The Swashbuckling Ballad of a Vandagyre

     Awakening the Vandagyre.

     A rapid flight to scout the cove,

     The rush of soaring high, then higher...

     His idol was a tiny dot,

     so well concealed within the cove.

     She truly chose a noble spot,

     the seeker of most treasure troves.

     “All clear,” the lad called down to her

     as he descended to the ground.

     The Usul smiled. “We could use

     such skill, that's great to have around!

     In fact, I'm ready. But are you?”

     “Without a doubt!” the tall one crowed.

     “Good,” Hannah slipped a shoulder bag

     upon herself. “It's time we rode.”

     “Huh?” the Vandagyre's head

     did tilt; incomprehension reigned.

     “I've witnessed just how well you fly,

     but with one more, would you be strained?”

     “Oh! Why, of course not,” Giacomo

     willed feathers not to show despair.

     “Just anywhere we need to go,

     I'll do my best to get us there.”

     “Giack.” Hannah's tone, no argument

     did brook. “You've got to learn to lie

     a little better. Training starts

     right now. Now tell me, can you fly?”

     The lad, in all his mock offence,

     called out, “Madame, why else should I

     have wings upon my body if

     I was never meant to fly?”

     “That's marginally better,” she,

     a-struggling not to chuckle, said.

     “No worries, we'll just find a boat,

     or hitchhike other crafts instead.”

     In stark protest, the Vandagyre

     clamped his talons on her vest,

     and flapped so hard that clouds of sand

     flew up, a testament to test.

     Regret was there, but he prevailed,

     the veins that bulged beneath his skin

     were covered up by feathers thick.

     “Where to?” was all he could begin

     to say. “First stop is not too far

     from here, just on the other side,

     across the Warf Wharf to the shack,

     the one where smugglers hate to hide.”

     At once, the Vandagyre knew

     which shack the Usul spoke about.

     “You mean the one that's haunted?” “Ha!”

     “Sometimes in life, you've got to doubt

     the things you're told.” Away he flew,

     attempting to ignore the stares

     from pinpricks in the sand below

     and microscopic muscle tears.

     “Yes, that's the one!” fair Hannah cried,

     and pointed with a rugged paw.

     Instantly, the Vandagyre

     dove to save his aching claws.

     So gracelessly upon the sand

     did Giacomo then tumble down.

     The Usul sputtered, “I suppose

     that's normally how you get down?”

     “Not,” Giacomo did gasp, and spat

     both salt and sand from clenched beak.

     “Usually,” he did confess.

     “Most other times, I'm free to speak.”

     “Well, thanks.” the Usul set her bag

     upon dilapidated stairs.

     “D'ya notice how there's crates around?

     They've long been emptied, but good chairs

     are what they'd make, as well as blocks.

     Neat obstacles and training grounds.”

     The Vandagyre's muscles winced.

     “Does that mean we'll be starting now?”

     “Don't worry, you'll get stronger yet,

     I think, in much more ways than one.

     Now get that stick against the house:

     it's long past time that we've begun.”

     Obediently, Giacomo,

     ignoring throbs within his wings,

     retrieved his stick, much like a broom,

     without the cleaning hairs it brings.

     “Now stand by that crate, not too close,

     but not so far that you can run.”

     A twisting grin did spread across

     the Usul's face. “Let's have some fun.”

     Fair Hannah hefted high her stick.

     “Pray tell me, what all can you see?”

     The Vandagyre blinked, confused.

     “Just you, the crates, the sand, and sea?”

     “That's good but what about all this?”

     Hard WHOOSHes made the Usul fair

     with a stalwart rod. Young Giacomo,

     uncertain, answered, “Empty air?”

     “That's almost right. All this, it's space.”

     The Quick, the Hannah, did advance.

     “And it's all mine. Your job right now's

     to take it from me. Find your chance!”

     The Usul, mercilessly whacked

     the Vandagyre's limbs, her feet

     a-gliding on the sand, and nimbly

     leaping on a crate to keep

     her motion and her balance light.

     Poor Giacomo did lift his own

     long stick in protest feeble, but

     to no avail. To hold his own,

     no books or tales would help him now.

     “I yield!” he yelled, into the sand

     he sunk. Fair Hannah murmured then,

     “I wasn't fair. Come, take my hand.”

     The battered Vandagyre groaned,

     but did as he was bid. “I guess

     not everything is found in books.”

     “That's lesson one. Tonight, the rest.”

     In fashion similar did pass

     a week or two ere Giacomo

     at last had gained his rhythm: staves

     were parried ere he'd take a blow.

     “You've kinda got a feel for this!”

     The Usul cheered, and spun away,

     responding to the Vandagyre's

     blocks. “Now, something new today!

     An arguably better way

     to gain control of all terrain

     is checking your opponent's mind,

     and using it to deal some pain.

     A single slip, distraction serves

     to make them stumble, creating such

     a perfect opportunity,

     your blade, they're guaranteed to touch.”

     Sly Hannah grinned. “I must admit,

     this rather is my favourite part.

     For waxing wit and dancing blade,

     there's such a thrill to this fine art!”

     The Vandagyre nodded. “Right!...

     You uh...fight like farmers who

     have nought to do on dairy farms!”

     Fair Hannah smirked. “Makes sense, cause you

     can wield your branch no better than

     a Kau yourself!” In sprightly dance,

     with rapid strokes, the Usul pushed,

     upon the field she did advance.

