(Flashback) Shield, Staff and Stamina (solo)

[Brodon Windriver]

18th day of summer, AV 510

I knew he was disappointed in me. He had taken me several times to the Wizard's Pavilion to try to learn shielding, but I did not appear to have the gift. Of course, he never made any remarks indicating a judgment of failure on my part, nor did he fail to mention that I surely possessed some OTHER strength. But the two comments combined to instill a sense that I was weak in a manner that he would have me be strong.

It was only when he made a remark that felt like an accusation of not trying that I felt shame and anger. Anger because I HAD tried! Truly I had....Shame because I had STOPPED trying after the fourth or fifth session. Why continue wasting time on a skill I simply do not possess? This was what I told myself - HAD BEEN telling myself for an ADDITIONAL four or five sessions.

"Is it not enough that I can wield a hand-held shield?" I would protest, "A melee shield? You yourself said I showed great promise!"

"And so you do, my son, but if a knife is already at your throat, an assassin is not going to wait while you fetch your shield and work it between your skin and his blade." he would answer, and I would drop my gaze to the ground knowing the truth of his words. At least he no longer demanded I take up his sword and make futile efforts to pierce his defensive djed.

"But if there's a skill I can learn to prevent that assassin from getting the knife to my throat in the first pla - " he halted my argument with an upturned hand and a 'haven't-we-had-this-argument-before' look.

I sighed and recited the answer I knew he would give with a tone lacking the full respect it deserved,

"for every skill a man can list to thwart assassins knife,
a dozen counter-moves exist to drain a fool of life."

The lilting sarcasm and rhythmic drone of my words clearly displayed how sick I, too, was becoming of this argument.

He diplomatically ignored my disrespectful tone and put his arm around my shoulder, "Son, you are only fourteen, and while manhood has begun to develop within you, you are far from full grown. Not all strengths manifest at the same time. Be patient and be focused and, I promise, you will be rewarded."

I nodded my head as an inspiration struck me. Without warning, I spun and kicked hard at his shin. His eyes widened and he flung his arms out a little from his legs as his fingers spread. My kick felt as though it struck and he teetered and nearly fell, taking a few steps back.

Surprise and anger crossed his face for a moment but quickly became a grin. He held up his finger in a scolding fashion, "Nice try, boy, but though you may think you taught me some sort of lesson, I say instead you have taught yourself TWO.

"The first being that my shield, so quickly needed, WAS in place and, as you can see -" he pulled up his pants leg showing not so much as a scratch, "I suffered no DAMAGE at all. The second being that, as I say so often, there is a weakness in everything. Though my shield held, your kick was well placed and solidly struck and my leg WAS forced back because your kick drove the SHIELD ITSELF back. It spared my leg from the actual impact, but if you had hit my knee, I might still have been injured from having the shield itself driven into it. My point being that nothing is foolproof! Thus, you will still practice on schedule and THAT is your punishment for kicking your old man."

He laughed and put his arm around me as we walked back towards the tents, "Nice kick, by the way. Nothing wrong with knowing how to fight weaponless either."

[Brodon Windriver]

I thought about the ease with which my father had summoned his shield. Even if I HAD succeeded in the technique they were trying to teach me, it would have taken several minutes just to start generating djed, let alone shape it and focus its function. No doubt he had practiced his technique until it was so second nature as to be automatic. He had told me that every person has different ways of accessing their djed. He had thought that maybe the technique he had learned with would be more natural to me than what the wizards in the pavilion were using. He used what he called the 'splash'.

We went to a pool of water and he poured a little of the oil from the torches over my right hand. He had me dip my hand slowly in the water. As I felt the cool touch of the water cross the length of my hand, I saw a sheen of oil grow on the surface of the water. The vision of the spread of oil and the sensation of the cool water was what I needed to focus on. He had me repeat the process over and over, telling me to concentrate on what it looked like and how it felt.

We did this several days in a row. I should say 'nights' in a row, as it was always the last thing I did before relaxing and going to bed, sometimes using buckets so the oil would only spread to encompass that shape. Then finding different shaped buckets or pans or what-have-you, to help me imagine different shapes for the plane of oil. He would talk to me about it as I lie in bed, trying to get the memory firmly settled in my mind before I slept.

The next phase was to try to recall the sensation in my mind without using the water and oil. His voice was almost hypnotic as he sat by me droning on about visualizing the surface of the water. Eyes open or closed, he would try to help me visualize the slight ripple of the water's surface, to picture my fingertips approaching and touching the water, to see the oil spread from my hand.

