Legacy of the Defender (The Defender Series Book 1) (5 page)

“You are correct.  Failures become lessons if you learn from them.  Therefore, there are no negative experiences, only those we create ourselves.  It is time for you to gain your first mark of achievement.  Step over here.”  I rose and walked over, very unsure what he was going to do but trusting that he had my best interest in mind.  He motioned for me to kneel so I did.

“Life is a balance of pain and suffering.  Lessons gained through pain are the same as lessons gained through pleasure.  They balance each other out, for without one there is not the other.  Remember this lesson, for it is going to hurt, but the joy you will feel from the accomplishment will balance out the pain you will experience.” 

I swallowed hard and held my chin up.  He placed his hand on my stomach and the other hand on my forehead and began to chant. 

A burning coursed through me and its intensity grew.  My blood felt as if it was on fire.  Patterns traced themselves on my abdominal muscles.  I could not see what they were, for they ran deep, like my insides were having something forcibly added to them.  It hurt as if nothing ever felt before and worse than any wound, for the pain did not knock me out.  My mind was fully aware of what was happening, but I did not know how to process it.  My body trembled.  His hands glowed brightly, as if they seared my flesh.

Will power failed and the question “How long can I endure?” formed in my mind, when he stopped and the glow faded and went out.  The pain started to bleed off, but it took a few minutes for it to dissipate entirely.  My skin was still on fire, and I had no idea what he had done, other than mark me somehow.  It felt like a burn mark.  Branding was something that
gang member pledges
did for initiation, and it felt similar to that.  I was certain it had to mean something.  There had been no metal in the fire or in his hand.  He used pure magic to achieve his purpose. 

Feeling my stomach, I noticed my abdomen was still sensitive, but the there was no more pain.  A raised portion of the skin was all that remained.  It was slightly elevated, but not pronounced, and it tingled when I touched it.  My parents forbade tattoos in their household.  Therefore, to have something worse on me would make my mother’s blood boil.  A smile formed at the thought of finally being my own man.  I looked down and noticed dark red ink as well.  Then it started to move.  I pulled my hand away suddenly.  Malnuras laughed.

“It is a symbol that will heal you when you invoke its power.  Each side of the mark will balance out the healing energy needed to repair you.  You will learn how to use it in time.  For now, you need to focus on letting yourself heal,” he said.

I looked at him puzzled for a split second and did not even see him draw the knife and slash me deeply across the chest.  I fell back with a gasp.  I rolled and came to my feet shocked at what had transpired.  He did not press the attack but simply sat there and watched me bleed.

“Well now, heal yourself,” he said.

Panic hit me hard.  I was going to die!

Dropping to my knees came easy, for my head swam at the blood loss.  After the fight at the river, I did not think I had much blood left to lose.  The rest of it was spilling out now, all over the campsite.  Bewilderment followed the dizziness, but realization finally sunk in.  A demonstration of my healing powers.  Embarrassment would not be the result today.  An image of energy flowing through me and knitting the flesh back together came to my mind.  My endorphins kicked in because the wound was deep. 

Nothing happened.  My vision started to blur.  He finally spoke.

“Imagine a path from your mind to your mark and channel the energy to the wound,” he said, calmly.

I attempted what he said to do.  At first, there was nothing.  Consciousness was fading when, suddenly, something ran from the mark to my head then down to the gouge in my chest.  The energy coursed like a pulse from one area to the other.  A euphoric feeling flowed forth and I noticed the free flowing blood starting to diminish.  My frown turned to a smile.  Sweat poured from my brow due to the intense concentration.  It fell to my chest and mixed in with the wound causing a slight discomfort as it rolled right in.

After the wound finished closing, leaving a phantom pain in its wake, I took a deep breath.  My chest was tender to the touch.  My focus stayed on breathing for quite some time.  Not having a concept of time bugged me a little, but not having to worry about it also had it benefits.  Moments passed.  Further examination revealed the tissue was closing nicely.  Still sensitive to the touch, but nothing like it had been moments before, it tingled as the healing turned off.  As I sat there in amazement, it dawned on me.  This was what my teacher had been doing for me for however long my soul had been there.  

