That reminded Calistin of something else. "And I called him clever when he figured out how to find me after I ditched him."
Amazir stood on the balls of his feet, perfectly balanced. "And which part was the compliment? The 'ditching'?"
"The 'clever' part, of course. He's a smart little boy and surprisingly good with people, especially for an orphan."
Treysind beamed.
Amazir also smiled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Actually, it was; but Calistin had no intention of admitting it. He simply grunted. "I thought you were going to train me in swordwork, not in how to humor my tagalong."
Amazir's grin widened, and he winked at Treysind. "I can't train you in anything until I've gotten permission from your other teacher." He bowed grandly to the boy. "Again, young sir, I ask you.Would you allow me to assist you in training this Renshai?"
To Calistin's surprise, Treysind did not answer right away but seriously considered the proposal and asked a studied question when he finished. "Is I gonna hafta feed ya, too?"
The boldness of the question, though reasonable, took Calistin aback. The only people in his life he had ever learned to treat with respect were those who had the talent to kill him.
Amazir nodded, "I'm afraid so."
Treysind rubbed his chin, still thoughtful. "Well, I s'pose I kin handle it. If Hero wants ya, I wants ya."
Calistin looked between his two companions, surprised to find both so serious. Obviously, they truly considered Treysind the decision-maker, no matter how ridiculous the assertion. Nevertheless, Calistin did not argue. He had what he wanted, the greatest teacher who ever lived, and he could think of nothing that mattered more.
CHAPTER 35
courage is its own reward. dying with honor matters more than valhalla. -general peusen raskogsson
Darkness descended over the western forest by the time Calistin finished his first session with Amazir. Bruised, scratched, and aching, he sat on a deadfall to clean, oil, and honor his swords, feeling better than he could recall in many years.The session brought back sweet memories of his youth, when his mother had drilled him beyond exhaustion and he felt like he had accomplished more than the gods themselves. New maneuvers, exciting details, a level of understanding that superseded the entirety of his life to that moment. Every day felt fresh, every new moment a chance to become more competent. Sleep, meals, conversation became nothing but distractions from what he might learn.
Those giddy days had disappeared during the years without real challenge, when he had to solicit his opponents in groups to achieve the modicum of danger that made him feel alive. He had become the only teacher who could truly challenge himself, bringing movements ever more complex, ever more deadly. Amazir knew many things he did not. Amazir had opened a whole new world. By the grace of the gods, Amazir is me in sixty years.
Finished, Calistin sheathed his swords and limped toward the campfire and the aroma of roasting meat. During the lesson, he had not thought about his stomach. Now, it growled wildly, and saliva bubbled into his mouth. Suddenly, his appreciation for both of his companions grew. Today, I might just be the luckiest man alive.
As he drew near the camp, Calistin could hear Treysind speaking, "… ain't so bad, once't ya gits passed tha mean stuff."
Amazir laughed, clear and healthy, without the graveliness that usually accompanies age. "Isn't the 'mean stuff ' exactly what makes someone bad?"
"No." Treysind was clearly having trouble making his point. "Tha mean stuff 's jus' on tha outside. Inside, in his spirit, he's rilly good."
"You're quite sure."
"Well, I knows it, but he don't belief it. Tha's why he acts tha way he do."
"What do you mean?"
"He thinks he ain't got no soul."
Calistin stiffened, more curious about Amazir's answer than angry Treysind had revealed his secret. The boy did seem to have common sense enough when it came to dealing with outsiders.
"Why does he think that?"
" 'Cause he beliefs some magic critter tol' him. Some angel or god or somethin'. But I seed him, an' he weren't talkin' ta no ones at tha time. Jus' yellin' at em'ty air that he do gots a soul an'…" Treysind trailed off.
A moment passed, while Calistin leaned closer, trying to make out a conversation that had drifted too low just when he most wanted to hear it.
Then, abruptly, an arm circled Calistin's waist and a sword poised expertly at his throat. He went still, and a voice hissed into his ear. "It's not nice to eavesdrop."
