Chapter 82 - Just Another Day at the Farm

Skyle’s family couldn’t help but stare at him when he picked up a loaf of bread and forced himself to start eating again.

Leon’s look was one of confusion. He obviously couldn’t understand what was so special about eating breakfast. He felt awkward as he broke off a piece of bread and self-consciously chewed upon it while the entire Farrow family sat as though they had been stunned speechless, gawking at Skyle.

Figuring it must have something to do with the look of naked disgust as Skyle plainly forced himself to swallow another mouthful of food, Leon decided that he must thoroughly research into these strange commoner table customs before he further made a fool of himself. He would assign his seneschal to look into the matter and prepare a report for his perusal as soon as he got back.

Was he supposed to pretend to hate his food as well? Was this some sort of reverse psychology applied to common food staples, or an ancient ritual that went contrary to the usual tradition of thanking the All-father for the daily bread? Truthfully, though the fare was plain, it tasted hearty and good. Having already tasted Adrienne Farrow’s cooking these past couple days, Leon had to admit it was excellent in its own simple and charming way.

It took repeated nods of encouragement from Skyle for Leon to finally understand that it was alright for him to keep eating. The damn turnip farmer even had the audacity to laugh at him when Leon began to imitate Skyle’s expression, crumpling up his brow and squeezing his lips together while stuffing as much food as he could possibly hold in both cheeks before swallowing painfully. Let it never be said that Leon would offend the table of his hosts, so he also took care to liberally spill mouthfuls of food in his immediate vicinity, half-choking, half-swallowing his food as though it were the most awful torture inflicted upon mortal man.

It was a long, long breakfast for Leon Draxas, and it was to his credit that he did not utter a single word of complaint as Adrienne wordlessly stood and brought back yet another huge helping of food, setting it down before Leon with a decidedly uneasy smile.

Leon attacked the food even more voraciously this time, reflecting that his best attempt to blend in with the local customs must have been woefully inadequate.

Flicking another glance in Skyle’s way, he paled as he thought that no human should ever have to be forced to eat breakfast in such manner. Still, Leon was the descendant of an age old lineage of warriors, and he would not allow himself to surrender without putting up a valiant fight.

Picking up another loaf of bread, Leon tried his best to control the shaking of his hands as he glared at the offending morsel of food as though it were a deadly viper baring its fangs.

Skyle, like the black-hearted, backstabbing peasant that he was, did not offer a single bit of advice, and instead only laughed harder.

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Little did Leon know that had Skyle forced himself to laugh the first time because he did not want to wallow in the pits of his own despair. He had far too much to accomplish ahead of him to mop around, and no matter what his heart wanted, his head was firmly in command - at least for now. The second laugh came easier, and he convinced himself that it was not so hard after all.

At least, it was not impossible, so that would do.

After breakfast was finished, during which the rest of the Farrow family seemed strangely lacking of their usual appetite, Skyle gestured to Leon as he stepped outside.

The brisk wind of the morning soared down from the nearby mountains, hitting Skyle’s lungs in a blast of cold air. It refreshed him, fully waking him up for the welcome return to his every day routine.

As he walked inside the barn and fetched a couple practice swords, he found his father already waiting by the small training yard they had cordoned off behind the stocky building.

Leon gazed in askance at the swords, looking confused in his rolled up sleeves. Obviously, the big lummox had been expecting Skyle to bring out a pitchfork or a shovel, not the slick rattan practice swords held within the smaller boy’s arms.

Skyle quickly tossed the larger sword to Leon, who effortlessly caught it from the air. Then he motioned the bigger boy to follow him with a flick of his head.

They moved behind Kendric, who was already sitting in a lotus position with his eyes closed and his sword laid across his knees. Skyle wordlessly imitated his father, easily slipping into the familiar pose.

Leon did not fare as well. The position proved challenging for his more inflexible frame, having to forcefully pull upon the tips of his toes with his hands in order to finally reach the sitting lotus position, legs folded underneath his weight.

Of course, this quickly presented another problem in and of itself, as Leon began to squirm this way and that, his legs apparently having fallen asleep. To his credit, the young noble did not give up, veins jumping in his forehead as a deep flush covered his face.

After what must have felt like an eternity or two for the young giant, Kendric let out a deep breath and opened his eyes. At this same instant, Skyle did the same. Both father and son gracefully rose to their feet, holding their practice swords extended before them at shoulder-level in a practiced two-handed grip.

