The Brightest Shadow, page 39
"Ah, you know how to pick the best spots." Melal dropped down onto the grass nearby and put his arms behind his head. "Nice view of the sunset too. This is what life is all about."
"Relaxing after a day of work?" Rhilanor sat down instead of lying back. He never seemed to relax completely as far as Slaten could tell, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.
"I just meant relaxing." Melal opened one eye to frown at him. "Is valuing hard work a Rhen thing? You sound like Kolanin."
"You mean that you don't value hard work?"
"Of course not. You work to live, you don't live to work. Everything you build one day might be swept away in the rains the next."
A familiar phrase to Slaten, perhaps even a Coran aphorism. Rhilanor started to argue it quietly, clearly coming from a different perspective. Though Slaten didn't feel the same as Melal, he didn't have the strength to argue the difference.
"Rhilanor." He ended up interrupting the two of them before they could start another friendly argument. "What would you say it's all about, then? Why work as hard as you do?"
"This is just stalling for me. Preparing for when I can fight for what matters." His eyes gazed outward, toward the horizon instead of the sunset. "Everything anyone does is about having a home to go back to. A family and a hearth. The Kelfaa value being a strong warrior, but that alone doesn't mean anything. You fight so that your tribe is proud of you, so that you can establish your own family, or so that you can build up a home for yourself. In the end, home is what matters most."
"What about the Farwalk? Don't some Rhen never return?"
"The Kelfaa have something called the Firewalk instead, but it doesn't matter. Those who don't choose the tribe are rejecting the purpose of the Farwalk. The purpose of any journey is to come back home changed. If you just keep walking, wander without anything to tie you down, then that isn't really life at all. Not life that's worth living."
Slaten frowned and considered that thought. If he did ever return to Oleph-Amm, there was no question that he would have changed. The question was what meaning that held for him. At that moment, it left him empty. But staying here or going back to Bundlin... neither of those would inspire him to speak at length as Rhilanor had. He wasn't sure anything did.
"That is some bullshit," Melal said loudly. Rhilanor shushed him and Slaten pointed at Teren, so Melal continued in a lower voice. "How much time did you spend thinking of all that? You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
"Oh? And what do you have to offer? Just never going back home?"
"I didn't say that. But you need something more than just home. I'm not saying I know for sure and I don't have a bunch of fancy words. I just want to accomplish some larger purpose. Drive the Deathspawn out, maybe. Wouldn't it be better to go back home a hero?"
"It might change you, but it wouldn't change your home."
Melal gave him a skeptical glance. "Are you saying you'd be happy to just go back home and become a farmer or a hunter or something?"
"I would, yes." Rhilanor's gaze wandered upward slowly. "I think that would be better. There aren't very many old Kelfaa warriors. They burn bright, but they burn out. We haven't had one of our tribe become a member of the Four Winds for generations. I want to be strong enough to win a bride and protect the tribe, but that's strong enough. Anything beyond that..."
"Maybe for you. I wouldn't be satisfied with just that."
Rhilanor didn't rise to the provocation, instead turning to look at Slaten. "And what about you?"
"I don't know," Slaten said.
"You seem quite good with the girl. I figured you would become a father one day, focus on raising your children."
"Maybe." Uncomfortable with the conversation, Slaten slowly rose to his feet, supporting Teren so she wouldn't fall. She murmured and shifted against his chest but stayed asleep. "I think we're just the only Oken here, so she stays with me. I don't think I'm very good with children."
Melal snorted. "Babies, I can understand. Can't stand all their crying - but you'd have a wife for that. But after that, raising a son... yeah, I can see doing that. After I've accomplished something, it wouldn't be so bad to go back and have kids."
Slaten didn't respond, walking away.
"Slaten." Rhilanor's voice was soft, yet Slaten turned back and looked into the other man's eyes. They focused on him somberly. "You want to take the girl back home, right?"
"Yes. I don't see how, given the situation, but that would be better for her."
"Go home with her. I know you didn't ask for it, but that's my advice. You're too well suited to the path of a warrior - it would consume you and leave nothing left. Continue too long like that, and you'll make a decision you regret and can never take back."
Slaten stared at him for a time, then simply nodded. He never knew how to react when conversations took such a serious turn. Everyone else seemed so filled with strong opinions that he couldn't find within himself. Instead he left, carrying Teren back to the women's quarters.
When he had left Oleph-Amm, it had been clear that they didn't want him there. Most likely, those sentiments would have cooled. Yet he struggled to imagine a life for himself in the village. Too many potential roles would leave him fumbling as he had when he'd tried to become a healer. He could see the appeal in an idealized home life the others described, but he could also imagine how unpleasant it might be. After all, he had never claimed to be good with people.
Reaching the women's quarters, he searched for someone he knew. He spotted Tameneron, her shapeless clothing hiding the muscle he'd seen while they were working. She liked Teren and he had wanted to talk to her anyway, so Slaten approached her.
"She looks so peaceful." Tameneron took Teren from his hands and smiled down at her fondly. "So much energy every day, but eventually it runs out."
