Flashback A Father's Lessons

[Gideon]

8th of Spring, 493 AV “Wake up, my son.” Shu’s voice was soft and deep like the slow shifting of the earth over countless millennia. It was comforting, but powerful, and rarely belied any sense of urgency. Gideon’s ears had been trained to heed its tone well over the years, and rely on its strength when doubt filled him. The boy’s glazed blue eyes opened almost immediately upon hearing it, the seal of sleep cast promptly to the side as he breathed in sharply from having been stirred. The air was cool in his lungs, and smelled of familiar things. It was still night out, as far as one could tell, no light clinging dimly to their tent’s hide wall, nor warmth creeping in along the sands. Only the sound of a crackling fire brought down to molten embers could be heard close by. What the child could see was his father’s dark silhouette hovering nebulously above him, crouched beside the animal hides that served as his son’s blankets and bedding. With no sense of urgency to ignite the air around them, Gideon studied his father's silhouette with a gently flickering gaze. Propping his upper body onto the stilt of one elbow, his other hand slid from the blanket and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. “Are you ready to begin your training?” It was hardly a question, and even less of one that needed answering. “You really mean it?! Now?” The response was a strained whisper that leaked into a squeal of delight. The shadowed head only bobbed, but Gideon could tell that his father was smiling, air passing through a narrow nose in tapering bursts. From elsewhere inside the tent, both could hear a woman’s body suddenly shift beneath the blankets. “Take him outside already, Shu,” a voice grumbled, though amusement cast a silver lining around its irascible tone. “And make sure he’s clothed before you go dancing about like fools.” Looking back to his son from the dark, Shu ruffled the black entanglement of his son's hair. ”Appears you woke the beast. Get dressed and meet me outside.” ”I heard that…” The dull growl chased after her husband’s retreating silhouette as he lifted the opening to their tent and disappeared behind it, a thief on the run. With no time spent dawdling, Gideon fumbled frantically in the dark for his clothes. Finding his long sleeved tunic first among the pile, he swept it up and over his head, thrashing around until he found the appropriate slot for his tousled head to fit through. Unsure as to which way was front or back, the boy simply left it draped autonomously around his neck and searched again until he found his pants. Taking slightly more time to determine which leg belonged where, though no less impatient, the boy slid his right leg in first and was just about to move his other when he heard the disgruntled snap of his mother’s jaw. Bold blue eyes burst wide with alarm like a desert mouse having imprudently wandered into the den of a viper, youthful hands scurrying towards the location of his sandals as he scooped them both up and fled from the tent. Tangled in a mishmash of clothes, Gideon’s graceful attempts to flee were abruptly stunted by the loose legging of his trousers which coiled mutinously around his left ankle. Rather than dance away from the tent’s entrance as intended, the boy smashed through it instead, body tumbling out into the sands. A splash of loose earth quietly exploded in all directions as his torso collided with the ground, the footwear he once clutched cast waywardly into the air in opposite directions. Forward momentum gave him enough drive to complete a half somersault, pouncing back up onto his feet a moment later and stumbling a yard before regaining some semblance of balance. Rather astonished at having kept all his limbs intact, Gideon's shoulders slumped once he heard the muffled laughter of his father creep up through the darkness behind him. Sheepishly the boy grabbed hold of his loose trousers and danced his left foot through the opening, pulling the cloth up to his waist with a cantankerous pout that saw his bottom lip puckering. His fingers fumbled with the strings, crafting something close, but not quite akin to, a knot against his pelvis. His eyes then searched around for his footwear, collecting each one by the pale light of Leth whom hung loftily in the sky. These he could put on later, the sands in this area mercifully soft and cool against the already callused soles of his feet. Managing to figure out which side of his shirt would fit him properly, the boy slipped each arm into their respective sleeves and allowed the fabric to cascade clumsily over his torso. Ambling up to stand before his father’s moonlit shadow, Gideon looked up to see that Shu was having a difficult time keeping his composure. ”She was going to catch me…” the boy muttered as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, staring down to avoid Shu‘s gaze. With knots still a task that eluded his exiguous ken, he folded each sleeve back up to his elbow. ”Where are we going, anyway?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation away from his bungling. Still serving the night with an airy laugh, Shu bent down and gathered a wrapped bundle of items from the sand that Gideon had not seen before. Sliding his hand across his son’s shoulders, the older man began leading him away from the camp. "You will see soon enough. I’ve set up a small training area not far from here where we won't disturb the rest of the camp.”

[Gideon]

As I walked along with my father that night, I remember how pale everything appeared beneath Leth’s gaze. We were as ghosts drifting through barren wastes, our footsteps in the sand the only assurance that our hearts still pumped red with blood through our veins. The trail of my father’s footsteps looked monstrous compared to mine, and at times I fell into step behind him thinking how wonderful it would be to have big feet like his some day--how you could make quite the impression on the world with feet like that to take you anywhere your heart desired. Big feet, and a big sword. The thought of what lie ahead in this training my father so vaguely alluded to left me more excited than I‘d felt in a whole span. I had been told stories of great Chaktawe warriors growing up, of course, displaying virtues like courage, honor, and perseverance in their lifetimes. These tales had all come from my father, a man who enjoyed the stretch of a story just enough that it sowed no seeds of doubt. But these were noble virtues any boy of reasonable moral fiber could hold fast to. And if my father’s plans involved some sort of martial training, then what child wouldn’t be thrilled with the prospect? I can’t even begin to tell you how many questions I asked him, chattering on like a baying jackal all the way to a location predestined by fate. Perhaps if I’d known what lie in wait for us in the somber dark that night, I wouldn’t have hounded my father for the answers I so impatiently awaited. After all, the burning lands are no place for frivolity, even if it is within yelling distance of one's camp…

[Gideon]

