Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  Serra found herself cheering along with her friends and the rest of the onlookers. She could see Wyndall and even at this distance, it was obvious he was proud of his boy. Tyon came up to his feet as disgust established dominance on his face. Throwing up his hands, he turned from Rynsik and stormed away, conceding to nothing. Serra figured this display of anger was his way of leaving with his pride intact. He was exiting the fight, but never did he declare Rynsik the victor of their encounter. While many of the Redgrove clan watching remained silent, their silence was overwhelmed by the rest of the spectators.

  Rynsik once again took Kascha’s staff in hand. However, there was no celebration for him. Twirling the staff once, he looked at Kascha. Kascha smiled at one of her best students, even though the smile was a fleeting one. Everyone who knew Kascha understood that was a big accomplishment when she was on the training grounds. Her right hand rose up in front of her, ready for Rynsik to approach and hand her the staff in victory.

  But Rynsik of the Jacoi did not move.

  The young Ro’Nihn stood his ground, looking still at his teacher. It was evident he did not require the accolades of this victory. Rynsik then looked at those cheering him on. He looked at his father before looking at Kascha again. Spinning the staff in his hand, he planted it once more into the ground and remained where he stood.

  This was enough, for the moment, to put the entire crowd into silence.

  “Oh my,” breathed Esmie. “This could be bad.”

  “What’s wrong?” Serra was able to get the words out just before the crowd sighed collectively in surprise.

  “Um, well how do I put this dear? You’ve had firsthand experience, so I suppose this should be easy.” Esmie pointed at Rynsik as she continued. “As much as I love him to death, right now he is doing his very best in terms of one of his specialties.”

  “He’s getting under Kascha’s skin?”

  “Exactly,” said Esmie.”

  “Probably not the best thing to do with Kascha either,” added Voltaire. “And hearing it come out of my mouth, I know how much of an understatement it is.”

  Serra turned back to look at Kascha. Already her eyes were narrowed as she made her way to the center of the circle. Serra had never seen her happy yet, but now she seemed grimmer than before. Rynsik waited indifferently for Kascha to come, yet Serra noticed that there was nothing condescending about his actions. He looked to honestly not care one iota about this contest. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to think that perhaps, there was more to this young warrior than even she wanted to admit.

  Maybe, just maybe, there was a depth to him, beyond all indifference or hurt, that was even quite profound.

  Serra shook this thought from her head as Kascha came face to face with Rynsik. For a moment, there was further silence, silence and the wind, and the hushed murmurs of a crowd not knowing just what to expect. Serra leaned closer as the two combatants began to speak. She desperately, for some reason, did not want to miss a word of their exchange. Esmie, Voltaire, and the rest of the crowd seemed to share the sentiment.

  The first to speak was Kascha. “Why do you choose to give your disrespect, even now?”

  Rynsik looked at her fearlessly. Serra noticed that he did not show the awed revere that all others had given Kascha. Had Serra not spent so much time with Norryn Ashener, she would have missed something in this exchange. Both participants cared deeply for the other. Kascha obviously loved the young man as a parent would love their child. And through his indifference, it was certain to Serra, even as Rynsik spoke, that he thought greatly of his teacher. “I chose nothing. You know how I feel about these games. It is not reflection of how I feel about you or my kin. I am simply who I am and that has not changed. And you know that.”

  Kascha looked at him a moment before nodding solemnly. “I see. Then defend yourself, Rynsik.” With that Kascha began to circle the young warrior.

  As Rynsik followed suit, the crowd burst into an uproar. If Rynsik’s participation had been a rarity, then this occasion must have been a first. To further confirm this assumption, Esmie and Voltaire were practically speechless. They knew Rynsik to be defiant, but to be defiant to Kascha was an act of true bravery or stupidity to them. Either way, the fight was about to start.

