by Guy Antibes
“Well said,” Mistokko said from above.
“Shinku, give the man your bucket and get to swabbing the deck where Shiro met his misfortune on the other side.”
The crewman, Shinku, didn’t laugh that time and went to grab another bucket and a stiff-brushed broom while Shiro quickly learned to time the dipping of the bucket with the roll of the ship.
After a few more buckets, Shiro felt that he had washed off most of what he needed to. He asked the sailmaster if he could join him on his perch.
“Rise to my level farmer, if you can.”
Shiro looked for a ladder and didn’t find any. “Where is the ladder?”
Mistokko shook his head and then leaned back in laughter. “There isn’t any. Come up, if you can.” The captain raised his hands and rose into the air and gradually settled down to the main deck.
“You’re a sorcerer!” Shiro said. “I thought—”
“You thought a common captain couldn’t put Affinity to use on a ship?” Mistokko laughed again, clapping Shiro’s shoulders. He grabbed Shiro’s arm and peered at the tattoo. “Mmmm, seventh-level, at least. I should have charged the Guild triple what I accepted. You’ll soon have the Hierarchy’s robes in a bunch.”
What did this strange seaman mean? Shiro still stank of vomit and Mistokko wanted to play jokes. He shook off his remaining sickness and felt angry and abused by this man’s good humor. “I don’t know anything except I can make the Guild’s pretty balls appear as flames or as a flower. Those aren’t very useful abilities, are they?”
“You made one appear to burn?” Mistokko stroked his long thin beard. “You’re not a seventh-level.”
“See! It’s all a mistake. Perhaps you can explain that I’m not what I seem and let me return to Koriaki.” Shiro decided then and there that he’d seen enough of the world.
“Not so fast, farmer. I’d rate you as easily eighth level if you were able to image fire. And a flower you say?”
“On a marble,” Shiro said.
“Apprentices should only be able to change the color.”
Perhaps the clouds would darken and lightning destroy him where he stood. Levels meant nothing to Shiro, but eight was higher than seven. At least he knew his numbers.
“Come with me.” Mistokko rose in the air and set himself down on the upper deck. “Try and picture the flight of a bumblebee, slowly rising and falling to catch the pollen on a purple flower. Then put yourself into that bumblebee.”
Shiro noticed the sailors had all stopped what they were doing and watched the encounter. He only heard the creaking of the ship and felt the roll of the ship. Then he closed his eyes. He pictured himself on his farm, tending to his wife’s garden. He imagined the bumblebee and watched it pull its large body up to a flower. Shiro concentrated and became the bumblebee.
The cries from the sailors made him open his eyes and he floated ten feet above the floor of the main deck. The spell broke and Shiro fell heavily back down on the thick unyielding boards. His legs exploded in pain.
Mistokko put his hands on his hips and looked down from his deck. “I’m not a healer, farmer.” Mistokko said quietly. “I truly didn’t expect you to rise more than a few inches. You’ve a lot to learn and you won’t be learning all of it from me… not on my ship.”
The captain drifted back down to the deck and lifted Shiro up and put him into the arms of Shinku and another sailor. “Put him in his cabin and have the cook see to him.” Mistokko patted Shiro on his shoulder, “Sorry.”
Shiro barely heard the words through the pain as they put him into his hammock. A few minutes later, the worst breath Shiro had ever sensed coming out of a person’s mouth brought him around.
“Two jammed ankles? Let’s hope they’re not broken,” the cook said. He wheezed as he removed Shiro’s sandals. The pain brought tears to his eyes as the cook worked his feet. “Yeah, not broken. Quite a performance they say.” The cook cackled as he pulled two long strips of cloth from a bag he had carried into Shiro’s miniscule cabin. “Old sailcloth. Works wonders as bandages. Gotta wrap those tight to keep the swelling down.” The man whistled some kind of tune through the few teeth remaining in his head as he went to work.
“That feels better,” Shiro said as he could breathe easier without the pain.
