Wing & Nien

by Shytei Corellian

  “Master Monteray, I...” Wing paused. “The truth is, the best thing I could do was deliver Lant’s Plan to you; carry out the Commander’s last wish. He called on me so many times. And every time, I turned him down. I owed him this last thing. More than that…Well, there is no more than that.”

  Beside Wing, Monteray simply shook his head. He almost laughed. “You don’t understand.”

  Wing’s brow furrowed.

  “Netaia Lant did not ask you to deliver the Plan to me for the sake of the Plan.” Monteray waited till Wing raised his eyes to look at him. “The reason netaia Lant asked you to deliver the Plan was for you — to save you.”

  Wing stared.

  “It was your survival that mattered to him. Delivering the Plan to me was merely a reason.” Monteray’s voice was kind but intent. “I was not meant to save Rieeve, nor was SiQQiy. Only you can do that. You were saved to do it. We can give you aid. We can give you supplies, men, and arms. But after that is all done, after the Ka’ull are driven from Rieeve, what then, Wing? Can I, can SiQQiy give it back its heart? Can we breathe life into its soil? Can we create a child wherein the blood of a Rieevan may flow? It was in you and Nien that netaia Lant held his greatest hope, not in ideas on a parchment.”

  Wing sat impossibly still. Monteray guarded the silence, waiting for him to speak.

  “You...” Wing felt himself beginning to choke on the words, “are not the first one to tell me that. But everything you think you see, that my people thought they saw, was wasted on me. I…in Rieeve, I saw things — dreams, visions. I could see the world itself existed in colours and dimensions that I cannot describe. But I don’t know what it meant, what good it did.”

  I could feel the presence of other worlds, of other realms. I could feel their breath. Hear their thoughts. I understood hell, for what I saw there was heaven. Still, it made no difference.

  Wing had fallen silent, unable to complete his thought. He couldn’t remember ever having been so open. Even with Nien. It scared him. It also made him sad

  “In Jayak during my training,” Monteray said thoughtfully, “and afterward, in Majg and in Criye, there were moments when a curtain would fall away from my mind and I would see flashes of frozen moments, sometimes premonitions, sometimes simply an awareness that there was more going on about me than my eyes could see. My experiences were, perhaps, more random than yours are, but they give me the ability to understand a little of which you speak. There have been times when an intuition has told me what I could in no other way have known. In Jayak, I experienced it for the first time. In Magj I was taught to trust it.” Monteray looked at him. “I doubt anyone has ever encouraged you to do the same. It does not seem you need much training of your inner senses, but relying on them, trusting them? That is another thing.”

  Wing looked away then, out over the river. “I once did,” he said quietly. “But then the people, the prophecy…”

  “They caused you to doubt it,” Monteray said and sighed. “Often, we try to wring the truth out of a thing, when, if we have a little faith and a lot of patience, it will give itself freely when the time is right. Your people tried to force you, out of fear. They lacked both faith and patience.” Monteray patted Wing’s knee. “When you will find the expression of your gifts is up to a timing and a means beyond what our minds can probably understand.”

  Me? Wing thought. Had everyone gone mad? Was there something in the water that had found its way over the mountains from Rieeve and into Legran?

  “I feel,” Monteray said slowly, as if seeking out his words, “it is that side of your nature which may bring about the greater purpose behind the dark revolutions to come.”

  Even more shocking than the words themselves, was that they’d come from Monteray. Inside of Wing, they conjured the same wild sensation that had ripped around his chest when in the presence of the old Rieevan Council —

  The inclination to run.

  This time, however, the urge was stopped dead by two words: Nien and Carly.

  They deserved better from him this time, even if it was a lie.

  Wing steeled himself.

  It was incredible what Monteray was saying, but unless Wing had the courage to leave Legran, there was only one other thing to do: Pretend, this time, to be what everyone thought him to be.

