by Alon Shalev
What happened then was like a slow dance. Two swords and two arms became one. The body leaned in harmony with the feet. As Mhari drew one sword over her head, so did her student. When she thrust with one sword and parried with the other, so did Seanchai.
Mhari let him practice alone while she gently pointing out subtleties. “Do not lock your elbows. Lean with the legs but keep the upper torso straight. Bring your weight to the back foot. Anchor your right foot so that you can kick with the left.”
They trained all day. Eventually, Seanchai stood in front of Mhari to lead, a juxtaposition of where they started that morning. She was impressed. Seanchai performed the form again and again with Mhari occasionally stopping him to correct his pose or footing. She did this less and less as the lesson progressed.
Finally, Mhari faced Seanchai, and they sparred very slowly. Seanchai was gradually able match his teacher.
Two hours later, they stopped. Seanchai looked like his arms might drop off. When Mhari asked him to fetch some water to cook with, he had to hold the full pot against his body to compensate for his exhausted muscles.
“I’m sorry,” said Mhari as she watched him return. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”
“It’s my job to carry water for my teacher,” Seanchai replied with reverence.
“I wish we had time for such civilities. Come, I want you to lie down and rest on your bedroll. We need to train again in the afternoon. I will make us food, but I want you to listen.
“The sword is an extension of the arm. The arm is an extension of the body. The body takes power from the legs pushing or kicking, from the hips that can flick even a pictorian over by harnessing the other’s momentum. Even the arms take their power from the shoulders and hips.”
Mhari bustled around the soup pot while continuing to talk about weapons and combat. Seanchai found it difficult to concentrate on what she was teaching him once the smell of food wafted over to him.
“If you rely solely on your own strength and power then you will tire quickly and be unable to sustain your form in battle. If you use only your own strength, then you’ll lose to the stronger opponent. Does this make sense? I’ll show you what I mean when we train again.
“Remember, the world is made up of opposing forces: one unyielding and brittle and the other supple and flexible. One male and the other female; one hard and the other soft. You must learn when to use each, and how to switch from one to another in an instant.”
She checked the soup. “Come. Let us switch from the talking to the eating. I believe our lunch is ready.”
They ate in silence. Mhari saw that Seanchai was still exhausted and suggested that he rest for a while. She woke him after two hours, and Seanchai insisted he was ready to train. They spent a couple of hours working back up to sparring, Seanchai settling quickly into a comfortable rhythm.
After a break for water, Mhari instructed Seanchai to charge at her. He was apprehensive at first, but complied when she insisted. The old woman threw him down using his own momentum against him. Next, he was to punch her in the face. This resulted in him squirming with pain from the arm Mhari had pinned behind his back.
She explained each scenario and how the move correlated to the form she had taught him. They swapped roles and, though Seanchai sometimes mistimed–or missed entirely–his teacher’s attacks, he began to feel confident in the rudiments of the method. Seanchai told Mhari this with a proud grin on his face, and she responded by spinning round and kicking him in the stomach, sending him rolling along the ground.
“Practice the form, Seanchai,” she corrected tersely. “When it becomes second nature to you, so will these moves. Until then, be ready for the unexpected. And know there is always someone better than you out there.”
When he recovered, they resumed sparring. Mhari attacked slowly at first, as she talked the young elf through the moves. But as time passed, she gradually stopped providing verbal instruction and sped up her attacks.
It wasn’t clear to Mhari when her student’s moves became fluent and independent. Seanchai was blocking his teacher with confidence and natural fluidity. They sparred faster and faster. He repelled her with an increasingly greater ease, and Mhari became incredulous as to just how good Seanchai was becoming so quickly. She soon found herself sparring as fast as she could.
The next time they stopped, it was Mhari who needed to rest. She looked at her student, who was trying not to burst with excitement.
“What is happening to you?” she asked in awe.
“I don’t know,” Seanchai replied, wonder in his voice. “It felt strange at first, but now it’s like second nature.”
Mhari stared at him, contemplating. She reached a decision. “Give me the sticks and go fetch your swords.”
As Seanchai climbed the hill to where Mhari was waiting, he swung the swords around him in eerily perfect synchronicity. Mhari checked the swords. They were sheathed in thin leather training guards. “Leave these on when we train, though you must remember to remove the safety clips at all other times. Come, let us spar. We shall begin slowly.”
They dueled without words, Mhari again increasing speed incrementally as Seanchai became comfortable. As the red fireball of sun set in the west, she called Seanchai to attack once more. They fought faster and faster in a graceful, lethal dance. One wooden sword snapped as the blows came faster. Then a second broke. Mhari picked up the other two sticks, but a third soon cracked and she threw it away. Seanchai stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Mhari roared. “Do you yield?”
Seanchai laughed and then attacked. His blows hailed down on his teacher, and her single sword blurred as she parried. They stopped only when the sun set and there was not enough light to continue. They returned to the cave, dripping sweat and feeling exhilarated.
