Read Online Unveiled: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Novel (The Dark Skies Trilogy Book One) by Lysa Daley - Free Book Online
Authors: Lysa Daley
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tree gains strength. If you do not push yourself, if you do not allow yourself to struggle to improve in your practice of karate, then you will not grow strong."
I tune out the life lesson on how karate makes us all better people and head to the tiny girls' locker room to change into my uniform. He has one female student for every seven males, so we girls pretty much get an oversized broom closet as our changing room.
As I walk past, my uncle turns his back to his students and gives me a quick wink with just the smallest trace of a smile.
Generally, there is no smiling in karate.
Pushing through the locker room, I smile back.
My starched white karate uniform hangs from the hook in my locker. You don't get to wear the way better, so much cooler black uniform until you're at the master level.
Okay, so, I'm pretty good at karate. I mean, I should be, right? I've only been doing it since I was 5-years-old. If you attack me in an alley, there is no doubt I’ll go all ninja on you.
Unfortunately, my weakness is combat with weapons. I'm all thumbs if I have to swing, thrust, parry, or strike with any sort of weapon.
Also, I hate it.
I prefer just to fight the old fashion way - with my hands and feet, not to mention the occasional head-butt.
For any regular student of karate, that would be perfectly acceptable. Unfortunately, for some reason, my uncle refuses to accept this flaw in my character and is determined to fix me. Which is why I have to be here three times a week to work on weapons training.
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing on the mat with my white helmet tucked under my arm. My arms and shins are padded; I'm wearing clown-like red sparring gloves and foot gear; plus I'm holding my weapon -- a bow staff -- basically just a big stick, sort of like the wooden handle of a broom except it has a slight curve or "bow" to it.
Oh, if only Chad Olson could see me now, surely he'd be unable to resist my charms. That is if he has a thing for the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
I look at the 5-foot long piece of wood in my hands and curse my nemesis.
Although the bō is now used as a weapon, it is believed by some to have evolved from the long tenbin, a smooth stick balanced across your shoulders and used to carry buckets of water. Back in the day, peasants in the Japanese countryside used tenbins for training because they didn't have fancy metal swords.
To me, it's nothing more than a big ugly stick.
My class consists of seven teenage boys, all at least twice my size. But I'm not worried. I have more training, technique, and ability than any of them. The only thing they have on me is size and strength. Along with male aggression, determination, and an unwavering desire to please my uncle.
As class begins, we stand at attention with our hands folded behind our back as my uncle addresses us.
"Today, we will have a challenge round. Whoever wins will be excused from the three mile run at the end of class," my uncle explains as he walks down our line. "If you win your challenge round, you will remain in the circle to fight again. Whoever is left standing at the end is the winner. Do we understand?"
"Yes, sir!" the class barks in unison.
"Astrid, you're first." He points at me.
Really?
"Yes, sir!" I bark with military precision, stepping into the center of the sparring circle with my bow staff.
"Jonas!" he points to the biggest and meanest of my classmates. "You're up."
"Yes, sir!" Jonas answers with a glint of excitement in his eye.
He’s a pretty decent guy with the exception of his big ego. He's also the oldest and most senior member of this group at nineteen. Six months ago my uncle hired him to be an assistant teacher with the little kids.
Anyway, I know what Jonas is thinking. He thinks he's got this one in the bag. Fighting the only girl in the first round will be an easy win.
Well, we shall see about that Jonas.
Uncle stands to the side and says, "Bow-kinya." Which means that we hold our bow staffs in our
I tune out the life lesson on how karate makes us all better people and head to the tiny girls' locker room to change into my uniform. He has one female student for every seven males, so we girls pretty much get an oversized broom closet as our changing room.
As I walk past, my uncle turns his back to his students and gives me a quick wink with just the smallest trace of a smile.
Generally, there is no smiling in karate.
Pushing through the locker room, I smile back.
My starched white karate uniform hangs from the hook in my locker. You don't get to wear the way better, so much cooler black uniform until you're at the master level.
Okay, so, I'm pretty good at karate. I mean, I should be, right? I've only been doing it since I was 5-years-old. If you attack me in an alley, there is no doubt I’ll go all ninja on you.
Unfortunately, my weakness is combat with weapons. I'm all thumbs if I have to swing, thrust, parry, or strike with any sort of weapon.
Also, I hate it.
I prefer just to fight the old fashion way - with my hands and feet, not to mention the occasional head-butt.
For any regular student of karate, that would be perfectly acceptable. Unfortunately, for some reason, my uncle refuses to accept this flaw in my character and is determined to fix me. Which is why I have to be here three times a week to work on weapons training.
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing on the mat with my white helmet tucked under my arm. My arms and shins are padded; I'm wearing clown-like red sparring gloves and foot gear; plus I'm holding my weapon -- a bow staff -- basically just a big stick, sort of like the wooden handle of a broom except it has a slight curve or "bow" to it.
Oh, if only Chad Olson could see me now, surely he'd be unable to resist my charms. That is if he has a thing for the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
I look at the 5-foot long piece of wood in my hands and curse my nemesis.
Although the bō is now used as a weapon, it is believed by some to have evolved from the long tenbin, a smooth stick balanced across your shoulders and used to carry buckets of water. Back in the day, peasants in the Japanese countryside used tenbins for training because they didn't have fancy metal swords.
To me, it's nothing more than a big ugly stick.
My class consists of seven teenage boys, all at least twice my size. But I'm not worried. I have more training, technique, and ability than any of them. The only thing they have on me is size and strength. Along with male aggression, determination, and an unwavering desire to please my uncle.
As class begins, we stand at attention with our hands folded behind our back as my uncle addresses us.
"Today, we will have a challenge round. Whoever wins will be excused from the three mile run at the end of class," my uncle explains as he walks down our line. "If you win your challenge round, you will remain in the circle to fight again. Whoever is left standing at the end is the winner. Do we understand?"
"Yes, sir!" the class barks in unison.
"Astrid, you're first." He points at me.
Really?
"Yes, sir!" I bark with military precision, stepping into the center of the sparring circle with my bow staff.
"Jonas!" he points to the biggest and meanest of my classmates. "You're up."
"Yes, sir!" Jonas answers with a glint of excitement in his eye.
He’s a pretty decent guy with the exception of his big ego. He's also the oldest and most senior member of this group at nineteen. Six months ago my uncle hired him to be an assistant teacher with the little kids.
Anyway, I know what Jonas is thinking. He thinks he's got this one in the bag. Fighting the only girl in the first round will be an easy win.
Well, we shall see about that Jonas.
Uncle stands to the side and says, "Bow-kinya." Which means that we hold our bow staffs in our
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