We alternated days of truly touching the water with days of only trying to recall the sensation of it. Fortifying my impression that the coolness was the djed dispersing from my body, that the loss of heat was the thinning of djed as it flowed into the air around me, a flat plane of it, growing ever-broader as the water slowly engulfed the length of my hand.

He explained that, for him, the instantaneous summoning of a shield was the effect of his recall of water being splashed on him at whatever point he needed it. When I kicked him those days ago, he had pictured, in his mind, a gush of water preceding my foot, as though someone had dashed a bucket on his legs and the shield was there. Of course, he was able to be far more precise and versatile given more time, but it had served well enough for that situation.

[Brodon Windriver]

I awoke one morning to the sense of trying to remember the previous night's dream. I went to prop myself up and realized my hand was numb. I assumed I had slept on it wrong and began to shake and massage it to get the circulation back. There was the oddest sense of not being able to touch it, as though the palm of my OTHER hand was also numb. I looked at it more closely and saw what appeared to be a light coating on it. The morning was still grey and the light was dim. I fairly jumped from the bedroll and ran to the flap to have a better look.

Yes! There was definitely a light, bluish shimmer around my hand, which felt cooler than the rest of that arm. Excitedly, I backhanded a nearby support pole and was giddy when I felt the impact lightly, but no pain. I took steps in every direction in confused excitement as I tried to decide who to tell first. My father would be up already and I clapped my hands as I made my decision...and felt the clap of my hands normally.

I was crestfallen to discover my hand now felt normal and the shimmer was gone. My studies and training suffered that day for lack of focus. I could DO it..and yet I could not. What good is a defensive shield that fades when the bearer gets excited? My father, of course, was delirious with pride and assured me there were many applications where the crafter's emotional state would have no bearing on the shield's function. But now I could not do it even when calm. I felt back to square one.

Days passed in frustration and I began to wonder if my one success had been my imagination. Then it happened again. During a session of Staff weapon training, I was taking a short break and left my weapon on the ground where water had been spilled and the shadow from a tent pole passed through it. One spot on the staff was now cooler and wetter than the rest. Going through a routine spin motion, my hand hit that spot and as my mind inadvertently recalled my father's impromptu shield training at the touch, my staff flew from my hand.

No one was struck by it, fortunately, but the Staff master began berating my clumsiness. He stopped suddenly as did all other conversation around me as I stared at my hand, ignoring them. A soft "Aaaaahhh" rose from every throat as we all saw my hand shimmering with a shield. But, again, as soon as I got eager to display what I had done, it was gone.

[Brodon Windriver]

My father assured me I would grow accustomed to what triggered my shield. He told me that since it was coming unbidden, I was inadvertently aligning it against what I held in the affected hand. I was unintentionally working a more advanced focus prior to learning fundamental control.

"Did you have this problem when you first started?" I asked, knowing he wouldn't lie to me.

His hesitation was answer enough and he knew it, so he answered what he assumed I would be thinking next. "When I learned, I wasn't having to combine so many other studies, so it was far less likely for some sudden trigger to cause an unwanted result. Perhaps that is what we should focus on now."

We spent a few days now trying to provoke responses from unexpected textures, temperatures and locations. I was blindfolded and we would try all sorts of combinations of things. But, as usual, I got no results from anything. We were both puzzled as to whether this was a good thing. Since we trying NOT to get UNWANTED results, no results at all was partially what we were after, but it was hardly anything we could call success.

Now it happened from time to time that the rotating duty roster disrupted study time for a day or two. I took this opportunity to take a ride down to a nearby stream to try practicing without the subtle pressure of my father monitoring my efforts and results. I did not begrudge him his hope to see me learn shielding, but his presence often added to my preconceived assumption that I would fail.

I brought my practice staff and made several attempts to provoke a response to no avail. I then started pulling other items I had brought from the saddlebags, a metal cup, a fired clay bracelet, a rawhide whip, some bones from the kitchen and other odds and ends for textural variety.

Shortly, I grew bored with the usual lack of results and sat by the stream. I was having a snack when a bit of color caught my eye. A feather, circling in an eddy in the stream, floated near the shore. I hadn't brought anything with feathers, so I reached for it.

As my hand closed on it, I subconsciously noted a round stone on the stream bed forming a rippling, visual circle around the feather. I was distantly reminded of the rim of one of the pails my father and I had used several days ago and, as my hand touched the surface of the stream, the coolness of the touch extended up to my wrist and my hand shimmered as the feather popped out of my grasp.

