Chapter 11

Symbols

’Symbols: Almost anything can be a symbol. An athame can symbolize the male aspect in a ritual. The empty cauldron can represent the female aspect. Words are one of the best uses of symbols. An example is the true name of a person. In a spell, the said name can represent the person that it names. So a practitioner should be careful what he says and when he says it. ‘

My days did not slow down after the track meet. I did notice that though there were no more meets scheduled, all the girls in my PE class no longer casually jogged the laps on the track. All of us really ran, even the ones that had not made our team. Ms. Higgins seemed to walk a little taller now.

I was still doing well in my classes, all “A” as Halloween approached. I had finished my wand. I thought it was a beauty. It was in my book bag when I was at school. I wore it on my belt when not in school. My classes with Sensei Genwa were still intense. My kata had more exercises on the workout machine. He had started me on some weapon training.

He explained that first he would teach me something that I could actually use with little problem. Not swords or knives, both of which I would find legally hard to have in my possession. So I began to learn staff and stick fighting.

When that started, I knew why I had bought such a large piece of wood. I started making myself a staff of black walnut. That took me time to do. I ended up with two pieces, one for a staff and the other for a ‘cane’. I did the cane first as it would be quicker. I had burnt multiple spiral grooves down the length of the cane. Then I bought a spool of jewelry silver wire. Then over days, using a new jewelry hammer, I slowly embedded the silver from the handle to the foot of the cane in all the spirals.

I was feeling more and more guilt. My Dad never questioned me when I asked to buy something new. He was taking it for granted that I was not wasting what he bought me. When the cane was finished, the underlying wood looked coal black with the silver glowing around it. I had fixed a silver cap on the top of the cane with a brass foot on the end. It was gorgeous; it could also be deadly as I had used magic to make it almost unbreakable and could channel both lightning and fire.

A week or so after my weapon training had started, I brought it to my Wednesday evening training. That was the slow day at the dojo. Many of the students went to church that night; a few more just wanted a break in the middle of the week. But I did it so most of them would not notice my new cane.

I handed the cane to Master Genwa; he froze for a moment right after the cane was in his hands. He looked up at me after examining the cane.

“Gakusei, where did you find this?”

“I made it; the wood is a lightning-struck piece of black walnut, a very hard wood. The shining spiral is silver that I embedded into the wood. The cap is also silver, but the foot is brass.”

He just looked at me for a minute. “This has a very strong spiritual element added to it also. If you are in harmony with this cane, it will never fail you. Yes, this will do very well as your weapon on the street.”

He handed the cane back to me and went and got his favorite stick. We bowed to each other, and we then went through the Kata for stick that he had taught me.

We did it slowly at first, just warming up, then he began to move faster. I responded to his movements, returning parries and attacks. He caught me a couple of times, mainly on the outside. I caught him good once.

We spent half the practice time doing weaponry. The rest of the night, I spent sparring with the other two black belt instructors.

After showering and dressing, Master Genwa called me to his office as I was about to leave.

“Gakusei Simpson, there is a tournament in the Capital next Saturday, not this one. I have sent a list of my students that I have approved for competition in that type of tournament. Your name is on that list. To participate, your application must arrive by the Friday before the tournament. Here is the application if you wish to compete.” With that, he handed me a form.

I looked the form over, noticing that certain parts were filled out. My weight was 115 pounds, and my style was oriental mixed styles.

“Sensei, what does this style mean?”

“I have taught you karate, some jujitsu, some aikido, and some of your kicks are straight from taekwondo. Overall, I class your style as mixed, slanted toward oriental. If you compete in the mix arts, you will not be penalized for using anything you know. Of course, there are no weapons. I think you need to start competing; you need to go up against strangers whose ways of fighting you do not know.

“I think of this as just more intense practice. They require that all contestants under 21 wear protective gear, so take yours with you. Unless both parties go to the mat together with holds or grips, the fight breaks at a take-down by a throw or hit.” He stood and bowed to me.

Within minutes, I was out of there and climbing into my dad’s car. We rode in silence for a bit.

“Katy, what’s on your mind?”

“Sensei Genwa has sent my name in to a tournament in the Capital next week as an approved student from his dojo to compete. I would have to send my application almost immediately to be accepted.” I sat there thinking.

“What kind of tournament is it?”

“A full-contact mix martial arts. Due to my age, I would be required to wear full protective gear. But it’s by weight, not age, in the competition. I would be in the 110-125 weight division.”

“Mixed Martial Arts! That’s what they use on the Ultimate Fighters! That is dangerous.”

“That’s what Master Genwa has been training me in. Dad, I am dangerous. In a fight in my own weight, I could kill over 75% of the people walking the street; and over 50% of the people bigger than me. As my training continues, I will get even more dangerous. I have been training just under six months now. I think Master Genwa wants to learn if I will continue to be his Gakusei.”

“Gakusei?”

“I am his student, his Gakusei; that’s what that means; he is my Sensei.”

“Do you want to do this? I mean the tournament? I know you want to continue training.”

