by eden Hudson
Koida dusted off her feet on the rug, then climbed onto the bed, snatching the chopsticks and bowl of eggs and rice from her sister. The buttery, starchy, yolky concoction lit up her taste buds so strongly that the bottom of her mouth ached. She was starving.
“Father wants me to speak with you.” Shingti pulled a bit of crust off the spiced bread and chewed it while Koida shoveled rice and eggs into her mouth. “It’s about your training.”
Koida froze, then swallowed the large bite. “He wants you to convince me that the eunuchs are right and training at this age will only lead to injury.”
“Father knows I trust the eunuchs’ word as far as I can throw my dead mother.” Shingti offered her the bread. “In fact, I doubt he even hears their endless nattering except as a handy excuse to stop your training while sparing your feelings. He’s worried that you’re losing face with the court. It’s one thing for a princess to be a Ro-cripple, but to keep beating a dead warmount as you’re doing can only send bad messages about not accepting one’s place in society. He has to think about what that sort of delusion will do to the citizens of the empire if he continues to indulge it—both our native-born and the tribes we’ve conquered.”
Koida took the bread from her sister and dipped it in the yolk. She popped it in her mouth and chewed, the complexity of the spices blending seamlessly with the egg it had soaked up. What Shingti said was true. If one didn’t accept their station and responsibility in society, order would quickly break down, and chaos would follow. But if she quit training and admitted defeat, then what else was there for her? She would truly be useless then, without even a hope of contributing honor to her family or her empire.
Shingti poured herself a cup of tea as if she were oblivious to the second princess’s brooding, but Koida recognized her sister’s silence. Those who didn’t know Shingti thought the Shyong San Dragonfly was a creature of constant motion and noise, flitting from conquest to conquest on and off the battlefield, but in truth, this was only one of Shingti’s many faces. She could be just as contemplative and still as a wise old tortoise when she needed to, waiting for others to reveal their intentions before acting, as she was now.
“Do you think I should give up?” Koida asked her. “Stop training to save face?”
“You’re seventeen, Koida, and you’re still struggling with a novice-level weapon. You’ve gone through six masters in ten years, and you show no signs of advancing. You’re Ro-crippled with no prospect for bringing honor to the Shyong San Dynasty through battle. These are all facts.”
The tangy bread and buttery rice turned to ash in Koida’s mouth. Her sister had never been one to coat the truth in sugared lies, but this morning the truth felt much harsher than she was prepared to deal with. She looked down at her plate, hoping Shingti wouldn’t notice that she was blinking back tears.
“I see powerful, skilled fighters killed every time I ride out to face another tribe. I kill most of them.” Shingti picked another bit off the bread, then set the larger piece back in Koida’s limp hand. “Their Ro is strong, but there’s something else missing in them, some reason they lost on the day I won. A will to survive at all costs or a thin moment’s loss of focus that allowed me to strike the killing blow. Or maybe it’s only luck, and all my thinking about it is senseless. But if it’s not luck—if it’s will—then I want my little sister to have more of that than anyone else out there.”
Koida swiped away a bit of wetness from her eyelashes and looked up at her elder sister.
“I think you should keep training,” Shingti said, rolling the bit of bread she’d torn off into a ball, then tossing it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “Train every day until you either advance, break yourself, or die. The eunuchs and the court can go eat destrier droppings.”
Koida grinned. “What about Father?”
“Leave Father to me.” Shingti bounced up off the bed, her long hair jouncing along behind her. “Come on, let’s go train. We’ll give Lao the day off, and I’ll show you the new Soaring Axe Kick I’ve been working on.”
Chapter Six
10 YEARS AGO
The sun had not yet begun to consider stirring when twelve-year-old Ji Yu Raijin climbed shivering out of bed and hurried into his cloud-gray school uniform. He whipped the loose jacket closed over the pants, then tied the pale blue sash around his waist, the color denoting his rank within the Path of Darkening Skies. Raijin and his currently snoring roommate, Yong Lei, had both just advanced to the third tier, the Wind belt, within days of one another. The boys were of an age, born only a few months apart on opposite sides of the Shangyang Mountains. Both had been brought to the school to study the Path of Darkening Skies, and both had moon-marks which could be an ancient rune marking them as the chosen one.
