“I don't know if I ever thought about leaving,” Fiora added.
“That's a curious thing about Entwell,” Leo said.
“Mmm,” Fiora said. “Well, the mountain there—the one that the cave runs through—that's scattered through and through with fragments of casting stone, the crystal we use to focus magic. It makes it quite difficult to cast complex spells within the cave, and some of the other wizards suppose that it acts as a sort of dam, allowing mana to pool here in the village. Combined with the four major ley lines that meet here, it makes mystic manipulation very easy indeed. Perhaps that same quality has a focusing effect on the mind, increasing satisfaction and curiosity to the point that continuous study becomes an ideal for any who come here.” She turned the riddle over in her head. “The high levels of mana also make this place attractive to spirits, and spirits in turn have an affinity to the very strong of mind and single of focus. Perhaps they influence us to stay. Or perhaps it is simply that the very particular set of qualities that lead a person safely to this place are the same qualities that keep a person in this place. It could even be . . . why are you both staring at me? Doesn't the subject interest you?”
“I don't have the wizardly need to unravel the mysteries of the world. I was quite content to leave it at 'that's a curious thing about Entwell.' Now, if you'll excuse me, the throbbing is beginning to show its ugly head, and so I've decided that healer precedes meal. Will you be joining me? Or will you rely on time?”
“You could always learn a few healing spells,” Fiora suggested, “I understand it is one of the more frequent mystic disciplines that warriors like to add to their studies. And you are expected to add two mystic disciplines.”
“No.”
“Well, I suppose there is always the—oh, what is it called?” Fiora said.
“The Warrior's Sleep?” Leo supplied over his shoulder as he made his way toward the village. “I wouldn't recommend it if you want to keep your mind in once piece.”
“What is it?” Shadow asked.
“It is a sort of trance,” Fiora explained. “If you learn it properly, you can bring yourself very close to death, a sleep deeper than sleep, though your senses stay alert. It is enormously recuperative to the body. It does the work of hours of sleep, but in minutes. It speeds healing, too. We count it as a mystic discipline, but there is no real magic to it at all.”
Shadow considered her words for a moment. “Can you teach me?”
“Not me. You'd have to talk to Apprentice-to-the-Elder Ryala,” Fiora said with a yawn. “Sundown is still a few hours away. I'm going to have something to eat. I'll see you later for your lesson.”
As Fiora flitted away, Shadow hauled himself to his feet and coaxed his aching legs into taking him to the Elder's hut.
The inside of the hut, there was the same subdued chaos that always seemed to reign there. Today six heavily-armed warriors were in a very animated discussion. The Elder was listening quietly, leaving the keeping of order and civility in the hands of Ryala. She was speaking in a firm and authoritative voice, but things were quickly escalating. From what Shadow could determine with his growing understanding of the assortment of languages here, one of the masters of a very specific combat discipline had decided to pursue a new area of training; as such, his three top students would need to be assigned to a different master. The argument at hand was how precisely the hierarchy of apprentices would be adjusted. The current apprentices believed that the displaced ones should start at the bottom, while the displaced believed that they had earned top spots and should retain them. Presumably the discussion had begun with logic, but since then it had devolved through posturing, threats, and was now on the verge of violence.
“Warriors, you will comport yourself in a respectful and dignified manner, or you will forfeit the right to voice your grievance in the presence of the Elder,” Ryala stated.
The warning fell on deaf ears, and one by one the ring of steel could be heard, the two sets of apprentices taking up arms and selecting opponents. Their voices and weapons were raised. Ryala stepped between them, but they looked through her, eying their foes. With an almost imperceptible glance to her master, and a nod from him in return, she threw one hand to the side and opened her fingers. A beautifully ornamented quarterstaff launched itself from a stand beside the Elder's seat and planted itself firmly in her hand. With a graceful twirl of the staff, she delivered a jolting blow to the fingers of the most agitated of the warriors, prompting a cry of pain and knocking his weapon to the ground. Five more blows, strung effortlessly together, struck skillfully selected weak points of each of the disgruntled fighters, sending some of them sprawling and others into hunched over fits of profanity. In the space of a few heartbeats, she was the only one armed and upright.
