All these things Corin took with equanimity unless he thought something a waste of time. The first time he refused with this excuse, Anoni had been within hearing distance and had to put herself in between the arguing Arjent and Corin. She had held Corin off with a hand on his chest. She could feel his chest muscles twitching under his simple cotton shirt. It distracted her for a moment before she looked up into his eyes. He was ready to take a swing at Arjent, but he fought the urge when it came to slugging the leader of the Dragons.
She held his gaze. “Listen, Arjent is the best survivor I know. Even better than me. If he thinks you need to know this, he has a reason. Ask why before you balk.” With that she pushed him back a few steps. “Calm down. We’re all edgy nowadays. Both of you, walk it off. It’s time to go.” For a moment he just looked at her, then took an angry breath and walked away.
After that he watched Anoni out of the corner of his vision as the verbal lessons and the physical training continued. She found her own gaze drifting over to him when she wasn’t thinking about it. It was distracting to find her eyes meeting his blue ones at odd moments in a conversation. More than once, it was catching him looking at her that gave Pelaki the opportunity to tip her again. His eyes were speaking, but she couldn’t tell what they said.
On the third night, Anoni and Nekobashi were training beside the fire, Nekobashi with a training spear and Anoni with a short wooden training sword. Copelia hooted encouragement from the sidelines until her brother sternly told her to shut up. In a smooth motion, Nekobashi used the longer reach of the spear to make a shot at Anoni’s head. She ducked under, rolled to the side and was up again before Nekobashi could take advantage. Corin watched from beside Vansainté. The spear’s glossy wood flashed in the firelight.
“You would think he would need a longer sword to fight a spear,” muttered Corin. He watched as Mizrahi smiled, executing another roll.
“You are looking with your eyes. You have to sense with everything you are, and think about what you sense,” explained Anoni. She got in under Nekobashi’s guard and rapped his kneecap, then rolled away. “My sword will never be as long as a spear, so I must think around his weapon and get in under the guard. In doing that, a short sword is faster and more maneuverable.” Nekobashi took advantage of her momentary distraction of talking to get in a rib shot that connected in a glancing blow.
“I don’t understand,” Corin said. “I mean about the sensing.”
“Hold,” she held a hand up to Nekobashi, then bowed to him to end the match. Both of them were warm with the exertion. “Here, let’s go sit down.”
She led Corin a little ways away, and sat doing hamstring stretches for her cooling muscles. He sat cross-legged across from her. She glanced up at him and said, “You’re learning martial arts, you should learn all of it.”
“I am listening,” said Corin.
“Part of what makes Oruno graduates so good at what they do is that our masters have been studying strategy and the physical and philosophical roots of the fighting arts for many years. When you become a warrior, you are becoming a different kind of person than you were. You are taking in hand your personal power. They call it Jiriki, the power of each individual that emanates from within themselves. Part of our power is our senses. Ken is the sight of the physical, from the eyes. Kan is farther perception, beyond physical sensing. It involves using all of your mind, all your instincts and spirit to sense things.”
He pondered. “It seems strange coming from you. What I have seen of you is contradictory. You are well trained, but reckless, and well...you have a reputation for drinking and I’ve seen you lose your temper pretty spectacularly. What you’re talking about sounds more like a religion or one the theomanic orders.”
She smiled. “That is ken. Having been in my company and seen my work, do you think I am crazy? Or reckless?”
“I’ll have to wait to answer that. The committee’s still out on that.” He gave a lopsided grin.
“But you trust me.” She shooed a mosquito away.
“All right, yes.”
“That’s a start. The rest is impression and what they called utsuraseru. ‘To let others catch’ in one of the old fighting tongues. I appear drunkenly, and it lures our enemies into false security and they become lax as a result. They catch it from me.”
“You make it sound simple, but it isn’t,” he protested.
“Now you start to understand.” She smiled, standing. “You were frustrated before, because you thought the falling techniques Arjent wanted to show you were a waste of time. You were thinking of how it appears to be a rich lord in silks diving into the mud, weren’t you?” asked Anoni.
