It wasn't long before Mirlín was nodding against her saddle and Desiderius was already snoring behind a small boulder. Fyen sat with her legs crossed, the longsword resting in her lap, her eyes fixed on the flames flickering on the cold steel.
"How's that blade feel?" Reynaer asked, still sitting by the campfire even though Fyen had the first guard shift. His black cloak fluttered as a gust of wind blew over them.
Fyen shivered before she raised her eyes and noticed he looked a bit different, somehow more alert. "It feels all right, I guess."
His stare did not waver. "That's a dangerous item you're carrying."
What an odd comment, the girl thought. I can't be that much of a danger to anyone yet. Or is he just trying to scare me?
Not really certain what the man meant, Fyen shrugged. "Suppose so even though I don't really know how to use it."
"That's only one way it's dangerous. There are some who wouldn't hesitate cutting you down just for carrying that thing."
Fyen was a little surprised. "Oh?"
Reynaer's gaze became glazed; his eyes looked straight ahead but he was looking at something else. "I once knew a young man, only a little older than you. He inherited his father's sword, a fine weapon, but he didn't know what powers lie beneath the hard surface of polished steel. Every day he belted and carried the weapon and each day felt more and more at one with it even though he never practiced the art of fencing. He even started imagining things he would do with it should the need arise when, one day, he came across a woman being raped by two men. There were no other people on that road and he was the only one who could put a stop to it. Being of gentle heart, he could not bear to see another person suffering so he told the men to stop what they were doing. One of them stood up and walked to the young man. ‘Or what?' he demanded. With his knees shaking, the young man replied: ‘Or I will make you stop.' With that he drew his blade and held it in front of him. The ruffian immediately pulled his own rusty sword, struck the boy's fine blade aside, and pierced him with his blade. The evil wasn't stopped but a good man died years before his time."
Another cold gust of wind came and almost blew out their fire. Reynaer reached to his side, grabbed a piece of wood, and placed it almost gently into the starving flames. The fire sparkled and sparks flew on Fyen's exposed sword.
"That's a sad story," she said quietly, staring at the blade.
Reynaer seemed to come back to the moment. "The boy was not prepared to use his sword. Carrying a blade is like traveling with death. When something happens he might take you or he might choose to take your adversary. So I guess it's good to become friends with death if you choose to travel with him." A burned piece of wood snapped and fell in the fire.
"Then teach me to become friends with death. Teach me how to use this thing right," the girl suddenly said, her voice earnest.
The dark man looked at her blade. "If that is your wish, I will. But remember that when you keep death constantly by your side, he becomes a part of you, and you a part of him."
The girl shrugged. "He is already a part of me. Now I just want to become a part of him."
The man smiled at her. "I read a good quote once, don't know who said it originally: ‘If you look long enough into the void the void begins to look back through you.' Always keep that in mind, Fyen, especially during darker moments... and I don't mean the night."
The girl lowered her eyes, letting the phrase sink in. Then she looked at the man, feeling a bit amused. "Where do you get all that stuff anyway?"
Reynaer chuckled and dug into his saddlebag. "I read." He took out five books and handed them to Fyen. “Can you read?”
The girl looked at the worn covers and nodded. "Yeah, my mum taught me. She insisted that I learn to read well even though most girls in my village can’t, what with the Sons making up that law that girls aren’t allowed to attend any schools.” She held up the topmost volume. “‘The Longsword, an Introduction'," she read aloud. "An introduction? This book is like, over 300 pages long!"
The man smiled. "If you had 10 000 pages, I don't think you'd still have everything about the art of the longsword written down."
The girl shook her head, reluctantly set aside the manual, and looked at the next cover. "‘Philosophy for the Road'. That sounds interesting." She skimmed through the pages and read a passage: "When all magick fails, rely on three feet and a strong arm of steel... whatever does that mean?" Without looking up she kept flipping the pages. Then she moved on to the next volumes and looked disbelieving. "What are these?" she asked, holding up three books.
Reynaer looked closer and then nodded. "Poetry."
"Poetry?" Fyen asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Poetry," the man said solemnly though there was a glint in his eyes. “Food for the soul."
The girl flipped through the first pages of the thickest book and shook her head. "I can't understand a word of this!"
"That's because it's ancient poetry, written in the old language. The one with the blue covers... if they're actually blue anymore, is the national saga of the Feínians, the people of the Isgebind mountains."
Fyen nodded and set the two thicker books to the side but looked closely at the fifth volume, a plain-looking book with black covers.
She raised it up and looked at Reynaer. "What's this, then?"
The man smiled. "Thought that might interest you. It's a collection of poems and folk tales that are all related to death. If you want to know death, maybe that's a good place to start." Fyen opened the book and was immediately captivated by some tale or poem that had caught her eye. Reynaer stood up and put the other books back into his saddlebag. "We'll start tomorrow. Try to get some sleep, we have to get up before dawn."
As he laid down on his saddle, Fyen sat beside the fire with the exposed sword in her lap, reading the book of death. She had felt alone so far but the dark theme of the book and the lifelessness of the blade comforted her. The words on the pages told her that she wasn't the only person who had become familiar with the dark sibling of life, and the blade on her lap reminded her that she wasn't the only thing grown cold and hard at heart.
The ground was rocky and lifeless and the sky above was deep purple. Lightings striking far away illuminated the murky clouds slowly crawling across the dark heavens. She was running as fast as she could and she was afraid for her life but for some reason her lungs weren't burning and her thighs weren't aching. The bared longsword gleamed in her hand as she dashed alongside a steep red cliff with a vast ravine gaping to her left. Her heart jolted as she heard panting and running feet stomping in rubble behind her. A rock shifted under her foot and she fell down painfully.
