by Damon Glatz
Nicholas sat up a bit, admiring his sword. “I never thought of it that way, but it makes sense. This is an ancient Vatnic two-handed sword, the mightiest sword of them all, too. It was my father’s, passed down through many generations. This is made of hardened steel, inscribed with the ancient runes of my ancestors. Only true Vatnics can still swing one of these.” He let out a laugh.
Ohitekah had seen others try to wield Nicholas’ sword and it usually proved too heavy for them. Ohitekah glanced at Lance, who was also taking a moment to admire his sword.
“Similar to you Nicholas, Ashland does have at least one sword of legend. ‘Draco Regnator‘ used by Drake the First to conquer Brann Mountain and tame the Mythic within. Which, historically, lead to the construction of Castle Magnus and the foundation of Ashland as a kingdom.” He drew his silver sword from its sheath with a smirk. “This… Is not that sword. This is my sword. ‘Glimmor Roial.’” He studied it closely, bringing the lengthy sword to his face and scanning it bottom to top. “This is not an ancient sword, this was not passed down through generations. This blade is mine, and mine alone. I forged it. I will be buried with it. It is made of a delicate combination of steel and pure silver, and there is none like it in the world.” He slid it back down into its scabbard and clicked it place. He gave Red a threatening stare, implying Red will get to know his sword very well soon enough. Red acknowledged the threat and replied with his own.
He walked to the tree and drew his personal katana. The blade was black, as if scorched. “This weapon was the blade of the Shogun, handed down personally by the emperor to his appointed military commander, born of noble blood and master of all combat. The sword was one of the first forged by man, thousands of years ago, made with the oldest and purest steel, hardened again and again over years by ancient sword smiths who used techniques lost to modern mankind. With this blade, there is no equal. Its name is Kaminoshi.” He slid it back into the sheath.
These men all took such pride in their weapons. They each had great stories of legendary swords and personal creations. Ohitekah only had his bow he made in the forest, and now a stick. In his tribe they were taught to not form attachments to their weapons. There were no generations of weapons handed down ceremoniously. They were taught to build their own weapons from the environment. When that weapon grew old, they would simply make a new one. This was an entirely different way of thinking.
“Ohitekah, now, hold your weapon in front of you as your guard,” Red instructed. Ohitekah did as told.
“Your sword should be your last, and first, defense. Do not use it unless you absolutely need to, only when your life is on the line. Other options are no longer accessible. Then, and only then, you trust it with your whole soul. Let it guide you, for there is no glory in bloodshed, only pain in doing what you must.” Red paused for a moment. “When in battle, you will use your blade to block, deflect, and counter direct attacks. It is both an offensive and defensive tool.” Red, in a blur, swung his stick at Ohitekah, knocking it out of his hand. He scrambled to pick it back up as quickly as he could.
“Keep a firm grip! What use is a weapon if you cannot hold it? Again!” Red swung at Ohitekah’s stick. This time he held on, the impact stinging his hands. The training advanced and continued for hours. Ohitekah was taught ways to block and counter, how to move out of the way of an attack instead of blocking, if it was advantageous. He learned how to anticipate an attack, where to look, how to move his feet. Sometimes Lance would step in and correct his stance. Nicholas would shout things like, “Two hands are always better than one for a striking attack!”
The sun was beginning to grow low in the sky. They had spent much more time training than anticipated. Although Ohitekah had only one day’s worth of practice, he felt he learned much and was now more confident than before.
The training continued into the twilight. Nicholas was asleep under the solitary tree. Lance quietly watched the training from his own distance. The training stopped abruptly when Ohitekah blocked incorrectly and injured his hand.
“Gah!” Ohitekah shouted and dropped the stick, tending to his fingers. He had been hit there a few times earlier, but this one really stung.
“All right we can stop for now. That was very good, Ohitekah,” Red said. Ohitekah felt proud, despite his hand injury. He walked back to the tree to rest with Nicholas.