Trusting his new teacher not to kill him, Calistin spun free of his grip. As expected, the sword withdrew to allow the maneuver without opening his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to listen in-"
Amazir glared at his student. "Yes, you did.You stood there quite long enough to announce your presence, yet you didn't.When friends talk, you join them."
Irritated by the whole affair, Calistin turned sullenly. "You're not my father."
Amazir pounced. Calistin barely managed to whirl in time to face an angry swordmaster with two blades crossed at Calistin's throat. "Don't you ever turn your back on me!"
It was the supreme gesture of disrespect, and Calistin knew it; but he had not expected any ganim, even one so skilled, to catch the subtlety. "I'm sorry," he said, holding adolescent angst at bay. For once, his life depended on it. "I won't do it again. I promise."
Amazir sheathed his weapons in an eye blink. "A capable torke teaches more than swordsmanship."
"Torke?" Calistin stared in sudden accusation. "You're Renshai, too, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Though it had seemed certain a moment before, Calistin still had not expected that answer. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"You didn't ask."
Calistin started to splutter, then inquisitiveness, once again, overcame his temper. "How can that be? I've never seen you or heard of you. There aren't so many Renshai one could go unnoticed, at least not one of such age and skill. So who are you?" Recalling the Renshai tendency to appear younger, Calistin sucked air through his teeth in a hiss. "And just how old are you anyway?"
"Do you actually want answers, Calistin? Or are you just going to keep firing questions at me?"
Calistin fell sheepishly silent.
"Because I think Treysind deserves to be a part of this discussion, and we should return to the camp to talk."
Calistin did not see how any of this involved a street boy from Erythane, but he would not argue with a torke he respected. Silently, barraged with thoughts and questions, he trailed his new teacher back to the campsite.
Treysind had laid out three meals on piles of stacked leaves, an assortment of fresh fowl, roasted roots, and dried fruit.
Hungry as he felt, Calistin was more interested in information than eating. He sat in front of his meal but waited only until Amazir took his seat before turning to confront the elder. "And now, torke, my answers, please."
Amazir laughed, then sobered an instant later. "I imagine the first thing you wish to know is…"
Calistin expected the old Renshai to start with his name, so the elder's next words caught him by surprise.
"… about your soul."
The enticing aroma of the meal seemed to utterly disappear. Calistin could only stare in shock and anticipation. "You… you know…? I… do I have… one?"
All humor left the old man's face. "I'm afraid not."
Calistin's original source had seemed infallible, yet he had still hoped he had misunderstood. "I really don't? How can that be?" He glanced at Treysind, who took a sudden, inordinate interest in eating. He wondered if the boy should be privy to the conversation at all.
Amazir was not the type to dismiss Treysind's presence and speak openly by accident. He had, thus far, been overly solicitous of the boy. If he believed Treysind should hear this, then Calistin would not argue. "I presume you know that your parents saved the world from a sterility plague."
Calistin nodd
ed. He knew the general story. Dark elves had inflicted the plague upon humankind, and the light elves had assisted in its lifting. The task had taken Kevral, Ra-khir, and some friends to multiple worlds, including that of the gods. "I was there," he said cryptically, testing Amazir.
The old Renshai smiled. "In utero, yes." He studied Calistin's face as he continued, "It soon became clear that the plague only took effect when a woman cycled. In an attempt to maintain humankind that some considered cruel and others heroic, pregnant women were expected to carry another child as soon as possible after delivery. Others attempted to fertilize young women shortly before they officially became… young women."
Calistin cringed at the thought. He doubted those young innocents had much choice in the matter.
"I'm not condoning what they did, Calistin; but desperation can force otherwise good people into making decisions that might seem appalling in normal circumstances. And it also opens the way for evil to do what comes naturally." Amazir cleared his throat but did not touch his food. "Kevral had just given birth to the twins when that truth became apparent."
Treysind continued to eat, but he did so randomly, his attention locked on the men.