I had just worked magic, even though the origin of it had not been mine.  From that moment forward, I was a true believer.  A new sense of awareness came over me.  Feeling connected to my teacher for the first time as if we had shared something special made me fall inside myself for a moment.  I sat replaying all of the events that had just taken place.

“How do you feel?” my teacher asked as if he did not already know the answer.

“I feel really good,” I said.

Next thing I knew the dagger flashed three times before I could even blink.  The sudden trauma hit me before my mind could even register what he did.  I must have given him a pitiful look for the expression on his face actually surprised me.  The ground rushed up at me.

“You didn’t think I was going to let up on you, did you, Dieter?”  His voice was calm and slightly mocking.

“No, Teacher,” I responded, staggering. 

It was going to be a long day.  I glanced at my arm and saw a scar shaped like the hideous pattern of a jagged-toothed mouth.  At least I was going to have an impressive scar.  The glint of steel flashed again. 

This time, however, I blocked it.

IV

Meet Your Master

Warrior’s Prayer
Shadows dance from candle flame
Spelling out my future bane
With each rise and fall of light
Gives to me the strength to fight
The tears of mother earth have spoken
Her word to man will not be broken
I am to stand alone this day
To stave the hoards that come my way
I question not my task at hand
To give my life to save the land
What future holds in store for me
I must succeed mankind lives free
To God above my prayers do go
give me strength; more then I know
For If I fall and fail this day
Forgive me now of this I pray

              What would it mean to be a Defender? 

I asked myself this question often.  The result lately was poetic words about my life.  Sometimes only bits and pieces formed while others formed in moments.  I could write twenty lines and it would all rhyme, but at the end of the day, I would forget them due to exhaustion.  With no paper or writing device, charcoal was my best friend.  There was a suitable depression in a cave now covered with my writing.  To my surprise, the words stayed with me all night long and were on my mind when my eyes opened.

I was still irritated at Malnuras for letting me almost die, but the lessons learned had shown me that tests are not always fair.  Getting over it was something each person had to deal with.  What mattered most was learning to adapt and stay alive.  By graduation day, I had more than learned this lesson.  Though I was still on my feet and had managed to arrive back at camp on my own strength, I felt in some way the day was a small failure.  The satisfaction of achieving graduation did sink in, not that I had much to be proud of.  However, surviving a fight with two monsters was certainly a victory. 

My teacher thought my vomit tactic was probably what saved the day.  Had the second creature continued its chewing run on my arm, it might have caused me to bleed out or it could have taken away my ability to tie a tourniquet, or worse.  I did not argue with his assessment.  His different point of view was true.  We watched my first solo battle in the runes several times in silence before he began to analyze my technique.  Choosing not to argue, but simply nod instead, seemed to be the best response.  Every point he brought up made me think.  Luck is always a factor to a point, but skill saved me.

It is hard to debate, however, when you are watching a recording of yourself.  Every flaw magnified itself; every advantage diminished.  To go for the rock was my best but in truth it was a reflex.  My teacher shrugged when it ended.

“Okay teacher, what did I do wrong?” 

“There are always other options.  You will have to study this and figure them out.”

“I will do as you suggest.”  The next day I dissected my performance.  I found nothing wrong with my performance and still felt it to be effective, if not improvisational.  When I brought this to Malnuras’s attention, he cuffed me and pointed to my sword.  I bowed and went back to the fire pit, feeling stupid for not returning with the obvious answer of preparation.

I really wanted to please him, but at the same time, the urge to be the best and to achieve something that no human had been granted drove me to work harder.  The chance to defend the planet against the darkness was like a dream.  In the mission, I found purpose.  Yet even the heavens were not safe.  The daemons that we did find had to come here the exact same way they had to get to earth.  It just took less energy.  My teacher did not explain this to me, but left me guessing and asking more questions. 

He said simply, “It is time.”

