The last song of the ancestors

Maculelê is one of the oldest martial arts in the world. Its origins go back to the warrior peoples of the interior of the continent. They formed royal guards. They used a pair of machetes, dark single-edged blades with a one-handed handle and no guard.

Their techniques were based on severing their opponents' limbs by hitting their joints, or as a last resort, executing the enemy by severing their head. With this arsenal of blows, they could end a fight quickly. They could capture the enemy by inflicting damage on their legs or arms.

Warring states hired these clans as royal guards. While the governments were at their peak, these warriors enjoyed fame and success. However, constant wars plunged the great civilizations into ruin. Their martial artists were no longer needed in the modern world.

The practitioners of maculelê resisted. The deadly art was renewed. Machetes gave way to wooden sticks used in training. The techniques of fulminating murder were replaced by blows that fractured and subdued the opponent. The martial art became a sport practiced in various academies.

His reform ensured the survival of the tradition. Fenyang was one of its greatest enthusiasts. He was happy that even after his death he could carry on his legacy. The problem was that training someone like Akachi was a huge challenge. Maculelê required rhythm, like a dance.

"No, Akachi. Maculelê is an acrobatic martial art, but if you can't coordinate your body movements, you won't be able to land any blows. Right arm in front, left leg behind, and vice versa. Look, like this."

Fenyang and Akachi were facing each other. The boy reproduced his master's movements with redoubled effort. This was the pedagogy of mimesis, the only one possible in those conditions.

Just as a beginner in the fine arts reproduces the master's paintings to learn the use of paint, the application of light and shade, the proportion of objects, the imitation and repetition of movements educates the body. The locomotor system automates the processes of action and reaction. There comes a time when the application of a technique reaches an intuitive level.

Yasini watched everything with apprehension. The fighting style was complex. The individual's bodily-kinesthetic intelligence was required to the maximum. Maculelê involved jumping, squatting, spinning, kicking and switching weapons.

The medium noticed that there was a priority of attack. It ran from the knee to the neck. The square cut-out formed a critical attack zone. Forearms, wrists and shins were secondary targets. Body movement was constant, like a dance. The positioning of each part of the body counted.

The attacks also differed from one another. The horizontal ones followed a curvilinear trajectory and took longer due to the body's swing. Vertical attacks were straight and fast. Diagonal blows were delivered with or without a mixture of attacks. They were aimed at breaking bones and tearing muscles and tendons.

"The boy is very slow. His breathing is too heavy. He'll end up fatigued before he's even halfway through training."

"It's his first day. I noticed that too during calisthenics. But don't demand too much of him, Zuber. Every beginner is a gem to be polished. Don't be pushy. Hey, Akachi! Count four seconds and inhale, then four seconds and exhale. Your lungs won't be full of air, making you uncomfortable. Nor will you feel short of breath."

"Talking is easy, Master Yasini. I can't concentrate on so many things at once."

"But you're dumb, kid…"

"Enough, Zuber. All right. I'm going to hit my javelin on the ground. You won't have to count from one to four repeatedly. You'll hear the beats. You'll soon get used to the cardiorespiratory flow."

Yasini began to beat the javelin on the floor, making a crunching sound. Akachi began to breathe to the rhythm of the medium's beat. Little by little, his tiredness subsided. His concentration even increased. The air no longer entered his lungs as if he had swallowed a bunch of thumbtacks.

Despite all their efforts, Fenyang and his pupil were unable to synchronize their steps. If one raised his left arm, the other raised his right. The fighter stepped forward with his left leg, Akachi with his right. The boy began to get irritated by this. After missing another move, Akachi shouted at Fenyang:

"Is it your right or my right?"

"Sorry, I've always been bad at this side thing, Akachi. When I was practicing maculelê, I didn't really understand whether my master wanted me to move based on my right and left or his. So, he marked the sticks with colored ribbons, blue on the right and red on the left."

"What? You mean I was getting my movements wrong all this time because of you? You…"

"Hohohohoho, how stupid of them. If Chrome Hill depends on people like you to save it, you're fucked."

Zuber continued to laugh. Fenyang and Akachi looked at the Ori Guardian with contempt. They were struggling. Sweat dripped down their faces. They had determination. They would not be swayed by the negativity of the warlike spirit. They continued their exercises with greater intensity.

Suddenly, Akachi collapsed with one knee on the ground. Fenyang and Yasini went over to him. His left calf spasmed involuntarily. He tried to get up, but collapsed once again. The boy slammed a fist into the ground.

"Damn! More of that now."

"Calm down, kid. It's just a cramp. Stretch your leg, it'll relax your muscles. I'll give you a massage with circular movements and apply my Axé for a local analgesic effect. You'll feel a chill inside your muscles."

Akachi stood up with a limp. Yasini put her hand on his left calf and massaged it. A reddish light came out of her palm. The muscles stopped vibrating. The boy no longer felt any discomfort.

"Thank you… How did you do that, Master Yasini?"

"When you're ready, I'll teach you. Now, get back to training with Fenyang!"