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Read
an excerpt from Daniel Tyler Gooden's unpublished novel, Umbra.
The
beat of the old man’s steel was pressing at the edge of her
ability. Always during their drills there was a slight shift
that came before the swordplay moved beyond practice and into
an actual bout. Past that point, the old man pushed until she
felt on the edge of losing her skill and abandoning herself
to retreating defense.
The
steel flashed in the sunlight as she moved to block his attacks
and work around his defenses to where she held the advantage.
He slid under her guard and she felt his point come too close,
it would have been the end of the fight if had been an actual
duel. She fell back, her feet pedaling her out of range.
“You are too focused,”
the old man shouted, reprimanding her for disengaging again.
“You are not fighting my steel. You are fighting me. Don’t watch
the blade. Watch me,” he yelled, and closed the distance to
attack again.
It
was hard not to watch the sharp edge of his blade as it swung
around at her. She moved to block and switched her parry as
he feinted and thrust. She blocked and attacked, but his parry
was there almost before she even began. The action continued
in the same fashion, her hurried beats knocking his steel out
of line and his quickly intercepting her attacks as if reading
her mind. Finally he thrust his sword down, not for the attack
but to bury it in the dirt.
“Here.
Watch here,” he said and pounded his fist against his chest.
My attacks do not come from my steel, they come from my body.
You should be watching me and my motions. Every fighter tells
his attack long before the blade moves. You should be watching
those signals. Am I leaning in to advance or is it just a feint? Watch
me, my signals. My blade will only distract you,” he said, and
turned to pace the grass, cooling his temper. She did not argue,
she knew he was right even if she did not want to admit it.
It took time, but
she began to feel the difference. With her focus on his
body language, she read his attacks quicker and caught his feints
before he made them. She began to counter his bluffs, driving
her attacks to gain ground over his weaknesses. When he lunged
in deep, she pushed back, catching him too far overbalance to
retreat quickly. Kel began to lay her own traps, careful to
avoid signaling her deception with her own body. The edge of
her abilities began to draw back until she no longer felt on
the edge of losing control, needing to run instead of facing
the blade.
They
fought harder that lesson than they had before, or would again.
Sweat poured over their bodies, running in their eyes and wetting
their grips. The blades cracked and rung out in contest until
she caught him once, loose handed in his feint, and sent his
blade in an arcing flash through the air. Had she bested him
truly? She did not know, but she had won the skirmish and the
first smile he had ever awarded, shone on his face.
“You
are beginning to understand,” he said, as he retrieved his blade.
“The fight is not about the weapons, not about the devices you
use. It is about your opponent,” he said, as she felt the tug
in her spine and was slung back across whatever void split his
world from her own.
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