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Cowards are always much more dangerous than heroes.
-Musings of the Historian
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I BECKONED TO SADAVIR and we slipped discreetly out of the teacher's house and headed for home. I felt sincerely sorry for the boy. There would be no fairness in the story told. By the mere act of being born, he had been declared guilty of every crime imaginable.
Sadavir walked into the house, head bowed. Aric was walking in through the back door, his face still sweating from the heat of his blacksmith’s fire. One hand still held a hammer; the other was reaching for a dipper filled with cool water, placed there by Lauria, when he saw his son.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” Sadavir managed to get out before running to his room. Aric’s eyes flashed to me and I offered a brief explanation. His gaze lifted to the far wall, the one facing the village, as if he could see through the wall to the gathering mob. He shook his head.
“Make sure Lauria and Sadavir stay inside, won’t you?” Aric asked. I nodded and he walked out the front door, his hammer still gripped in his hand. I gave Lauria strict orders to stay inside and to keep Sadavir from looking outside. I slipped out the back door and around the house to watch the coming turmoil.
Indeed, it didn’t take long for the storm to crash on the little house. I had barely made it around the corner before a mob could be seen walking toward them from the village. Saddhan was in the lead. He didn’t even wait until he had reached the house before he started yelling accusations “Your animal of a son attacked the children of the village! My own son was nearly killed! He’s a menace to our village and he has to be taken care of!”
The rest of the mob followed in his footsteps and gathered around him as he came to stand in front of Aric.
“Do you dare deny any of this?” Saddhan challenged. Aric didn’t answer; he only stood like a wall between the mob and his home and family.
“Aric, you can’t protect this freak forever! Get out of our way. We won’t be intimidated by you,” Saddhan insisted. Aric still said nothing, only stood, hammer in hand, glancing calmly over the crowd.
The effect was perfect. The crowd had expected yelling, fighting, for Aric to show that he was desperate and afraid. They needed him to show them that he was their enemy and that he was cornered and helpless. His silence and ready stance exuded confidence and readiness. Saddhan had suddenly fallen quiet, increasingly aware that he was within striking distance of Aric’s hammer. He continued yelling as he edged his way back into the crowd.
“I tell you, Aric, we won’t stand for this! Come on, let’s get him!” Saddhan screamed. Aric still didn’t move as the crowd started to move in on him. He knew the crowd all too well. They could become a mob and act as if they were brave, but when it came right down to it, there still had to be a first; the first person to step forward and start things going.
Aric had a great advantage in the cowardice of Saddhan.
Had they had a leader who would step forward and take the first swing, then the mob would have followed. Aric would have been swarmed over and torn apart. As it was, Saddhan took no risks and had already taken the soul out of the mob by starting the retreat before the advance had even started.
As I watched would-be heroes step up, almost to Aric, then retreat, I was reminded of ocean waves breaking against a cliff. They could beat him together, they all knew it, but no one would be the first. The seconds dragged by and people started to feel more and more awkward. Aric finally broke his silence.
“Since my son is no longer welcome in your school, he will no longer go.”
The mob fired again, glad for the concession and the chance to leave without looking cowardly.
“See that he doesn’t! If we ever see him around our children again, you’ll pay!”
With a few final shouted threats, the crowd dispersed and headed back to the village. I watched as Aric’s shoulders dropped in a sigh of relief. He had been lucky, and he knew it. One brave man in that crowd would have meant disaster. He turned to head back into the house to inform Sadavir that he would no longer be attending school. The boy accepted the announcement as a matter of course.
So Sadavir’s education fell entirely into the hands of his father and mother. Realizing that it was only a little while before something else sparked the villagers’ anger, Aric turned even more attention to his son's training.
The next part of Aric’s plan was a large contraption of metal bars. It was presented to Sadavir as a toy for his ninth birthday, even though the mess of bars stood four times his own height. His father explained that it was for climbing, so that Sadavir could see all around him.
The boy smiled widely and ran to the bars, scrambling up as high as he could go with his rock tucked under one arm. It turned out to not be very far since he soon required two hands to climb any higher, and one hand still held his constant companion.
He tried to swing from one side to the other using one hand, but succeeded in only going about halfway, then falling. Both his father and mother moved to help, but the boy raised himself off the ground, stared at the bars, and started climbing again. This was to be a pattern that was repeated many times over.
Having been exiled from the village and completely ostracized by the other children his age, Sadavir’s friends were his rock and his cage. By the time he was ten, he had succeeded in climbing to the very top of his twisted cage. He would tuck his rock, which had grown considerably in size by now, between his legs and use his arms to swing and pull himself up. He didn’t have the towering bulk of his father, but the sheer power contained in his lean sinews would have been impressive for a boy five years older than him.
Aric would occasionally head out to the cage with new bars and metal fittings, fresh from the forge. As the boy grew, so did the mess of bars, higher and more twisted. It became an impressive sight indeed. I was impressed with Aric’s own dexterity as the large man would haul a bag of bars and fittings to the top of the cage to add to the vertical maze of metal.
Someone who didn’t know Aric would have thought him fearless, perched high above the ground, humming softly to himself. A closer look by those who knew showed gritted teeth and a paleness never before seen on the smith’s ruddy face. The truth was he was scared to death, but he was dedicated to his son’s training.
The cage itself became quite a sight to see. Every once in a while I would notice a curious villager watching from afar as Sadavir would weave and jump through the bars, like a spider skittering over its web. Always present was the rock, whether tucked between his legs or under an arm.