“I’m an expert. Not as grand as Captain Mistokko, though. He has magical power and all I’ve got are me wits,” the cook said. “Don’t unwrap those until morning tomorrow. Then walk easily. Don’t know what kind of damage there is, but I didn’t find anything broken. You’re lucky!” He cackled and mumbled his way out of Shiro’s cabin. “Bring you something to eat presently.” Shiro didn’t know if the cook would remember to make good on his promise.
He didn’t. Shinku showed up much later with a bowl of rice and bits of fish in a seaweed broth. “Cook forgot you didn’t show up for evening meal. The captain has appointed me nursemaid. All because of a harmless joke.” The sailor shook his head.
“Regardless, I appreciate your bringing me something to eat,” Shiro said as he began to slurp up his dinner. He seemed to have left the seasickness somewhere back towards Hoksaka.
“Captain wants to play swords with you tomorrow, if you’re able. He’ll take you up on his deck. Told me you don’t have to worry about doing that flying thing,” Shinku said. He couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth down as he said it. “Quite enjoyable, that. Never seen such a thing. No, indeed, no little bumblebee. The rest of us use the ladder that’s stowed away.”
“I’m not happy about being laughed at,” Shiro said. He knew from previous experience that if you didn’t bite back, you’d never be taken seriously.
Shinku looked down, “No, sir, no. It was such a thing, though.”
Shiro smiled as he pictured what he must have looked like. “I live to entertain,” he said, “but I think my entertaining is finished for this voyage.”
‘I wouldn’t be so hasty, sir. The captain does have his way with a sword and with that tongue of his. If you don’t know how to handle a sword, there might be some more entertainment on the way.”
Shiro pursed his lips. “Thanks for the food, Shinku. I’d be happy if you left me to my misery.”
“Certainly, sir, certainly,” said Shinku, giving Shiro a curt bow of the head as he left the cabin.
~
Shiro woke up feeling much better. The rolling of the ship no longer bothered his stomach and there didn’t seem to be any major pain in his feet, just a general ache. He rose and sought the cook. The sailors had already eaten their breakfast. Shiro bolted down a rice bowl and more broth that tasted just like what he had for dinner.
Mist filled the air on the deck and the ship didn’t sway as much as the previous day.
“We’ve hit a calm, farmer,” Mistokko said from his perch. “I’d call up some wind, but I don’t want to waste my power. We’ll wait a bit to see if more wind comes. Let’s take advantage of the smooth seas and get a little exercise with weapons.”
Perhaps that was a good thing, Shiro thought. He’d played with swords all of his life. His father had been a guard in Boriako before he married and taught his son all he knew. Shiro didn’t know if that was a lot or a little, but at least he thought he knew enough to defend himself. Perhaps today he would find the measure of his learning.
Shiro peered at his hand. How much Affinity rested within his fingers, his heart, his brain. He also had a mind that didn’t need magic to work acceptably well. He put his hand to his chest and felt it rise as he took a deep breath and held it.
Purpose blossomed in his mind. He wouldn’t be driven to the Guild in Boriako, but he would gladly go, willingly and of his own volition. How much did he know? How much power? How much talent to shape the raw magic that flowed through his veins? How much magic did the vessel of his body hold? He would know once he had been taught and tested. At that point he would make his own decisions and determine his own fate.
He watched his hand, as it curled into a fist,
and he closed his eyes, clinging to his new perspective.
“Nervous, farmer?” Mistokko said, lowering a ladder to the main deck.
Shiro looked up. “No longer.” He looked up at Mistokko and willed his body to stand on the upper deck— a vision and thought of purpose. In a moment, he stood looking at the captain.
Mistokko raised his eyebrows. “After your fall yesterday, that’s quite a feat. I’d like to own those nerves.” The captain laughed and turned to a cupboard built into the railing. “Our weapons today.” He held two wooden swords. Long and thin with a slight curve, only one side had a hint of sharpness. The echo of a lord’s weapon. His father’s sword was a lord’s weapon.
