Session 3
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe … zzzzzzzz.
A second later, Spike yelped as Sensei Leonard cuffed him. He stared into the stern gaze in the mirror as they knelt facing their reflections.
Sensei narrowed his eyes. "This is nothing to joke about. Breathing exercises are the core of training."
I think my body knows how to breathe by now, been doin' it just fine my whole life. Spike rolled his eyes. That earned him a second cuffing, hard enough to leave his ear smarting. "Ow!"
"That's enough. Meditation is not nap time."
Spike folded his arms across his chest, his fingers caught awkwardly in the crossover of the white gi he'd been handed. He adjusted his hands and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
"Alright, let's try this again." Sensei closed his eyes and started the deep breathing again.
Since the man couldn't see, Spike matched his breathing but kept his eyes cracked open. The con worked for about ten breaths.
"Eyes closed, Spike."
How did he … ? Spike blinked.
Turning to him, Sensei focused his hard stare. Despite his efforts, Spike wilted under the gaze. The accusation bit hard, "You have trouble closing your eyes, don't you."
"I … uhhh … no?" Spike swallowed, but he couldn't force the eye contact.
"Why? I trust there is a reason."
"No, there's no reason. Cause, well … " That searching continued, without even saying a further word, Sensei wrung it out. Spike's shoulders fell and he muttered, "It's stupid."
"It's because then you cannot see if someone approaches, right?"
Spike bit his lip, heat blossomed on his cheeks. In the mirror's reflection he couldn't escape the blushing. Damn it! How did he guess? Was it that obvious?
"That's easy to fix." Sensei rested his hands on his knees, the gaze softened. "You have more than one sense, do you not? Simply use the others. But, to do so, you'll need to breathe properly. I want you to try it."
Sitting up straighter, Spike wrinkled his nose. "Are you serious?"
"I am." Sensei shifted around and knelt in front of him, face to face, only of course he was much taller. He held up a hand. Despite his efforts to suppress the reflex, Spike flinched. "Relax. I will not strike you. That test is finished. I want you to close your eyes and just breathe. Take your time and enter the rhythm. I will reach toward you. Concentrate on what you hear. On the air against your skin."
Shaking his head, Spike planted his hands on his knees. "I think you're crazy, but whatever."
He shut his eyes. Everything went dark. Aware that he was not alone, Spike's heart rate increased. A bead of sweat blossomed. Each breath came faster. The rasp of his breathing filled his ears. He took a deep breath. Nope, slower. Slower. Calm the fuck down. He had to concentrate, suppressing the welling panic that threatened to build. In … out … in … out … With each cycle the tension ebbed, his heart beat slowed. Nothing happened.
No … that wasn't right. Something happened. The hairs on his arms pricked, a slow constant air flow across his skin. Soft echoes built in the apparent silence. It wasn't silent at all. Faint rustles of Sensei's breathing as the fabric shifted. The cadence was steady, the man was still.
Then it changed. A subtle shift in the current. The quiet rasp of the fabric cut by a sound growing closer. Closer.
Not opening his eyes, Spike reached up in the darkness in a blind snatch. His hand enclosed the sinewy wrist several inches from his chest. Spike opened his eyes and stared in surprise. He noted he wasn't the only one.
Sensei blinked not even concealing his shock. "You weren't peeking."
He shook his head. "No … that shit actually worked. How?"
"I'll be damned. I figured you'd sense it, but not be able to target it that precisely." With a laugh, Sensei placed a hand to his own chest. "When we are still, like the surface of a pond, we become sensitive to all manner of vibrations. It is the foundation that allows us access to our full potential. Now, I assure you, when you and I meditate in this room, that is all we are doing. You can allow yourself to relax into it."
Spike took a deep breath and let it out. Closing his eyes, he felt the air current once more punctuated by the slow rhythm set by the sensei. Muscle by muscle tension abandoned his limbs. He sank into the embrace, relieved for the first time since he could recall as he allowed the painful edge he had constantly clung to for survival to slide away breath by breath. In the back of his mind a thread remained, don't let his words be a lie, don't betray me, please don't betray me.
