by Collin Earl
“I guess I’m confused.” Monson scratched his head. “What does the lost continent of Atlantis have to do with the Carthaginians and the skeleton?”
“What indeed?” Mr. Gatt continued to look at him. “Quickly now, Mr. Grey, or you might be tardy for your next class.”
“Oh crap!” Monson rushed out the door without a backward glance.
“See you on Monday, Mr. Grey.” Mr. Gatt called after him.
Chapter 17- The TwoStep
Monson ran out the door of the building and down the path towards where it merged with another. He did not get far before he heard voices. His instincts told him to stay out of sight, so he remained behind the hedge.
“Could you give me back my book, please?”
Monson recognized the voice of the boy in the wheelchair.
“I’m doing you a favor, Grayson,” said another familiar voice. “You aren’t ever gonna be cool if people see you reading Star Wars novels all the time.”
Monson's eyes narrowed. “Derek….”
There was laughing all around. Obviously there were others besides Derek and the boy in the wheelchair.
“I think I’m OK with people thinking I’m uncool.” Grayson’s voice sounded meek but calculating, much like that first day when he caught Monson spying on that girl…that girl! He never did find out who she was—
Focus! Monson ripped his attention back to the conversation.
“Grayson, I don’t think you understand the significance of what I’m asking you, not to mention the benefits involved.” Derek’s voice sounded like he was becoming annoyed. He was so easy to read.
“I told you already,” answered Grayson. He, too, sounded annoyed. “I don’t know anything more than you do!”
Derek sighed loudly, almost theatrically. He snapped his fingers.
There were tearing noises and the sound of pages being scattered to the wind.
“My patience is wearing thin, Grayson. Bring me what I’m looking for or things are going to get ugly.”
“I told you I don’t have—"
Smack.
There was the sound of something smacking skin or like a stick slapping a flat surface. Then, silence. Monson felt stunned. Did Derek just hit Grayson?
“I want that information Grayson…you have no idea how badly I need it.”
Monson moved out from behind the hedge; enough was enough. He strolled towards Grayson, Derek and two of Derek’s goons.
It would be only a moment until they noticed him. Monson did some quick thinking and picked up his pace.
“Hey, Grayson!” Monson tried to make his voice slightly winded, as if he had been running a long distance. “Thanks for waiting for me—oh, Derek.”
It was evident that Monson’s appearance surprised them. He could see it written all over their faces. Grayson, however, recovered quickly and started to play along. He smiled as he looked at Monson. The left side of his face was red and looked like it was starting to puff a little. He answered with a calm, controlled voice.
“Geez, Monson…what took you so long?”
Monson thought quickly. “Sorry, Mr. Gatt needed to ask me something. He’s on his way down here so we can all go together.”
Derek and his cronies were shifting around, obviously uncomfortable with this sudden turn in events. Derek turned towards Monson.
“Yes?” Monson asked, looking back at him.
“Nothing. Just wanted to imprint your image in my mind.” He then addressed Grayson.
“You have four days.” With that, he walked off, his goons trailing behind him.
Monson watched them walk away. Rounding on Grayson, he started to speak, but Grayson cut him off.
“You really don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on. I just walked into a scene straight out of The Godfather. Don’t tell me not to ask.”
Grayson's demeanor changed slightly. He stared down at his feet.
“You can’t help me, Monson; it will just get worse if you do.”
Monson glared at him. “Something about you just isn’t right, you know that?”
Grayson looked at him as if he did not understand. “Why, whatever could you mean?” Monson detected a hint of sarcasm.
"Never mind.” Monson sighed and looked away, then back at Grayson. There was something he had to do before he could leave.
“Monson Grey.” Monson offered his hand. Grayson did not take it but looked at him curiously.
“We never did introduce ourselves,” replied Monson in answer to Grayson's expression. “It’s been driving me nuts.”
Grayson laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “Grayson Garrett.” He took Monson’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands for a brief moment, and then Grayson spoke up.
“Don’t you have gym now?”
Monson blanched. In the excitement, he totally forgot about sixth period. He could kick himself; it was the second time in like ten minutes. How did that happen?
Monson laughed. “Yeah, I’d better go.” He turned to leave but then stopped. “You better put some ice on that eye. It’s starting to swell.”
“I’ll do that.”
Monson started off again, almost running towards the gym.
What a weird encounter, thought Monson. Derek and Grayson. What could they have been talking about? Thoughts bounced around in Monson’s head when he remembered something.
“Wait…”
Monson stopped and jogged back towards the small classroom building. He searched for Grayson.
“Grayson,” Monson spoke out loud to himself. “How did you know what class I have next?”
*****
“No, no, no. Grey, you’re doing it wrong!”
Casey was yelling at him, again. He may have been a brilliant fighter and fencer, but he was a crappy teacher.
Casey looked at him in frustration, his face crinkled like an old man’s. “The Two Step,” he walked toward Monson with his bokken in hand, “is a feeling-out maneuver. It isn’t anything decisive.”
