The Brightest Shadow, page 80
"Ooh!" Teren clapped her hands, providing an effective answer to his question. "We're home, Slaten, we're home!"
"We still have a way to go before we reach Oleph-Amm." He smiled as she embraced him tightly around the neck. "But yes, we're almost home."
It took them another day to arrive, hunger warring with the proximity of their destination. When Slaten spotted the smudge on the horizon ahead of them, he almost didn't believe that it could be real. But yes, he saw the slanting roofs he remembered so well, carved from hardwood into ornate tiles. Though they hadn't faced much rain yet, the rainy seasons here could be extremely heavy as rain traveled inland from the coast.
"I want to walk back!"
Teren hopped off his back, briefly unbalancing him, and began walking at his side. They slowed down and he wasn't sure if they were tired or just stretching out the final moments before they arrived.
"It smells like home." Teren closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "There wasn't enough wind in Bundlin, and the wind in other places was all hot and dry. But this wind smells like home."
That trait had never stuck out to him, but he realized that she was right, at least to a degree. While the area near their home experienced dry winds or stifling calm too, he did associate the pleasantly moist breeze with it. The wind picked up as they approached, whipping his clothes wildly and sending his hair streaming behind him.
"Ooh, Slaten, do you remember how I used to play in the field just outside? I don't see anyone here today at all."
"The children are probably still taking instruction from their elders." His eyes swept over the field outside, remembering how Teren used to run to embrace him there. It was empty now, just a grassy area kept free from thorns and sharp stones.
"I think I'm too big to play there anymore... Slaten, did you used to play outside there too?"
"A long time ago, Teren."
Teren sped up the closer they came, while Slaten had to resist the urge to slow down. Now that they were close, he saw not just the familiar slanting roofs, but also the wall. The lacquered wooden barrier was nothing compared to the massive wall of Bundlin, yet far more real. Someone who jumped over it might be within the village, but they would never be part of it.
One of the entrances opened nearby, and as they approached, the guards eyed them. They looked surprisingly surly and Slaten found himself keeping his hand near his sword. Yet as Teren rushed forward and began waving her arms over her head, one of them smiled in recognition and the tension broke.
The first guard met him with a proper Oken handclasp that seemed to pull Slaten inward. What followed was a storm of familiar faces and names, greeting him and remembering only the good. He found it difficult to concentrate, his mind far away.
Would they have welcomed him so much if he returned alone? Given how he had left, he rather doubted it. No laws broken, just an increasing unease that had been without a cure. Now that he was back, that old feeling warred with the real relief he felt. Between the two of them, his homecoming failed to register within him.
"Teren!" The emotional call managed to break through the haze and Slaten turned to see a large man running toward them. Teren's uncle, though it took a moment for him to remember the man's name - Releten, he thought it was.
She shrieked and ran toward him, diving toward his legs just as she had as a child. He scooped her up and spun her around, laughing. As they spun, a woman approached as well - Andaren, Teren's aunt. Slaten looked for other family members and saw none approach. Her mother had died in childbirth and her father had fallen during their journey, but the rest... they were simply gone, swallowed by the time they had been absent.
Part of him felt an irrational guilt, a vestige of the duty to the village that had been ingrained in him from birth. Had he remained, perhaps he could have stopped some of those deaths. The village might be at peace now, but there had been mansthein in the past, and there were always accidents. Perhaps if he had become a healer he might have saved some of the missing faces.
Yet Slaten found himself thinking more of other faces that had not yet gone missing. If he had stayed, there was a chance that Tani might have died. Then again, maybe events would have gone so differently that she never would have been in danger. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of it.
"Thank you."
The voice forced him to engage again, clasping the wrist extended to him without thinking about it. He managed to pull himself back when he saw that it was Andaren, approaching with Releten beside her, Teren riding on his shoulders.
"Teren told us how long you protected her. You have no idea how much that means to us."
"I'm glad that I could bring her safely back to you," Slaten said. And it was true. However little he had done in his life, he'd safely returned Teren home. Given how much danger she had endured and how many ways she could have been lost, that was something to be celebrated.
Releten approached and clasped his wrist as well. "You look stronger, boy. Your grandfather will want to see you."
"Grandfather Jahlaten?" He stared foolishly, surprised that his grandfather was still alive. Back when Slaten had lived in the village, Jahlaten had been the oldest man there and one of the most respected elders. His health had been poor then, yet it seemed he clung to life.
They encouraged him to go to his grandfather, and since Teren was eagerly telling stories, he decided to leave the happy crowd. Part of him wanted to linger to hear what she would say, but he forced his feet to move. Away from the crowd and down the westernmost street.
His grandfather's house sat at the end, just as he remembered. The noise of the crowd had drowned it out, but with some distance he could hear the soft tones of the wooden chimes swaying in the wind. His street seemed almost completely abandoned, yet walking down it he felt strangely calm. When he reached the house entrance, he didn't hesitate to step through the curtain.