There, they paused briefly as they waited for Leon.

The fire summoner tried in vain to reach his feet, finding to his dismay that his left leg for certain, and most likely his right leg as well, had fallen asleep from lack of circulation and would not answer his commands at all. Barely suppressing a yelp, Leon managed to turn it into a deep, manly growl at the last second instead, as his entire leg cramped up when he forcefully pushed himself to his feet.

Muttering a dozen different curses in five languages and three northern tribal dialects, Leon’s face was pale but his eyes bloodshot as he finally beat some feeling back into his legs and assumed the same position as Kendric and Skyle had.

Kendric did not seem to notice anything was out of place as he wordlessly began to dance. Skyle still couldn’t find any better way to describe the easy grace with which his father flowed from one stance to the next, his sword a mere extension of his body. Man and blade complemented each other in perfect harmony as Kendric began and ended his sword kata in the same exact position.

Skyle went next, his eyes intent and his breathing calm as his small body followed a near perfect replica of his father’s movements. If it displayed a little more power rather than grace, and a bit more speed instead of elegance, it certainly was nothing that unfamiliar eyes such as Leon’s would be able to really distinguish.

Leon’s eyes bulged as he stared, completely at a loss for words. Skyle’s movements compensated with speed where he lacked skill, as he still could not manage the easy, flowing grace of his father’s movements. However, Skyle found that his Infinite Eye’s 360 degree view helped him appreciate his father’s technique at a deeper level than before. Even more surprising had been the benefits from using the True Sight, which he had simultaneously employed to study his father’s movements.

The rush of colors and the powerful surging of the elemental auras inspired a deep sense of reverence within Skyle that he had never experienced before. He felt that he now understood an aspect of his father’s technique that he had never even touched upon before. Slashing with the sword was not a mere act of swinging a length of steel. It was the act of committing to a course of action, and following through with all of one’s finely honed will.

Stolen story; please report.

“You cut not with your sword, but with your heart,” Skyle slowly repeated the words of his father’s teachings, his eyes wide as epiphany struck him right after he finished delivering his final blow.

Kendric stood with crossed arms, his gaze charged with meaning as he looked upon Skyle with quiet approval and pride.

Leon stared bug-eyed at his young friend, as though he were wondering if the ghost of some past sword saint had suddenly possessed his body.

Biting back a smart-ass comment about farmboys who spent their days whacking away at scarecrows instead of planting their crops like any proper, self-respecting farmer, Leon took a deep breath as he allowed himself to absorb the quiet serenity and unexpected dignity of the moment.

Skyle slowly straightened his back and whirled his rattan sword through the air once before tucking it to his side in one smooth, practiced motion. Then he bowed respectfully to his father, earning a grudging nod of respect in return.

Then they both turned to look upon Leon, and the poor fire summoner began to sweat in earnest as he coughed uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

He opened his mouth as though to say something, but at the last moment seemed to sense that it would not be appropriate to speak on such an occasion. So, instead he took hold of his sword in a firm two-handed grip and let out one final, deep breath before visualizing the graceful, gliding motions he had beheld mere seconds ago.

Then, he jumped into motion, and as expected, disaster struck.

The first slash was simple enough, but his numb leg was unable to fully support his weight for the next spinning thrust. Leon recovered just in time, throwing his foot back in an awkward last minute save to avoid falling. When he tried the smooth flick of the wrist to parry an imagined blow that came next, however, the sword slipped out of his sweat-slickened hand and somehow looped around his own shoulder to smack the back of his own head.

Flushing furiously with embarrassment and pain, Leon noted the grave expressions on both Skyle and his father’s gaze as they watched on. Leon could only grit his teeth against the pain and fumble for the sword. He managed to catch it with his element-enhanced reflexes, then promptly moved on to the next leaping strike.

He landed on a crooked angle, letting out a hoarse cry as his ankle folded under his weight. Only his element-strengthened physique saved him then, as he ignored the pain and resolutely contorted his body into the next impossible move. It was a light, airy spin on one foot, where the sword should flicker out like the ghostly petal of a rose.

Leon barely managed to make a half-spin, before his throbbing ankle suddenly gave way, causing his sword to slip out of his hand yet again and fly high into the air.

