The Dark Path

by James M. Bowers

  “Three strikes determine the winner.”

  “So be it.” Gen picked up the other staff again and stood at the ready.

  “Attack when ready.” Ambern grasped his staff in two hands and prepared to defend himself. He had just grasped it properly when the boy charged, the tip of his staff jabbing toward Ambern's left eye. Ambern pulled back, but a bit too slowly. The tip caught him under the eye. Pain lanced through his skull from the impact. He reached up to block the second hit but it came into his stomach instead. The air burst from his lungs and he started to bend over from the surprise and pain. His training finally came back to the fore and he dodged to the side and spun the staff in a basic defense. A few clacks of the boy's staff bouncing off his as it spun and he caught his breath again. He closed his watering left eye and finally brought his focus back to the boy. The boy's eyes held nothing but cold, like staring out across the plains after a heavy winter's snow. The sight shook him and he lost focus on his defense. His knuckles screamed in pain as the boy's staff smashed into them. He opened his hand and let the staff drop. Holding his hands up and open.

  “I yield,” Ambern cried out. The boy halted. “I must say that I was not ready for that. It has been a long time since I've had to fight like that. Give me a moment.” Ambern picked up his staff and leaned on it. When he caught his breath fully he brought himself to the ready.

  “Again.”

  Ambern attacked first this time. Bending down, he spun quickly into a horizontal attack to Gen's mid-section. Gen didn't try to block, reading that the blow had more momentum and weight behind it than he could stop. Instead he fell backward and, placing one end of his staff to the ground, made an angle upward away from him. Ambern's staff impacted his knuckle and split it open. Gen ignored it, rolled away, and came back up to a standing position. They circled each other twice, each sizing up the other. They came together at the same time and traded blows, the clack of wood on wood sharp in the humid air. The attacks came more and more quickly. Ambern's mind raced. How was this child so good at this? He had stopped going easy with his attacks after the first two exchanges. He attacked at full force and speed. It was all he could do to keep up the barrage. If the boy had been his equal in height and strength, then this fight would have been over long ago. The child's attacks were precise, with no wasted energy, and he didn't try to block anything that came with full force. Finally he saw an opening. He came down with a sudden downward blow that Gen could not avoid.

  Gen raised his staff to block and locked his legs. The staffs cracked together and with a horrible sound. Gen's gave way, a long crack bisecting his staff. Gen felt two of his fingers break from the impact vibration, and his wrists took more damage than he had calculated. He looked at the cracked staff. He brought up his knee and broke it the rest of the way in half, then flew at the Master with the two halves. Ambern's expression was one of pure surprise and he tried to block the fury of attacks that came at him.

  He had thought the boy would be done when his weapon broke. One of Gen's sticks came against the fingers of his right hand. His grip slipped and he couldn't bring the staff back around to block the next blow. Pain exploded from his left knee as Gen brought both sticks down upon it. Ambern fell to the ground and Gen brought the weapons up to bring them down upon the master's head.

  “Stop!” a young voice rang out, followed by the sound of two sets of small feet running toward them. Gen stopped but did not take his eyes off his target.

  “You must stop! You'll kill him!” the girl cried as she reached them.

  “He did not yield.”

  “Can't you see he's in pain?”

  Gen looked to his opponent's face and saw that the master's eyes were squeezed shut with his hands locked on his shattered knee.

  “Oh.” Gen looked up at the girl before him. She was a bit taller than him. Her dark red hair was chopped short in a boy like cut. Strands of it floated about her face in the breeze. Her eyes were a deep green and her expression was one of worry and pain. Gen stood and let his arms fall to his sides. He tried to open his hands but they wouldn't listen to him anymore. He cursed them, silently in his head.

