by B. T. Narro
The energy came back from the other direction. The sand and dust from the air gave it a faint yellow color, bending the image of the wall behind it. Basen braced himself as it slammed into his side. God’s mercy, it was strong, plucking him off the ground. He let go of the sword so as not to stick himself and landed on all fours like a cat.
Before he could get up, the cushiony energy pressed him down onto the warm sand. He squirmed to try to free himself, but it felt as if a thousand heavy quilts had been tossed on top of him. He flipped onto his back and pushed with all four limbs. The energy didn’t feel too different from fatty flesh as he tried to rip it apart, soon discovering it was stuck together completely.
Finally he rolled out from it and was free. He grabbed the wand from the holder on his belt and turned toward Neeko while gathering bastial energy. But what Basen saw made him put up his hands and laugh. “I give up.”
Neeko had taken Basen’s sword and floated it between them, its tip aimed toward Basen’s chest. Neeko’s arm veered and the sword swung to the side. Then Neeko bent his elbow and thrust out his arm, and the sword shot like an arrow toward a wall. Neeko let out a grunt as it stopped short. He pulled his arm toward his stomach, and the sword floated back to him. He grabbed it out of the air and returned it to his sheath.
Basen lifted his hands to clap, noticing others doing the same, but Neeko had another trick for them. He lifted both arms, then brought his elbows to his sides. He took off into the air without moving his limbs in the opposite way a bird might look while diving into the ocean for a fish.
“What in god’s world?” was all Basen could mutter as Neeko soared toward the clouds. Everyone in the audience was muttering as he rose higher than the stadium…and kept going.
Basen shielded his eyes from the sun as Neeko finally slowed his ascent. He veered toward the Redfield tower, then toward the opening where Basen had taken the book to read about Fatholl. Neeko tucked in his legs and landed safely inside. He turned and waved.
Basen applauded with the rest, wondering how dangerous that was. Neeko had made it look easy, as it probably was to him now. But he had to have practiced for countless days, months, maybe even years to get to that point. Some of his trials must’ve threatened his life, but he had much to show for it now.
Along with the awe on people’s faces, Basen noticed the same jealousy he felt. There were many people who would choose to fly if granted one wish.
Neeko floated up out of the tower in the same way someone would lift a pup by the fur on the back of his neck, then arced down toward them. He started slow, showed a burst of speed, then slowed again before his feet touched the sand. He was huffing and sweating.
“Now teach us how to do that,” Basen teased, making Neeko and most others laugh.
Unfortunately, Basen soon learned Neeko wasn’t as skilled at teaching as he was at manipulating pyforial energy. After those who’d only come for a demonstration left, Neeko had everyone sit or kneel on the hard, gravelly sand.
Neeko explained that moving pyforial energy was nothing like moving the wind. “We don’t know how to do that, so that comparison will only confuse you. Instead, think of turning a crank as you try to move the sand with py. You should feel your mind latch onto something, like your hand grabbing the handle of the crank. There should be some resistance as you move the py across the sand.”
That was nearly all he had to offer, all of his wisdom poured into a short introduction. Whenever people asked questions, he found a different way to repeat the same information. After a couple hours, a fourth of the people had thanked Neeko and left.
All Basen could feel was bastial energy. He knew Shara was a mage, and when his back and ass needed a reprieve, he went to stand beside her. She didn’t notice him, too focused on the sand as she put a finger to each temple.
“Hello,” Basen said.
She tilted her head back and squinted. “Hello?”
“I’m not having any luck. As a fellow mage, I was wondering if I could bother you for a moment.”
“Yes, I need a break.” She stood and stretched her back.
“All I can feel is bastial energy,” Basen said. “Is it the same for you?”
“Yes. I believe it’s more difficult to reach the breakthrough point with pyforial energy for mages who’ve specialized in other energies.”
“That’s disappointing. How long have you been trying to learn?”
“Since we arrived here a few days ago.” She looked over at Neeko, then lowered her voice. “I’m beginning to think I would be of more use elsewhere, but so many have come and left already. I don’t want to insult him.”
Basen nodded. “It’s too bad. I was hoping you might have some advice.”
“None. Sorry.”
“Thank you anyway.”
Basen started off but stopped when she spoke up. “What you said at our cabin…” She glanced at Neeko again, then lowered her voice. “What you said about the Academy…made us think about our lives differently. Did you…exaggerate when you spoke of how you’ll fight to your last breath to make sure Tauwin doesn’t remain king?”
“Nothing I said was an exaggeration. He murdered the family of the girl I—” He caught himself. “I would fight against him or anyone like him. I should’ve done more to stop my uncle, and every day I’m thankful I have the chance now to fight against Tauwin. My whole family is here at the Academy now, Shara. This is the best place for them, and I believe it’s the best place for you and Neeko, and anyone else who stands for justice.”
Neeko joined them and asked, “Any luck?”
“I think you would hear me squeal—nay, the warriors on Warrior’s Field would hear me squeal, if I was able to move py,” Shara replied.
“I might not squeal quite as loud,” Basen said, “but you would hear me as well.”