  With a sick pooling of discomfort in his stomach, Wing said, “All that cannot be answered aside, if I am to do this, I will need to know more than how to plow a field. I will need to know how to fight.”

  “Well, that,” Monteray said with a smile, “is something I can help you with.”

  The two men got to their feet then and returned to sit with Nien and Carly and the rest on the bank of the river. Wing pasted a pleased look on his face, knowing that once everyone parted to their respective sleeping places, he would be telling Nien and Carly something none of them thought they’d ever hear Wing say —

  That he’d be learning the art of combat from Master Monteray.

  Two days later, beneath the dome of the Mietan, Monteray stood facing Wing. Right arms crossed to right shoulders, Monteray nodded to Wing. There was in his eyes and manner something that demonstrated his respect for both himself as well as for Wing. It was easy, non-threatening, as if he were not worried about the outcome of what they were about to do.

  Well, I’m worried enough for both of us, Wing thought.

  Turning, Monteray walked over and from the wall took down a short sword. Sliding it from its sheath, he set the sheath aside.

  Wing watched him curiously, wondering if there might be some sort of ritual Monteray was now going to teach him or a lesson familiarizing him with the weapon and its uses.

  Instead, Monteray turned, and without even so much as a warning glance, charged straight for him.

  Startled, Wing stumbled back, hands flying out to ward off the shiny metal thing coming at him.

  Monteray dropped the blade away and spun around him. “Do you see?”

  Embarrassed, Wing glanced down at his hands. “Uh huh.” He’d just tried to use his arms to deflect a sword. Had Monteray been serious, Wing would have been standing there with bloody stumps.

  “Lesson number one,” Monteray said. “Some instincts will serve you in combat, others not as much.”

  Again, Monteray came at Wing with the short blade. This time, Wing danced aside, turning a shoulder toward the blade.

  “Better,” Monteray said.

  “But I’m still dead,” Wing said.

  “Probably,” Monteray agreed and he came at Wing again.

  This time, Wing pivoted and charged back at Monteray all muscle and shoulder, moving past the blade and right inside the ring of Monteray’s arms.

  The men hit the Mietan floor; Monteray was laughing.

  “That,” he said, “will serve you!” Monteray got up and took a step back. “Now, do it again.”

  Wing did so and found himself on the floor. Another lesson learned — tricks usually only worked once.

  Monteray waited as Wing climbed back to his feet before spinning around and throwing a left-handed punch at his face. Wing ducked and whirled out of the way, but Monteray caught his arm and completed Wing’s circle, bringing Wing’s eyes back around to meet his own.

  “Efficiency is key. Don’t use a big move if a small one will do. Energy travels in circles and in spirals. Notice it once, and you will know what I mean.” Monteray spread his arms. “Now, come at me.”

  Wing did so and found himself on the floor again — a place he was fast becoming used to.

  Monteray reached out a hand and helped him back up. “Let’s go over that again.”

  A couple turns later, late evening found Wing prostrating himself bonelessly onto the dirt floor of the cabin.

  Lucin had left the gift of a full fent carcass before the door of the cabin, and Wing had begrudgingly dragged it away before entering the cabin, Lucin slinking in behind him. He sunk down immediately onto the rug on the floor, arms flailing out lifelessly.


  “That seems to be your favorite place,” Nien chided, brushing by Wing and approaching the fire with a handful of kindling. He glanced at Lucin. “And his.”

  Wing figured Nien got some pleasure in irritating the flames, especially when they didn’t even need the fire most nights.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Nien asked.

  Wing glanced over at the white cloth binding up his shoulder and mumbled, “Monteray does a fine job patching up his victims.”

  Nien chuckled. “Don’t think I’m beyond mercy, Weed Farmer. We’ll skip our session tonight.” They’d been back at their play-wrestling again. Carly had suggested that was the reason the Monterays had permanently banished them to the cabin.

