Airel - Aaron Patterson [97]
Kale simply held me like a child and let me cry. I didn’t know how long it was. And I’m not sure what, exactly, happened. Lots of times I just cried because I have to, to let off the pressure that accumulated inside me, to say with tears what words cannot describe. Whatever happened in that moment of time changed everything.
I pushed Kale away and dried my swollen eyes with the sleeve of my track jacket, now mangled and bloody. I took it off, deciding I could manage with just my t-shirt, but that, too, was impossibly destroyed. It made my mind tangle in knots.
“Fine, then. What do we do now? Cut me some more to see how much I can take?” I wiped at my eyes and sucked in a sob.
Kale’s voice was gentle. “We need to find out what you’re able to do and how much control you have over your abilities. When I say that you have a choice… you do realize that you have the choice to do good with what God has given you, or evil. Which do you choose?”
It was surreal. I felt like I was on a game show. I felt like I was back at the kitchen table arguing with my parents about the SAT and what college I would go to, what major I would declare. I felt like asking Kale how I should possibly know. The truth was, though, that the answer was quite obvious.
But wrapped up inside his question to me was another one, directed right back at him: How can a murderer ask someone to choose between good and evil without being crazy himself? I wanted to ask it—and I unwittingly did, forgetting that he could read my thoughts. Crud. I found myself wishing desperately for some privacy.
“Good,” he said, willing to gloss over all my mental baggage for now. “The first thing we will work on is hand-to-hand combat.” He turned and walked over to one of the racks that held staff upon staff like pool cues, and I followed, shaking my head, trying to clear it. He continued, “You are stronger than you think, but only when you’re filled with raw emotion. You will be able to feel it coursing through your veins.” He handed me a staff.
Oh, what the heck. Maybe I could use a little workout action to help me think clearly. I took the staff in my hand, feeling a little like Moses at the Red Sea. What next?
“Love. Anger. Fear. Whatever the emotion, it must be strong.” His voice commanded attention.
I nodded, though I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I figured I would learn as I went, me being a hands-on type when it came to kickboxing and such. I turned the wooden staff over in my hand, running my fingertips along the smooth surface. It was dark, very hard, and was wrapped around the middle with a leather grip.
Kale held up his own staff, now, made of silvery metal with the same leather grip in the center. “I want you to break that staff over my head.” Kale looked at me with eyes that seemed to be lighter than they had been a few seconds ago.
“What?” I looked at my staff, then at him.
“You heard me, hit me. It must be hard enough that you shatter that staff—and I must warn you—that is gopher wood. A rod of that is very hard, almost impossible to break. So you must focus on your anger right now, and try to channel it into your actions.”
Well then, no problem.
“Here’s a little something to help you out,” he said, and whacked me in the shin with his metal staff.
“Ow!” My left shin stung, and I instinctually snapped into kickboxing mode. Kale was not smiling this time, and I knew if I didn’t at least defend myself he would punish me further. Whatever, old dude. It helped me to ‘channel the anger,’ anyway.
I moved as swiftly as I thought possible, swinging my staff overhead and bringing it thunderously down. It collided with his staff with a clang, and the vibration hurt