And Jason and Erin stood there as if frozen in time, her blunt sword across his neck, and his hammer resting on her head.
I started laughing, and Kris joined in. The teachers cracked smiles, too.
“What do you think, Kris?” Cor asked, tentacle arms crossed.
She shook her head. “It’s a draw, isn’t it? No one wins.”
“You’re right: no one wins,” Fain said, idly rubbing her long nose. “But it’s not a draw.”
“You’re both dead. You both lose,” Ganic said with a clap of his stony hands.
After that, sparring was a daily exercise. We fought each other and the most advanced students. After drawing crowds, some adults from the guard squads and search teams challenged us. Only the seasoned veterans and the talented were able to beat us.
Legend of the Elementals, Book 1: Reintroduction Page 10
