The story of the FALLEN

11. Tamiel

She is going through the motions of her favourite Kata. Practising the flow of hands is more efficient than yoga. It centres her. It calms her down. It gives her purpose. The balance of her chi and body is aligned perfectly when she does this. Lately, she needs it more and more. The new demons, the murders, the priest. Add to that the martial arts school and she is suddenly too busy to sleep. Repeating the motions for the seventh time, she comes to a gentle stop before she opens her eyes.

Zack hates me, she thinks. She is stuck babysitting Simon. Granted, the guy learns fast. If he shows up on time. He’s always late. This guy will be late to his own funeral one day. It might be sooner than he thinks, because Tamiel is pissed off. She can’t stand people showing up late for classes. It’s disrespectful to her. Simon should know that by now. He spends more time with them than back in Oxford. He’s just doing research of a different kind here.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Simon greets her. He is distraught and honestly sorry. “I’m not doing this intentionally. You have to believe me.”

“I believe you. I can hear a lie.” Tamiel grins. She likes Simon, so maybe she won’t kill him just yet. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“I don’t have an excuse.” Simon tells her. “The whole day went sideways when I woke up.”

“Ah.” Tamiel chuckles, because Simon presents a sorry picture today. “So the mismatched outfit is not intentional either?”

“No. Not at all.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not a superstitious guy. I don’t care about dates, the moon, or curses. I don’t even think this is God punishing me for giving in and holding a weapon. After all, you are His warriors. Why should I be an exception?”

“Hallelujah! You finally see there is nothing wrong with learning how to fight.” Tamiel exclaims. Now she just needs to shake this tardiness out of him.

“Was I wrong? No…” Simon asks her. “I don’t think so. Right?”

“Do some stretches, Simon.” Tamiel instructs. “You are not wrong. Do not question yourself now. You started to see things for what they are. Changing your mind every five minutes is just frivolous.”

“All right.” Simon nods to her. “I’m ready.”

Tamiel takes the small blue pad she’s using for training Simon. She watches him tape his fingers up before he puts his gloves on. They are learning her favourite mix of martial arts and boxing. Simon is still young and flexible enough for the kicks. That’s not something a human can start learning in old age. She nods to him and takes her position on the mats. She has a serene and almost bored look on her face while she waits for Simon to throw his first punch.

It’s always slow and gentle with him. Like he thinks the pad cares or something. She can’t even feel the punches at first. She would miss it if she closed her eyes. He is doing everything right, he’s not standing too far away from her, he just doesn’t use his full strength. He’s holding back too much. They will never get anywhere with this tempo, so she needs to spur him on a bit. Calling him names and making him angry doesn't work with Simon. She has to use commands and pray that he obeys.

“Harder Simon! The pad is your enemy! Hit it!” Tamiel orders.

“But…” Simon stammers.

“No buts! Hit the pad!” She growls. “Come on. You can do it!”

“Ugh!” Simon grunts, but he hits a bit harder than before.

“Harder! Come on. You’re not using half your strength.” Tamiel urges him on. He is a good student. If he would only hit harder. “If someone attacks you for real, they will die of laughter. You have to hit harder!”

When she gets him to actually land a few hits that count, she takes another pad. One in each hand, she varies the positions. They have an agreement on the positions. If the pad is below her waist, he kicks it. If it’s above, he punches it. It gives her something to do, besides standing around and shouting at him. Once he learns that the kicks are possible without losing balance, she will have him kick higher. Then they can slowly move on to spin kicks and jumps. Maybe next week? She’ll see about that.

“Good. Now you’re getting somewhere.” Tamiel praises Simon. “Take the gloves off. Don’t forget to breathe. Sabres are up next. We still have fifteen minutes.”

“Do you think I should have chosen something else?” Simon asks her.

“Are you back to questioning yourself?” She wonders. “A sabre is a good choice. It’s light. It doesn’t strain your wrists. Once you master it, you can easily pick up anything from a rapier to a short sword.”

“Do you know how to fight with any type of sword? How about a katana?” Simon inquires when he stands ready.

“Yes. I trained with a lot of different swords.” She answers. She stands there with another of the Shamshir sabres from the storage. “My personal choice will always be a bow, but throwing daggers are fine too.”

They have gotten far enough that Simon doesn’t look down anymore. His thrusts need more work, but his defensive stance is perfect. He can easily block her advances, but she’s only playing with him. Maybe she needs to show Simon how things look in battle? She’ll get Zack for a sparring session tomorrow. Simon learns fast, so maybe he can learn by watching? Different techniques of attack, variations on moves. He is too predictable for his own good. The Shamshir is a versatile sabre, there is so much more he could do.

“Thank you,Simon. We’re done for today.” Tamiel steps back and bows her head a little. “Great work!”

“You’re not just saying that? I think I can tell when you mean it.” Simon gapes at her.

“I mean it.” She nods. “I’ll get Zack for a demonstration tomorrow. Maybe you can pick up a few moves from watching?”

“Will it be safe? I’m not sure we should be practising with real weapons.” Simon asks her.

“It’s safe. I won’t hurt you by mistake and you have a long way to go to even stand a chance of surprising me.” Tamiel scoffs. “No need to worry about that. Go now. Don’t forget to stretch!”