They stopped at the stream to wash. Once she had dowsed her face, Mhari opened her eyes to see the young elf silhouetted in the failing light, long white hair flowing in the breeze and eyes bright blue. He smiled and held his swords high, then turned to face her.
“Thank you, my master,” he said and bowed low. “Thank you.”
Forty
Ilana woke and gasped. She thought something had crawled over her legs, but she couldn’t find anything. She stood up, taking a moment to stop panting and, realizing there was nowhere she could go, returned to her pallet. She was in a straw-strewn cell by herself with a cot and a bucket. Every other day she was handed a broom and ordered to sweep the floor so more straw could be thrown in.
Though the human guards were rude and insulting, they never touched or physically intimidated her. But females around here, she was warned, knew their place. Ilana kept her head bowed and worked hard to keep her temper in check. She knew she was vulnerable as an elf, a female, and a rebel.
There were two other cells in her alcove. Both were empty. She should be relieved to have some privacy, but she felt very lonely. When the guards were not watching, she exercised to keep her body strong and fit. If the opportunity to escape presented itself, she wanted to be ready.
But she could only exercise for so long. Most of the time, Ilana lay on the cot staring at the stone ceiling. She wondered who Shayth really was. The general had recognized him immediately, and Shayth had almost seemed relieved to be caught, instead of afraid.
She wished she could talk to him. He was so complex and short-fused; she both admired and feared him. Very much like most human leaders she had known.
But Ilana’s thoughts did not dwell on Shayth for long. She missed Seanchai. What was he doing? Was he safe? Had he learned enough to fulfill his destiny? And she could not help but wonder: did he ever think of her?
She hoped he was away on an important quest or somewhere far away to complete his training. Then maybe he would not hear that they had been captured. She knew he would drop everything to come after them and feared what might happen if he did. He was so innocent, so inexperienced.
But he was ferociously loyal to Rhodda
n; he had already proven that on numerous occasions, and she recalled how he had charged the soldiers who had caught Rhoddan on the plain. That had been the first time she had met him. He had advocated for Shayth as soon as they had met, and she could see how Shayth was affected by his faith and friendship. Seanchai, she thought, possessed a unique quality for recognizing the potential in people and binding them to him. The problem was he also bound himself to them.
And what about her? She had immediately felt something for him that she had never felt for another elf. Her father had recognized this, and she was sure that was why he had allowed his only daughter to leave on such a dangerous mission.
Ilana’s father had known true love. Since her mother had died, he had never even considered being with another elfe, though there were plenty interested in him. Her father was a bear of a leader, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was strangely fragile. Ilana smiled as she recalled how willing he always was to share how he and Ilana’s mother had fallen in love the first time they met. She realized that her father had almost certainly recognized and understood his daughter’s feelings toward Seanchai long before she herself had.
And Ilana wept. She had grieved before for friends when the army had killed them, but this was different. For the first time since dealing with her mother’s death, Ilana cried for herself. Not because she feared death, or because of the way she was treated, or even because of her captivity. She cried because Seanchai had a part of her, and she might never see him again. She tried to keep her sobs quiet, but there was no other noise in the dark.
“Stay strong, Ilana,” Shayth whispered from one of the cells outside the alcove.
She was embarrassed she had been heard. “I’m fine,” she whispered back after a moment. “Are you and Rhoddan okay?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Shut up,” a voice yelled, and something metallic was thrown at the bars of the mens’ cell.
Silence. Darkness. Ilana sniffled a few times and then, thankfully, fell asleep.
It was daylight when Ilana woke to gruff voices and keys rattling. Her cell door opened and a human girl was tossed, sprawling, to the floor. When she stood up shakily, a blanket was thrown at her and she fell again, whimpering. The guards roared with laughter. Ilana rose to help her, but a guard stopped her in her tracks by banging his club against the bars. Ilana had never been hit by one, but she had seen men with swollen faces when she walked past the male prisoners to empty her slops bucket.
“Let her learn for herself, the trollop,” the guard sneered.
The girl remained on the floor. She was a few years younger than Ilana. Her black hair was wild and unkempt, and she was shaking and moaning quietly. The guards quickly got bored, locked the cell, and left. When Ilana saw they were alone, she bent over and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Come on,” she soothed. “The cots aren’t much more comfortable, but they are still better than the stone floor.”
The girl let herself be guided to the straw pallet. She was much shorter than a lot of humans and definitely most elves, Ilana thought, as she picked the straw out of girl’s thick, matted hair. The girl’s eyes were closed and one side of her face was bruised and swollen. Ilana wanted to say something encouraging, but could not think of anything, so she instead hesitantly stroked the girl’s hair while she cried silently on Ilana’s shoulder.
A while later, the girl sat up. She whispered her gratitude as she straightened and looked at Ilana. She took in Ilana’s pointed ears and jerked backwards.
“An elf!” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“What of it?” Ilana snapped. “I’m a prisoner just like you. I’m not sure there’s much room here for status.”
“I–I’m sorry. I’ve never been close to an elf like this.” Then she waved her hand around the prison cell. “Well, I guess technically I’ve never been close to anyone like this.” Her eyebrows rose and fell while she thought what to say next. “So…you’re an elf?”