In the central sitting room, his grandfather sat with his eyes closed. When Slaten entered the old man opened one eye, then both of them, wide. For a time they only stared at each other, then his grandfather released a deep sigh, as if he had been holding it for years.
"Slaten. Welcome home."
"I have been traveling a long time."
"We endure as the stone."
All his strength drained away and he went to sit with his grandfather. Drank the old tea, ate familiar noodles from the neighbors, and finally went to sleep in a room that had long ago been his, hearing the wind rustle through the trees and create music through the chimes.
This room was no longer his, but he was home.
~ ~ ~
It took him longer than expected to readjust to life in the village. For one, the money that he had been hoarding was no longer worth anything. Having Kolanin pay for expenses or the resistance provide food was nothing compared to the assumption of unity here. As much as the common purpose appealed to him, he found himself separated from it.
The training hall looked different than he remembered it. Not smaller, but simpler. Once the nine weapons and seven forms had seemed like more than he could possibly master. That remained true, but he had experienced so much else in his travels that the hall seemed under-equipped. No stone rings for Coran strength training, no targets for Rhen knives, not a hint of training for Estronese arts.
But it would do. Slaten woke every morning and practiced his sein until the other apprentices began to appear. Then he focused more on technique, noticing the ways that his movements had drifted from theirs. Some of the changes were improvements after gaining practical battle experience, others made him realize he had more to learn. He watched those whose skills were more practiced than his and learned what he could.
At noon he would break for food and water, often eating with either his grandfather or Teren. His grandfather tried to teach him of the family's affairs, but didn't press when he showed little interest. Teren had gotten her hair cut back to a child's style and always greeted him with a happy squeal. Now that she had her uncle and aunt to support her, she reveled in being a child again.
After eating, he would practice with the arts Graenin had taught him. He tested his endurance against one of the drums at home, trying to make his sein merely thump against it as many times as he could. Strength he would test in the family courtyard, destroying leaves with each burst. Though he improved a little with each practice session, he would soon exhaust those flows of sein and return to his blade.
If all went well, he could repeat that cycle before he collapsed into bed exhausted, then do two more cycles the next day. Sometimes old acquaintances he dimly knew wanted to speak with him, or the training went poorly, and he couldn't complete two cycles. On those nights he usually slept poorly.
One morning at the hour he anticipated others would begin training, Slaten heard loud laughter. Not the usual apprentices. He stopped his movements and turned to look toward the source, discovering a group of young men swaggering into the hall. Except that he thought of himself as a young man, and many years separated him from these boys just entering manhood.
As they saw him, one of them broke from the others to step up to him. Gangly and awkward, as if from a recent growth spurt that left him almost as tall as Slaten. Not familiar to him except as a vague memory.
"What are you doing here?" The young man asked with a sneer.
Slaten stared at him, wondering how to answer such an obvious question.
"You leave the Oken, throw away the community's gifts, then just amble back in and expect everyone to accept you?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I remember your name."
That prompted a surge of anger and the young man raised his training sword. Not very quickly. "You disrespectful bastard... my name is Rugen. Even if you really don't remember me, you know my grandfather, don't you?"
The name did sound familiar, and Slaten felt distantly aware that Rugen's grandfather held great authority on the council of elders, while his father was a respected merchant. Then Rugen was someone with connections, in a community where connections were everything.
"Answer me, you piece of shit! This is my father's training hall, you think you can just take over the place when I need to train?"
"I meant no offense." Slaten considered mentioning that Rugen had never needed the hall for many days, then realized that would actually cause offense. He lowered his head and started to step away.
"Hey!" Rugen thrust his training sword out, jabbing Slaten in the stomach. "I'm not done talking to you yet!"
When the sword touched Slaten's stomach, Slaten felt Rugen's sein flowing in it. Perhaps it had been meant to be a threat, but it had the opposite effect. There was no threat there, likely not even if Rugen had held a real sword.
As Rugen began to lecture him, Slaten's mind wandered and he instead focused on circulating his sein. He could have pushed through Rugen's group of cronies or fought them all, if it came to it, yet that would have been like punching children. If he had been Coran, he would have needed to defend his pride. Yet Slaten found that he simply didn't care and focused on his sein until the boy grew tired of mocking him.
"I'm tired of you. Get out of here." Rugen eventually poked him with the training sword, so Slaten turned to leave. As he walked out of the hall, Slaten heard one last invective thrown at him. "This hall is for members of the Oleph-Amm community! Do you even want to be one of us?"
"I'm not sure." He hadn't expected to answer honestly, but it seemed to halt Rugen and shock his companions. Slaten walked away from the young men, thinking about the encounter.
