[continuing chapter 2]
"We'll start with wooden swords," Mah
the Knife said. "You'll still get
hurt, but unless you're exceptionally stupid it won't be fatal." He tossed
a sword at Wen, who fumbled it, then cursed when the smooth-polished tip of the
blade bounced off his toes. "Did I
say exceptionally stupid?" Mah asked.
"Perhaps I should qualify that."
"I just wasn't ready," Wen said. "You took me by surprise."
"What a good thing for you that your opponents will
always give you plenty of warning and treat you with the utmost
consideration." Mah raised his own
sword. "Pick that up if you don't
want a thick ear."
Wen grabbed the sword.
"By the hilt, please," said Mah. "If that was a real blade you'd have to
pick your nose left-handed now."
"If that was a real blade I'd have been able to tell
one end from the other," Wen said.
"Are you supposed to be teaching me or just making me angry?"
"Well, angry men make lousy fighters," Mah said,
smiling. "So let's try to teach you
how to take advantage of an angry man, rather than being one."
Mah showed Wen some basic stances and positions and, after a
few repetitions, Wen began to think that perhaps he might have a hope of being
rather good with a sword. Then Mah
grinned at him, and did something indescribable with his feet and shoulders,
and the next thing Wen knew his ear was throbbing and he was seeing sparks in
front of his eyes.
Then it happened again, and this time Mah hadn't even moved,
much less lifted his sword.
"Why are you wasting your time doing this when you
should be paying attention to your family?" On hearing the voice, Wen groaned. Number One Grandfather had returned. Could ghosts wield weapons?
Wen ignored the comment and returned to guard state. When Mah lunged again, his slashing cut did
not connect—because Wen was face-first on the rough, scrubby ground. "Pay attention when we're talking to
you," Number One Grandfather said.
"Either I'm getting better as I get older, or you're
making fun at my expense," Mah the Knife said. "I don't like the latter idea very much,
Wen Xia. And if you want to survive this
training you won't like that idea either."
"There's a third possibility that you haven't
considered," Wen said after spitting out a mouthful of some sort of
grass. "Can you teach me
self-defense against spirits?"
Mah grabbed Wen's forearm and hauled him to his feet. "Someone put a curse on you?" he
asked. "My skills are of a more
temporal nature, I'm afraid." Mah
stepped back, and Wen was surprised at the wary look in the instructor's eyes;
until now, he thought, I wouldn't have guessed there was anything in any of the
kingdoms Mah was afraid of.
"You should ignore this person until we have finished
speaking with you," said Number One Grandfather, and Wen felt the by now
familiar ghostly smack on the back of his head.
"We have important business to discuss."
"What can be more important than my learning better how
to stay alive?" Wen asked.
"What?" said Mah.
"Nothing, of course, but I didn't ask you" —
"No," Wen said.
"I wasn't talking to you. I
was talking—well, it's not exactly easy to explain."
"You're a very unusual man," Mah said in a careful
tone. "I think I'll just leave you
to deal with this—whatever it is you're dealing with. When you're ready to resume the lesson, I'll
be over there. Sharpening my blades on
that stone."
"Listen," Wen said when the instructor was safely
away, "is this sort of thing going to be happening on a steady basis
now? Because I have to tell you,
ancestors, I don't think I much care for it."
"Do you think we like it?" Number One Grandfather
asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I do.
You aren't going to convince me that you don't enjoy whacking me on the
back of my skull every time you conjure yourselves up around me."
"One does one's duty," Number One Grandfather said,
"whether one enjoys it or not. A
lesson you have apparently failed to learn."
"Why should I have to learn it? My father has absorbed that lesson so
thoroughly it makes me weep."
"My son your father is ill," Wen's grandfather
said. "We fear this illness may be
mortal. And even if he does recover, it
can't be denied that he's in his late forties now and so won't be with you much
longer."
"I love my father," Wen said, "but I'm not
really sure you could ever describe him as having been with me."
"I think the proper solution," a third grandfather
said, "is simply to transfer the illness to this wretch. His father will be able to resume the
rituals, and nobody will miss this filial disappointment of a man if he should
succumb."
"A good idea," Number One Grandfather responded,
"but only if we can somehow provide Wen Gang our descendant with another
son, one who we can hope will be more biddable than this one."
"I can think of a number of suitable women," said
a grandfather. "It wouldn't be that
difficult, would it?
"The sorts of women you
know," Number One Grandfather said, "would probably gift Wen Gang
with the pox—boils, at best—in addition to a son."
"I resent that," said the grandfather. "They were good girls. Well, entertaining girls if not necessarily
good."
"Entertainment is a good in itself, isn't it?"
asked another.
"I can't disagree with you," Wen said, "but
is it really necessary for you to include me in your discussion? Wouldn't you be much happier having this chat
in heaven or—well, wherever it is you live these days?"
"Everything to do with this family necessitates your
being involved in our discussions!"
This time Wen could see the blow approaching. It didn't matter, though; apparently
spiritual blows couldn't be blocked the way corporeal ones could.
"Not now they don't!
Not while my father lives."
Wen got to his feet and picked up the wooden sword. "Why can't you concentrate your
impressive energies on keeping my father alive?
He loves to do your
bidding!"
"He does have a point," Wen's grandfather
said. "We could probably do
something to keep my son Gang alive, and it would be easier than trying to
reform this disappointing grandson."
"Not nearly as much fun, though," grumbled Number One Grandfather.
Next Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2
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