Chapter 14 – The Weight of Wood

He was still breathing.

A marginal success.

The underworld boy, Reiji, was already sitting on the stool outside when I emerged from the cabin. The violent, body-wracking coughs from yesterday had subsided into a consistent, wheezing gasp for air. He was pale. His eyes were puffy. But he was upright.

This was progress, I supposed. Moving from completely useless to ninety-nine-percent useless.

My master Siegfried’s orders were clear. The boy needed to be trained. But I didn’t have an eternity. Our faction did not tolerate weakness, and this boy was a walking, breathing monument to it. He was far from ready to stand in the presence of the Great Master Ise, but he had to be made presentable enough for Siegfried.

That meant he had to learn how to hold a sword.

I walked over to the small pile of training gear I had set aside. I picked up a standard wooden practice sword. It was perfectly balanced, light but durable. A tool for children to learn the fundamentals.

I tossed it onto the dirt at his feet.

It landed with a soft thud. He flinched back as if it were a snake. He looked from the wooden sword to me, his eyes wide with confusion and a healthy dose of fear.

“What… What is this for?”

“Your second lesson.”

I stood before him, arms crossed.

“Yesterday, you learned to breathe. Today, you will learn to fight.”

A look of pure panic washed over his face. He glanced down at his own trembling hands, then back at the simple wooden sword.

“Fight? I can barely stand! I can’t even…”

My voice was sharp, cutting off his whining.

“Excuses are the language of the weak. I am not interested in hearing them.”

“Your task is simple. Pick up the sword. And attack me.”

He stared at the sword for a long moment, his jaw working silently. He knew he had no choice. With a pained groan, he leaned over, his hand shaking as he reached for the hilt. His fingers wrapped around the wood.

He tried to lift it.

His arm strained, the muscles in his thin forearm trembling with the effort. A low grunt escaped his lips.

“It’s… heavy.”

I resisted the urge to sigh. It was made of wood. The children in the village used swords twice its size as toys. The weakness of underworlders was truly staggering.

“It is a piece of wood. A flower is heavier than your excuses. Pick. It. Up.”

With a final, desperate cry, he managed to lift the sword from the ground. He held it in front of him with two hands, his arms shaking badly. He was holding it like a club, or a very heavy loaf of bread. His knuckles were white. He was already out of breath from the effort.

“Your stance is an abomination.”

I stepped forward and kicked his feet into a wider, more stable position. He stumbled but managed to stay upright.

“You look like a drunken scarecrow trying to hail a carriage. Hold the sword, do not let the sword hold you.”

“I’m trying!”

“Trying is not good enough. Do.”

I took ten paces back, leaving a wide space between us. I didn’t bother to draw my own practice sword. It was an insult to the sword.

“Now. Attack me.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath of the mountain air. He raised the sword, the tip wobbling wildly. He let out a strange sort of battle cry—a sound that was half yell, half wheeze—and charged.

It was the slowest charge I had ever seen.

He took three clumsy, shuffling steps. His momentum was nonexistent. His balance was a disaster. His swing was a wide, telegraphed arc that started somewhere near his ear.

I didn’t move. I didn’t need to.

Halfway through his swing, he lost his footing. His arms windmilled, and he went down, landing hard on his side. The wooden sword flew from his grasp and skittered across the dirt.

He lay there, panting.

“Impressive. You have defeated the ground. It will surely never threaten our faction again.”

He pushed himself up, his face red with a mixture of shame and fury. He crawled over, grabbed the sword, and got back into his terrible stance.

“Again.”

He charged again. This time he managed four steps before his swing threw him off balance. He pirouetted once and landed flat on his back.

“A bold strategy. Perhaps you intend to defeat me with pity.”

“Again!”

He tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt was a new and spectacular failure. He fell over his own feet. He tripped on a nonexistent rock. He swung so hard he spun in a full circle and collapsed from dizziness.

After the tenth fall, he didn’t get up right away. He just lay face-down in the dirt.

His voice was muffled by the ground.

“How? How can I fight if I can’t even breathe right?”

I walked over and stood above him.

“An excellent question.”

“You will learn the answer, or you will fail here. It is that simple. The mountain does not care for your troubles. It demands strength. Show it strength, or it will crush you.”

He slammed his fist into the dirt. A tiny puff of dust rose up.

“Get up.”

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He was covered in dirt, his hair was matted with sweat, and he was shaking from exhaustion. But as he looked up, I saw that spark in his eyes again. The same stubborn fire from the alley.

He grabbed the sword, using it to push himself to his feet.

“RAAAAGH!”

He screamed, a raw, desperate sound, and lunged. It was not a charge. It was a chaotic, stumbling fall in my general direction. His technique was nonexistent. His swing was wild. It was his most pathetic attempt yet.

And it was the first one that felt like a real attack.

I sidestepped the clumsy blow and stuck out my foot. He tripped over it, his momentum carrying him forward. He landed face-first in the dirt with a loud ‘oof’.

He did not move.

Silence settled over the clearing. The only sound was his ragged panting. He had held a sword. He had attacked. He had failed completely.

But he hadn’t expired.

“Get up.”

He groaned but slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet. He stood there swaying, his head hung low. He had nothing left.

“You have successfully held a piece of wood for ten minutes without dying. It is a pitifully low bar, but you have cleared it.”

I turned my back on him.

“Training is over for today.”

He looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“That was it? But I failed!”

I began walking toward the path that led further up the mountain.

“Do not get comfortable. Your real test is about to begin.”

It was time for him to meet my master. It was time for him to understand what true fear felt like.