  What Serra witnessed next was nothing short of a spectacle either. It was the first time she had seen Kascha commit to an attack first, and her strikes were swift and thorough. To watch Rynsik and Kascha confront one another was like watching a beautiful, yet deadly dance. Rynsik kept on the defensive, evading his teacher’s attacks and somehow keeping his head up in the moment. Kascha would force Rynsik to take to the ground in his defense, but when she pressed the attack, he would turn things around with a takedown or parry that knocked her off her game. Nevertheless, still he endured her attacks, content with only defending himself.

  The tempo of the fight somehow increased. The heat and speed rose to such a height that Serra had not seen before. Even the crowd seemed mystified by the display. Serra deduced there were few Ro’Nihn that could decidedly stand toe to toe with Kascha.

  And she was right. Not only was Rynsik keeping up, but Kascha could not get a good hit on her younger opponent. The fight itself was a stalemate almost all the way through, and they continued it for several minutes. It ended when Rynsik evaded a heavy hit from Kascha. The evasion had left Kascha wide open for a counterattack, but instead, Rynsik rolled backwards and out of harm’s way. Even so, all present had seen it. There was a mixed reaction of surprise and frustration as Rynsik stood once again out of Kascha’s attack range.

  It was then that both warriors looked at one another again. Serra could see Kascha’s face but not Rynsik’s. Both were heavy in sweat and breathing, and Serra made no mistake about the look she saw in Kascha’s eyes. What Serra saw in that gaze was pride and anger. Kasha looked on at her young pupil before her. Still he said nothing as sweat dripped easily off his hair and around his mask. Serra once again listened for all that she was worth, not wishing to miss one second of the exchange.

  At last, Kascha spoke, shaking her head. “You still hold back. And one day it is going to get you killed. Why is it that you still choose to doubt yourself and your own ability?” Her voice was controlled, yet clearly this was something she had taken personally.

  Rynsik’s response was grim, but there was the warmth of honesty within it. “We are who we are, and this is me. And I can’t give you a better answer than that,” he said. Rynsik then turned from Kascha and exited the circle.

  As Kascha watched him go, the crowd poured out their appreciation. Those that had been sitting now stood and all cheered honestly for perhaps two of the greatest fighters and one of the most memorable fights they had ever seen. Serra clapped as well, honored to have witnessed such an exchange. However, as the crowd died down, she had her questions once again. And as before, Rynsik of the Jacoi was nowhere to be found.

  “What happened, there guys?” Serra turned to her two friends, old and new as she spoke.

  Esmie looked stymied. “Um, I really wish I knew. It’s a first for us too,” she said. Voltaire nodded his head in agreement.

  “What’s going on with Rynsik? Why does he do what he does? He seems so distant...cold even. I don’t think I have ever met anyone who is more reclusive, or more…forbidden.”

  For a moment Esmie was silent as some of the crowd dispersed from the training grounds. Biting her lip, she at last spoke, but with hushed tones. “Well there are a lot of speculations behind that, Serra. I know it’s difficult to see, but there is goodness in that boy. I knew him back when he was just getting on to walk. A handful of warriors, including myself, had the opportunity to care for him after his mother died. Easily back then I could speak of him much like you speak of Norryn Ashener.”

  “But things change,” said Voltaire glumly.

  “Indeed, they do,” replied Esmie distantly. “Just keep this in mind for me, Serra, that is all I ask.” She pointed to where only m
oments ago, Rynsik had fought. “He is bitter yes. Rynsik is dark, quiet, and distant and has been for some time. But know that young man spent nearly two years of his life practically chained to a bed.”

  “Oh my,” said Serra, shocked by the news. “What happened to him?”

  Esmie shrugged. “We don’t know. None of us had ever seen anything like it. And believe me, coming from a healer that is a frustrating thing. Before the war started, I spent a great amount of time trying to figure out the answer myself. But I can’t imagine what that poor boy went through.” Emotion rose to Esmie’s face as she continued. “All I can say is that whatever it was, that sickness cost him years of his life. He had to learn to do everything over again. And to make it worse, it left him severely scarred, especially his face. That mask he wears; it never comes off.”