He laughed self-consciously and nodded, getting up.
“Look with kan, not ken, and you’ll get it,” said Anoni.
CHAPTER 8
Sea Road, North of Skevelia
Anoni
When Anoni got to sleep sometime later, she dreamed. She poled a shallow drafted skiff across a glassy lake, the water reflecting a huge white moon. There was a great shadowed tree standing in the water. As she got closer, she saw the prince standing on the low branch, dressed in a many-layered court robe. The robe layers were blues and greens and bronzes. He called out to her, pointing at something, and lost his footing, plunging into the water like a peacock. The robes held him down. She dove from the boat, sinking quickly because of her heavy chain mail. She dove down into the darkness and found him wallowing. She pulled him out of the robes, frantic, running out of air. Finally, he came free. But now she couldn’t rise. He pulled her from the chain mail. Body to body they rose. They weren’t going to make it. They were going to drown. She felt something grab her ankles, grab him to, pulling them upward. Finally, they broke surface and were deposited on the gnarled roots of the tree. The branches that had saved them wavered, then rose, returning to the canopy of the tree. She turned in startled wonder, and he was there looking just as scared as she. They clung to one other.
The water was drying from her skin when she heard a soft alien noise, a familiar rustle. She left his arms, rolling fast and coming awake with a dagger pointed at Copelia’s startled face as the girl knelt beside her.
“I...was sleepwalking,” Copelia offered hopefully.
In a split moment Anoni absorbed that she was still in her disguise, thank the Goddess, and Copelia’s hands were full of silver rings. Anoni recognized them as her own relic rings, part of the set with her moonpearl mail, which she had left in the top of a pack by the door.
“Put those down and get out,” Anoni growled, rolling to her feet. She didn’t put the dagger away. She wasn’t in the mood. “OUT NOW.”
“B-but...I—” stuttered Copelia.
Anoni pulled the rings out of her hands, scattering them in the tent. She shoved the girl bodily toward the door. She concentrated on a communion stone and let forth a torrent of curses at full volume into Vansainté’s mind. Anoni gave the girl one more hard shove out the door, and a startled Vansainté was there to catch her on the other side. “Vansainté!” commanded Anoni.
“Yes, boss!” Vansainté dragged his sister away.
Anoni let out an explosive breath. Grinding her teeth in exasperation, she carefully sheathed the dagger and went to collect the silver rings.
***
Saltwater Marsh
Anoni
The next evening, she watched Corin’s slow movements in the training pattern. His shirt was off and sweat glimmered on his skin in the last light from the sun. It was their last night before hitting Lyceo, the doorway to the Safiro Wilds. They were camped in the saltwater marsh on the cobblestone bridge built over the water. The bridge was Old Tech. As the only solid ground within a day’s ride, the bridge was their campsite of the night. None of them looked forward to quite literally sleeping on stone, not to mention the bugs were murderous.
The Dragons were doing exercises or mending tack around the fire. Nekobashi and Arjent were teaching a pouting Copelia about staves. Th
e huge draping marsh trees stood like monoliths in the water. The light was pink and orange and it washed over the smooth, gray cobblestones for the last moments before the night. Corin stood in nothing but his loose pants, boots and socks removed, taking the measured steps of a Jaika meditation pattern. His bare feet slid across the stones first in a step forward, and then back into the guard stance. Anoni was almost mesmerized. “He’s come a long way in a few days,” Vansainté said, coming up beside her.
“Yes. Something drives him,” she said, still watching the precision of the dance.
Vansainté poked her on the shoulder. “Stop drooling. If you want to see a bit of man-flesh, you have your tried and trusted band to supply it.”
Anoni frowned in half outrage. “I am not drooling!”
Vansainté smiled, “Yah ri-ight. Just making sure he’s doing it right, eh?”
