Authors: V. Lakshman
My brothers tell me fear finds itself
quickly crowded out of a mind,
when attempting to do something
not stupid while fighting for my life.
-
Toorval Singh, Memoirs of a Mercenary
Y
etteje jumped over a giant’s back, sending two arrows unerringly toward Ash’s position. One took a giant focused on killing the firstmark in the forehead, the other a mistfright circling up his leg. Her focus was preternatural, a combat sense that slowed every action and made every movement precise and economical. It was as if something gave her every move consummate grace and skill.
Valor thrummed as arrows flew. Each draw magically created another, as if the bow had found the perfect partner, a force that would use it for what it was intended, unleashing carnage in battle. Here, in Arcadia, the bow seemed unrivaled.
The princess ducked under a thrust and jumped, kicking out. She caught a spear-wielding giant under the chin and snapped his head back, following it with an arrow fired up through his throat. As he fell the combat swirled around her and for a brief moment she was in a bubble of calm. She could see Kisan trying to stand after a blast had hit her wing, her back against Silbane. Just then, Ash emerged from behind the shattered wing, staggering to his knees in a daze and stabbing Tempest into the ground.
An explosion sounded, a muffled
crump
that shook her insides with its low concussion. The blast seemed directed down into the earth and was followed immediately with a shock wave that threw her on her rump. A cloud of debris and dirt blocked her sight and she hit the ground and bounced painfully, coming to rest against the body of something dead. When she could finally stand and clear her eyes, the sight that greeted her was shocking. Everyone had been taken off their feet by the blast and where Ash had stood there was only a crater, a gaping pit where her friends had made their last stand! Had they been taken by the explosion?
Her attention snapped back to the here and now. She avoided a thrust by vaulting over yet another giant, lashing out with her bow like a hand weapon to clear some room, then firing arrow after arrow into the mass surrounding her. Wherever the flame arrows went, mistfrights or giants died. She sidestepped and dodged her way to try to get closer to the hole but the mass of warriors arrayed against her was too much. They closed in, a ring of leering mouths and yellow eyes watching her hungrily as she stood by herself.
Then Anhur stepped forward and said, “Your companions have abandoned you. Submit and we will take you to the Lady.”
Yetteje’s eyes narrowed, catching the light with a faint amber glow. Her grip tightened on Valor and she held the bow ready. Then she answered, “Whoever steps first, dies.”
Anhur hesitated, his eyes jumping from her face to her weapon. She knew what he must be thinking:
Could she draw, aim, and fire before we overrun her?
She sharpened her focus on the leader of the giants, her gaze never wavering. She would take Anhur with her, of
that
fact she was certain. The sudden fear emanating from him told her he knew the same.
Just then a trumpet sounded, a staccato of notes, like a call to arms. Yetteje swiveled her head in time to see two beings in armor and wings wade into the rear of the giants’ line. They hit with the force of a hammer and the collective mass of giants and mistfrights rippled from their impact.
Anhur cried, “Flanking, reform!” and his force of blue-skinned giants responded, immediately pivoting their formation into an hourglass shape with Yetteje and the armored angels at the widest opposite ends. A glowing spear was thrown, blasting into the two new combatants in a shower of lighting and a clap of thunder.
Whomever these new attackers were, they emerged smoking from behind a shield made by their wings, seemingly unscathed by the lightning storm that had enveloped them just moments before.
Then they laid into the mistfrights and giants with lust and abandon that made them, at least in Yetteje’s mind, look like gods of war come to life. They waded into the fray, striking with swords, and flicking daggered feathers from their bladed wings. The line of mistfrights fell before them like wheat under a scythe.
Yetteje did not waste time gawking, but instead firing arrow after arrow as quickly as possible, trying to thin out her opponents while ducking and dodging their strikes. She was doing well, but knew the odds were still not on her side. Sheer numbers gave her enemies the ability to make many mistakes, and she could not make even one.
She ducked again, spinning down to a knee and firing three arrows in quick succession. These caught two giants and a mistfright, blasting them backward and into the mob of her attackers. She rose, just in time to see the line surge forward, their weapons raised. Standing here meant certain death so she fell backward, still firing as she landed heavily on her back.
The force of the fall jarred her to her bones but she did not stop. The mass continued and Yetteje once again made up her mind up to take as many with her before they overwhelmed her position. She lay with Valor held horizontally, firing from between her knees again and again, knowing death was inevitable.
