by Lakshman, V.
“What are you waiting for?” Master Silbane asked. “These are basic combat lessons. There’s no magic to these techniques. If there were, I would teach them to you and save myself years of frustration.”
“Yes, Master,” he intoned automatically. No magic moves? Of course there were, or what could his master mean? He’d seen all the adepts do more than any normal person. He didn’t say anything though. He just got up and shook himself off. Then he took his stance and faced Master Kisan again.
She smirked, a glint in her eye that told Arek she was laughing at him. Anger boiled up at that and he attacked, jumping in with a snap kick and then a combination of punches and kicks, forcing the master to follow a rhythm of alternating up and down strikes. On the third strike however he switched it and threw a second punch. For a moment, he could see he might have caught her unaware. It was the merest hesitation but Arek slowed his second punch just a bit so as not to embarrass the master or cause himself more trouble if she decided to retaliate.
His magnanimity was rewarded by a quick slip under his counter and a tight right hook that caught him in the point of his chin. When he awoke, he was on his back with Master Silbane looking down at him. “What happened?” he asked, not remembering the last few moments clearly.
“It has occurred to me that I could dress you in towels and clean the ring at the same time as teaching you,” replied his master, without smiling.
“Yes, Master.” He propped himself up, watching with annoyance at the open smile on Master Kisan’s face, looking at him from the side of the ring. When she saw him rise she raised the towel she’d been using to wipe her hands clean and dangled it, then threw it to the side. The taunt was obvious and an irrational anger made Arek want to smash her teeth in. Then she moved lightly into her place in the ring and resumed her stance, never uttering a word, her face devoid of sweat or emotion.
He looked back at his master, who said, “She is the master and you are the student. Bring the fight to her. If you win, it is her fault.”
Instead of answering “Yes, Master’” again, Arek rose and bowed, then retook his stance. He moved forward, watching the same smirk flit across Kisan’s face. It wasn’t nice or noble, and ignited in him a fury that could only be expressed through action. He charged in, but instead of a headlong attack, he faded to his own right at the very last moment. His opponent read him and raised herself up, just enough that his roundhouse kick got in under her elbow, slamming into her ribs.
He followed that with an axe kick, aiming directly for her shoulder but she pushed herself up and caught it early, grabbing his upraised leg and him by the waist and throwing him over her hip. For a moment, he was upside down and knew his shoulder would likely dislocate on impact. As the moment of danger caused time to slow, thoughts raced through his head and his training took over.
He knew the counter, to do exactly what his brain told him not to do—hold on. He grabbed her lapels tightly, tucked his chin ,and rolled his shoulders in. As he went over her hip and his weight shifted into a fall, his grip pulled Master Kisan down with him like a teetering top. Her instinct for self-preservation kicked in and she held him up. Not a lot, but enough to turn a bone-crushing fall into more of an unceremonious dumping of his body like a sack of potatoes.
Still Arek was not done. He’d survived the fall and now rotated, still holding onto her lapels. With Master Kisan bent over him he had the leverage and used his momentum to throw her into a full body slam. He heard the breath whoosh out of her and immediately pulled off a glove, exposing the bare skin of his hand. He knew what one touch would do, and it seemed from her widened eyes, so did she.
“Do you yei—?” he started to say, his body straddling her and his finger inches from her forehead.
He felt the short punch that slammed into his ribs but not the scissor-hold she twisted into, her legs trapping his ungloved hand outstretched high above his head, her thighs closing like a vise around his arm and throat. They squeezed until his head felt like it had grown two sizes. All Arek would remember of that day was her smirk and being inches from Master Kisan’s cold and deadly eyes, before he fell a third and final time to her embrace.
* * * * *
“What do you think?” Silbane asked as Arek’s unconscious form was carried to the infirmary.