The path that led them through the twisting sands was lit by Leth’s hand, milk white dunes rising half heartedly into the sky and peaking into the black depths where an army of stars created a sheer curtain of silver across the sky. The tied bundle that Shu bore upon his shoulder rattled with a metallic pealing sound, and stole glances from Gideon’s eyes many a time over as the boy tried deciphering what was contained within. Into a hushed valley they found themselves marching, its location nondescript aside from a single preparation Shu had made beforehand. At its center rested a pile of bleached timber, stacked together with gnarled ends forming a vague circle at the base that rose to a pointed pinnacle above. Mingling between the boughs rested smaller pieces of wood and kindling, with enough passages for air that getting it started would be of little trouble. Holding a fist out to his son, Shu nodded to two loose objects grinding between his fingers that silently pleaded for Gideon to receive them. Without hesitation, cupped hands rose just beneath his father’s own as a piece of flint, and a thin bar of tarnished steel fell into them, grasped as small treasures he brought close to his chest. With little need to have the order given for such an obvious task, the boy ran to the center and knelt down in the sands. Shadowed eyes focused intently on the dark pyre before him, finding a tangle of brittle yellow brush that seemed suitable for catching sparks as he threaded it out and set it down in his lap. Gideon noticed that the size of the stacked wood was much larger than what the Chaktawe camps were accustomed to building when they set down for the evening, and saw that some of the pieces had been drizzled with a glistening substance that smelled foul upon the air. The boy could only assume it was an oil of some sort, which meant the tinder was hardly worth the effort. But Gideon was thorough, and meddled with things in a manner that promised to keep his eyebrows intact. Striking the steel bar against the cragged surface of flint just before his knees, Gideon’s eyes captured the reflection the small shower of red-white embers and held his breath. It fascinated a child’s mind that such a force as fire was birthed from such humble beginnings as that of a spark. Humbling, and blinding. The tinder began to catch as smoke wisped from its mangled depths, the boy coddling the pile in his hands as he stooped low to feed air into it through puckered lips. Smoke became red fibers, and the embers made way to flame, crackling softly upon the night air as he fed it into the stack of wood as far as his arm would reach. Like the disgruntled growl of a lioness, it came to life, twigs popping and snapping as the fire traced a wicker path along the trail of oil. Spreading remarkably even across the pile, soon the roar of flame splashed out into the corners of silence, filling them. Stepping away from his creation, Gideon marveled in silence for what felt like ages, hypnotized by the way it danced before his eyes and the manner in which it warmed the cool flesh of his exposed face and forearms. “Gideon. Catch.” Shu’s voice, calm as the mountains, utterly failed to impart any sense of urgency that perhaps should have been given. Turning casually away from the fire, Gideon saw but a glint of metal stealing a quick reflection of the fire before he felt its mass crash against him, his right arm and ankle bristling angrily on impact. Seething a host of expletives his innocent head was not yet supposed to be filled with, the boy felt the sharp chiding of his father descend upon him as he stooped down to retrieve what had landed upon him. Grasping a worn leather pommel in inexperienced hands, the weight of it was dreadfully toilsome to bear. The blade’s length itself nearly stretched to the full height of the child who held it, his expression a mixture of both awe and distress. There was a soft quavering in his voice when he spoke. “How am I supposed to lift this when it weighs as much as I do?” “I thought you wanted to learn the art of swordplay,” his father’s tone suggesting a faint trace of amusement along its reproachful edge. “I can’t do much learning if I can’t even lift it,” the child protested fretfully. Stepping into the light of the expanding fire, Shu’s gaze descended stoically, and for a moment, looked fiendish as it was cast in braids of shadow, his tone searching. “Then I suppose you’d like to return home and give up then?” The boy immediately pulled the longsword back as close as his body would allow, taking a step away from his father as if threatening to guard the possession to the very last tooth and nail. “No!” Gideon’s expression was horror stricken for a brief instant, then quickly unfolded into resignation as his shoulders relaxed. “No… I… If this is how it has to be, then I’ll do it.” Laughter bubbled from his father’s throat and became woven into the low rumble of the fire. It filled Gideon with a sense of disconcertion, and made him realize that he was yet another pawn of his father‘s capering. “Then you shall grow into its use. Your arms may not be ready, but that is but one small fraction of a swordsman’s ability. His true power comes from up here,” the Chaktawe’s callused finger reaching out to tap his adopted son’s scalp. “And it is tempered through here,” the same finger descending until it rested over Gideon’s chest where his heart beat furiously from within. “I just thought you’d like to see it tonight. It’s not been set to the grindstone, so you have no worry of hurting yourself…aside from what’s already been done. You’re as slow as a dune cow, but we’ll work on that over time. Mind the tip...” Catching the path his son’s hand was curiously heading, Gideon stopped just short of placing his finger along its silver apex and looked naively up to his father’s immutable eyes. Retrieving the prying appendage from its polished sheen down to his side, the boy quietly attempted to lift the blade with the strength of his right arm, determination ingrained stubbornly across his features. Undeveloped muscles struggled against the effort, though he raised the longsword above the ground and held it level with his waist for a handful of agonizing ticks. Proud of the small accomplishment, but also strained, the blade fell back to the earth and landed in the white grit with a dull thump. Shu merely gave a simple nod of his approval as his son‘s exhausted breath fled through his lips. “You have years yet before you’re ready, my son. But when you are,” the older man’s body bending down on popping knees as he came to catch Gideon within an even field, “you’ll be among the best.” Hope filled the boy’s eyes and became consumed by the ink black pools of his pupils, a pliable smile curling the thin lines of his lips in wondrous delight. Very few times had he felt so sure of himself, so bolstered by joy as a stranger among the desert folk. But tonight was perhaps one of the few he would remember…if not for other reasons entirely.