“Lindon? Are you hiding?” Jolynn asked to the air before her. Her head flinched, but her eyes remained trapped towards Jentan. Meanwhile, Jentan’s black eyebrows lowered as his eyes glanced aside at the minstrel. The mentalist continued to hold his mouth in a friendly grin, but his eyes turned unpleasant as he took in the measure of his challenger.
The mentalist spoke again, “The past is lost and buried. Nay Orlaun, nay Lindon. There is naught but the shelter for two lost travelers.”
A vehement wave of power surged through Lindon’s mind. The words, ‘nay Orlaun, nay Lindon’ reverberated in his head. The minstrel winced inwardly as his consciousness swooned for an instant. His hands stubbornly strummed the dance step on the mandolin. It was an automatic response, but it kept an anchor on which Lindon could refocus his thoughts. For a moment, the situation in the pub dimmed to a dreamlike state; however, Lindon’s mind followed the sounds of the dance jingle back to awareness.
Lindon saw Jentan attempting to make an exit with Jolynn in tow. Lindon was surprised at the level of psychic attack the mentalist had used, for it had been nothing like he had ever experienced before. For Lindon to break the charm upon his friend, and further protect himself, he had to weave a magic effect to counter mental intrusions.
Lindon’s voice surged as his fingers deftly moved over the chords of the mandolin. He sang about remembrance and about holding on to one’s past identity. A few quick rhymes, delivered upon a foundation of magical walls, sought to put up a barrier reflecting mental suggestions for himself and everyone in earshot. Jolynn, listening to the words on the edge of her consciousness, stopped in her tracks to shake her head free of the fog surrounding her perceptions. In her mind, the assault of this familiar voice disrupted the offered shelter and warm company of the stranger.
Jentan also stopped to regard the changes overcoming the woman he had been magically seducing. For the first time, his mouth lost its grin as he struggled to maintain dominance. Rarely had he faced anyone rivaling his influential control as Lindon did. The magic-user uncomfortably realized that the spectacle drew undue attention to his disreputable actions. The mentalist pulled closer to the barmaid and began to whisper directly in her ear. Lindon could feel the magic of his suggestions as he sought for more control.
Even as the mentalist tried to weave his latest magical deception on the serving woman, Lindon struck back viciously. Anyone not already watching the odd spectacle was affected by the resonant wave of discord erupting from the minstrel’s mandolin strings. Lindon set loose a magically powered and amplified shriek of disharmonious noise. Most of the bar patrons yelled something incomprehensible as they dropped anything in their hands to cover their ears. Jentan winced and stumbled back, Jolynn clapped her hands to her head, and in the far end of the bar the performing bard abruptly ended his song and gritted his teeth.
A deep silence immediately followed the auditory assault. The people in the pub started to look around in a daze, searching for the reason their ears were ringing. Jolynn reacted first. The barmaid looked from Jentan to Lindon and back again. Mentalist Mollamos stood silent for once, trying to think on his feet of something to say, now that the barmaid was obviously back to her own senses. Jolynn did not give him time to use any more of his words. Slightly shaken, yet more than a bit angered, the barmaid grabbed a full glass of ale from a nearby table. Jolynn splashed the contents across Jentan’s handsome face, marking his fashionable clothing with the reek of ale. The laughter of some of the patrons followed her as she turned her back to Mollamos and left the common room via a set of stairs without so much as a word.
With ale dripping from his nose and his disarrayed goatee, Jentan turned to regard the red-bearded minstrel who had thwarted his sexual desires. Lindon stared back with his own smile, though his fingers remained near the strings of his instrument. The minstrel wondered if the irresponsible mage would try any other kind of trick on him. If it ever came to a physical fight, Lindon felt he could handle the dandy of a mage standing before him.
When the mentalist inhaled and began to speak, Lindon tensed to fend off a psychic assault. Instead, Jentan spoke in a normal tone. “Impressive. Lindon of Orlaun is it?”