Then a blade erupted out of a giant’s mouth, felling him not even a body’s length from her. Another dropped next to the first, decapitated by something razor sharp. Yetteje looked up in awe as the two armored angels appeared, using wings and blades to cut their way through to her.
They broke through in an explosion of blood and giant parts, taking station on either side of her and facing the horde, each with one wing bent in front like a shield. Without a word she rose to a knee and started firing from in between them, killing anything that moved toward the two, trusting they would shield her from the surging line.
They did, using their blades and their other unfettered wings to deadly effect. Their weapons cut down foes left and right, leaving a mangled collection of dead giants heaped before them, surrounded by a pall of black mist from the dead mistfrights, which spread like a low-hanging fog at their feet.
Then, as suddenly as the tide had been overwhelmingly against them, it turned. The giant Anhur called a retreat to his men, never addressing them as he pulled his survivors from the bloody field. They fled into the surrounding white woods, no doubt back to Lilyth to report. Next time the giants might win, she thought, but not today.
In a moment the last of her would-be captors had melted back into the forest. A few moans sounded, giants who did not know yet that they were dead. A calm descended around them, the forest becoming still. Only the bodies of the fallen marked that anything had happened here at all.
“You fought well, little cat,” said the one in silver armor edged in blue, towering over her. His visor snapped back to reveal a man with kind eyes and a mouth caught in a half-smile.
The one in orange and red armor looked around the field of battle and said, “We’ll need to move quickly.” He moved through the fallen offering the mercy of a quick death by the tip of his long-bladed spear, his features resolute.
The first held out a hand, which Yetteje took, managing to grasp only two of his massive fingers. “My name is Orion, and this grim companion,” he pointed to the other with his chin, “is Helios.”
The other acknowledged her with a nod even as he stabbed down and through the chest of a giant, his focus still on making sure no foe was left alive to speak of them.
“Tej,” answered the princess with the short form of her name. “What are you?”
Orion’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “We are Watchers. Would you be surprised if I said we side with you?”
Yetteje shook her head. “My father says… said, actions speak louder than words… You came to my aid.”
“Indeed,” he said, sheathing his blade, “though it seemed you had things in hand.” He did a quick scan of their surroundings, and apparently satisfied, turned his attention back to Yetteje. He met the princess’s tawny gaze and said, “Have you heard the name Baast?”
“No,” she replied, “should I have?”
“Watchers recognize in each other those who are on the path to Ascension.” Orion looked meaningfully at her and said, “Just as you are, Tej. Hear the name again, Baast, for it is part of who you are, else you would have met her already.”
Helios interrupted by saying, “You don’t have much time. What now?”
To Yetteje he didn’t sound angry or mean, but there was an insistence in his tone that spoke to more than just impatience. Of the conversation about Baast, his short explanation hinted at too much to unravel here and now. She could tell they had to be somewhere soon, and the prospect worried the one called Helios, which by association worried her.
Orion looked back at Yetteje and said, “You will not be safe here and should accompany us, at least until we are clear of Olympious and the Lady’s lands.”
“I need to find my friends. They were over there,” she said, pointing to the depression created by Tempest’s blast. As they watched, she made her way over to the edge, then stopped in shock. Orion came up behind her and laid a massive hand on her tiny shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shrugged off his hand, looking down the hole that ended, to her amazement, in clear sky. “Two of my friends are like you. They have wings.”
“Like us?” replied the winged giant in armor. “How so?”
Yetteje thought about it then said, “The leader of the ones who attacked us called one Artymis, and the other, Azrael.”
At the names Orion fell back a step, his eyes wide. He looked at Helios, who had also stopped his grim work to listen. Both looked equally stunned. Finally, Orion looked back down at Yetteje and asked, “You say they fell through this hole?”
Yetteje nodded. “Blasted through by Tempest, a blade.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed at that and he came to one knee and hunched so his face was level with Tej’s own. “The Kinslayer is known to us and we do not mourn her fall. Tell me truly, do you align yourself with her?” He didn’t sound threatening, but something in his tone made Yetteje look at him.
A moment went by, then two. Finally, Yetteje said, “No… the sword is making one of my friends use her.” She met his gaze without blinking, watching until his eyes softened and he nodded. Then she looked back at the hole her friends had fallen through, unsure of what to do next.