According to the law of the village, he had done the correct thing, deferring to order and maintaining peace. Others would have called his inaction weakness. He couldn't imagine Tani allowing anyone to treat her that way, though she wouldn't have fought them. No doubt Kolanin would have managed to negotiate with them. And Celivia... well, Celivia in her true identity probably would have torn them apart.
Just waiting out the boys' anger didn't bother him, though. He practiced sein instead of swordplay, so it made little real difference. In the future he would simply be more careful about avoiding Rugen and his friends.
The last question stuck with him. As Slaten began to train outside, he found his thoughts wandering to Melal's demand for everyone to return. Except he wasn't thinking of Melal, but a Hero with an agonizingly pure smile on his face.
~ ~ ~
Though his personal training progressed rapidly, Slaten knew that would not be enough. After a full month focusing on his foundation, he went to the central building where the martial elders held court. When he had last been in the village, he had been young and arrogant, unable to see the depth of their ability. Now, he hoped that he could learn what they had to teach.
The martial court was the second largest building in the village, a square of rooms surrounding the courtyard where the elders sat. It had been a beautiful place, he remembered, where they spoke in quiet voices, drank tea, and played Shiil and other games. That sounded more appealing than it once had.
When Slaten approached the outer door, he discovered his way blocked by a tall man, his silver mantle ring declaring him one of the elders' protectors. Though he didn't need to move far to block the way, Slaten could tell from his movements that he was deep into his training. The protectors could likely teach him a great deal.
"I humbly request the guidance of the martial elders." Slaten extended his hand toward the other man's wrist, only to have it refused.
"Only warriors who have obtained the blessing of the elders may train here." An indirect refusal, delivered with all the venom of a curse.
"I thought that all Oken had that blessing. Is there a reason I may not join you?"
"All Oken may carry that blessing, but you must seek the guidance of the council."
Slaten stared at the man, wondering where the scorn in his eyes had originated. Though he was being invited to seek the council, that was tantamount to an utter refusal, since someone on the council must have forbidden him from entering in the first place. No one would ever refuse him directly, but he knew that if he tried to obtain permission, he would be sent on an endless diversion until he gave up.
Was he forbidden simply because he had walked away from the village? Slaten saw Rugen sneering in the courtyard, but he doubted the young man had that much influence even if he was so petty. Did returning Teren mean nothing to the martial elders? Though he should have departed, Slaten instead let his sein flow deeply and bowed.
"I humbly request guidance again. I have walked far along the Path of the Warrior and I require guidance."
"You think you have gone far, but you have stepped off our path." The guardian scowled at him, focusing on the flow of his sein. "I can feel the incorrect practices from here. Divest yourself of it, return to the Oken, and then you may learn from the martial elders."
So that was the reason. Slaten knew that he should humbly bow his head and spend years doing lowly work in the village to gradually build his reputation again. Then once everyone had forgotten that he had left, he would beg for assistance from one of the younger protectors and be invited into the courtyard. Everyone would pretend that there had never been any conflict and that the village was in harmony.
That was the way of things. Slaten sighed and realized that he could no longer follow that way. Instead he bowed to the protector standing in his path.
"Senior protector, I humbly request a training match with you."
"What? I told you I-" Slaten drew his practice sword and stabbed him in the chest hard enough to make him grunt and stumble back.
If they fought normally, Slaten suspected that the protector would be faster than him. But the man was used to facing respectful members of the Oken community, not surprise attacks. Slaten struck him over the head, looked up to face the other protectors charging toward him, and narrowed his eyes.
~ ~ ~
An hour later he lay outside the martial court, beaten and bruised and satisfied.
It had taken them a long time to defeat him, because they hadn't comprehended why he was fighting. The protectors were all stronger than him, but they lacked battlefield experience and hadn't understood that he was fighting only to defend himself. More importantly, they made no effort to hide the flow of their sein - their expertise was a point of pride for them.
According to their words before they left him, this was a lesson in humility. The actual lesson had been in watching advanced Oken techniques. He had seen some interesting sword skills, and though the sein flow he saw remained beyond him for now, he remembered it clearly. There was much he could incorporate into his fighting.
There would be consequences, of course. But the first consequence was that he had learned what he needed for now.
The second consequence was that he couldn't defend himself when Rugen and his gang arrived and began kicking him. Slaten curled up and shielded his face and stomach. He should have expected this - he was the one who lacked experience when it came to petty revenge.
"You're done, do you hear?" When their legs got tired, Rugen crouched down beside him. "Even if the elders forgive you, they won't forget. This will never be your home again."
With that, Rugen spat into his face and walked away, laughing with the others. Slaten waited until they left to wipe off his face.
Mostly he was glad that his defensive techniques had worked well. Even though his sein had been completely exhausted by the fight with the protectors, the strength that had been built into his body hadn't vanished. He was certainly no Catai, but he thought a few of the boys kicking him would have sore feet the next day.
They'd dealt some internal injuries, though. Slaten rolled onto his back and waited for the healers to arrive.
~ ~ ~
