In the wee hours of the morning, Karl roused himself from his slumber. Today was the last day of total freedom he had before he was shipped off to the academy. His father had graciously permitted him to spend the day however he wished, provided he returned before supper and packed his trunk before bedtime.
Truth be told, Karl had been packed for a week, but he neglected to inform even the butler of this. He used it as an excuse to stow away in his room to read and practice. Today, however, was a bit different. He took out his trunk and opened it. All of his belongings were packed away neat and tidy, so neat that even a housemaid wouldn't dare rearrange them. At his insistence, the butler had taught him this method in secret.
Karl unfolded a neatly folded pair of trousers to reveal an elongated space beneath the clothes occupied by a long leather-wrapped parcel. To the unassuming eye it could be a tapestry or a scroll, perhaps a fine walking stick, or maybe even a rolled-up map of some kind. Technically, one of those could be argued to be true, Karl thought to himself smiling as he took out the object and unwrapped it, replacing the trousers underneath the empty leather wrapping.
He held up the object contained within - a hand-made wooden sword, or as his former master had called it a 'bokken', fashioned in a manner that could be mistaken for a cane, intentionally of course. Karl didn't want to take any risks with getting it to the academy, but today was the last time he could go to the edge of town and practice, and for the whole day no less. He'd have to be even more discreet with his training moving forward, a prospect he was looking forward to least of all.
He dressed himself modestly, not wanting to stand out too much and increasing the chance that he could sneak out without the maids noticing him. Brown pantaloons with a nice but simple leather tunic and a pair of worn boots his father had told him to throw out on several occasions. He tied his belt around his waist, affixed to which was a hand-made leather loop to draw his wooden sword from. He wouldn't use it, of course, not until he was well out of view of anyone. Until then the sword was a simple walking stick, unassuming and ordinary. Karl snagged a hat with the end of his bokken from a hanger in his closet and donned it, setting off.
He swiftly made his way through the drowsy mansion, skipping steps and hurtling past two maids carrying baskets of laundry before they could even call out to him. Emerging from the estate's side gate, he walked at a brisk pace down the street as the town awoke. Few people crossed his path that morning, and none recognized him or paid him any mind really, just as he had hoped. His disguise had worked just as well today as it had always worked.
Before long, he came to the farms by the edge of town. A low wall separated the city limits from the so-called countryside, sprawling with fields of young oats and barley, still verdant and fresh. The low morning sun colored them a bit rosy as Karl passed the fields by, tipping his hat to a scarecrow in a polite manner as he'd seen important figures tip their hats to each other at his father's galas. The scarecrow swayed gently in the wind, though Karl imagined that the hat moved in response to his greeting rather than the morning breeze.
He stopped at a small stone bridge. The handrails, cut from solid ancient stone, were weathered and speckled with patches of moss. He looked down to the stream that flowed beneath his feet, following it with his eyes and his mind to the source. That would be a fine place to train, he thought to himself, after all, it was the place master had picked out for his training all those years ago.
He looked around, not expecting to see anyone but checking nonetheless, before sheathing his walking stick and nimbly sliding down the streambank. He leapt over the stream and set off running along the rocks, jumping from one to the next like a squirrel moving from branch to branch.
The stream flowed from up a hill, trickling through a pile of boulders. Karl remembered having to hike all the way around the rocks before, but he felt confident he'd be able to scale the rocks without problem. He braced himself and jumped for it, poised to cling onto the rock like a frog on a lily pad. He grasped for a handhold but found nothing, slipping down from the boulder. He cursed to himself at his own hubris, sliding down slowly before suddenly finding a crack to stick his hand into.
He hung for a moment, contemplating his predicament and searching out some footholds to scale the boulder, before making sure his belt loop had held the sword in place. He swung himself up and grabbed for an outcropping, missing by an inch. One more grab and he found it, holding tight as he hoisted himself up onto the stone, breathing heavily.
He caught his breath, looking back at the path he took to get here. The bridge was far out of view now, obscured by the tree line, as were the fields. He stood up and turned toward his goal, beyond the rockslide, where the stream could be heard gently trickling. Bounding over a few more smaller boulders, he reached the summit and continued on at a breakneck pace. Beyond the willow, past the stream bend, up the grassy knoll, and he was at his destination.
"Here will do," the master said, tapping his cane on the loose stones. As Karl crested the hill, boots soaked and green from the mud and grass he had trekked through, he sighed with exhaustion, dropping the heavy bag on the ground and plopping himself down beside it. He looked up at the place the man had picked out. A small waterfall flowed from beneath a low cliffside, with a shallow clear pool beneath it, leading to the stream they had followed to get here. The sun's golden rays shimmered on the water's surface, blinding Karl as he covered his eyes to shield them from the spectacle.
