But that wasn’t what drew her attention.
Soldiers. Hundreds of them near the branox.
She looked over to Benji and pointed toward them. “Can you see anything using your Porapeth abilities?”
“There is nothing there but darkness.”
Imogen sighed. “Then we must go.”
She had no idea whether she could stop them quickly enough before they got to the Leier, but she knew she had to try. She would not allow the branox to harm her people—even if she had long ago abandoned them.
Chapter Fourteen
Interlude
Imogen looked up at Master Liu. He held the long staff and kept it pointed at the ground, but he did nothing to hide the disappointment in his eyes. She had seen the disappointment enough times that she recognized it, and she knew just how irritated he was with her. She still had not mastered even the most basic of the sacred patterns, despite all of her best intentions.
“Bring up your reed,” Master Liu said.
Imogen fought back her exhaustion as she looked around the training chamber. It was small. She had been in the temple for the better part of two years and still struggled as she tried to learn everything Master Liu could teach her, yet even as she did, none of the sacred patterns had been enough for her. None of them had guided her the way she wanted them to. None of them had provided her any greater insight.
And so for the most part, Imogen had started to shift her training, focusing not on the sacred patterns that Master Liu wanted her to learn but on the traditional patterns. She had failed to do anything with the sacred patterns, so she thought it made sense to focus on the ones she could actually succeed with.
She brought the reed up using both hands, and she peered across the distance to him. “I’m trying,” she said, more irritation in her voice than she intended.
She wiped the sweat off her face, moving her hair. Imogen had cut her hair short since coming to the temple, which was easier than dealing with her long hair. She didn’t have to bind it back, didn’t have to worry about finding lace or leather to keep it out of her eyes. She had taken to wearing the jacket and pants that most of the male disciples preferred, but she also put her own twist on it.
“Trying?” Master Liu asked.
He swung his staff and Imogen danced back, not even trying to block. At this point, she didn’t know if trying to defend against it would even make a difference. All she knew was that she had to find some way to stay away from the end of his staff. She’d been struck enough times, her skin bruising, and the agony from each of the painful cracks he landed served as a reminder of just how little she knew. Of just how much she failed.
She couldn’t stop him. He was too skilled.
There was no look of satisfaction in his eyes, nothing there other than annoyance. And worse, Imogen knew she had earned it.
“Use what you have been taught,” he said.
“It doesn’t work.”
“You must find it within you. You must understand the flow.”
She let out a sigh. “Flow doesn’t work for me.”
This time, there was no attempt to ignore the forceful nature of how she said it. There was no attempt to mitigate her annoyance.
He kept talking about the flow, but there was one thing she had learned when she was training with the Leier: there was no flow. It was all about precision. But Master Liu didn’t want her to learn anything about precision. He had wanted her to find the flow. He had wanted her to understand the patterns.
But each time she attempted to do so, she failed, and she received the same stinging criticism each time.
“You remain sloppy,” he said. He knew how great an insult that was.
Imogen took a deep breath and brought her reed around, using one of the easiest sacred patterns he had taught her. It was called Petals on the Wind, and she had no idea why he thought she needed to learn it. The pattern was flowery, requiring her hands to move more than her legs, and when her legs stayed still, she had to twist her body. She had counted off the pattern, making sure she knew the precise steps involved, but even as she did, she knew she’d made a mistake.
Master Liu smacked her again. His staff whipped the back of her legs, then the front of them, and then he jabbed the end of it into her chest. The move knocked the wind out of her, and she stumbled back.
He scoffed. “There you go again. You continue to find ways of embracing rigidity. Do you think you will ever be the soldier you think you can be by remaining so stiff and rigid?”
Imogen did not believe she was what he said. She was fast, precise. It was how she had mastered the traditional patterns. And she was certainly not sloppy.
She bit back her anger and tried not to let it get to her, tried not to let him upset her, but she struggled with his words.
“I am doing what I can,” she said through clenched teeth.
He laughed. “What you can do is not enough. Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”
It would be shameful, but maybe it was time. She didn’t care about shame at this point. Imogen had been here long enough—and had failed to master what she’d come to learn. And if she left, she’d continue to practice her traditional patterns so she would be ready for the possibility of returning, finding her place within the Leier. What did it matter if she didn’t have any sacred patterns?
She would be no different than any others she knew. There were few Leier who could use the sacred patterns.
She ignored Master Liu’s comments and focused, thinking through what she had memorized, and began to follow the count. That was what it was about. Find the count, recognize the steps, follow the pattern. Imogen knew it, and as she traced the steps, she danced from one to the next.
Only, maybe she was rigid.
She had never considered it before, but there was something that felt off. Imogen pushed that thought from her mind as she focused on Petals on the Wind. It wasn’t about thoughts. It was about what she had seen. Master Liu had shown her the steps, and he had shown her what she needed to do. All she had to do was continue to move through them.