Unlike Yong Lei, however, Raijin could not sleep in until the morning bell. Yong Lei was from a wealthy family of merchants in a port city far to the south. His father’s gold secured his place in the school. Raijin had no family, only a mother who had given him up before he was old enough to remember her face. His place in the school depended entirely on being a good and useful servant. If even one day went by where he didn’t complete his tasks, he would be dismissed. It had been this way since his sixth year, and it would continue until he was a full Master of the Path of Darkening Skies.
Raijin eased the door shut behind him so as not to wake his friend, then sprinted down the hallway and outside into the icy darkness. A heavy snow had fallen overnight and blanketed the woodpile, pinning the oiled cloth protecting the sticks under hundreds of pounds of frozen precipitation.
He smiled. An inconvenience, yes. But also an opportunity to use his new Wind-level kick.
Raijin sprung onto his hands in the wet snow and whipped his long legs in a circle. Focused jade Ro, glowing in the early morning dark, whistled across the woodpile, blasting snow away. With the weight removed, he flipped up the oiled cloth easily and gathered an armload of wood.
Back inside, Raijin hurried up the stairs to the masters’ quarters. He would have to build fires in each residence, then in the kitchens before he began the rest of his morning tasks, but the first fire always went to Master Chugi.
As soon as Raijin slipped inside Master Chugi’s door, a gravelly groan came from the bed.
“Morning comes earlier every day, doesn’t it, my boy?” The old man was sitting on his mat in the Resting Meditation position—legs crossed, fists over his heartcenter with only a sliver of space between the opposing knuckles—with his blind eyes open wide and his head cocked so that his ear followed Raijin’s movements.
“That’s what you keep telling me, esteemed elder,” Raijin said, grinning. While he spoke, he arranged a nest of kindling in the fireplace.
Master Chugi chuckled, his belly jumping beneath his robes.
“You laugh now,” the old man said, feeling around until he found the staff at his side. He would need it if he were to go anywhere. Having been a master at the school for longer than Raijin had been alive, Chugi did not require assistance finding his way around, but he did need a sturdy stick to lean on. “When you’re my age, we’ll see if you’re still laughing.”
In one practiced movement, Raijin struck the fire tool with his thumb and dropped the resulting sparks into the tinder in his opposite hand. The dry wisps of beardmoss flared up immediately, and he set the whole thing in the nest of kindling. He fed the growing fire larger and larger sticks until the flames danced merrily in the fireplace.
With the fire warming the room and his favorite master’s woodbox refilled, Raijin bowed himself out of the little residence and set to tending the rest of the school’s fires.
Fatty, the school’s cook, was just yawning his way into the kitchens when Raijin finished stoking the banked cookfire back to life. Still half asleep, the heavyset man grabbed a pair of cold corn buns and tossed them to the boy.
“Thank you, honored chef.”
“Extra water today, Raijin,”
Fatty said around an eye-watering yawn. “Makin’ sprout congee for lunch.”
“It will be done.” He bowed, maintaining eye contact in spite of the fact that Fatty had already begun pulling down ingredients and baking pans.
The water was Raijin’s next stop. He retrieved the yoke and buckets—each one half his height and as wide as his shoulders—from the implement shed, then raced down the southern mountainside to the stream that bubbled out of the rocks. Farther down, the stream became a gushing river, but here it was as wide as Raijn’s closed fist, and at the perfect height to set the water buckets beneath.