Red was satisfied with his training regime. He walked to the stick Ohitekah dropped to save it for tomorrow. As he bent to pick it up, there was a metallic click as a metal boot stepped down on the stick. It was the prince.
“That was an excellent lesson, Daisuke, but I feel you missed a few points.” Lance picked up the stick. “The boy is not a samurai, nor can he actually become a true samurai. Your culture demands a proven lineage to ascertain such status. Why just teach him the ways of your people if he can never become one?”
Lance began spinning the stick in his hand, slashing it in the air, feeling its balance and weight. Red took a cautious step back. “A knight can fight just as well as a samurai. It has been proven in many of our battles in the past.”
He swung his stick at Red’s face. Red stepped back and evaded the sudden strike. “Ah, speed,” Lance said as he backed away. “That’s what the samurai uses, his speed. Why block an attack when it can be dodged?”
Lance walked away from Red who was studying him closely. He looked at Nicholas, who was opening his eyes tuning his attention back to the training. “Then there’s your people, all your skill derived from your immense strength. I’ve never seen a Vatnic run further than from the pub to the pisser. Couldn’t dodge an attack to save your life, but could chop a tree in half in a single swing.” Now he looked at Ohitekah, who was afraid to speak. “In Ashland, we use our speed and our strength. Knights train every day with our swords to be both fast and strong. Now, what fighting sounds the best to you, boy? I think your teacher is only giving you half a lesson.”
“That’s a bunch of shit!” Nicholas stood up. “Your knights aren’t balanced, you’re too weak to compete with the Vatnics, and too slow to keep up with samurai. So, you call yourselves balanced.”
Lanced laughed softly and looked at Nicholas with a flame in his eye. He said nothing.
“What’s gotten into you?” Red said, approaching him.
Lance cracked a smile and he swung his stick again at Red, who blocked it this time with his stick. Red swung back and only hit air. Nicholas stood up to watch, followed by Ohitekah.
The two warriors paused. The preliminary fight was beginning. They took their opening stances.
“The stance is important in the beginning of a fight,” Lance said. “It gives an image of your style before you begin.”
Lance studied Daisuke’s stance. He held his stick to his side facing down. “That stance is a custom one,” Lance said. “He uses a mix of various samurai forms, some temple styles too. I like it.”
That’s when it all clicked for Ohitekah.
This isn’t a fight at all. It’s a lesson.
Lance was showing Ohitekah how he fights in battle.
“His stance is open, inviting me in to attack first. He plans on using his speed to counter my first strike and hit me while I’m open. For a skilled fighter, this is a very good position.” Lance adjusted his own stance. He raised his pretend hilt to his head and faced the blade straightforward.
“Mine is closed, keeping my sword in front of me, aimed at my opponent. It’s a more aggressive stance. We each know that I am going to attack first. It’s up to me to decide when and how.”
Nicholas nodded. He was reading them as well, impressed.
“Daisuke is watching my face, and my footwork. One of them is going to give away the attack. He is going to react to my strike before I even move a muscle.”
Suddenly Red jumped to his left, holding his stick in front of him. Lance stabbed forward, aiming at Red’s stomach, but the attack missed. After the dodge, Red swung downward; Lance rolled forward and evaded his strike.
As he rolled, he swung at Red’s feet. Red jumped over the stick. They both stood up and faced each other again. Without a moment for hesitation Lance attacked again, with a downward slash. Red held his stick above him and blocked it over his head. They stared at each other face to face. Lance jerked forward and head-butted Red, who stumbled back.
“Don’t forget, your sword isn’t your only weapon. Your whole body is your weapon,” Lance said, smiling.
This time, Red attacked first with a sideways slash. It was blocked and countered. The fight grew in intensity, the sticks flashing through the air. The movements were so smooth and elegant. It seemed as if they had choreographed this battle for years. The blocks and stabs were timed to perfection. They would slide back and jump, dodge and slash. Their speed never slowed, it only grew faster and faster, no man making a mistake. Ohitekah felt the need to step back a little.
