"100 Men" Preview
My normal internet hangout is down, so I thought I'd come hang here on LJ. However, because there is nothing interesting about my life (and if there was, I probably wouldn't tell *you* about it anyway), all I have for you is fanfic. As I've randomly mentioned before in various private communications, I'm working on a multi-chapter depiction of Piandao's life story up to the point where he definitively secures his freedom from service to the Fire Nation. I've actually been working on it for several years now, not counting all the time I take off to pursue other projects or because I feel like it.
Recently, I've been pushing to finish the first complete draft, and in doing so, wound up having to go back to make some changes to previously completed chapters.
That's when I realized that my entire Chapter 2 was complete trash and needed to be re-written. Yay.
I'm still not done with it, as the rewrite effort has expanded things to the point where I'm going to have to cut Chapter 2 in half, and then if I do that I'll need to completely reshuffle things because at some (very stupid) point I thought it would be clever to have Chapter 1 set in the story's present, Chapter 2 in the past, Chapter 3 in the present, Chapter 4 in the past, etc (and if you don't get the pattern, no wonder math is considered an arcane art these days). Still, I just completed what can be considered a story arc within Chapter 2 (see, this is why it needs to be chopped up) that I submitted by itself as an entry for Avatar Spirit's unofficial short story contest. It actually won (thanks to the judge specifically not giving a word limit this time), so I figure it might be worth sharing in a more public venue. Note that this is the first draft of this particular segment, so any constructive criticism would be especially appreciated.
When Piandao was four, he decided to ask about his parents. He hadn’t really expected much information, because most of the other boys were orphans or foundlings, but to his surprise, Sir had actually met Piandao’s parents. They were Firebenders, he was told, but they hadn’t given their names or lineages. How had Sir known they were Firebenders? Sir had once served in the military, it was explained, and he knew Firebenders by their demeanor and attitude. Some of the greatest martial masters could even judge a Bender’s skill by how they walked.
Piandao had been impressed.
He had more questions, though. Why had his parents come to the Home to give Piandao up? Sir had asked that very question himself at the time, and the parents explained that their son was not a Firebender like them. Sir had inquired if that was such a burden. The parents grew haughty, and cited the law that any child could be left at one of the Homes without repercussion. Sir took the child and the parents had departed.
Piandao had been disappointed, but not too much. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t Firebend. That’s what he told himself, and then as a way of not thinking about the matter, had asked about the law his parents had mentioned. Sir explained that the Fire Nation did not tolerate the dishonorable abandonment of children in the streets or fields. Any boy or girl could be brought to a Home and left there, and the Fire Nation would provide for the child’s care and housing. In exchange, all such children were bound to join the military as soon as they were legal age.
It was only fair to pay back the Fire Nation’s generosity, Sir clarified.
Piandao had been relieved. He hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to be when he grew up, and this meant he wouldn’t have to worry about it.
*
At the approximate age of ten, Piandao’s childhood in the Home came to an end. He was sent to a Pre-Military camp, where he would begin his true training.
The camp in question was the only one on the island. All the towns and cities had a Home, but the ‘graduates’ were funneled into the same camp. For efficiency’s sake, it was situated on the grounds of the island’s Home Guard Command Center, and members of the Guard would be among those providing training to the students. The Center was just outside the island’s capital, and Piandao could see top tower of the Governor’s mansion from his assigned barracks.
The view aside, the Center was an ugly, dusty place. Piandao’s arrival came on the back of an old cart that rattled over every rock and bump in the road. The capital’s streets were made from smooth stonework, but the Center apparently didn’t need such niceties. Piandao looked around as the cart passed through the complex’s outer gates, and saw only what looked like a haphazard placement of ugly, blocky buildings strewn across training grounds of flattened dirt.
The cart jolted to a stop, and the harnessed rhinos grunted as though to pronounce their work done. “All out, line up,” the driver called. Piandao and the rest of the children did as ordered. None of them had any luggage, because none of them owned anything. The Fire Nation provided for their every need.
A member of the Home Guard was on hand to supervise them. She was a stocky woman with skin the same color as the dust around them, and she didn’t even look at the new arrivals as she ‘welcomed’ them, gave them their barracks assignments, and sent them on their way to prepare for their introductory training session. There was an impersonal feel to the whole experience that culminated in the sight of the barracks themselves. Piandao barely glanced at the plain wooden structure before entering, and didn’t find the inside to be a particularly interesting sight, either. The whole thing was nothing more than a box with pallets lining each wall.