I took a deep breath and tried to hold a casual attitude to avoid getting excited. I stretched as though bored and rubbed my cool hand on the back of my neck. It grew cool as well, although I didn't know if it was actually a shield or just the water from my hand.

I was about to find out, however, as the horse suddenly neighed in terror and shadows flashed across the surface of the tall grass. Sudden heavy thuds and feral honks punctuated the sound of galloping hooves as the horse broke and ran for the tents.

Glassbeaks!

[Brodon Windriver]

I froze in panic as I saw three of the beasts follow after the horse and all I could do was hope that we were close enough for the horse to make it. The sudden realization that I had not considered how I was going to get safely back to camp was cut short as a shadow flashed across me and something heavy slammed the back of my neck, sending me tumbling to the ground.

Training took over and I rolled with the fall. I reached for my staff and a heavy, taloned foot made to pin my hand to the ground. Strangely, my hand felt an odd pressure as the foot stepped down and then the foot slipped off and the beast staggered, surprised by the slip. I grabbed my staff and swung it as rolled over. I noticed that my neck and hand no longer felt cool and I assumed that whatever shield had protected my neck and hand was now gone and I could not count on their further protection.

There was only one Glassbeak and it was only a seven-footer, a young one. No doubt the rest of the pack had focused on the horse and only this one had seen ME. Nonetheless, my heart hammered with fear as I considered my predicament. On the ground, shield spent, facing the most vicious predator in the Sea of Grass with just a staff. The beast seemed to realize it as well as its temporary, wide-eyed surprise at its loss of footing narrowed to single-minded predatory hunger. I could almost imagine a cruel smile on its face as it bent to slice me open with its sharp-edged beak.

My shield had saved me once. It would not save me this time.

[Brodon Windriver]

I jabbed the creature’s ankle with the end of the staff and it gave me a second’s respite from being torn apart as it hopped back a step with an angry squawk. I pulled the staff back vertically against my body and rolled to my left hearing two thumps as it tried twice to stomp on me but missed. I tried to time when the third attempt would hit and anchored the end of the staff. I propped up the other end as I saw the scaly, taloned foot coming down and managed to aim between two toes and heaved with all my strength to upset the beast’s footing again.

It worked, but, again, it only gave me a moment’s delay to what seemed inevitable. Additionally, one of its talons ripped through my leather sleeve, leaving a long bloody score down my right forearm. But its attempt to snap at me with its beak was stymied as it took a few clumsy steps to regain its balance. I rolled back to my right, knowing that this was not gaining me anything but a few more seconds of life before my horrible end.

I rolled into what felt like a tree trunk and realized the glassbeak had decided to halt my evasion by stepping into my path rather than trying to step right on me. I rolled back the other way and ran, face down, into its other leg. I could hear it clucking as if laughing and thought ‘here it comes, now I die’. I knew that if I rolled back it would only be to see its beak tear into my stomach, so in desperation, I thrust the staff up behind me as I lay on my face, in the way a swordsman will reverse thrust to catch an enemy approaching from behind.

I made contact instantly, and the end I held was pinned upright on the ground as the staff shook briefly to the sound of choking hacks. Then something pulled on it and I had to hold on tight to keep from having it torn from my grip. I was lifted to a crouch and I spun to see that the staff was crammed down the beast’s throat. It must have caught it in its throat as it bent down to snap at me. My weight was enough to keep the beast from lifting me off my feet permanently with just his neck, so it tried to back away from it as it coughed choking honks and flung me from side to side.

I regained my feet and ran the staff straight at the creature’s head, hoping to drive it further down its throat, but it lifted its head instinctively to spoil the angle, and I realized I could not allow the staff to come free or I would lose my advantage. I realized quickly that I didn’t have the strength to break its neck and we entered a sort of dance. The beast swinging its head side to side trying to dislodge me, taking swipes at me with its clawed feet, while I ran the staff forward at every chance to keep it firmly lodged in its throat, dodging the worst of its claws and wrenching its head as best I could to keep it off balance.

But I was getting tired…

[Brodon Windriver]

The glassbeak also seemed to sense that time was on its side, for though the staff was certainly causing it great discomfort, it WAS still able to breathe. So it was content to continue backing up, forcing me to charge in while it struck at me with its claws.

Soon I had bloody slashes all over and was again falling into despair that I was only prolonging the inevitable. Occasionally I would get in a good sound whack on the incoming attack with the end of the staff that I held, once even breaking off a talon. I kept at it as best I could but it was getting increasingly hard to keep my arms up.

