Small homes speckle the surrounding rainforest as I am able to guess that the color of the next roof will be green. Three large hedges stand in my way, but once I pass them, the green roof peeks above the tree line. One thing is sure, it feels like a dream, but most likely it has in some way been my reality.

Just beyond a juniper tree with snake-like branches, I reach an overhang. Thirty feet below is a clearing where yellow wildflowers monopolize the area. Briston, Arek, Kenichi, and Mak, stand side by side facing the mountains with knives in their hands. From the waist up they wear nothing while they stand in isometric lunge and their arms move slowly in perfect synchronization. They bring their knives up in front of their faces and then straighten out their arms, pointing the blade and stretching their muscles as far as they can. Their faces show complete concentration as they move together in powerful lines of old manners of Tai Chi. The ability to keep their muscles under constant tension is a true form of art that makes me hold my breath. After several minutes from somewhere under the overhang, four more men appear and come to stand as counterpart to each one.

They point weapons directly at each other, but no one moves a muscle for some time. I jump slightly when Kenichi yells in Japanese, “Tatakai!” Instantly, the men attack. Arek and Mak are quick and strong, their arms addressing each strike with ease. It only takes moments for them to find the upper hand on their attackers and when they win, they stop, touch hands with their partner, and begin again. And although it takes them longer, Briston and Kenichi are better than most men. Repeatedly they fight until covered in sweat.

Then, just as Arek throws his opponent to the ground again, he looks straight at me—almost as though he knows I’m here. His sweaty fist rises to the sky to call everyone to stop. There is no use hiding now, so I descend the old chiseled rock stairs that lead into the meadow.

“I’m sorry I’m bothering you,” I say as I walk close.

“No, it’s all right,” Briston answers with a smile, breathing heavy.

Every one of them wears the same gi pants. Just under their left hip on the black material is a gold lion on his hind legs and it mesmerizes me. Until suddenly time shifts, and a new vision rises within me.

In the field of yellow flowers, sweat rolls down my face as thick as after a swim, but my thighs burn in lunge stance. A knife with a green lion emblem is clasped tightly in my palm. I’m determined. My developed body, muscular and trained, patiently waits.

Kenichi walks in a circle, treading lightly but confidently through the high grass around me. Mak, in warrior pose, stands across from me, our eyes never leaving each other’s. Kenichi speaks in Japanese about how to be centered within our spirit.

“You mustn’t fight with anger. Passion is good because it keeps you moving, it keeps you strong. But every time you get angry, you lose power.” While Kenichi speaks, I keep my eyes on Mak who is staring me down like an enemy.

“Tatakai!” Kenichi yells.

Our arms and hands swiftly battle. In ten moves, Mak falls to the ground, my arm around his chest and my leg catching the back of his legs till he lands hard with a groan. In seconds he is back on his feet.

“Again,” Kenichi calls out.

In six moves this time, he falls again.

The vision ends at the sound of Arek’s voice, “Willow?”

“I’ve been here before,” I say. “The lion.” I point to Arek’s emblem.

“We were here often,” Mak says with a smile.

“Did I win our fights often?”

“Yes.” Mak gives a sheepish grin.

“I was obviously trained to fight.”

“It isn’t like the fairytales,” Mak explains. “All Velieri receive the best training there is. Many of the Green Berets, Navy Seals, you name it, are hidden.” He looks at the other men as if sharing an inside joke. “If you can choose a soldier who has been training for ten to thirty years, or one that has been training for centuries . . .” Mak shrugs his shoulders and throws his knife to the ground so it sticks upright. “So, do you remember how to fight?”

“I’m not sure. I think the moves make sense.” I pull my sweater off knowing what he’ll ask next.

“Let’s see. You might surprise yourself,” Mak says, coming close to me. “No weapons.”

Immediately it is obvious that only Mak and Kenichi think this is a great idea. Mak isn’t going to take no for an answer, and deep inside, neither am I.

Briston steps to Mak. “Not yet.”

“I’ll go easy, of course. Don’t you see the importance of this, sir?” Mak asks.

Arek shakes his head and crosses his arms. “The last thing we need her to do is remember the fighter that she was. The important thing is just to keep her away from Navin until next week.”

Mak pushes back, “She’s clearly regaining memory, why not let her enjoy herself while she is here.” So again, he stands readily. One part of me shakes from fingertips to toes, the other is eager—this is now a consistent battle inside me.

“No Mak.” Arek tries to end it all before it begins.

A swift wind suddenly blasts the field, bending branches and flowers to the right, and this is my sign, the part of me that wants to know wins out.

After a moment, I throw my sweater to the ground and stand in front of Mak. “You seem to be salivating at the chance to fight me at my weakest.”

“I’m salivating because it was always a joy to watch Remy fight.” He winks at me, like he has always done.

Arek shakes his head with frustration while Briston tries to rally himself behind the idea.

“Mak, be kind,” Briston says and raises an eyebrow.

“Have you ever known me to be anything else?”

Instantly, my voice and Briston’s meet with a resounding, “Yes!”

Kenichi says nothing as he props my body in position, then calls us to begin. Although there is some hope in me as well as Mak, there is no instinct to do anything and in seconds, the wind is knocked out of me when I hit the ground with a thud.

Instantly, Arek tries to come, but Mak is there first with his hand out to me and helps me to my feet.

“That’s enough, Mak. Clearly, she’s going to have to learn everything again,” Arek assures him.

“I don’t buy that. It was the first chance . . . once again you feel you should run to her rescue. She’s a tough woman, Arek, if you don’t stand in her way.”

Every one of us hold our breath and wait for what Arek might say or do. His chest rises as Mak baits him, but instead of responding he remains quiet and turns to me. “Do you want to do this?”

I do. I really do. Yet it is possible that my voice won’t work so a nod is enough.

“Come on Willow,” Mak pleads.

“Just a second,” I say quickly and hurry to Arek. “Any suggestions?”

“Yes, practice and time.” His eyes bore into me.

“So, it’s going to hurt?” Being afraid of pain is not new. This is the very reason we are all cautious in life, but an unfamiliar urge to continue despite it is beginning to emerge.

“Yes. But the better stance you get with your feet, and the more strength you have so that you can move with the hits, the less it will cause you pain.”

Soon, we fight again. It is more like play for Mak and complete fumbling for me. Five moves and my back hits the ground hard when he takes my feet out from under me. Then again, five moves. Then again, five. A deep frustration begins to grow and now there is no stopping until something changes. Again, five moves. Again, five.

Then suddenly it takes him six. Instead of allowing his foot to come around and sweep mine, I move differently. What happens after that? Now it replays in my mind.

“Again,” I say quickly stepping to him. Yet this time, my hand blocks a bicep and steps differently. “Ten!” I yell from the ground with joy. “Again!”