This was one of the few times during his morning tasks that he had a moment’s breath to pass, so Raijin dropped into the Resting Meditation position. He couldn’t keep his fists as close together as Master Chugi without accidentally allowing them to touch, but the point was not how close together he could bring them, but to clear his mind and focus on the present. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on the pathways the icy air took rushing in through his nose and down his throat, branching past his heartcenter and the Wind-level Ro that danced there like a jade breeze, then filling and circling in his lungs. He contained the air only long enough to warm it, then followed it back out once more as it left his lungs, passing over the heartcenter, warming his throat and the back of his nose, then turning to mist in the icy air. Four of these deep breaths and the first bucket was full. Four more and the second one was finished as well.
It seemed impossible that he could be strengthening his Ro in such a short time, but he knew that having done so every day for the last six years had to have had a cumulative effect. In any case, it wasn’t hurting him to practice his meditation, and he had to use that waiting time for something.
The trip back up the mountainside was much slower with the full weight of both buckets pulling Raijin toward the earth, but he didn’t try to rush or use Straight Line Gusts. The Wind students had only practiced the speed-enhancing move once, and Raijin couldn’t afford to spill the buckets, not on a morning when he had to carry extra water for the school’s congee. When he finally could use Straight Line Gusts reliably, however, this water-carrying was going to take much less time.
It took four trips to fill all the masters’ washbasins and pitchers and the kitchen’s barrel, another to water Fatty’s beloved covered garden, and then a sixth to fill the enormous soup cauldron. Raijin was breathing heavily by the final trip, the muscles in his legs and back protesting, but he couldn’t slow down. On his way out of the kitchens, Fatty tossed Raijin another bun—this one piping hot and tasting of delicious honey—and then it was back outside to the raw log stack. Raijin had to cut and split enough of the logs into useable sticks of wood to replace what he’d used that day, stacking it under the far end of the oiled cloth so that it could begin to dry.
This was a task that always took longer during the brutal mountain winter, as the school used much more wood. By the end, Raijin’s uniform was soaked in sweat, and his arms and back felt like they were on fire.
The first lights of dawn reached into the sky as he laid the last stick onto the woodpile and pulled the cloth over it, leaning a heavy stick on each corner to secure it against the wind.
The morning bell rang a deep-throated peal that echoed down the snowy mountainside.
Raijin laughed in a great puff of white and took off running for the courtyard. That extra trip to the stream had nearly made him late for morning training.
The rest of the students were already assembled in the courtyard when Raijin raced through the door. Yong Lei stood at the far left of the third row with the rest of the Wind-level students, a place at his side saved for Raijin.
At the front of the rows, Master of Training Palgwe was explaining the cultivation of Ro to a newly arrived student, a girl of about five, but speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear him.
“Ro is the force at the center of your being, the base of all spiritual strength and abilities,” Master Palgwe explained. “It can be absorbed from other life forms by violence or death, but that is not the way of the school you’ve chosen. In the Path of Darkening Skies, we do not seek to steal what belongs to others. We seek to better ourselves, to sharpen and strengthen our own Ro through meditation, both resting and martial, and training our bodies to do what no others can do.”
Master Palgwe bent to tie on the girl’s white Cloud sash, the symbol that she had just begun her training.
“It is not easy,” he continued as he knotted it around her waist. “It is like carrying a bear cub up a mountain every day until he is fully grown. He starts out heavy and only becomes heavier, and at times, he grows claws and teeth and attempts to maul you.”
Raijin slipped into the empty spot beside Yong Lei and stood at attention, back straight, fists in front of his sash.
“With each new stage comes increasingly more power, but many do not see advancement for years,” Master Palgwe reminded them all. “For some, progress through the ranks will come sooner than others. Remember, it is not your fellow students you are competing with, but yourself. You strive every moment to become better than you were the moment before.”
From the corner of his eye, Raijin saw Yong Lei look at him. With a grin, Raijin swiped one hand across his forehead as if to say Made it just in time. Yong Lei chuckled, then clamped his mouth shut tight.
“The Path of—” Master Palgwe broke off in the middle of his customary new arrival speech. The training master’s sharp brown eyes closed in on the two of them instantly.