Lindon relaxed slightly, responding to his title with a flourish of his feathered hat. “Thank you, and aye, that is my name. You would do well to remember me.”
“I will,” Jentan commented. “You play exceptionally well…”
The next words spoken by the mentalist carried the weight of a strong magical suggestion behind them.
“…for one who has imbibed way too much alcohol!”
Before Lindon could even react, the effects of the suggestion took root in his mind. Lindon tried to fix his eyes on his opponent, but his vision became blurred. The room began to tilt on him, forcing Lindon to clumsily catch something to support his weight. Lindon could have been subject to another mental attack while he suffered from the augmented effects of the small amount of alcohol that had been in his system. No such assault came, for Jentan turned towards the door and made a quick exit. Lindon wanted to chase the man and get even, but in his badly coordinated state he simply fell forward. Fighting all the effects of a drunken stupor, Lindon barely heard the bard attempt to begin another song now that the display seemed over. Lindon passed out on the floor of the pub.
* * * * *
Cool water splashed Lindon awake. As the memory of his last waking moments came back to him, he expected to be suffering from a hangover. The magical suggestion inflaming the alcohol had left without any residual effects, for which the minstrel was glad. The red-bearded man looked up from a bed to see Jolynn’s face looking down at him with concern.
“Are you well?” She asked.
Lindon could see the worry in her eyes. He doubted she got much sleep that night, and daylight filtered through the cracks in the window shutter. The minstrel slowly grabbed the hand holding the washcloth, taking it and kissing it gently.
“I’m well. Thank you for taking care of me after I lost consciousness. I’m sorry he got away.”
Jolynn grinned, “But he didn’t get out the door before I gave him my opinion of his flattery.”
Jolynn and Lindon shared some mirth over the memory of ale dripping off of the man’s face. The barmaid continued with a more serious expression, “The important thing is that you saved me. I owe you a great debt for that. If he ever comes to this pub again, the bouncers will see to him.”
“I’m honored to be in the right place at the right time for an old friend. As for that man, he better hope not to cross my path again.”
CHAPTER 7 “Young Vengeance/A Debt Repaid”
“I don’t know which pains me greater,” Grandmaster Woshan of the Order of the Mind’s Eye said as he broke the long silence, “That despite all my training you failed to put Rayka down in one mighty kick when you blindsided him without provocation, or that the incident itself is the third time I made you suffer punishment for lashing out in anger at another of my students.”
The master of the martial arts paced across the large, empty exercise room. During the daylight hours students practiced their combat forms as well as meditated on this floor. The room stood empty now except for the master and his troublesome protégé. He stepped up to face the student who quietly endured her punishment.
“Now that you have meditated on your actions today, I have a few questions to ask of you. I hope you have achieved the proper enlightenment to answer them honestly. Why did you attack a fellow student, Montanya su Troyeal bara Westonhout?”
The student, trying to keep a calm face despite the drops of sweat that ran down her face from exertion, flinched slightly at being called by her formal name. It was customary for nobles in Orlaun to adopt a formal name denoting their ancestral lineage. The “su Troyeal” portion of her name represented her father’s name as Troyeal. “Bara” came from an older version of the human language which meant “clan”. After the word for clan came the surname of her family, “Westonhout
”. Although her name was a noble right, the student preferred to go by only her first name, Montanya.
As Grandmaster Woshan’s stern eyes focused on her, Montanya neither resembled nor even felt akin to a noble at that point. Sweat dotted the smooth, soft beauty of her nineteen-year-old face. Montanya’s long reddish hair, tied back by a piece of torn pink fabric, hung soaked down to the middle of her back. The woman wore loose-fitting tan clothes, designed to allow freedom of movement for the rigors of her training. While the clothes did not attempt to cover much more than what modesty required, they stuck to her contours by her sweat. They revealed a lithe and muscular body, formed from a lifetime of disciplined training. While not overly endowed across the chest, the woman’s looks would turn the heads of many men. She was barefoot from practicing her exercises in the training hall. Despite her beautiful attributes, a number of old scars and new bruises covered her arms, legs, and stomach. The student did not smile often. Woshan had commented to her on many occasions that her cheeks were often turned into a scowl even when she didn’t realize it.
