A Hollow Mountain (The Brightest Shadow Book 2), page 42
Obviously the rapid strikes had done very little against Xetsu's armored body and he had taken advantage of that. Celivia suspected that one of his apparently crude movements had smoothly flowed into a backhand, but she wasn't sure if she had really seen it, or if she had simply been imagining it.
One of the hourglasses had been opened and the sand poured down as Yeraen slowly pulled himself up, more stunned than injured. Xetsu stood nearby and folded his arms. "If you want to win, you do have to hit hard enough to knock me over."
As the crowds jeered, Celivia felt a strange stab of bitterness. How many of those watching could have stood up to the human master? She certainly knew that she couldn't. His strikes appeared light against Xetsu, yet she was sure that they would have shattered her bones. And that speed... her neck would be broken before she knew the fight began.
Yeraen pulled himself back to his feet and the sands stopped falling. When he leapt off the ground, the two warriors again became a maelstrom of movement.
Though the human fought more fiercely, kicking as well as striking, Xetsu reacted in kind. He stood like a mountain against a hurricane, raising his forearms or knees to resist the blows. As they rained down, he seemed to simply endure the assault, then without warning he snapped a fist out.
This time, Yeraen twisted around it. The blow still struck a glancing blow to his side, but his foot impacted Xetsu's torso, sending him rocking back two steps.
It left no impact, yet many gasped. Yeraen fell to the ground from the glancing blow, though he quickly pulled himself up again. Celivia thought that his students were rather generous with how briefly they let the sands fall from his hourglass, but he had still lost just over half the sand in his glass.
"You are nothing but an ignorant beast." The human master snapped out the words arrogantly as he stalked to the side, watching his opponent. "This is not sein, merely the claws of an animal. You may overpower many opponents, but in the end you will be put down."
"Then do it." The pits of Xetsu's eyes glowed a brilliant green, and though his armor-like face was difficult to read, Celivia thought she saw anticipation there.
"You will see exactly that. It is time for you to face the Crimson Sunset." Though Yeraen spoke confidently, Celivia abruptly realized something: he was talking solely to purchase time. From the moment he'd pushed off the ground, he had been gathering himself, collecting his sein in a different way than before.
If she could see, then surely Xetsu must have known as well. Yet he simply waited until his opponent unleashed a devastating flurry.
This time Xetsu rocked back from each slapping fist. Just the wind from the blows tore new holes in the ragged cloths on his armor. He made no attempts to strike back this time, simply guarding and giving up ground every time a kick lashed out at his leg.
Then he lunged, and Yeraen struck at the same moment. The human master stepped aside from the strike and landed both palms on his opponent's chest.
Everyone held their breath as Xetsu arced back through the air and struck the stone slab with a deafening smash.
Landing on his back, Xetsu lay still for an echoing heartbeat, then he put his arms behind his head. He remained completely motionless as the sand in his hourglass fell away. Celivia found herself looking between his prone form and the remaining sand, the arena completely silent. Was he throwing the match? A token of esteem for the opponent who had landed such a blow on him?
With a few grains remaining, Xetsu smashed both fists into the arena. His blows cracked the stone and propelled him back to his feet, looming over his opponent like a mountain come to life.
The human master took a step backwards, then it was too late.
When Xetsu struck, no trace remained of his brutal strikes and broad movements. He flowed just as Yeraen had, except Xetsu had become a waterfall. Their arms blurred together for only several movements before Yeraen took a step back, then suddenly a palm hit his side. Even as he flinched back, another blow landed, then another.
A roar rose up around the arena as the mansthein realized that Xetsu was not only faster, but more agile. Though Yeraen fought back more intensely than ever before, blow after blow connected with his body. Soon one arm hung limply at his side and he put everything he had into his remaining palm, thrusting out with desperate strength.
Xetsu met his palm with a headbutt. The crack of the man's arm sounded through the arena, then he collapsed to the ground.