The next morning started, like all mornings, with my studies.  The test was the subject and trying to find one of these mysterious options was the goal.  I was concentrating when Malnuras strolled into camp looking rather occupied in his thoughts.  I started to speak when his hand raised and motioned for silence.  My voice trailed off as he went to his pack and pulled out a stone.  A rune decorated the surface.  My curiosity piqued.  What was its purpose?  He threw it into the fire, and within seconds, an image appeared in a flame and formed its own plume.  This plume seemed different from the others as the shape of it truly looked as if it was too perfect to be of natural origin.  The image was crystal clear, yet it did not flux to the heat of the fire like the other runes.

The image formed.  A man in armor fought atop of a wall adorned with ladders with men on them.  His enemy climbed ladders.  It was a siege.  He bore a cloak with gold embroidery that was in constant motion behind him as he moved.  The man was not very large but had a frame built for dealing damage.  His helmet made it hard to make out any features on his face, had they been important.  Blades flashed in the light so fast that it was hard to see his movements.  Instinctively the thought of slowing the image down came to mind and the picture responded accordingly.

I began to study his style of fighting.  He had two swords and wielded them with deadly precision.  Men fell from the ladders left and right from his nimble, yet effective, strikes.  It appeared as though he was barely contacting them with the weapons as they went either rigid or limp, and then plummeted to the ground dozens of feet below.  The fighter ran back and forth between twenty feet of wall section at an impressive rate, and seemed to be holding the section of wall single-handedly.  The entire time bolts from crossbows or arrows were raining death on his section of the wall.  As the warrior ran, his swords remained in motion the entire time and were so blurry at times that not all the contacts he made with the men on the ladders were visible.  At the same time, he deflected arrows with ease.  This got my attention.  I had seen men fight before, but this was amazing. 

I took the time to absorb every maneuver, every act, of this warrior.  Not one arrow or bolt touched him, and he held his section for hours until the tide slowed and the enemy withdrew.  It took several minutes of watching him pace, catching his breath before other men showed up and gave him water.  The newcomers pulled the ladders up instead of pushing them down for obvious reasons.  This warrior must have finally lost his adrenaline rush for after about five minutes of no activity, he fell down and lay still until the end of the image.  A look of wonder must have openly showed on my face.  I had just seen a combat god do the impossible.  I could not even describe the feeling of elation having watched it, but sadness did rise because I wanted to be as good as him, but I felt that it would never happen.  My gaze drifted to my teacher.  He sat in silence while my search for words ended.

“Teacher, I want to learn this way.” 

He looked at me with the kind of look a teacher gives a student that declares desire, but the will power or skill could be a hindrance.  Unease at his glance caught me slightly off balance. I knew the issue lay with me, not his ability to teach.  It did make me nervous that he did not speak for moments and he stared as if he looked right through me.  His intense face made me think of Jason when he tried to teach me something and had to watch me fail repeatedly.  This look continued.  He did not move and I sat there waiting.  My attention finally turned back to the rune that still hung in the fire and started the sequence over again.  Within seconds, a thought came to mind.

No movement was wasted; every strike, even if it was a block, did something to his opponent.

With Malnuras not saying anything, I submerged myself in my studies.  It still fascinated me beyond words to be able to watch these battles from any vantage point and that the vantage point could be changed, backed up, and even forwarded if needed.  Simply by watching and recreating, I learned lessons that the greatest warriors would only hope to gain.  I did not have two weapons yet, only the one, and my staff, but stepping through the movements repeatedly became my preferred learning.  The lessons helped me advance faster without having a live opponent trying to kill me.   

Days passed into weeks without a word from my teacher.  He moved around the camp at times, but he filled his days with meditation.  When I did glance at him from time to time, he barely moved.  My attention was engrossed in combat training.  If he left camp, he was not sneaky about it.

I started developing combinations.  Many of the moves were impossible for me to do or just straight up beyond my skill level at this time.  It was hard to flip over a target that was not there, cut its head off, and run another imaginary target through.  So I stuck to what I could do, incredible combinations with my hands.  My speed had almost doubled.  My coordination was unreal at times.  I executed some moves flawlessly.  I was trying to pay attention to footwork and balance on one particular day.  The hand-to-hand training that I had just finished weeks before was really coming into play here.  Balance became the key to every move and stance; now it seemed my every routine.  I developed new stances and forms that required exceptional balance.  Simple maneuvers transformed into deadly combinations.  My survival hinged on the perfection of these skills.

