“Because you are lithe but not strong, either of you. Quick and supple, but without bulk. To hold your own in a real fight, you will also need power, and using this heavy sword will build your muscles. More than that; when I finally deem you ready for a real blade, you will find them so easy to use after the training sword that you will already have an extra edge.
Samir nodded. It made sense. He stepped forward once more and now the brothers faced one another across a short space. Faraj nodded.
“Very well. You are not armoured and these swords will hurt. If swung with enough force they will break a limb, so we are going to start light and slow. There will be no contact until I say that you are ready.”
He stepped between them and held out a long and sturdy stick.
“Swing your blades down and hit that.”
With some difficulty, Samir lifted the heavy sword, having to employ both hands as it neared head height. With some relief, he let it drop. Ghassan managed with one hand, his larger frame lending him extra strength, but the sweat on his brown told of the strain he was hiding. Neither blade connected with the stick as they fell.
“This may take some time,” Faraj laughed.
The sun rose slowly to its zenith and was already beginning its descent when the boys’ uncle allowed them to rest for more than a minute’s breather. Samir sat on the low wall at the tower’s edge. His arm ached more than he had believed possible and, though Faraj had made sure they had regular draughts of water, he found himself salivating at the thought of the water melon that he knew waited at home.
Ghassan was beginning to sag. Initially, his large build had lent him an advantage, but their uncle was no fool and had pressed the bulkier brother to reach higher and swing faster, thus placing a roughly equal exertion on both boys.
The man smiled as he watched the two boys’ faces while they ate their bread and now-warm cheese and drank their tepid water as would a man who had just crawled out of the deep, parched desert. He stood, leaning on his long stick as he watched them. In such a short time, he had grown very close to his brother’s family and had occasionally to remind himself that these were not his own sons, not that it made a jot of difference to how he treated them. He was firm when necessary, but generous and kind when the opportunity presented itself. Sword-training, though, was a time for firmness, not kindness.
Once the boys had finished and were leaning back on the stonework, breathing heavily, he cleared his throat.
“Now, my boys. Time to start the real work.”
Both brothers made an exasperated face and shared a look that they hoped Faraj would not see.
“Come on… I have here padded leathers. Now, I only have jackets and gloves; no helmets or leg guards, and it will be extremely warm work under all that extra clothing. But you’ll need it.”
As the boys staggered wearily to their feet and hefted their wooden blades as well as their screaming muscles could manage, Faraj dropped a heavy, padded leather jacket in front of them both.
“You need to be careful here. Your mother does not know that I am doing this and she would most certainly disapprove. If I have to take either of you home with a staved skull or a broken leg, we shall never get to do this again.”
The boys blinked and their uncle laughed.
“I do not mean to worry you, boys. The jackets are strong and the swords are blunt. So long as you keep your aim between neck and waist we shall all be fine.”
He smiled as Samir and Ghassan wearily hauled the heavy padded leathers onto their backs and fed their arms through the stiff sleeves before tying the thongs and donning the gloves.
“Very well,” their uncle nodded, “we shall begin this by proving it doesn’t hurt. I want each of you to take a swing at the other’s arm. Only the arm, mind… no leg or head blows.”
Gingerly, Samir pulled back his blade and swung, landing a light blow with a thud that shook Ghassan a little. Ghassan grinned and returned the swing.
As they smiled, the brothers turned to look at their uncle. Faraj had one eyebrow raised and looked distinctly unimpressed.
“Hardly a real fight, is it? Now swing again, but this time put a little effort into it.”
Samir nodded and smiled at Ghassan.
“Ready?”
Ghassan laughed.
“Hit me, brother.”
Samir pulled back and swung again. This time, the blow hit with a heavy thud that knocked his brother to one side. Ghassan laughed and swung back before he had even righted himself. The return blow threw the smaller boy aside. The two burst out laughing and allowed their swords to tip downwards.
Faraj sighed.
“I recognise that this is exciting for you, but I must remind you that it is not a game. You are holding back because you are brothers and, while I understand that, you need to throw yourself into this if you are serious about learning.”
Samir shrugged.
“We are doing our best, uncle.”
Faraj tapped a finger to his lips.
“I do not think that this is true. I want you both to try. Keep your blows in the torso region, but swing as though your brother is trying to kill you. Imagine that is not Ghassan before you, but some Pelasian soldier intent on rape, pillage and murder.”
There was a brief silence as the boys glared at each other and then Ghassan pulled a face and both burst into hysterical laughter. Faraj sighed.
“I am sorry about this, boys, but if you are going to learn anything more than fancy posturing, you need to be willing to strike at each other as though it was your deepest heart’s desire to kill him on the spot. And to do that, we’re going to have to stop you kidding around.”
The boys slowly recovered from their laughing fits and straightened, trying to hold a serious expression on their faces. Faraj shook his head.
“I need you to concentrate on something that irritates you about each other. There must be something you argue over? A toy? A piece of clothing?”
The boys shook their heads but, as their faces came up again, Ghassan saw something in Samir’s eyes; something dark; something worrying.
“There is nothing we argue over, is there Samir?”
The smaller brother shook his head.
“No, brother. Nothing.”
But Ghassan could not tear his gaze from those eyes. Something had cast a shadow over Samir’s soul moments ago and Ghassan, for the first time in his life, began to fear his brother. There was something in Samir’s gaze that he couldn’t quite define, and he would shun any attempt to name it.
The two continued to lock eyes for a minute and Ghassan was forced to turn away from that look.
