Chapter 001- Spirit of the Blade

Spirit of the blade

 

“Put more muscle into it!” Father said, his thin sword lashing out and kissing my cheek, leaving a very tiny cut just below my left eye, matching the one on my right exactly. I had brought my sword up too slowly. It swung upward, completely missing Father’s blade, throwing me off balance.

 

I stumbled backward and Father lunged, his sword going through my baggy t-shirt, just barely grazing my side, a mere inch from my breast, a fatal wound had it been true. Without thinking, I grabbed ahold of Father’s sword, Angerem, Angel Dust, holding it in place as I used it to pull myself upward, bringing my blade, Rubraesule, the Red Dancer, crashing into Father’s chest with the broad side.

 

I heard the air leave his lungs forcefully, and he jerked Angerem from me, slicing my palm with the sharpened edge. When I saw the blood trickle from the shallow cut, I was thankful that Angel Dust knew me, and wouldn’t truly hurt me, not the way she hurt strangers with her frozen kisses and embraces.

 

I brought Dancer up, and then slammed the warm metal blade into the ground, using him as a support. “Hang on. You cut my hand, Father.” I was inspecting the wound, knowing that even a shallow cut could damage the tiny bones in my palm.

 

I heard a grunt, and jumped back as Angerem slashed into the ground where my feet had been, clanging heavily against Dancer. Father grabbed Rubraesule’s hilt, yanking my blade from the ground, holding the fifty-five inch sword awkwardly in his right hand. I knew I’d be done for, then punished again if I lost this bout, but he had my sword; how could I be expected to fight back without it? Surely he wouldn’t attack me with both swords…

 

Would he?

 

            I jumped as he thrusted Rubraesule where my shoe was. I kicked out of it just in time, Dancer’s tip pierced the shoe and stones beneath it mere moments from when I jumped away.

 

            “Why aren’t you fighting back?” Father yelled, swinging my heavy sword at me, then thrusting Angerem after the swing.

 

            “With what sword!?” I shouted at him.

 

            “Use your hands, you stupid child!” He thrusted again, using both swords at the same time, aimed for my eyes. I ducked, going under the swords, dropping onto my back and kicking upward at his hands. I winced as my bare foot connected with the hilt of Angerem, but I managed to get it out of his hand. The sword went skyward, then slammed against the ground some twenty feet away. My eyes locked on his as I scrambled away. I noticed his gaze looked astounded, as if he never thought I might be getting his sword away from him.

 

            When I got to Angerem, I grabbed her hilt, wrapping my small hand around the wear-and-tear marks of Father’s handprint, worn into the metal after decades of use.

 

            “You always hold her loosely in your left hand. I have been wanting to get her away from you for a while. Still want to go at it?” I looked at Father, whose grip was hard on Rubraesule’s handle, not even in the right spot to use the changdao, a long type of Chinese sword, mine being rather longer than the normal sword.

 

            Father looked at me, seething with anger. I knew I wasn’t allowed to hold Angerem, other than when cleaning her after Father went on a “journey,” as he called them. His blade always returned saturated and darker. This was Father’s sacred sword, the one that was given to him by his master. It had first been darken by that very same man’s blood when Father was freed.

 

            I held the long sword gentle, lest Angel Dust take a liking to my grip. But I held her firm enough to show her that I, for now, was the master. I held her out, pointing at Father with his own sword. “Come at me, old man.”

 

            “I’ll wipe that smirk of your face, you insolent brat!” He charged me, holding Dancer above his head, then bringing him crashing down, flat sided, on me. I swept Dancer aside with ease, the heavy blade not meant to be used in such a way. I swished my wrist, a very simple motion that had drastic effects in sword use. It knocked the heavy changdao away, then into my awaiting hand. I jerked forward, slapping Father’s chest with Rubraesule’s broad side, then swiping his feet out from under him with Angerem. I placed my bare foot on his chest, then slammed the blades downward, crossing them around Father’s neck, his Adams-apple touching the two blades when he breathed.

 

            “Who’s wiping whose smirk off their face?” I questioned him, pressing my foot down, showing him that I had won.

 

            He looked up calmly. “It wasn’t you.”

 

            With that, his leg flew up, clipping me just behind the ear. I fell forward, falling on the two swords over his neck, their sturdiness supporting my weight. I closed my eyes and faded into unconsciousness.

 

 

           

            “Wake up, sleeping beauty. Hey, stupid! Get up!” I felt something hit my stomach hard and I gasped, sucking in air. My eyes flung open, and I saw Father take off a heavy boot. His other foot was bare, in exception to the socks he wore with his sandals. I was lying on my side, on the cold forest floor.

 

            “How long was I out?” I asked, dazed, hungry, and hurting.

 

            “Um… About 5 minutes, Echo. I took the swords and put them away, then came back to carry you home. Dinner is done. It’s rice and fish.”

 

            “Again?” I whined. Father always cheaped out on dinner. Rice and fish only cost a silver piece from the small eatery a couple miles from our home. He always claimed to of cooked it himself, but I knew for a fact, now, that he did not “cook,” the soy sauce he used, let alone cook in general.

 

            I looked at Father, the man called Saishū-tekina ken. The title was given to him two decades ago, a mere four years before my birth. Thinking of birth temporarily made me wonder of my mother. I shook the thoughts from my mind. Father's name was forgotten by nearly all people. He went by Saishū.

 

            "Eat up, Echo. You'll need your strength for when we truly start to practice, tomorrow night. Today's warm up was good... For a novice. But you are not a novice," Father said, sitting on a small mat before the low table. He picked up an expensive looking bowl, filled with rice with a whole fish on top. He ate a couple mouthfuls of rice with his bamboo chopsticks, then drunk heavily from his hip-flask. He continued, "You don't plan ahead. Attack with more force. Every strike must be a fatal one. If you can't disarm me, then force my surrender within 30 minutes, you'll be punished. No dinner for a week, an extra hour of practice, and you won't be able to use Rubraesule, either. Understood?"

 

            I sighed. Same punishment as always. There was more, but he knew that I knew of the under-lying threat of a stern beating. Unconsciously, I covered my right side, where scars overlapped heavily. "Understood."

 

            I picked up my bowl and started eating. Father watched me eat, then started on his own bowl. When we were done eating, he walked to a sliding paper door that led to the armory, which he used as a bedroom. He held the door open, then said without turning around, "There's five hundred gold pieces in a small purse in your room. Use it to buy new clothes, a dagger, oil, and whatever else you wish. You may go to town tomorrow morning. We'll practice tomorrow night."