The pale glow of a full moon illuminated the young man and the old woman who stood on a road in the abandoned village of Shalebeak. The air was crisp, and a cool breeze soothed the bruises from the morning’s training session with Jor.
Ben was concerned when Ainsle told him to eat some of the leftover stew from breakfast, since he wouldn’t be able to eat anything for a while once they started. He ate his fill and strapped the belt with his short sword to his waist before he joined her outside. He found her waiting with two staves of wood, similar to the ones that the Archer had used to torture him that morning. She handed him the longer of the two improvised weapons and regarded him.
"Hmm. Just right for your height." Ainsle nodded to herself. "Get rid of that little prick on your belt. You’re never gonna need it again."
I get rid of what?
Ben thought before realizing that she meant the short sword. He complied and discarded the weapon.
"I started with one of these." She shook the shaft of the staff. "And I still use most of the techniques today. None of that fancy Blade Dancer bullshit. Everything you learn from mastering this stick will carry over to whatever weapon you choose."
"You fought with a staff before?" Ben asked.
"A spear, Benny. A spear." Her brow rose over her only visible eye as she shook her head incredulously.
Ben inspected the weapon once more.
Yup. Looks like a staff to me.
He observed but decided to keep that thought to himself.
"Gods dammit, yes it was a staff." She relented. "But I mastered the spear, so that’s what you’re gonna learn. Got it?"
"Got it."
"That’s a bloody, Yes ma’am, to you!" Ainsle scowled.
"Yes ma’am!" Ben acknowledged fearfully.
"The fucking gall of these kids nowadays. Doesn’t anyone teach them…"
The Berserker grumbled almost inaudibly before turning her attention to the matter at hand.
"Okay. Listen up and listen well. I’m only gonna say this once. Ahem." She cleared her throat. "When you go to that place, remember that it’s yours. The body you wear is the image of your inner self. And it remembers."
Ben felt more confused by the attempted cryptic message than by the actual message itself.
"Wha-"
"Shush." The Berserker interrupted. "Now, I’ll dance with you. But first, watch and don’t blink."
The young man struggled to decipher the old woman’s words, but he was soon torn from his thoughts as she took a step back and relaxed her shoulders. He expected her to lunge at him, but what came captivated him.
The diminutive woman stood in a graceful, sideward-facing stance. Her weight rested on the ball of her back foot. Front leg forward, toe pointed to the ground in front of her. She held the staff in one hand behind her arched back; the tip pointed to the starry sky. Her free arm, palm forward, was tight to her chest. She moved.
The staff spun in effortless, graceful arcs. Her back arched to dodge an imagined blow, and her hips twisted and brought the weapon in a terrifying counter to where the attack had come from. Her feet drew mesmerizing patterns in the sand while she twisted, spun, and danced.
Ben’s eyes were wide. A few minutes passed, but the young man felt them as mere moments. After a series of beautiful flurries, the old woman stuck down her foe with a furious overhead strike. The follow-through of the final blow returned her to the stance that had begun the dance.
The young man stood in silence. The display was a huge contrast to the impression of the sharp, crude-humored old woman.
Wait… I haven’t actually ever seen her fight… at all.
The light of realization came to Ben.
"Did you get all of that?" Grinned the Berserker.
"Uh…"
The pair spent the following hours rehearsing the movements Ainsle had demonstrated. Sometime during the evening, Jor returned from her scouting trip with what appeared to be several colorful, chicken-sized birds dangling from her hand. She entered the house silently, greeting with only a nod before retiring for the night. Ann had also come quietly to observe the pair. After an hour or so, she left and went to bed without a word.
Ben found it surprising that Ainsle hadn’t struck him at all during her tutorage. Instead, she admonished him with her usual vulgar remarks and patiently demonstrated the particular thrust or twist that he had blundered. As the sun yawned into the sky with its pale orange glow, Ben began to feel the fatigue of the previous day’s, and night’s, activities. He had managed to memorize and execute, albeit slowly and a touch ungracefully, the entire dance. Ainsle nodded, satisfied with his progress.
She took a drink of water and offered Ben a waterskin to do the same.
"You did well, Benny." Was all the old woman said.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Her eye was bloodshot, and her slow, shallow breaths suggested that her display earlier had not helped her injury at all. He wondered why Ann didn’t try to stop the Berserker’s reckless behavior. She tilted her head toward the abandoned house. And Ben nodded in reply. Once inside, Ainsle spoke.
"Don’t you bloody forget what I said, okay?
The young man turned to acknowledge the Berserker. He saw the short woman’s hips twist and, before he blacked out, an ungauntleted fist.
The cloudy, grey sky greeted him like an old friend.
Surely there was a better way to do this. Surely!
Ben complained to himself.
Unlike prior visits to the cave in the dark clearing, he didn’t flinch on impact and landed with an impossible crash on the forest floor. What he found to be impossible was the fact that he stood, perfectly upright and that the packed, foggy ground didn’t seem to have been disturbed at his arrival.
He looked down at his body and confirmed that it was the same strong, healthy one that he had seen before. He surveyed the darkness, yet no trace of the beast could be found. He felt strangely calm and recounted the words that the Berserker had told him.
"This place belongs to me. My body is the image of my inner self. It remembers," he spoke aloud.
"My body remembers… What?" He exclaimed.
Ben jumped up and down a few times and swung his arms in circles. He felt no fatigue from the previous day. A glint in his periphery drew his attention to his left. Something metallic leaned against the back wall of the cave.
