Darkmouth by Shane Hegarty

Author:Shane Hegarty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

30

“Come on, Finn, this could save your life.”

“What life? I don’t have a life. I’m here doing this with you.”

Finn was wearing his fighting suit, which his father had handed to him as soon as he had arrived at the training room. Finn took it as an ominous sign, and that sat almost as heavily on him as the loose-fitting armor.

He tried again to perform the move his father was teaching him. He failed again.

Finn was frustrated: He knew these moves. He knew how they should go. He could play them out in his head. He could even imagine his own body performing them.

He just couldn’t, well, actually do them.

But he did the slide, then a bit more of a slide, grimaced, and stumbled to his feet, a wooden training sword outstretched and wobbling. As he rose, he was distracted by a Desiccator lying in a corner. Finn had a nagging concern that it was there for a reason as yet unrevealed.

Mr. Glad wandered into the room and watched. “Drop your hips and slide,” he suggested. “Don’t force it. Use your momentum. Let me show you.”

“We’ve got this covered, Glad, thanks,” said Finn’s father grumpily. “I think there was a problem with the core fluctuator on the device. Would you mind checking that out? It might need a spring or something.”

“The core fluctuator?” asked Mr. Glad.

“It’s the thing that looks like the old vacuum cleaner. Is the old vacuum cleaner.”

Mr. Glad waited a moment, his eyebrow betraying a ripple of irritation, before slowly shuffling out.

“Now, Finn,” said his dad. “Drop your hips. Feel the patterns.”

“Feel the patterns? I don’t even know what that means,” said Finn.

“Of movement. In yourself. Your opponents. It’s all in your mind.”

Finn’s dad threw himself at the ground, slid deftly, and sprang to his feet facing Finn again, his wooden sword held steady at the tip of his son’s nose.

“Then you clobber them. Got that, Finn?”

“No.”

“Great,” said his dad. “Now try it again.”

Finn was horribly conscious of how clumsy he was. Rather than the move ending with him springing to his feet with liquid agility, he hauled himself up like an old man trying to get out of bed while wearing a concrete hat.

“That was good,” said his father.

“If you’re going to lie, at least put some effort into it,” responded Finn, panting.

His dad ignored him. “Let’s do it again.”

Finn gave it another go, this time stumbling backward as he tried to get to his feet, and ending up on his back before rolling over to haul himself up once more.

Closing his eyes to retain some composure, his dad said, “Okay, one more. Slowly. I’ll go first.”

“I don’t want to,” said Finn.

“You have to.”

“Why?” asked Finn, holding his sword limply by his side. “You’re building a machine in there that’ll do my job for me. Just press a button and they’ll be gone. I don’t need to do this now.”

“Wrong,” said his father, the steel now evident in his attitude. “You went to school today and came back with a wound.

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