A Hollow Mountain (The Brightest Shadow Book 2), page 62
The fact that Olondris was exactly right should have pissed her off more, but Veron forced herself past that. If she was going to let them humiliate her, at least she was getting something good out of the deal. It was true: she tasted sein as whiskey and felt it as smooth clay, but the rest was vaguer. Veron nodded glumly and Olondris continued.
"Here I am less certain, but I believe it may be one source of the problem: how do you smell sein?"
"It smells like bread. Not the shit you have here, proper Coran bread."
"You have access to that part of yourself, but instead of using it to create something new, you simply burn it away to make yourself faster or stronger. That is a technique to be used as an act of desperation, not an errant's permanent condition."
"Somebody else tried to tell me that." Veron shook her head, surprised at the old memories the words dislodged. "But I've never been suited for fancy mystic arts."
"Neither am I." Olondris lifted her pike in one hand and ran the fingers of her other along the sharp edges. "But your sein is not a set of rules you must follow, it is part of yourself that you must understand. When I began to smell sein, I failed to use it for nearly a year. In time, I learned to let it flow directly into my mind. As you grow faster, you will find that the limitation on your speed is not how quickly you can move your body, but how quickly your mind can react."
Veron grunted in acknowledgment since it made sense. If Olondris had made her dance on top of rocks and balance eggs on her nose, she might have left anyway. But the older woman seemed practical, and it was good to know she could give reasonable advice when she wasn't being a bitch.
"Finally, one of your four senses must be weakest. Which one?"
"Hearing, I think." Veron shrugged and let her strength flow through her, but it was like trying to sing along with a song in a different language. "It sounds a bit like music, and I found new sein when I started feeling it, but I've never been able to draw deeper."
"Then we will begin there." Olondris sat down smoothly and balanced her pike across her lap. "Sit with me and listen carefully."
Over the next several days, Olondris put her through exercises that were just on the edge of too irritating to complete. Some of them were simple enough strength training, digging deeper into herself. Others were the kind of meditation that Veron had always hated.
Yet Olondris had a strangely practical approach to it. As Veron reluctantly gave up details of how she understood sein, Olondris responded with concrete parallels. She was given a clay pot to hold and Mantyos set out a loaf of bread - it didn't smell quite right, but it was close enough. They regarded her skeptically when she said that sein tasted like whiskey to her but eventually accepted it and gave her a flask.
That sort of training, Veron could get behind.
Once she had grown used to all those senses, Olondris bound her ears with pieces of cotton and a tight band of cloth. It itched like hell and made it that much harder to meditate, but maybe that was the point. Veron put up with it and did what she could.
The whole thing struck her as ass backwards. Her other senses were just getting in the way, distracting her from concentrating on her hearing. Running her hands over the smooth clay pot only sent her mind wandering off into empty plains instead of focusing. It was all too much, leaving her feeling like she had as a child, stumbling to understand anything of sein at all.
And yet she found that she heard something. At first it was a conversation in another room, soft sounds that could not quite become words. Gradually she came to realize that she had been hearing a tune all along, humming the slow song under her breath without realizing. It all reminded her of something, just on the edges of her mind, never quite understood.
When she understood, the ground gave way underneath her. Veron plummeted onto the filthy streets of Noraltan, a child again. Angry and terrified, but occasionally she heard a woman singing a song. It was nothing like the street chants and bar ditties she knew, slow and sad and anchored within the heart. She had spent so long listening to it and forgotten until that moment.
Veron opened her eyes and discovered that she was crying. Part of her had been hollowed out, and though strength filled the empty space, she almost didn't want it.
"That felt like a breakthrough." Olondris looked up from her own meditation to speak. Though Veron faced a wall, she quickly used the band to dry her face.
"Yeah, it was. I can hear sein real good now. Sorry for giving you shit about this."
"And what do you hear?"
"It... it's a bawdy song about farmers fucking their animals."
Olondris stared at her for so many heartbeats that Veron wondered if she would refuse the answer, but eventually she nodded. "Listen well."
Chapter 46
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"Refusing her betrothal, Emlioon donned the armor of an Espalese errant and attempted to cross the warring lines. Yet as she crossed those warring lines, a Wahleenese errant fell upon her. She began to throw aside her helm to show herself, yet her opponent pressed her sorely, and she was unable to take her hands from her halberd. And as she felt a familiar joy fill her, she threw herself at her opponent's lance."
- excerpt from The Tale of Emdore and Emlioon
-
Chief Bufogu was simultaneously the manliest and most frustrating man Mohuno had ever met. Everything about him, from his enormous size to the blood that pulsed when he flexed, showed his raw power. He was smart, too, with a shrewd eye for the politics of a clan.
Yet Bufogu remained utterly convinced that he understood everything about the world and had no room for questions or other ideas. Whenever Mohuno tried to suggest anything unusual, it was treated as a jest or scorned as weakness. Having so many ideas thrown back in his face gave Mohuno an appreciation for how Tani might be frustrated with him.
"You need to bring your men here." Bufogu slammed a fist into his palm. "We unite and then we crush them together."