Shiro looked about the upper deck. The wooden floor held a shiny polish with dark and light boards creating stripes on the surface. The railing carried designs of flowers, birds and fruit through the carved vines. Another sailor tended to the steering levers, rather than Mistokko.
“You admire my deck, farmer? I spend most of my time up here, so I have made it a place of beauty.”
The lower deck had been utilitarian, but the sumptuousness of the upper deck brought an element of understanding about the captain. Mistokko held himself above his sailors in all things, but then such as it was between lords and men. Would Mistokko be counted as a lord aboard his ship? An adept in magic, graduate of the Guild, but without sorcerer responsibilities? Perhaps Shiro could hold out hope for a less-restrained life than a cloistered guild-member.
“Swordplay, not wool-gathering.” Mistokko laughed while Shiro wordlessly surveyed his surroundings. “Did you gather wool as a farmer?”
Shiro shook his head. “I made plants grow.”
Mistokko looked unimpressed.
“I made my plants grow very well.” He curled up one side of his mouth.
“Like figuring out how to stand with me on my deck?”
Shiro nodded and took the handle of the proffered sword.
“Have you ever held an instrument meant to kill men?” Mistokko said, waving his sword in their air. Shiro recognized the practice form. Shimmer of the Willow
“My father spent some time as a guard. He taught me all he knew. I don’t know if it is enough.”
“Then let’s see you warm up.”
Shiro replicated Mistokko’s form and launched into the twenty forms of preparation and introduced errors that his father would have never allowed. The forms came easily even through he hadn’t practiced them since his family had died.
“Impressive… for a farmer. You are a bit rusty or your father didn’t know them perfectly.”
“It’s what I know,” Shiro said, shrugging. “Let me see the way it is supposed to be done.”
Mistokko stretched for a few moments and then proceeded to perform the twenty forms. The captain couldn’t quite dip his left shoulder as much as strict form would require. Perhaps he compensated for a past injury. His performance was fluid and projected more power than Shiro.
“Very powerful. You are like a mountain cat, Captain,” Shiro said.
Mistokko nodded in accepting Shiro’s compliment. “I do believe we can keep each other sharp, if you know more than the practice forms.”
Shiro merely shrugged and waggled the sword in his hand. He looked sideways at the captain. “An easy sparring match? No contact?”
“No contact.” Mistokko grinned and took a pose to start.
Shiro just stood, with the point of the weapon on the deck. The captain shuffled towards him with his sword in two hands over his head. Shiro stood his ground and looked into the captain’s eyes. The blade descended and Shiro moved to his left, avoiding the blow. Mistokko moved his blade left, but all Shiro had to do was lift his own sword from the deck to parry.
Mistokko merely grunted as he swiped his blade up and hit Shiro’s guard. Did the captain want to knock the blade out of Shiro’s hand? Years of the hard work of a farmer shaped the corded muscles on Shiro’s arms and created an iron grip. He held and whipped his blade up between Mistokko’s legs, stopping just short of the captain’s crotch. The captain hopped back, waving his blade wildly in defense, but that wildness had little strength behind it and Shiro soundly slapped the sword away and forced his point to Mistokko’s throat.
The captain grabbed the sword. “Enough! Perhaps I underestimated your ability. I rarely come across a tactician. You thrashed me much more than it appeared.”
Shiro didn’t know if Mistokko dissembled on purpose. This time Shiro pointed his sword up, holding it beside his head with a two-handed grip. “Again? And then we can talk about methods, perhaps.”
The captain grinned as he grasped the hilt with both hands but lifted his weapon up at eye level looking down his sword as if sighting an arrow. His target, Shiro’s chest. If Mistokko had an injured left shoulder, the blade would drift upward towards his shoulder as he lunged.
Shiro brought his sword around and cocked it at his waist, ready for the lunge. Mistokko’s attack rose to Shiro’s shoulder, just as he had thought while he wheeled his blade in front of his to knock Mistokko’s lunge aside. This time the captain’s power came through and the blade struck the top of Shiro’s shoulder despite his parry. How could that be?
Mistokko stood back, grinning. “You didn’t know you could use magical power to enhance your strokes, did you?