  Serra covered her mouth with her hand. Slowly, she felt her heart opening as it let a bit of Rynsik in. Everything made sense now. Serra could hardly imagine the ordeal that he had endured. Rynsik had spent his youth bed ridden and fighting for his life. When he finally got through it, he not only had to learn to function again, but he had a war waiting for him. Sometimes Serra found herself longing for a childhood that had ended way too soon. She realized now that Rynsik missed much of his completely.

  “So, you see Serra, he does have his reasons. No one is very close to him and honestly, I don’t know if he knows how to be close to anyone anymore. We of Axiter love him completely and would follow him should Wyndall have to pass on the torch. But I don’t believe his heart is in it. I don’t think he believes in much of anything actually. Whatever goes on in that heart of his, whatever thoughts dominate his mind, they are lost to me and to everyone else that knows and loves him.”

  Serra could now say nothing.

  Shaking her head clear, Esmie took on a new tone, one that was much cheerier than the one she had used only second ago. “But enough of that for now my dear. Rynsik’s will is his own. We have some preparing to do. Tomorrow will be the start of a long adventure, where only the gods can say for sure the outcome.”

  CHAPTER 5

  New Beginnings

  The morning proved cool and crisp, tasting of new beginnings. Carried through a restless night, Serra Landring had risen from bed driven by the excitement of an unknown future. She made great haste amid Esmie’s light-hearted ribbing and was ready for travel in record time. Serra was amazed by how fast her heart was racing and by the empty, burning anxiousness that churned unabated within her stomach. She did her very best to calm herself, though most of her attempts were purely in vain.

  Serra waited politely as Esmie of the Ryndragus said good-bye to her immediate family. Present were her mother and father and her youngest of brothers. Esmie’s other two siblings were out defending Vallance like so many other of Axiter’s brave warriors. Serra was happy to see the closeness that Esmie’s family shared, but it also sent a pang into her own heart. Serra had not seen her parents for some time. Cethric and Nilanna Landring were now busying themselves in Chrone. It had been months since any of them had shared words other than the occasional letter when it was fortunate enough to find the person it was intended for. But Serra found solace in the fact that they were both alive and well.

  Serra and Esmie soon headed toward the entrance of Axiter. Save for Fahn of the McLynne and Rynsik himself, they were the last to assemble of the group, though Fahn was not far behind them. Voltaire sat lazily on his hovercycle, head resting on the controls and feet kicked out on the ground. Serra knew he was at least daydreaming if not partaking in the real thing. Weiss of the Fellane was also seated on his cycle. The difference was he was not half as at ease as Voltaire had been. Serra noted his demeanor, like someone who needed about six weeks or more to get whatever it was off their chest. Serra nodded politely in his direction as she and Esmie began to put down their packs.

  Esmie wasted no time at all as she resumed her ribbing. “Voltaire, you lug! You’ve slept enough for three people I’m sure!” Esmie slapped her bag down on the large warrior’s stomach. He let out a firm breath as he grabbed at the bag. “If you snooze too much, we’ll never get you to sleep tonight and I sure don’t want you talking my ear off into the wee hours, that’s for sure.”

  Voltaire pretended to throw the contents of the bag back at Esmie before casting her bag to the side. “Uh yeah, that’s it. I am always the one doing all the talking.”

  Esmie patted her big friend on the shoulder as he looked at her glumly. “Well, you have always been quite the chatter-box, young one. We just try not to hold it against you,” she said matter-of-factly. Voltaire twirled a finger around his temple in Serra’s direction to show what he thought as Esmie surveyed their equipment. Serra smiled at Voltaire and then followed suit.

  There were six hovercycles lined up in a loose row. On one end was Voltaire still lazing about on the cycle and on the other, and furthest away from everyone else, was Weiss of the Fellane. In the middle of this on the other side of the cycles were Kylynne and Willem of the Blackwells. Serra began picking up parts of their discussion as it was reserved yet heated, laced with heaps of sibling rivalry.

  “Aw, come on sis, this is crap, and you and I both know it! And I know that you know that I know it!” That was Willem.

