Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (15 page)

Bayan frowned. That sounded odd. Among the Balanganese, no one stood between a person and Bhattara. When you wanted to ask him for something, you just asked. When you wanted to thank him with a gift or an act of generosity, you did so. Bayan had to admit, though, he was curious to see one of these sints.

“Is there one around here?”

“Oh, aye. A few, in fact, or so I heard.”

“Really? What do they look like?”

“Whatever they fancy, I imagine. They don’t have bodies. Unless they want one, I suppose, but I’ve never heard of them wearing one. They live in caves or in old trees, that sort of thing, and they’re just… there. You bring your gift, say what you came to say, and then they either grant your request or they don’t.”

“And anyone can ask them for help?”

“Aye. Though I don’t know what the ones up here like to help with. Some only help with love matches or healing or bringing water into wells during drought. That sort of thing. You’ll want to find out what they’re about before you go pestering them.”

“Pestering the gods,” Bayan said with a laugh. “Not something I wanted to do here. Of course, I didn’t want to come here to do anything, really.”

Calder was quiet. Bayan looked out across the moonlit landscape again, feeling the breeze chill his ankles.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, being a Skycaller.”

“You miss home, aye?”

“More than anything.”

“Why don’t you write? I send my mum a letter every other mail day. A good little Dunfarroghan, me. And sints know she needs all the good news I can share. But I’ve never seen you write home. Did your leaving not go smoothly?”

Bayan frowned; he hadn’t told Calder, or anyone, about the circumstances of his sudden departure from Pangusay. Staring out across the bicolored landscape, he shared the story of his accidental magic hole, Surveyor Philo’s generous offer, and Imee’s slap. He left out the part about his sudden response to her, but he did share the part about the leaves on his pronged baton and feeding the evidence to the pitcher plant, Gamay.

“After that,” he concluded, “I couldn’t think about any of them without all the bad memories coming back. I put off writing home so often that avoidance turned into habit.”

“You should at least tell them you dinna die on the way here.”

Bayan shook his head. “I’ve gotten a few letters from my father. My little brother has started training to replace me. He writes that my lovemate… she’s been seen with a merchant’s son. I don’t even want to read his letters anymore—”

Faint footsteps approached. Calder scrambled for his blanket and dropped to his knees. “Hide!” he hissed.

But there was nowhere for Bayan to hide. The solitary was purposely built at the edge of a cliff. He looked down and saw a broken wall with a small ledge a stride or so below the base of the solitary.

Bhattara, catch me if I fall
, he prayed. He spun and dropped from the window ledge.

His first kiss had been right here in the wine cellar, with Inglaak. Now, Savitu stood on the stone landing of her cellar stairs and watched Marco and Hahliq spar with sharp steel blades in the sunken arena his supporters had constructed in the floor. After being released from ten years of eunuch training, Savitu had learned that Inglaak’s family had vanished at war’s end, but in the state the Waarden had left him, he dared not look for her. In the meantime, his loyalists had found the abandoned property and claimed it.

“Marco’s not bad, for an imperial,” Qisuk commented, watching the shirtless, sweaty combatants. “Picks up our style nicely.”

Savitu observed the sparring men. They were silent in their intensity, making small, dusty shuffles with their shoes as they circled one another. Marco tossed his short sword from his right hand to his left and lunged during Hahliq’s momentary shift in attention. The Aklaa warrior dodged aside from Marco’s left-handed thrust, but barely. “I’d wager he could best you.”

“Not so; I keep up my own training.”

Qisuk did not expect Savitu’s backhanded slap; he went still, glaring with anger and surprise. “Do not strike me as if I am a wayward child, Savitu. You are only an uncrowned prince.”

“You act only for yourself,” Savitu seethed. His high-voiced attempt at sounding authoritative brought tears of deep shame to his eyes. His Waarden captors had known what they were about when they forced a high voice upon a member of a culture that valued deep, manly tones. “If the commune overseers find you with so much as a bread knife in your hand…”

“Savitu.” Qisuk shifted uncomfortably at the sight of tears. “Not in front of the Waarden.”

