He looked at her and surprised her by sticking his tongue out. He turned his attention back to the cave and held his hands up again. The stone continued dripping, sealing off the cave. The rock poured down until it finally created a closure. And then it was done.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said.
“What did you expect?”
Benji shrugged. “I damn well don’t know. Something like that could have been more of an explosion. You never really know. Well, you might,” he said, looking over to her and winking.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always this stiff?”
“I am what I need to be,” she said.
“I suppose if that’s the way you feel about it, then you are,” he said. “I just was trying to say that perhaps there might be something more for you here.” He shrugged again. “Maybe not here, but…” He backed away, and the ground began rumbling again.
Imogen’s eyes widened. “What are you doing now?”
“That isn’t me.” Benji dropped to the ground and pressed his hands to the stone. He began whispering, his voice a soft murmur.
Imogen listened, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying, nor could she understand the words he was using. There was an urgency within the way he spoke. The rumbling became faster and louder.
It was coming from the cave.
“We should get moving,” she said.
“Not yet,” he said. Imogen took a step back, and he looked up at her, shaking his head. “Be ready.”
Benji turned his attention to the ground. He focused on the stone, his hands tracing a pattern as he worked them around. The stone continued to reverberate, the ground trembling, and it sounded like an avalanche preparing to fall. The ravine was steep enough that she didn’t want to get caught here.
Imogen shifted her feet. There would be no pattern that would help her with this, no sacred flow that would guide her. There would be nothing other than her ability to run. As the stone cascaded downward…
Timo.
“I need to go,” she said to Benji.
He grunted. “Not yet.”
“I’m not going to let this avalanche crush my brother.”
“It won’t,” he snarled.
She looked over to him. Maybe this was how he always was. Maybe the Benji they had first met had been too weak from his injury for this kind of agitation.
She staggered when the ground trembled even more, and she tried to move and get away, but Benji locked eyes with her and shook his head. He didn’t want her to go, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stay. She backed up a bit, preparing to move.
“I need one of those fancy patterns of yours,” he said as he examined the stone. “The ones you call sacred. Now.”
He didn’t look up at her, but there was a command in his voice that reminded her of her first instructors. She didn’t hesitate.
“Which one?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Just use whatever you can.”
Whatever she could? The idea that she would use a pattern against nothing seemed ridiculous, but she could feel the trembling in the ground, the way the stone was falling. And if Benji, a powerful Porapeth, thought she might be able to do something, then should she not?
She started slowly. She didn’t have much of a footing, though unlike in the cave, she had plenty of space to work. What she needed was something that mostly used her upper body, where she could shift her feet, but only ever so slightly.
Gliding on the Ice.
It was an artistic pattern, with more flow than some of the others, and it was one that was not always useful. Fighting against an opponent using Gliding on the Ice was usually dangerous, mostly because the pattern itself did not contain enough power. In this case, perhaps it was the right one and would still help her, given that she had no way to maintain her footing. She slid forward slowly, then slipped around Benji before coming to rest again.
He didn’t look up as she moved around him. Imogen became lost in the pattern and didn’t glance up as she glided. She had to focus because it was a pattern she rarely used and almost never practiced.
“Not much longer,” Benji said.
The ground trembled, but it seemed that the trembling was easing up, if only a little bit. She continued to slide, following the flow of the pattern, and then she felt a crescendo. It was almost as if it came from within her, as though the pattern itself needed for her to reach that point. Then she stopped.
Benji looked up at her, his eyes tight, sweat beaded on his brow. “Good. Now we can go.”
With that, he got to his feet, and he loped down the rock and left her standing there. She glanced back to where the cave had been. Its mouth was not just sealed—the entire cave was gone.
She had no idea what she had done, only that Benji had seemed convinced that she had a role to play in whatever had taken place here. Imogen didn’t know if that was the case, or whether all she had done was stay out of his way.
Still, there was a part of her that wondered, that had felt the way the power had reached a crescendo as it built within her. And as it had, the same part of her had recognized that there was something more.
She followed Benji down and found him curled up on the ground across from the fire, his eyes closed already, his breathing slow and regular. Timo had fallen asleep as well.
Both of them were touched by the same darkness. She was convinced of it.
And there might not be anything she could do.
Benji seemed convinced she had access to something within her patterns, and Imogen felt increasingly certain that the patterns touched on a power greater than her. They were the sacred patterns, after all. Maybe it was magic, or maybe it was simply that they tapped into the power of the great gods who looked down upon them. Either way, she should recognize that energy, and she should do something with it.
She looked at her brother, then Benji as they both slept quietly.
Now was the time for her to do something. If the patterns could deflect magic and move it around the sword fighter, was it really so hard to believe that they might be able to push on this dark magic that clung to her brother and Benji? Besides, what harm was there in practicing the forms?