"You're underestimating them," Mohuno said. He and the Bloodskin chieftain had been standing on the hill so long that his legs were beginning to hurt, but he refused to let them budge. "The Deathspawn you've fought so far are only preparing their way to Mount Tmil. Our strength is the fact that our clans are scattered across the mountains and can strike from any side."
"I agree that is a strength. But I think perhaps you are more concerned with protecting all your petty little villages, since you do not have the men to defend them."
Again, that keen eye. Mohuno smirked to deflect the accusation and took another path. "You don't have enough men to defend yourselves either."
"Do you think the Bloodskins weak?" Bufogu stepped closer, grabbing his arms as if to lift him from the ground. Mohuno wanted to draw his sword but instead just broadened his smile. "Or are you truly so scared of the Deathspawn?"
"Neither. But we need to fight not only the Deathspawn, but the other clans as well. The Bloodskins may be a mighty clan, but how many of your men will fall in battle? Will those who remain be able to stand against the Stormpeaks, Bonewalkers, and Coldsteps?"
Bufogu let go of him and stepped back, frowning as he accepted the logic. Mohuno used the opportunity to shift his weary legs, pretending to speak to the chieftain but equally addressing the men around them.
"I know that the Steelbones are surrounded by minor clans who would never dare to attack us. But if we throw ourselves into a war, they will see weakness. We may crush one, but another will attack from the other side and take a village or a caravan. I refuse to throw my clan into such a trial."
"Your words are not so weak after all." Though Bufogu smiled and gave him a nod of respect, it was all a feint. The chieftain still wanted to force the Steelbones to join and then absorb them, just as he'd absorbed other clans. He pretended otherwise only because he knew Mohuno's words had swayed the men listening.
What bothered Mohuno most was that the Bloodskin clan was unquestionably stronger than his own. Not when it came to food, trade, or territory, but a war between them could have only one conclusion. The Bloodskins had Bufogu as their champion and four men of great strength. The Steelbones had only Uncle Fahuwe and, if he was being generous, himself.
He was beginning to regret taking the mansthein offer. Yes, their agreement had saved the lives of many of his men, and the tribute the mansthein offered would strengthen their position if they survived. But survival looked uncertain. Something was deeply wrong with everything about this war in a way that squirmed from beneath him like a determined opponent.
Then the Hero approached and the world changed.
For the first time, Mohuno laid eyes on the man behind so many stories. Even without Tani to introduce him, there could be no doubt as to his identity. The Hero walked up the hill as if he expected the ground to cower before him. His eyes blazed with something more potent than the hottest blood, a purpose that struck Mohuno to the core.
Not long ago, he had thought Chief Bufogu the manliest of men. The Hero didn't merely claim that title, he made it a tawdry bauble. Though not as tall as the hulking chieftain, the light that spilled from him dominated the hill. When he reached the top, all eyes were on him.
"Your clans have bickered for long enough. It is time for you to stand together against the true enemy."
Mohuno choked as he heard that voice, strong in a way he'd never known was possible. If he could speak, he knew that he would sound like a squeaking boy compared to those doubtless tones. All at once he knew that his maneuverings and deceptions were meaningless, nothing but childhood games.
"We have word that the Deathspawn will march on Mount Tmil as soon as they complete their preparations," the Hero declared. "We cannot meet them in battle unless we unite. But even that may not be enough, not if they deceive the other clans. I need you to deal with such things."
"The Earthbreakers were mostly crushed between us, but the Stormpeaks roam the region." Bufogu's voice was nothing but animal grunting compared to the Hero. Yet when Mohuno looked at him, he saw that the larger man's eyes did not contain any of the Hero's hope. There was only low cunning there, and in that moment Mohuno hated him. "The Skullcrushers have also avoided any combat and can throw many men into the war."
The Hero frowned at such unworthy ideas. "Those are problems. I asked you for solutions. What is to be done about the petty tribes that stand in our way?"
"I have an idea." Mohuno hadn't intended to speak, yet what choice did he have? When the Hero's pure white gaze fell on him he felt himself elevated to something greater than himself and he could only hope that the words tumbling from his mouth had any worth. "If we strike properly, we can force the Deathspawn to take the eastern path. They do not know it borders Stormpeak territory and a conflict between them will thin both sides."
"An excellent idea." The Hero smiled at him and it mattered more than anything Mohuno had ever experienced in his life.
A feeble worm in his heart struggled. He hadn't intended to reveal that idea, especially not to Chief Bufogu. His plan had been to mislead the Deathspawn subtly, then urge the Bloodskins off course as well, leading to a conflict between the three. But what did those plans matter? What did any plans matter? Now he could see that helping the Hero reach Mount Tmil was their only reason for existing.
The Hero continued speaking to the others, but every word struck Mohuno's heart like glorious blades. He found himself remembering none of it, only the glorious hope. In this war, they stepped into the Legend itself. What specifically the Hero said was insignificant compared to the beauty of his vision.
Afterward he found himself wandering, staring up at the sky and filled with a new appreciation for its beauty. At these heights, the shining white clouds hung low overhead, but he felt as though he floated above them. All he wanted was to return to the Hero again, because the longer he was away, the less beautiful those clouds seemed and the more thoughts entered his mind about the battles to come.