Orion looked out over the edge, his eyes calculating, “Fear not, if Artymis and Azrael are truly here, it is good tidings, little cat.”
“Stranger things have happened,” said Helios, his deep voice comforting in the blasted landscape surrounding them. He plunged his spear down again, going back to his grisly work.
Orion looked back at her and said, “Come, we will help as we can.”
“Where?” she asked.
Orion drew himself up to his full height and pride shone in his eyes as he said, “To my final Trial. If I prove worthy, I will Ascend and join your friends.”
Yetteje’s eyes narrowed. “And what happens to me?”
“We’ll not abandon you, little cat,” Orion said with a smile. “Come—” he knelt and offered her a perch on his forearm—“we will travel more swiftly by air. Rest assured your questions will be answered.”
Yetteje climbed up, seating herself in the crook of his arm. Without a word, the two leapt up, their great wings catching air as they soared out above the treetops and into the bright blue sky.
The world of the Aeris spread out below her, breathtaking in its beauty. She was surprised to see lands dotting the sky like floating islands, each independent from their fellows. Nothing she’d seen before prepared her for this. The burnt orange sun, bigger than she was used to, shone with an afternoon intensity that lent every cloud top a lining of yellow orange fire.
So many! The sheer immensity of the vista stretching from horizon to horizon made Yetteje feel insignificant and small. Where, in all this vastness, would she find Ash and the others? Were they even alive? Her heart began racing at the thought and a fear of being abandoned in this strange new world took hold.
She drew a breath, forcing herself to remain calm, using the act of breathing to maintain her control. She would not lose hope, she would not fear. Slowly, something of this place permeated her, filling her with an inner peace. She opened eyes she had not remembered closing and took in the beauty of the ocean of clouds laid out below, and the warmth of the sun on her face from above.
Somewhere out there, she knew her friends would be waiting. She promised herself she would find them again.
Distraction is the mind running away
from what it knows is hard.
It is the surest way to being average.
-
Jebida Naserith, Should I Fall
T
omas sat in the Spring Square, massaging his legs, which still trembled from this morning’s grueling training session with the lore father. He and Giridian had been up since dawn practicing close quarters combat within four walls. Given his upcoming test, his master had been pushing harder than usual, spending an inordinate amount of time on pinning, grappling, and reversing. He even made Tomas practice using the wall surfaces to reverse an opponent, turning a defensive position into an attack. These were basic techniques, the kind he learned as a Green. Because he couldn’t see the point, his mind had wandered, his body able to perform the moves automatically.
Unfortunately, “automatically” did not mean expertly, as the lore father had painfully demonstrated with a few quick reversals that had dumped the initiate unceremoniously on his back, the wind knocked clean out of him. Rarely did the masters strike a student, but there were dozens of ways to punish inattention. The most favorite of these were simple rollers, a circular kind of pushup, but with legs spread so that the student’s hands and feet touched the four corners of a
nX
. The student rolled his chin an inch from the ground past his fists, then shifted his weight back onto his legs, then repeated the motion.
This used the entire body, and while easy at first, quickly became torture as every muscle cried out for relief. It was an exercise deviously designed for cheaters, for it used a student’s natural desire to alleviate pain to bring the entire body into the mix.
Use your back to give your arms break, and your back got the worst of it. Transfer your weight to your legs and soon your thighs began to tremble. Switch back to your arms and… Tomas mentally shrugged, intimately familiar with this particular form of “training.” Now it seemed the exercise had somehow found a way to reach out and mentally torture him here too, as it had his body all morning.
He’d lost count of how many he’d done today, a thousand at least, an amount certainly not rare for any student in a typical day’s training, but today wasn’t typical. It was, however, rare for a Brown on the eve of his Test to be doing rollers, a fact that filled him with a bit of shame and worry. Still, he knew he could pass… he just needed to focus.
He looked at the ration of honey he was required to eat before his afternoon training and the thought of the cloying taste made him nauseous. Honey was a mainstay on the Isle. It served as a part of every student’s training diet, and also was used in the healer’s wards to help keep wounds from festering. It was unfortunate that the masters did such little trading with the mainland, he thought, for the apiarists of the Isle were second to none.