     The utter, absolute defeat

     within his eyes then gave her pause.

     “Perhaps we'll stop for now,” she said,

     her eyes retreating to her paws.

     As the days turned into weeks,

     a routine soon began to form.

     While Hannah effortlessly danced,

     small conversations were the norm.

     “It's not too oft I hear about--”

     Exerted gasps did dot her speech.

     “Your kind. What did you do up there?

     What did you see? And learn? And teach?”

     “My mother'd—taught me—everything,”

     breathed Giacomo in slow reply.

     “From tales of Vandagyres of old,

     to reading, and, well, how to fly.

     We Vandagyres—stuck so close,

     Each knew the other—by his name.

     It wasn't till—a few years back

     that we unanimously came

     to all Neopia. My—whoa!”

     He dodged a terrifying blow.

     “favourite books were pirate tales.

     I'd thought, perhaps I'd one day go

     myself—and—join their ranks, but still,

     I knew there was a way much more

     refined within.” He matched her strikes,

     preparing for what was in store.

     “So that's why 'twas Krawk Isle you sought?”

     inquired Hannah thoughtfully.

     “Well, Mother had her doubts, but she...

     before she went, she'd wanted me

     to follow all my dreams.” the branch

     did lower but a trice. “Some days

     I wonder if I did her wrong.” “Don't fret.

     My grandfather was the same way.”

     The blows stopped coming. “He'd taught me

     survival skills ere his demise.

     I vowed to get revenge, and did,

     but I do wonder if his eyes

     would fill with disappointment or,

     perhaps with pride. We'll never know.

     We've only to continue with

     our own new kind of path. And so,”

     did Hannah finish, while once more

     attacking, striking, parrying.

     “I think we're done with silly sticks.

     What say we make some sabres sing?”

     The young one's heart did lurch. “Oh my,

     already? Maybe armour too?”

     The Usul smirked. “Just don't get hit.

     For now, I'll tell you what to do:

     When seven days have passed, that's when

     we'll train with branch and steel again.

     For now, duel pirates, and not me,

     and see what you can learn from them.”

     Without another comment, he

     ascended, feeling bruised and sore.

     Just when he thought he'd known her well,

     it turned out she'd withheld much more.

     But he did not meet his idol to

     give up so easily. He'd show

     the Usul all that he could learn.

     Next week, he'd use all that he'd know.

      Aft seven times had Kreludor

     set sail across the ample sky,

     'twas only then that Giacomo

     flew with a most determined cry,

     returning one more time to face

     his combat challenge, more prepared.

     The treasure-hunting Usul waved.

     “You're looking grand, as if you've fared

     quite well against most pirate-kind!”

     The Usul paused. Her pupil seemed

     more agile, muscular, and toned,

     e'en in those past few weeks. He gleamed

     with overwhelming confidence.

     The Vandagyre braced himself

     in proper stance, his wings around

     the hilt: extension of the self.

     “Folks run before me, flee in fear!”

     The Vandagyre jabbed and yelled.

     But Hannah was most unperturbed.

     “That's cause it's your breath they smelled!”

     That smirk and insult pierced his heart,

     but Giacomo would never be

     outdone. “You've all the reflexes

     a wizened Slorg can have, you see!”

     The Usul almost yawned. “A Slorg

     will get where'er it needs to go,

     unlike yourself. You've learned some things,

     but really, you're the one who's slow.”

     His weapon drooped, he'd missed a step.

     Yet Giacomo, he would not yield.

     His training would not be in vain!

     Each thing he learned would be a shield.

     But from his mind they seemed to slip,

     his mastery, it seemed to wane.

     The fact she'd thought that he was slow

     was near too much to be mere pain.

     And faster, faster, was he pushed

     far back into a corner where

     the Vandagyre could not fight.

     With weapon raised in stark despair,

     he hollered, “If you think I'm slow,

     you should have seen your eldest kin!”

     At once, the Usul's eyes were glazed.

     Her weapon fell. He thrust, and then--

     “Get out.”

     For a moment, all was still, with the Vandagyre's weapon mere inches from Hannah's face. She drew herself to her full height, then turned and walked away without a backward glance.

     Giacomo was startled. Something in the air had definitely changed. But then, the words he'd last said to her finally registered in his head, and his entrails sank low in regret.

     “Hannah, wait, I'm so sorry--” Giacomo couldn't finish, so consumed with remorse was he. Slowly, he lowered his own blade. Giacomo remembered the stories and their earlier conversation, where he'd learned how close she and her grandfather had been before he'd been ended for the Mermaid's Tear. She'd studied hard, tracked the pirates who'd stolen from her grandfather, and retrieved the Tear once she was older, but still...

     “Hannah!” He tried again, sawdust coating his throat. “I really--”

     Hannah whipped back around, her eyes shining with grief and rage. “Leave me alone!” she barked, the edges of her voice brooking no opposition.

     The Vandagyre helplessly watched the Usul grow smaller and smaller, until she slipped into the tiny haunted(?) shack, slamming the creaky door behind her.

     The last dregs of twilight were streaked across the sky as it yielded to night. Giacomo sighed. Some words cut deeper than swords, he reflected. Perhaps there were some things that were too brutal, even for pirates.

     Perhaps such tools were never meant to be used...

     Perhaps...

      To be continued…