“As you are behaving as first-day apprentices, you shall be treated as them. You shall all approach your master and request apprenticeship. All earned titles and honors are stripped from you until the Elder sees fit to restore them. His will is spoken. Now go,” she decreed.
When the shock and sting of the attacks passed, the scolded apprentices filed out of the hut. Ryala huffed a breath and straightened her garb. Shadow approached her and received a respectful nod of acknowledgment.
“Do you require an audience with the Elder?” she asked, walking back to beside the Elder and replacing her staff, as though the previous act was of little concern.
“I was told you would be able to teach me something called the Warrior's Sleep.”
One of her thin eyebrows arched. “You wish to learn the Warrior's Sleep? For what reason?”
He held up his ravaged hands.
“I would recommend you see our healers. The Sleep is not to be undertaken lightly.”
“I will not always have healers. One day I will leave this place.”
“Then become a healer yourself.”
“I am told the Warrior's Sleep can refresh me more quickly than normal sleep, and without leaving me defenseless.”
“That is true, but it does not come without a price.”
“I am accustomed to paying a high price for the things I need.”
Ryala drew in a slow breath. “Come with me,” she said.
The stately elf excused herself from the Elder's presence and led Shadow out into the courtyard. They continued to walk with no clear destination. As they walked, she spoke.
“In the lives of all beings, there are moments, memories, feelings of which we wish we could rid ourselves. To live our lives, we push these things aside. We banish them to the darkest recesses of our mind and soul. For most of us, that is enough. These things may haunt us in our weakest moments, but they are suppressed. Controlled. The Warrior's Sleep works wonders, but in doing so, it drags the consciousness deep inside, to the shadows in which we exile our fears and sorrows. If you learn the Warrior's Sleep, you will be forced to face this part of yourself. You will see the unmasked truth within you. For many, it is more than their sanity can withstand.”
“I am willing to face such a risk.”
“Why? What about the mystic arts are so distasteful to you that you would sooner subject yourself to this trial by fire?”
“I don't want any more power. I don't want to rely upon things larger than myself. The outside is not like this place. I survive there only if I can vanish into the shadows. Power makes me more visible to people like you. To pull upon forces beyond me . . . it would be a curse, not a blessing. I must be able to rely upon myself alone.”
Ryala considered the words. “It is an enlightened view. Come, to your hut, then. It helps to be someplace you feel most at ease.”
The pair made their way to his home. In the time he had been in Entwell, he had done nothing to make it his. If not for the dismantled lamp that Fiora had been using in his education and the most recent book she'd been coaching him through, one scarcely would have known someone lived there at all. The only addition he had made was a small chest filled with a change of clothes and a rack
containing the handful of weapons provided to him.
Ryala directed him to sit. He chose the floor. She sat in a chair behind him and spoke, her voice steady and deliberate. Over the course of many hours, she coached him, teaching him to clear his mind and withdraw it from the surface. He focused on the very most fundamental parts of himself—the rhythm of his heart, the coming and going of his breath. Session after session, she led him deeper, taught him to take control of these things, to slow them. Learning the sleep took time. It was no simple task.
Lessons became part of his routine, taking place after Fiora was through for the evening and lasting as long as Ryala was willing to remain. He pushed himself further each time, bringing his body closer to complete stillness, closer to death. As he did, he could feel the world around him drop away—yet, simultaneously, it became more vibrant and intense. He could hear every sound around him, smell every scent. He could feel the wind rustle his fur, and if he willed his eyes open, he could see as clearly as if he were fully awake.
In time, he began to feel the rejuvenation as well. The closer to death he pulled himself, the more quickly he felt the fatigue and injuries slip away. But, finally, there came the day that Ryala had warned about. He journeyed deep enough to find his demons.