Savitu jerked his head, saw that the sparring bout had ended. Marco and Hahliq stared up at him, towels in their hands.

“Don’t look at me!” He flung a hand up to ward off their concern.

“Savitu—” Hahliq raised a calming hand.

But the deep baritone of the commander’s voice only wounded Savitu further. Without another word, he stumbled up the stairs and away from his shame, his fingers aching for the sacred soil of the second floor prayer room.

~~~

Bayan clung to the rock below Calder’s solitary, the chill wind whipping at his tunic as he listened to Greer question Calder on his condition and meditation experience. He knew that as soon as Greer left this solitary, he’d walk to Bayan’s, a mile away. He eased to his left and peered around the edge of the cliff where it cut back toward the trail. Below, several pines swayed gently, their tops nearly as high as his feet. He clung to the rock and calmed his thudding heart.

Rock and trees and a cold night wind. I could really use some magic right about now.

His ledge ended at the corner of the cliff. Descending by hand- and foot-holds, Bayan heard Greer’s voice bid Calder good night.

He looked around. On the valley side of the cliff’s face, the rock wall descended for another ten strides before scattering into a brief scree slope that poured down toward a sheer drop. Around the edge, toward his own solitary, the pines that clung to a narrow strip of soil along a stretch of stepped stone were within a courageous reach. The distance to his solitary was much shorter than a mile if he took a more direct and dangerous route.

Trees are made of wood. Wood’s sacred motion is the arc. Let’s find out how much arc is in this wood.

Bayan tensed and launched himself at the nearest pine tree, throwing his arms around its trunk. He found footholds on a pair of branches, then swayed the tree back and forth. Other trees’ branches slashed at him, and he hunched down, protecting his face.

When the treetop’s swing reached a great, curving arc, Bayan chose his next target, leaping through sharp-needled branches to cling to another tree. In this fashion, he traveled slowly but directly toward his solitary.

Something within him felt fulfilled, content. It wasn’t a feeling he’d experienced very often of late. After a moment’s introspection, he discovered with surprise that the contentment came from the dark thing within him. That which usually made him want to beat the guts out of someone was now enjoying Bayan’s night flight across a stand of pines.

What are you?

The trees ended near a rocky slope which led, eventually, up to Bayan’s solitary. He eyed the distance between his tree and the rocky slope, then, filled with the exhilaration of the immense blackness that rode within him, he flung himself into the air with the whip of the tree.

Weightlessness engulfed him for a moment of sheer bliss, and his soul expanded, encompassing all that was. Then the rocks approached, and he thudded down amongst them, sliding back toward the edge of the short cliff. Yet no fragment of worry penetrated his calm. His hands found a solid ridge of rock beneath the tumbling gravel, and he stopped his fall and began climbing upward.

So natural. So right. How can the darkness be all bad if it’s having so much fun?

Huffing and puffing, Bayan scampered along a low ridge below the path Greer would use to approach the solitary. Grinning, he sidled up to one of the side windows of the solitary and eased inside, hearing Greer’s footsteps approaching in the distance.

Greer entered the solitary through the open door. “Bayan?”

“Yes, Instructor Greer?” Bayan, kneeling by the window he’d just hopped through, couldn’t keep the joy from his voice. The darkness still thrilled within him.

“Aren’t you cold? You aren’t wearing your blanket.”

“I don’t need it.”

Greer, wearing an expression of open doubt, stepped closer and put a hand on Bayan’s shoulder. Finding it warm, he made a surprised sound and squatted down beside Bayan, studying his face.

Bayan, in the thrall of his inner glee and oneness with the night, looked out the window at the sky and murmured, “Is this what controlling magic feels like?” His voice sounded distant in his own ears.

“You’ve achieved the Void!” Greer exclaimed in a hushed tone.

Bayan didn’t know if that was true. Was the Void a semi-sentient force with a will of its own? He hadn’t heard anything like that in class. Considering how he felt, he would look into the matter, at least at some point when he wasn’t sleep-deprived and half demented with the darkness’ excitement.

“I confess,” Greer continued, “I was wrong about you. I’m glad to see that a little hardship has forced you to focus deep within yourself, and achieve the balance of emotion that the Void brings to those who seek it. Considering you’ve achieved so much in so little time, you may return to the barracks for the remainder of the night.”

“What about Calder?”

Greer got to his feet. “He was a little nervous when I spoke to him. I take that to mean he hadn’t been meditating as he should have, and he was afraid of further punishment. I’ll recommend that he meditate with you from now on. Perhaps your success will rub off on him. Congratulations, Bayan. You’ve done very well, and I’m quite impressed. I look forward to continued good things from you as our class progresses.”

Bayan picked up his blanket. “Would you mind if I returned alone, Instructor Greer? I know the way, and I’m still full of this feeling.”

“Of course. Be mindful of the path. I’ll meet you back on campus to make sure you’ve returned safely.”

Bayan nodded. As soon as Greer was out of sight, Bayan hurried back to Calder’s solitary.

“Here, take this,” he whispered as he placed his blanket over Calder’s shoulders.

“You again, like an unlucky ducat. Did you get caught? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Sorry.”

Bayan left Calder and his questions behind and descended the path until the barracks were in sight. Sure enough, Greer waited nearby. He raised a hand in acknowledgement and headed into the barracks before the teacher could realize Bayan didn’t have his blanket.

Snuggling down under an extra blanket, Bayan felt sleep chase away the darkness and wondered, before he drifted off, whether he had truly embraced the Void—or whether it had embraced him instead.