"So she and Papa did their duty and had me right afterward." Calistin tried to move the story along. Though interested in his past, the soul issue currently intrigued him more. That, he had to know. "What happened to my soul, and how do I get it back?"
"Very well." Amazir shook his head with a hint of displeasure but skipped to the part Calistin had requested. "On one of those 'other worlds,' your parents discovered spirit spiders."
Treysind swallowed and finally spoke. "Spirit spiders?"
"They're a type of demon," Amazir explained. "Clothed in magic, they appear as they wish; but their natural form is giant, highly intelligent spiders. They feed on spirits, not blood. One bite robs a man not only of his life, but of his very soul."
Calistin shivered. It seemed the worst of all possible creatures. Even a glorious death in battle meant no place in Valhalla for their victims.
"And Kevral," Amazir finished, "was bitten."
It took a moment for those words to sink in. "My mother was bitten?"
"Yes."
"But… she lived."
"A miracle, it seemed at the time."
A sense of dread crept into Calistin, chilling through his marrow. "And she went to Valhalla." He felt certain of it; no one could convince him otherwise. He had seen her soul rise and speak, had seen the Valkyrie who took it.
To his surprise, Amazir did not dispute the assertion. "She did."
Treysind gasped, and with the sound understanding came to Calistin as well. "Because… it was… my soul that was eaten."
Amazir pursed his lips but did not need to speak. They all knew Calistin had spoken the truth.
"So…" Calistin suddenly found himself air-starved and realized he had forgotten to breathe. He gulped in a lungful of air. "… I… have no… soul."
"No soul," Amazir echoed, with only a hint of Calistin's angst.
"So… it's true. I'll never find…" Calistin had to force out the word that still filled his every ambition. "… Valhalla."
Amazir shook his head, though whether in agreement with the negative contention or in opposition to it, Calistin could not guess. "Longer ago than you want to know, a god once told me I would never reach Valhalla."
Calistin jerked his head up hopefully. "Was he right?"
Amazir stared. A smile edged across his lips. "I know I've slowed down a mite with age, but surely you don't think I'm dead."
"Of course." Calistin felt foolish in addition to devastated. "But… I mean… is he going to be right? Have you lost your soul, too?"
Amazir rose, his food still untouched. "Actually, he didn't give me a reason, simply told me I'd never make it there."
Assailed by a fog of desperation, utterly demoralized, Calistin could only ask, "So what… did you do?"
Amazir turned away to look out over the vast forest. "I chose not to believe him.To do otherwise meant abandoning the only thing that gave my life meaning. Intimidating enemies by stealing the promise of Valhalla is a trick invented by Renshai, you know, back in the days when we deliberately dismembered our foes."
Calistin's studies made him defensive. "But that was centuries ago."
"Yes."
"And also untrue." Calistin remembered when he had tried to prey on the dying Northman's superstitions, to no avail, right before a Valkyrie took him. Whether it occurs before, after, or during battle, loss of a limb or part does not bar a brave warrior from Valhalla."
"Yes." Amazir turned back to face Calistin. "And yet, the practice demoralized our enemies and, also, nearly resulted in our extinction. And haunts us to this day."
Now Calistin found himself equally monosyllabic. "Yes."
"My point is that I chose not to believe the god."
"The god was lying?"
"I did not say that." Amazir dropped to a crouch in front of Calistin. "I said I chose not to believe him. Because, no matter the truth of his assertion, I had no choice but to prove him wrong. Otherwise, I had lost all reason to fight, and fighting was all I knew. Besides, I had based much of life on doing what others pronounced impossible."
Warmth filled Calistin despite his distress. He had finally discovered a kindred soul, the only man in existence who shared the very features no one else seemed capable of understanding. And, yet, this man had appeared out of nowhere, unknown, when he should have been famous throughout every land, most especially to every Renshai. The thought stopped Calistin cold. "You're not real, are you? You're a figment of my imagination, how I picture myself in sixty or seventy years."
Treysind laughed, which startled Calistin. He had nearly forgotten the boy's presence. "He ain't no figment. Or if he is, I sees and hears it, too."
