A Leaf and Pebble

by Andrew Monroe

  I barely noticed the staff, engrossed in his tattoo of symbols making a tree like pattern from his hand reaching up past a rather large bicep and disappearing beneath the tunic. The tattoos, beyond a doubt, placed him as one of those monks. The blue robed priests. But he had way too many. The symbols were nearly identical, at least in shape and artistry, to the one I’d seen on a teacher back at the school.

  They were the order’s way of showcasing mastery of a subject. One tattoo somewhere prominent to show mastery, usually the back of a hand or similar. Rook had at least a dozen flowing up his arm. It shouldn’t be possible.

  Anticipating yet another question, Rook spoke first and diverted me. “Allow me to brag a little, I very seldom have time or the opportunity to show how clever this is.” He inclined his chin towards the staff. Slowly, he began walking the camp’s perimeter, forcing us to follow. “You must look at the blades themselves, while you’re at it. They’re exceptionally well crafted.”

  We all peered at the variety of knives, a small fortune of metal worn like some heavy jewelry.

  With a flourish, he pulled free one of the longer knives that hung from the bandoleer. It was straight and flat with a keen edge on each side. This knife, and all his knives, followed an odd hilt design. Instead of a normal wood or wrapped leather grip, the handle was just the knife’s tang with odd grooves and bumps. “Now, see these flanges in the grip?” If you put the blade into the staff’s end like so,” he said, dropping the blade’s tang into the open end and twisting it slightly. A metallic click locked the blade in place. “A short spear!”

  “That is curious,” Slandash replied after a moment. “Why not just carry an actual spear instead though?”

  Rook’s gait was casual, but his eyes were constantly flickering about, taking in every single aspect of the tents and movement around them. Instead of answering, he flipped the staff over, and did the same with the other side with a matching blade. Now, he was holding a double-ended weapon that looked just as deadly to the user as to anyone else. “I guess I like the subtlety and ingenuity of a weapon no one else has. A weakness of mine is novelty.”

  Slandash grunted in acknowledgment, but said no more. Rook gave a slow spin of the staff, moving it in graceful arcs. We gave him a bit more space. As he moved about with his staff, I noticed that some of the blades didn’t have grooves to lock into his staff. The ones higher up on his bandoleer had flat, heavy looking handles with wide blades.

  “Did you study under the lake?” I asked.

  Still spinning the wicked staff about, he smiled knowingly.

  “You mean Brod?” Qaewin asked.

  “Not that one,” I said with a shake of my head. “The ugly stepchild of Brod. Using a similar design to Brod, this group built a training facility originally meant for finding a way to travel in the Chalard Sea.”

  Rook nodded in approval. “Not many know much about us that haven’t studied there themselves.”

  I continued as Qaewin still seemed confused. “They tried to capture some of the smaller sea monsters off the causeway and put them in this mountain lake for study. It proved too costly, so they sold it to a rather insane noble-turned-zealot who turned it into the Monkhood. Compared to the rest of Balteris, it’s pretty close to my home in Erset. We hear things, and Volant and I were taught by one of the Blue Robes at the school. I asked him and he said it was real.”

  Apparently, for all the travel the Soft Steppers had done, Qaewin had not heard of the monks. “What do they worship?” asked Qaewin, confused. “You have a Waruin braid, so you don’t worship anyone,” she said as an afterthought. “What’s a priest without a god?”

  “They, or rather we, worship art or whatever we’re studying,” Rook said with a shrug. “Or at least that’s what they say. Imagine you decide your goal in life is to become one of the best swordsmen ever. You could either hire a set of tutors and practice for years and spend a fortune, or you could go at it alone and hope you have the fortitude, determination, and brains to make your dream happen all by yourself. Most do not have either.” He stopped and plucked a few pieces of the long grass next to him, and intently began to twine them together.

  We waited expectantly as he played with the green blades much like a child. He was wholly focused in the task, staff with bright blades cradled in his arm as he worked. Slandash finally coughed expectantly.