They were in gym now, going through the beginning forms of a sword-fighting style called Ja-no. It sounded like a made-up name to Monson, but he held his tongue because he was usually enjoyed his fencing lessons. However, Monson was having a difficult time with one of the style’s first and most important moves: the Two Step. It was currently the bane of his existence, and they were unable to move on because the Two Step was the basis for everything else in the Ja-no.
The fencing lessons were Artorius’ idea. Both he and Casey thought Monson moved a like a fencer and therefore both wanted to see where lessons took him. Monson had been learning this style for a while now, and contrary to initial speculation, had found he did not have any talent for it.
Time was also an issue. They never seemed to have enough. They would start and then too soon class would be over. Today was worse; they had even less time than usual. Monson’s fault, of course. By the time he arrived at The Yard for his gym class, he was already twenty minutes late. The Yard, he thought. Sure is a stupid nickname for a Stadium/sports center.
Inadvertently, Monson thought of Grayson. He sighed. He really needed to stop blowing things out of proportion.
Back on the pathway between The Yard and Mr. Gatt’s classroom, Monson had realized that there could be any number of reasons Grayson knew he had sixth period gym. You’re just being stupid, he told himself. Stop being so paranoid. After this self-inflicted verbal lashing, he ran full out towards The Yard, trying to make up for lost time. Casey and Artorius were a little annoyed at having to wait for him, but were quickly pacified when Monson related what happened between Grayson and Derek. He did not get to finish his story, however, as they really needed to start their practice.
“Monson Grey, that is the most horrible Two Step I have ever seen.”
Casey moved slightly to pop Monson on the head. Monson blocked him with the bokken.
“Bite me, Casey. This is hard.”
Artorius laugh
ed. “You’re one to talk, Casey. Do you remember when I was teaching you the Two Step? You weren’t so cocky then.”
Casey flushed slightly at Artorius’ comment but shot back, “And who’s better now?”
Artorius waved a huge hand. “Please.”
He stood up. “Let me show you, Grey.”
Artorius walked forward, an unbelievably long sword in his hand. This sword was black and a bit thicker than Monson’s and Casey’s. Monson had learned in one of his first lessons that this was not a bokken like his, but another type of mock blade called a suburito.
The suburito was to the nodachi what the bokken was to the katana— the practice weapon for its deadlier counterpart.
The suburito was quite a bit longer and heavier than the bokken and carried the disadvantages that came with increased size and weight. This did not bother Artorius, however. He was so strong that the extra length of the blade helped to counter the speed of someone like Casey. As his two friends squared up against one another, Monson wondered what it would be like if they were using real swords. It was not something he wished to find out.
Artorius’ voice roused Monson. “The Two Step initiates contact, which allows for a variety of different interactions depending on how your opponent reacts to you feeling him out.”
Monson was listening properly now.
“For example….”
Artorius took two quick steps towards Casey, making two swift thrusts toward his chest. Casey blocked the blows by sweeping his blade in front of his body.
Artorius stopped. “Did you see what happened there?”
Monson nodded.
“Good. As you saw, Casey did some simple, light cross-body blocks that were strong enough to block my larger weapon.”
“I see that,” said Monson still looking at the two. “What I don’t understand is why that move would be so important.”
Artorius looked at him thoughtfully as if he was trying to formulate an answer.
“Let me ask you this, Grey. If you were in a fight, which would you rather do, attack or defend?”
Monson thought about it. Something about the words “attack” and “defend” stirred something inside him.
“Defend, I suppose.”
Artorius smiled, gratified to hear the answer he was expecting.
“Now, what would you say if I told you that there was no such thing as attacking or defending.”
Now Monson was thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does,” said Artorius. “That’s the idea behind the Two Step; there is no attacking or defending, there’s just fighting—existing as one with your blade. It’s a flow, Monson. Truly skilled swordsmen fight in a flow, always countering and attacking together. ”
Monson simply stared at Artorius, who stared back, a knowing expression on his face.
Artorius walked towards the center of the mat and settled into a two-handed en garde stance. He started to speak, taking an overhanded swing with every completed phrase.
“There is no good, there is no evil. Only my blade and me. I do not attack, I do not defend. I stand and I call. Only my blade and me. Flow with the crests of burning ice and cooling fire. I stand as one. Only my blade and me.”
He stood with his eyes closed…waiting. His voice boomed.
“Come at me, Grey!”
“What?”
“ATTACK!”
Monson did so. Just like in practice, he flashed forward, bringing his mock blade down at an angle as if to cut Artorius from shoulder to hip. Artorius met the blow with the exact opposite attack. The two wooden blades connected with a resounding CRACK! Neither yielded, but pushed against each other. Artorius, using his size to his advantage, drove Monson back. Monson breathed deeply as it happened again; something akin to blood lust jumped through his veins. He tried to control the impulse, but his hands started to ache and his blood started to boil. It was difficult for him to concentrate. This happened every time he sparred. Monson tried to calm himself down. He squared up to Artorius, leaning back with most of his weight on his back foot, and held his blade in a two-handed grip, resting the handle near his shoulder, the tip pointed towards Artorius. He attacked again, this time with the Two Step: two trusts aimed towards Artorius’ chest. It was over in an instant. Artorius parried the first blow but not the second; instead his blade met Monson’s and he pressed the attack. The long blade swiftly ground along the edge of the shorter mock sword, coming to rest where Monson’s neck and shoulder met.