  The child crouched beside the master and tried to get his attention then yelled to the other child to run and get the healer. Gen felt blood run down his finger from his busted knuckle. He ignored it. His eyes focused on the girl in front of him. Her hair flashed red in the sunlight and her face held such concern. Gen felt an odd stabbing in his chest. It didn't feel the same as physical pain though. It somehow struck deeper. The fact that he had caused this girl to have that expression somehow hurt him. He frowned. He would have to study on that more. He closed his eyes and went over the calming meditation until the feeling went away. When he opened his eyes once more, Ambern was floating in the air at the waist of an old woman in white robes. She was looking at the combat teacher's knee. She motioned and an older student guided the floating teacher away toward the healer's cabin. She started to go after him when the girl once again called out.

  “He's hurt too, Miss.” She pointed at Gen, that same look of concern on her face.

  The healer turned around and walked up to him. “Let me see those hands.”

  “It's just a few broken fingers.” Gen held them up, though the sticks were still in his hands.

  “You can drop the weapons now. The fight is over.”

  “The muscles are locked. I cannot open my hands.” He met the woman's hard gaze with his own. She stared into his eyes for a long moment then turned.

  “Follow me, Child.”

  “Yes, Healer.” Gen took three steps after her and felt his legs give out. He cursed himself for losing such control. How could he be so stupid as to have overexerted himself this much? The last thing he saw was the sand of the circle rushing up to meet his face, then all was dark.

  Gen came awake to the sound of hushed voices somewhere near his feet. He kept his breathing regular and his eyes closed and focused on the voices.

  “He's not normal.” Master Ambern's voice he recognized. “I've never seen a boy his age fight like that. I have no idea what he's been through, but his training must have been horrible.”

  “You say he bested you with a staff and then with a broken one?” The second voice was old, but strong. Male. He recognized it as the Headmaster's.

  “Pretty easily, I'm ashamed to say. There is nothing I could teach him about staff combat. He fights with such calm. It's more than a little unsettling. Also, I think I would be dead if not for Meeka, here. Thank you for that, Child.”

  So Meeka was the girl's name. Gen filed that away for later and refocused on the conversation.

  “I will speak to him. Did it seem that he had murderous intent?”

  “No. I don't think so. His eyes held nothing. Definitely not murderous intent.”

  “Thank you, Ambern. You may go back to the students now. I will speak with the boy. You go along too, Meeka. He will be fine.”

  “Yes, Headmaster.” Meeka's voice sounded sad and it brought back the odd pain in Gen's chest. He tried to ignore it and lay still. The door opened and shut and he heard the Headmaster sit down beside him.

  “You don't have to keep pretending to be asleep now.” Gen frowned but opened his eyes and looked to the Headmaster. He was an elderly man with a long white beard and bald head. His eyes looked tired but sharp. Gen sat up slowly. He was sore but he found that his fingers were no longer broken. He wondered at that a bit. He turned to face the old man.

  “Master.” Gen bowed his head in greeting, though his eyes never left the older man's face.

  “That's Headmaster,” the old man corrected.

  “My apologies, Headmaster.”

  “Tell me. Was it your intent to kill Ambern?”

  “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Why?”

  “He was my opponent, Headmaster.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “I see.” He leaned back in the chai
r and rubbed his eyes.

  “You need to understand something, Gen.” The headmaster lowered his hand and locked his gaze with Gen. His eyes looked tired. “Ambern is our combat and archery teacher here at the Schola. He is the best one we have. Yet at no point was it his intent to kill you.”

  “He asked to fight me, Headmaster. He did not yield.”

  The Headmaster stared in silence at the boy for a long time. Then with a sigh, he ran his hand over his bald head.

  “Do you like tea, Gen?”

  “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Come to my house tomorrow at this time. We shall have tea. I think we have some things we need to discuss.” The Headmaster stood and walked to the foot of the bed. “Oh and one more thing.”

  “Yes, Headmaster?”

  “Within these walls. You are to kill no one. Do you understand?”

  “What if I am attacked, Headmaster?”

  “Then you had better be able to prove it. Murder is not tolerated here at the Schola. Is that clear?” The Headmaster's gaze tried to bore into the boy's. He had used that look for many years to scold the children and it had never failed, till today. Gen's expression was calm and seemed almost to be calculating.