At least the Home had recognized the worth of adding form to function.
Piandao had always enjoyed his art classes best. As he shed his plain tunic and dressed in the uniform waiting for his on his pallet, the boy fondly thought back to the Home’s classes in painting and calligraphy. His characters had been the best in the entire Home according to Sir, who called them clear and subtly shaped. Perhaps his understanding of color and lines are what led to the trouble in the History classes; the few reproductions of foreign art he was able to find in the Home’s library revealed a unique sophistication.
Yes, perhaps it was better to eschew form. Less difficulty that way.
*
Piandao’s mind did not reawaken until spear training, later that afternoon. He had already trained in mediation and unarmed self-defense exercises during his school days, but this was something different.
The instructor’s name was Qiang, amusingly enough. “The spear is the foundation upon which all your combat other training will build,” the man barked to the line of boys and girls. “It is called, rightly and justly, the ‘King of Weapons.’ The techniques you will learn can be applied to hand-to-hand styles, as well as nearly every other weapon employed in the Fire Nation military. We will start with shortened training spears, but I will quickly be moving you all up to full-length spears, because you are now Adults, and you will simply train with your weapon until I say you are proficient, no matter how many years it takes.”
One boy, who had been with Piandao in the same Home and traveled with him to the Center, raised his hand. “I’m a Firebender,” he said.
Qiang’s face was blank. “Thank you for informing me, but I do not care.”
Piandao had never been impressed with the boy’s intelligence, but his opinion reached new depths as the young Firebender kept talking. “But I don’t need a weapon. I want to be a Firebending Master!”
Now, Qiang’s eyes narrowed. He stepped in front of the boy. “You are stupid, so I will say it twice. The techniques you will learn- and I will ensure that you especially will learn them- can be applied to any fighting style. All the warriors in service to the Fire Nation can fight with a spear. All.” He moved his gaze across the line. “Does everyone understand?”
The whole grouped bowed in synch.
*
Piandao didn’t really like the spear. But then, who likes losing?
Standing in a line (and wasn’t that a common situation here in the Center?), Piandao thrust his blunted weapon forward in time with everyone else, but he had misjudged the motion of his attacker’s own spear, and the girl knocked the attack aside and quickly thrust forward at Piandao in turn. The spearhead, just a rounded piece of wood, slammed right into the center of Piandao’s chest armor, very efficiently transforming the force of the attack into a blow that knocked him right off his feet.
Quiang appeared behind Piandao’s place in the line as if from the Spirit World. “Piandao! You have failed your Nation! You fell before the attacking hordes, leaving a hole in the defensive line that your body was supposed to be protecting. Now the enemy can pour into the place you left undefended, killing your fellow soldiers and making their way to the homes of good Fire Nation folk everywhere. It’s a good thing you’re an orphan, because mothers and sisters everywhere are now cursing your name and lineage.”
Piandao quickly got to his feet and bowed in apology. “I will double my efforts to be worthy of defending the Fire Nation.”
“Good.” Evidently pleased with the standard display of contrition, Quiang relaxed. “Now, analyze your failure. What happened?”
Piandao nodded, and spoke with confidence. “I had an inaccurate picture of where the enemy’s spear was. The shaft flexed as she brought her spear in line, and the tassel just below the blade made it hard to see where exactly it was. I misjudged the angle when I attacked, and her weapon was well-placed to block mine.”
Quiang nodded happily. “And so you see the strength of the spear.”
Piandao frowned beneath his training headgear. Calligraphy was a much more accurate art, but they didn’t do that here at the Center. This afternoon’s multi-mile run, tactical drilling, and lecture on military history would have to do.
*
Piandao still wasn’t very good at staying alive when he was selected to learn how to wield a saber. He was given a dao, a single-edged cutting blade, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the only reason he was selected for the weapon was his name and someone’s poor sense of humor. Regardless, he applied himself with his typical professional diligence (or at least as much professionalism as a quiet teenager could muster), and learned the chopping attacks best suited to the weapon.
Yes, that was much better than the spear.
As he flicked through the drill- an exercise he had been practicing for months now- on the packed dirt of one of the training grounds, Piandao couldn’t help but admire the way the thin metal blade flashed through the air. It was short and light enough a weapon to be wielded with one hand, and with linked movement of his elbow and wrist, Piandao was able to work multiple slices and cuts into every second that passed. Held two-handed, the blade became a powerful force that could cleave armor and crease helmets. As Piandao brought the weapon down in an overhead strike, he could imagine that it would do rather horrible things to an enemy’s skull.