The passage of time stretched out as Spike sank down into the silent depths. Drifting.
"Alright, take it slow." Sensei's voice broke through, soft as a whisper. It sounded miles away. "Come on back to the surface now."
Spike realized it was intentional, a gentle nudge. Unwilling to emerge, he found the stillness oddly inviting. But a slow mantra penetrated, summoning him back. Fiber by fiber he returned.
At last Sensei's calm voice bid him, "Open your eyes."
The room was too bright at first. He blinked and stretched, another surprise as it felt as though he had taken a good nap in the refuge of the pool hall … when Joe had been in a good mood. He rubbed his eyes to clear them.
Sensei placed his fist into his palm and waited. Slowly, Spike copied the gesture as well as the bow. "I'm surprised, Spike. You sunk deep. Took awhile to get you back. Don't look ashamed, that was good." He got to his feet and offered a hand.
Pensively, Spike took it, thoughts of those fists driving at him set his hip throbbing. He hadn't even looked to see if the bruising had started. On his bare feet he had to look up at the sensei. "Alright, now remember that breathing technique. We're going to go through some real simple exercises. Just do what I do and breathe with each one. Slow, and smooth."
The sensei moved his hands slowly out in front of him. Half a step behind, Spike copied him. A footstep forward, a movement of the arm. Every thing was at a snail's pace. Awkward. It left Spike's limbs trembling from the tension, slightly unsteady on one foot.
"You're wobbling."Sensei paused. "Your first true lesson. Balance is key. When and where to shift your weight." Widening his stance he leaned back on his heel. "Push me. It's alright."
Cautiously, Spike pushed on his extended palm. He was easy to move. The sensei smiled and in one smooth move he shifted his weight to his front foot. Suddenly, he was rock solid. Spike doubled down, trying to make him budge with both hands and his full weight behind it. Once Spike was committed, Sensei shifted his weight and abandoned the space, sliding off to the side. Spike shot past him like a charging bull.
"You see? It's all about where the center of balance is. You control your own, you can shift that control to someone else if they let you."
Spike blinked, but already he was rocking back and forth exploring the subtle changes. The distance and angle of his bare feet. The sensei smiled and stood watching. Spike leaned forward leading with one shoulder then the other. Every slight change made a huge difference.
At last, Sensei stood with his palms together. "Try this."
Spike watched and mimicked the reflection in the mirror. Every muscle twitched in the slow motions as he lifted one leg and leaned forward, spreading his arms for balance. He wobbled in the stance, unlike the sensei.
"Feel it out. Let it settle." Sensei held it steady, waiting until he moved.
Biting his lip, Spike stared in frustration as his limbs shifted. So unlike the rock-stable teacher at his side.
"You're forcing it. Let it happen. Relax."
Taking a deep, frustration laden breath, Spike let it out and with it the tension of his limbs. Contrary to his instincts, it worked. The stance stabilized.
"Good, now, shift a little. See how each tiny motion changes things."
How odd, to stand before a mirror and for the first time become truly aware of his own body. Fascinated by the minute alterations of balance, Spike lost himself in the flow of a series of exercises keying into the center and how it moved.
Everything was silent. An exercise in stealth. Vicious stood at the end of the solitary cot flanked by two boys, Gable and Kieran. In this single room, sequestered on the other side of the dojo just down the hall from the sensei's room, held their target. Under the covers a young boy lay sound asleep.
Vulnerable.
In what little evening light filtered through the window, Vicious stared at the outline of this new addition to his group. The boy was small, thin, a half-starved thing that hardly looked threatening. He didn't need both the boys he'd brought for this. He could do it himself.
It always paid to be thorough. Make certain to drive the point home with witnesses. After all, there was only one chance to make a first impression. And this is one that would never be forgotten. Vicious was certain of that.
His fingers ran over the knotted silken cord cut from the dojo's banner. Vicious had selected that banner himself. "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting." What better way to illustrate that … he gave a nod to Gable.
