The Hammer Unfalls

1.13 The Monster at the End of this Look

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅

By the time he left the tower, some of the cloud cover had dissipated. Streaks of afternoon sunlight slanted dramatically through the clouds. He walked back towards the town square, instinctually avoiding the gazes of passers by. A woman in a gray cloak approached. Daryna the gardener walked towards him, carrying a basket heaped with purple lettuce leaves, and Glim stared right at the ground.

Precisely what Master Willow had instructed him not to do.

Glim grunted in exasperation. Now, he’d become self-conscious about being self-conscious. By the time Garrick the armorer passed by, Glim was looking down and up again like a fish caught in a net, chastising himself with each movement.

“What in Algidon’s frigid arsecheeks is wrong with you, lad? You look like you’ve seen a monster.”

“I… I have.”

Garrick’s eyes softened. Which wasn’t saying much. He had the softest eyes of all the guards. And once you got past the gruff exterior with all the bushy hair and scars, an even softer heart.

“Come on, boy. Walk with me, and tell old Garrick what troubles you.”

They walked in silence. Garrick led him up the stairs to a deserted rampart, looking southward towards the Avaunt Mountains. Slanted sunlight bathed the undulating peaks until they faded into the distance, igniting the edges of the clouds with silver flame. “This is as good a place to watch for monsters as any. What did you see? A hinterjack? A bunny with antlers?”

Glim smiled, which he replaced immediately with a frown.

“No. Master Willow showed me a mirror.”

“And you saw him in it? That’s enough to scare even the stoutest warrior!”

Glim giggled. “No, Garrick! I saw myself.”

“So?”

“I saw this.” He brushed his long bangs out of the way, closed his normal eye, and glared at Garrick.

“You’re frightened of your own eyeball? Ahh. I suppose you’re shy about it, then?”

“Yes! Isn’t it unnerving?”

“Well, I’ve known ye since you were knee-high to a chicken. But I suppose it does startle people.”

“So you get my point, then.”

“Not in the least! How does this make you a monster?”

“People are scared by it. I can tell, Garrick. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Garrick sighed. “It does unnerve people. But so do my scars. Your father’s height. People notice differences. Yours is more obvious than most.”

“This is deeper than that. Have you ever seen another silver eye, in all your days?”

“Only on wolves.”

“See?”

Garrick took a seat on a nearby bench and patted his knee. Glim sat there and Garrick draped a massive arm around his shoulders. He kept quiet for a long time. Glim watched light and shadow flit across the mountains, appreciating the armorer’s calming presence.

“It’s like this,” he said at last. “Ye cannot change your eyes. Ye cannot change how people react. But you can influence it. If you’re confident, and have a sense of humor about it, it will put others at ease. Above all, remember this: if you spend your time worrying about this, you’ll drive yourself mad. You can only change your own mind about it. That’s all you can control. Directly, at least.”

“I can’t, though. I’m self-conscience about it.”

“Ye need training then. How are you learning the sword? Or plying? You practice. One skill at a time. So come up with a strategy and practice it.”

“What kind of strategy?”

“Oh, I don’t rightly know. Let’s say someone insults you direct. You could say something like: ‘it must be sad to go through life only seeing half the colors.’ That’ll give ‘em something to chew on. Or maybe say: ‘your jealousy is adorable.’ Come up with a few lines to take the piss out of them. Begging your pardon.”

Glim giggled. “You can say piss, Garrick. I won’t tell on you.”

He laughed and squeezed Glim’s shoulder.

“And if they say nothing at all, just give you a fearful look, address it direct. Maybe say: ‘it does take some getting used to. You can take a close look, I don’t mind.’ Then smile and put them at ease. If that doesn’t work, you weren’t going to change their mind anyway. So then you get to decide how that makes you feel. Do you let their small-mindedness ruin your day? Or even ruin your life?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Nor is swinging a longsword! And you do that readily enough. You’ll never do this if you don’t practice. Speaking of which, I have some time. Want to get in some sword time?”

Glim hopped up. “Let’s go!”

Garrick stood across from him in the training room, where the sun slanted through the windows in a constant interplay of light and shadow. His beard caught the light, which made him look like a half-human bear on fire.

“Where did you and Captain Jarl leave off?” he asked.

Glim heard his father’s voice from the hallway. “I believe I’d just overloaded his brain with the concept of the eight-in-eight-in-eight.”

