“But if we did that, then someone could dye their own belt without passing the test first.” Dwade sounded horrified at this potential treachery. “That’s why we have to keep records, because not everyone is going to test at the same time. Around here,” he continued proudly, “you can progress at your own pace. You’ll never be kicked out, even if it takes you years to earn your next color.”
“Years?”
“Well, yeah. The Grandmasters study for their entire lives.” Dwade waved a hand up at the wall behind him, and I saw there were eleven belts, really more like sashes, tied off and displayed in a progressively darkening column: white, yellow, gold, orange, red, brown, green, blue, indigo, purple, black.
“I tested for my yellow belt just a few days ago!” Dwade was smiling like he’d personally just saved the entire continent from disappearing into the ocean. “One day,” he went on, wistfully, “I’m going to be a black belt. Even if it does take me a decade to get there. Anyway,” he shook himself out of his reverie, “when you sign up you get a uniform, a brand new white belt, and basic classes for whites that start first thing in the morning. Once you get an element, you can sign up for more classes later in the day. So, how would you like to pay?”
“Pay?” My heart sank. Anything valuable I owned was sitting somewhere in the bottom of one of Triport’s sewers, unless some goblin had eaten it already. Ramsey and I were still arguing over a plan to get it back; we were supposed to meet up this evening to discuss it further.
“If you don’t want to pay cash, we have an apprentice program. Which is basically you do a bunch of chores around the dojo instead. You also get a cot... well, a mat, to sleep on, which you will seriously need, because trust me, it is a lot of chores.”
“Yes!” I said, excited again. “That’s exactly what I—I’ll take that one!”
“Cool!” Dwade made a note next to my name. “I’ll get you a broom and show you around!”
The dojo was bigger than I expected. In addition to the training halls, of which there were three big ones, there were numerous small rooms scattered around, which might have offices (mostly empty), equipment (mostly used and often broken), or private spaces for meditation or special training. Almost all of the students were white or yellow belts, though a few wore gold, which I suspected they earned by practicing instead of sleeping. The ones with other colors I mistook for teachers, but Dwade told me they were students too.
“The senior students teach the newer ones.” he explained. “After a while, teaching becomes part of the learning process. Most of the higher level students followed Master Brandon here from the Pearl Islands, or from somewhere along the way. You’ll meet him tomorrow. He always teaches the basic classes, which I think is really cool. In a traditional dojo, the masters only teach the higher level students, who teach the next highest, and so on, and you could go years without ever doing more than maybe bowing to a real Grandmaster, never mind getting to actually study under one.”
Dwade showed me the sleeping hall, which was really just a fancy name for the attic, and got me my very own sleeping mat, which was a fancy name for a thin scrap of cloth to lay claim to the floor with. I folded my blue dress on there as a pillow so I could tell which one was mine and changed into my new white uniform, which I was pleased to see was made for moving around in. I was then introduced to Jayleen, the Apprentice Coordinator, a distracted woman who wore a green belt and did her best to be in at least three places at once. She got me a written schedule of all the classes as well as my various chores, which looked intimidating, but which Dwade promised to show me how to do.
As it was too late in the day for beginner’s class, I instead spent the day sweeping, cleaning windows, polishing training dummies, beating rugs (which I was quickly deemed too small to do effectively), and then dusting the rafters (which I was quickly deemed the perfect size to climb around in).
The apprenticeship program provided sleeping arrangements, but not food, and I was really happy to see that Ramsey had brought some when he came by that night. It was, for a wonder, not raining, and so we met up on one of the lesser rooftops which I had discovered by way of a trapdoor while I was dusting rafters. Ramsey had arrived via his usual drainpipe method, and we leaned up against some snarling stone gargoyles while we passed a human sized sandwich back and forth.
“So how’s being a ninja?”
I shrugged. “No ninja-ing yet. I have to take the basic class first. Then get introduced to the Four Elements, whatever those are. So unless ‘dust’ is an element, I think I’m still a ways away from Grandmaster.”