~~~

“Nae, nae. Warmaster
Adrian
de Hond fought in the First Tuathi War. He’s the one who directed the Cozenwar, the push that stopped the Tuathi advance and turned the tide of the conflict. Warmaster
Antoon
de Hond was his distant descendant. He fought in the
Second
Tuathi War. There are about six hundred years between the two warmasters.” Calder scrubbed at his scalp in frustration.

Bayan didn’t seem to be enjoying their study session any more than Calder was. Tossing down his quill, he griped, “Why can’t the Waarden have normal names? It’s impossible for me to keep track of all these bizarre names. They don’t make sense to me.”

“You mean Adrian and Antoon?”

“Well, those too. ‘Antoon’ sounds like a tree. But it’s all these different last names. Some are one word, some are de this or de that, and others are voorde or vande. So when I hear a de Hond, I think they’re all the same man.”

Calder sighed. Since he’d begun helping Bayan catch up on imperial history, their study time had been punctuated by periodic complaints of this nature.
If only he’d paid attention in class back home,
Calder thought
, we wouldna be having this problem now.

“The common wisps have just one word in their last name. Nobility are allowed those ‘v’ and ‘w’ words. The Hexmagic Instructor, Ignaas witten Oost, is of minor noble blood. People with those names expect a little more deference from the commoners, even the Waarden ones. Then there are those posthumously honored for heroic feats or valor in battle. The emperor himself bestows a new name upon the dead hero, and all his or her descendants may bear the name as an honor to their family. Instructor de Rood is descended from Helma de Rood, a duelist who distinguished herself during the War of Steel. There weren’t too many actual battles during that war, but she was in one of them. The emperor honored her with the name ‘the Red’, since she fought wounded and still defeated several Akrestan steelwielders.”

“See, there you go again, making history sound interesting. Steelwielders?”

Calder grinned. “You know steel is illegal in the empire?”

“That I actually
do
know, yes.”

“See, look how smart you are. The steelwielders were Akrestan separatists who bought common swords and spearheads from Karkhedon, made of a new alloy called steel. It’s supposedly stronger and holds an edge better than iron. With steel weapons, they invaded Gallenglaas and broke the trade ring around the Teresseren Sea. The War of Steel followed, with the empire throwing everything it had at the Akrestan provinces. Since Karkhedon was technically neutral, the emperor didn’t attack it directly, but as soon as Karkhedonian shipments of steel sailed into Pallithean waters, duelists sunk them. The War of Steel was the shortest war in history. A lot of rumors fly around about steel and magic because of that war.”