Fyen turned on her back and saw a deep shadow standing above her. It had no face and yet she knew it was staring at her. The featureless black that was supposed to be its face came closer and closer, the shadow crawling over her. She felt chills running through her body, cold sweat trickling down her forehead. The shadow's head was barely inches away from hers when a crimson tongue surged out through the shadow. It was blistered and unnaturally long, a smell of sulphur suddenly wafting to her nostrils. Her heart was pounding as she tried to move away from the shadow and the slithering tongue closing in on her face but her arms and legs were frozen. Then something struck her side and her eyes focused on the tree line ahead.
"Wake up, kid, I can show you a couple of things but we have to do it now. We'll ride at dawn."
Reynaer walked towards the woods as Fyen sat up and tried to shake the sleep out of her drowsy head. She grabbed her sword and followed the big man with a hollow feeling in her guts. Reynaer had drawn his sword and was holding his arm straight in front of him, slashing a horizontal ‘8' in the air with one hand while the other was pressed against the chest, his palm resting lightly over his heart.
"What are you doing, Reyn?" Fyen asked, trying to imitate the movement and finding her own arm soon trembling, the shaking accompanied by a burning sensation in her forearm which quickly spread to her shoulder and upper torso.
"Why the grimace, lassie?" the big man grinned.
Fyen hadn't even noticed it, but her face indeed wore a painful grimace of a person trying their utmost to perform a delicate, yet physically demanding task. "It's hard! How can you do it so easily?"
The man walked over to her, looking at her shaking arm and white knuckles gripping the hilt of the sword. "Because I've done it for over a quarter century, kid. Try it with your other hand. Don't raise your shoulders." It was a struggle from the start but Fyen was determined to do it right. Reynaer's voice seemed oddly distant as the girl focused on strengthening her body and mind. "Relax, relax. You're all tight and tense, wasting precious energy and air. You'll be winded within seconds into battle if you don't preserve your strength." She noticed that her free hand was clenched into a tight fist and her whole body was rigid from exertion. One by one, she tried relaxing her limbs whilst trying to keep the sword moving. "That's better, isn't it?" Reynaer asked, slowly walking around her. "Keep that shoulder down!"
Biting back a snappy retort, Fyen clenched her teeth and lowered her shaking shoulder. They spent the better part of an hour going through basic strikes and parries, correct form, stance, movement, and other basics of fencing. By the end of their session, Fyen was drenched in sweat.
"It always seemed so easy in the heroic tales, the slayings of dragons, duels between knights and stuff. Now I'm gonna stink all day," she muttered as she sat down on the dewy grass to catch her breath.
Reynaer sheathed his sword. ”It'll get easier each day if you keep at it. What better way to start a morning than a little sword training, eh?"
Fyen looked up and swiped a strand of wet hair out of her eyes. "Now that you mention it, I do feel all fresh and ready for the day though I probably don't smell too fresh," she chuckled. "By the way, how did you learn all that stuff anyway? I always kinda figured you were just a scrapper who had learned by fighting lots."
Reynaer smiled while he was retying his boot laces. "I wasn't always a wanderer. When I was a boy, about seven or eight, I was taken in by templar knights, Sons of the Sun who had devoted their lives to fighting and religion with the emphasis on fencing. I guess I could have ended up in a worse place for while the life was hard, they had me learn to read, study manuscripts and philosophy, they taught me several forms of combat, the short sword and buckler, spear, bow and arrow, and, of course, the longsword. For eight years, every morning begun like this, and today wasn't that different from my very first lesson." He was smiling as he looked at Fyen. "You did well, kid, better than I when I first started."
Fyen blinked. "I thought I was hopeless."
Reynaer laughed. "Everyone's hopeless in the beginning but you were far less hopeless than many men I've seen. Keep at it and you'll make a fine swordsm... woman. I promise."
With that they stood up and returned to the camp where Desiderius was preparing breakfast while Mirlín was tending their horses. When walking back to the camp, a sudden dizziness came over Fyen and she thought she was going to faint. The girl leaned on her knees, feeling all blood drain from her face. Are my periods starting? Not now, damnit! Not bloody now! I haven't even got a spare damn rag! With her hands and feet trembling, she lowered her head and tried to breathe deeply to steady herself and regain control of her body.
Mirlín was crouched nearby checking Nightmare's legs. "You all right there, Fyen?"
The girl glanced at the woman and nodded. "Yeah, just feel a bit faint is all. Reynaer keeps a hard school." Mirlín stood up and grimaced slightly. Fyen noticed this and asked: "You all right, are you in pain?"
The woman shook her head and smiled. "So, you have not been riding a lot, huh?"
The girl shrugged, stood up carefully, and walked over to Nightmare. "No, not really, but yesterday when we rode up this hill I felt I did pretty good."
"You looked like a sack of potatoes riding a cart down a bumpy hill."
Fyen felt a sting in her chest and she lowered her gaze. “Oh.”
“I’ll teach you before you ruin your horse. It’s a nice one,” she said and patted Nightmare’s neck. “I think she likes you.”
Feeling a little better, the girl also stepped over to her horse and caressed its neck. “I like her very much too. It’s like… we understand each other. If that makes any sense.”
"That’s a good sign. I think this animal has been mistreated by men which is why it shuns Des and Reynaer. But you know, the more time you spend with Nightmare, the more you will become as one. Some day she will hear your thoughts and be your wings when you need to fly."
Fyen stroked the animal's muzzle and smiled. "Neat. When can we start?"
"I think you have done enough training for one morning. Next we'll eat breakfast before we have to move on but I can teach you while we are riding," Mirlín said.
With that they walked to the fire but Fyen kept glancing back at Nightmare, just waiting for the moment she could ride her again.
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