"Get up. We haven't come here to rest." The master spoke the words swiftly and curtly, tapping his cane on the stones once more. Karl begrudgingly sat up and began rifling through his bag.
"That won't be necessary. You aren't ready to begin your studies."
Karl looked at the man with a confused look. "So why'd you have me lug them all the way here?" Karl asked, disgruntled.
"So that when you are ready it will be easy. Now get up."
Karl stood up, brushing himself off, and looked at the man defiantly. He never liked any of his teachers, and while he had felt there was something different about this one, his aching legs began to sow doubt in the back of his mind.
"I told your father that I would teach you. I will do as I promised, but only when you are ready to learn."
"I am ready, I told you," Karl said insistently. He had heard this line before, or at least overheard it from his former teachers' complaints.
"No. At the present moment you are a bud, barely ready to bloom. If you are not ready to bloom, you will wither and die." The man's words cut deep. It was certainly a very morbid analogy, Karl thought to himself.
"What do you mean? You think my father will just give up on me?"
"Yes. You will be left with nothing if you do not reach out and grasp what you have now. If you cannot understand this, I cannot teach you." The man turned to the shallow pond and approached it, sitting down at the water's edge.
"Grasp what? You haven't even told me what to grasp!" Karl called out. Hearing no response, he slowly stood up and walked over to where the man was sitting. "What am I supposed to be grasping here?" Karl asked with exasperation. The man simply sat there, still and serene.
Karl began to pace anxiously, his mind whirling with thoughts and worry. Would his father truly give up on him? And what did this man mean when he asked him that question? Who wouldn't want to be a hero? It seemed so fun and simple in the book, slaying monsters, performing great feats and saving the day. He turned back to the man, looking at him with indignation.
"How come you agreed to teach me if you refuse to do it?" The man did not move from his pose but spoke with a calm tone.
"Because no other teacher would have you be taught in a way that would force you to listen. When you learn to listen, you will be ready for me to teach you."
Karl threw his arms up. "Oh come on! Listening? I am great at listening! Did we really come all this way for that?" The man did not respond.
Karl grumbled some words he had heard servants use and sat down on the ground. He rested his chin on his fist, staring daggers at the man, as if expecting him to meet his gaze. After a minute or this, he rolled his eyes and laid back on the rough gravel. He stared up at the clear sky as the slight cacophony of sounds around him was drowned out by his frustrated thoughts.
A minute went by. Then another. A small fly began to circle around his head, looking for a place to land. Karl followed it with his eyes, swatting it away when it got too close. The fly kept looking for openings, trying to land on his face as if to ruin his mood further. After what felt like an eternity, Karl relented, opting to permit this insect's trespass. As he closed his eyes, he felt a slight tickle on his forehead. He jumped up, wildly swinging at the nuisance as it buzzed off, his eyes wide open.
Karl turned towards the man. He had not moved from the same spot. Karl begrudgingly sat back down, loathed to admit defeat but seemingly out of options. He attempted to get into the same pose the man was holding, which proved harder than he anticipated. He folded his legs, with a bit of pain, and closed his eyes tightly.
At first, Karl felt bored and annoyed. But then, having removed his sight, he began to sense his surroundings by other means. He heard the water flowing gently within the clear pool, driven by the quiet bubbling of the waterfall just as a plow would be driven by an ox. He smelled the floral freshness of the daisies, cornflowers, fireweed and clover all swarming the edges of the woods like little armies ready for pollination by bees and the like. He felt the gravels under his legs, each individual pebble being less of a discomfort and contributing to the overall texture of the place. He suddenly realized how much he wasn't seeing, how much bigger the world was than his simple vision.
"I understand!" Karl's exclamation came suddenly, even to himself, so much so that he opened his eyes wide open and fell backward. "Ow!" Karl sat back up, rubbing his head with his hand. The sun hung high overhead, baking the gravel and Karl's head. As he looked up, shielding his eyes with his hand, he saw a figure standing above him in the sunlight.
"I am most impressed. It seems you are ready to begin learning after all." The man held out a hand to Karl, which he took, lifting him to his feet. He turned towards his bag to get out his books. "No, you will not be needing those just yet. Pick up a stick."
Karl looked at the man as he pointed to the edge of the forest. Confused, he picked up a long stick and held it out in front of himself, like a sword. In the blink of an eye, the man deflected the stick with his cane and pointed it to the ground. A slight frown came upon his face.
"You aren't ready for that yet either. You will learn calligraphy before you begin studying penmanship." He turned away and walked towards the water's edge, to a sandbar along the shoreline. He tapped his cane on a rock, summoning Karl. Karl obliged. As he approached, the man pointed with his cane at the water.