Glim ran to his father and hugged him. Father ruffled his hair and said “we’ll ease off that for now. You’re in for a treat today. Since you now know how to attack, it’s time to learn the three modes of swordplay.”

Garrick whistled. “You’ve done well to get so far, my boy!”

Glim took a few practice swipes and bowed, a sense of pride swelling within him. The two men laughed, then squared off against each other.

“Now then,” his father said, his voice taking the pay-attention-now tone, “you’ve learned basic defense. That’s known as algidon. You’ve just learned an attack or two. That’s known as phyr. There’s also the interplay of swords together, known as aeolia.”

Glim inhaled sharply and stared at his father. “You sound just like Master Willow!” he said. “What do the essentiæ have to do with swordplay?”

Garrick and his father exchanged a concerned look. “Everything!” Garrick exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. “Did you think that the essentiæ only deal with plying?” Glim nodded, with the feeling he’d missed something important and obvious along the way.

His father nodded in sympathy. “The essentiæ are part of swordplay. As they are part of all things. They mean much more than simple plying.”

“Simple plying?” Glim said. “You obviously haven’t tried it.”

Garrick grinned behind his hand as his father grew flustered.

“Well, in any case,” he said, “phyr, aeolia, and algidon go beyond plying. They’re part of our physical makeup as well. Spiritual, mental… all of them are affected by the three essentiæ. This is no different. You’ve heard of the needle theorem, I’m sure.”

Again, Glim was surprised. “I thought that was only for mages.”

“Guess you learn something new every day,” Garrick said.

His father raised his sword to ready. “Indeed. Back to basics, then. Here’s what we’re going to do. Garrick and I are going to show you the three different modes of sword fighting. So that you understand what it means to be engaged in them, what they mean in particular for your footwork and maintaining your distance.”

Garrick and his father circled each other, keeping a healthy distance between each other. Whenever one changed his sword angle, the other adjusted. They stepped toward and around each other, until one would jab and the other would step backward.

“Tell me, Glim,” his father said, “from what you know so far, which mode are we in?”

“Algidon.”

“That’s right. Now watch this. We’ll move at half speed.” He lunged at Garrick, who met his blade with his own with a ringing clash of steel against steel.

“Freeze!” his father yelled, and the pair of them stopped. “Which mode are we in now?”

“Aeolia.”

“Correct. Now for the tricky question. Is it possible for both Garrick and I to go directly from algidon to aeolia?”

Glim thought back over what he’d seen. The measured distance, the feints, and then their swords bound together. No one had hit anyone yet. But they’d clashed swords because of his father’s lunge.

“No. You went from algidon to phyr. Garrick went from algidon to aeolia. That put you into aeolia.”

“That’s right. Someone has to go from defense to offense, otherwise known as algidon to phyr. Unless both decide to simply walk away. Which can happen. Aside from that, what other possibilities are there?”

Glim started to feel the same way he had when confronted by the idea of the eight-in-eight-in-eight. Overwhelmed by possibilities, with no safe place for his mind to rest. Glim felt a pang of embarrassment as he realized how little he truly understood about the art of swordsmanship, despite having watched his father and Garrick spar countless times before.

“Um… You can both move from algidon to phyr at the same time?”

“Very good! Any more?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s find out. Garrick, you thrust just like I did. Half speed.” Garrick lunged towards his father, who simply stepped diagonally back, maintaining his ready stance.

“Oh. Algidon to algidon.”

“That’s called maintaining algidon. But you have the right idea.”

His father nodded. He and Garrick both dropped their swords, assuming the Fool’s Guard.

“Each mode has advantages and drawbacks. Algidon is the safest, but you have no initiative. Aeolia is the second safest, and provides the most direct information. Phyr gives you the most initiative and the least information. But every time you attack, you leave yourself open in some way. So Phyr is the most dangerous mode. A sword fight is all about deciding which mode to be in, and deciding when to switch modes. Based on the information your opponent gives you, and your reflexes learned by detecting patterns over years of training.”

He raised his sword and the guardsmen squared off.

“Let’s begin again. We’ll each start with our strongest suit: defense, or algidon.”As he and Garrick moved around each other, father kept switching guards. “Pay attention to my footwork in particular, Glim.”

Glim watched his feet, which rarely moved off of the ground at all. He simply slid them back and forth, never crossing his feet. He shuffled them forward and back as quickly as possible.