"Yes." He paused uncomfortably, then decided he couldn't change the subject smoothly. "I had another question about technique."
"Go ahead."
"I broke another pickaxe today. I don't think I'm letting the sein flow properly."
"Actually, the problem is your swing." Tameneron gently brushed some of the hair out of Teren's face. "You're focused on the pickaxe as if it's a weapon. Coran strength techniques always begin with the muscles, the weapon simply follows. You need to master that before you move on to the next stage."
"I see." He could see how she was correct, but that didn't make it easy to do.
"You're going to have trouble until your understanding of inner strength reaches the point where you can feel it."
"I haven't made any progress there."
Tameneron clucked her tongue softly. "You have, it just isn't obvious. Gaining a truly new perspective on your strength is always difficult, which is why so many use it as a marker of power. Don't push yourself as hard physically, focus on inner strength for now."
"Thank you, I will." Slaten started to move away from her, then stopped. "Have you seen Celivia tonight?"
"She's always by the western mound of stones." With that, Tameneron moved away to put Teren to bed. Slaten headed in that direction, realizing as he walked how far the sun had fallen. The world had grown darker and would soon become colder.
When he reached the mound of stone he didn't see her at first, so he moved around the side. There he spotted her, positioned so that the mound lay between her and the majority of the buildings. She was stripped down to a light tunic, standing in front of one of the boulders.
As he watched, her fist struck the side of the stone. It did no damage whatsoever, which surprised him. A moment later his eyes widened as he saw lines of blood form all over Celivia's arm. Her clothes were stained as well, as if many lines of blood had soaked through them.
"Slaten." Celivia spoke as if she'd known he was there, pulled on a robe that also appeared stained, and then turned to him. "Can I help you?"
"Ulviab is going to start classes for humans who want to learn Futhik. I was wondering if you wanted to join them."
"Sorry, but no. I see the utility in learning the Deathspawn language, but I don't want to do it myself."
"I understand." That ended things rather quickly. Slaten lingered, not wanting to leave just yet, and eventually decided to sate his curiosity. "The technique you were using... it seemed to recoil on you. I thought your form looked right, but I don't understand the technique itself so I might be wrong."
"The recoil is the purpose." Celivia moved closer, eyeing him thoughtfully, then nodded. "With anyone else, I'd rather not get into it. I suppose it doesn't hurt to explain."
She pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing her arm. Slaten realized that he had been correct: her arm was covered with criss-crossing lines of blood. Underneath them, he could see older lines, healing cleaner than scars. He actually didn't see any scars on her body at all, only injuries that she had apparently dealt herself. Slaten's eyes shifted to her torso and he realized he saw the same old lines on her neck, and hints of them all over the rest of her body judging from the stains on her robe.
"It's not a technique, but a defensive preparation," Celivia said. "Essentially, it uses a common beginner mistake and polishes it into a form of training. When your sein recoils on itself, you injure your body unless you're prepared. With this strike, instead of bracing your body, you embrace the recoil. Over time, your body adapts to endure it."
"Just like an opponent's strike." Slaten understood the principle now, just couldn't see how she struck so perfectly so that none of the force transferred to the stone. "How much does it hurt?"
"Each individual rupture isn't too bad, but there are a lot of them. It depends on how well your sein can heal your body." Celivia shook her arms a little and he wondered just how many of those strikes she had performed. She jerked her head to the side. "Come over here and help me clean up."
Beside one of the stones sat a pail of clean water. Celivia extended her arm and he gently poured water over it. He saw her muscles twitch from the pain, but none of it reached her face. She ran one hand over her arm, ordering her disrupted sein properly while being careful not to tug on any of the broken skin.
"I assume you want to learn the technique?"
Slaten nodded. "Please."
He caught a glimpse of Celivia's sharp smile in the shadows. "When it was taught to me, I had to endure several lectures about how much it would hurt and how hard I'd have to work for it to strengthen me instead of weaken me. I'll spare you that."
"Thank you."
Celivia started from the basics, showing him how to change the flow of sein in his arm. It felt strange to relax his defenses to allow damage, his instincts coming undone only slowly. Harder still was the exact formulation that would make his body grow stronger instead of more injured. He understood the concept, so he began to work on making his sein cooperate.
As he stared at his arms and tried repeatedly, Slaten eventually spoke. "You don't always train this hard. You didn't while we were hiding during the rainy season."
"Things were different then. Ith Ire may not be completely safe, but it's less of a risk now." Celivia hopped up to sit on one of the boulders and looked down at him. "You're bracing yourself too early: you don't want to flex your arm until the moment the strike recoils. Also, I'm training because of the Zeitai."
The rapid change of topic left him briefly adrift, his technique faltering. Slaten looked up at Celivia, but she was staring out into the darkness now, not looking at him. "Because of their strength?"
"Yes. They're so far beyond me that I can't judge them properly, but I'm still... inspired to know that such strength can exist. To become something like that, you need to have true mastery of yourself: body, sein, and soul. I may not reach that point for years, but I can take a step today."