"Mohuno?"
He turned to see Tani and saw only a woman. Her value lay only in the part she played in the Legend, not in any carnal thoughts he'd once held. She frowned at him, a hideous expression that marred the glory clouding his mind.
Then she slapped him across the face.
"What are you doing?" Mohuno grabbed her wrist and roared out the words, but he staggered with his next heartbeat. The world tilted as if he faced the worst drunkenness and hangover of his life at once.
"You need to remember yourself. Think about what Melal said and what it actually means."
"Does it matter? You should have heard him, Tani. Such beautiful words... I never realized..."
"Think, Mohuno! You're capable of strategy, you just need to remember it. Ignore everything Melal said and focus on the realistic outcome. If you throw all of your clan into this war, how many will die?"
What did it matter how many would die? Compared to taking their places in the glory set before them, their lives meant nothing...
Yet that thought, burning through him with utter sincerity, jarred Mohuno to his senses. He let go of Tani's wrist and gripped his forehead instead, trying to focus. Thinking about the numbers of his men and the details of warfare felt so tedious compared to what the Hero had offered. The Legend was purpose. It was meaning and value in a way that mere lives could never equal.
Again he reeled from the thought. Mohuno saw Tani looking at him in something like concern or pity and couldn't endure her gaze. Instead he turned to the lean man he only then noticed. Slaten, his name was, a lowlander swordsman who traveled with Tani. At first Mohuno had been worried that he would steal Tani's affections before he realized they fought like brother and sister.
That venal thought brought him back to himself more than all those that came before. Mohuno shook his head sharply and forced himself not to avoid Tani's gaze. "I... have not been myself."
"The Hero has that effect," Tani said. "It's worst at the beginning, but you can resist if you hold on to yourself."
"Both of you..." He took a weak step backward and nearly fell, then made himself walk to a nearby cliff face to support himself. "I don't see the Legend in your eyes. Have you been around him so long that you've learned to resist it?"
"Slaten and I have learned mental arts for that purpose, but it will grow easier with time." Tani smiled at him in a way that should have started his blood flowing, but Mohuno felt emptied in every way. "You've taken the first step, Mohuno. You held on to your self."
"No, I didn't. I still feel... I know what the battle will be like and how many of my men will die, but... somehow I don't respond. It is as if my heart is so full of everything else that I can't even feel sorrow. Or... I would, but that sorrow has so much more weight than their deaths. They aren't really deaths, just... just..."
"A glorious sacrifice?" Slaten spoke for the first time, his voice even harsher than all that came before it. Yet the ugliness of his voice helped force Mohuno to his senses and he nodded.
"Yes. You... you understand."
"We can help you," Tani said, stepping closer and putting a hand on his arm, "but we need you to think clearly first. Have you given your clan any orders to follow the Hero?"
"I... no. I had ideas, but..." All the details had seemed so petty compared to the Hero's glory overflowing within him. For the first time, he felt less guilt than a sense of relief. He hadn't sent the Steelbone clan to its death, no matter how magnificent it might have been.
"Then there's time. Clear your head first. Sparring might help, but I think it would be better if you tried with Slaten instead of me."
Once he might have objected, since sparring with Tani might have been a pleasurable experience. But he had no room to desire anything else after that experience. At once exhausted and filled with nervous energy, Mohuno drew his sword and attacked without warning.
It could have been a mistake, yet Slaten smoothly drew his sword and blocked his strike as if he understood. Mohuno attacked him relentlessly, letting increasing rage fill him. Though a righteous anger toward the Deathspawn began to rise within him, he overwhelmed it with a raw hatred of what had been done to him. Later he would try to remember the mansthein, but now there was only wrath.
As they fought, their sparring a thin veneer over their violence, Mohuno began to feel himself again. He felt lesser, a reduced form of the man he had been with the Hero, but that man had been a stranger. For the first time he could feel true hatred for Melal and a desire to put a sword through his head.
Yet even then, he thought that it would be a tragedy for the world to lose something so glorious.
Chapter 47
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"One's beard must be kept tightly braided in public, cared for only in the presence of close friends, and never displayed unbraided near unfamiliar women. In this, the gentlemen of Espal distinguish themselves from the uncouth tangles of Portant, the crude cuts of Wahleen, or the shaven jaws of outsiders."
- Espalese Gentleman's Guide
-
As the Fourth Northern Legion prepared for war, Celivia did the best she could to help Brifik. Caring for seinshocked warriors was traditionally a female role, but she couldn't bring herself to leave him to others. He had suffered under her command, after all, and might not recover without help. Though they had hardly been close, she found that she missed his strange laughter.
There were no jests now. Brifik sat wherever they had left him and stared at nothing. The sound of steel against steel made him flinch, every muscle in his body convulsing as his sein reacted in terror.
A few of the others had attempted to draw him into their games and he had only shivered. Soon enough, they began to ignore him. Perhaps some hoped that he would recover, sitting in the circle with his old allies, but Celivia feared that he drifted further and further away. Yet she had not truly known him well enough to have any idea how to help him.