My mind focused on an aerial move that allowed me to block an incoming attack and counter in the same motion.  I was working on the move when Malnuras finally spoke.  It had been several hours since he came into camp on this occasion and he had a staring contest with the stones.  His voice jarred my focus with its ability to command and penetrate the mind.  My first reaction was to try to make some witty comment, but as I looked at him, the seriousness struck me like a gust of wind on the ocean.  Something was not right.  A calm chill came over me.

His gaze did not leave mine.  I sensed a mile marker approaching.  I braced for bad news.

“A decision has been made that I do not know is right for you,” he began as he stared into the fire.  “The Archangel Michael was to be your master, but he has been gravely wounded by Lucifer in an epic struggle to save one of the other realms much like this one.  You are going to be given a master that knows weapons better than Michael but is not so strict in his discipline, which you need.”

I started to comment but the words did not leave my throat.  It suddenly became dry the moment I tried to speak.  His words were rather odd here.  Trying to debate something when one truly does not know the subject matter may be fun, but it can also bring unwanted trouble.  If this wizened man had taught me anything, it was that asking too many questions was bad, especially if asked in the wrong place or the wrong time.  Therefore, I listened intently, and we continued to look into the fire at the chosen lesson.

Silence hung over the area like a wet blanket.  It conforms to everything and the cold wetness crept into every corner.  It was a little uncomfortable at first, but I knew better already.  Malnuras said just as much with his silence as he did with his carefully chosen words.  At times, what he did not say was just as emphasized as what he did say.  Even just a glance from him was a thousand words.  The night passed uneventfully as lessons repeated until I had memorized the subject matter.  I learned each tactic until it was so basic that I did not even have to practice.  Malnuras asked me to demonstrate what I had learned, then grunted as though he did not approve of my learning so quickly.  His disapproval did not sit well with me, as my desire to make him proud had been my focus, more than the actual learning itself. 

Silence found my tongue again, and I chose to let it stay there, feeling it best leave him be, especially if he had thoughts that were beyond me.  He was fair.  It took a while to separate the teacher and master aspects of our relationship, but with enough strikes from his staff, I began to get the lesson very quickly, especially if I slipped and called him Master.

*     *     *

Dawn’s rays of yellow light began to peak over the hills to the realms again.  The morning was slightly cold and dew clung to the plant life and everything else quite heavily.  I always liked to watch it burn off.  The steam lifted skyward to the blue oblivion beyond.  My cares followed the dissipating steam as it separated into smaller and smaller clusters of water and vanished in the atmosphere.   

Around the campsite, wild grasses grew in a variety of colors.  Deep greens and light yellows were common colors.  The grass was similar to grass on Earth, but the texture was soft and the blades very thin.  It was a dense, thick carpet, more concentrated than the grass back home.  The main difference was this grass seemed alive and you could almost hear it whisper in your ear as you lay on it. 

Sometimes the whispering grass made me wonder if I was hearing things.  At other times I knew that it spoke to me.  The messages always had something to do with my lesson from the night before, something that I needed to learn or perfect.  I wondered if the grass was in cahoots with Malnuras.  Malnuras was nature-driven in his teachings, so it made sense that he would use the plants to transfer ideas into me.  Anytime I asked him about the grass, he did not give me an answer.  A nod here or a grunt there was his only response.  I gave up asking.

One particular morning, I awoke to whisperings.  They were loud, more so than normal.  Hearing them so prevalent caught me off guard.  As I lay there with my eyes closed tight, I let the orchestra of melodic voices soothe me and tried to relax again.  My mind could not explain it.  There were so many different sounds that trying to understand it became taxing, as if it was purposely testing me.  I was about to give up after several minutes when I finally heard a phrase ring out of nowhere.