  Rook looked back up. “Oh, excuse me. My mind wanders sometimes,” he said sheepishly. But his eyes were sharp, and not paying attention to us. Something had caught his attention. “So, you decide you really want to become a master swordsman. But you don’t have enough money. Or enough time. Or you think your follow through is lacking. In an act of courage, or stupidity, you petition the Blue Order. A community of masters who have already received their robes, and stay on to teach. For the point of this, consider them the governing council of the monkhood, though it is much more complicated than that.” Despite his astoundingly casual account of a semi-secret society, he nodded towards the skin hanging off Slandash’s hip like this was just any conversation. “Is that Swok?” Excitement colored the edges of the question like a kid asking for dessert after dinner.

  “Sure is.” Slandash responded with his own smile. Tossing the skin across, he added “and after this story, I’ll have to hear how a monk from beneath the lake has had it before.”

  Rook shrugged. “A friend in the order smuggled an entire barrel in, once.”

  “Ah, so that’s where that barrel ended up,” Slandash said. “Finally, the mystery is unraveling. That has been driving me nuts for a few years now.”

  Both Volant and I looked at Qaewin, puzzled. She looked just as confused. Before anything further could be said, Rook laughed and made an odd gesture over his heart, which Slandash returned with a surprised look.

  “Anyways,” Rook continued, taking a long pull from the skin. “These men and women review what you want to study, along with whether they have anyone that could teach you, and if they need a new acolyte with that skill or not. If everything works out, they accept you for whatever price they decide you can afford. Generally, it’s not too expensive if the Masters need a student of the chosen skill set. But a fair bit cheaper and a lot quicker than the self study or tutor route.”

  “How much was yours?” Volant asked. As soon as he did though, uncertainty crossing his face as to whether it was an acceptable question.

  Rook looked at Volant thoughtfully, while still drinking with one hand. “I paid a king’s ransom to enter. And, it was to become a master gardener, before someone asks.” He looked around meaningfully.

  At this, Volant’s eyes grew wide and an almost tangible excitement rolled off of him. As a would be herbologist himself, this was as close to meeting a famous professional as it got. But to his credit, he stayed quiet.

  “So, why does someone pay a small fortune to study something like that on a mountain under a lake?” Rook seemed to ask rhetorically before taking another swig from the skin. “Because, once you are there, you train and study every waking moment at whatever subject it is. Constant supervision. Constant effort. You cannot leave until you prove beyond a doubt that you know everything there is about the chosen skill. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with single minded focus day in and out. Upon graduation, you work for the monks as a teacher, or in whatever capacity a masterly skilled person can be found to do for roughly a year or two. Usually this involves citizens hiring out someone with a particular talent if there’s no student’s hanging around needing to be taught.”

  With dark eyes, Slandash murmured indistinctly.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Looking up, he spoke more clearly. “I said ‘Assassins,’ in reference to citizens hiring out a blue robe.” He then settled back and stared at Rook with a look that said he wouldn’t be taking questions.

  “Well, what if you don’t finish your training?” Qaewin asked, easing the tension Slandash had created.

  Rook laughed and began walki
ng again. “Rumor has it, if you don’t master said subject in one year, they’ll just toss you into the lake. There’s at least one sea creature that thrives in the waters, and it does not take kindly to visitors.”

  Volant flinched, some of the excitement bleeding away. Unperturbed, Rook continued forward, eyes scanning everything the whole time. “After you have made back whatever fees deemed owed, you may rejoin the world. The best and most intelligent are offered full time positions under the lake as permanent teachers.” As if his last statement was quite funny, he let loose a derisive laugh. “Of course, you have the occasional exception such as me.”

  “What do you mean? Are gardeners not allowed to keep the blue afterwards?” Volant asked, gesturing at Rooks dirty blue robe he carried.

