Page 32 of The Chosen Two

I use the code George gave me to open and drive through his wrought iron gate. Before I’m out of my car, he opens the front door and stands on the top step, barefoot and wearing black warmup pants and a tight T-shirt. Really tight, in fact. I actually am a bit embarrassed at how tight because as I get closer, I can see how well defined his muscles are, and it hits me that they obviously have been this whole time. Meanwhile, I’d been thinking he was a scrawny little nothing and wondering how the hell he was going to train me to fight. Now I’m debating heading home before he has the chance to kick my ass.

“You ready for today?” He confidently grins at me.

I cower. “Um, I guess?”

“Nah. Remember, you’re amazing. You can do this! Let’s go.”

I hang back for a second, my brow furrowed. I’m not used to this cheery version of him. I’m not sure what’s coming, but I’m terrified to find out.

I hurry to catch up before he lets the giant oak door close in my face. Inside, I follow him to the right, through a dining room furnished with the longest table I’ve seen outside of Versailles and past the kitchen where we had our coffees yesterday. I try adding to the mental map I’ve been attempting to make of this place. Past the dining room, he opens a door on the far end of the hall and stands in front like a castle guard, his body holding it open. He’s crossed his arms behind his back, hands on elbows.

Beyond the door, my jaw drops as I enter a full dojo, straight from a martial arts movie. The high ceilings of the house add to my awe. Aside from the perimeter of the room, woven mats of bamboo cover the majority of the dark ash hardwood floor. I try to remember from my geisha obsession phase what those mats are called…tsunami mats? No, that’s not right….

The walls consist of large panels of clean white paper with a cross work of black wooden frames. At the far end of the room, a three-panel work of art comprises the majority of the backwall and dominates the room with its gold leaf and colors so rich they must be enamel. The panels depict a large blue dragon on the left and a warrior on the right, much smaller by comparison.

No, I’m wrong. As I get closer, I know she’s not a warrior. She’s a Guardian.

Her long black hair flows behind her, loosed from the intricate hair style still pinned atop the crown of her head. A few strands blow across her white face. Dark red lips bloom, a small, sad rosebud. I’m scared for her and in awe of her. Even more awe than I have for this room. Her finely detailed teal kimono includes whisps of white and purple birds. No, not birds, but swirls that match the one on the cover of that docent book. The pattern is perfect on her. She is perfect. Her red sash, her obi I remember from my reading, looks like it’s holding her upright, and yet it could also be a bleeding wound. She is my predecessor. Her legacy is mine now. This is my burden to bear, and I will use her as my muse as I train.

I tear my eyes away from her to look at the smaller figure behind her. The recessed hairline and high dramatic bun clearly identify this figure to be a man. He wears full armor even though he stands behind her. In one hand, he holds a large scroll and in the other, a brush. Is he a scribe? No. He’s her docent. I smile. I turn to make a smart-ass comment to George, but he’s still on the far end of the room, and I’m right up against the beautiful painting. He smiles to himself with deep satisfaction, as if I passed some sort of test by being drawn to this work of art.

“What?” I call sheepishly across to him.

Still smiling, he bows and walks onto the mats. (Tatami! That’s the mats!)

I perch a hand on my hip and cock my head to the side. “Why are you smiling like that? I have an art background. Is it so surprising that I would be interested in this?”

“Not at all. On the contrary. My dad couldn’t wait for this moment. All the docents wrote about the moment their Guardians felt the connection to their lineage. This was your moment.” He stops directly in front of me, revealing that today, in this room, his blue eyes are more stormy than bright. “You may have accepted your destiny when you fought the minotaur, but today, now, you believe in it.”

His confidence makes me very aware of myself, my clumsiness, my age. All of my disadvantages. I clear my throat, trying to fake feeling that confident in myself. “What are the swirls on her kimono? I saw one on a book in the library yesterday, too.”

He steps closer to the painting, and to me, to look closely. “Oh, that is the symbol of the Guardian. It is a swirl of protective wind to symbolize that Guardians are protectors, not aggressors.” On his last sentence, his eyes are back on me. I curl in on myself.

Not letting me shrink further, he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes them back, so I stand straighter than I usually do.

“Be confident in who you are. Right?”

I nod, even though I’m not feeling it. He knows this, but he lets it go.

“Ok, so you’ve seen the dojo, and the Shomen.” He indicates the painting behind him. “Now, shall we get started?”

He moves me to the mats and positions me to face the work of art, the Shomen, which he stands in front of and faces me. For the first time, I notice the black strip of fabric around his waist.

“You’re a black belt?” I ask it rhetorically, but he nods. “Huh. That explains the muscles, I guess.”

“What?”

“Nothing....”

He looks up to the ceiling, as if asking God herself for strength, a smirk on his lips. Then he begins to pace as he talks. Regardless of his words of confidence for me, he doesn’t appear completely confident in himself.

“So, your physical training will largely be karate based. That’s what I have my black belt in. That’s what generations of docents have based the training of their Guardians in. The reasoning behind this, besides the fact that the first Guardian was from Japan,” he waves his hand to point to the woman in the painting, “is that karate is a largely defensive martial art. Regardless of what certain movies will have you believing, you should not strike first. The word karate means ’empty hand,’ and since you will not be armed in your daily life, it’s good technique for you to have. Remember, you are the Guardian. Not the huntress, not the attacker. You use defense whenever you can and offense only as a last resort. Any questions?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, so I don’t think we need to get too technical since it’s just the two of us. That being said, I will make you follow all the customs if I don’t think you’re taking our training seriously. Got it?”

“Got it.” I nod tightly. I think one corner of his mouth twitches in a smile, which he tries his hardest to suppress.

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