Is that why I’m still here? Avena wondered. Honoring Chames? If I knew as much of healing now as then . . . The emptiness in her yawned. A shiver ran through her.
Chapter Twelve
“Bright afternoon, Jilly,” Avena said and darted away from Jilly to join the practice, her heeled boots ringing on the wooden flooring. She dropped off her skirt and petticoats in her room then raced back down them. By the time she reached Ōbhin watching the men running circles around the flat portion of the lawn, her cheeks were rosy and she was puffing breath.
He glanced at her then his eyes slid away. He didn’t think I was coming back!
“Okay, I’m ready. Give me a sword. Let’s start.”
“A sword?” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not teaching you fencing. I’m teaching you how not to get your head brained in by the first tough guy with a cudgel you decide is in your way.”
“What does that mean?”
“That you resonate with all the stubbornness of Vatsim. I’ll train you to use the binder.”
“Fine.” She glanced and spotted one lying on the ground by Bran’s jacket. She snatched up the metal rod. She activated it with ease, pressing on the gem in the right spot. She felt the hum of it working, the faint aura of purple that wreathed it almost washed out by the sun. “Let’s go.”
“First, I’ll teach you to stand.”
“I know how to stand.” She stamped her feet. “See. Standing.”
A wry smile crossed his lips. “See? Vatsim. His Tone fills your body.”
“No pagan god resonates through me. I stand in the light of Elohm. It shines around me.”
“If you’re hoping it blinds your enemies, then you will be in trouble. You need to stand.”
“Why?”
His hand shot out in a blur. She squeaked, struggling to swing the binder at his attacking arm. Before she could hit him, his open palm planted on her shoulder. He didn’t strike her but shoved her. She stumbled back, tripping over her own foot, and landed on the grass with a heavy thud.
“See, you need to learn to stand.”
She scrambled to her feet. “You’re just stronger than me. That’s all.”
“Remember that. It’ll be a rare man you fight who isn’t taller, stronger, and with greater reach than you. You can’t afford to be sloppy. You can’t afford to have any deficiency in skill. You will have to disable him fast, or be nimble. And you can’t do either if you don’t know how to stand.”
Avena glanced down at her feet planted on the ground side by side. She frowned. “What am I doing wrong?”
He arched an eyebrow, flicking down.
She glanced at his feet. Both were planted on the ground, though only his right foot was pointed to the side. His stance was also wide, his knees bent, unlike hers which were locked stiff. Her brow furrowed, struggling to understand why he did that.
“Push me,” he said. “And not with the binder.”
“Okay.” She deactivated the binder and slipped it into her pants back pocket. Behind her, the three guards thudded by, Fingers wheezing.
She thrust both her hands at him, lunging forward with all her weight. She struck him squarely on his sternum. He grunted and shifted, leaning back on his left foot, his body hardly moving at all.
“Good push. You see how I can do that without moving my feet. They’re spread out and my legs are bent. This gives me more balance and greater stability. That’s important in fighting.”
“Okay,” she said. “I guess that makes sense. You don’t want to fall.” She nodded to his right foot. “Why is that bent in a different direction?”
“It’s aimed in the direction of my attack,” he said. He suddenly lunged forward, kicking out with his right foot while pushing with his left leg. He set his foot down before him then brought his left foot closer, moving twice her stride in a blink. “By moving with my side facing the enemy, I present a smaller cross-section. Less of a target to hit. Plus, I am transmitting all the force of my body through my line of attack at the same time. This is how you want to stand as much as possible. You don’t want to cross your feet if you can avoid it. That’s when you trip.”
Avena shifted her stance. She felt the tension in her thigh muscles as she bent her legs. It felt strange to point her right foot in a different direction. It felt awkward. But she had it. She drew the binder now.
“Okay, let’s practice. How do I swing it?”
He rolled his eyes then threw a punch at her face.
She squeaked again and recoiled out of shock. Her arms swung before her. She tried to move both her feet in retreat, but the awkward stance defeated her. She toppled over and hit the ground again, his fist swinging over her.
He shook his head. “Why are you so eager to learn to fight?”
“Because of people like you,” she muttered. “What went wrong? I had your stance.”
“After you learn to stand, you have to move. You have to train your body until it is second nature. If you have to think about your feet, then you can’t think about your opponent. What he’s going to do. What you have to do to counter it. Fighting isn’t just swinging your weapon ahead of you blindly. It’s intellect.”
“I’ve seen boys fight. They just grunt and swing and roll around on the ground.”
“Brawling isn’t trained fighting. Your every movement should be with purpose. It should be elegant, requiring the least amount of power to deliver
