can conjure some secret passageway to take us directly to the prince.
And I keep telling him that we must have patience. Rosario is no fool. He will reach out to us again.
I hope I am right.
By the end of the day, Iván is so frustrated with me, I’m worried that he’s going to sneak off to try something stupid on his own.
But as I head to the arena for informal practice, I’m hoping that if he does do something stupid, he will succeed.
Pedrón and the other former army recruits are already in the sand when Aldo and I arrive. We are soon joined by Itzal. Finally Iván comes, looking sullen and worried. I’m both relieved and disappointed.
“Is this everybody?” he asks.
“It appears so,” I reply. Only seven recruits in total, but a low number of students makes for a manageable class. The moon is high, and torches are sconced at the entrance to the barracks, casting pools of orange onto the sand. It’s plenty enough light to see by. “Let’s get started.”
Aldo grabs a wooden sword from the rack, and we all follow his lead.
“So, what do we do?” Pedrón says.
Aldo shrugs. I say, “Er . . . I guess we should line up the way Master Santiago showed us?”
Everyone shifts around in the sand until we’re in two staggered lines of four and three.
“Now what?” Pedrón says.
Everyone is looking to me for guidance. Little do they know that I’ve never taught anyone anything before. But I had Hector, and Hector was a great teacher. “Go through the forms Santiago has shown us so far. Keep an eye on Aldo for a reference if you forget what comes next. I’m going to watch you all and see if I can figure out what’s made Santiago so surly.”
Aldo says, “Let’s start with Bulwark!” and he clicks his heels together, striking the pose. Everyone follows his lead, and I weave among them, eyeing their stance, posture, and grip.
“Now Eastern Wind,” Aldo says.
The recruits go through them all, holding each pose for several seconds, which allows me to evaluate. Pedrón is all power and no finesse, as though he’s trying to pummel the sky to death. Itzal has little body awareness and tends to move in the wrong direction. Iván is near perfect, and I have no idea why he decided to join us.
Once everyone settles back into Bulwark, Pedrón says, “So, can you fix us?”
“Not a chance,” I blurt, before I realize this is one of those moments when a lot of good people would choose to tell a harmless lie.
Pedrón tosses his wooden sword in the sand. “What a waste of time.”
“Wait!” I say, before Pedrón can storm out of the arena.
He gives me a skeptical look, but he stays.
“You might be able to fix yourself, though. Give it a try, all right? I’ll tell you what I see, and you decide if I’m worth listening to. One thing’s for sure; you can’t get worse.”
His fellow army recruits snicker, and somehow this softens him instead of making him angry. He bends to retrieve the sword.
I size him up—his brick of a jaw and his rampart shoulders and his bulky, clumsy hands—wondering how to help him. What would Hector say?
“Pedrón, it might help you to think of your sword as a beautiful girl.”
He grins. Lifts the blade to his mouth. Kisses it, long and slow.
“Er . . . that’s not what I meant.”
Iván mutters, “That poor sword.”
I try again. “What I meant was, you need to treat the sword like an equal partner, not a tool. You need to dance with it, not bludgeon the air to death. Pretend like the two of you belong together.”
Pedrón holds the sword out and stares at it. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me see you Salute the Sky.”
He raises his sword in a furious thrust. It lists slightly leftward.
“Now do it again, but slower. Make sure your sword makes a perfect line upward; don’t let it tilt to either side.”
He tries again, slower this time.
“That’s better. Don’t fight so hard with it. The stabbing and slashing will come later. For now, think of your sword as a dance partner, not a weapon.”
“I hate dancing,” he says, lowering his sword to his side.
“And your enemy loves you for it. It makes you easy to kill.”
Which is exactly what Hector said to me once, in different circumstances. “Let me show you something. Go back into Salute the Sky.”
When he lifts his sword, I swing mine at him, slowly but