She started slowly.
At first, she flowed through the patterns with her blade, feeling foolish as she worked through Petals on the Wind, then Stream through the Trees, then Avalanche Flowing. But after only a few moments, that embarrassment faded, and she began to feel as if what she was doing was right and was what she needed to do. She fell into the comfort of working through the patterns, a comfort she had gained over the years by training, sparring, and focusing.
Perhaps she didn’t even need to do the patterns to use the power that existed. Perhaps she could simply meditate the way she had learned to, and could draw upon that kind of power without them.
She pushed her thoughts aside, and she continued to flow. As she drifted, darting around Timo, then Benji, and even the fire, she could feel something building. Maybe it truly was magic.
She might never have come to believe anything different about the patterns had she not spent time in Yoran. A friend of hers had left her believing that there had to be something more to them. Imogen didn’t know, but it made sense. At least, it made sense as much as anything could when it had to do with that kind of power.
Her people were trained to disrupt magic. Perhaps they could generate it as well.
Whatever it was, Imogen kept going. She had to keep moving. She let herself be carried by the patterns, let the sacred flows guide her.
And they did. It was strange for her to think that they did, but she could feel something within them, some way they were pulling on her, like the patterns were showing her what she needed to do. It was almost as though they revealed how she needed to move, from one to the next, shifting as easily as she could. Imogen stayed in those patterns and could feel how they guided her and showed her the energy there.
The st
range power she was feeling continued to build. More than that, it started to press out from her, toward her brother, toward Benji.
And so she continued to dance in the sacred patterns, flowing through them and following that power. She let herself be guided, and the longer it happened, the more she could feel something.
By the time she reached Lightning Strikes in a Storm, she thought she knew what she needed to do, even before it happened. She focused, angling her blade toward her brother, and for a moment, she thought she could see something happen as the pattern reached its crescendo. But then it faded.
Over the last few months, the sacred patterns had been feeling different for her. This had happened gradually, but she’d started to feel as if there was something hidden within those patterns, if only she could grasp it. If only she could find it.
But so far, she had not come to that understanding. She knew there had to be something, but she didn’t know what it was, other than it likely had to do with what she was supposed to have uncovered when studying in the sacred temple originally.
She continued spinning, darting around, and brought her blade toward Benji. This time, she was certain she caught a flicker of silver light that flashed in front of her. Or perhaps that was nothing more than her imagination.
Imogen spun around and came to a stop. The fire continued crackling. The wind that had been whistling around the clearing had eased, no longer gusting the way it had. There was no energy in the air as she had remembered before. The only thing she recognized was the fatigue that washed through her. She took a seat, wanting to rest a moment.
She could not succumb to it. Not yet.
Her brother needed her. Even Benji did, though Imogen had never imagined that she would stand guard for a Porapeth. Whether or not the two of them understood what she was doing, she would stand guard. She was strong enough to do that.
The fatigue became increasingly difficult for her to withstand. Imogen struggled against it, straining to keep her eyes open, but as she watched the fire, her lids grew heavy.
At one point, she got to her feet and began to flow through one of the patterns again, but she didn’t get lost in it quite the same way as she had before. It was almost as if her vigor was gone. It had faded and was now missing. Instead, it was like she was simply going through the motions.
She cleared her mind, using her training to do so, but even as she attempted to empty her thoughts of everything she had seen, she could not tell whether there would be any way for her to get into that mindset again.
She sheathed her sword and sank to the ground once more, sitting next to Timo. He was sweating, his body tense and trembling from time to time, as if he were fighting in his sleep. Perhaps he was. Imogen wished she could help him, offer him a way to relax, but there was nothing she could do.
She leaned back, tired. This was more than just a fatigue that came from the day’s events. This was the kind of exhaustion that she had not felt for many moons. Not since she was a child, training with her blade for the first time.
And yet, despite that exhaustion, she felt safe. Maybe it was only the fire crackling in front of her—the warmth that enveloped her and gave her a feeling of comfort—that was giving her a sense of something else. She didn’t know.
All she knew was that there was something there for her.
The warmth was too much for her.
And she drifted…
Chapter Fourteen
Interlude
The room was small, compact, but it was more than enough space for Imogen. She had been given this room when she had first come to the temple to continue her training. It was her own, which was a blessing. After she and Timo had lost their parents, the village had essentially taken them in, giving them all they needed. In Imogen’s case, all she had ever needed—and wanted—was to learn how to master her sword.
And she had. Better than any in the village for generations.
But she’d never had a space of her own.
Until now.
She had not yet decorated the walls with the artwork she had drawn during her meditations. That would come in time, but only if she were to stay. For now, the room was empty, much like she was.