Calistin clung to the idea. Now that it occurred to him, he believed he saw a definite resemblance between this aged man and the one he saw in the mirror. "Then he's a lifelike projection sent by the gods to show me my future."
Amazir's expression turned cold. "I go where I wish; no one 'sends' me anywhere. I am not, and never will be, you. And I am brutally, unreservedly real as you will discover at your next practice."
Calistin could not help wincing. He'd already suffered more than enough pain from their last session.The sharper discomfort of bruises and lacerations were rapidly giving way to the ache and scream of overtaxed muscles. Years had passed since anyone, even himself, had driven him hard enough to leave him aching. He had come to believe that, no matter how hard or long he worked, he had moved beyond any ability to cause this kind of soreness. Amazir had proved him wrong. "Forgive the assumption, torke. It's just that we're in such great parallel."
"And not all of our similarities are coincidence," Amazir explained. "Because the Renshai leaders know potential and talent when they see it, and they train it accordingly.You and I are neither the first nor last Renshai to hold such promise."
"And the gods' pronouncing us both unable to attain Valhalla? How does that fit in with our training?"
"It doesn't," Amazir admitted. "But it's not coincidence either."
Where once despair threatened to overtake all, a glimmer of hope arose. "Is there a solution to my problem?"
"There is."
Calistin had to know. He would do absolutely anything to win back a chance at Valhalla. "What is it?"
But Amazir only rose and waved at Calistin's dinner. "Eat. You need the nourishment."
Calistin did not even glance at the meal. "You know I would give up food altogether for that answer."
"And you will get it," Amazir said, returning to his own piled meal. "In due time. When you've earned it by giving your all to your lessons." He sat, snagging a cold, roasted wing.
Calistin thought he might burst, yet he knew nagging his torke was as dangerous as it was foolish. Instead, he turned his attention to his meal and did as he was told.
Calisti
n had always drawn the hardest, most vigorous teachers. Even after he surpassed them, he had always driven himself to the point of exhaustion. Yet none of that compared to the technique, finesse, and plain bone-wearying detail he suffered with every lesson from his new torke. He bolted food without tasting it, too hungry to chew. He slept so deeply he could not remember lying down; and, always, his every moment filled with movement or memory of movement, and how to make it better.
What should have taken a day of travel took a week; and, at the end of it, Calistin finally took the time to insist, over another hastily devoured meal put together by Treysind, that Amazir tell him how a soulless man might reach Valhalla.
"Ironically, the answer lies," Amazir explained, "in the part of your story that you most believe you already know, the piece you skipped right over when we discussed how you lost your soul."
That particular conversation remained engraved, in vivid detail, in Calistin's memory. Nevertheless, he had to consider what his torke meant.
Amazir did not wait for Calistin's recollection, "You know you were conceived during the sterility plague, as near as possible to your brothers' births, to maintain your mother's fertility."
"Yes." It all seemed so foolish now. His mother had never borne another child, perhaps because she had birthed three children in the space of a year or, like many Renshai, she simply lived too violent and harsh a life to conceive or carry another baby. Infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirths were all a natural and common part of Renshai life. More miraculous, the actual births.
"And I told you that the plague had made many men desperate, stooping to acts of cruelty they would never have considered in ordinary circumstances to assure the continuation of humankind."
Calistin recalled all that, and nodded.
"And, as you can imagine, the kings were most distressed, and their loyal followers. For, if their line perished, they reasoned, who could possibly rule in their place?"
"Nearly anyone?" Calistin ventured. He did not hold the awe for bloodline that many did. His parents did not raise him to believe ancestry mattered much.
Amazir laughed. "As I agree, but others gain silly attachments to things of little import.To equate shared blood with love is to doom all of us to marrying our mothers and sisters. Yet, to the king of Pudar, blood meant a great deal. He had recently lost his beloved older son to murder, leaving no heir. He branded his younger son a fop and a fool, but no one else could sire the line. So, he imprisoned Kevral and forced her to lie with his younger son until she either cycled or was proved to be with child."
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