Despite her directive to assume a serene, meditative state, her face formed one of her customary sneers. Though her body had been under duress, Montanya’s training enabled her to cast off her mind into a tranquil state allowing for distant self-examination. Apparently, her concentration could not ignore the two heavy buckets of water she held at arm’s length and shoulder height. Despite the taxing burden, she endured supporting her arms while also maintaining her balance on one leg. She lost track of the time standing there and struggling to keep the buckets high. The muscles in her shoulders and legs ached for rest.
There should have been ample quantity of meditative enlightenment gone by for her to lose her emotions and be more introspective. Instead, Montanya could not keep all the venom from her voice as she answered. “I struck him because Rayka is a thief who has not learned his lesson in stealing from me. I’m sorry if I offended you, sensei, but I refuse to tolerate such actions.”
Grandmaster Woshan let out a disappointed sigh. “Your behavior shows you have a few things you have failed to learn. You still can’t focus inward and weigh your actions from an impartial view. You seek to execute your own judgment of others when you see fit. Your apology is hollow.”
The master indicated the buckets Montanya still struggled to hold even with her shoulders. “You may set those down and relax your body. Even more important, you need to relax your mind. You tap the limitless power within your Chi once able to focus your mind and achieve that inner balance. When you came to us, you wanted to learn the art and the prowess of a warrior who is one with the world around him. However, the true name we choose for ourselves is chiaso, which reflects our connection to our inner spirit. It is more important that we develop our mind and awareness before we attempt to strengthen our bodies.”
Montanya groaned in relief as she set down the buckets. She lowered her upraised leg and stood on both feet as Woshan talked. Though she wanted to stretch and relax all of her weary muscles, she stood straight and tall as Woshan continued to address her.
“Rayka stole from you in the past to play a prank, and he was punished for it just as you are now,” Grandmaster Woshan lectured, “Why did you not come to me this morning when your locket was missing? Did you think that I would not punish him if he was guilty?”
Montanya tried to appear complacent, hiding her emotions, but her insincerity was clear to her teacher. He knew she refused to see the wrong of her actions. “He does not respect me. If I come to you for my problems, why should he earn any respect for me then? I didn’t feel there was a choice, I had to show him the repercussions of his actions.”
As the grandmaster fixed a stern eye on the insolent student, she shrunk under his gaze. “And was he deserving of punishment today? Did he commit the crime for which you judged him guilty?”
Montanya had no response forthcoming to such a direct question. Her greenish-blue eyes turned downward, finding no suitable answer that wouldn’t get her into more trouble.
Grandmaster Woshan brought one hand up, examining the locket in his palm. “You and I found it together with your belongings, where it was supposed to be, at the bottom of one of your sacks. There was never a theft to justify dealing out any form of punishment.”
Montanya took a keen interest in the locket her teacher held, but said nothing as he examined it. Woshan took the locket in both hands and opened it to view the contents hidden inside. There, secreted beneath the gold exterior, were two locks of hair. One had blonde strands, the other red, entwined together in a circle.
He looked up at his troublesome student, “From your parents, I would assume.”
At Montanya’s eager nod, he offered the locket for her to take. The young student of chiaso grabbed it with trembling hands and held it to her breast for the duration of a silent prayer. Under the scrutiny of her master, she placed the locket around her neck. It hung against the glistening sweat of her skin, as she faced her master with softer eyes.
“And as to your method of retribution,” the master stared into her eyes with scorn, “how is he to earn any respect after how soundly he defeated your surprise attack. I’m told you hit him very hard when he wasn’t looking. Despite the surprise he didn’t even fall, instead he proceeded to teach you a lesson instead of receiving one.”