She shot him a devilish look, and sighed. “He’s doing something right.” She watched as Corin finished the pattern and sat down to stretch.
Vansainté just rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he must have done something similar in the past. He’s taking to it like a clam to chowder. He’s got talent,” Vansainté said. He swatted a mosquito on his neck. “Have you heard from Alcyenne?”
“I was just about to check. Make sure Nekobashi doesn’t sneak that fermented cabbage stuff into the soup,” said Anoni.
Vansainté gave her a mock salute and went to guard their supper. Anoni walked past where the men gathered around a fire built with wood they had brought with them and went to lean on the wall of the bridge a little distance away. The walls on each side of the bridge were a little under waist high. She faced the sunset. She leaned forward on her elbows, letting the wall take her weight and looked down at the water. It was opaque with mud and the sunset. A breeze stirred the long trailing branches of a clump of trees, the closest almost touching the bridge. She angled away from them and closing her eyes, she concentrated on the temple.
Alcyenne? Are you there? thought Anoni.
Scion, I am always here. And always busy. What do you want?
Report! How goes the vigil?
Fine. My acolytes are jumping at shadows because your hulking idiots with the spiritual capability of bricks are following them around, stepping on their robes, Alcyenne complained. One tried to follow tonight’s altar priestess into the ritual purification bath. Said he was trying to keep her safe. Ha.
Anoni sighed. Oh Goddess, which one was it? I’ll give him something to think about!
Don’t bother, I already gave it my attention. He’ll be praying very hard for the next few days.
Anoni couldn’t help from laughing. The poor soldier had gotten much more than he bargained for. Hopefully, he wouldn’t desert the cause over it. Alcyenne’s punishments were a unique and frightening experience. He would never make a pass at a pretty priestess ever again.
Everything else in the temple is fine. Alcyenne said conversationally, What are your measurements? I was thinking of having a dress made for you.
What? asked Anoni.
“Hello,” Corin said close above her. Anoni started, spinning and trying to draw a dagger, and nearly overbalanced off the bridge. After a long painful moment of staring at the water so far below, hand scrabbling for a hold, she was finally able to pull herself back on.
“Whoa. Sorry,” apologized Corin, guiltily.
Part of what had caught her so off guard was that he was speaking from the high branches of the one of the trees. He was casually lounging in a crook with one arm and one leg holding him, still shirtless.
Anoni waved his concern away with a gasped, “I’m fine. Just fine.” Her own quivering muscles and faltering breath betrayed her words. “What are you doing up there?”
He smiled a little boy smile. “They were perfect for climbing.”
“Come down?” It came out more of a question than she intended, but her dream was strongly reminding her of bad endings to this scenario.
“All right.” He reeled in a bunch of the hanging branches, wrapped an arm in them and leaped, swinging in a wide arc down toward the bridge. Mouth open at his daring stupidity, Anoni grabbed his outstretched arm to help him make it onto the wall, but he misjudged the timing and stumbled forward, ankles caught on the wall. She braced herself, catching his shoulder and twisting and stopping him as he fell back toward the cobbles. They were face to face, jammed together almost as if she had been dipping him like a lady in a court dance. There was a moment where they met each other’s gaze, close and ragged, his bare flesh against her clothed one.
“Got it?” asked Anoni.
He blinked, then nodded, and she backed him away from the wall so his feet could find the ground. As she stepped away from him, she dropped his hands and tried to act casual. He smelled good, and now it was going to bug the hell out of her. Forever. And he still saw her as a man because of her disguise. She swallowed. “How is the training?”
He checked the scratches on his ankles one at a time tottering like a flamingo. “Good, but um...a few more kinks to work out...” He was definitely blushing. “Jaika is tough. Wix could beat the palace tutors in his sleep.”
“He’s the only thing that got me through hand-to-hand class in Oruno.” She gave him a crooked smile.
“Yet, you made Red Dragon and he didn’t,” he wondered.