“Have you met the real Grandmaster? I hear he’s new in town.”
“Not yet.” I took a bite of chicken-and-pickle, savoring the flavors after a hard day’s work. “Hey, Ramsey, where are the Pearl Islands? Are they over by Leon?” I pulled up a mental map of my rudimentary knowledge of Cerulean geography. “Or over by the Great Forest?”
“No, Leon and the Great Forest share the northern continent. Though ‘share’ is a pretty strong word... they were at war with each other for centuries.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well, that’s Leon, mostly. They used to be an empire, covering the whole of the Miahan Sea. They founded our little city-state of Triport, and Southwind, which is now its own country, and a whole bunch of smaller cities besides. Then they tried to take on the elves of the Great Forest, and things went badly. See, Leon cut down all its own forests, which turned out to be bad for the leylines, AND timber production, AND the watershed and like everything else. They couldn’t maintain their navy, and without it, the empire collapsed, leaving Triport and Southwind to fend for themselves. So Leon went to war against the Great Forest to try and get more timber, for more ships, but made no headway for like the last five centuries.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then the Queen of the Great Forest fell in love with the Patriarch of Leon. This was like, twenty years ago. Great love story, the poets went nuts over everything, and they declared peace and had a son and now it’s all hunky dory again. Or at least it was, until about a year ago when the prince went missing. Kidnapped, they say.”
“Who took him?”
Ramsey shrugged. “No one knows. The elves of the Great Forest blame the humans of Leon, and vice versa. It’s everything the Patriarch and Queen can do to keep their respective countries from going to war again. Though some people say a united Leon and Great Forest spells trouble for the former colonies; Leon has had its eye on Southwind’s grain fields forever.”
“All this over a missing prince? It seems like, I dunno. One missing person shouldn’t start a war.”
“Yeah, but when he’s the heir to two countries, I guess it’s different. Anyway, the Queen is trying to produce another heir to unite the countries again, but so far no luck. Elves are notoriously infertile.”
I pondered world politics while I munched on my sandwich, grateful that such affairs were well beyond me. “So,” I said after a moment, circling back around to my current concerns, “what do you know about the people of the Pearl Islands?”
“Oh, stories, mostly.” He waved away the rest of the sandwich, and I gratefully took another bite. “The islands are on the far side of the continent of Southwind, known to all us normal people as ‘the other end of the world’, so we don’t get many travelers. Also they don’t export much, except for pearls, of course, and the occasional ancient and wise monk who knows all the secrets of the universe. I think that’s mostly what the Perlanders do, is sit around on mountaintops, thinking of ancient and wise secrets.”
“Mountaintops? I thought you said they were islands.”
Ramsey waved his both of his hands. “They’re like, mountaintops coming out of the oceans, to make islands. You know, a quick beach, for introduction, a steep cliff covered in lianas, then ‘poof!’ mountaintop. Complete with shrouds of mist and littl
e old meditating monks. I mean, I’m pretty sure you can’t be wise sitting around at sea level, otherwise you’re just a beach bum. But, you know, if you can hold a lotus position on the top of a mountain, now you’ve got some class!”
I snorted at this image and finished my sandwich, then rinsed my hands in the water spouting from my gargoyle. Ramsey handed me his mis-monogrammed handkerchief.