Kisan’s skill and careful application of force had resulted in no permanent damage to his apprentice, one of the many reasons he used her to fight the boy. Arek’s ability to negate magic was a hurdle for most, but at his level of training it was expected he would fight with near lethal force. Only Kisan could bring the skill necessary to meet that level of a challenge and still deal with his special power. Arek’s bruises were part of everyday life here on the Isle, something no student complained about. In fact, Silbane struggled to remember a day when he hadn’t ached during his own training.
“He talks too much, thinks too little, and matches his power against me instead of using overwhelming force.” She looked at Silbane, her eyes clear and resolute, “He’s too kind, and that will be his undoing.” Her assessment was matter-of-fact and final.
Silbane looked at her with one raised eyebrow, then said, “Yet he caught you.”
“I don’t question his skill, but his control,” Kisan explained. “He’s too easy to goad, quick to anger, and yet worries about giving insult. In short, he cares too much what others think.”
“Coming from someone who cares too little,” Silbane replied dryly.
Kisan shrugged, “We are what we were made to be. You be the poet. I have always been content as the blade. At least Themun has taught me to love my purpose.”
Silbane ignored that jibe, knowing Kisan had issues with his martial philosophy. Themun had taken over her training many years ago, but he still thought of her as his student. Still, his heart could not help but go out to his former pupil and in an effort to value her skill and experience, he asked, “What do you suggest we do next for his training?”
Kisan watched the space where the apprentice had disappeared before looking back at Silbane. To him, she seemed to genuinely consider what was best for his student, and though her attitude lacked empathy, he liked that trait about her. It was the only part of himself he saw in her now since Themun had taken over.
“He needs to lose something dear to him. Loss will teach him the ephemeral nature of life.” She grabbed the towel she had discarded earlier for show and carefully folded it into a neat geometric pattern.
“Now who’s being the poet?” asked Silbane with a smile.
Kisan sighed, then said, “The boy needs toughening, that’s certain.” Her eyes narrowed, looking at the small white score on the ground Arek had lined up behind at the start of their fight. She looked at Silbane carefully before saying, “From now on my students will give no quarter. That goes especially for Piter.”
“Piter?” the elder master asked. “They’re getting to that age where competition may breed anger.”
“You can’t avoid the negative in everything. The shadows also define the light.” Silbane’s expression must have told her he didn’t feel so convinced, so Kisan continued, “Arek can still accept losing to us. It’s not the same with his peers. A little good-natured ribbing from his classmates is just what he needs to push him. He’ll eventually tire of it, and maybe then he’ll start fighting at the level of his training.”
“You risk making them enemies,” he said simply.
Kisan rolled her eyes at that and said, “Stop being so melodramatic. Children fight, it’s normal and you can’t protect them forever.” She eyed him a bit longer then said, “But I’ll temper it. We all benefit from harder instruction.”
Silbane could feel her attitude change. She moved closer and laid a hand on his arm. “And you know how I love that,” she said coyly. She slid a little closer and smiled, her eyes glinting now with mischief instead of anger.
“Unless you’re offering something uncomplicated, stop,” muttered the master as he looked at the tow
el she’d folded. His love for her was not hidden, but it had grown through the years to more of a friendship than any amorous need. They’d been together then and again, but it never stuck. How could it for people who lived hundreds of years? Plus, Kisan had a way of switching moods so quickly Silbane found it a bit unsettling.
He smiled wryly and said, “Let’s focus on training our students. Everything else is a distraction.”
She arched an eyebrow and with a small smile she teased, “Now who’s being the blade?”
Ben’Thor Tir
There’s a type of beetle in the Shornhelm.
It rolls dung and then climbs inside.
When it emerges it is beautiful to behold.
- Keren Dahl, Shornhelm Survivor's Guide
Yetteje watched as Orion inspected a silver wing and the rents in his armor. To her, they already looked much better even though only a short time had passed since they’d left the failure of the Ascension. They had been walking some distance when the Watcher suddenly stopped. He motioned for them to wait while he moved a short distance off, his form silhouetted in the early morning sun as it rose over one edge of this island.
“He’ll heal,” the deep voice of Helios sounded from behind her. “We always do.”