Except for the inherent violence, it wasn’t unlike wielding a painting brush. Piandao took no special pleasure in violence, but that was the price of the Fire Nation’s generosity. It probably wouldn’t be so bad.
“You have a good command of that blade, boy.”
Piandao finished his forms, then (and only then, discipline was highly valued here in the Center) turned to the speaker and bowed at the compliment. Straightening, he recognized the sergeant who had, that morning, given a guest-lecture describing a battle he had participated in at the front. It had been well received, as veterans of the war in the Earth Kingdom were rare visitors to the Center.
Fajin was the man’s name, Piandao recalled. This close, he could see that there was a thin scar across the man’s forehead. “Thank you, sir. I strive to serve the Fire Nation to the best of my abilities.”
Fajin waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve been on frontlines for years now. I prefer to speak plainly.” Piandao nodded politely, but didn’t quite understand what wasn’t plain about his response. “You’re a natural with that saber,” Fajin continued, “except in one respect. It’s not quite the right weapon for you.”
That was an intriguing statement. At Piandao’s questioning stare, the sergeant nodded. “The dao is called ‘The Marshall of Weapons,’ which is appropriate, because I’ve always founding it lacking in the same manner as most of the higher-ups: it can only cut in one direction. Trying to make it more adaptable is an exercise in frustration.” He chuckled at his own joke. Piandao smiled agreeably but maintained a neutral silence.
Fajin reached to his back and unsheathed his own blade, a straight sword with both edges sharpened. “The jian is more sophisticated. It takes longer to make one, and takes more time to master. You think other weapons require accuracy and timing? Try wielding a sword with no blocking edges. You need complete control to wield a jian effectively.”
Very intriguing. Piandao finally spoke, “Can I try yours?”
The sergeant snorted. “Of course not. This isn’t a toy for kids. Maybe when you’re older. If you keep working hard.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “The jian is called the ‘Gentleman of Weapons.’ Can you guess why?”
Piandao considered that. ‘Gentlemen’ were landowners, the minor and major nobles who administered the Fire Lord’s lands for the good of the Nation. They were assumed to be naturally superior to the peasants who worked those lands, but it was recognized that everyone’s actions came together to fuel the Fire. “Only nobles are allowed to use them?” he finally ventured.
“Hardly,” Fajin snickered. “Do I sound noble to you? It’s because only the idle rich are thought to have enough time on their hands to learn how to use the things.” Fajin smirked. “It’s the kind of logic that just begs to be proven wrong, don’t you think?”
Yes, that thought appealed to Piandao.
*
It turned out that there were no instructors for the jian at the Center. All the members of the Home Guard who could not Bend used a dao, so their trainers naturally focused on that weapon. The main Fire Army had first shot at all jian swordsmen, using them as either soldiers or teachers for its own purposes. There were private tutors, of course, but they commanded a price that only the noble class could even consider. There was no simply way that Piandao could get the training he wanted at the Center.
That was all right, though. He had come up with a plan.
When the Pre-Military “campers” weren’t training, sleeping, or eating, they were employed by the Center’s Home Guard as assistants and pages, taking care of whatever little odd jobs with which the adults didn’t want to bother. Wearing his uniform and taking on a dull, professional facial expression that all the boys and girls in the camp wore when bored out of their minds, Piandao walked right into the Center’s main administrative center.
It looked just as plain and industrial on the inside as it did on the outside, but Piandao was long past being bothered by it. It certainly played to his advantage, now, as none of the personnel within took any notice of him. Certainly, Piandao believed that a more artistic and engaging environment would have kept their minds sharp enough to at least wonder about him.
Piandao easily found the desk he was looking for, and bowed to the man seated behind it. “I’m picking up a petition form,” he said simply.
The clerk didn’t even look up. “Blank, or one of the logged forms?”
“Blank.”
The clerk found the appropriate paper, pre-printed with the standard characters for sending an outgoing request to another branch of the Fire Nation’s government. Piandao accepted it, bowed again, and turned to leave with no deliberate hurry.
Clutching the rolled-up form gave him a good excuse for ignoring any activity in the rest of the camp. Certainly, no one stopped him from completing what looked like a routine delivery. Piandao took a roundabout route back to his barrack, and was pleased to discover it empty, as expected. He went straight for the single desk that all the residents were expected to share, and used the old brush there to fill out the form.
