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I have never seen genius without a touch of madness... and vice versa.
-Musings of the Historian
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“STAND IN FRONT OF ME," Aric commanded his son, sitting in a chair so that he would be at eye level with his son.
Sadavir obeyed.
“They will try to hit you, like this,” Aric said. He then swung a ponderous fist at the boy, moving rather slowly to give him time to react. Sadavir didn’t need the advantage. The fist hit empty air as he ducked under it.
“Why didn’t you block it?” Aric asked.
“I didn’t need to, Papa,” Sadavir stated simply. Aric thought for a moment, shrugged, and the training continued. He tried hits from different sides. He still moved slowly at first, giving Sadavir the chance to decide how he would handle it, then faster.
Every evening, after dinner was cleared from the table, Sadavir would go and stand in front of his father. The attacks became quicker and more complex, working in combinations. Soon Aric had me attacking from the other side and Sadavir ducked, weaved and blocked through all of our attempts to find holes in his defenses.
Lauria never fully accepted the training method. In the beginning, she would look on at her husband as he tried to hit their son with a pale, sick look on her face. Later, she gave up trying to watch and moved to a different room.
Aric also worked combinations into his other exercises. Now that Sadavir knew their true purposes, he worked with his cage and his rock religiously. Aric fitted stands onto the cage so that sticks of wood could be set into them. Sadavir would fly through the confusion of wood and metal, flipping around bars and spinning through tight spots, his hands flashing as he whipped by, breaking the sticks as he passed.
Aric’s ingenuity was tested almost daily through the next few years. He worked tirelessly to think up new ways to prepare the growing Sadavir for the responsibility that he would be assuming later in his life. There was a grim nobility in his creativity.
Always in the back of Aric’s mind was the inevitable time when Sadavir would be fighting for his life. If he wasn’t prepared, he would die. For Aric, that death would be directly on his own head. Every time he pushed his son harder, he was literally trying to save his life.
For his fourteenth birthday, his present was heavy iron bands that strapped onto his wrists and ankles. His rock, by that time, had grown too big to be practical. It had been replaced by a ball of iron, just as heavy, but much smaller and harder to hold onto.
Sadavir’s body rebelled at every new attempt to chain him to the ground. If any of Aric’s contraptions made him unable to leap through his cage like he regularly did, he would work long and hard, leaping and climbing, even jumping up and down on the ground after it was too dark to see the bars of his cage. I think that Sadavir would have liked to have been born a bird, rather than a man.
It was inspiring to see him, with heavy iron bands around his legs and wrists, and with a heavy iron ball in tow, weaving through the iron bars of his cage with all of the agility of a squirrel.
Lauria openly worried about her son, always expecting him to fall from the metal monstrosity that now dominated the whole of her backyard and stood much higher than the house itself. Fortunately, she had stopped worrying about Aric always trying to hit Sadavir.
By the time he turned fifteen, we were already completely unable to hit him, even with both Aric and I attacking as fast as we could from both sides. He would sometimes block or deflect our blows, but much more often, our blows would land on empty air as he snaked away.
So, Aric took to trying to surprise the boy, striking out at him at unexpected times. Sadavir was never surprised, however, and Aric’s massive fists would hit nothing. It was like fighting a wraith.
This only continued a short time as it proved even more ineffective than the usual system of attacks. There was nothing more that two middle-aged men could do to prepare Sadavir for attacks from real warriors.
One day, Sadavir, Lauria, and I were eating breakfast. Aric was nowhere to be seen. Then suddenly the door opened and a very large wooden set of shelves moved its way into the room. It squeezed through the door and soon we saw Aric on the other side, huffing and pushing. How he had carried the monstrous thing out to his house without help was beyond me.
“How do you like it?” he asked, beaming.
“Oh, Aric, it is very nice, and our old set of shelves did need replacing,” Lauria said, eyeing the quality of the wood.
“Oh, yes, about that...” Aric hemmed sheepishly. “We’re actually going to keep our old one too.”
“And why is that, Aric?” Lauria asked, her arms akimbo.
“Well, it still has plenty of years left in it, I would hate to throw away something that was still useful.”
“Then why did you get this one?” Lauria demanded.
“Oh... well... I thought we could put Sadavir’s stuff on it, his leg weights and things like that. They’re very untidy, stuffed in a box, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lauria nodded slowly, eyeing her husband. She knew him too well to accept this at face value. To her credit, however, she didn’t object in front of Sadavir. Instead, she helped him as best she could as he maneuvered the heavy piece of furniture into the most awkward and illogical place in the middle of the room. Lauria started to object, but Aric put a finger to his lips and winked.
The next morning, a similar bit of furniture came in, unannounced, again, right after breakfast. This time, Lauria didn’t even get up, only shook her head and stabbed viciously at her unfinished eggs. The bulk of wood took up another space of floor. I didn't understand what Aric was up to unless it was his intent to crowd us right out of the house.
Lauria and I exchanged glances over breakfast the next day.
Aric was gone again. Unsurprisingly, the door was knocked open again and the family was joined by one more giant piece of furniture. This time, he didn’t even bother to offer an explanation.
Aric, with Sadavir's unquestioning help, rearranged the furniture in the house. When they finished, Aric looked pleased with the confused maze he had made of his house. That evening, we discovered the true purpose of the shelves.
Ambush.
Even Aric could hide behind the massive sets of shelves. Sadavir was no longer safe in his own home. At any time, Aric could jump out from behind one of those shelves. A few times he even had me clang his hammer on scrap metal out in the workshop so that Sadavir would think that he was working.
Sadavir had to learn how to get out of Aric’s way in a hurry. The young man was quick and strong, but his father was several times stronger still, his bear-like arms as hard as the metal they pounded. So, if Aric ever got a hold of Sadavir, it was a sure bet the boy would soon be tied up in his father's tree trunk arms, his legs kicking in the air as he screamed and laughed.
I’ll never forget the time when Aric tried to jump Sadavir right as he was going to bed, his iron bands and ball already put away. The large man was crouched behind a shelf between the kitchen and his son’s room.
When Sadavir passed, Aric leapt, panther style, at his son. Sadavir didn’t even glance to the side to see his father. He took to the air, leaping straight upward, tucking his legs under him.
Aric’s leap took him right under Sadavir and into the next shelf, sending it smashing into the far wall as the blacksmith's bulk crashed into it. Sadavir landed lightly on his feet, staring at the scene of destruction before him.
The tension was broken as Aric started laughing from his position down on the floor. Sadavir laughed too and helped his father up off the floor.
It is not my role to give a complete description of everything that happens in these stories. My focus is the people that shape them. Still, I understand that someone reading this story might envision a home based on martial training and military discipline. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was a home full of love and the warmth it brings. I hope one small reference may suffice to show what I mean.
I remember the day I went into the house to find Aric. I had reported for work and he wasn’t there. The forge was cold. I warily entered the house to look for him. It wasn’t uncommon for Aric to jump me, mistaking my footsteps for Sadavir's. I rounded one of the shelves to see Aric and Lauria wrapped in a warm embrace, swaying slightly to music only they heard. Aric saw me out of the corner of his eye and twitched his finger dismissively behind his wife’s back. I took the hint and backed silently away to spend the day in my shed.
Some may find this instance quite irrelevant, but I can assure you, there is nothing that impacts a child so deeply as growing up in a home where the parents are in love with each other. I cannot help but wonder, in those moments, if I ever had parents, and if so, did they love each other?