"When you perform any art, penmanship and swordplay included, you must flow like water. Observe how it moves. Watch the currents. See them in your mind's eye."
Karl looked to where the man was pointing, observing as best as he could. Grains of sand were picked up by the gentle current and swirled around, flowing away from the waterfall. The grains moved slowly but without stopping, easily avoiding any rocks in their way. The motion was so natural and gentle yet deliberate and unyielding.
"I understand," Karl said truthfully.
"Good. Now, repeat after me," the man responded, sticking his cane in the sand and beginning to draw elaborate symbols, his body moving in tandem with the cane. Karl followed suit, doodling misshapen lines and shapes in an attempt to mimic the man. He found the sand to be much harder to draw in, the grains clinging together and making his lines jagged and rough. The man, seeing this, held out his cane and stopped Karl. "No, you are not moving like water. You are moving like a plow in a field. You must flow through the grains of sand, like water."
Karl nodded, trying once more, this time with a bit more grace and elegance. He copied the man's pose as well, applying pressure to the sand with the stick differently such that it would glide through it with ease. His symbols were still a bit rougher and flawed, but he noticed a marked improvement from his last attempt.
"Better. Once more." Karl watched the man again and copied the symbols, swaying slightly as he did. He felt himself like a blade of grass swaying in the wind, the stick an extension of his arm as he drew in the sand. The man looked slightly impressed.
"Good. You are beginning to understand the flow of the water. Now, look there." He pointed to a butterfly fluttering on a flower, holding itself afloat with its delicate wings. Its wingbeats were frantic and frequent, yet it kept itself hanging steadily in the air as it searched for a flower to land on.
"Observe how the butterfly moves. Observe how the wind blows through the leaves of the trees. Now, repeat once more." He took his cane to the sand, this time moving differently as he drew different shapes in the sand. Karl noticed that while there was a certain flow to it, the movements the man made were lighter and more air-like. He mimicked the motions, thinking about the butterfly's wings and gliding along the sand as though he were wind.
The man nodded at Karl's work. "You learn quickly. The movement of the air seems to come naturally to you. You value freedom, don't you?" The man asked.
"Yes," Karl said, a bit dejected. Though he dared not admit it, freedom was not something he had much of, being the son of the mayor.
"Then I will teach you to master freedom. I will teach you how to move like the air, to be free within the confines of your own life. To be like air, you must first understand your surroundings. Air is everywhere, it can move everywhere. Even within a vessel," the man said, holding up an empty bottle, "the air inside exists within its entirety. Such is the nature of freedom. If mastered, it will allow you to move freely within whatever vessel you find yourself in."
Karl opened his eyes, reminiscing on the past as he sat on the sandbar. The waterfall, now a gentle trickle, kept the flow of water through the clear pond. The gentle currents carried sand and silt down towards the creek. The wind blew through the treetops overhead. This place had barely changed since all those years ago, and yet Karl felt a new unfamiliar connection to this place.
He stood up, picking up his sword and closing his eyes. He began drawing symbols in the sand, flowing like water. As he finished the symbol, he raised his sword and began to draw the symbol in the air, slashing and swiping. He remembered the very first time his master taught him how to swing a stick like a sword, how he stumbled and hit himself in the arms and legs painfully. He recalled how long it took him to transfer his calligraphy into swordplay, laughing to himself at how easy it came to him now.
He then turned to the wildflowers, bees and butterflies fluttering about as always. He began drawing the airy symbols in the sand, swiftly transitioning into a light and fast sword fighting technique. He cut through the air like wind, shaving the heads from a patch of cattails with a single slash, like a powerful blast of air would do to a forest.
Karl continued his practice, perfecting each blade stroke until they flowed seamlessly from one to another. He then sat back down by the water's edge and closed his eyes. He slowly let go of his worries about the academy and the future, clearing his mind like the pond before him. His master had called this 'meditation'. Karl wondered where his master was now, allowing the thought to flow through his clear mind like a grain of sand, before letting go of it as well. All was still.
Karl opened his eyes, suddenly realizing that it was past midday. He leapt to his feet, swearing under his breath, as he moved back towards the creek and towards Woodsboro. The last thing he wanted to ruin his day was a talk from his father about tardiness, he thought to himself. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to make it back before he got in trouble.
He reached the bridge, ducking under it to brush himself off from sand and dirt, before setting off along the road back home. Karl reminisced longingly about being able to sneak out like this, wondering if perhaps he'd have such a chance at the academy. Even if he didn't, perhaps the academy taught fencing, a noble sport in Karl's eyes, although not one his mother was particularly fond of. He pondered what his future might hold as he broke into a run, holding his cap to his head with one hand and clutching his wooden blade with the other. The gates of the town were fast approaching when suddenly, he heard a strange sound from the wheat field nearby.