Monson froze. Artorius held the wooden blade to Monson’s throat, not moving an inch. Artorius spoke.
“The Two Step is the first form in the Ja-no. It is also the root of a very important principal.”
Monson felt like Artorius’ words were burning into his brain, and perhaps his very soul.
Artorius’ voice went very quiet.
“The Two-Step is designed to teach you one extremely important rule: You do not attack. You do not defend. You fight. You fight; to either attack or defend is to die. You must not just attack. You must not just defend. You must fight. That is the first principal of the Ja-no. The flow, Monson—you must not forget the flow.”
Casey suddenly popped up at their side as Artorius removed the blade from Monson’s throat.
“What Artorius is trying to say is that the concepts of attacking and defending compartmentalize something that should be combined as one. In a battle, every movement shouldn’t be just the sum of its parts, but the whole of itself. Every blow should be attacking and defending, together. It’s the mindset that's important. Being able to fight, whether it be with weapon or hand, is as much a state of mind as an actual physical task.”
Monson stared at them. He thought he understood, but something about the concept was not ringing true.
“If the state of mind is so important, why do we go through the motions so much? Wouldn’t the first principal of the Ja-no imply that we should focus on our state of mind?”
Artorius and Casey gaped at him. Monson was surprised at this.
“What? What did I say?”
“You know Grey, you never cease to amaze me,” said Artorius, shaking his head.
“Why is that?”
“You were able to cut to the defining aspect of the Ja-no and the parallel nature of body and mind. Remember this because it’s important: Someone who is truly in tune with his blade will be able to ignore the mind-set all together. ”
Monson cocked his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
A commotion cut them off mid-conversation. People were running—literally dropping equipment, and running. Dozens of students bolted from their various activities. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped a switch telling everyone to go…somewhere.
Artorius caught the arm of a girl from their year. It was one of the girls Artorius introduced to Monson and Casey their very first day of class. What was her name…?
“Ignace,” said Artorius. The girl stopped and turned to look at him. Her eyes seemed wild with excitement. What in the world was going on?
“Yeah Arthur, what’s up?” She had a milky voice, smooth and sweet.
“Hey Case, have you noticed Arthur only gets mad if we call him Arthur? ”
“Why yes Grey I have noticed that,” Casey replied in mock surprise. “In fact, I do not believe I have ever seen him correct a student of the female persuasion on that highly sensitive subject.”
Artorious shot them both dirty looks and then turned his attention back to Ignace. “Where’s the fire? Where’s everybody running to?”
“Cyann Harrison!” she blurted out. “She has another match. Everyone is going to watch.”
Monson stepped forward.
“Cyann has matches every day. Just about every guy in this student body has challenged her. Why should we care about this one?”
Ignace blushed deeply.
“It’s not Cyann people are going to see.”
The boys
stared at her. Monson spoke.
“Then who are they going to see?”
“Well, her opponent of course.”
They were getting nowhere.
“And who’s her opponent?”
The girl’s eyes widened in anticipation.
“Damion Peterson.”
Chapter 18- A Strange Courtship
“I think the whole school is here.”
Monson looked around as he, Casey and Artorius followed Ignace. The crowd of students rushed down the hall away from the secondary gyms and converged on the main corridor exiting to the Battleground. The mob rushed through the massive doors and hurried down dozens of stairs until they finally reached the guardrail separating the field from the spectators.
As excited as he was, Monson could not help but again marvel at the main field chamber. The Battleground was not like most football stadiums. True, it had all those indispensable items that a massive football stadium should have: tiered seating, press boxes, lighted score boards, concession stands, VIP boxes near the field with private entrances for the rich and famous. In these details, it was like any other shamefully expensive sports stadium. There was, however, one defining characteristic that set the Battlegrounds apart from all other sports complexes: This stadium was completely underground. When someone entered the Battlegrounds, they suddenly found themselves at the very top of the tiered seating, with seating flowing downward in the traditional fashion. Because the entrances of the dome-structure were at ground level, whoever built the complex had to dig one massive hole. Why the architect decided to design the field like this, Monson did not know. It seemed outrageous. In truth, he could not think of anything less practical. Moving the dirt alone probably cost a fortune. Despite all this, the home field of the Coren University Legionaries did have a certain beauty.
He looked around at the mass of the oncoming students when a thought occurred to him. He looked at Casey.
“How does everyone know about this fight? It seems unlikely that it’s just word of mouth.”
Casey shrugged, but Ignace flipped open her phone to answer the question.