“If you need to, take a step,” he said, “you do it just like walking. That’s called a passing step. You do not cross your feet when you walk. But in this case, you keep your knees bent as you move forward and back, like so.” He took steps forward and backward. “Those are advance and retreat.”

Garrick moved in with a couple of strikes. His father retreated to maintain his distance. “The purpose of maintaining algidon is for you to test out your own measure. To gauge your opponent’s reach. And for you to, of course, stay out of reach of their sword. But when your distance has been breached—” he motioned to Garrick, who advanced and lunged— “you have to decide on one of the other two modes.”

He darted forward and met Garrick’s blade with his own. They pushed and prodded at each other’s weapons, shifting angles. “Now, we’re going to show you what happens when swords engage. This is aeolia, who, as you know from the needle theorem, is the center. She balances the attack of phyr and the defense of algidon.”

“Now you really sound like Master Willow,” Glim said in exasperation. It bothered his more than he cared to admit that his father shared the same philosophy as his tutor. It meant he had to trust Master Willow’s words even more. He could not discount the man, nor could he discount his father, because clearly this concept of the three essentiæ in balance ran deeper than he knew.

“Is it possible for only one of us to be in aeolia?”

“No.”

“— that’s debatable,” Garrick said.

“— that’s right,” his father said at the same time. The men both laughed. “When you’re engaged in aeolia is when the two swords meet each other or are in the same space, not necessarily touching. This is where you must let sensation, reaction, and reflex guide your sword. You won’t have time to think. You have to practice and figure out which patterns of swordplay will emerge. You’ll begin to use instinct. Your senses will tell you which move to use to counter, or to attack, or defend, based on what your opponent’s blade is doing. And whether you’re weak or strong against their move.”

Father moved his sword further back, sliding it along Garrick’s blade. The tang of his blade rang from the movement.

“You have to get to a place of pure reaction. There’s no time for thought. The only way you can do that is by practicing aeolia, when the two swords meet, or the bind as it is sometimes called. When Garrick and I clash swords, notice where on the blade mine touches his. It’s stronger near the hilt. It’s weaker near the tip. The hilt gives you more power and less maneuverability. The tip gives you great flexibility and maneuverability.”

Glim nodded, looking on in fascination. He’d learned much since the last time he’d witnessed a spar. Things were starting to make sense. Such as the footwork, and the angles. Glim chastised himself inwardly for not having grasped these fundamental principles sooner. But watching the two men spar gave him insights he’d not been able to put together until now.

Father spoke once more. “As we bind, aeolia will give us clues as to the other’s pressure and intensity, strength, and reaction time. We use all of these to judge whether we’re strong or weak against our opponent. When our opponent uses strength against us, we respond with weakness to make them overcommit. If they are weak, we apply strength to knock their sword out of the way and give ourselves an opening.”

Their swords clashed again and again and they danced around each other, moving in circles. “Watch our feet,” his father said, “but also watch how we adjust the angle of our swords to test each other. The moment you use attack, you open yourself up. So you always have to gauge whether the moment is correct to move into phyr.”

Watching them feint and parry, Glim vibrated with anticipation. He watched, enraptured, as they wove their way through the various modes, their blades singing in a deadly duet.

After a few moments, his father told Garrick to freeze. They kept their positions. “Now Glim, based on the position of our swords, do you think it’s a good idea for me to attack right now or not?”

Glim studied the position of their swords. He tried to predict where they would go next. “His sword is inside of yours. If you attack, he could easily brush your sword side and stab you.”

“But what if my sword were more at the tip like this?” He slid his sword back just a hair so that they were crossed at a different point.

“You can move your tip over his sword and push it away, then attack.”

Garrick whistled. “You’ve got a fighter on your hands, Jarl.”

“Yes, Glim. A great observation. Whether I want to do that or not is based on the strength of his resistance, his flexibility, his speed, his reach… all sorts of factors that you have to keep in mind. It’s far too complex for me to give you specific advice on every possibility. But over the course of your training, I will show you the common scenarios you get into and what the most likely result of them is. So that you can gauge what the correct mode is for you to apply at that time. When to use phyr, when to use algidon. Do you understand?”

Glim nodded. For the first time, he truly did understand. The clash of swords had a depth and complexity that he had never fully appreciated until now. With renewed determination, he vowed to learn it for himself.