“We’re not that different,” said Ilana, forcing a smile. “In my village, we grew up together, humans and elves. I have friends who are humans, good friends.”
The girl stared wide-eyed. “Really? Oh. I grew up hearing…things… about elves, and they were never really very, um…”
“Complimentary?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” the girl ducked her head, embarrassed. “Still, what can you say about humans who treat anyone like this?”
Good point, Ilana thought, and asked, “Why have they arrested you?”
The girl shrugged. “We are poor. My mother is sick and my father rarely has work. He has fallen behind on his taxes because he uses what little money we have for my mother’s medicine.”
“Why did they take you and not him?”
“They beat him, but if they put him in jail, then he can’t earn money and they don’t get their taxes. He loves me very much. I’m afraid that he and my mother might decide to stop buying her herbs in order to get me out, and then she might die.”
The girl bent her head into her lap and began to sob again. Ilana reached out, but the girl flinched so she quickly withdrew her hand.
“No,” the girl whispered. “I’m sorry. Please…” Ilana pulled her close.
Forty-One
When Seanchai woke the next morning, he could barely lift his arms. Mhari must have noticed, for she fetched the water from the stream and left her student to rest in the sun. She insisted that Seanchai not help with breakfast, either. The tea strengthened the elf, and he ate two bowls of the grainy gruel that his teacher had prepared.
“It’s sweeter than usual,” Seanchai commented.
Mhari nodded. “I added some Drovas honey. Drovas are bees that live in the mountains near here, and their honey is particularly strong. You can dry it on a wound to protect from infection. I picked up a jar in the village. It’ll help sustain our energy through so much physical work and long journeys.”
After Mhari cleared away the meal, she moved over to her student. “Let me work on your body to try and stimulate some energy into those muscles. We must train again today.” She poked at various places on Seanchai’s arms, chest and back, searching for specific points in the cleft of a joint or between two bones. When she found one, Mhari pressed gently and held her fingers there. Each area she touched seemed to vibrate, and Seanchai felt waves of warm energy flood through his body.
Seanchai dozed until Mhari woke him to share some more tea. Seanchai flexed his muscles and told her that the soreness had subsided. “Thank you,” the young elf said. “That’s great. I’m ready to train.”
“Good,” Mhari nodded. “I wish I had time to teach you these techniques. Wherever you go, Seanchai, seek out healers and learn whatever you can. Seek to balance the violence by learning to save lives. Most Wycaans learn the healing arts.
“Remember, the body always seeks to heal itself, but sometimes, it needs a little help. Healers do not heal people. They merely help the person’s body to heal itself. The energy that we draw from the earth flows through our bodies. When it flows too quickly, we say that there’s too much or that it is too hot. When it is too slow or gets blocked, then we say there is not enough. This is the essence of healing.”
Seanchai nodded. “So, when you press a point on my body like that, you are adjusting the flow of the energy?”
“Yes, exactly,” Mhari beamed, thrilled Seanchai understood. “Do you remember me explaining in the cave about the energy lines that surround the earth?”
Seanchai nodded again, and the old woman continued. “Our bodies are similar. There are channels flowing through our bodies, and there are points of power along these channels. Those points are where we adjust the flow of energy.”
“Can you feel the energy in someone else’s body?”
“Yes,” Mhari replied. “But it takes practice. Today, we’ll do our standing exercises and then eat lunch. The morning has almost gone. After lunch we’ll practice sparring again. Then I
’ll tell you more about the age of the Alliance and the Wycaans since we did not get to finish yesterday. This will give us a chance to rest. We will need our energy to scry tonight and try to find your friends.”
“Thank you,” Seanchai said, grateful and relieved.
As Seanchai assumed the first stance, Mhari reflected on how natural the interactions were between them. Students were often too impatient or arrogant. Only the best put their trust totally in their master without allowing ego to take over. Seanchai could have defeated her yesterday when they sparred, but he had not sought to dominate or embarrass his teacher and Mhari felt very proud of him. Her emotions were mixed: glad for the opportunity to train Seanchai, while also sad her time with him was fast coming to a close.
The afternoon passed quickly and they didn’t rest until the sun began its descent and the land was cooling. When they both had steaming cups of tea in front of them, Mhari began to speak.
“When we last spoke, I told you of the Great Alliance, of the city Flywyn, and of the Wycaans. Centuries passed and the people and land flourished. The city was magnificent. It expanded to encompass several hills and its gold-capped domes could be seen from far away, glimmering on a sunny day.
“As time passed and men sought new adventures, they traveled beyond the borders of the Alliance. They discovered a rich land, far to the west. They mined there for gold and other precious metals and they shipped it back, earning great wealth. The men consolidated their riches, building castles and assembling armies, all of which they carefully hid from the Wycaans.
“But that wasn’t all they hid. In this land already lived men, elves, and dwarves. These were simpler people, who had been cut off from the great progression of civilization elsewhere. They were not happy with the way their land was invaded and pillaged.