For a moment, the battle spiked in ferocity, neither man letting the other get an edge. Red and Lance each swung at the same time. The sticks clashed between them. There was a loud crack as both sticks shattered. Both men stepped away from the other.
Lance dropped the broken end of his stick. With narrow eyes he stared into the soul of his enemy. Red did nothing but stare back. In a blink Lance’s face grew content and he gave a slight nod with his head. Almost like a mock bow. Red bowed back similarly.
“Well, goodnight everyone.” Lance turned away and walked out of the camp without saying another word. The rest of the group stood quietly.
When Lance was out of earshot Nicholas began to whisper. “I can’t put my thumb on that guy.”
“I think he likes being that way,” Ohitekah said. “Maybe he doesn’t know what to make of us either.”
Nicholas fluffed his blanket on the ground. “Still don’t trust the bastard.”
“Leave him alone,” Red started. “There is more going on with that man than either of you understand. Sleep well. We’re going to The Wall tomorrow.”
Chapter Eighteen:
Identity Thieves
Ohitekah slept very well that night. He was incredibly worn out from the previous day mentally and physically. He was too tired to dream even, just a soothing blackness that was difficult to wake from.
Yet, being back home on the plains, his body was trained to wake with the sunrise. He silently packed his things onto Bolt. Nicholas was still sleeping under the tree, snoring loudly. Lance fell asleep leaning back against his horse a short distance away. Red was nowhere to be seen.
This observation took a moment to sink in.
Nowhere to be seen...on the Great Plains...
It wasn’t like he could be hiding either. These were the Great Plains, nothing but yellow horizon in all directions. Ohitekah spun around, looking everywhere.
How could he? Did he abandon us in the night? Where could he go? Why?
As he spun, the world turned around him. Ohitekah almost fell to the ground in surprise when out of nowhere, Red and his horse were suddenly in front of him.
“I told you my horse is fast,” Red said. Dismounting, he began to stroke the horse’s mane. Ohitekah stood, baffled and unsure of what to say. Ohitekah had also noticed that his face was cleanly shaven.
“His true name is Aethon.” Red smiled proudly. “I have come to call him Blaze to conceal his identity, similar to my own name in a way... He was once the personal horse of the Sun God, one of the horses that carried the chariot of the sun across the Overworld.” As Red began to pet his horse kindly, he made a quick glance up at the sun rising in the sky. “Blaze escaped his stable in the Overworld when the god became angry and abusive. He came to be my companion and loyal friend. He is the only horse that can withstand my Mythical powers, and I am also the only human capable of riding him. He is faster than anything you can imagine, being divine as he is.”
Ohitekah thought about this. “What did the Sun God do about that?”
Red smiled “There is not much he can do about it, seeing as his Mythic is dead.”
That was concerning to Ohitekah, but he guessed Red was right. The gods only have control over their Mythic. But wasn’t Red a Mythic?
“You’re the Mythic of the Sun God, right? Is the Sun God controlling you?”
Red paused, thinking. “It is good you mentioned that, I have been meaning to talk to you about this.” He looked at Ohitekah. “He tries to control me, yes. When you kill the Mythic, you become the next one, a powerful slave to the gods. The more you use the powers, the more they possess your mind and being. That is why I try to not use my powers unless I absolutely need to. If you are allied with your god, then they merely suggest things. Perhaps they even trust you entirely. But I am an enemy to the Sun God, so he is actively trying to turn me against my people. This is why I tried to stay away from my homeland for such a long time, why I hid in the shadows for two hundred years.”
He looked hard at Ohitekah, and cleared his throat.
“For whatever reason, Ohitekah, you have been chosen to be the next Mythic of Lightning. You must earn this title. But if you do, you will have an open connection with your god, the God of Storms. The more you use your powers the more you must listen to what he commands. From what I know, the God of Storms is a kind one, sharing his rain with those who need it the most. His Thunderbird Mythic has never been active in wars, nor has killed any man. But I want you to be aware of those consequences.”