Imogen sat up on her cot, looking around. She had been here for the better part of a week and was still getting acquainted with the expectations of the temple. For the most part, she was required to train, which she did. But the training they expected out of her was different than what she had done when she was in her home. There was something more to it, something she had not understood, as if she could not fully do so. Some aspect of it left her thinking that perhaps she did not know all that the master instructors were trying to teach.
Imogen wanted to. She wanted to succeed.
A knock came at the door, and she looked up. The door opened, and Master Liu poked his head into the room, eyeing her for a moment.
“Are you ready to begin for the day?” he asked.
Imogen nodded hurriedly. She didn’t want to anger the sword master. She was here on his invitation, but he could rescind that just as easily as he had offered it to her. She didn’t want to lose this opportunity.
“Very well,” he said.
He held the door open, as if beckoning her to join him. She hesitated only a moment before getting to her feet and following. He waited for her in the hallway, though she knew that he would not wait for long. There were others in the temple who would train if she was not prepared.
She stayed with him as they made their way through the hallway. Much like her small room, the hall was empty, as if the masters did not want to provide any sort of decoration here either. This was one of the oldest and most prestigious temples in her land, and it was an honor for her to have been given this opportunity to train here, to learn the sacred patterns.
“Where are we going today?” she asked him.
“You would question me?”
“I don’t mean to anger you, Master Liu. I’m trying to understand what you need from me.”
“What I need from you is for you to follow. Unless you think you cannot do this.”
She nodded quickly. “Of course I can.”
He frowned, and there was a hint of irritation in his eyes, which told her everything she needed. That irritation suggested that she would have to work hard to rid herself of her shame.
She trailed after him, and when they reached the end of the hall, she watched for a moment. He remained quiet.
Master Liu was not a large man. He was only a hand taller than her, much shorter than most men in her village, yet there was still something quite imposing about him. Perhaps it was only his skill with the blade.
When they reached a door, Master Liu motioned for her to enter.
The inside of the room was poorly lit. A single lantern glowed from the chain that hung from the ceiling, casting a flickering light down on everything and making it difficult for Imogen to make out much of anything else. As she stared, she could begin to see the contours of the training room.
He tipped his head to the side, regarding her. “Are you ready, Imogen Inaratha?”
She had trained. She was a First of the Blade, an expert among her people. There were only a few dozen sword fighters each year who reached the level of First of the Blade, one or two per village, and she had been one.
She should be proud, but instead of pride, she felt only uncertainty.
He held his gaze on her, then whipped around the long staff he carried. The length of his weapon offered him advantages over her sword—not that she could say that to him. Imogen held her blade tightly, which had been gifted to her on the day she had reached First. It was her prized possession. A marker of her skill.
She hesitated. “What am I to do?”
“I need for you to follow the pattern,” he said.
“Which pattern?” She knew many. Reaching First of the Blade involved incredible mastery—and Imogen was a master.
“The ones I will show you. Now, do you think you c
an do this?”
She nodded hurriedly. “Of course, Master Liu.”
He swept his staff around, and she reacted.
She had trained ever since she was a young girl. Her patterns were as precise as anyone’s. Her knowledge rivaled any. Her skill rivaled any. But he didn’t seem to care about that.
“You are too stiff,” he said, gliding back and spinning his staff.
Imogen gripped the blade, watching him but staying silent.
“What we do in the temple is different than what you learned when you were younger. You must find a way to flow, to bring the patterns into everything you do.”
Imogen swept the sword around, trying to be ready for him. Master Liu was fast, almost impossibly so, and she could not keep up with him, despite how much she tried.
He smiled at her. “You will learn, Imogen Inaratha.”
He spun his slender wooden staff, and it whistled in the air. She reacted by flowing through a series of her traditional patterns. She knew them as well as anyone did and had been told that by all of her instructors. One of the most skilled sword fighters to have come out of the foothills in generations.
As she attempted to block, his staff struck her on the shin. Then the arm. And finally her thigh. Each time, it happened far faster than she could defend against.
“You should block at least one of these,” he said, his voice casual, and almost annoyingly so.
Imogen suppressed the irritation that bubbled up within her. He was trying to goad her into a reaction. She recognized the technique. Other instructors had done the same with her over the years, and they had failed the same way that Master Liu would fail.
She darted toward him again. She breezed through a series of patterns in rapid succession, faster than almost anyone else would be able to withstand. He blocked each blow while barely moving. Once again, he struck her on the arms, all while watching with a smile on his face.
Master Liu stopped, tapping his staff on the ground in front of her. “A mistake, isn’t it, in thinking you can fight your way forward? You must find yourself in the patterns.” He let out a small laugh.
Unbonded (First of the Blade Book 1) Page 14