I was most impressed one day as Sadavir stood near the top of the cage, looking at a bar that was several feet out of his reach. Suddenly, he threw his rock high into the air and sprung, catlike, from the bar he was on to other one. Surprisingly, he didn't catch the bar with his hands, but rather overshot it by a few extra feet and snagged the bar with his legs, hooking them at his knees. As he swung backward, he caught his stone firmly in his hands.
I applauded in admiration. Sadavir, hanging upside down, his stone in his hands and his shirt clumped around his arms, smiled sheepishly. I’m sure he would have blushed if the blood hadn’t already rushed to his head from the stunt.
“Uncle Amar! Don’t watch me!” he yelled, but he still looked pleased that someone had seen. I saw many other such stunts develop as time went on. Sadavir was as happy jumping around his cage as he was on solid ground.
Although the boy still hadn’t learned of his true purpose and hadn’t spent even a single day fighting, his balance was superb. His arms were strong and amazingly quick. It wasn’t long before Aric had another task for his son.
“Sadavir, I need you to help your mother with the firewood.
We are expecting a very cold winter, and these sticks are too big to fit in the fireplace, so I need you to break them, like this.”
Aric placed one of the small sticks across two blocks and swiped his hand through it easily, breaking it in half. And so it was that the blacksmith’s son started splitting sticks with his hands while half a dozen axes leaned up against the tool shed.
The boy took to the task with the same resolve that he carried his rock or climbed his twisted cage. Like the rock, the twigs that he broke day by day slowly grew in size and strength. Once I noticed that he often hit the sticks in different places than the middle.
“Sadavir?”
“Yes, Uncle Amar?”
“Why do you hit the stick where you do?”
“That is where it is weakest.”
“How do you know that?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know, I just do.”
“Show me.”
The boy proudly placed a large stick between the two blocks and stepped back, raising his arm, then passing his hand through the stick almost faster than my eye could follow. It wasn’t only the quickness of his hand that caught my eye, however, it was his Stone. I thought I saw a ripple across the surface, just as I thought I had when he had caught the rock behind him at the school.
“Nicely done, Sadavir, you are becoming very strong.”
The boy smiled, proud, but still a little embarrassed.
“Oh, it actually doesn’t even hurt anymore as long as I break it, see?” he held up his hand, displaying the toughened calluses that had formed on his palm and fingers. “My other one is tough too, see?”
He shifted his rock to his right hand and displayed the left, which was equally callused.
"Papa said that both hands should be tough and that they should take turns carrying the rock.”
“Oh, and he’s certainly right, Sadavir.”
Aric was always thinking up new “games” for the boy to do with his rock and his cage. These activities required combining speed and strength and forcing Sadavir to try new things to make it through his various challenges.
It was obvious, however, that the boy didn’t completely believe that all of these challenges were games. He set to every task with a determination and soberness rarely ever seen in boys of his age.
On his twelfth birthday, his father sat him down.
“Sadavir, do you know why I am needed in this village?”
Aric asked.
“Yes, Papa, you make all the metal things for everybody. Without you, nobody would have nails or tools. Nobody would be able to do anything.” The boy’s pride in his father was evident.
“Do you know what my Stone is for?”
“Yes, it helps you do your work, like Uncle Amar does.” I smiled at the comment. My usefulness in the family had been pegged as a cheap hand at the bellows.
"That's absolutely right. What are you going to do when you become a man?”
“I would want to be a blacksmith like you,” Sadavir answered promptly.
“I would like that too, but you can’t be.” Aric’s face had become somber.
“Why not?” Sadavir sensed his father’s change in mood and asked the question quietly.
“Because you do not have a blue Stone like I do, you won’t have that to help you do your work.”
“Uncle Amar can still help me. That will be enough.”
Aric smiled, “No, I’m afraid Uncle Amar won’t be enough. Besides, you have your own Stone, which will help you do what you need to do to help the village.”
“What do I need to do, Papa?” The boy indeed had a very keen mind.
“Do you remember the stories we told you about the Destroyers?”
The boy’s head fell, “The ones who killed Grandpa?”
“Yes, my son, those are the ones. Grandpa died because there was no one who was strong and brave enough to protect him.”
“I’m strong and brave, Papa. Can I save people?” There was no trace of boasting in the boy’s statement, only a simple knowledge of what he was capable of.
Aric smiled proudly, Lauria, looking on, had a small tear tracing down her cheek.
“Yes, son, that is what you will do. You will protect people against the Destroyers. But to do this, you will have to learn how to fight and defend yourself and others.”
“Will you teach me, Papa?”
“I will do what I can, Sadavir, but you will mostly have to learn by yourself. I will show you what the Destroyers will do, but you will have to decide what you will have to do to defend yourself.”
The boy was silent for a moment, and then lifted his head.
“Papa?” Sadavir asked uncertainly.
“Yes, son?”
“The other people call me Destroyer... umm...” The boy trailed off, uncertain how to voice his question to his father. His father leaned down to grip Sadavir’s shoulders and look into his eyes.
“You are a Creator, Sadavir, like me and your mother. Do you think those boys in school have ever met a real Destroyer?”
Sadavir shook his head.
“They don’t even know what Destroyers are, so don’t worry about what they say. When you start to save people, they will like you more. They will forget about the color of your Stone and they will get to know you and love you like we do.”
Sadavir smiled gratefully.
“I think I can do that, can we start now?”
Aric nodded.