What was wrong with him? He was daydreaming again, and the lore father had been correct to punish him, but what was causing his mind to wander? Lately, he dreaded training, something he’d never felt before. Part of him had secretly been wishing for another injury. His time spent convalescing after Arek’s encounter with Piter had been some of the best days of his life. He’d got to sleep in late, eat whatever he wanted. He couldn’t imagine all the free time he’d had!
Then the vast sweeping changes: first the loss of Piter; then the assassins’ attack; Arek gone, and if rumors were to be believed, hunted by Kisan. Even Jesyn had left, earning her Black and questing with Dragor to the north for signs of these assassins as a full Adept of the Way.
Tomas counted off his instructors in just the past few weeks. He’d always been trained by Master Dragor, but when it became clear he and Jesyn were interested in each other, he’d been assigned to Master Giridian. The masters didn’t care if initiates liked one another, but the sanctity of training always persevered. So he’d become Master Giridian’s apprentice until the situation with Piter. With his passing, they had moved him to Master Kisan. Now she was gone, as was Master Dragor, and his master was once again Master Giridian, only now he was the new lore father. Four reassignments in just as many weeks, and through all this they expected him to continue training for his Test!
He shook his head and tossed a pebble at a flower bud, missing and cursing. Distraction caused it and when his mind was in turmoil he was unable to focus on even the simplest things. The time healing had given him respite from the constant drudgery of training and though it had only been a few days in the infirmary, a part of him was secretly happy for the break. That it was earned by the death of another student, though, also filled him with shame. Why couldn’t things be easy? Nevertheless, something about his time off had unlocked a desire to quit, something so deep down and secret he had trouble admitting it even to himself. Maybe he’d just go on until he’d earned his Black and then leave.
He couldn’t help but reexamine his feelings. Could just a few days away from his regime create such a fray in the rope that bound him to his training? Was he so uncommitted? He doubted it, but knowing a mistake could mean death had been harshly reinforced by recent events. They hadn’t been doing anything Browns hadn’t always done: testing each other, pushing and pranking, hoping to show a little superiority. This time, however, Piter had paid for it with his life, and that scared Tomas. Fear was not a good emotion to harbor, something he knew well.
Then there was the attack by the assassins, an action that had brought question to the safety of even this sacrosanct place. If they could get here, how did he know there wasn’t another imminent attack?
Master Silbane had lectured that your inner self was reflected in your outermost actions. If that were true, and part of him knew it was, then maybe his turmoil was causing his less than stellar performance? He could intellectually understand that, but changing the way he felt was much harder.
“Sir?”
He started, a little surprised, another sign he was distracted. Since when could a White approach him unnoticed? Then he looked up and saw a girl in a white uniform, looking at him uncertainly, then back the way she’d come. She was tall, probably close to her sixteenth summer, and she clearly did not know who he was.
He sat up, straightening his uniform, then said, “Address me properly.”
The White immediately fell back a step, as if recognizing for the first time that she was addressing a senior instructor. She seemed about to fall over, but somehow managed to perform a hasty bow, then stood with her arms at her sides and her feet shoulder width apart. The masters called it, “ready stance,” and though it was touted as a great position to be ready for anything, in Tomas’s experience it was really only good for getting ready to get punched. Before he could stop it a chuckle escaped and he realized with chagrin that the girl must think he was laughing at her.
Well, no sense in making things worse. Tomas stood and said, “Discipline is the key to our success here…”
“Kimora,” she supplied at his obvious pause for her name.
“Kimora,” he added. “You need to understand that at all times you will show respect. This is important, for the masters will not tolerate anything less.” He paused, then said with a smile, “And you know when they enforce it?”
Kimora smiled back but did not move from her ready stance. “Whenever I’m awake?”
“And sometimes when you’re not,” he added with a small laugh. “What do you need?”
“I was sent to the refectory, but all these buildings look the same.”
He shook away the last moribund thoughts he’d been having about his future and appraised the girl with a quick glance. She was older, lithe, and seemed confident in spite of the fact that she could be no more than a week out of indoc. Her age showed that there were less and less of those with Talent being found. That she’d lived this long meant she came into her skills late, a problem when it came to properly training someone for its use. Still, they had no choice, and only a fool threw away a coin because it wasn’t new.
“Look,” he said, motioning to a gray building to one side, “it’s over here.”
