"You can't run from the shadow. But you can invite it to dance."
4th of Vhalar, 673
- She smacked into the hard stone floor, her mother’s staff smacking her across the shins and she cried out in pain. Deshira circled her daughter, noting signs of weakness and scoffed, “Again.”
“But mother, it hurts!”
Another thwack sounded as the blunt weapon collided with her arm and Navyri yelped, jumping to her feet with tears springing in her blue eyes. She scrambled to grab the tamo dagger from the ground, sniffling and taking her stance. Deshira shook her head, “What did we tell you? Reposition.”
We. Navyri knew her mother only meant herself, but in Gravokian and in Augiery, to say I was almost unheard of. In fact, Navyri wasn’t entirely sure what the word for I was.
She glanced down, a fleeting look of confusion passing over face as she realized her sloppy footwork and the way in which she held her dagger. She shifted her weight, and listened as her mother began criticizing her holds, taking the blade from her to demonstrate the ample ways in which one was to hold their weapon. Forward holds, with the blade upwards and out away from the body. Navyri noticed the way her thumb shifted, the rest of Deshira’s fingers staying mostly in the same position. Then she watched her mother’s hands move expertly, flipping the knife so that it was facing downward, similar methods used for the reverse. When it was her turn, she gave the dagger back and Navyri imitated her. It might not have shown to the young Naerikk, but Deshira was proud of her daughter. Had other members of their family prowled into the room, they would have seen the way in which the older shadow woman watched her, approval evident to those who knew what to look for.
Each time Navyri made a mistake, a part of her was beaten with the pole, some hits - particularly the ones against her hands - made her drop her weapons they worked with and it left the young girl frown in frustration. Each complaint was met with pain, and so she stopped whining. It was an easy lesson to learn but difficult to continually follow, even after Deshira set down the staff and motioned for her daughter to join her into the center of the room.
“Try to charge us, Navyri.”
“But, mother-”
“Navyri,” Deshira said her name, her Gravokian accent lilting the last syllable with a gentle warning, “Attack us.”
With a sharp nod, the little girl gripped her knife, and charged, slashing first at her mother’s stomach with no more hesitation. Deshira expected the move and once her daughter was within reach, jumped to the side and brought her elbow between the girl’s shoulder blades in reprimand. The counter attack made Navyri fall face first into the ground, pain radiating from the top of her spine. Groaning, she tried to push herself upwards and felt how difficult it was to use the muscles in her back to support herself.
When she was sitting up, her mother motioned for her to take her feet again, “You’re smaller than me. Notice how our ranges differ?” Deshira extended an arm and pointed to the length differences, “You can use someone’s size to your advantage, but you must be careful. Close range is a tricky dance for the smaller party. They must get closer to land hits, but risk feeling the power behind the stronger opponent.”
She imagined this, nodding as she rose to her feet and rolled her shoulders and flexed her knife hand. Deshira and Navyri continued their training, with Navyri trying a number of exercises on her mother. It was exhaustive, particularly the leg sweep, that was demonstrated on her before taught. She learned how important putting enough force behind the move, because in her first attempt to catch her mother off guard, it resulted in barely more than a kicking of her shin.
It seemed like every nerve was lit on fire and she fell over, clutching her leg as Deshira barely wobbled. The older Naer shook her head, and waited knowing that her Navyri would be covered in bruises before the day was over. She’d be surprised if the child was able to train tomorrow and briefly considered allowing the a break.
Before she could fully complete the thought, Navyri was already rolling to her feet, limping slightly when she took a couple experimental steps, “Can we… do something else?”
“Are you admitting weakness?”
“No.. I mean…” Navyri gave a pleading look to her mother but quickly looked away, the words dying in her throat.
“Good,” Deshira said, cutting her off and walking to the table with a number of training weapons. Navyri’s eyes followed to where her hands moved, watching her mother hover over the knives and sickles. Some of the weapons she didn’t recognize, with their supple leather handles and sharpened blades. There were swords and rapiers, maces and whips. The collection was extensive and she tried to mentally name them all, fearing the choice her instructor would inevitably choose.
“Go put on some bracers, Navyri.” Her mother didn’t even look up from her musings, but that didn’t mean the young woman would take her any less seriously. The younger Naer hobbled over to where some armor sat and began to quickly slip her arms into leather bindings, tightening them around her bare forearm and securing them in place. If Deshira was going to have her grab protection…. Well, she would need it. Her leg was starting to hurt less and she was capable of putting more weight on it, despite its throbbing.
When she looked up, Deshira had grabbed a bullwhip and was unwinding it, “We are going to swing this. When it comes your way, you are to jump and roll out of the way. Do you understand?” For a little extra motivation, Deshira lifted her arm and threw it downward, the whip following her will like a living snake, hissing and breaking against the ground when it cracked. Navyri nodded, and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet again.
Dodge. Dodge….
Navyri watched her mother’s movement closely, a nervousness settling and willing her to perform. She pushed through the pain in her leg and when she saw the swing of her mother’s arm, tucked her body inward, rolling away on the floor and jumping back to her feet in preparation. It was exhaustive work, and the hard impact of the floor made the pain emphasize her tired muscles, but she felt she could do it.
It wasn’t until the whip speed increased that it slapped her against the gauntlet she was wearing and she could feel the impact split the leather protecting her. She barely had enough time to react, imagining it to be her skin, when a voice from the doorway spoke up, “Isn’t this enough, Deshira?”
Deshira, who had her arm pulled back, ready to continue her onslaught of attacks on her daughter - after all who would go easy on her in a real fight of life or death - stopped and turned sharply, eyes blazing in irritation as she laid upon her lover’s figure. Gauis, dressed in slave attire, still had the swagger of a free Biqaj and it both worried and frustrated the older Naerikk.
“You have a problem with how I raise my daughter?”
Gaius looked as if he was going to open his mouth and protest. His expression said it all clear enough. Navyri is our daughter. For whatever reason, he held his tongue, perhaps his training in restraint outside their home had taught him to watch his mouth, but he gave a disapproving look at the woman he once loved.
Navyri looked between the two, young, but still sensing the divide building between her parents. She was quick to speak, hoping she could smooth the tension that was starting to feel palpable, “It’s okay, Father. I’m alright.” she smiled then, perhaps a bit forced from her exhaustion, but her words were genuine enough, “I’m learning a lot. Don’t worry.” Brushing strands of dark hair from her face, “Mother made me wear protection and everything, she won’t hurt me.”
“You think I would put our daughter in danger? That I am negligent?” Deshira’s eyes had narrowed and she seemed to ignore some of Navyri’s plea, taking an offensive route that spurred on Gaius.
His jaw clenched and he stepped forward, forgetting his position in the city, “You are holding a whip and directing it at our daughter! I’m not sure what kind of mother you are!”
Just then, Deshira shot forward, the sound of palm against cheek resounding in the room as Gaius’ head flew to the side. He lifted a hand, feeling where the blow had hit him and for a moment, Navyri held her breath. Was he going to hit her back? Such a display was unheard of! It could get him killed! Deshira took advantage of his recovery time, her face inches from her lover’s as she gave a sharp threat, “Don’t you ever talk to me like that, or I’ll be the only parent she has.”
Navyri panicked, mouth gaping as she looked between both figures. Deshira threw down the whip between their feet, “Clean up, Navyri. We’re done for the day.” And with that, her mother turned, dismissing them both.
Common Rakahi Gravokian