She took a step, twisted, stepped, and turned again.
Master Liu stood before her. He brought his staff around, blocking her. “There you go again. Sloppy.”
He spun his staff and moved through the Petals on the Wind pattern. It looked the same as what she did. She counted steps and watched his hands, the precise way he moved.
But there was something odd about it.
As she stared at his hands, she slowly recognized that he was turning them in a manner that made it difficult to follow. Was she doing that too?
She had replicated the way he had moved his hands when she’d been learning. But each time he performed the pattern, the movements were slightly different. Was that flow? What was the reason for it, and how was it any different than her own “sloppy” technique?
Maybe it was more than just how he held his hands, shifted his feet, or carried himself. He was one of the most skilled swordsmen in the Leier lands, and she would learn from him.
She would master this. It was the reason she had come here.
After he finished his demonstration of Petals on the Wind—the pattern looking slightly different than the last time he had shown her—he tapped his staff on the ground. She tried again, this time twisting, knowing that she replicated the exact same pattern he had used. She knew it was perfect. She could tell. Still, there was nothing unique about it.
When she finished, she saw the disappointment in his eyes once more.
“We will try again when you are ready,” he said.
He started to turn away, but Imogen darted toward him, driven by anger. She didn’t know why she reacted that way—perhaps stubbornness or frustration about the persistent failure to complete these patterns the way he demonstrated. Whatever her motivation, she attacked.
And she meant it.
She knew that it was a mistake, but it didn’t stop her.
Master Liu barely h
ad to turn in order to block her first thrust. Imogen had expected that from him. This was a true sword master.
She twisted, her mind immediately retreating to the traditional patterns, and she focused on what she knew of them—the precision. That was what she had trained on, after all. That was what made her so skilled.
Imogen used the sagebrush series of techniques, each of them numbered, and then flowed into the gerund techniques, which were more complicated sequences. These would be enough to—
She was knocked off her feet. Master Liu swung the end of the staff down and aimed for her chest. Imogen rolled, swept her reed around, and tried to catch him.
Though she was unsuccessful, she recognized something. There was an energy around him, the same as when she had first encountered him. The air crackled, and if she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought it some sort of magic. This was Master Liu, though. He was the head of one of the sacred temples, somebody who was trained to be one of the most skilled Leier swordsmen, so it could not be magic.
She held her reed in front of her. Master Liu continued to spin, his staff a blur. Then he jabbed it down, forcing it into the ground.
He straightened and looked over to her. “Sloppy.”
The comment cut through her the way it did each time he said it.
And he knew it.
Imogen twisted around, tumbling toward him. She had to prove her skill. She had to find some technique that he would not call sloppy. Imogen focused on her patterns again, and Master Liu simply watched her, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
Flow. That was what he had said to her.
Precision was not flow. Precision was exactly that. It was how she would fight, and how she knew to fight. It was how she would demonstrate everything she had learned about the patterns before coming to the sacred temple. Perhaps that was how she would get him to recognize her abilities.
She started through the series of forms, moving through them as quickly as she could, demonstrating the precision that made her as skilled as she was.
Master Liu stepped forward, rapping his staff on the ground, and the air hung with a thunderous rebuke. “That is not what I care to see.”
“I was just—”
“That is not what I care to see.” This time, he rammed the staff down again, and the ground trembled underneath it.
She spun back, and she watched him.
“Your skill was never in question, Imogen. Your skill is what brought you to me. You reached First of the Blade before most your age ever sniff at Third. You proved yourself against the most skilled at your level, but what I’m asking of you is something beyond your level. I’m asking you to find something deeper. A part of our people that very few ever learn.”
Imogen clutched the reed in front of her . It was not nearly as rewarding to hold as the sword was. She preferred the beautiful blade she’d been given when she had risen to First.
“If you cannot chase more than skill, then perhaps this is not your place,” Master Liu said, and he strode away with one last rap of the staff.
For a moment, Imogen didn’t know what to do. She was tempted to race after him, to call to him, but what would there be for her to say? What would there be for her to do? He was disappointed in her.
She had been here for almost two years. He had demonstrated all thirteen sacred patterns but had focused on a few. She hadn’t mastered any of them, not to his satisfaction. She was still sloppy.
She had failed—something she was not accustomed to.
Did he truly want her to leave?
Imogen no longer knew what he was asking of her. If that was what he wanted, then she would leave and return to her people as a failure. But at least she would still be a First of the Blade.
She started toward the door and paused at one of the stone tigers, tracing her hand along its surface. For a moment, she thought she felt a warmth radiating from it.
She moved on, thoughts of her failure coming to her. They stayed with her, filled with the challenge Imogen had known. Thoughts that were tied to an awareness, an understanding, of who she was supposed to be but had not yet proven herself to be.