Sand began to fall again in the human master's glass, but it no longer mattered. All eyes fell on Xetsu as he stepped over his defeated opponent and put one foot on his chest. He bent closer and spoke in a soft rumble, forcing the crowds to strain to listen.
"You fought well. I will leave you, your students, and your monastery in peace... if you do one thing for me." Xetsu leaned closer, yet didn't put fatal pressure on his opponent's body. "You will admit, in front of your students, that you were wrong when you called me a brute. You will tell them that the House of the Setting Sun is no grand tradition of beauty, but merely violence wearing different clothing."
"Never." Yeraen might have been nearly defeated, but his body still burned with more sein than Celivia could muster. He struck out at Xetsu's leg, his blow failing to budge the heavy armor.
"Very well." Xetsu rose and flicked a finger toward the students. Celivia wasn't sure if she saw a grain of sand fly out, but there was a spurt of blood and one of the students' bodies snapped backward and fell off the side. "If you do not accept, I will kill your students one by one."
"You... are a monster..."
"Perhaps." Another student collapsed. "But you are the one who doesn't care about their lives. Just admit one little thing. Tell them that your Crimson Sunset is little more than a good way of punching someone."
Yeraen gritted bloody teeth. "You... you may take our lives..." Another flick, another fallen student. "But our dignity..."
Xetsu sighed and flicked his hand rapidly, sending three more students spilling over the side, limp bodies nearly folding up. "Your dignity is worth their lives, then? That is your choice. Your students will die, your monastery will burn to the ground, and everyone you ever love will die in agony... or you can admit that the Red Sun is nothing special."
"Never..." Yeraen choked out the word, futilely gripping the foot on his chest. Xetsu began sending the remaining students falling from the side, but the human master only spat blood at him. "We will never submit t-"
A sickening sound cracked over the arena as Xetsu stomped through the human's chest. Many of the mansthein cheered, but Celivia only shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Then, as she watched, Xetsu casually walked to the side of the arena where all the students lay.
"So, what did you think?"
All at once she realized the truth. She had been riveted to the scene between the two masters and only now saw that every one of the students was still alive. Though all lay stunned and a few bled, none of them had even been seriously wounded. As Xetsu stepped to the very edge of the stone, gazing down at him, they stared back involuntarily.
"Your master had a noble death, did he not? Are you proud that he decided that the honor of his school was worth all of your deaths? You have the rest of your lives to decide."
Xetsu shattered the hourglasses with a single kick and then left the arena without looking to the side. Though the crowd erupted in cheers far more raucous than before, this time he did not acknowledge them at all, simply disappearing into the shadows.
"Can you fucking believe it?" Ghalia wrapped one arm around Celivia's neck and pumped her other fist into the air. "That's Xetsu for you! That's why he's a fucking Zeitai!"
"He was certainly impressive." Celivia felt a growing ache spreading from her eyes through the rest of her head, as if just watching the struggle had fatigued her. What Xetsu had done, more than she had known was possible, was to make his strength an expression of what he believed. The problem was that, as powerfully as it had been expressed, she still wasn't sure what it was.
"That's why you need to join my legion!" Flush with spirit from the fight, Ghalia began dragging her from the arena. "This is the future, Celi! Here we can rise through the ranks until we fight directly underneath him. To see strength like that has to awaken something in you... can you imagine anything greater than fighting alongside Xetsu?"
"Not everyone wants the same things, Ghalia."
"Bah." The Catai ruffled her hair with a grin. "You have too many ideals and not enough ambition."
As they left, Celivia looked back into the arena one final time. Her friend was wrong. The battle had awoken something in her, but it was not the desire to serve Zeitai Xetsu.
She wanted to fight him.
Chapter 31
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"Fsina let her sein flow through the egg, trying with all her heart and soul, yet the egg lay dormant. Around her, she saw the other candidates hatching their eggs into wondrous birds. When the day came for all to present their eggs to the Zeitai, she carried her dead egg sadly, surrounded by beautiful feathers."