He began walking and heard her fall in behind. Leading her gave him something to do. He knew already the inevitable afternoon he was about to experience. No doubt rollers would feature highly in his training once again, he thought with a certain fatalism. It was like a mental groan only he could hear.
When he let out a sigh, Kimora piped in, “May I ask a question, sir?”
He thought he knew what it would be and answered, “Yes, I knew a few of them quite well. It wasn’t fair what happened.”
“Umm, yes sir,” she replied but then said nothing. He looked back at her, and realized the attack on the Isle hadn’t been her question at all.
Rather than embarrass them both, he asked, “And do you have another question?”
She smiled at that and said, “What animal did you pick, sir?”
It was his turn to smile as he continued toward the gray buildings. “What do you think?”
There was silence to that, until finally he looked over his shoulder again and saw her deep in thought, like she was being tested. “Relax, Kim. You aren’t going to get in trouble if you get it wrong.”
“Wolf,” she stated, the voice firm and unequivocal.
He stopped and turned, unable to hide his amazement. Rarely did anyone guess the animal he’d chosen his affinity with. Most believed it was a bear, likely because of his size. Wolf was usually farther down the list, if it was said at all. Affinity didn’t mean anything, but the masters liked each student to pick one so that they could use that affinity to help illustrate how certain combat techniques worked. In Tomas’s case, his hands and feet were often referred to as “the pack,” and his tactics were suited to match.
“Pretty good guess,” he said.
He was about to continue when she said, “Now guess what mine is.”
Tomas shook his head and said, “Tiger.” Without waiting for her to answer, he resumed their walk.
“How did you know?” she asked, amazement in her voice.
“It’s patched on your sleeve.”
He could imagine her realizing he was right, for every White had their affinity patched on to their uniforms. It wasn’t until they’d mastered themselves and that animal’s nuances of fighting style that the patch was removed. He laughed again, happy in a perverse way that he wasn’t the only one making stupid mistakes.
“By the Lady,” she cursed, and that brought forth a little more laughter.
Tomas looked at her without breaking stride, “You’ll get used to it, believe me. There’s a lot to take in. It’s easy to forget simple things.”
She nodded while walking, her hands still in a stiff ready position at her sides. He couldn’t help but stop again. He faced her, shaking his head. “I told you, relax. I’m not going to punish you right out of indoctrination,” he said, “and you can’t follow me around holding your arms out like that. It’s silly.”
“First day, sir… full day, I mean.” She looked around sheepishly, clearly unsure now that they stopped if she should reassume her ready stance or not.
Tomas looked down to avoid seeming exasperated at the comical situation, but Whites were all the same: scared of their own shadows, eager to please and be recognized, worried about giving offense. Knowing this, he turned and continued to the refectory, hoping she could sort it out on her own but unable to watch her trying to balance decorum and practicality with a straight face.
“We should just get you to where you need to go,” he said over his shoulder. “Someone else may think your tardiness would be benefited by rollers.” The small groan that elicited let him know he had a co-conspirator of sorts when it came to that particular exercise, a favorite in indoc too.
The sound of Kimora’s breathing told him she was running with her arms still stiff at her sides, the huff of her breath coming in small gasps whenever her heel struck the ground because her knees were also locked. How could he know all this by just listening, and fail so miserably when working with his master? He couldn’t answer that, but that worry was balanced by his innate confidence. He’d earned his way this far. His ability to discern such nuances of position and breathing with Kimora meant he had skill and talent.
He resolved to redouble his efforts, and really focus on a positive outcome. Master Dragor had always said that the outcome of any engagement was often aligned to your most inner feelings, sounding very similar to what Master Silbane said, as these were two parts of a single truth. He could see that, and that thought filled him with a sense of purpose as he and his ward made their way into the cool interior of the dining hall.
* * * * *
Giridian watched the boy from a window in the Hall of Masters. Thoth stood beside him, leaning on his staff. When they had disappeared, the lore father turned to the Keeper and said, “We’re getting him ready as quickly as possible.”
Thoth nodded, then asked, “Maybe you liked it better when you didn’t know we watched these Tests.”
“Of course, but now that I know, I don’t wish to go back to the way it was.”
“We chose correctly in including you, Lore Father.”
Giridian laughed at that. “You didn’t. It was supposed to be Silbane. I was an accident borne by circumstance.”