Now he just had to deliver it to the Governor’s palace.
*
Piandao kept his uniform on, and the guard at the Governor’s place displayed only professional interest as he watched Piandao approach through the half-full town square, his hard boots clacking against the stone street. Once he reached the guard, the boy bowed (he was probably going to have a headache tonight from all this bowing) and displayed the rolled petition form. “Missive from the Home Guard Command Center,” he said. “I’m to present it to the Governor and await his reply.”
The guard took the scroll, opened it and gave the form a cursory glance, then handed it back to Piandao with a nod. “Come with me.”
Uniforms were helpful things, weren’t they?
He was led through the halls of the ostentatious palace and brought directly to the Governor’s study. Everything was decorated in rich reds and deep golds, and Piandao could see the brushstrokes in the metallic paint that lined most of the decor. The study was near the rear of the building, separated from the hallways by pair of sliding doors. They were left open to reveal the full office and the large picture window on the far wall. The Governor himself was seated at his desk in the center of the room, looking over some paperwork. Piandao wasn’t sure if the wonderfully fancy robes that the man was wearing were worth having to put up with paperwork, but it was the Governor’s choice. Certainly, his long, flared sideburns indicated a fine sense of appearance.
The guard knocked on the frame of the open door. “Message from the Center, Governor Zhao,” the guard said. “Reply requested.”
“Bring it here,” Zhao said, setting aside the paper in his hands. Piandao stepped forward, bowed (again), and handed the scroll over. Zhao wound up staring at the form letter for a full five minutes. “What in the name of the First Fire is this?”
Piandao bowed (once more to grow on), and smiled politely at the Governor. “My request for training in the ways of the jian. It has come to my attention that there is a deficiency in the Center’s educational program, and it is for the good of the Fire Nation that I am attempting to address the problem. I can’t give the Homeland my full value as a citizen and soldier if I can’t use my skills to their fullest.”
The Governor looked at Piandao. He didn’t stare, as his gaze was far too alive and probing, but he was clearly examining the boy. “You schemed your way into my home so that you could ask for free sword lessons?” Zhao asked lightly. “You realize that you could arrested, and court-martialed for this? Oh yes, even our Camp trainees are subject to military rules. Shall I recite the ones you broke in coming here?”
Piandao gave a polite shake of his head. “I had a general understanding of the risks already, but I thank you for the offer.”
Zhao’s lip twitched. “I could have you executed,” he said flatly. “You’re an orphan, and for all intents and purposes owned by the Fire Nation. If you can’t serve us, you’re a waste of resources.”
Piandao shrugged. “I’m already a waste of resources. After all of the years of care and training I have received, I’m telling you that I will die quickly on the battlefield if I am not allowed to realize my true potential.” He looked the Governor right in the eyes. “Train me to use a jian, and I give my word of honor that you will see a return on your investment. Don’t, and I will be the most expensive casualty the Fire Nation has ever owned.”
Zhao turned to the guard, still standing at the door. “Bring my son’s sword.” As the guard left to carry out the task, the Governor continued, “As befits the scion of my family, my son is currently being trained to fight with a jian. He is a Firebender, though, unlike me, and I expect the lessons will be wasted.” The guard returned with a sheathed jian, simple in design. At Zhao’s nod, he handed it to Piandao.
The boy took it reverently, and drew the blade from its sheath. He held the sword out, arm fully extended, and judged the balance of the weapon. Slowly, experimentally, he moved the sword in some circular motions, testing the play of the torque. The blade did not shine, or come alive, or doing anything like out of some dramatic fiction.
It was simply very sharp.
Oh yes. Piandao was sure he could stamp his identity on the world with a weapon such as this.
Zhao’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Very well, I can tell you have a hand for it. Reminds me of when I got my own first weapon. I will arrange for my son’s tutor to visit the Center and train you as well, and if you fail to perform better than my son, I will have you executed as a traitor. If you succeed, I will recommend you to my friend, Colonel Taishou, who has an interest in gifted swordsmen. Either way, you will serve the Fire Nation. Sound fair?”
Piandao smiled, sheathed the sword, and bowed one last time.
He didn’t even feel the ten lashings he got back at the camp for his audacious actions.
*
Piandao was eighteen when he was finally awarded a jian of his own, representing his status as an elite soldier of the Fire Nation, and commissioned for active duty in the Earth Kingdom.