She felt the Aeris Lord come to stand beside her. Yetteje didn’t take her eyes off the form of Orion, but she asked, “Who was that boy?”
“How can you not know of Ascension?” Helios responded. Yetteje watched as he took a knee beside her so they were of more even height. “You, who have bonded with Baast and are the envy of any Watcher.”
Yetteje drew her brows together in consternation. She could understand every word he used, but the meaning still eluded her, so she said, “You said that name before. Who is Baast?”
Helios smiled, his sunburst armor catching the morning rays to glint gold. “Little cat, that is your bonded partner. Unlike us, you are whole, as it should be.”
“Whole?”
Helios sighed, then said, “Had Orion bonded with Tomas in Ascension, he would have returned to the existence we were meant to have.”
Yetteje looked back at the silver-winged Watcher and said, “You’re supposed to be inside us?”
Helios smiled again. “No, more correctly we are one, and through each lifetime we live together, we grow in power. Once we were the wind and you the voice. We were the power and you the strength.” He held her with his gaze and completed, “You are the Will and we are the Way… but all that changed with the Fall.”
“The Fall?”
Orion strode forward then, catching the last question and answering, “When Sovereign fell to Edyn the world was forever changed. We should have been one, yet now we can only achieve such bliss through Ascension.” He looked meaningfully at Helios, then turned back to Yetteje and said, “Lilyth seeks unification through possession and we oppose her, but in the end we are all meant to be one within the Way.”
“And you do this through that combat test?” Yetteje looked at both of them, “I never tested like that.”
Helios stood up and shrugged. “Combat is but one way. It is not necessary to fight, only to sacrifice—a purity of need accepting our gift.”
Yetteje began to shake her head, but then the moment in Bara’cor when the king and his men had knelt in front of her and hailed her as Queen of EvenSea, came to mind. She’d asked for help, for strength, and felt invisible hands embrace her with strength and love. She gasped, her eyes widening. Had that been it?
Orion clasped Helios on the shoulder, then looked down at Yetteje, smiled sadly, and said, “It is rare, but think on how the first of us must have Ascended. It cannot only require the trial I suffered and failed, but must also be open to those pure of heart. It is a blessed event for you…” he trailed off lamely, his grief over the outcome of his Test still evident.
“Do not believe this is the end. Though Tomas failed, we will hold courage in our hearts and find other worthy aspirants,” Helios said to Yetteje, though his words seemed meant for Orion. He squeezed the Aeris Lord’s shoulder in commiseration. “Come, we must decide where to go from here.”
Orion took a deep, shuddering breath, then said, “Our choices are few. We can attempt the gate at Harmagedon.”
Helios nodded but cautioned, “Lilyth’s forces will be guarding that area. Still, we must risk it.”
“Wait,” Yetteje said, “you said ‘few choices.’ What else?”
“There are no other choices, little cat,” Orion replied. “Any other path means our demise.”
“Humor me,” she said obstinately. “What else?”
Orion looked uncomfortably at Helios before responding, “Lilyth would have a gate at Olympious, but that’s—”
“That’s where we’re going,” she stated flatly. When Helios seemed about to respond, Yetteje cut him off with a finger saying, “No arguments. I’ve faced her before and she doesn’t scare me.” She knew that wasn’t exactly true, yet there was an unfinished task she’d put to herself since stepping through the portal.
Orion said, “You can’t be serious. It will mean death for us all.”
Yetteje shook her head and then pointed to the scar on her face, “Lilyth healed me, so I doubt she would just kill me.”
There was a blinding flash and there stood Thoth, looking both angry and scared at the same time. “You go too far, Princess! The demon-queen will use you against your friends to force their obedience.”
“To do what?” Yetteje asked, recovering from the sudden appearance of the Keeper. When Thoth did not immediately answer, she said, “You promised to tell me what was going on.”
“You’re being unreasonable—”
Yetteje’s eyes flashed yellow as she took a step forward with Valor in hand and said, “You haven’t seen unreasonable… yet.”