Then it happened, the beast actually feinted with its one foot, only to step down and kick me from behind with its other foot. I lost my grip and tumbled to the ground, gasping in fear and exhaustion. I rolled over, tucking my legs up as a last defense against the attack I assumed was coming.

Two things struck me at once. The first being that the beast was not attacking me, but was, rather, trying to clutch the staff with its right foot to pull it from its throat. The second was the feel of the cured rawhide handle of the whip I had brought that had lain forgotten on the ground up to this point.

Hope and adrenaline surged in my veins, my exhaustion forgotten.

[Brodon Windriver]

I rolled to my knees and spun, lashing out with the whip at the foot clutching the staff. The end curled twice around both the staff and the foot and I pulled quick and hard, both to jerk the creature towards me and to give myself momentum towards it.

It gave one croaking honk as my tug forced it to take one clumsy hop towards me and I dashed to its right as it spun to its left. It reared back its head as it stepped down with its right foot, finally pulling the staff from its throat.

Still tightly lashed to the beast's right ankle, the newly freed staff swayed towards me as I ran by the freshly planted foot. I grabbed the free end and continued circling as the staff's lashed end was twisted into the creature's ankle, the leverage giving it crushing pressure.

Its voice finally unhindered, the glassbeak screeched in pain and lifted the injured foot instinctively in an effort to ease the pressure. I slammed the free end of the staff down on the other foot and the beast hopped as if to get away from it. I blocked the free end of the staff on the ground against my left foot and pulled the lashed end in an overhand arc, pivoting it on the grounded end, forcing the lashed foot to the ground a few inches past the free one, forcing the beast to spin and turn its back to me to spare its ankle further pain.

I locked my left arm around its legs with adrenaline-powered desperation for the second it took to lash the remaining length of the whip twice around its legs. I then drove myself with my last gasp into the backs of the monster's legs. It teetered for a second, then its knees buckled and it crashed face-first to the ground with a winded squawk.

I nearly passed out with relief and exhaustion as I fell to my knees, being sure to keep my hands on the staff to maintain the necessary leverage to keep the thing from rolling over where it might still attack me with its beak.

I had done it...I had hog-tied a glassbeak....sort of.

[Brodon Windriver]

But what now?

I was slowly regaining my strength as I held the beast immobile with the leverage the staff gave me over its legs. But I had no way to do any damage to it. Once again I found myself in a stalemate. I couldn't just sit here. Eventually I would fall asleep, or it would make a sudden move and get loose, or its packmates would return and that would be it. I had to kill it.

But what with? Both my weapons were what were allowing me to hold it down. The only other thing I had was my little all-purpose knife, but it was in my pack, several yards away by the side of the stream.

I thought if I could get to my feet without it reacting, I might be able to grab my pack and get back to reacquire my hold on it before it got to its feet.

I slowly got up from my knees to a crouch. The beast must have sensed some relaxing of pressure, because it suddenly swung its feet to the left, pulling the knotted weapons from my hands. I scrambled to regain my grip, but it swung them back to the right, slamming its feet and the staff into my chest, sending me flying to land in a breathless, gasping heap ten feet away.

I knew in an instant that the knife was no good now, the creature had already gotten its feet under it and was starting to balance itself to rise. I ran to it and wrapped my arms around its neck trying to force it back down or get a choke hold or something.

But it was too late. It started to rise and I did the only thing I could. I swung my leg over its back and rose with it, finding myself mounted on it.

[Brodon Windriver]

The glassbeak tried to shake me off, but its feet were still greatly hindered by the staff and whip knotted with them. It bent to reach down and bite through the whip but my weight upset its balance and it was forced to take a pair of hops forward to counter as it reared its head back up, twisting and swinging to dislodge me.

I locked my arms and legs around it, hugging tight as it went into a frenzy of shaking, hopping and twisting. My legs were not as secure as my arms and more than once I was brought to near ruin as one of them would slip to dangle at the beast's chest. I managed to plant my foot in its chest and pull myself back up, but it spun and I swung in a flat centrifugal arc just below its beak to reattach myself on the other side.

I tried to jam my thumb in one of its eyes, but its eyelid was tougher than i guessed and all I did was bring a hiss of rage and an attempt to bite my hand off.

WE went on like this for a few minutes, covering a short distance, until suddenly its shaking took on a different aspect and it suddenly crowed in what I could only describe as triumph. The speed with which it suddenly bolted across the plains nearly pulled me from my grip and I realized with dread that it had finally worked its legs free of the whip and the staff.

All I could do was try to hang on and pray for a miracle.