  Drawing circles in the dirt with a fingertip, Wing replied, “You’re a real hero. Thanks a lot.” He rolled over and rubbed his hands across his face. “But I’m thinking his offer to train me was a joke — he might really be trying to kill me. I mean, he’ll come at me, swinging a sword around, and I’m standing there with air in my hands.”

  “What do you do with this air?” Nien asked.

  Wing shrugged. “Today I waited till he swung, then stepped in behind his sword arm and pinned it against his chest.”

  “And…?”

  “He said it was a good move.” Wing shrugged. “We’ve been doing that same kind of thing for what, two turns now? He’s taught me absolutely nothing. He just keeps coming at me with something bright and sharp, and I do whatever I can to not die.” Wing looked up to find Nien smiling. “What?”

  “Think about it, Wing. He has taught you. He’s taught you something that, well, I thought was unteachable.”

  Wing’s expression said he wasn’t following.

  “It’s a mental attitude, a way of seeing it. Without any training, he’s made you prove to yourself that you can fight.”

  Wing stared at Nien a moment. It seemed stupid, but as he thought about it, he began to see what Nien meant. Wing had never been a fighter, never wondered if he could be, only that he resented that everyone seemed to think he should be.

  Monteray indeed had shown Wing that he not only was capable, but that he had it in him to think like a fighter without any formal training.

  A light smile touched at the edges of Wing’s mouth as the realization dawned. “Well…that’s pretty great.”

  Nien laughed.

  “Good morning,” Monteray said as Wing walked into the Mietan the following morning.

  They met with the familiar greeting and then Monteray returned to the sword wall and taking down another short sword, placed the live blade in Wing’s hand.

  Wing took the hilt, eyeing the weapon with a mix of childlike wonder, aversion, and…

  Insight, Monteray thought. It was as if Wing saw everything in the world as a metaphor.

  Before ever entering the Mietan with Wing on their first day, Monteray had already learned a great deal from being around him and working with him on the house. Wing had fantastic coordination, was steady on his feet, trusting of his body, and well-balanced. He was, in fact, beautiful to watch even while doing the most mundane of tasks. What Monteray had been unsure of was his mind; what would happen to it when he was faced with the threat of violence? So, he’d decided on a specific approach with Wing and it had worked. Though more clumsy than Monteray had ever seen him, Monteray found that he only had to give direction once through a shift of eye or brief physical demonstration and in the next go Wing could implement it: he’d duck or spin, slap Monteray’s sword wrist, avoid a strike and roll around his back, or trap an arm. Obviously, he’d had some wrestling experience, but there was more than that. By the end of the first turn Wing had already become incredibly efficient, following the energy as it traveled in circles and spirals, feeling his way through complicated moves as if they were second nature. He was, Monteray realized, a natural intuitive. He saw what the Rieevans had seen in him. It didn’t much matter to Wing what he was doing, whether working on the house, having dinner, strolling down by the river, or learning hand combat under the shining apex of the Mietan, he seemed able to step inside of and go with the energy upon which the action lay.

  In all his time of training students in Legran, Jayak, and Magj, Monteray had never been more impressed with a student —

  Until today.

  Many steps of the sun had passed beneath the glimmering Mietan light deep into Wing’s third day of sword work when, at the end of another attack from Monteray that had knocked the sword from Wing’s hand, Wing drew out of the circle of combat, and growling under his breath looked at the sword as if he were about to chuck it across the room; for some reason, the sword had thrown off Wing’s innate flow.

  Monteray shook his head. “I know you’re frustrated. Wing, look at me.”

  Wing raised his eyes.

  “Knocking your head against a wall takes forever; getting it right is spontaneous. Shift the way you perceive it and the change will happen instantly, without effort. Remember, in the moment you feel it, it will be yours forever. You will reclaim that which you already knew.”

  Wing was still looking at him, more anger than confusion in his eyes.

