Chapter #60Miko's Chronicle, part 2 by: imaj   As she stepped out onto the polished wooden floor of the long training hall, Miko kept her head slightly bowed. A figure stood in the centre of the room, dressed in a heavy dark blue robe and armor. A mask covered his face. Miko glanced upwards at him, her attention rapt at the movement he was making.
He would move fluidly, his leading foot striking the floor resoundingly as brought his practice sword round in graceful, impossibly swift, arcs. Then, just as each movement ended, his stance would go from liquid to unbreakably solid steel: His arms like a rock, his practice sword unmoving. With each practice strike he would shout. It wasn’t anything intelligible, just a raw release of energy. The force of it gently buffeted Miko. She couldn’t help but gasp in admiration.
The figure relaxed, his bamboo practice sword falling to his side. With one hand he pulled of his mask, revealing his face. Short, closely clipped hair that was turning to a steely grey framed a stern face. He looked at Miko and raised an eyebrow.
“Father,” said Miko curtly, still looking at the floor.
“Raise your head Miko and look at me,” replied her father, rubbing at his beard, it was a closely clipped as the rest of his hair, if a little whiter. “How were your lessons today?”
“Good,” replied Miko. “We are learning about the Warring State Period in history.”
“Good, good,” replied her father somewhat distractedly. “You are showing your teachers the proper respect?”
“Of course father,” replied Miko a little irritably.
“Excellent,” he boomed. “Your mother probably needs help in the kitchen.” Miko’s father didn’t wait for a response. He slipped his mask back on and resumed practicing his strikes.
Miko stood for a few seconds, looking around the training hall. She had entered by one of the long sides of the hall, where equipment hung on racks. The opposite wall had always fascinated her, covered as it was with ornate paintings of the divines. At the center was a representation of Amaterasu, goddess of the sun. It was the largest of the paintings, as befitting for divinity most venerated by her family.
The portrait of Amaterasu was flanked on either side by pictures of the goddess’ parents, Izanami and Izanagi. Miko still recalled the day that her father had told her, his voice heavy with sadness, that she had a special link with Izanagi. She still wasn’t quite sure why that would be a bad thing, to have a god looking out for her.
There were six other paintings. Hachiman, god of warriors, to whom both Miko and her father looked whilst training. Pictures of Tenjin, Inari, Ninigi and Susanoo lined the wall. At one end of the line was Tsukuyomi – the god of the moon had once offended Amaterasu and his picture was kept as far from hers as possible. The last picture, at the opposite end of the line, wasn’t a divinity at all, but rather a representation of the first emperor of Japan, Jimmu.
Miko became aware that the rhythm of her fathers practice, the thud of his foot striking the floor and the sound of him shouting, had stopped again. She looked away from the paintings on the far wall.
“Why are you still here Miko,” asked her father sternly. He stood unmoving, locked in a strike stance. “I told you to help your mother.”
“I already asked mother if she needed help,” replied Miko, keeping her anger in check. “She told me to come here.” Miko paused for a few seconds. “I was hoping we could train,” she asked uncertainly.
Her fathers stance relaxed again. “Very well,” he said, still not removing his mask. “Fetch a practice sword and come over.”
“Will I put on some armor,” asked Miko.
“No,” replied her father. “You will attempt some strikes and I shall make simple responses. I will not strike back.”
Miko set her bag carefully on the floor and looked at the equipment racks which covered the nearest wall. There was far more than would ever be needed, armor for all sizes starting with young children. The practice swords were held in a rack attached to the wall, slats of bamboo held together by leather. Eight of them were held there. Miko selected one at random, quickly getting a feel for the weight of it in her hands and stepped forward in front of her father.
Miko’s father raised his practice sword into a defensive stance. “You may strike when you are ready,” he said calmly. “I will…”
Miko’s practice sword was already moving. She raised it above her shoulder and then brought it down with as much power she could in a slashing motion that aimed at her fathers head. With amazing speed, her father brought up his own practice sword, blocking Miko’s blow and knocking her practice sword away to the right. The motion caught Miko unaware and the practice sword skittered out of her grasp and bounced on the floor.
“Good,” said her father as Miko retrieved the sword. “You are learning speed, but your incaution has left you exposed. Try again.”
Miko held her practice sword, it wavered slightly in the air as she examined her father’s stance looking for an opening. This time she tried a darting strike at his wrists, sacrificing power to move faster. Her father had less time to react this time but still managed to get his own practice sword in the way. His block was weaker and Miko was able to regain her poise almost instantly. She pushed for another attack at the wrists, but her father somehow moved to the side and she missed.
“Better,” said Miko’s father. “One more try.”
Miko tried a strike from below, first dropping her practice sword and then bringing it back up in an unconventional wide arcing strike aimed at her fathers ribcage. Her father twisted his wrist and brought his own practice sword in a backwards sweeping upwards arc. The two swords met and slid against each other. Miko pushed hard but was unable to move her practice sword any further forward.
“Enough,” said Miko’s father. Miko withdrew her practice sword and let it fall to her side. She watched as her father threw his practice sword aside. “Let’s make this easier for you. Try striking while I am unarmed.”
Miko turned nervously towards her father’s discarded practice sword and then back to her father “I don’t want to,” she said quietly.
“Why,” asked her father. “You should put feelings of sentimentality to the side when fighting Miko.”
“It’s not that,” explained Miko. “I think that if I strike at you now, you’re just going to do something that ends up with me falling on the floor.”
“So you are showing signs of wisdom,” replied her father. He might have been smiling behind his mask, it was impossible for Miko to tell. “However, there may also be wisdom gained in seeing the execution of the trap you expect. Attack.”
Sullenly, Miko raised her sword again. She decided to repeat her first attack, going for power. Miko didn’t doubt that she was going to fail here, but at least she could attempt to make it sting her father a little too. She was bitterly disappointed when he smartly stepped out of the way of her slow and clumsy blow. She struck the floor with the practice sword making a loud clunking sound. It vibrated in her hand, but Miko managed to keep a hold on it, at least until her father moved smartly beside her and grabbed hold of it too. She struggled briefly, but her father was far the stronger. His elbow caught her under the ribs and she let go and tumbled to the floor.
“That wasn’t fair,” complained Miko angrily.
“Oh,” replied her father, walking to where the other practice sword lay on the floor. “How was it not fair?” He picked up the other practice sword and walked back to the equipment racks
“You’re bigger and stronger than me,” pouted Miko. She rolled over to look at her father. He was facing away from her, replacing the practice swords in the rack.
“And,” said her father abruptly. “I have fought creatures both bigger and stronger than myself many times. Fair did not come into it. My advantages were speed and guile, something for you to remember next time.”
“I see father,” replied Miko, pulling herself to her feet. “I did not think.”
“Then in the future, make sure that you do think,” stated her father firmly, still not turning towards her. “Now go see if you mother needs help again.”
*****
To rest your eyes for a moment: "The Perils of a Paranormal Polyglot" 
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