Shadow had believed he was ready for what horrors might lurk in his mind when he was shut away deep within himself. He knew the images of his worst crimes. He had endured them in a dozen nightmares throughout his life. What awaited him, he reasoned, could not be worse. He was wrong. The sights, the sounds, the scents. They were all there for him, the horrid day on the plantation playing itself over . . . but with them came the feelings, the emotions that had been mercifully blotted from his mind by the intensity of the moment. He felt the anger, the hate at what had been done to him and those like him. But there was more. There was exhilaration, unbridled glee in delivering the justice so richly deserved.
He hadn't just performed these evils . . . he had enjoyed them.
When he pulled himself from the trance, Ryala was there with him. His eyes were wide, his breathing harsh. It felt as though his soul was on fire, his mind doused in scalding water. The Apprentice to the Elder looked into his eyes. With a knowing look, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I can see in your eyes that you have witnessed the worst of yourself. You are to be applauded for pulling yourself back from it. Many before you have been lost to such sights, ending themselves rather than enduring them. Are you prepared to face such things each time you choose to use the Warrior's Sleep?”
He looked down and slowly caught his breath. Outside, the sun had moved only slightly. Mere minutes had passed, but he felt more energized than he had upon first rising. Now he looked to his arm, where a poorly blocked blow with a training sword had left him swollen and bruised the day before. Now even the soreness was gone. Finally, he looked to her.
“I cannot change what I am. But I can become more. Thank you.”
“Do not thank me. I only hope you use it well, and you continue to rise above the things that it shows you.”
Ryala stood. Her work was done, and so she took her leave. For Shadow, it was only the beginning.
Chapter 27
In the blink of an eye, Shadow's training had been in progress for four years. In that time, he studied under more than a dozen of the masters. Foregoing proper sleep entirely in favor of the Warrior's Sleep, he gained hours a day, but it was agonizing. Each time he used it, his mind seemed to dredge up a new horror, a new truth best left a mystery. The reward, though, was considerable. He worked from sunrise to sunset, developing his skills in every type of weapon and every style of combat he could. He earned praise from masters for his progress with weapons ranging from the bow and arrow to whips, from axes to clubs. He had no interest in titles or honors, maintaining each apprenticeship only long enough to fully grasp the key elements of the style or weapon, then continuing his studies on his own. He honed his body, adding as much strength as he could to his already considerable stamina. To fulfill his second mystic requirement, he had runes tattooed to give him a measure of resistance and learned to suppress and hide the “powerful soul” that the other wizards seemed so keen to praise.
He spent more and more of his time in or near his hut as the months crawled on, retreating from the others and isolating himself. He never socialized, and even after years in Entwell, he continued to take his meals at times when he could be assured he could do so alone.
The one discipline he never abandoned in favor of personal study was stealth. In their time working as partners, Shadow managed to become Leo's equal in nearly all aspects of the art. Likewise Leo had become one of only two people in all of Entwell who was ever able to sneak up on Shadow. The two climbed head and shoulders above their peers.
While the other masters had a small number of tactics and techniques, with their training focused on attaining perfection in these skills, Weste seemed to have an endless list of elements that he considered key to the stealth arts, parts of the art of assassination that had nothing to do with combat. He taught how to observe, to glimpse at a scene and learn every detail. He taught how to unlock doors, to use grappling hooks to scale walls.
Shadow excelled at most, but one continuously eluded him. It was a test that came rarely and suddenly, always with Weste uttering the same request.
“Show me Leo,” Weste said.
Shadow snapped an eye toward him. At the sound of his name, Leo turned as well, and upon realizing what was occurring he marched over and smiled wide, crossing his arms.
“Yes, my friend, show us Leo,” he said.
“I still fail to see the value that this skill could ever have to me,” Shadow objected.
“It is very simple, but I will restate it if I must. In the world of a spy or assassin, there will inevitably come a time when simple observation will not provide you with all of the information you seek. When such a time comes, you must interact. No disguise you can apply, not even a great one, will withstand face to face scrutiny for very long. You must thus learn to disguise yourself from within. Adopt the mannerisms of someone deserving of trust and respect.”