  Walking over, Monteray picked up Wing’s dropped sword, set it aside with his own, and motioned for Wing to sit at the center of the Mietan floor.

  Wing did so.

  In him, Monteray could see the same thing he’d seen in every student he’d ever had at one time or another: A wish for the training to just be over.

  Monteray sat down opposite him, crossing his legs. “Close your eyes.”

  Wing closed his eyes.

  Monteray took a deep breath, releasing it as he relaxed into the posture. “You have a natural feeling in you for energy and its use, extend that into the sword as you do with the tools when we’re working on the house.”

  Wing opened his eyes.

  “You didn’t think I’d noticed?” Monteray smiled a little. “Close your eyes.” Wing closed his eyes again. “Now, wrap the fingers of your left hand under your right wrist.”

  Wing did so, resting his arms against his thighs.

  “Press lightly, just to the outside of the two main tendons running into your hand. Do you feel it?”

  Wing concentrated for a moment. “Yes,” he replied quietly.

  “Good. Now…feel it.”

  The furrow of concentration in Wing’s brow slowly relaxed. Monteray watched as Wing allowed himself to be lulled into the quiet realm where nothing existed except him, the steady throb of his pulse, the miracle of blood, life, their world, and the space beyond.

  Monteray could feel it himself —

  Pulse, Pulse, Pulse...

  He saw Wing’s frustration drain from him. Saw that his mind had quieted; his breathing still, soft, barely noticeable.

  “Wing.”

  Wing started. Opened his eyes.

  “Welcome back,” Monteray said as Wing’s eyes focused on him.

  “There are many secrets under the surface,” Monteray said kindly. “I believe you’ve seen them more than most. The same is true, here: Discovery is the power behind the training.” Monteray held Wing’s gaze for a time. “You once trusted your instincts — do so again. They will not fail you.”

  Wing looked up at him and behind the glimmering surface of his green eyes, Monteray saw tumultuous waves begin to rise, like a churning grey sea beneath emerald skies.

  “I know you have doubts,” Monteray said. “I know you feel your heart has led you astray, but my feelings tell me it has not — nor ever will. There is order in the world, Wing. I understand the incredulity my words may evoke in you, but I tell you: The worst thing, even the very worst thing, often turns out to be the best thing.”

  Night had settled over Legran and the Monteray house when Nien stepped cautiously into the Mietan expecting to find Wing and Monteray at the end of their training day; instead, he found only Monteray, standing in the center of the Mietan, a beautifully made sword in his right hand.

&nbs
p; Seeing he’d caught the Master in a private moment, Nien started to leave, but as he did Monteray moved the sword in an arc beneath the stained-glass window high above. The light caught the blade’s edge and it glinted. Lost in the elegance of the sword and the grace of the hand that moved it, Nien stopped, not taking notice that Monteray was coming toward him, moving backwards in a set of defensive postures.

  The dance continued until, at the last moment, Monteray swung around as if blocking a blow from an invisible assailant at his back —

  In the path of the blade, Nien had frozen.

  Monteray adjusted the sword in time, but Nien felt the air move from the tip of the blade across his face.

  Startled, Monteray said, “Nien! I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” Breathing hard, he set a hand on his heart. “My first teacher would have me scrubbing floors for being so distracted.”

  Nien blinked. He’d hardly been worried about being in the path of Monteray’s blade; in fact, he’d barely noticed it until he’d felt the quick rush of air from its passing on his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt. I was looking for Wing.”

  “He’s gone into town. Probably to meet up with Call,” Monteray replied.

  “E’te,” Nien said, already on his way back toward the Mietan doors, wanting only to get back out into the night air. But before he got there, Monteray said from across the floor, “Lant often spoke of you. He said you were the best he’d ever trained.”

  Nien stopped only a few feet away from the Mietan doors.

  “If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to join Wing and me.”

  Nien felt the fast, painful thrust of his heart in his chest. He didn’t want to. He needed to go…