Neeko chuckled. “I get it.” He sighed. “I wish I knew how to teach better.”
“Perhaps this is something many of us are incapable of learning,” Basen said. After speaking with Shara, he’d already made the decision to leave. “I hope you don’t take offense that I might not return after lunch.”
“I don’t,” Neeko said, though the way his gaze shifted to the ground hinted at disappointment.
“Even if no one else can do anything with pyforial energy, we all know what you can do,” Basen told him. “You’re one of the most valuable people here. God’s mercy, you helped save my mother’s life. I’m indebted to you.”
Neeko smiled. “It’s all right.”
Basen politely smiled in return, but no, it wasn’t all right. He would do something for Neeko, no matter what it took.
Lunch hours began soon after that. Basen looked for his mother in the dining hall but only found his father.
“Where’s Mother?”
Henry stood, grinning like a fool, and grabbed Basen’s shoulder. “She’s helping the kitchen staff. They’re all overworked. We’re proud of you. Do you know what she told me when she heard of your accomplishments? She said you’re becoming more like me.”
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Basen teased.
“Be serious,” his father responded, losing the smile. “You’ve learned to speak and plan like a commander. These aren’t lessons you’ve been taught. It must be in your blood.”
“You mean the same blood Tegry had?”
Henry frowned. “Don’t take that attitude, Basen.”
His father was right. Basen wasn’t sure why he was being unappreciative. His father was complimenting him, after all, even if it didn’t quite sound like it.
“I’m sorry, and you’re right as always. In fact, I’m thinking of starting some sword lessons, as it has become abundantly clear that the blade is almost as useful to me as my wand.”
“I will speak with Warrior Sneary immediately.” Henry glanced around, looking ready to run off. “You’ll be put with the Group One warriors where you belong.”
Basen groaned. I shouldn’t have mentioned any
thing. “Actually, I was thinking instead that I would speak with Abith.”
“I told you to stop joking.”
“I’m not.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After Henry was unsuccessful in talking Basen out of his decision to speak to Abith, he convinced Basen to at least wait until tomorrow. Henry would speak to Terren first to ensure there were no political problems with his son seeking instruction from the rebel swordsman.
Basen wouldn’t tell his father he wasn’t just seeking sword training. Abith had piqued his curiosity by mentioning his potential, and Basen was beginning to see that Abith was correct about the regular Academy instructors being unable to help him reach it. Basen didn’t blame Jackrie or Penny. They would train him well, if he gave them the chance, and he was certain they would do everything in their power to keep him alive through battle, as they did for all their students. But recent events had made Basen believe there was more to training than perfecting his fireball and increasing his stamina.
For one, he now knew about pyforial energy. He probably would never have a grasp on it, but just the fact that it was there, and that there was at least one man who could do extraordinary things with it, made Basen believe there had to be other abilities he could attempt. He just had to create an opportunity to discover them.
Abith fought with such speed that Basen figured there was something else to his skill, and he had an idea what it was. Basen had seen a hint of it after endurance day during his first week at the Academy. Cleve—a man as large as some of the smaller male Krepps—had been the first warrior to finish the run. Reela had mentioned that Cleve used bastial energy to feed power to his limbs. She hadn’t quite said it like that, but Basen couldn’t think of it any other way.
Of course Abith wouldn’t teach his mages how to use bastial energy to fight better with a sword. Mages were to stay out of the fray and cast fireballs in support, one of the reasons male mages were regarded with less honor than swordsmen. But there was no doubt in Basen’s mind that Abith used bastial energy in the same way Cleve did, only better. Cleve wasn’t a mage, after all. He didn’t have the same skill over bastial energy that Abith did. Or that I do.
Because Basen would be running, jumping, and otherwise making a fool of himself, he wanted privacy to see what he could do with the energy. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anywhere like that with sufficient space. Even outside the Academy’s walls, he would be seen by the wall guards and any enemies watching from the Fjallejon Mountains.
Unfortunately, it was his best option.
He went up the ramp to get atop the northern wall. At only ten feet tall, it clearly wasn’t constructed with the idea it would hold off hordes of enemies. But it was still high enough that Basen needed a way back up without bothering the guards to open the gate for him, so he brought a rope.
A wall guard eyed him suspiciously. Basen asked the man, “Can I tie this to the parapets so I can climb back up after I’m done training?”
“Why don’t you train on Warrior’s Field with the rest of the swordsmen?”
“Because I’m not a warrior.”
“Then what are you doing with that sword?”
This guard clearly wasn’t present during the recent Redfield announcement. Basen saw no way around it, so he explained he was a mage who wanted to hone his skills with the sword in hopes of joining the warriors. It was only half true. While he might fight beside them, he didn’t see himself sparring with Krepps and men like Cleve and Peter.
Basen made a mental note to ask Cleve how Peter was faring now that he’d joined forces with Tenred. Basen had gone a while without thinking of Peter, the young man he’d almost killed. Basen couldn’t imagine Alabell would ever become as distant in his thoughts. Everything reminded him of her. His pulse increased whenever her image strolled unbidden through his mind.