  “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Good. I will see you tomorrow. Try to stay out of fights till then.” With that said, he turned and left the cabin. He would have a long night of divination over this boy. What kind of monster had been sent to his care now? His shoulders hung heavy as he slowly made his way to his study.

  Gen sat on the bed and stared at the wall opposite him. He flexed his fingers. They were a bit sore but the bone damage seemed to be healed. He moved his wrists and they seemed healed as well. He would have to learn how that was done and soon. His thoughts drifted and came back to the girl from earlier and of the stabbing feeling in his chest.

  The door to the cabin opened and the girl, as if summoned from his thoughts, walked in. She shut the door quietly and walked over to sit on the chair beside his bed.

  “Good to see you are awake. Are you feeling okay?” That look of concern crossed her face, again bringing the odd pain in Gen's chest with it.

  “Yes, Yes. I'm fine. Thank you.” The concern left her face to be replaced by a large smile.

  “I wanted to be mad at you, you know.” She looked down to her lap where her fingers were doing some kind of struggle with each other. Gen stayed silent and adjusted himself to better see her. Her pale face held a spattering of freckles under the dirt and tear streaks that crossed it.

  “I told Thomas that I hated you for being mean to Master Ambern.” The fingers of her right hand seemed to be winning the struggle and she focused on that for a moment. “Thomas told me that you were not a bad person though. He told me that you had stood up to Aaron for him.” She looked up and met his gaze then. It took Gen by surprise and he fumbled to put his mental barriers back up. The knife that had stabbed him previously, returned. It twisted as their eyes locked. It seemed that she looked deep into him, into the private parts of his soul. His first, panicked instinct was to look away. Instead, he fought against his instinct and let the ice creep back slowly.

  “Thomas was wrong.”

  “How so?” Meeka's voice was low and whispered, her eyes showed only the smallest circle of green around her large pupils.

  “I am a bad person.” Gen rolled off the bed away from her and was out the door. All that Meeka saw was a blur of motion followed by the sound of the door shutting. She sat back and rubbed her forehead. The headache came on quickly this time, and she must have cried out for the healer stood before her chanting softly. Warmth flowed from the healer's hands to her head and the headache lessened.

  “What did you see this time, Child?” The healer spoke softly and ended the spell, letting the warmth slowly stop flowing from her hands.

  “Pain. Never ending pain.” A tear rolled out of her right eye and the healer caught her as consciousness left.

  IV

  Run

  Gen ran from the room. What was wrong with him? What was this pain in his chest? He ran to the gates of the Schola and through them into the clearing beyond. He focused on the run, the feel of his feet on the grass. He went deeper into himself, taking control of the fine muscles of his legs, forcing them to move just right making sure he made as little sound as possible while maintaining speed. From his legs, he moved to his lungs to keep his breathing steady. His heart pounded in his chest, screaming for him to slow down. His face curled into a sneer and he focused on the heart to slow it down as well. He soon reached the woodline and turned his course to an empty trail. Now he had to divert his focus to the ground, watching for roots and other hazards that would slow him down or create noise. He glanced up and saw a fork in the trail up ahead. It was overgrown and seemed ill traveled. He took it without thought and tried to push himself faster through the tall weeds. His legs screamed at him from the abuse. He focused on the pain, pulling it about himself like a comforting blanket. It was blinding and he lost control of his breathing and his heartbeat. Moments later, the burning from his legs was overwhelmed by the pounding of his heart and the ragged breath from his lungs. He willed himself to go on deeper into the woods. Eventually his body stopped listening to him. His left leg went first, throwing him off the trail and into a patch of briers. He rolled over onto his back. The pain of the thorns, as they ripped and caught in his flesh, added to his body's agony. He gave himself completely to the pain now, letting it flow through his body. Eventually the pain faded and he fell to sleep, his mind blank from exhaustion.