Now her grin was genuine. “That’s because I’m the only thing that got him through sword practice,” she said smugly. They shared a chuckle, and she noticed she felt almost like they were friends. Or that they could be friends. She didn’t have a lot of them, didn’t make them easily, and she knew she put her handful of good friends through hell. Most of them were risking their lives on this crazy quest because she asked them to. “Come on, let’s see if Nekobashi’s ruined the soup yet.”
When they had almost reached the others she added in a conversational tone, “The tree thing...you get definite points for the endeavor.”
A shy smile crossed Corin’s face just as Vansainté announced the soup was ready.
***
Saltwater Marsh
Corin
Corin took another spoonful of the soup into his mouth, rolling it around for the flavor. Simple fare, but savory and good. Wix had put curry and raisins to the beef and onions, and Nekobashi had diligently kept it from burning. There was cornbread baked on the fire in a cast iron frying pan, dense and yellow and hearty. It was filling. Corin’s appetite had grown as he worked his muscles harder than he ever had before. He worked them until he was shaky, but it made him feel more alive than he ever had before. He finished the last bit of soup and put the bowl on the ground.
He studied the blunt-fingered hands, which had not been his until about a week previous. He felt a new strength in them. He wanted to climb those marsh trees till it was too dark to see. The exhilarating swing down had been amazing, even if he hadn’t gotten the landing right. He chuckled to himself. He would have crashed to the cobblestones and lost half his teeth without Mizrahi’s great catch. He could still feel the Dragon’s corded muscles under his hands.
In his hours in the palace he had never been touched. He was always the Imperial Prince, dressed by the gloved impersonal hands of servants. Never allowed to run and climb trees for fear he would hurt himself. The only exercise considered proper for a prince was sparring with Markham in the practice yards and the discrete hours he had spent in bed with Delis and others. He pulled back from that thought, confused by the sensory overlay.
Combat and swords, he thought determinedly. Swords had always been a dead thing in his hand. Clumsy, he couldn’t connect with it. He couldn’t get it to move as part of his body, like Markham and the Red Dragon could. Goddess, Mizrahi looked like he’d been born with it attached and the healers had cut them apart for appearances sake.
‘Mustn’t frighten the peasants with baby-swordhands here.’
He flashed back on the Audience chamber, how close they had been in combat. A warm, cocky bit of self-knowledge bub
bled up. He might have slipped with the sword and hurt Vansainté, but when he had given in to his instincts to drop the sword, he had been able to give the Red Dragon a wakeup call. In that moment, he had done the right thing.
The Jaika training reconnected him to a part of himself he had not felt in so long he had forgotten it even existed. The only sighting of it had been those few weeks as a child when one of the masters had begun to teach him hand to hand fighting. It felt right. No more ungainly dead steel. Just pressures, forces, balance, and joints and muscles. It made him feel one with himself, like the Jiriki Mizrahi had mentioned. The sensing was working better as well. He was aware of his body, himself, and more and more, the people and things around him.
The Imperial Prince had never admitted to himself that anyone else was important enough to truly empathize with them. He realized now that in not admitting, not thinking, he had spent his time trying to be what he thought the Highlords and the court gossips expected. He had never felt so real as he did now. And he was determined to use this new self, this new power, to survive this Ordeal, and the greater threat of the Shaisos. He would do it at Mizrahi’s side.
It was strange. The man watched him, and Corin couldn’t help but return the favor. Earlier envy had changed to simple appreciation. Mizrahi was grace in motion, but now Corin sensed deep-seeded pain that seeped out the edges of his prickly composure. Mizrahi’s head was a storm in a jar. Contradictions of duty and apparent emotions made an enthralling puzzle to figure out. Corin was pondering Mizrahi as if he was the cat, and the dark-haired Dragon was the mouse. Idly, he found himself wanting to spar with him, test his physical limits, get in close and feel that storm let out around him. Maybe a rematch is in order...He snorted. And maybe I’ve taken too many punches to the head.
A Glimmer on the Blade Page 14