“Student Raijin, student Yong Lei,” he snapped, his voice ringing sharply through the courtyard. “Horse Riding Stance.”
They dropped into the low stance, feet spread apart, knees bent until they were nearly sitting, fists at their hips, elbows back, eyes forward.
“Recite the Seventy Principles of the Path of Darkening Skies for your fellow students,” Master Palgwe ordered.
As one, the boys began. “All life is sacred and worthy of respect in every form it takes. Ro is the basis of life, and to steal it through violence is to steal life. Bloodshed is a last resort, reached only when protecting a weaker life form from a stronger one who will not be diverted by any other approach...”
While they spoke, Master Palgwe crossed the courtyard and pulled something from the racks in the far corner. Yong Lei groaned quietly between principles.
“Self-control is the mark of enlightenment,” they continued. “Training the mind to go against its selfish nature strengthens and prepares the body to achieve unnatural feats...”
The training master returned with a pair of brass ring weights in each hand. As they recited, he tethered them to a strong cord, then hung them over the boys’ necks. Yong Lei grimaced with the added weight, but Raijin didn’t mind. They were heavy, but not as heavy as the water bucket yoke he carried every day.
By the thirtieth principle—“Serve others before self.”—Yong Lei dropped onto his backside, unable to hold himself up any longer.
Sweat rolled down Raijin’s back and his whole body shook with fatigue, but he clenched the muscles at his core and continued. Beside him, Yong Lei gingerly repositioned himself on his knees and rejoined the recitation.
“Fear no death in the service of others, but life in the service of self.”
The longer they went on, the more the fire raged through Raijin’s limbs. His voice grew strained, then weak, but Yong Lei’s made up the difference, regaining strength as he rested.
At the fifty-second principle—“Adversity builds strength, but indulgence tears it down.”—the pale-haired Yong Lei clambered back to his feet and returned to the riding stance. Raijin’s muscles were screaming, and he was shaking like a leaf bug in a tornado, but a goofy grin broke out across his face. He huffed an exhausted laugh as they launched into the remaining principles together.
When they reached the final one—“Always strive to improve, refine, and strengthen the body, mind, and Ro.”—Raijin’s knees gave out, and he tumbled
to the ground beside his friend, brass weights clanging on the flagstones. He felt like his body were made of overcooked noodles.
“Attention,” Master Palgwe said.
Yong Lei snapped back to attention—legs straight, fists in front of sash, eyes forward. Raijin stumbled onto his feet to do the same. The weights slapped against his chest as he did. His resulting attention was decidedly less sharp than his friend’s.
“Now tell us which of the principles you broke,” the training master said.
“Respect others above self,” Yong Lei answered quickly.
“Wrong.”
Yong Lei’s forehead creased in confusion.
Master Palgwe turned to Raijin expectantly. The motion made Raijin’s head spin, and he had to shut his eyes to keep from falling once more.
“All of them,” Raijin answered. He swallowed around a dry throat.
“Correct.” Master Palgwe spun on his heel and returned to the front of the ranks. “Every principle in the Seventy relies on every other. Disregard one and the rest will soon follow.”
Now at the head of all the students, the training master turned back to face them.
“If the interruptions are finished, it is time to begin the morning’s exercises. Cloud students, stay close to me, and do not stray in the mists alone.” He looked down his pointed nose at Raijin and Yong Lei. “The two of you will finish out the training with the weights.”
With that, Master Palgwe turned and jogged out of the courtyard, the dozen Cloud-ranked students following close on his heels and the higher ranks falling in behind them. The newest students would run only a few miles, a little more distance added each day, until they could run the full hour the older students were expected to before returning to the courtyard for Moving Meditation.
Yong Lei groaned loudly, then ran to catch up.
Raijin shook his head, throwing sweat like a wet hound, then took off at an uneven lope. The weights thumped against his chest. It was going to be a long morning.