The muscular boy grabbed onto the cord they'd slung up over a rafter and tugged hard! The cord came taught around the sleeping boy's right ankle. But the light weight couldn't resist Gable's power. Dragged backward, the boy's eyes snapped open as he scrambled in a panic.
Vicious smiled as the boy's hands grappled uselessly as he came to dangle from one leg. A leg, Vicious noted, that bore a patch of rough flesh from a recently healed wound on the back of the calf. The boy's head struck the metal bedpost, a blossom of red on his forehead. A panicked scream left his throat. Music to Vicious's ear.
With their victim hanging at their mercy as Gable held his thrashing body suspended in the air, Vicious drew back and delivered a solid palm strike to the gut. The boy's screaming stopped, cut off by an expulsion of air. He paused for a moment, gripping his chest, but then resumed his struggle. This time in silence, the thrashing grew more frantic.
Kieran punched the boy's back as he swung around, smiling at the sight. A moment later the boy's fist bloodied Kieran's nose, leaving him howling in pain. Pushing Kieran aside, Vicious snarled, "Trust you to not even be able to stand up to a snared victim." Strike after strike, Vicious landed blows and evaded the wild scrambling of limbs. "You're lucky," he glanced down at Kieran, "this one might actually be more useless than you."
Kieran, still gripping his nose, looked anywhere but Vicious's direction.
"What's going on?" Sensei's voice accompanied his hasty footsteps.
Vicious waved a hand. Gable released the cord, dropping their swinging victim onto the floor as they grabbed onto Kieran's collar and dragged him out of the room. Bare feet pounding down the hall, they didn't make it far before the sensei seized Kieran from their hands. Vicious and Gable turned.
Sensei Leonard glared hard at them, pulling Kieran's hand back to expose his battered and swelling nose. "What did I tell you last time?"
Gable obediently muttered, "That we weren't to be on this side of the dojo."
"What part of that is difficult to understand?" He stared into Vicious's eyes.
Vicious crossed his arms and remained silent.
"Fine. You three are so wide awake, go clean the main practice room. I expect every surface to be properly maintained by sunrise, and all three of you ready to begin lessons. Am I clear?"
The other two replied, "Yes, Sensei." Vicious, locked in an icy silence, turned on his heel and made for the dojo. Impression made. That's all that mattered. That boy would never forget.
As soon as the boys had vanished around the corner on their punishment, Leonard ran full tilt for the bedroom. It was silent, dark, the blanket had been thrown in the struggle. The cut cord, he recognized from the dojo, still hung over the rafter, the other end lay askew, the silken knot released. Not a sign of Spike, save a few droplets of blood in the wrong place to have been Kieran's.
"Damn those boys!" He made his way into the room, searching the floor to follow the droplets.
Back in the corner, tangled in the curtains, he heard the choked sob. A boy trying hard to swallow it and failing.
"Spike, you can come out. They're gone now."
A full minute passed. Then Spike sprang from the curtains. A trickle of blood from his forehead, hot tears in his eyes. He threw wild punches and yelled bloody murder, scrambling as Leonard caught him and held him from making the worst possible choice.
"Stop. You can't take them on right now." The boy was so easy to hold, even in his manic state. Nothing to him.
"I'm gonna make them pay!"
He gripped Spike's shoulders, absorbing the impotent pounding of his fists. "No, you won't. If you tried as you are now they'd shred you. Trust me, boy, I've trained them. You are not prepared for what they are capable of." Looking him over, he seemed more shaken than injured. The cut looked worse than it was, as head wounds tended to be. Cleaning that up, Leonard heaved a sigh.. as his newest student stood before him, shivering not in fear but frustration. "Alright, you're not going to sleep like this. Put your gi on and meet me in the practice room. Looks like foundations are over."
Leonard strode out of the room with a backward glance. Spike scrubbed the tears from his eyes determination burning in his gaze.
Damn it, that's not how I wanted this to start.
See You Space Cowboy