The Intuitives(49)

“Just because your conscious mind believes there is no connection, does not mean that is true either,” he finished, smiling kindly. “To be continued, hmm?”

But Sam said nothing, staring at him coldly as he got up to leave, and when the other students sat down, eying her warily, they left the seat next to her empty.

? ? ?

When Mackenzie arrived at the exercise room, she was eager to size up the competition. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the young black man with the handsome smile, mischievous eyes, and well-muscled body who stood in the center of a Muay Thai ring that had not been there before. He stared back at her with an expression that suggested he was equally surprised to find himself facing a leggy, blond teenage girl.

“Ah, good! I see you have already met,” Ammu said, walking in behind Mackenzie.

“Not exactly,” Mackenzie replied.

“Staff Sergeant Kyle Miller, at your service,” the young man said smoothly, looking back and forth between Mackenzie and Ammu as though he were not yet sure which of them he was supposed to be addressing.

“I am Professor Amr Mubarak,” Ammu said, smiling warmly, “but you may call me ‘Ammu.’ And this is our young protégée, Miss Mackenzie Gray.”

“Sir,” he said, nodding at Ammu, and then, “Miss Gray,” nodding at Mackenzie in turn.

“It’s OK,” Mackenzie said. “I’m a military brat. You can call me ‘Gray’ if you want. I’m used to it.”

“All right, Gray,” he replied easily. “And you can call me ‘Staff Sergeant.’” He said it with a hint of a smirk, and Mackenzie grinned at him wryly, rolling her eyes.

“As I am sure you have surmised, Mackenzie, Staff Sergeant Miller is to be your sparring partner this afternoon. Remember, the point of the exercise is not to assess your skill in martial arts, but rather to identify the way in which you may be using your unconscious mind to your advantage in the ring. So do not try to showcase your talent by doing anything unusual on my account. Simply do what you would normally do.”

“Got it,” Mackenzie said.

“Staff Sergeant Miller,” Ammu continued, turning his attention to the young man, “while you are engaged in sparring this afternoon, I would like you to watch for anything that might seem unusual about Mackenzie’s fighting style. I am not a martial arts expert, so I am counting on you to notice and draw my attention to her particular nuances.”

“Roger that,” he said, nodding once for emphasis.

Mackenzie unzipped her sweatshirt, revealing a sleeveless black sports top underneath. She wore no jewelry, but she had a colorful, woven armband tied around each of her upper arms. She donned the sparring mask and gloves that had been provided, while her opponent did the same, and then she climbed over the top of the ropes and into the ring.

“When you are ready,” Ammu said.

“Do you mind?” Mackenzie asked the staff sergeant.

“By all means.” He gestured to her broadly with one hand, granting her the permission she sought.

Mackenzie placed her right hand on the top rope and began to walk around the perimeter of the ring, keeping her hand on the rope at all times and bowing silently for a few moments in each corner. When she had completed the circle, she started into a series of ritual, dancelike movements. Miller did not join her, and Ammu looked to him for an explanation.

“It’s an ancient practice,” he explained. “All traditional Muay Thai fights begin with a blessing of the ring, followed by the wai kru ram muay. That’s what she’s doing now. It honors the fighter’s school and teacher, and it centers the fighter and bring blessings to her, as well as protecting her against negative energies. Or so they say. The armbands you see her wearing—her prajioud—those honor her connection to her family.”

“Fascinating!” Ammu exclaimed. “And why do you not do the same?”

“To be perfectly honest, Doc, I’m used to a more western approach,” Miller answered, looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t have a wai kru ram muay of my own. Each one is specific to its school, its teacher, and to the fighter himself or herself. To perform it badly is a great dishonor. Since I didn’t come up in the tradition, I don’t do it. Most western fighters don’t, at least the ones I know.”

“I see,” Ammu said, watching Mackenzie with a renewed intensity, clearly intrigued by what she was doing.

The dance continued for several minutes before finally coming to an end. Mackenzie walked calmly up to Miller, bowed—an acknowledgment which he returned in kind—and touched her gloved fists to his.

“Elbows to body only, OK?” he asked.

“Sure,” she agreed. “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty-boy face of yours.”

“Nice of you to notice!” he quipped back.

They took a step away from each other and raised their gloves, beginning to circle. Mackenzie had been nervous about the idea of Ammu watching her, but the ritual of the wai kru ram muay helped her focus. She forgot about Ammu entirely as she watched her opponent, learning who he was and how he moved. Nothing existed outside the ring, and here, within it, she was in her element.

She waited for him to take an experimental jab, and she blocked it easily. He jabbed at her again, faster this time, and she took the blow to her midsection on purpose. She tightened her stomach muscles and turned slightly to the side so it would be no more than a glancing blow, using the force of her own twist to slam her knee into his gut. He spun away at the last second, sparing himself the full brunt of its force, and he danced backward a few steps, raising an appraising eyebrow at the move.