“You should train elsewhere,” the guard told him. “If it must be outside these walls, then go over to the western wall.”
But this was closest to the dining hall, where Basen would return when he was done, and the Academy was enormous, the western wall a mile away.
“Why?” Basen asked. The last thing he wanted was to get in an argument with a wall guard, but walking a mile and then back seemed like a waste of time. He was eager to get started and see what he could do with bastial energy. He’d never tried moving it into his limbs before.
“I can’t say.” The guard pointed to the west. “But I can’t allow you over this wall.”
That piqued Basen’s curiosity. He walked to the western wall, staying on the northern side of the Academy. When he arrived at the northwestern corner, he had to tell the wall guard there the same tale, but this one let him jump down.
Basen looped the rope around one of the parapets and dangled the other end over the wall. He didn’t need it to get down, but he would need it to climb back up.
The ground felt different outside the Academy. On this western side, there was a field of grass before the trees began, while the Fjallejon Mountains stretched out to block Basen’s view of the ocean he knew to be about ten miles away.
He drew his sword, then looked up to see if the guard was watching him. As they made eye contact, the guard looked away. No doubt he would be checking on Basen.
This would be embarrassing, but Basen would make sure it was worth it. His father might take more than a day to speak to Abith, as was common when Henry didn’t want to do something and thought he could get away with delaying it.
Terren had mentioned opportunities arising now that the Elves were gone, and Basen might be selected for something. It wasn’t that he wished to leave the Academy again—it was here that he truly believed he could get his best training done—but he might as well prepare just in case.
Before he began, he checked around the corner of the wall. He thought he saw someone jumping down near where he’d been earlier. The man wasn’t close enough for Basen to make out his features, but whoever he was, and whatever he was doing, he was the reason the guard didn’t want Basen over there.
Perhaps this was another student who felt he had more to learn training on his own. No, if that was the case, the wall guard wouldn’t have forced Basen to leave. This had to be an instructor if not someone higher up on the political scale.
Basen climbed back up the rope to get on top of the wall.
“Done already?” the nearby wall guard asked.
“For now.”
Basen walked along the base of the wall until he came to the ramp closest to the first wall guard, then went up.
“You again.” The man put up his hands for Basen to stop. “You shouldn’t be up here.”
Basen feigned confusion. “Why?” He came to the parapets and looked over the side.
Abith Max, a training sword in his right hand, had his fists on his hips as he smirked back up at Basen.
The guard’s rough hand grabbed Basen’s shoulder. “You don’t listen.” He pulled Basen away from the parapets, then pushed him toward the ramp. “You must leave.”
“Abith, what are you doing down there?” Basen called as he backed away from the guard.
“I told you to go!” The guard drew his sword. “I will throw you off this wall if I must.”
“You’re going to do that with your sword out?”
The guard’s mouth curled as he seemed undecided about whether to put his sword away. No doubt this was the most action he’d seen in a while.
“It’s fine,” Abith hollered. “Let him stay.”
The guard seemed annoyed by this request. He kept his sword up as he told Abith, “I don’t think you have the authority to decide that.”
Why wouldn’t Abith have the authority to let Basen stay with him? There were no rules about going over the wall at this exact spot, so why was this circumstance special?
“Are you seriously going to throw him off the wall?” Abith asked with a light laugh. “Just let him be.”
“Fine.” The guard slammed his sword back in
its sheath. “But I was against this.” He gave them no privacy as he stood still with his arms folded.
“Come down here, Basen,” Abith requested. He appeared happy to see Basen, but he always wore that proud smile.
Basen hopped down and had the strangest feeling they were about to duel. It wouldn’t matter that Basen had a real steel sword while Abith wielded a blunt one of wood. His former instructor could defeat him easily. Abith probably could defeat two of me.
“You impressed me with your sword fighting.”
Unsure why Abith was waiting for him to respond, Basen rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I suppose you impressed me as well.”
Abith laughed. “You know, Basen, you’re the first mage I’ve met who’s like me.”
“A number of things can follow that observation. Not many are good, so I hope you’re not about to insult us both.”
Abith tilted his head down to give Basen a knowing look as he produced a wand with his other hand. “I speak of your ability to cast and cut.”
“Anyone can cut.” Basen sliced his sword down between them. “Anyone with fingers to grip a sword.”
“But not many of them can defend themselves against me as long as you did.” His smile returned as he stepped toward Basen aggressively. Basen quickly fixed his sword to defend himself. But Abith merely chuckled and stepped back. “See, it’s in you. If I’d known you were this kind of fighter, our training sessions would’ve been different.”
“And what kind of fighter is that?”
“The kind that you and I are. I watched you spar with the others when you were younger.” He looked unimpressed as he flattened his mouth and shook his head. “I didn’t see anything amazing, but you’ve improved a lot since then.”
“So has Sanya, yet I don’t hear you mentioning her. What are you getting at?”
“Sanya? Who in god’s world is that?”
That’s right, Abith hasn’t met the new Sanya. Wait, they had to have met at some point in Tauwin’s castle. If not, he must at least remember her as an awful child in Tenred.