“Yes, Dad, I think this is the first challenge, and I can’t back down from it. I have to push forward. But the fees for competing will be about $100. Also, the tickets are about $25 to watch.”

“This time, your family is going to be there. We did not get to see you at the track meet; but this time, we are going to see you in action.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“When we get home, let’s set down and get that form filled out.”

Later, after I went to the lab to practice my Magic, Dad called Ms. Higgins to let her know about the tournament and that I was going to compete. She then spread it around to the other track team members, who told their friends.

Saturday finally arrived, and we prepared to leave home, headed for the tournament. We were going to use the big van. I dragged my large duffle bag filled with my gear. I no longer used the two small gym bags. My gear had grown. There was my gi, head protection, gloves, feet shields, groin protection, shin protectors, and chest padding. Then I was also taking my cane; I had signed up for the traditional weapon match.

My research on the internet had found that this tournament was unusual in that it was not by age but by weight. It was mixed gender as well. I was competing in the underbelt competition, which meant that I would face no black belts. All my competition would be brown down through purple belts but in my weight. The only age restriction was on protective gear for legal reasons.

It was about a three-hour drive to the University in the capital where the tournament was being held. When I was here for the track meet, we had never entered the field house except for the locker rooms. This time, we entered the same way to get dressed. But then we exited the locker room into a hallway that led up to the gym.

I carried my headgear and my cane as I entered the gym. There at the door, I met one of the tournament directors.

“Name, please, last one first.”

“Simpson, Katherine.”

“Hum, I got you here as Mixed Martial Arts, Weapon Traditional Stick. Is that correct? Weight 115 lbs, we will do a weight check in a minute, age 13. You have a brown belt with a stripe.”

“Yes, sir, all of that is correct.

“It’s very unusual to have a female in Mixed Martial Arts, especially at your age. Master Genwa does not make mistakes, and he approved for all styles plus stick and staff. You are not competing in staff?”

“No, sir, I don’t have my personal staff yet.”

“I need to check the stick you will be using.”

I handed him my cane. He took it with respect and carefully examined it. Then he called another man over and handed it to him to examine it. The second man carried the cane back to me.

He bowed, “Ms. Simpson, we cannot allow your cane in the competition, no metal or plastic is allowed, and it has metal on it.”

He gently rubbed his finger down the length of the cane, following the flow of the silver spiral.

“I would be pleased to let you use my own personal cane.” He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked. “It is made of Rowan wood.”

I looked up sharply into his eyes. Then I bowed deeply. “I would be honored to use it.”

“Where did you find such an unusual cane, Ms. Simpson?”

“I made it from a piece of lightning-struck black walnut.”

He stood there for a moment, staring at me. Then he bowed deeply to me. “My honor to serve the goddess. May she bless you here today.”

“May you walk in her light and her blessing on you.”

I looked around and spotted my family. They were only three rows up off the floor in the bleachers. I headed their way to let my Dad hold my cane.

A loud yell echoed through the field house. “YAH KATY! GO GIRL, GO!”

I came to a complete stop and stared in shock. A whole section of bleachers was full of people from my hometown. Students, their parents, teachers, and there in front of them all was Ms. Higgins.

To say I was shocked would be feeble. I was frozen. I finally came to my senses and waved to them, then turned and went back to where the director had told me to go. I began my warm-up routine. Over to the far side, I saw a group of men, all of them wearing black belts, and all of them talking and writing on clipboards. There was Master Genwa. The director that I had talked to was paying close attention to what he was saying.

Finally, the loudspeaker came alive as announcers welcomed all of us to the tournament. Then he began telling us what the rules and etiquette were. We were to bow to the judges’ table whenever we entered the competition area. Bow to the referee before the match and to our opponent before the match began or restarted. We must break anytime the referee called it. No blows to the groin or throat. All competitors under the age of 21 must wear full protective gear anytime we were on the floor.

I would say it was standard, but since I had never been in a tournament before, I did not know this for sure. I glanced over to my family: Mom, Dad, Tom, and Jenny. Tom was looking around with interest, especially at some of the older girls. I understood that; let me say, you will never see a fat girl who practices martial arts. She might have been when she started, but she would never have made it to a tournament still carrying that fat.

I was now eating like a lumberjack. I know; my mother had told me so.

Finally, it started. Unlike my Kata form trial, I was not first. In fact, they were doing two at a time. The underbelt competition up to purple belts was going first. At two matches at a time, it went pretty quickly.

These were most of the kids under 16, and when they were through, the next level were the purple belts up to black. I did notice a few under 17 with black belts; they still had some time to wait. But the purple and brown would be mixed a little, due to weight.

Then I heard the announcer say, “We now start weight division 115-125 lbs. under belts; we have 7 people in this weight and belt division.”

“Simpson vs. Wilson”

I stood up and put my head gear on. One more time, I heard the roar, “Katy, Katy, go girl go!”

Glancing over to my hometown section, I saw they were all on their feet.

