Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 10.4

Ezara swung a sword furiously, imagining an opponent before her; imagining her blows were maiming and dismembering. Over head, side to side, upswings; she repeated all the types of attacks she could think of. Never before had she played at sword fighting, but she practiced now with a determination far beyond playing.

They had travelled all day once again, along the western side of the river. Their journey took them into higher elevations to avoid marshes below. After dinner, Ezara had grabbed a sword and snuck off from the group.

"You're starting with the wrong things," said Bogrel, surprising her. She had found a space for herself a few paces away from the camp, with some bushes and trees between them for privacy, which was now ruined.

"What do you mean? I need to hit someone with my sword to kill them, don't I?" Ezara responded.

Bogrel offered no answer, but approached her. He had a sword in his hand as well, which he held out to her handle first. 'Take this one, that sword isn't weighted well for you." They exchanged swords and he handled the one Ezara had been using briefly. "It's not weighted for anyone well, but a big man could swing it." He tossed it aside.

"Now, look at your feet. That's where we start. Put this foot forward," he instructed, moving her feet around with his own, until her stance met his approval. "Your arm may be holding the sword, but your whole body must move it and move with it. If you don't move your body right, your sword won't move right. Now, let's begin with the basic swing."

He carried on until late, until Ezara could not continue. She would not admit exhaustion, but her body could not keep pace with her determination. Bogrel recognized this, and was the one to call an end to the session. "Time to get some rest," he said to her, as she slumped, catching her breath.

She looked up at him. "Thank you," she said.

"Well, I haven't gone to all this trouble for you to go and kill yourself, despite your best attempt. Before we move out in the morning, I'll test you on your foot positions."

Ezara nodded, picked herself up and headed back to the makeshift camp where all the other children were well asleep. She joined them quickly.

They journeyed for another day over rough ground, with no further excitement than watching the birds. By first sunset they had travelled a good distance, and stopped for the night on a hillside bluff, overlooking the river valley. When most of the children settled for sleep, Ezara practised her sword work.

"Good, your feet are beginning to keep up with you," Bogrel said, as they came to an end to their practise as the last light faded.

They were not so far away from camp anymore; it was well known that Ezara was learning to use a sword. Ezrik and Damar had also joined some of the practise, but with much less discipline that Ezara. Bogrel humoured them, but concentrated on his first pupil. The children quickly quit most days.

Ezara could now exert herself more; the wound on her head was well on its way to healing and the bandaging around her eye had been taken off. She was seeing from that eye now, but she still had a funny squint.

They sat for several minutes, looking out over the landscape basking in the soft glow of the setting dim sun. Bogrel was taking drinks from some of the whiskey he still had.

"I've been wanting to know something, Bogrel," Ezara said. She gave pause, during which Bogrel looked at her patiently. "Why did you help us, leaving your home behind?"

For a moment he didn't move. Slowly, the hardness on his face dropped and he took a swig of his drink again. He stared off, dopey frown on his face, seemingly just watching the final sun going down. "Been going an awful lot on faith, to be honest. I've never been good with words." He paused again.

"What do you mean, going on faith?" Ezara asked.

"It's not always easy to wake up, and face the morning," he continued. "You need to have a reason. Well, you'll get your sorry ass up sooner or later without a reason, but if you don't have a reason, you're lost." Ezara's face was scrunched trying to understand his message, waiting for her answer. "I guess for a long time I've only been thinking about the drink when I wake up. Thought it was better for everyone if I just stayed away from everyone, because everyone I've ever been around ended up dead, as far as I can remember, unless I left them first. Drink was my reason."

"But what does faith do?"

"Well, it.." he stammered and paused, took another drink. "It's not that it does," and paused again, looking off searching for the words. "It's that maybe I believe one more time there's a chance for me to do something good, be something good. It's always turned into bad for me.

"You had me convinced this was turning to bad for me too, by nearly getting yourself killed." He glowered at her; she looked down, raising a hand to her injured head. "Now I'm not saying that wasn't stupid of you, but I know what it's like to have a lot of anger and pain inside of you. That's what I've had filling me most of my life."

They went silent once again and stared off.

"When you handed me that locket, it made me remember something I thought I'd forgotten," Bogrel continued. "Let me ask you, what did your mother tell you about that locket?"

"My mother...?" Ezara responded. It was now her turn to look afar and stare into the distance. "She said... our family passes the locket from mother to daughter as a reminder that we came from somewhere. Reminds us of our past. The one side, it was the dim sun, it reminded us of this. The opposite side was the bright sun, and it reminds us that we are staring into our future. She said we need to remember our future, and care for it, to make sure that we have someone to pass the locket to."

"Yes, that's close enough," Bogrel said. "Well, I hadn't thought like that in a long time. I've been given one last chance to do something good, for the future - for your future. Not just kill and end someone else's future. That's something that weighs on you after a while."

"I killed someone," Ezara said.

"Yes, and then you almost got killed."

"He deserved to die," she said sternly, after a minute.

"Did he?" Bogrel retorted. "Maybe he was an honest son making enough to bring bread home to his brothers and sisters. Maybe he had never hurt anyone."

"He wore their colours," she answered back, becoming worked up. "He was as stupid and evil as any of them, and they killed my parents and burned my home and killed my friends and tried to kill me and my little brother and I hate every one of them!" Ezara turned red in the face and stormed off.

Bogrel took another drink from his bottle and stared into the twilight.