  In response, Rook winked and tossed the now empty skin back to Slandash. He swung the odd double ended spear to the other hand and began to spin it again. “Hear this. Gardening took me three months to gain mastery. I continued to study for another five years until I left the order.” He smiled with all of his teeth, not a hint of warmth anywhere in the expression this time. It was the smile of a man who’d endured something the world doesn’t have a name for.

  Nine

  Sunrise was painting the sky in brilliant color as we walked further around the camp. Long shadows stretched out behind us while we waited for Rook to continue.

  “How about you tell us of the assassin you followed here?” Slandash said, still serious.

  Before Rook could respond, an arrow’s whistling buzz cut through the air. I turned just in time to see the hungry arrow point speeding toward my heart, but it was too late for me to do anything.

  Rook didn’t even flinch. He was already moving faster than I could comprehend, and caught the arrow, spinning with it until he was in front of me. His odd spear held loosely in his other hand. “That took long enough,” he said with a sigh.

  I’d barely taken a step to save my own life. Volant had his knife drawn and was moving towards my side. Qaewin was likewise stunned, and Slandash had such a murderous look on his face, I had to take another step back just out of shock.

  “Skipping that question,” Rook began. “You have a spy here, which was the reason he could find our pair of runaways so easily. A semi clever one, from what I picked up from a message my target didn’t get rid of properly.”

  A second arrow hummed through the air, immediately followed by a third. Both towards Volant.

  With frightening ease, Rook took a single step and spun his staff, knocking both of the deadly missiles to the ground. “This spy,” he continued as if nothing had happened, “was using another of your people as a patsy, and paying him to send off the occasional message. I hope that helps, after everything is said and done.” With that, he whipped the arrow back at a tall and dark woman that had popped up on top of the wagon in the center of the Soft Stepper camp.

  Without missing a beat, the assassin dipped to the side whipping out an arrow and pulling back the bow string in one motion. Rook’s thrown arrow, though impressive in terms of distance covered, passed harmlessly by. She loosed another arrow at Rook, then a another, and then another, and then yet another. All of it in the space of a heartbeat.

  As the first arrow neared the second, I heard Rook mutter a curse under his breath. He jumped, double ended spear at the ready. Before he could do anything, a spark of bright light crossed the arrow’s trajectory, intercepting the first missile. The light exploded into a rain of splinters, with the force throwing the second arrow high and wide, while the last two thudded into the ground inches away from my foot. Slandash grinned fiercely. Another spark convalescing in his hands ominously.

  The assassin was obviously a professional and offered nothing in the way of emotion. She ducked down, and reappeared at another wagon, closer than before. Another arrow was shot my way with unerring accuracy. It even seemed to bend through the air, arcing mid-flight Ready this time, I whipped my hand out, pushing hard. An invisible, fist sized current of Skill went towards the arrow.

  My push was too hard and my feet were too close together. I stumbled under the kickback. My accuracy also was lacking, and I completely missed the arrow. In a flash of pain, the broad head cut across my bicep.

  Volant had disappeared under the tents as soon as the assassin arrived. People were streaming in every direction after Slandash’s minor explosion had woken them. A flash of Volant’s hair could be seen moving against the flow of Soft Steppers as he tried to get to where the woman had disappeared.

  Still, I did nothing. The cut on my arm burned, taking the brunt of my attention. I had nowhere to run, and needed to fight back. But instead I watched as Slandash and Qaewin began trying to shepherd their people away from Rook and I.

  “Nil!” I heard a gruff voice shout. I was frozen. Already, the assassin had another two arrows in the air at Rook.

  In return, Rook flung a fury of thick blades from his bandolier at her, spinning between the two arrows in the process. I’d have sworn the knives moved faster than the arrows if it was possible. Most of them missed, but one sliced through the bow string, cutting a bloody line across her shoulder in the process.

  My mind was blank with fear as I watched. I heard a soft feminine grunt, but only managed to take a step to the side as she drew an impossibly small crossbow from her back and fired it at me. Again, Rook’s blade was flashing from nowhere, knocking the arrow away. Then he was in front of me, turning his spinning staff across his body and cutting at another. The arrow was destroyed, but it wasn’t quick enough and the arrow’s front half caught him in the side.

