Sword Dance

I paused to wipe the sweat from my eyes, then raised the claymore once again. The summer sun was like a hammer on my neck and shoulders, but I was determined to get this section right before I quit. I’ll show them. Call my ‘Storm a meat chopper, will they? Remembering their taunts drove me to work even harder. Even here on Caledon, the traditional home of the claymore, the debate over which was the finer weapon, the claymore or the rapier, meat chopper or toothpick, waged ever on. Just wait ‘til they see me execute the claiomh-damhsa with a claymore, that will quiet them. The claiomh-damhsa, or sword-dance,was an intricate and exacting combination of blade and footwork, and one of the highest tests of a swordsman’s skill. Performed with a razor-sharp blade, it’s dazzling and deadly movements required the quickness and maneuverability of the lighter rapier, as well as years of practice. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, it had never before been attempted with a blade as large as a claymore. That hadn’t stopped me in the midst of one particularly fierce war of words from wagering with the chief toothpick-waver that I would be able to do it by Fionnasa, a scant five months away.

I reset my grip on ‘Storm’s hilt, then stepped into position and began the first movement. The tendons in my forearm bulged as a backhanded sweep required me to carry all of the blade’s considerable weight in one hand. At least my wrist has stopped feeling like it would snap clean off when I do that.

"Get your point up, now you’re off-line for the return." The critique came from Carrick MacRahne, ever watchful from his post in the shade of a large oak. Once one of the finest warriors in the Scotan Fianna, a battle-axe to the head had left him in a coma for two months and had almost taken his life. Still plagued by periodic spells of dizziness and blinding headaches, he was forced to retire from active service to become chief instructor at the war college. He has also been my private tutor for the last two years, ever since I had fought my way through all the other instructors at the school.

My shirt now soaked with sweat, I grabbed a quick drink and started again. Through the opening maneuvers of the first movement, I was just getting into the flow of the second when someone shouting my name broke my concentration. Annoyed at the interruption, I looked over to see my friend Morwen standing by the fence.

"Welcome back to reality. I’ve been shouting your name for a good five minutes." A wide smile creased her face and she was almost dancing with excitement. "Have you heard? The war here is over! Scota is free!"

"Wenna, I don’t care if you’ve wagered against me in the dance, but it’s a dirty trick to distract me like that. Quit joking around."

"I’m not joking! Would everyone be running around like this if it was a joke?" She gestured behind her. The practice yards were full of instructors and students running about, exchanging hugs and slaps on the back. From somewhere to my right a bell was pealing madly. I stood there, unable to move as the news sunk in. The war is over and I didn’t even get to fight. Now what am I going to do?

It was late, but I couldn’t sleep. I stood by the open window, letting the night air cool my burning cheeks. Carrick came silently up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and dropping a kiss upon my shoulder.

"What is it alanna? ‘Tis late."

"Sorry love, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"All my life has been focused toward one goal; to become a warrior and avenge my mother the deaths of her brother and sister. Now the war is over and I didn’t even get to strike a blow."

"And you’re wondering what to do now."

"Exactly."

"Dearest, you know that you’re the finest fighter to pass through this school…"

"at least since you graduated." I cut in with a fond smile.

"Alright, if you insist, the finest fighter since I graduated." He continued "You’ve got the head for it as well as the arm, and you’ve a good way with the younger students. I think that after you graduate you should stay here to be an instructor full time. We can train up the forces to help clear out the other star systems." His arms tightened around me. "And that way I’ll know that you’re safe."

I didn’t like the direction that this conversation was heading. As much as I cared for Carrick, the idea of being stuck on Caledon raising a brood of warrior-bairns didn’t hold much appeal. "I’ll think about it." I said as I led him back to bed.

The changes occurring on the rest of the planet as a result of our liberation had little real effect on my daily existence. My life continued it’s usual round of studies, drills, hurried meals and never enough sleep, and of course the sword-dance. The intervening months flew by much too quickly for my liking, and before I knew it , it was time for the Fiannasa festival.

It had been a restless night. The worship service at sunrise had helped to calm me somewhat, but as the time for my test grew near my nervousness increased. I could hear the cheers from the stands as the other events took place, but I couldn’t sit still long enough to watch any of it. I wandered about aimlessly, reviewing the sequences in my mind and muttering to myself every criticism Carrick had shouted to me in the past months, with ‘Storm chiming in with any bits I omitted.

My meanderings had brought me in the vicinity of the food tents. I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat a few bites of bread and cheese, and was relieved to feel the knot in my stomach loosen a bit. Judging that I had about another hour left, I returned to my room to change clothes, meditate for a bit, and then begin to warm up.

I strode into the center of the arena, wearing the traditional dancers garb of a short, sky-blue tunic and black slippers. I had pulled my hair smooth and tightly braided it in a basketweave pattern to keep it out of my eyes. I examined the positions of the leap platforms, more as a stall for time than concern for their construction. Glancing up into the stands, I caught Carrick’s eye. He gave me a smile full of love and pride. Seated next to him, Morwen flashed a grin and a thumbs-up. I could see other friends in the stands smiling and calling out encouragement. Gods, the whole school must be here. Oh, more than that ‘Storm answered. Word’s gotten out about this. Everyone wants to see history made. My heart made a valiant attempt to leap out of my chest. Relax. You know you can do this. You are your father’s daughter, you’ll make him proud today. Before I could ask ‘Storm what she meant by that last comment, the judges rang the bell for silence. I nodded to them to show I was ready and took the opening position. Gathering the power into me, I began to dance.

My first movements were tight, and I knew it. Before I could panic ‘Storm whispered encouragement. I forced myself to relax and we found the flow. We stopped thinking about what came next, and it came. And then like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, the battle-madness came upon us, and we were invincible. We dove from the highest platform, a hawk intent on the kill. ‘Storm’s croon of encouragement rose to a banshee shriek. We were two ravens of the Morrigan, thirsty for blood. As we executed the complex spins and leaps, Liath, Silverstorm, and the dance stopped being three separate things and merged into one entity. We were exultant. We were beautiful.

When I came back to myself I was kneeling before the judges platform. The crowd was on its feet, cheering wildly. I was in a daze, the blood still pounding in my ears. The judges stood and started down the steps of the platform. The stands were silent as the judges raised me to my feet and placed the wreath of victory upon my head. The shout of approval from the crowd was deafening. Suddenly people were pouring out of the stands onto the field, patting me on the back, embracing me, trying to lift me onto their shoulders. Morwen waved her arms wildly, trying vainly to attract attention. Trying a different tack, she put two fingers in her mouth and emitted an ear-piercing whistle which turned every head in her direction.

"I do believe that there is the matter of a small wager to be settled on the outcome of this event."

I turned and began to walk toward the only figure still seated in the stands, the one who’s taunts had led to my hot-headed wager these five months past.

Speaking loudly so the entire crowd could hear, and in the formal High Gaeloch "Chief Instructor Carrick MacRahne, champion of the rapier. Will you now honor your wager by kneeling before me, kissing the claymore Silverstorm, and proclaiming to these people here assembled that ‘Claymores rule, rapiers rust’."

And he did exactly that.