  He awoke to the feeling of a cool, damp cloth upon his forehead. The next thing he felt was his legs, complaining to him about their abuse. He ignored that and focused on sound. Crickets chirped in the woods all around. In the near distance was the croak of a frog. He heard quiet breathing beside him and opened his eyes. Bright moonlight blinded him for a moment and then he focused upon the figure knelt beside him. The cool white light of the moon let him make out its silhouette. It was the girl from before, Meeka. He waited for the pain in his chest to come back and must have made a move because the girl noticed that he was awake. She said nothing, just took the cloth from his head and poured more water from a small water-skin onto it. Placing the cloth back on his head, she looked away from him and at the moon.

  “I do not remember my mother's face.” She spoke in a bare whisper but Gen caught each word with total clarity. Everything else faded away to nothing. There was only this girl and her words.

  “I remember staying with my aunt and uncle for a short time. They sent me to the Schola when I was very young. I do not know their reasons. Sometimes I think they did not want me. Sometimes I think that it was so that I could become a great person and make them proud. Sometimes I don't care and I have nothing but hatred for them.” She lowered her head and pulled at a loose thread at the base of her simple white cotton robe. Gen saw that it had been ripped recently and guessed that was where she had gotten the cloth that was now upon his head.

  “All the teachers here have been as parents to me, Master Ambern especially. He tells me how proud he is of me, all the time. His words make me smile and warm my heart. Have you ever felt that?” She didn't turn to him. Just let the question hang in the air. The crickets filled in the silence for several long moments. When he spoke she jerked slightly as if not expecting him to speak.

  “I do not know the face of my mother. She died bringing me into this world. My father, I remember vividly. He was a good man and did his best for me. He told me several times how proud he was of me. I remember the look on his face at those times. His eyes would shine and he would smile so large I thought his lips would split. His laugh could always cheer me up and his stories at night before I went to sleep were my favorite thing in all the world.” Gen was silent for another long moment.

  “I also remember the look on his face as the blade that killed him pierced his heart and came out his chest. I remember his warm blood as it struck my face. I
remember the metallic taste of it upon my lips. I remember that warm feeling in me die as he did.” He pulled the cloth from his head and placed it upon her lap. He stood, ignoring his legs as they told him they did not like this idea. He turned and started walking down the trail back to the Schola.

  “Gen?” He stopped but did not turn back. He heard her stand and let her circle around him. His eyes locked onto hers once more. The pain in his chest rushed back into him, an almost tangible thing. He felt his control go and his legs give out. He felt her try to catch him as they both fell to their knees. He felt her arms around him as she held him in a tight embrace. He stiffened but she maintained her hold and eventually he sagged back. His head lay upon her shoulder.

  In his mind, he saw a large traveling trunk. It was strapped tight and bore a big lock. He saw her then. She stood, glowing white, beside the trunk with a large silver key in her hand. He called out to her to stop, but no sound came forth. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey. She put the key to the lock and cracked open the trunk. Pain like none he remembered ever feeling before, flowed through his heart and mind. It was more than he could handle and it threatened to consume him. He screamed in rage and sadness. Tears flowed, unhindered down his face and dripped onto Meeka's shoulder. Through it all, she held him tight, never letting go.

  After an eternity the pain eased. He lay exhausted upon the ground, with Meeka's arms still around him. He felt empty but in a good way. Almost like the feeling of sore muscles after a good run. He started to laugh then. After a few moments, she joined in. The last thing he remembered was the sound of her laughter and the feeling of her arms about him.

  V

  The Dream

  Night had spread her dark blanket over the sky. All was peaceful. The crickets sang their song that only they understood. A circular meadow of soft, green grass lay in the middle of a dark wood. In the center of the grove sat a young man. The boy was in a relaxed state, his mind clear. Softly, he incanted the words of magic that kept his body levitated a few inches above the ground. The secret grove was his, created by his hard work and spell casting. This was his safe haven, the place he called home. He had achieved the rank of the Gray Robe at the age of fourteen and was now almost at the next rank. Lying back, he let his mind wander back to that time.