The young Lord Draxas flailed wildly with his arms before collapsing in a boneless heap, his limbs twisted painfully in an awkward sprawl all around his contorted body. The finishing touch was the sword, which just so happened to land at this moment, its blade striking a stinging blow against Leon’s upturned asscheeks.

The burning sting to his pride was far more painful than the reddened welt that was sure to rise up on his rump.

Still, there was only an almost eerie silence in the training yard, where only the sounds of the waking forest could be heard mixing in with the labored breathing from Leon.

Groaning in his heart, and more furious at himself than he could recall in a very long time, Leon quickly shoved aside the crumpled remains of his savaged pride, and hastily pushed himself to his feet with as much remaining grace as he could manage with one limping foot, a bump on the back of his head and a painful welt on his ass.

Still, Leon picked up his rattan sword and finished the ritual by bowing low before Skyle and his father with the same somber expression he had seen on their faces, hoping he had not ruined this beautiful ritual.

“Puhahahaha!”

“AHAHAHAHA!”

It was only as he raised his head back up that he stood there gaping at the two figures, father and son, who were now rolling across the ground holding on to their stomachs with tears flowing freely from their eyes.

In between uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter, Skyle said, “I.. I told you Da.. Haha, I said.. Hahaha, I said he would try.. Without even breaking a smile.. Hahaha..”

Kendric’s former image of a formidable warrior was completely gone, replaced by the mocking mask of a baboon who could hardly draw enough gasping breaths in between his choking laughter to reply to his accomplice and son.

“Haha.. You win.. Haha, you win.. He even picked up the sword.. Hahaha.. He picked up the sword.. Haha.. Picked up the sword and..”

At this moment, both father and son looked up from the ground and exchanged glances, before saying at the exact same time:

“And he bowed! HAHAHAH!”

Leon nearly cracked a tooth as he clenched his jaw and stared bloody murder at this evil, evil pair of father and son.

Feeling like an innocent virgin who had been deflowered by means most foul, Leon’s heart could only desperately flail and clutch at the violated remains of his dignity, while realizing in the pitch darkness of a deep abyss of despair, that he had signed himself over to this evil pair for the whole remainder of the day.

God help him, for his best friend certainly would not bother at all.

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“Seriously, Leon, you did real good for your first time. C’mon man, don’t be like that.”

Not dignifying that with a reply, Leon huffed and lifted his chin up, ignoring his friend’s entreaty.

That it almost made him trip on an exposed root and brain himself against the rocky ground did not dissuade him at all.

“Damn turnip farmer, I’ll show you..” Leon muttered venomously within his blackened heart.

“Aw, you have to admit it was kind of funny, right?” Skyle insisted, his words coming in easy and smooth in spite of the rough mountain path they were running through.

“Funny my ass. If only you didn’t look like a half-drowned puppy forcing yourself to smile, I’d grab you flailing and screaming, and toss you overhead from the highest peak I could find.”

Leon found that he did not truly mind that his friend had played the prank on him. If anything, seeing him laughing, however briefly, had offered a tiny grain of reassurance to Leon’s uneasy heart.

After all, Leon had no idea exactly what had happened last night, but the look in his friend’s eyes was that of a dead man walking, waiting only for an enemy to grab hold of, before finally jumping into the blessed arms of the deep abyss waiting below.

Leon couldn’t decide if he was angry that his friend would try to bear such a heavy burden by himself, or relieved that Skyle still had enough strength of will to persevere in spite of the gruesome blow he had obviously been dealt.

In the end, Leon had decided that he would play along. He would wait, because for all its uncomfortable, awkward moments, this new friendship was something truly precious that he wanted to protect.

He trusted Skyle like he had hardly ever trusted another person in his life. Not his brothers, not his mother. Certainly not that cold despot that was his father.

Leon Draxas had lived his life alone, and had used many years to make his peace with that fact. Now that he had found a kindred soul, someone his own age he could trust and respect, he found that he was more than willing to suffer a few pranks of truly ill-taste - damn stupid peasants and their twice be damned pretend sword rituals - and the quiet, agonizing wait while he floated in ignorance as to who had torn such a gaping hole in his friend’s heart, and what he could do to help.

In truth, this wait was not so unpleasant, especially when compared to the alternative.

Misery loves company, after all.