“I’ve also heard monks are supposed to live for hundreds of years, which some people say is all about inner enlightenment and stuff, but others just say is the fact that Perlanders are supposed to have a lot of elven blood mixed in. Some people claim they’re all wizards and know words of such power that they only speak in whispers, other people say that every adult in the islands is trained as a fighter and makes up the world’s most dangerous and unbeatable army. Whichever is true, the Pearl Islands have never been taken by an outside military force. According to the Leon Empire, it’s because there’s nothing worth taking over and so they’ve graciously decided to let the islands remain independent. According to Southwind, they make too valuable a trading partner. But if you study any military history at all, ‘didn’t want to conquer’ actually means ‘couldn’t’, so I think there’s something to the rumors.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“Oh, uh...” Ramsey actually looked kind of embarrassed. “There’s museums, all over Triport. Run by the elves usually, ‘cause they hate throwing anything away. And, um, when I first moved here, I was kinda poor, and made some stupid... anyway, the museums are either free or really cheap, and you can spend hours in them, out of the rain, especially if you get one of the curators talking.”
“Maybe...” I swallowed, trying to bridge a gap between us. Ramsey had been very careful not to touch me since our walk home yesterday. “…maybe you could show me around, sometime. What with it being rainy season, and all.”
I didn’t even need to see Ramsey’s face in the dim light to know he was beaming like a small sun. “Yeah! That would be great. I’d love to. I mean, when you’re not in hiding, anymore.”
I didn’t know what to say after this, and the silence was just getting awkward when Ramsey reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Right. And, uh, speaking of showing you stuff, have a look at these.” He thrust the papers at me.
I couldn’t read them by the dim remnants of twilight, so I muttered my last Light spell on the handkerchief, leaving some creative reservoir inside me empty.
[Daily Mana Cast: 3/3]
Ramsey looked just as impressed this time around.
“What are they?” I asked.
“They’re maps of Triport’s sewers. Sort of. The Harbormaster has better ones, I’m sure, but these are what I could get in a hurry. And I was wondering if you recognized where you… where your body might have been. And your gear. And Keen’s lair.”
I stared at the maps, which were in two dimensions, and sometimes in three, and sometimes in code, and contradicted each other.
“Sorry, I don’t think I do. It’s not the same looking at a map as actually being there. And anyway, I… drifted around for a long time. And I’d need a starting point, either the lair, or my bod—err, gear.” I shook my head and handed him back the papers, then sighed in frustration. “What I’d really need are maps of the underwater currents.”
“Oh?” He didn’t look particularly daunted by this.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “They make those?”
“This is Triport; they make everything.”
“You know...” I stared down at my feet, currently unshod. I miss my Talarian Sandals. “You don’t have to do this, just for me.”
“And who says it’s just for you?” he teased, and I looked up. He put away the maps and drew out the illusi-frame. “As it happens, I owe the Great Temple, in the person of Garret, a hundred potions of Cure Disease.”
Ramsey began flipping through the pictures, finally stopping on the one of the modified duping machine.
“And I think I know how I’m going to get them.”
I stood in a row amongst a bunch of other white belts, ankles together, hands at my sides, and we all bowed from the waist, more or less in unison.
“Ok, that was good!” Jayleen cheered at us. “We have everybody facing the right direction this time! Now, Ms. Marka, you don’t have to stay bowed, just a quick dip and then up, so you can see the teacher.” Behind me, an elf made primarily of knees and elbows managed, after a moment, to unfold herself again. “And Mr. Gritsmith, the bow comes from the waist, not just the head, how about we try that one again?”
“Nope.” announced the solid dwarf, who was approximately the size and shape of a wrecking ball. “Th’ waist don’t fold any more’n that.” Jayleen looked so lost at this point blank refusal that after a moment Mr. Gritsmith took pity on her. “Maybe after I lose some weight, we can have another go at this bendin’ in th’ middle part.”
One of the human students with the unlikely name of “Darkfistz” (he claimed to anyone who would listen that his last name was “of Death”) rolled his eyes and kept his sigh just under the decibel at which Jayleen would be forced to notice it.
I was wondering if we were going to practice bowing again, when Jayleen looked off to the side doors and announced, “Class, may I present to you Master Brandon, who will be your teacher for this morning!”
I had dreamed all last night of tiny little sun-browned monks folded into lotuses, squinting ancient eyes of no particular color at the distant sun-specked horizon, perhaps with shaved heads for maximum solar powered efficiency. Master Brandon was not this.