Governor Zhao was in the audience at his class’s graduation ceremony, and applauded. He personally introduced Piandao to Colonel Taishou.
And then the story moves on to Piandao's professional life under Colonel Taishou.
Recently, I've been pushing to finish the first complete draft, and in doing so, wound up having to go back to make some changes to previously completed chapters.
That's when I realized that my entire Chapter 2 was complete trash and needed to be re-written. Yay.
I'm still not done with it, as the rewrite effort has expanded things to the point where I'm going to have to cut Chapter 2 in half, and then if I do that I'll need to completely reshuffle things because at some (very stupid) point I thought it would be clever to have Chapter 1 set in the story's present, Chapter 2 in the past, Chapter 3 in the present, Chapter 4 in the past, etc (and if you don't get the pattern, no wonder math is considered an arcane art these days). Still, I just completed what can be considered a story arc within Chapter 2 (see, this is why it needs to be chopped up) that I submitted by itself as an entry for Avatar Spirit's unofficial short story contest. It actually won (thanks to the judge specifically not giving a word limit this time), so I figure it might be worth sharing in a more public venue. Note that this is the first draft of this particular segment, so any constructive criticism would be especially appreciated.
When Piandao was four, he decided to ask about his parents. He hadn’t really expected much information, because most of the other boys were orphans or foundlings, but to his surprise, Sir had actually met Piandao’s parents. They were Firebenders, he was told, but they hadn’t given their names or lineages. How had Sir known they were Firebenders? Sir had once served in the military, it was explained, and he knew Firebenders by their demeanor and attitude. Some of the greatest martial masters could even judge a Bender’s skill by how they walked.
Piandao had been impressed.
He had more questions, though. Why had his parents come to the Home to give Piandao up? Sir had asked that very question himself at the time, and the parents explained that their son was not a Firebender like them. Sir had inquired if that was such a burden. The parents grew haughty, and cited the law that any child could be left at one of the Homes without repercussion. Sir took the child and the parents had departed.
Piandao had been disappointed, but not too much. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t Firebend. That’s what he told himself, and then as a way of not thinking about the matter, had asked about the law his parents had mentioned. Sir explained that the Fire Nation did not tolerate the dishonorable abandonment of children in the streets or fields. Any boy or girl could be brought to a Home and left there, and the Fire Nation would provide for the child’s care and housing. In exchange, all such children were bound to join the military as soon as they were legal age.
It was only fair to pay back the Fire Nation’s generosity, Sir clarified.
Piandao had been relieved. He hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to be when he grew up, and this meant he wouldn’t have to worry about it.
*
At the approximate age of ten, Piandao’s childhood in the Home came to an end. He was sent to a Pre-Military camp, where he would begin his true training.
The camp in question was the only one on the island. All the towns and cities had a Home, but the ‘graduates’ were funneled into the same camp. For efficiency’s sake, it was situated on the grounds of the island’s Home Guard Command Center, and members of the Guard would be among those providing training to the students. The Center was just outside the island’s capital, and Piandao could see top tower of the Governor’s mansion from his assigned barracks.
The view aside, the Center was an ugly, dusty place. Piandao’s arrival came on the back of an old cart that rattled over every rock and bump in the road. The capital’s streets were made from smooth stonework, but the Center apparently didn’t need such niceties. Piandao looked around as the cart passed through the complex’s outer gates, and saw only what looked like a haphazard placement of ugly, blocky buildings strewn across training grounds of flattened dirt.
The cart jolted to a stop, and the harnessed rhinos grunted as though to pronounce their work done. “All out, line up,” the driver called. Piandao and the rest of the children did as ordered. None of them had any luggage, because none of them owned anything. The Fire Nation provided for their every need.
A member of the Home Guard was on hand to supervise them. She was a stocky woman with skin the same color as the dust around them, and she didn’t even look at the new arrivals as she ‘welcomed’ them, gave them their barracks assignments, and sent them on their way to prepare for their introductory training session. There was an impersonal feel to the whole experience that culminated in the sight of the barracks themselves. Piandao barely glanced at the plain wooden structure before entering, and didn’t find the inside to be a particularly interesting sight, either. The whole thing was nothing more than a box with pallets lining each wall.
At least the Home had recognized the worth of adding form to function.
