Maier stood back and watched Heiki feel the heft of his newly acquired sword.
With his feet in a swordsman's stance, where powerful thrusts, cleaving slices, parrys, blocks, or tactical repositioning were all equally likely Heiki transitioned from one position to another. Many Maier recognized as classic techniques and positions, executed to perfection, but some seemed a bit unorthodox.
An adjacent fruit tree in blossom offered shade, but only the drunken bees who buzzed somnolently took notice of it. Heiki practiced atop a small grassy hill, nearby, enjoying the sun and the breeze that brought the scent of the blossoms.
When Heiki began to put the positions together, transitioning from one to another, Maier realized that the postures he hadn't recognized were transistion states that allowed more choices for the swordsman than traditional technique. His natural grace and agility became more apparent as the speed of his forms increased till he appeared to be dancing.
Heiki hadn't been encumbered by emotions, but he recognized them in others. Wistfully, Maier was looking off into the distance, lost to his thoughts, and it wasn't till Heiki pitched one of his boots (which he refused to wear) and hit him in the shoulder, did he realize that his charge had stopped and been watching him.
"The way you move, the skill and speed, you reminded me of a good friend I'd lost a long time ago" Maier explained.
"Battle." The obvious answer.
With a shake of his head, Maier replied, "No, a choice. Shiva once held that sword when he was my friend, but that was when I knew him by a different name."
"Shiva" a grim smile spread across Heiki's face, his eyes narrowed till he could only see death and he began his forms again, this time with a deadly air of commitment.
An age passed, the last form ended and Heiki held his sword between him and Maier as he examined it. The burneshed blade spoke of strength and quality, the edge was honed razer sharp, the hilt had a presence that guaranteed protection for the hand, the twisted double wire wound grip stuck to his hand in such a way that he knew it would never slip if drenched in blood, and, a pommel that seemed lacking some ornate features.
"Why is it called 'Mine'?"
"There is a relationship between the word and the sword."
Heiki turned his wrist and examined the other side of the blade, nodding as to say "go on".
"Speak a verse and slash."
With a sardonic smile, as if he was going to prove him wrong, and a flick of his wrist, Heiki executed a minute feignt with the smallest verse he knew "and Jesus wept".
When Heiki was 5, his father let him drive the car. He was small enough to sit on his fathers lap and big enough to see over the dash and steer. He was surprised at the power he felt and the control of the control of the car as it went down a country dirt road less than 10 mph. It overwhelmed him and if not for the comfort and security his dad's presence offered, it would have terrified him.
And he felt a child, timeless; when you could live a lifetime in a summers day, the warm sun shining, the smell of the country, and more power in his hands than he ever imagined as he spoke words anchored in the voice that created the universe.
"But why the name?"
"Know the verse 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord'?"
With a nod, Heiki understood the relationship between the Word and the sword.
"He's talking about the sword. It's His instrument of vengeance."
Again, Heiki began a series of forms, this time quoting verse "There will be no more night..."