He was tall even for a human, with enough of a belly to overhang his well-worn black sash. His hair was conveniently short and only going grey at the temples, but it was completely upstaged by the massive handlebar mustache sitting under a nose that would have made a dragon proud. He strode to the front of the room as if he owned the place, which I supposed he did, his thumbs tucked into the front of his sash so that his elbows stuck out like wings, framing his thick torso.
“Well howdy!” he bellowed at the class, and though I couldn’t see his mouth under the mustache, his eyes smiled at us. Before we had to collectively decide if we were supposed to “howdy” back, he bowed to the class, his movements smooth and graceful despite his bulk and obvious power, and, inspired, we bowed back.
“Welcome to Uncle Brandon’s Black Belt Factory, first school of its kind here in Triport! I am Uncle Brandon, though you can also call me Master Brandon, if ‘uncle’ sounds too familiar. Now, I assume y’all are here to be ninjas, right?”
There was a smattering of nervous laughter from the class and few “yes”s. Master Brandon beamed at us proudly, as if we were already ninjas.
“Well good! The Way of the Four Elements is a path of wisdom, and the first bit of wisdom starts right here: The Way is not something you go out and do, it’s something you are. And who you are is not something anyone can give you, and it’s not something anyone can make of you. It comes from inside, it’s something you make for yourself. All power…” He held up his hands and very deliberately made fists of them, as if he were winding some tense and invisible band about his forearms. “…comes from within. And it extends exactly this far away.” He the spread his arms wide, slowly, as if pushing heavy walls away from himself, and the space around him seemed to shimmer for a moment, the very air suddenly crystal clear. “This is called ki. Once you understand this, you will have the kind of power that no one can ever take away from you. And then,” he grinned at us from underneath the mustache, “we can really have some fun. Now, lesson one is very simple, and you will spend the rest of your belt levels learning to perfect it: how to breathe. ”
The first thing we do is inhale, I remembered from the Words of Wisdom tome. I grinned back at Master Brandon. I can do this.
Chapter Seven
The days flew by as we drilled the basics. The first class of the morning was always
taught by Master Brandon, who then broke up the new recruits for afternoon classes and assigned one or the other of the senior students to teach the new white belts their specialty. Later afternoons were taken up by dojo chores, and I began to see why Dwade was so excited to have another committed apprentice; it was hard work, and most every one of the apprentices quit after a couple of days and found some other way to pay for their training.
Many others quit entirely. Some were discouraged by their lack of progress (Darkfistz demanded, after his first class, to be shown where the “instant-ninja” potions were kept), to which Master Brandon calmly responded that even if you could learn the Way out of a bottle, you still wouldn’t know how to use it.
“The Way is not found in a jar, or in a book, or even in this this classroom.” he told us, to our collective bafflement. “All you can learn here is theory. We can give you the color of your belt based on how much theory you have demonstrated, but until you take your training out there, into the world, into practice, you will not find the Way.”
And so I practiced. We learned five of the Nine Static Stances and a dozen katas that followed each one. There was Waiting Stance (so called because the Perlander Masters of old could supposedly stand like this for days at a time), and Cat Stance, and Stone Stance and then Hooded-Cobra-In-The-Shadows Stance. Each one had its function: good to stand in without fatiguing, good to strike from, good for not being knocked over, and in the case of Dragon Stance, I suspected, good for making your legs cramp up and fall off. After the stances came the katas, usually named for the stance that began each one, but some were unique, like the Holy Wind Kata.
I had no trouble memorizing the movements, but I just couldn’t see what they were for, and after a couple of weeks I told Master Brandon so.
“Alrighty then!” he boomed at me, as if I had just asked a very important question. “What we need here is a demonstration!” The attention of the class quickly sharpened and focused. “This,” he announced, “is Stone Stance.”
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