- Laenan version of The Zeitai's Egg
-
Sparring with Olondris wasn't about trying to win, it was seeing how long he could hold on. Slaten had never fought anyone who could attack so relentlessly, as normally even trained warriors would need to take a moment to catch their breath or gather their sein again. Olondris seemed utterly inexhaustible, her last strike coming just as quickly and heavily as the first.
That day she struck unusually aggressively, yet she attempted fewer crippling blows. Instead she pressed him hard and then struck at his feet, as if trying to cause a leg injury. When she wasn't attempting that, she struck at his blade with enough force that she could power through his attempts to block.
His body ached in entirely novel ways, yet all he could do was maintain an increasingly difficult defense. When he tried to reach for his sein, it seemed to splutter through his body. Memories of practicing his core techniques over and over again simply fragmented within him instead of reaching his limbs.
He faltered too much and a silver line of pain cut through his stomach.
Slaten stumbled back, clutching his torso. It felt as though it had been torn open, yet the cut seemed to stop just short of that. Agony still shot through his body, making it difficult to stay on his feet.
"Hm." Olondris leaned closer and examined the injury.
"Is that... what you wanted?"
"Yes. Very good." She straightened up and turned away. "Rest for now. If the injury becomes infected, make sure that the girl looks at it. But I do not think that will be a problem."
Letting go of his sword, Slaten just sat and tried not to breathe too deeply, since the gut injury lay open to the world. He should have been disabled from the pain, yet he found there was surprisingly little, fading as his sein resumed its normal flow. The arts he had learned from the Bloodskin clan made him nearly as durable as them, and he suspected that Olondris had been testing exactly that.
"I have reached my conclusion." The warrior - he had trouble thinking of her as an old woman - leaned on her pike as she gazed down at him unblinkingly. "But first, one more question. Do you have regular pain in your elbows or knees?"
"Not unless I was injured there."
"As I thought. Normally those pains will inhibit even a skilled fighter, but you displayed no particular weaknesses even when pressed."
"And cutting open my stomach?"
Olondris shrugged. "That was merely to let you test your healing without the girl rushing in to fix you. Healers are essential, but relying on them can be unwise."
He nodded, as if cutting open his stomach was a reasonable thing to do. Though he had spoken remarkably little with Olondris, given how long they'd trained together, he'd come to trust her. She injured him more frequently than Veron ever had, yet with less malice. Cold as her behavior was, her every action had a purpose, and he believed that purpose was ultimately benevolent.
"I have traveled across all of the Maenhu, from the desert to the most frozen of groves. In my time, I've even trained on the Bienal and Chilgaan Islands. And yet I find that I have not traveled so far after all." Olondris leaned further, her gray eyes for once holding a spark. "I realize now that I have heard of other paths, but dismissed them as inferior. Yours is not, for your age. So I would tell you a simple tale, one fit for children, and I would have you tell me where it surprises you."
"I think I understand." Perhaps his body was healing or perhaps he was drawn by her intense focus, but he barely thought about his injury at all.
"Youths who wish to become warriors are separated from others and trained in sein alone. They sit for many days in darkened rooms, leaving their bodies completely still. Only when they start to gain understanding and become Ironsquires are they allowed to touch a weapon."
"That is certainly not how the warriors of my people begin their training. But what about soldiers? Not all will master sein."
"They receive drilling, not training." Olondris shook her head just slightly, but she might as well have spat on the ground. "Once young warriors truly understand their sein with two senses, they become Ironlords and are allowed to bear arms and armor. Their training focuses solely on fully understanding themselves until they master five senses and become Steeljudges."
Slaten had suspected as much, yet still found himself surprised to hear it. "How do you train the sein alone without training the body?" She continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"Steeljudges have mastered their sein and instead reshape their bodies. It begins with simple strength, but in time their aging slows. Heat and cold do not touch them, and they can travel the highest peaks without drawing short of breath. Only once they have attained perfect bodies do they move beyond. To refine the soul itself is the domain of the Steelmasters alone."