As she strode down the hallway, still holding the reed, she passed a few other disciples. Each of them nodded politely to her, and each of them hurried on their own way. On their own path.
A thought hit her then—one that had not come to her before, though perhaps it should have. Each of these disciples was like her. Each one was among the most skilled sword fighters in all their homeland. Each had come to the sacred temple intending to learn, wanting to master the sacred patterns, and each believed themselves skilled, much like Imogen believed herself skilled, and that they should be able to progress.
Did they share a similar failure?
She paused as one of the disciples made their way through the corridor. Jorend didn’t look in her direction, seeming to make a point of ignoring her. He carried a book in one hand, and Imogen suspected he intended to continue his studies, the way she was supposed to. As she watched him disappear, she wondered if all of this had been a mistake. Perhaps she could never be the fighter she believed herself capable of.
If not, what was to become of me?
Imogen had long thought she would gain mastery of the sacred patterns. Receive a notch, or more than one, on her blade. Return to her people—and perhaps even join the army.
But if she didn’t, what would she do?
That was something she had not given thought to.
Perhaps she would take a bond quest. Not all of their people did so, only those who felt as if they needed to understand their purpose and place within the Leier. But Imogen had always thought she knew that.
She headed down the hall and paused to look out into the grand garden surrounding the entrance to the courtyard. Small shrubs lined the stone walls of the courtyard. Flowers grew in elevated flowerpots, their fragrance filling the air, adding vibrancy to the otherwise colorless temple. Though she couldn’t see the waterfall from where she stood, she could hear its soft splashes.
This was a place of comfort and relaxation, or it usually was. On a day like today, she felt anything but comforted and relaxed. She breathed in the floral fragrance of the air and stopped for a moment.
The courtyard was not empty.
Two of the older students were sparring with staves that were nearly as long as the one Master Liu used. They twisted and turned, their practice weapons striking with a ferocious speed. Most of the patterns were traditional, though every so often one of the students would attempt to sneak in a sacred pattern. Imogen stared, thinking that even were she to ramp up her studies, she didn’t know if she would have enough speed with the staff to keep up with either of them. Here she thought herself skilled, but fighting with the staff and fighting with the sword were very different.
“What do you see?”
The voice came from behind her, and Imogen spun.
“General,” she said, bowing slightly. “I didn’t realize you had remained within the temple.”
“We have sent our men ahead. I am waiting to receive word of our victory.”
She bowed again. “Of course.”
He smiled at her. “You’re young, but you strike me as familiar. Have we met before?”
“You’ve been watching me train.”
“Yes. Not what I expected,” he said, glancing along the hall before settling his gaze on her again. “But I’ve seen you somewhere else, I think.”
She nodded, remaining bowed slightly. “In my village. You came through when I was just learning the blade.”
“Interesting. Which village is this?”
She glanced down. “You would not remember.”
“Perhaps not. Faces, I remember, but villages… I travel enough that it is difficult for me to recognize many.”
“You do me a great honor by speaking to me.”
He waved his hand, and she took that as a sign for her to stand. “There is no honor. At least, not that
you must be concerned with. The honor is training, focusing your mind.”
“They are skilled,” she said, nodding toward the pair sparring.
“Skilled, but I have yet to see a soldier in battle facing another who dances like that.” He grunted. “It is what I have a hard time convincing the masters in the temple of. They believe the sacred arts are designed to accentuate the mind, but those of us who have ventured out in the world and have seen the dangers that exist are able to recognize that it is not a matter of accentuating the mind so much as it is a matter of strengthening the resolve. We train because we must. We train because of what exists out in the world. We train so that we can be prepared, as our ancestors prepared.”
The comment caused her to smile inwardly, but she didn’t show it. That was how she felt of the patterns, though not what Master Liu taught. “Of course,” Imogen said.
“And what of you?”
She smiled at him briefly. “I train here because it is an honor.”
“It is,” he said. “I have been given the honor several times, the opportunity to train in several different sacred temples, but do you know what I learned?”
Simply speaking to the general raised her spirits in a way she couldn’t even fathom. And after her experience with Master Liu today, feeling like a failure, perhaps it was fate that brought her to the general. She didn’t need to take a bond quest. She could go and serve him, learn from him.
Imogen studied him. “I’m sure you learned the same as Master Liu attempted to teach me.” He started to smile. “What were the other temples like?”
He laughed. “You mean were they anything like this? There are things you can learn from every place you train. It has been my experience that those who venture beyond the borders of our lands will learn the most.”
She had only been in the temple for two years, yet she couldn’t help but feel as if she had lost something. Perhaps it was just the time that had passed—time she would otherwise have spent training and trying to continue to master her sword technique, or time that would have guided her in another way. But perhaps she had lost something else: her edge. Working with Master Liu and recognizing that there was something different to the way he fought and trained left her wanting more.
Unseen (First of the Blade Book 2) Page 15