Piandao had always enjoyed his art classes best. As he shed his plain tunic and dressed in the uniform waiting for his on his pallet, the boy fondly thought back to the Home’s classes in painting and calligraphy. His characters had been the best in the entire Home according to Sir, who called them clear and subtly shaped. Perhaps his understanding of color and lines are what led to the trouble in the History classes; the few reproductions of foreign art he was able to find in the Home’s library revealed a unique sophistication.
Yes, perhaps it was better to eschew form. Less difficulty that way.
*
Piandao’s mind did not reawaken until spear training, later that afternoon. He had already trained in mediation and unarmed self-defense exercises during his school days, but this was something different.
The instructor’s name was Qiang, amusingly enough. “The spear is the foundation upon which all your combat other training will build,” the man barked to the line of boys and girls. “It is called, rightly and justly, the ‘King of Weapons.’ The techniques you will learn can be applied to hand-to-hand styles, as well as nearly every other weapon employed in the Fire Nation military. We will start with shortened training spears, but I will quickly be moving you all up to full-length spears, because you are now Adults, and you will simply train with your weapon until I say you are proficient, no matter how many years it takes.”
One boy, who had been with Piandao in the same Home and traveled with him to the Center, raised his hand. “I’m a Firebender,” he said.
Qiang’s face was blank. “Thank you for informing me, but I do not care.”
Piandao had never been impressed with the boy’s intelligence, but his opinion reached new depths as the young Firebender kept talking. “But I don’t need a weapon. I want to be a Firebending Master!”
Now, Qiang’s eyes narrowed. He stepped in front of the boy. “You are stupid, so I will say it twice. The techniques you will learn- and I will ensure that you especially will learn them- can be applied to any fighting style. All the warriors in service to the Fire Nation can fight with a spear. All.” He moved his gaze across the line. “Does everyone understand?”
The whole grouped bowed in synch.
*
Piandao didn’t really like the spear. But then, who likes losing?
Standing in a line (and wasn’t that a common situation here in the Center?), Piandao thrust his blunted weapon forward in time with everyone else, but he had misjudged the motion of his attacker’s own spear, and the girl knocked the attack aside and quickly thrust forward at Piandao in turn. The spearhead, just a rounded piece of wood, slammed right into the center of Piandao’s chest armor, very efficiently transforming the force of the attack into a blow that knocked him right off his feet.
Quiang appeared behind Piandao’s place in the line as if from the Spirit World. “Piandao! You have failed your Nation! You fell before the attacking hordes, leaving a hole in the defensive line that your body was supposed to be protecting. Now the enemy can pour into the place you left undefended, killing your fellow soldiers and making their way to the homes of good Fire Nation folk everywhere. It’s a good thing you’re an orphan, because mothers and sisters everywhere are now cursing your name and lineage.”
Piandao quickly got to his feet and bowed in apology. “I will double my efforts to be worthy of defending the Fire Nation.”
“Good.” Evidently pleased with the standard display of contrition, Quiang relaxed. “Now, analyze your failure. What happened?”
Piandao nodded, and spoke with confidence. “I had an inaccurate picture of where the enemy’s spear was. The shaft flexed as she brought her spear in line, and the tassel just below the blade made it hard to see where exactly it was. I misjudged the angle when I attacked, and her weapon was well-placed to block mine.”
Quiang nodded happily. “And so you see the strength of the spear.”
Piandao frowned beneath his training headgear. Calligraphy was a much more accurate art, but they didn’t do that here at the Center. This afternoon’s multi-mile run, tactical drilling, and lecture on military history would have to do.
*
Piandao still wasn’t very good at staying alive when he was selected to learn how to wield a saber. He was given a dao, a single-edged cutting blade, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the only reason he was selected for the weapon was his name and someone’s poor sense of humor. Regardless, he applied himself with his typical professional diligence (or at least as much professionalism as a quiet teenager could muster), and learned the chopping attacks best suited to the weapon.
Yes, that was much better than the spear.
As he flicked through the drill- an exercise he had been practicing for months now- on the packed dirt of one of the training grounds, Piandao couldn’t help but admire the way the thin metal blade flashed through the air. It was short and light enough a weapon to be wielded with one hand, and with linked movement of his elbow and wrist, Piandao was able to work multiple slices and cuts into every second that passed. Held two-handed, the blade became a powerful force that could cleave armor and crease helmets. As Piandao brought the weapon down in an overhead strike, he could imagine that it would do rather horrible things to an enemy’s skull.