She has just enough time to place the mats differently before her next class starts. They have four classrooms, but she likes to take the bigger one when she works with swords of any kind. All the extra space is comforting. Not that she worries about Simon actually landing a blow, but safety comes first. If she’s not comfortable, she’s not doing it. At least here in class she has that option. Nobody would dream of asking that out in the field.

“Hello, sensei.” A young girl greets her. “I saw the last part. I didn’t know you had sword training here.”

“Misha.” Tamiel inclines her head to her student. “Normally, we don’t. But he’s a special student.”

“Could I sign up for that kind of training?” Misha inquires. Tamiel can see the girl slowly making her way over to the two sabres laying on the mats.

“No, you can’t.” She says firmly. “I would not advise you to pick up that sabre. It’s sharp.”

“What?!” Misha yells. She even steps one step back from the weapons. “You train with sharpened blades?”

“Told you the guy is special.” Tamiel scoffs. She picks the sabres up for safe storage in the box they belong in. “Get your stretching on the way. The others will be here soon.”

“Yes, sensei.” Misha bows slightly.

These girls are good, some might even switch over to Layla for real training, but right now they are in her self defence class. She will not give them ideas they can’t handle. They are here to learn basic defence moves and how to survive long enough to call for help. Tricks they might need to quickly incapacitate their attacker and get away. Those are the things she teaches. That’s what they have signed up for. Zack’s rules prickle sometimes, but in this he is right. Martial arts are not for everyone. Especially not for high society girls from the private school half a block away.

She is all for equal rights, but these girls with their manicured nails, salon hair and perfect make-up will have bodyguards and people that take care of them. This is just in case something happens and someone is good enough to bypass the guards. A last resort, she calls it. Still no reason for them to feel afraid or helpless. Maybe she should show them how to kill someone with a nail file? Do they still make classic nail files or just the foam ones? Or chopsticks? The metal ones are a perfect weapon if you know how to use them. An ivory comb might not be a bad idea either.

Or, maybe she should get out of her own head and start the class? The girls are all here and looking at her like she has lost it. A quick sweep over their heads to count them. Lately, there were a few that started cutting classes in favour of boys. No today. All fifteen of them accounted for.

“Get in line. Stretch out. Left foot forward, both hands up.” Tamiel instructs. “Repeat five times, switch feet.”

She pairs them up and ends with Misha, because the girl doesn’t work well with her classmates. Tamiel doesn’t mind, as long as the little Russian princess does what she’s told.

“Pay attention, Misha!” Tamiel scoffs. “You move your feet too fast. You have so many tells it’s not even funny.”

“Sorry, sensei.” Misha nods. The girl just tries too damn hard. What is she trying to prove and to whom?

“Again. Come at me.” She beckons the girl to attack. Then she blocks her arm in mid strike. “Not like that. You’ll break your fingers. Make a fist!”

Tamiel looks around the class and everyone else is doing like she instructed. A fist, a straight arm, a block from the opponent. Just not Misha. The perfect student who wanted to learn sword fighting just a half an hour ago. What changed?

“What’s wrong, Misha? Your head is not in class. Where are you?” Tamiel inquires of the girl.

“My brother is here. He always puts me down. He treats me as if I’m five.” Misha tells her.

“Here? At the school? Or at home?” She asks.

“Waiting outside. Probably preparing some stupid line to make me look bad in front of everyone.” Misha whispers.

“I see.” Tamiel smirks. “Is he any good at fighting?”

“He’s got a black belt.” Misha tells her. “Since father doesn’t let me train for real, Dimitri thinks he can mock me.”

“I hate bullies.” Tamiel sighs. “Class is over, girls. We have a bully outside. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

Tamiel walks over to the door. She can tell there are a few men outside in the hallway, so this will be fun to execute. Are they guards for the girls or for Dimitri? She leans through the door: “Dimitri Novakov! Get your ass in here. I need a few words about your sister.”

“What?” A young guy grunts, while all the rest feign disinterest. His personal guards. He walks over to her and brushes up against her even with all the space to just walk by . “The little chicken can’t keep up?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” Tamiel drawls before she closes the door. Nobody is coming in if she doesn’t allow it. “You, malen'kiy chlen, you are in trouble.”

“You’re calling me a chicken?” Dimitri whirls on her. He is impatient as well as arrogant. He charges her after this small provocation.

“Watch and learn, girls.” Tamiel chuckles. She spins out of his way and flicks her hand over his butt. Another insult for him. She can keep this up all day. Dimitri is sloppy in his attacks, his rage and rush make for poor choices. His swings are only half formed, so she can block him easily and insult him further with a slap every time he comes close enough.

“Had enough?” She asks him. A slap on the wrist can hurt the way she does it. With her fingers flexing like a willow stick.

“You’re gonna hear from my father! How dare you?” Dimitri growls.

“Will that be before or after you explain why you have this need to insult and belittle your sister?” Tamiel smiles coldly. “I think the creed is to protect your sister, not make her miserable.”

“What do you know about the creed? You’re not even Russian. You’re just a teacher.” He spits. His anger colouring his cheeks red.

“Zashchishchat', sluzhit', lyubit'.” Tamiel says. “To protect, to serve, to love. I know more about the creed than you do. Now, get out of here, before I call your father myself.”