26: Wooden
“Master, when do I get a real sword?”
The master’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “A real sword, Jack? What are you holding in your hands right now, if not a real sword?”
Jack suppressed the urge to roll their eyes. “Not a real sword, obviously. It’s made of wood.”
“Oh,” the master said, nodding thoughtfully, “and swords aren’t made of wood.” She let the statement hang in the air for a moment before asking, “What are swords made of, anyway?”
“Steel, obviously,” Jack said, full of confidence. When the master failed to respond immediately, doubt began to creep across their features. “It’s steel, right?”
Instead of answering, the master asked another question, which Jack was starting to get used to. “What is a sword?”
“A weapon,” Jack said, then immediately backtracked and said instead, “A tool for cutting.”
“A tool for division,” the master corrected smoothly, then held out her hand. “Give me your sword.”
Jack handed the wooden sword over immediately. The master nodded her head in thanks, then took a ready stance and faced the training dummy Jack had been practicing on. The dummy was essentially a series of straw sacks mounted around steel rods in the vague shape of a human – the master had explained to Jack early on that verisimilitude in training dummies wasn’t particularly important. She took a deep breath and focused her intent. Jack, sensing something was about to happen, took a few steps back.
When the master swung the training sword, she did something Jack had never witnessed before – she made an actual sound. It was not particularly loud; a small grunt of effort and nothing more, but more than Jack had ever heard before. The master was generally not one for actually exerting herself. Jack had asked her about this at one point, and her response had simply been that they also wouldn’t have to expend effort to use a blade eventually.
There was a crack as the wooden sword passed cleanly through both the straw sack and the steel core, sending the top half flying into the air. She took another deep breath and, somewhat absentmindedly, wiped the sword off on her sleeve, then handed it back to Jack, who was still processing what they’d just seen.
“So,” the master said, tone casual, “do you still think this isn’t a real sword?”
“In the hands of a master,” Jack said, eventually, “it seems like anything can become a sword.”
The master smiled widely. “Very good, my student. You’re learning.”