embarrassed. He d seen movies; he d thought he knew how people fought with
swords. He d never imagined, though, that just holding one would be so
difficult. Scathach had spent the past thirty minutes attempting to teach him
how to hold and move Clarent without dropping it. She hadn't had much
success; every time he spun the weapon, the weight dragged it from his grip.
The highly polished wooden floor was scratched and gouged where the stone
blade had struck it. It s harder than I thought, he finally admitted. I m
not sure I ll ever learn.
Scathach can teach you how to fight with a sword, Joan said confidently.
She taught me. She took a simple farm girl and turned her into a warrior.
She twisted her wrist, and her sword, which was almost as tall as she was,
moved and curled in the air with an almost human-sounding moan. Josh
attempted to copy the action and Clarent went spinning from his hand. It
buried itself point first in the floor, cracking the wood and swaying to and
fro.
Sorry, Josh muttered.
Forget everything you think you know about swordplay, Scathach said. She
glanced at Joan. He s watched too much TV. He thinks he can just twirl a
sword around like a cheerleader s baton.
Joan grinned. She deftly flipped her longsword and presented it to Josh, hilt
first. Take it.
Josh reached for the sword with his right hand.
You might think about using both hands, the small Frenchwoman suggested.
Josh ignored her. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of Joan s sword, he
attempted to lift it from her grasp. And failed. It was incredibly heavy.
You can see why we re still on the basics, Scatty said. She plucked the
sword from Josh s grip and tossed it to Joan, who caught it easily.
Let s start with how to hold a sword. Joan took up a position on Josh s
right, while Scathach stood to his left. Look straight ahead.
Josh looked into the mirror. While he and Scathach were clearly visible in
the glass, the faintest silver haze surrounded Joan of Arc. He blinked,
squeezing his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, the haze was still
there.
It s my aura, Joan explained, anticipating the question he was just about
to ask. It s usually invisible to the human eyes, but it ll sometimes turn
up on photos and in mirrors.
And your aura is like Sophie s, Josh said.
Joan of Arc shook her head. Oh no, not like your sister s, she said,
surprising him. Hers is much stronger.
Joan raised the longsword, spinning it around so that the point of the blade
was positioned between her feet and both hands rested on the pommel of the
hilt. Now, just do as we do and do it slowly. She stretched out her right
arm, holding the long blade steady. On Josh s left, the Shadow extended both
arms, holding her two short swords straight out in front of her.
Josh wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the stone sword and raised his
right arm. Even before he had it fully extended, it had begun to tremble with
the weight of the blade. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to keep his arm
steady. It s too heavy, he gasped as he lowered his arm and rotated his
shoulder; his muscles were burning. It felt a bit like the first day of
football practice after summer vacation.
Try it like this. Watch me. Joan showed him how to grip the handle with
both hands.
Using both hands, he found that it was easier to hold the sword straight out.
He tried it again, this time holding the sword with one hand. For about
thirty seconds the weapon remained still; then the tip began to tremble. With
a sigh, Josh lowered his arms. Can t do it with one hand, he muttered.
In time you will, Scathach snapped, losing patience. But in the meantime,
I ll teach you how to wield it using both hands, Eastern fashion.
Josh nodded. That might be easier. He d spent years studying tae kwon do,
and had always wanted to study kendo, Japanese fencing, but his parents had
refused, saying it was too dangerous.
All he needs is practice, Joan said seriously, looking at Scathach s
reflection in the mirror, her gray eyes bright and twinkling.
How much practice? Josh asked.
At least three years.
Three years? Taking a deep breath, he wiped first one palm and then the
other on his pants and gripped the hilt again. Then he looked at himself in
the mirror and stretched out both arms. I hope Sophie is doing better than I
am, he muttered.
The Comte de Saint-Germain had brought Sophie up to the house s tiny roof
garden. The view of Paris was spectacular, and she leaned on the balustrade
to look down onto the Champs-Elys es. Traffic had finally faded to little
more than a sparse trickle, and the city was still and silent. She breathed
deeply; the air was cool and damp, the slightly sour smell of the river
masked by the herbal scents coming from the dozens of overflowing pots and
fancy containers scattered across the roof. Sophie wrapped her arms around
her body, vigorously rubbed her forearms and shivered.
Cold? Saint-Germain asked.
A little, she said, though she wasn't sure if she was cold or nervous. She
knew Saint-Germain had brought her up here to teach her Fire magic.
After tonight, you will never feel the chill again, Saint-Germain promised.
You could walk across Antarctica wearing shorts and a T-shirt and feel
nothing. Brushing his long hair off his forehead, he plucked a leaf from a
pot and curled it between the palms of his hands, then rubbed them together.
The crisp odor of spearmint filled the air. Joan loves to cook. She grows
all her herbs up here, he explained, breathing deeply. There are a dozen
different types of mint, oregano, thyme, sage and basil. And of course
lavender. She loves lavender; it reminds her of her youth.
Where did you meet Joan? Here, in France?
I finally got together with her here, but believe it or not, I first met her
in California. It was 1849; I was making a little gold and Joan was working
as a missionary, running a soup kitchen and hospital for those who d gone
west in search of gold.
Sophie frowned. You were making gold during the Gold Rush? Why?
Saint-Germain shrugged and looked vaguely embarrassed. Like just about
everyone else in America in 48 and 49, I went west in search of gold.
I thought you could make gold. Nicholas said he can.
Making gold is a long, laborious process. I thought it would be far easier
to dig it up out of the ground. And once an alchemist has a little gold, he
can use that to grow more. That s what I thought I d do. But the land I
bought turned out to be useless. So I started planting a few fragments of
gold on the land and then I d sell the property to those people who had just
arrived.
But that s just wrong, Sophie said, shocked.
I was young then, Saint-Germain said. And hungry. But that s no excuse,
he added. Anyway, Joan was working in Sacramento, and she kept meeting
people who had bought useless land from me. She thought I was a
charlatan which I was and I took her for one of those dreadful do-gooders.
Neither of us knew the other was immortal, of course, and we hated one
another on sight. We kept bumping into one another over the years, and then,
during the Second World War, we met again, here in Paris. She was fighting