  “Nil,” Rook said again. “She’s a Natural. An earth worker, I think. The crossbow bolts are pure wood, she is manipulating them. Find a shield, or get behind something. I can’t keep saving you while trying to take her down.”

  As if to prove his point, more arrows were flying through the air, but moving with obvious Natural enhanced speed. She’d disappeared for now, but that was secondary to the half dozen scattered arrows she’d sent our way. A pair of them flew into the fleeing Soft Steppers, and screams erupted from the crowd. More came within inches of Rook and I, but he only had to deflect one. Finally, my body began to respond. I dove for the wagon that now sheltered Slandash and Qaewin, my mind cleared. “Why are none of your people fighting back?” I asked, breathlessly.

  “If they were to return fire they may miss and hit another one of our tribesmen. We don’t know who is still under the tent, or on the other side of the wagons. And nearly every one of them is a craftsman, not a warrior. Our main weapon and defense are the zymphs, but the pack must be out hunting.” Anger burned across his face as he spoke. In his hand, a spark grew to the size of a small nut as he worked his fingers back and forth.

  Rook stood at the ready, but the assassin hadn’t shown her face again.

  Tent cloth ripped. Arrows thudded into the wagon we hid behind, while a few flew over or past the cover. We peeked around the wagon.

  Arrows, or at least large wooden splinters shaped like arrows, had embedded themselves everywhere on the wagon. It had been a veritable storm of deadly wood. Whoever the assassin was, she had incredibly quick hands and powerful control over her element.

  Before she could do anything more, I heard Volant’s pirate yell from near the assassin, and then a meaty thud. The rain of bolts abruptly stopped.

  I stepped out from behind the wagon cautiously. The ground was littered with projectiles and the tents in front of us looked like a child’s broken art project. My mind registered Volant wasn’t yelling anymore, and my spine tingled with fear. I threw caution to the wind and raced directly towards the source of the projectiles. I dodged under torn fabrics and over bed rolls, hammocks, and various items left by the panicked and fleeing Soft Steppers.

  He was sitting at the base of the wagon. His trembling fingers the only sign of motion. Breathless, I took in the scene. The woman lay on the ground, his axe embedded in her. Volant pointedly not looking.

 
; Rook arrived just behind me, a flurry of movement. He went over the body, checking for a pulse before going through every pocket and loose fold of her clothing. Everything he found was tossed onto a pile next to the woman with quiet and professional efficiency.

  “Are you hurt?” I put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him just a bit.

  Still not looking up, he shook his head. “I didn’t realize it was a girl. I just saw a shadow and swung through the canvas.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I wasn’t even aiming, Nil.”

  Rook finished his inspection of the body and stood up. “Nothing helpful on her. Traveling kit, small amount of supplies, and her trade’s tools.” He pulled the axe out and offered it to Volant who shook his head in the negative.

  “Not sure if I feel worse about killing a girl, or killing someone who might have had knowledge of what’s going on,” Volant said, voice flat. Weariness was etched more deeply in his face now than any other time before this, and my heart nearly broke seeing it.

  “Hey,” I said softly, “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go to Wydvis and see your family. Surely no random assassin can get to us up in those flying airship abominations.”

  Volant had just crossed a scary line I wasn’t sure he could handle. Him killing someone had to hurt the gentle and kind soul he was. He needed to be surrounded by people he trusted and loved as soon as possible. Maybe they’d be able to help us, and it was still a lot closer than Erset despite our route taken so far.

  Volant turned to look at me, nodded his agreement and continued back to his deadpan stare into the distance. I turned back to the dead woman to see Rook seated next to her turning a toron stone over in his hands. A leather strap twisted through a hole in the middle of the stone making it a necklace, but drastically limiting its value for a Learner.

  “This is quite odd,” Rook said. “Why would a non-Learner wear a stone? Most curious.” Thoughtfully, he placed it in his pocket and looked at me. “What do you think?”