Page 35 of The Song of Sunrise
I hit the ground. Ramona spins out from underneath me.
“Case in point,” she says.
Yep. Definitely not going to get on her bad side. I groan and stand once more. “Just so you know, as much as I’m getting my ass kicked, I’m not going to give up.”
“Wouldn’t have dreamed it,” she says, throwing me a long wooden rod. “Here.”
I catch it. The wood feels warm in my hand. Light, but strong. Familiar somehow. “What’s this?”
“Your new weapon.”
“A staff? Isn’t it a little…” As much as I enjoy articulating myself for the sake of a story, I struggle to put into words my concern.
“Breakable? Fragile? Yeah, that’s a common concern. But what people forget is that anything can be a good weapon; what matters most is the wielder. You are pretty small, Akemi.”
Like I didn’t already know that.
She continues, “We have to pick our Battlefield specialities next week, and you’ll want a weapon that’s lighter but also has the agility to strike opponents outside their own reach. Keeping distance on your larger opponents will keep you on more even levels, making it harder for them to close in and strike.”
I swing the staff absentmindedly. It cuts through the air with surprising agility.
“Kem, you are a natural!” Ramona says with somehow more excitement than when we started the session. Does this woman ever get tired? She grabs another wooden staff and leads us back to the sparring circle in the middle of the mat.
“There are a lot of different approaches, but let’s start with a few basic strikes. Hold your staff like this.” She turns to the side, staff tight to her body. “Left hand here at the top, right down. Then lower your left hand down to your hip and step forward while swinging up your right hand.” She steps forward, thrusting her right side upward to strike, the length of the staff hitting her imaginary opponent with a fierce intensity.
We work there for a few hours, practicing the five basic strikes. I’ve managed to smack myself in the face only three times, which I’m counting as a success.
The greats had to start somewhere, and so do I.
Eventually, Ramona leaves me in the center of the sparring circle while she practices throwing her daggers at the wooden targets on the far side of the room. I’m in a trance, sweaty and exhausted… but I’m doing something. It’s exhilarating and an odd feeling all at once, almost like I can actively feel myself changing, maturing.
“You have to keep your elbows up for your front strike.”
An unnatural squeak escapes me as Castor steps out of the shadows along the perimeter of the room.
“How long were you watching me?”
“Long enough.” He walks closer. “Do you mind?”
I gulp. “Um, no.”
Castor steps directly behind me, and I’m enveloped in his musky cedarwood scent. “Show me.”
I step forward and strike then look back over my shoulder. His hand grazes along the underside of my arm as he lightly pushes my elbow upward. My eyes flutter shut.
“Here,” he says lightly as his thumb strokes along my elbow. “Lowering will cut off your range of motion.”
I garble out some sort of agreement. Gods, am I so starved for a man’s touch that I cannot even talk coherently?
Castor chuckles.
My cheeks redden.
“Thanks,” I manage to say, sounding somewhat normal.
Ramona jogs to where Castor and I stand interlocked. Her eyes widen only for a moment before she masterfully smooths her face. “Up for a late dinner?”
“Sure!” I say a little too eagerly and break away from Castor.