Montanya seemed to shuffle a bit, as if she suddenly remembered the new bruises forming on her skin. “Sensei, he is very skilled. Forgive me for disrupting the training today.”
Grandmaster Woshan took in a softer look as he examined his student. An uncomfortable silence passed as Montanya waited to hear if she would be dismissed without further punishment. As it was, she felt she would not sleep well this night among the other students. No doubt there would be many whispers involving her from the other bunks.
To her disappointment, her teacher cleared his throat and continued. “Montanya, I wish I could forgive you as easily as before and trust in you to learn, but you have shown great anger at times and an inability to control it. This is not the first time you disrupted training by striking a fellow student.”
“I’m sorry, sensei,” Montanya blurted, “it’s hard to control my temper the way some of the others treat me. I am an orphan, an outcast, and I am constantly reminded of that by others. I try my best to keep my mind focused and to train as you teach me. I work and exercise harder than anyone else. The gods know I want to be chiaso. I wish to master the martial arts.”
When he was certain she had finished, Woshan replied. “Let’s talk on that subject, shall we? I have seen the amount of exercise and practice you put into your skills. Despite your many hours of work, younger students have passed you in talent and ability. You have the strongest muscles of any other female student, as well as a remarkable endurance for lengthy exercises. Despite your effort, you fail at the tests to move onward to greater levels of instruction.”
“I push my body as hard as I can, sensei.”
He nodded, “Your body yes, and perhaps your heart, but not your mind.”
Montanya blinked, “I don’t understand.”
“Chi is balance within the soul. Tap into that power, and you can do feats that seem magical compared to any mortal. You can break objects harder than your own flesh, you can sense things you can’t see or hear, and you can even move fast enough to catch an arrow out of the air.”
Grandmaster Woshan took Montanya’s hand and led her to a corner of the training room. A stand against the wall supported a dark, wooden board, bare of ornamentation. “You have seen these before. This training board is from the caleocht trees. The wood is very strong and unyielding, making it the perfect tool to test one’s Chi.”
Montanya stood uncertainly before the board, “Sensei, I’ve tried. I can’t break this wood.”
In response, he offered an iron gaze with an equally iron tone to match. “You will find your Chi. You will use your inner balance to accomplish more than just your muscles would seem to allow.
It will take solid concentration, but you can break this. Students who have weaker muscles than you have found the inner balance to shatter such obstacles.”
The master stood to one side as Montanya faced the wooden caleocht plank. The red-haired student closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath. Woshan would have expected her to take the time to properly focus, yet Montanya paused only for that one breath before stepping forward with a frontal kick. She let out a fearsome yell as her foot moved to connect with the board. The impact resounded through the empty hall, but the board remained intact. Despite the piece of pink fabric holding most of her hair back, Montanya’s long strands tangled about her shoulders as she stumbled backward a few steps.
Her master’s gaze didn’t leave the smooth surface of the board as his voice sighed. “You did not even try to focus your thoughts. Your kick had some merit, but it paled in comparison to the fluid grace and balance of a chiaso. I asked you to meditate and focus your thoughts, and you did not.”
His voice snapped with firm tone. “Butterfly in the Windmill! Do all the steps, focus on the moves, and then split the board.”
Montanya practically jumped into the routine. Despite any pain from her bruises or weariness of her discipline earlier, she went right into the graceful momentum of a martial dance. Grandmaster Woshan watched her movements with a critical eye. Even with all the twirls and circles of the routine, her eyes remained focused on the board as if with deadly intent. Woshan saw that her form was not perfect. Her routine followed the moves, but it was too hurried, lacking any meditation or relaxation. He told her as much, and she slowed her movements.
“What do you see?” asked Woshan. “Do see the strength of your inner soul? Do you see the board breaking in your mind? Nay, you see something else.”
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 12