Uncle Faraj, unaware of quite what had transpired between them, nodded thoughtfully.
“Good. Now that you have finished giggling like a pair of school girls, we will try once again.” He turned to Ghassan. “You first. Swing at Samir as though your life depended on it.”
Ghassan hefted the sword as Samir stepped slightly closer. He daren’t meet his brother’s gaze. Swinging the sword back, he let it go with as powerful a swing as he could really justify, looking up and meeting Samir’s gaze only as the heavy blade closed on its target. The result was a loud thud that knocked the smaller boy from his feet.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out and proffered his hand to help Samir up. The smaller brother shook his head and looked up at Ghassan, whose face was a mask of concern, close to panic. Samir sighed and looked back down at the sandy timber beneath him. Ghassan was his brother. They were family, and Asima could do as she pleased, but Samir would never again consider what he had just now contemplated in the darkest recess of his mind.
He smiled at Ghassan; the warmest smile he could manage, and almost laughed out loud at the relief that flooded his brother’s face.
“Is that all you can manage? I’d have knocked you to the next tower! In fact, I believe I will do just that in a moment.”
He grasped Ghassan’s hand and hauled himself to his feet.
“My turn, lumbering brother.”
He grinned at Ghassan, and the taller boy smiled back uncertainly. Despite the jovial face and voice, there was still something lurking beneath the surface of Samir that unnerved his brother.
“Uncle Faraj?” Ghassan propped his wooden sword against the low wall. “I’m not feeling very well. Do you think we could call an end to today?”
The weathered warrior raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps it would be better to begin again on a morning when it is cooler. The afternoon heat is rather intense. Let us return to the house and see what your mother plans for supper.”
The boys helped Faraj gather the equipment and their uncle forced most of it into a huge bag that he slung across his back. With a last check that they had forgotten nothing, he set off toward the stair well at the corner of the tower. Samir hurried along behind, carrying the wooden swords. Neither of them was aware of the appraising look Ghassan cast at his brother’s back while he hauled the food bags onto his shoulders and set off behind them.
Something had passed between them on the tower top that day and, although he knew beyond doubt what had been at the root of it, he could not bring himself to ponder too deeply on the matter. Suffice it to say that, while he loved his brother beyond almost all else, eight years of trust had wafted away in the light breeze this afternoon.
In which the world is seen to turn
The past three months had wrought huge changes, both physical and emotional, in the brothers, and no one had noticed the differences more than Asima. She had begun to spend more time with them again these days and passed many hours sitting in the shelter of their small room while her father, intent on some business errand or other, merrily presumed her to be in her room, reading and playing.
She lay on the floor on a thick blanket, her head cradled on Samir’s crossed ankles. The smaller brother had changed the most. The physical training and exercise that their uncle was putting them through had bulked Samir out. Where he had been small and reed-like, now his muscles rippled beneath his shirt sleeves. He could lift Asima from the floor by one hand without breaking a sweat. He was toned and at the peak of his physical fitness. If rooftop chases had still held any interest for the three of them, Asima was sure that Samir would be unreachable.
But the greater change was in the boy himself. Something had changed in Samir’s soul. It was as though a candle in his heart had been snuffed.
Oh, he was still a loving and charming person, and many candles still burned within him, but occasionally, when caught off guard, she could see the effect of that one light that had vanished. There was a shadow that haunted him sometimes. To begin with, she had feared this change in Samir and recoiled deeper than ever into Ghassan’s arms. But then one evening, when she had seen Samir alone, she had seen that darkness cloud his eyes and, on an impulse, she had clutched him and held him so tight that she felt him gasp. As she looked up, she saw those shadows melt away and a light, stronger than ever, shone from within those sparkling eyes.
And that was it. She knew now that only she could heal whatever had broken inside Samir. They never spoke of it but, when he needed her, she made sure she was always there.
She looked across at Ghassan, who sat smiling at them, and she was sure his smile was false. The larger brother had become powerful indeed. They were approaching ten years of age now, but Ghassan was already a physical match for most of the men of M’Dahz. Indeed, he was already taller than some of the foreign merchants from the north, and yet his impressive physique was tempered now with a gentleness and humility. He often deferred to Samir when choices were made and seemed, at times, almost to be in awe of his brother.
Strange changes, indeed. But there had been changes in Asima too. Ghassan had held everything she needed; still did. There was nothing she could look for in a boy that she would not find in Ghassan. And yet the darkness within Samir fascinated and pulled at her and she found herself more often in Samir’s arms that those of the taller brother these days.
And Ghassan must recognise that. It must sadden him. And yet he said nothing and merely watched them both with a fraternal smile.
It was a warm evening, and the breeze had died down just before dusk, leaving a cloying stillness that hung in the air as though the world held its breath. The faintest streaks of pink and azure hung in the west as the sun journeyed to the underworld for the night, where it would be renewed by the hammer and forge of the fire God. Soon, the boys would be called down for their evening meal, once Faraj had returned from his duties, and Asima really should go, although recently the boys’ mother had become aware of her evening visits and, while raising the occasional meaningful eyebrow at her, had kept remarkably silent on the subject.
So she would probably wait here while dinner was prepared and, as was now often the case, Nadia would set out the meals and then call to the girl she knew was lurking upstairs. She would have automatically set a spare place for Asima. With the extra income Faraj brought into the household, they now ate well and could afford a little generosity. And her own father was so busy trying to keep his business afloat in what he kept referring to as ‘the turbulent climate’ that he often forgot to feed them, and they had to rely on a late supper of salad and cold meat.