“Perhaps that is possible for a human, or even an elf. You and I both know that a glimpse is all it will ever take to label me a beast. This is a skill with no use to me.”
Weste gave him a stern look. “There is no limit to the capacity of a person to see what they wish to see. If you show them something that they can trust, then they will trust it.”
“In all fairness, Master Weste, the task is not equal,” Leo said. “When I am asked to show you him, I need only become distant and taciturn.” Leo adopted what could only be described as a foxy expression, then turned his head down and deepened his voice. “Speak quietly. Sparingly. Keep to myself. Do not look at people. Measure them instead.”
His changes were subtle, but uncanny. The voice didn't sound much like Shadow's, but there was something in his posture, in the way that he moved his head and formed his words that made it unmistakable who he was intended to be. Most impressive of all, though, was that it did not seem unnatural. He didn't seem to be impersonating someone else, he seemed to be someone else. The first time Shadow had seen it, he'd felt strangely exposed, as though the skill with which Leo had been able to assume his own identity was evidence that he'd been too open, given too much of himself away.
“I'll ask you again. Regardless if you respect them or not, you do not have the luxury of deciding which of my teachings are worth your while. It is one of the only tests you've failed to show due dedication. Show me Leo,” Weste said.
Shadow eyed his teacher savagely, breathing slow and deep.
“Then you are not ready,” Weste said.
“No hard feelings, friend. We can't all have the dedication to perfect every skill,” Leo said. “Have you eaten, Master Weste? I'd like to have a word with you, if I may . . .”
Master Weste and Leo walked away, Leo chatting idly about what weapon would be b
est suited for the next stage of his combat training. Weste nodded and paced along beside him, commenting where appropriate. Shadow followed. With each step, a gradual change came over him. It began at his feet. His ankles relaxed, dropping him down from his tense, coiled gait into a casual and easy one. His hunted and guarded posture became more leisurely, arms loose at his sides, thumbs hooked into the straps beside his belt. He slouched his shoulders and stepped with a bit more rhythm and sway. By the time Leo and the master were halfway to the dining hut, Leo had become visibly uneasy. He turned to find Shadow walking with his precise mannerisms. With a bemused look, Leo stopped and faced Shadow. The malthrope tipped his head, and looked up. On his face was an open, friendly grin.
Shadow spoke, and when he did it was with a warm, outgoing sincerity. “I am sorry to interrupt, Master Weste, but you were absolutely right. It has been nothing less than a pleasure to study under you for these past few years, and I would be doing myself a grave disservice if I were to disregard even a word of your sage advice. I trust that you will forgive my disrespect. I shall endeavor to devote the full measure of my focus and dedication to this task as I have all others, and it is my great hope that I will rise to meet your flattering expectations of me.” All at once, like a veil dropping, his rigid and guarded features returned, complete with a smoldering glare. “Do not question my dedication.”
Leo's eyebrow's raised and his mouth fell open. He offered a slow, genuine clap of his hands. “That was just this side of terrifying, my friend. I am honored by the performance.”
Master Weste nodded. “Well done.”
Shadow held the master in his gaze. “I've shown you everything you've asked. I've learned to the best of my ability, and matched the best the others could offer, in each new skill you've presented.”
“You have.”
“When you first came to me, you told me that I have a blind spot. It is one that you exploit without fail. In the years that I've been training under you, I've helped Leo to find that blind spot, and I've helped Sama come as close as I believe he is capable. I have found a matching blindness in countless others. You have never given me so much as a word of advice on how to eliminate my own. I am satisfied that I can fight, and I am satisfied that I can track. The warrior I am now is the one I hoped to become. Outside of this place, there is a task waiting to be done, but I will not feel prepared to take that task on again until you show me how to eliminate this weakness. I feel I've earned that.”
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 188