Except for the inherent violence, it wasn’t unlike wielding a painting brush. Piandao took no special pleasure in violence, but that was the price of the Fire Nation’s generosity. It probably wouldn’t be so bad.
“You have a good command of that blade, boy.”
Piandao finished his forms, then (and only then, discipline was highly valued here in the Center) turned to the speaker and bowed at the compliment. Straightening, he recognized the sergeant who had, that morning, given a guest-lecture describing a battle he had participated in at the front. It had been well received, as veterans of the war in the Earth Kingdom were rare visitors to the Center.
Fajin was the man’s name, Piandao recalled. This close, he could see that there was a thin scar across the man’s forehead. “Thank you, sir. I strive to serve the Fire Nation to the best of my abilities.”
Fajin waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve been on frontlines for years now. I prefer to speak plainly.” Piandao nodded politely, but didn’t quite understand what wasn’t plain about his response. “You’re a natural with that saber,” Fajin continued, “except in one respect. It’s not quite the right weapon for you.”
That was an intriguing statement. At Piandao’s questioning stare, the sergeant nodded. “The dao is called ‘The Marshall of Weapons,’ which is appropriate, because I’ve always founding it lacking in the same manner as most of the higher-ups: it can only cut in one direction. Trying to make it more adaptable is an exercise in frustration.” He chuckled at his own joke. Piandao smiled agreeably but maintained a neutral silence.
Fajin reached to his back and unsheathed his own blade, a straight sword with both edges sharpened. “The jian is more sophisticated. It takes longer to make one, and takes more time to master. You think other weapons require accuracy and timing? Try wielding a sword with no blocking edges. You need complete control to wield a jian effectively.”
Very intriguing. Piandao finally spoke, “Can I try yours?”
The sergeant snorted. “Of course not. This isn’t a toy for kids. Maybe when you’re older. If you keep working hard.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “The jian is called the ‘Gentleman of Weapons.’ Can you guess why?”
Piandao considered that. ‘Gentlemen’ were landowners, the minor and major nobles who administered the Fire Lord’s lands for the good of the Nation. They were assumed to be naturally superior to the peasants who worked those lands, but it was recognized that everyone’s actions came together to fuel the Fire. “Only nobles are allowed to use them?” he finally ventured.
“Hardly,” Fajin snickered. “Do I sound noble to you? It’s because only the idle rich are thought to have enough time on their hands to learn how to use the things.” Fajin smirked. “It’s the kind of logic that just begs to be proven wrong, don’t you think?”
Yes, that thought appealed to Piandao.
*
It turned out that there were no instructors for the jian at the Center. All the members of the Home Guard who could not Bend used a dao, so their trainers naturally focused on that weapon. The main Fire Army had first shot at all jian swordsmen, using them as either soldiers or teachers for its own purposes. There were private tutors, of course, but they commanded a price that only the noble class could even consider. There was no simply way that Piandao could get the training he wanted at the Center.
That was all right, though. He had come up with a plan.
When the Pre-Military “campers” weren’t training, sleeping, or eating, they were employed by the Center’s Home Guard as assistants and pages, taking care of whatever little odd jobs with which the adults didn’t want to bother. Wearing his uniform and taking on a dull, professional facial expression that all the boys and girls in the camp wore when bored out of their minds, Piandao walked right into the Center’s main administrative center.
It looked just as plain and industrial on the inside as it did on the outside, but Piandao was long past being bothered by it. It certainly played to his advantage, now, as none of the personnel within took any notice of him. Certainly, Piandao believed that a more artistic and engaging environment would have kept their minds sharp enough to at least wonder about him.
Piandao easily found the desk he was looking for, and bowed to the man seated behind it. “I’m picking up a petition form,” he said simply.
The clerk didn’t even look up. “Blank, or one of the logged forms?”
“Blank.”
The clerk found the appropriate paper, pre-printed with the standard characters for sending an outgoing request to another branch of the Fire Nation’s government. Piandao accepted it, bowed again, and turned to leave with no deliberate hurry.
Clutching the rolled-up form gave him a good excuse for ignoring any activity in the rest of the camp. Certainly, no one stopped him from completing what looked like a routine delivery. Piandao took a roundabout route back to his barrack, and was pleased to discover it empty, as expected. He went straight for the single desk that all the residents were expected to share, and used the old brush there to fill out the form.
Now he just had to deliver it to the Governor’s palace.