"Refining the soul? What does that mean?"
"I do not know." To his surprise, Olondris sat down in front of him with her pike across her lap, abruptly more relaxed than he'd ever seen her, except with her husband. "When I fought more actively, I was a Greater Steeljudge. I am perhaps a Peak Steeljudge now, but I cannot claim to be a Steelmaster."
"I may be weaker than you, but I have taken a different path." Slaten took a deep breath, considering what he could say that would not simply repeat what she already knew. "Perhaps it is only coincidence, but the Oken also speak of body, sein, and soul. I cannot speak to the soul, but the others are always trained together."
"I would have said that was an inefficient path, but now I can see weaknesses in our ways. If you were a Portantese errant, your joints would ache every night, because your body strained to cope with the forces your sein placed upon it."
"And the weaknesses in my path?"
"From my perspective, you are quickly exhausted for a warrior of your skill. You should be overflowing with sein, yet you struggle to maintain everything within yourself. So though they ranked you a Greater Ironlord, this is not accurate. According to the Wooden Judge, you would remain an Ironlord for unusually long, then suddenly become a powerful Steeljudge."
"I suspect that you have a different way to judge those ranks?"
"Yes, but it is a more elaborate process, and irrelevant to us now." Olondris balanced her pike and sat back, folding her arms thoughtfully. "Another piece of the puzzle is the raiding clans, which for some time baffled me. I now believe that they are like our mirrored counterparts: they begin training focusing solely on the body instead of the sein. Of course, they cannot help but master some sein, just as errants cannot help but become physically able through their training."
Slaten found himself smiling as he considered it. "So throughout the world, different cultures take different approaches. I believe that all peoples on the Chorhan Expanse take a balanced approach. In the mountains they focus on the body, in the north you focus on the sein... do you think there is any place where they begin with the soul?"
For the first time, Olondris truly smiled at him. "I do not know, but I asked myself the same question."
"This makes me think of the mansthein and the Catai. I wonder if it is not a similar trick, a method of quickly granting sein-trained warriors great physical strength as well. Or to use your language, they grant an Ironlord the strength and durability of a Steeljudge."
"The mansthein are not human, so who can say?" She regarded him somberly and he realized that in his excitement, he had failed to call them Deathspawn. Another person might have asked him why, or asked about the Hero, yet Olondris simply regarded him quietly. "If I could train one of them as I have you, perhaps I could learn more. For now, it would be mere guesswork."
"Were you training me simply to answer your question?" Slaten asked. Back in his home, he should have asked the question indirectly, with much bowing and complimenting. Since he had failed to be that for so long, he decided to waste no time, and she did not seem offended.
"No. I have enjoyed our time together, Slaten, and Mantyos likes you as well. If life had been different..." She shrugged, her eyes leaving the training yard to something else he dare not ask. In time she returned to her usual gray focus. "Now that I understand the oddities of your development, I believe I will be able to assist you better. It will be an interesting challenge."
"It may be less than a hundred days before Melal takes us into battle. Do you think that I could become strong enough to defeat a Catai alone in that time?"
Olondris snorted and rose to her feet in one fluid motion. "The fact that you ask that question is proof that you are not ready."
Though she spoke sharply, Slaten simply pondered what she had said. Olondris could appear cruel at times, yet she never spoke to harm. His question must have betrayed some fundamental misunderstanding, then, but he could not puzzle out what it was.
Instead he painfully made his way to his feet and back to the smithy, where he found both Laeri and Mantyos. While Olondris kissed her husband over the anvil, her hand on top of the hot blade, Slaten simply staggered to one of the seats. There Laeri rushed to gasp over his injury and shake her head. Her healing was welcome, though he was surprised how little she needed to do. Perhaps the Bloodskin arts were no stunted barbarian technique, but a valid path upward.