It all made sense. The Mythics were just puppets, hands of the gods in this world. Red was trying to remain in control by not using his powers. This scared Ohitekah.
“Mythics also have certain jobs to do,” Red began again. “Some are very important. For instance, the Mythic of Earth, the great stone giant, lives deep underground and guards the entrance to the Underworld. Without him, the balance of life and death would be greatly altered. The Mythic of Water controls the seas and tides. The Mythic of Air controls the winds. Your Mythic controls storms and rains. If you become the Mythic of Thunder, it would be your everlasting duty to see the world has its balance of rainwater, a job you cannot fail.”
Ohitekah nodded.
Red’s tone grew quiet. “The Mythic of Fire controls the volcano, the great fire mountain in Ashland, where the dragon once lived. The volcano must remain active, yet it cannot erupt. It is my duty to watch the volcano, and I have. It’s been harder and harder recently, trying to keep my powers to a minimum while overlooking a volcano. What Lance does not realize is that I could destroy Ashland with a single whim, and it is well within my powers to do so. However, that is far from my intention.”
Ohitekah never considered that: the Mythic’s duties to society, to maintain balance in the world.
Red’s tone changed again and he continued, “The old world has ended, Ohitekah. This is a new age. Man is beginning to realize what great powers we have. We no longer cower in fear of ancient beasts. We are beginning to stand up for ourselves. This is a revolution. We are the leaders of a new world order. The old gods will try to fight us, they will send their Mythics and their armies, but we will stand triumphant. That is what we are here to do, Ohitekah, that is our true quest behind all this. To end the divine tyranny and take control of our own world. You will begin to see the signs, Ohitekah, the battles will be hard but there is a point to all of this. We are all pieces on a board. It’s time the game has turned in our favor.”
This is a revolution? Ohitekah thought.
It was too much to take in at once.
A revolution? Against the gods! How could Red think of such a thing? Ohitekah looked to the sun. The God of the Sun. Could gods even be killed? For thousands of years, Mythics could not even be killed. Why haven’t the gods struck down Red where he stands? How could he get away with stealing the Sun God’s horse? All those stories of the elemental gods in their awesome power, able to create worlds and monsters…how could anyone dare to stand against them?
“Here,” Red said, changing the topic. He took a bundle from his horse and tossed it to Ohitekah. “Take this
.” Ohitekah caught and opened it. They were strange robes, almost like Red’s. “They are samurai robes, similar to what you would be wearing after a long travel,” Red spoke proudly.
What held Ohitekah’s attention more was what was wrapped in the clothes: a long, curved sword.
“Your own katana.” Red smiled. “That is yours now.”
Ohitekah dropped the clothes and admired the long sword. He held it at his side and drew it from the sheath, making a satisfying metallic noise. The blade was single-edged, like Red’s. It was steel and, when moved, the blade shimmered in streaks of colors. The hilt was yellow, Ohitekah’s favorite color. It felt very comfortable in his hands, and despite its size the sword was lighter than it looked. He spun it with a wrist movement.
“Be careful, the blade is real and very sharp.”
Without thinking and possessed by childish curiosity, Ohitekah slid his thumb across the tip of the blade, instantly slicing his finger with a clean cut. He let out a gasp and began to suck his injured thumb.
“I do not know why everyone feels the need to test that,” Red said, beginning to walk away. “Try the clothes on, and tie your hair back. I will do the same.”
With the rest of the group still asleep and Red across the camp, Ohitekah changed his clothes. His handmade animal skin wardrobe was starting to chafe and he was looking forward to trying on a new outfit.
He stripped away his old clothes and slid on his new northern attire. They were very comfortable, yet felt unusually baggy. The clothes worked in two parts: a loose-fitting grey robe that covered him from the waist up, and black pants that appeared more like a long skirt.
At first the clothes felt awkward and appeared silly to him. Yet after a few moments of running around and swinging his new sword, the design made sense. The samurai wanted to feel light and comfortable when they fought, in order to make the quick movements that were required by their skill level. Bulky armor would just limit their movement and weigh them down.