*
Piandao kept his uniform on, and the guard at the Governor’s place displayed only professional interest as he watched Piandao approach through the half-full town square, his hard boots clacking against the stone street. Once he reached the guard, the boy bowed (he was probably going to have a headache tonight from all this bowing) and displayed the rolled petition form. “Missive from the Home Guard Command Center,” he said. “I’m to present it to the Governor and await his reply.”
The guard took the scroll, opened it and gave the form a cursory glance, then handed it back to Piandao with a nod. “Come with me.”
Uniforms were helpful things, weren’t they?
He was led through the halls of the ostentatious palace and brought directly to the Governor’s study. Everything was decorated in rich reds and deep golds, and Piandao could see the brushstrokes in the metallic paint that lined most of the decor. The study was near the rear of the building, separated from the hallways by pair of sliding doors. They were left open to reveal the full office and the large picture window on the far wall. The Governor himself was seated at his desk in the center of the room, looking over some paperwork. Piandao wasn’t sure if the wonderfully fancy robes that the man was wearing were worth having to put up with paperwork, but it was the Governor’s choice. Certainly, his long, flared sideburns indicated a fine sense of appearance.
The guard knocked on the frame of the open door. “Message from the Center, Governor Zhao,” the guard said. “Reply requested.”
“Bring it here,” Zhao said, setting aside the paper in his hands. Piandao stepped forward, bowed (again), and handed the scroll over. Zhao wound up staring at the form letter for a full five minutes. “What in the name of the First Fire is this?”
Piandao bowed (once more to grow on), and smiled politely at the Governor. “My request for training in the ways of the jian. It has come to my attention that there is a deficiency in the Center’s educational program, and it is for the good of the Fire Nation that I am attempting to address the problem. I can’t give the Homeland my full value as a citizen and soldier if I can’t use my skills to their fullest.”
The Governor looked at Piandao. He didn’t stare, as his gaze was far too alive and probing, but he was clearly examining the boy. “You schemed your way into my home so that you could ask for free sword lessons?” Zhao asked lightly. “You realize that you could arrested, and court-martialed for this? Oh yes, even our Camp trainees are subject to military rules. Shall I recite the ones you broke in coming here?”
Piandao gave a polite shake of his head. “I had a general understanding of the risks already, but I thank you for the offer.”
Zhao’s lip twitched. “I could have you executed,” he said flatly. “You’re an orphan, and for all intents and purposes owned by the Fire Nation. If you can’t serve us, you’re a waste of resources.”
Piandao shrugged. “I’m already a waste of resources. After all of the years of care and training I have received, I’m telling you that I will die quickly on the battlefield if I am not allowed to realize my true potential.” He looked the Governor right in the eyes. “Train me to use a jian, and I give my word of honor that you will see a return on your investment. Don’t, and I will be the most expensive casualty the Fire Nation has ever owned.”
Zhao turned to the guard, still standing at the door. “Bring my son’s sword.” As the guard left to carry out the task, the Governor continued, “As befits the scion of my family, my son is currently being trained to fight with a jian. He is a Firebender, though, unlike me, and I expect the lessons will be wasted.” The guard returned with a sheathed jian, simple in design. At Zhao’s nod, he handed it to Piandao.
The boy took it reverently, and drew the blade from its sheath. He held the sword out, arm fully extended, and judged the balance of the weapon. Slowly, experimentally, he moved the sword in some circular motions, testing the play of the torque. The blade did not shine, or come alive, or doing anything like out of some dramatic fiction.
It was simply very sharp.
Oh yes. Piandao was sure he could stamp his identity on the world with a weapon such as this.
Zhao’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Very well, I can tell you have a hand for it. Reminds me of when I got my own first weapon. I will arrange for my son’s tutor to visit the Center and train you as well, and if you fail to perform better than my son, I will have you executed as a traitor. If you succeed, I will recommend you to my friend, Colonel Taishou, who has an interest in gifted swordsmen. Either way, you will serve the Fire Nation. Sound fair?”
Piandao smiled, sheathed the sword, and bowed one last time.
He didn’t even feel the ten lashings he got back at the camp for his audacious actions.
*
Piandao was eighteen when he was finally awarded a jian of his own, representing his status as an elite soldier of the Fire Nation, and commissioned for active duty in the Earth Kingdom.
Governor Zhao was in the audience at his class’s graduation ceremony, and applauded. He personally introduced Piandao to Colonel Taishou.
And then the story moves on to Piandao's professional life under Colonel Taishou.