“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!”
The strategy is progressing and this time he must work. My back doesn’t hit the ground until thirty.
Mak comes to my side, smiling.
“Horrible?” I ask out of breath.
“No,” Mak says as he pulls me to my feet. “You did well. You don’t have the strength you used to, but that’s because Remy worked on this nearly every day.”
“To be fair Mak,” Arek’s resonant voice carries, “you aren’t a fighter.”
Something in Mak’s eyes change and he stands up straight. He and Arek stare at each other for long enough to make everyone shift uncomfortably. “Then why don’t you show her if I don’t have what it takes?”
Maybe it is Arek’s discomfort that makes me suddenly curious. “Yeah,” I say.
He looks at me with irritation. “I didn’t want to do this to begin with.”
“But you saw how she got better. Make sure she knows what she’s truly up against,” Mak goads.
Arek walks away.