Thoth backed up a step, Valor lighting his features in a white-yellow glow. His eyes went from Yetteje’s bow to the two Watchers standing by implacably. Finally, he seemed to fall in on himself, deflated. He raised a hand and said, “Very well, Princess. If things must be, let them be so without subterfuge.”
He motioned for her to take a seat, which Yetteje reluctantly did. Then he did so as well, lacing his fingers in front of him with his staff tucked horizontally across his thighs. He blinked a few times, as if organizing his thoughts, then began, “There is the war you know of, but the war is not with Edyn. It is between those who believe Ascension is the key to our survival and those who believe possession is the key. These Watchers—” his gaze took in Orion and Helios—“are part of a small group of Aeris Lords who believe the former. The rest follow Lilyth and seek to possess the people of Edyn.”
“Few?” Yetteje tried to sound confident, but it was hard to mask her sudden doubt.
Thoth nodded, “Each Watcher who achieves Ascension is lost to our ranks. Yet, while there is no limit to the myths from which we are born, the appearance of new heroes to hold the line alongside us is limited by faith.” He looked disappointed when he said, “Think on your gods… do you know their families?”
Yetteje shook her head, “No, the gods are the gods.”
Thoth smiled, “Exactly, and by that very broad stroke the gods are left with nothing. We Aeris lose children, lose families, lose anyone who falls out of favor with Edyn. Imagine a world where the deeds determine survival, not health or years.” He looked at her for a moment then said, “It is far from fair, a perversion of how things should have been. Because of this and many other reasons, Sovereign seeks to remake this world.”
“Who is Sovereign?” Yetteje asked.
Thoth’s expression was filled with remorse but he nonetheless replied, “There are two paths to Ascension. One is through the trials, anything that forces a person to sacrifice everything for a cause or belief. Great sacrifice bonds an Aeris to the one who demonstrates such conviction. You saw this with Orion, though it did not end in success.
“Another is through great need or purity of heart.” Thoth
licked his lips, “Yet there is another… rebirth. Remake the world as it should have been and the separation of the people of Edyn from the Way will disappear. They will be unified, able to exist within the Way, as was intended before the Fall. Sovereign is the force behind this.”
“What will happen to my home?” whispered Yetteje, a part of her knowing the answer.
“Obliteration. A new world will be born and you and yours will be nothing more than myths, legends, tales… gods and demons in the new world’s lore. Olympious, Sovereign, Lilyth, even Orion, Helios, and myself— we will be the legends the new world remembers.”
Yetteje thought for a moment, her mind racing. “Then Lilyth fights to keep Sovereign from remaking the world.”
“Yes, but she condemns Edyn to possession by her people. Our Watchers are too few to stop her and as such will become slaves to her Furies.”
A sudden pit formed in her stomach. “What about Arek? She said she was his mother.”
Thoth looked down, and when he looked up Yetteje thought she saw real sadness in his eyes. “Arek is being used in a dangerous gambit against the highlord of the elves.”
He looked at Orion, who simply said, “The blackfire.”
Thoth nodded. “It can be the only explanation for what you saw.”
“Wait,” Yetteje said, “who’s this elven highlord?”
Thoth sighed then said, “I hope we do not regret being so forthright, but I made a promise to a man I respect greatly that the time for obfuscation is over.” He paused. “Your great grand uncle ten generations removed, Valarius Galadine. He has your cousin, Niall.” When Yetteje did not reply, he continued, “When Lilyth attacked the henge to recover Arek, it showed a weakness in her plan. She wants Arek here in Edyn but cannot let him fall into Valarius’s hands.”
“Why?” Yetteje asked, her agile mind cataloguing that Niall was now with a Galadine believed to be dead for centuries, and yet somehow she knew enough to remain silent. She understood at some deep level that only this would solicit the truth. Still, frustration rushed through her. Leave it to Niall to find the only dictator in this realm who was also family. A part of her also hid the nascent idea forming around a new objective.