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Sunstorm
Everett sat on his couch, a smile made of
fond memories on his face. In his lap,
the ninjato with the broken blade rested, it’s shattered edge seeming to glow
in the sunlight. “Swords are, I think,
ultimately at the heart of all knights.
And possibly at the hearts of all people as well. Swords are a metaphor for humanity. They are tools for our will. But unlike other tools which are designed,
at least initially, to create or to aid, swords were made for war.”
In their seats, Edgar and Morgan
listened intently. Edgar wore a proud
grin as he listened to Everett,
his graying hair seeming younger in the presence of the ritual. To his right, Morgan leaned on his right
hand, unable to keep the fond, yet unwanted memories from summoning up within
him.
“I went from one extreme to the
other, as far as knights are concerned,” Everett continued as he felt the ninjato
handle in his lap. “I was an
aficionado for the Marines. And to
become a knight…that’s something unique.
But I never left my views of utility and pragmaticism behind. So when it was time for me to choose my
weapon, I initially looked to tools. I
looked at the axe, the hatchet, things like that. I looked into the weapons that came from my
base martial art, Combato.” He sighed
fondly. “But during a stint in
studying ninjitsu, I fell in love with the ninjato.”
“I chose this weapon, and its
brothers that fell to use or necessity, because they were cheap,” he said,
looking at his two friends. “Cheap
meant hard to trace and easily disposable.
I always felt that in this day and age, I would best be served by a weapon
that, if needs be, I could discard without hesitation.”
He picked up the ninjato handle
and held it out, blade down. “This
blade has served me well for four years, during which time it survived
countless fights, including those with the Brotherhood of the Sun.” He looked at the blade with pride. “And it fell, facing the Crimson Rose. It served its time and it served me well.”
“Refresh my memory,” Morgan spoke
up. “How’d the Rose break your sword?”
“A metal tonfa,” Everett said. “You know, those nightsticks that cops
carry. They’re kind of based off an
old Okinawan weapon called the tonfa.”
“Huh, I never knew that,” Morgan said
sarcastically. Edgar harmlessly
backhanded his arm.
“Cops’ nightsticks are made out of heavy
plastic, as are most commercial models,” Everett continued, still enjoying the final
moments with his broken sword. “But
these were made out of industrial steel.
I doubt my ninjato made even a scratch.”
“You were saying,” Edgar prompted his
young friend.
“Right,” Everett said, again extending the sword if handling
a holy relic. “It is with pride and
honor that I lay this blade to rest, so that it may sleep knowing that its
responsibilities were always met and its duty has been passed on.” With reverence, Everett laid the remains of the sword onto
the velvet cloth that covered the coffee table. Drawing back for a moment, Everett smiled at the sight of the broken
ninjato handle lying next to Sunstorm.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out,
taking the katana by the handle and lifting it. “And the honor and duty passes to
Sunstorm. A sword forged in the fires
of Japan,
by one of the greatest craftsman in the world.”
“Or at least the best that
advertise in Black Belt magazine,” Edgar couldn’t help but add. This time, it was Morgan’s turn to slap his
arm.
“This sword, which carries over a
thousand years of lineage behind, shall find its place at my side,” Everett said, the blade
glinting in the sun. “And allowing me
to work my will as a knight.”
Everett shook a pair of sugar packets like
a musical instrument. He tore them
open and poured them in is ceramic coffee mug in the middle of the
memorabilia-infested restaurant. “I’ve
got a good feeling about things,” he said, stirring his coffee. “I don’t know if it’s because I have a real
sword now or what, but I feel like things are going to be okay. Or, I guess, they have a better chance of
being okay.”
“Okay is a very relative term,” Morgan
added as he stirred his ice water with his straw.
“A new sword has a strange way of
invigorating the soul,” Edgar said, leaning on the table over his own mug of
coffee.
As he spoke, Marilyn came up
behind him, laying out appetizer plates.
Leaning over the table, she balanced herself with her hand on Everett’s
shoulder. Noticing the two, Edgar
nudged Morgan’s leg at the mutual comfort the two of them weren’t aware
of. Morgan looked away, snickering
under his breath. Marilyn stood up,
noting Morgan and Edgar’s attempts to avoid her gaze. She looked at Everett, but he subtly shook his head, just
as confused. “Your, uh, your
appetizers will be right out.”
“Thanks,” Edgar said as Marilyn
walked off.
Everett turned around to make sure she was
out of earshot and looked at the two.
“Okay, what?”
“If you don’t see it, us pointing
it out wouldn’t do any good,” Edgar said, smiling as he looked over the menu.
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