  “Don’t start, Will. You brought this on yourself. It wasn’t my decision. You think I want to share a cycle with you?” That was Kylynne.

  “But this stinks of the foulest of concoctions!”

  “Tell me about it. Being that close to you for so long isn’t my idea of a good time, Will. Face facts, brother. You got reckless and you are paying for it now. And the way I look at it, we both are.”

  Willem threw up his hands. “But you don’t drive any better than I do!”

  “That may be true young brother,” retorted Kylynne with a smile, “but my record of not getting caught far exceeds yours.”

  Serra smiled as Willem carried on. Her attention went back to her surroundings. It was then she noticed Vonack on the outskirts of the group. For a moment, they exchanged glances. Serra could see that he was still clearly fuming at her. She knew that this trip only grazed at the wound with salt. Within moments his back was to her again and he knelt to rummage through his pack for what must have been the tenth time.

  Serra also noticed that Fahn had arrived and was waiting nearby. The McLynne Ro’Nihn had opted to sit cross-legged on the ground as she opened her pack. Serra could see that she was at home on the ground in the green hues of her clan. Finally, after a moment of searching, she found what she had been searching for; a writing utensil and something to write on. Placing those on her lap, she sat in silence and started to write.

  Serra walked over to her and knelt beside her. “Hey Fahn.”

  Fahn of the McLynne turned her head toward Serra, giving Serra a reserved, yet warm smile. “Hiya.”

  “What are you up to over here?” asked Serra.

  Fahn shrugged her shoulders as she moved some hair off her mask and out of her line in vision. Serra noted that this was a trait that they both shared. “Not much really, just writing a bit. Had an idea so I thought I would put it down.”

  Serra made a quick glance at the paper and noticed a few lines that resembled verses. “Poetry?”

  “I guess you could say that,” said Fahn with a giggle. “I like to write, but I don’t know if I’d call it poetry. I never was that good.”

  Serra patted her on the shoulder. “I have a friend. Her name is Sindara. She said the very same thing before I finally convinced her to let me read some of her work. I bet you are as full of hogwash as she was in terms of gross underestimation of your own ability.”

  “Maybe,” said Fahn with a wry grin.

  “I’d very much like to hear some sometime, Fahn of the McLynne.”

  “Maybe,” said Fahn again, more wryly this time and with the same grin.

  Smiling, Serra stood back up. She turned her head away just in time to face the pang in her chest alone. Serra was
realizing that it was getting more difficult to let people into her heart, just as she realized that sometimes, even with the greatest of effort, it could not be helped. Serra was thinking of days past when she too sat cross-legged on the ground, listening to the writings of one Norryn Ashener. It generally took a great deal of convincing on her part to get him to read anything, but for Serra it had always been worth it. One day, when this is all said and done, we’ll all sit down, and I will listen to you read Fahn. And I will listen to Sindara and Norryn. And we will make up for every second that we have lost because of this war. In her heart, Serra believed this completely.

  Serra turned her head again to see Jozlyn approaching. The gunslinger carried her traveling gear as she guided her horse, Surewind and two other steeds. Behind her was Jozlyn’s shadow for the last five years. And presently, Serra knew that shadow was being forced to accept that he could no longer be that shadow. And from the look of things, Shan Fellar was not taking to that decision with any type of splendor. Serra was not one to pry, but it was most difficult not to hear them, even if you weren’t trying. Not that Serra was trying, at least not with a great deal of effort anyway.

  Shan was obviously deep into a tirade. “Quite honestly, Jozlyn this is a bunch of sh–”

  Jozlyn cut him off quickly enough. “Quite honestly that is quite enough, Shan. You are staying in Axiter. Anything you think of the matter does not change the fact that you are not going with us.” Jozlyn said this over her shoulder as Shan hobbled after her. Serra had seen that look in her eyes before, that expression painted on her face. Jozlyn was now in the middle of annoyance. Serra hoped that this little episode ended before Jozlyn took the next step and into anger, as it wouldn’t be pretty.