He walked closer and found a simple spear, or more accurately, a halberd, made of wood and rusty steel. He picked up the weapon and found its haft fit perfectly in his strong hands. It was light and well-made, if a bit old and neglected. He thrust and then swung the weapon in a low arc, and appreciated the satisfying bow of the wood that responded to his movements. He tried again, and the head of the halberd clanged against the ceiling of the cave.
He walked out to the clearing, so as not to repeat the blunder.
"My body remembers?"
The epiphany hit him like a bolt of lightning. Immediately, Ben settled into the dance. And dance he did.
He felt no fatigue, and the hours melted away. He moved and spun. The halberd sang through the air. He felt serene in the unending dance. He smiled and felt the joy of understanding.
"Is this why that witty old woman always has that grin on her face?" He spoke between flurries.
His movements were getting quicker, and each transition was smoother. He felt that his pathetic excuse for a dance was still mountains away from Ainsle, but that was okay. The elation at having a clear path to strength encouraged him during his awkward, off-rhythm feints and slices.
More time passed, and during a particularly difficult sweep, he heard the echo of a distant voice. It sounded kind and warm, yet concerned. A gentle caress of familiarity washed over his form, and Ben felt the weapon dissipate in his hands. His vision grew foggy, and his body began to ache from bruised and stiff muscles.
"…unnecessary. We were working on meditation to create a link to his domain."
The cold, warning voice of the Priestess greeted Ben as he opened his eyes to a living room bathed in the warm orange glow of an afternoon sun.
"Calm your tits, woman. He’s not like you soft-types. Our Avatars are similar in that they only respond to violence, and you know it," Ainsle said plainly, before noticing that Ben had awoken. "There. See? Your boy toy is fine." She huffed.
The young man sat up on the dirty floor. There was a folded bundle of cloth that had been placed under his head as a makeshift pillow. Ben guessed that it was Ann who had placed it there. He was surprised to find that he felt relatively well-rested and that his antics in his dream world didn’t appear to affect the quality of sleep he had.
"Good morning," the young man said as he stretched his arms in a yawn.
"My h- Ben, are you alright?" The Priestess corrected; her tone was heavy with concern.
"I’m great… Ow." Ben massaged his aching jaw.
How hard did she hit me exactly?
Jor entered the living area from her room. The atmosphere was slightly odd in the old house. The Squad Leader’s posture and the fact that she avoided Ann’s gaze, suggested that some sort of confrontation had taken place during his sleep.
"Ben, how are you feeling?" Jor asked.
"Besides the aches from yesterday’s training, I’m doing pretty well, thanks."
"I see. That’s good to hear."
Ben couldn’t bring himself to feel any animosity towards the Archer at that moment, as he felt a tension in the air that could crack and cause an incident, which he had no idea how to handle. He decided to confront her later when the moment was right.
Ann brought Ben a bowl of what appeared to be chicken broth that smelled divine. He thanked her and ate in silence. Jor wandered back to her room, and the Priestess kept herself busy with various unknown, yet obviously critical, tasks around the house. Ainsle sat on one of only two chairs in the entire village and grinned at him. When Ben had finished his meal, she spoke.
"Show me."
Ben returned the grin, and the pair headed outside. Ann appeared to have noticed the exchange, as she made it a point to not appear interested. She silently followed the young man and the old woman to the road in the abandoned village.
Once outside, Ben picked up the staff he had left leaning against the front of the dwelling. He held the weapon in one hand and swung it in the slow arcs of a figure-eight as he walked to the center of the road. He paused and took a deep breath before turning around to face his mentor. With a nod of the scarred woman’s head, Ben settled into the stance that he had drilled for what felt like weeks.
He began unsteadily and stiffly. Unsure of himself. Here, he was not as strong or as full of vigor as his dream counterpart was. He was bound to a frail body that could not move with the same strength and finesse he had experienced an hour before. He stumbled and missed the rhythm numerous times in an awkward flurry of thrusts and arcs.
Sometime during his embarrassing display, Jor joined the party to see the fruits of the old woman’s instruction. She leaned against the remains of a half-toppled wall, a fair distance away from Ann and Ainsle. Ben stopped and took another deep breath to try to calm his nerves.
"Can I try again?"
Ben looked to Ainsle whose reply was a wink. He thought it odd that her eye could smile. Even though she had that same grin on her face, her gaze conveyed a more complex emotion. He decided that he would not disappoint the belief she had in him.
He began again, slower than the first attempt. He closed his eyes and willed his body to remember the familiar dance. He felt the rhythm swirl and swell around him. He reached out with his being and rode the current. He turned, twisted, and thrust the staff. The tempo rose and he met its ascent in a parry and a swift riposte. The blade of his imagined halberd sang through the air once more in a deadly, yet graceful overhead strike before coming to rest in the stance of origin.
The dance lasted for minutes or an eternity; he couldn’t tell. He felt sweat roll down his brow. His eyes were tightly shut to keep the memory from spilling out of his being. His breath was labored as he slowly relaxed his posture.
He opened his eyes to see Ainsle's approving grin. Ann stood forcefully still as if she tried with all her might to restrain herself from acting on the joy that positively beamed from her eyes. Jor’s posture was stiff, her eyes wide, and her expression impassive.
"So, how did I do, your dreadful yet stunningly ravishing majesty?" He teased the Berserker.
Ainsle let out a chuckle. Ben thought he saw a glisten in her eye before she looked away and appeared to have found an extraordinarily interesting rock. She mumbled from behind her blindfold.
"Hmph. I’d give it a solid four out of ten."