Talk about pressure. Didn’t they know that this was my first time to compete?

I bowed to the judges’ table and stepped on the floor to approach the competition ring. I stepped into the ring and bowed to the referee, then to face my opponent. It was an older boy about 17, but he looked only a little heavier than me. The referee motioned both of us to the center of the ring.

“Ready...” we bowed to each other. I noticed the boy was eyeing my belt; he only had a purple belt.

“Fight!” and the referee stepped back; as the fight started.

Wilson came at me with punches out of his stance, and I, of course, blocked him.

He was quick; he changed one of his punches into a grab at my gi collar and moved into a hip throw. Yeah, this was mixed martial arts. I got a firm grip on the neck of his gi as I went over. When my weight hit the end of the throw, I pulled him over my shoulder and let go. The sound of him hitting the floor shook the building. I stepped back.

The ref crouched over him, checking him out. He stood up, his right hand going up and then down. Wilson slowly rolled over and made it to his knees and hands. Then the ref said with his hands going right and left, “Match Simpson with a full-count take-down.”

Wilson slowly made it to his feet, then turned and bowed to me. We both turned to the ref and bowed, and he bowed back to us. Then we exited the ring. Then I turned to face the judges, bowed, then I sat down.

I looked at my family; they and all the people from my hometown were standing, screaming. My brother was looking at me with his mouth gaping wide.

The next set of competitors was called. One of the purple belts that had lost but had gone to full distance was paired with one that had not fought yet.

He won his match in two rounds by points. The two who had not fought before went three rounds. There were only two of us that had not been defeated yet. So we were up next. And the losers were beginning to pair up.

My opponent was a no-strip brown belt who was also a little heavier than me. When the fight started, he did not move. I was not used to that. Until now, every freestyle as well as my one fight here in the tournament, I had always started out on defense.

This guy, Scott, just stood there in his stance, waiting on me. So I went into the advance kata the Master Genwa had been teaching. A fast front kick, then a punch to the face, followed with a backhand to the temple. In a fight, you can never expect a kata to be completed as you have learned it. Your opponent can mess you up simply by moving out of position, preventing a kick or a punch because he was no longer in position for you to do them.

My backhand was a block to the outside; I was now out of position to deliver the front kick that was next. I switched to a jujitsu move, I continued forward, passed my opponent, and did a rear inside leg sweep. In the middle of this, I punched the right kidney area. The one-two combo caught him, and he felled to the floor.

I stepped back and waited; he took his time breathing deeply as he rested on his knee and one hand. The ref crouched down and asked him something. Scott nodded his head, “Okay,” then said something. The ref stepped back with a small laugh.

Once he was back on his feet, the ref looked over at the judges. Then he said, “Simpson, one point.” He pointed at me. Then he said, “Ready...”

We bowed to each other. I did not trust my opponent.

He was a thinker; he knew to take his time getting up, resting, and catching his breath. He might be hurting, but he was almost as ready as at the first of this match.

“Fight...” With that, he almost won the whole match right then. I was expecting him to do the same as at the first of the fight, just hold his stance.

Well, this was a different fighter. He did a forward roll and swept my feet out from under me. As I hit the floor, he threw himself at me and tried to get an elbow to my sternum. I barely rolled out of the way, then he did a foot axe kick, dropping his foot down on my spine. I was still rolling but had to stop before I rolled out of the ring. I came to my feet with an over-my-head roll. Then I did a jump over him, spun, and did a rear kick, catching him and pushing him out of the ring.

I turned and back up, keeping my eyes on him. The ref was standing between us and waving his hand right to left. Then he looked at the judges. “Simpson, one half point. Fight continues.”

Scott came back into the ring. I could not help myself. I grinned at him. I only needed a half point to win the match; he needed three unanswered points to win. He scowled at her. The ref motioned us to the center. “Ready...”

We bowed to each other.

“Fight...”

I was standing in my stance, then I was moving. I did a quick spin and did a rear kick, then continued to move with my kick as I went past. I did a full backhand fist to his solar plexus. Then I did a front kick to his back; then another punch to his right kidney area.

He had barely blocked the backhand, but that had him moving backward, where he met both the kick and punch.

He hit the mat on his face, not even able to use a falling technique to help.

I stepped back and watched the ref as he crouched down and examined him, talking to him at the same time. Scott’s hand went up, then hit the mat. The ref got to his feet and waved over the body, “Simpson Match full take-down.”

I waited as Scott rolled slowly over to his side and looked up at me. The ref was back with him, and an EMT was getting into the ring. I saw Scott’s hand motion to me. So I walked over and looked at the ref. He nodded, okay, so I crouched down.

In a very soft voice, I heard, “Where do you go to school?”

“Lynchburg High School next year, in Lynchburg.”

“Darn, I was hoping you were from here in Austin. Girl, you are one heck of a fighter. I will meet you again. Good luck.”

I got up and walked to the ring edge, then turned and bowed to him. Then I bowed to the ref. Before sitting, I bowed to the judges. The announcer was talking.