invocation

	My fist impacted the stone plate with the sound of sweaty cloth and failure. And pain, of course. Even with my hands wrapped in bandage, hitting three inch of stone heads on *hurts*. Under my breath I muttered a word my master behind me wouldn’t approve of me using. He had funny ideas about fourteen year olds swearing.
	So instead of continuing into a full litany of the - admittedly, so far small - profanity I knew, I turned around and stared at him. Maybe a bit more petulant than I ought to have. But hell…it *was* a hot summer day, showing record temperatures for San Francisco. Even wearing only cycling shorts - to reduce chafing during kicking training - and a crossfit top over the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned sports bra, I was drenched in sweat. Which did not do wonders for my mood, because when I had started ‚developing‘ no one had warned me about how irritating sweat deep down in your neckline could be. Or the fact that even after the last growth spurt, I still hadn’t yet regained every percent of balance I had before my body had decided I needed some 'top weight' in addition to another few inches of height.
	Add to that the fact that I apparently continue to fail the exercise, I was more than a bit cranky right now, which I decided to express by shaking my head dramatically at my master, daring him to laugh.
	Or at least I tried to do this but my hair, by now grown back to falling a bit under than my chin again, was also glued to my head by sweat. Normally I was pretty proud of that, given my master’s training policy of ‚you can have hair as long as you want, but every time I use it against you, you cut a centimeter‘ had cut it short…considerably shorter during the first year of where we began training. So generally I took a bit of pride in that length, but today? It only added to my frustration.
	I was *not* accustomed to failing. Not since I had come to live with my master, not since I had decided to take up his offer to learn magic and martial arts from him and become a wizard of my own. I had taken to magic good and fast, and after four years I was pretty well along. To prove to him - and me - that he had been right in choosing me to be his apprentice.
	So when I stared at him, I expected admonishment, maybe. And I feared disappointment. When he had told me over breakfast that today we’d start doing some advanced techniques I had been excited to show him that, yes, I was ready. That I could do this. And yet...
	But instead of admonishing me or scolding me he just sat there, tuning his acoustic guitar and smiling at me.
	„Your left food dragged.“ He supplied helpfully, causing me to groan in annoyance.
	„I can’t see why I can’t do this with a spellword like any other magic?“ I grumped at him, crossing my arms over my chest.
	This finally caused him to put the guitar aside and get up beside me.
	„Because using a spell is for evocation, but the Flying Phoenix Stance is different from evocation.“ he told me, repeating what he had told me at the beginning of the exercise.
	„When evoking magic at something you draw the energy in and then expel it in a way you wish. To prevent that magic from burning your mind while doing so, you need something to focus it, to create a wall between the energy and your inner self. For Evocation, this is a spell word, because it is something you expel too. A word you say out loud, to accompany the magic you cast out.“
	He was my master, the closest thing to a father I had and I loved him dearly. All of which wasn’t strong enough to overcome my teenage instinct of rolling my eyes at him in fourteen-year-old child-to-parent annoyance. Not that he took the bait.
	„The Flying Phoenix Stance is different in that instead of expelling the magic you call forth, you keep it inside you. You point the energy inward.“ My master further elaborated and I shrugged in what was totally-not-petulance.
	„So its some sort of…’Invocation’?“ Was my response to his words, causing him to consider the word and shrug in a gesture of ‚why not?‘ before he
	„So to keep the same energies from hurting you, you need to find a way to keep the energy contained.“ His voice got gentle and almost quiet, as it always did when he explained the deeper secrets behind our shared style of magic. „To move as swift as the Phoenix flies, to strike as fierce as it dives and to be as unyielding as it stands.“
	„The way to do this is by training your body to act as this container. The movements I have shown you are nothing more than a breathing exercise, when you come dow to it, because breathing is as much a way to draw power in your body as any work of magic is. As saying a word is exhaling air in a specific way is for Evocation, breathing in to gain air for your cells to use is for 'Invocation‘.“
	„I’m not sure if I’m in a fight I have the time for a ten step breathing exercise.“ I pointed out, more out of a sense of contrariness than anything else but he only barked a laugh at that.
	„No, you will most likely not.“ He confirmed and then shot me a cheeky grin. „But like every other technique, you will get better with practice. Today, you *will* learn how to do this with ten steps. Maybe next month you can do it in nine. Then eight. Until finally…“
	I almost missed it. It happened in the blink of an eye, a breath so shallow I only registered it in hindsight. He whirled around and his hand - *not his fist*, his straight hand - punched through the stone plate like it was rotten drywall in one fluid, casual motion and released the energy with the same breath of air leaving his body again.
	He didn’t say anything more. He just wagged his head at me and replaced the stone with a fresh one before heading back to his guitar.
	Fine, I told myself, lets do this. If anything I was now not as much determined, but too stubborn to give up.
	I took my spot in the starting position, feet wide and hands at my side and closed my eyes.
	First step, a deep breath down to my core.
	Second step, exhaling just as deeply
	Third step, fourth, fifth and sixth, a fast set of breaths in and out, just short of hyperventilation. Oxygenating my blood and preparing myself for drawing out magic.
	Seventh step, reaching out around me, to the magic energy everywhere in this world and inside me as I exhaled through a small opening of my lips.
	Eight Step, pulling the energy into myself with a slow breath through the same small mouth.
	Ninth Step, letting the magic fill my body, from feet to the top of my head, focusing on the mental exercises which had led up to this technique and my breathing to guide it through my body in the shape I desired as I held my breath.
	And finally...
	Tenth step. My fist soared out in a firm, strong punch propelled by my stubborn refusal to consider failure again.
	It still hurt, don’t get me wrong. I hadn’t yet learned how to toughen myself up and I *was* punching a hard plate of rock.
	But the sound of breaking stone? Pure sweetness.
	Turning around to my master, I felt a grin as broad as the moon creep on my face. And as he looked up from his instrument, a smile was in the corners of his mouth as well, a paternal expression which made my heart soar.
	„Good.“ he said. „Now do it again.“