So could he. It might be strange to try to blend his traditional training with Coran strength and this new technique, but he thought he could imagine it. Maybe during this time he might be able to forge a body that wouldn't be so fragile.
Slaten smiled. Maybe he would take that body back home in the end, maybe not. For now, he would just go to sleep every night aching even more than before.
Chapter 28
-
"Grateful as I am for your good intentions, I feel that general information about the region is less useful than specific information regarding my directives. Also, I would strongly recommend that high command not base any military decisions on this field manual."
- Commander Kolanin, head of operations at Ith Ire
-
The narrow tree bent, almost twisted, but did not break. Tani did her best to balance atop it, unable to prevent herself from throwing her arms out to stabilize herself. Gradually the wind slowed and the tree stopped flexing so wildly, allowing her to regain her balance.
Though her muscles ached from reacting to so many subtle shifts in balance, that was nothing compared to her sein. It took enormous amounts of willpower to avoid smelling or tasting sein - instead she tried to react by raw instinct. If her training went well, those instincts would eventually coalesce into a new sense by which she could know her sein.
Could it be her sense of touch? If so, it was going to be hard to find those signals amid all the other sensations in her body. She doubted that she would manifest a sense of sound, though she did think about how it could be hidden in the wind around her. Sight was almost certain not to emerge until she had a stronger foundation.
As she started thinking about her training in general instead of concentrating on the moment, Tani's control wavered. She completely failed to anticipate the next twist of the tree, over-corrected, and ended up flailing in the opposite direction. Though she grabbed for a pure balanced state, it was much too late and she tumbled sprawling onto the ground.
Tani rolled to break her fall and came down into a seated position. She stayed there longer than she'd planned, only slowly realizing that she was waiting for something that would never come.
The problem was the Nelee village around her. Tani got to her feet slowly, remembering that she was near home and yet quite far from it. It felt right to be surrounded by trees with other Nelee around her, but this was not her home village.
For that reason, her master wasn't there to advise her after she fell. Tani took a deep breath and went to go find the tribe's free master.
After grueling days struggling to support herself, Tani had earned enough money for a longer trip. She had a good idea where the others were being held, just no means to rescue them. Living in the Oken village and working with Coran men had worn her down, so she'd traveled to Trollgrove. Though she'd never visited before, she knew it was an allied Nelee tribe.
They had accepted her, but only to a degree. She was kin, but not a daughter of the tribe who they had all watched grow up. So she still needed to spend what little money she had to continue living there. Fortunately, the work was worth it, to help her feel like herself again on top of the training.
As she stepped through the beaded strands covering the entrance to the long house, Tani soaked in everything. Families working in their spaces, children running between them, warriors caring for their weapons. All the spices of home, smelled in reality instead of only in her mind. Even if the patterns she wore on her vest weren't identical, she belonged here.
Buoyed by that sensation, Tani quickly made it to the room at the far end. Master Olorafor sat in his chair, guiding the children in their early exercises. He exuded the same calm aura as her master, though unlike her master, he wore the ceremonial gryphon furs. His eyes shifted to notice her but he continued teaching, finishing the lesson and letting the children go before finally beckoning her over.
"Welcome, child. You maintained your balance until you entered now?"
"Yes, Master Olorafor. I still feel as though I have far to go."
"You do, but you are making good progress." Master Olorafor looked up at her and smiled. "I suppose you wish to practice with your knives, now?"
"I do, but..." Tani swallowed and decided that she would ask. "I would like to see another scroll. I believe that I must deepen my understanding if I am to make meaningful progress."
"Hmm. Perhaps. But I fear there is business I must conduct first. Finish your exercises, then we can talk of another opportunity with our sacred texts." He extended his hand, not requesting. Tani slid her palm under his and gave a full bow, then left from one of the side doors to the practice grounds.
She hoped that would be the right decision. Since she had no master to grant her the right, she needed to pay for access to their texts. If a text proved too difficult for her, then she would simply waste much of the money she had remaining. Still, she thought it was best for her development. She needed to take what she had learned from Veron and draw those experiences into the path she had chosen.
A man passed her, and she knew him.
Tani froze in place, whirling to look. The face looked familiar, but not familiar like the men from the village. As she saw his back moving away from her, long hair floating in his own wind, she abruptly realized:
It was the tall warrior from the Yevee village.
Once again, something about him made her immediately uncomfortable. Before she realized what she was doing, Tani began following him. He didn't seem to notice, so she had a chance to look at him better. His face was classically handsome, though ruined by the arrogance in his eyes. From the obvious strength of his body, she was sure that he was a fully trained warrior. Too young to be a master, but strong.
Other than that, he looked and dressed just like most Rhen - and Tani realized that was what bothered her. Everything about him was genericly Rhen, not from any specific tribe. At a glance she had thought the carved plate on his jacket was some tribe she didn't know, but now she was sure that it represented nothing. He might be Rhen, but he was a man with no connections to anyone.