Power. Using magic as a weapon? Shiro had never thought of such a thing.
“Your parry would have been sufficient normally. I won through with the aid of a little magic. It doesn’t take much. I add a little ‘spring’ to my shoulder and back muscles. Not a lot. Certainly not enough to blow my opponent away, but sufficient to compensate for a few infirmities.”
“Is that what you wanted to teach me?”
The captain nodded. “When you told me you knew some sword play, I thought such a thing might come in handy for you. It is, in effect, cheating, but there have been times in my life when I dare not trust in my swordsmanship alone to defeat an enemy. The Guild might not be happy should they find out. I’m a bit at odds with them at the moment. In fact, the fat sorcerer who arranged passage wouldn’t have booked you if we hadn’t been good friends at the Guild in Boriako. Don’t volunteer that you traveled aboard theWicked Wind. I have a reputation to maintain. I don’t want too many people accusing me of being cozy with the Guild. I suggest that you hide the extent of your power at barely above the level of others in your apprentice class. The Guild doesn’t take kindly to gifted apprentices.”
“You don’t trust the Guild?”
Mistokko put his hands on his hips, threw back his head and laughed. “As far as I can throw this ship, farmer. I left the Guild right after my final test. I joined the army for a while and, when the Guild caught up to me, I boarded the first ship out of Roppon Isle and never looked back. I hated the politics and the enforced discipline. I’m free while I’m on the waves, but if I spent much time on land, the Guild would surely want to sink its tentacles into me again. Moderation and stealth. That’s my advice and I’ll only give it to you this once. From now on as far as you are concerned, the best organization in the world must be the Guild.” Mistokko winked at Shiro and laughed again. “Now about fighting with power. Do it with small sips, just where you need to. Precision.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Mistokko said. “Do you realize that using a great deal of power around others will take their life force rather than tap into the nexus? Over time they will weaken. If you use small amount, like I do when I’m off of the deck, no one is affected. Small sips, see?”
“My family died from a fever than ran through our village two years ago. Could I have been responsible?” The horror of the thought shocked Shiro to his very core.
Mistokko’s amiable grin faded. “Quite possibly. A person can develop their power at any time in their life. You might be a late bloomer.” Mistokko rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Perhaps your emerging talent had weakened them enough not to have bee
n able to fight off the fever.” The captain shrugged his shoulders. “They do teach shielding at the Guild. I never became particularly proficient, but you are stronger than I am. Make sure they teach you.”
Shiro recoiled at the revelation. He couldn’t go back to his farm now that he knew that he might have helped a fever destroy his family. “I can’t go on today. More tomorrow?”
Mistokko nodded and let Shiro leave.
~
Precision. Shiro laid down on his bunk in awe at the concept. He just thought that magicians used their power and that was that. Full on or full off. He must have used it full on back on his farm and destroyed those he loved most. He wiped tears from his eyes when Shinku brought him more rice. He barely ate a thing and hardly slept that night, consumed with guilt. How could he have known? The final instrument of his families death… his children and his wife.
At one point he wished the sorcerers would have come earlier in his life, but then he wouldn’t have had a family. What would have happened if he knew how to shield his power? They’d be alive. Wait… no he couldn’t learn to shield unless it was taught at the Guild. If he had been taken earlier, he wouldn’t have had a family. Confusion rolled around and around in his head without coming close to clearing.
In the morning, he had gotten over the worst of his guilt. He didn’t know if he’d ever really come to terms with the fate of his family. He had been ignorant. Hardly an excuse, but it was a reason. He’d always regret his power on that account.
He could have used his magic with precision and they might have survived. But if they lived, the nets of the Guild would catch up to him at one point or another to separate them anyway. He could do nothing to change the past and any scenario that he could think of still put him on his way to Boriako.
He walked out into the bright morning light and thought of the power that he had to use to rise to the captain’s deck. Shiro had to use just the right amount of lifting magic or he’d take a tumble again. Yesterday was luck, an instinctive move. He realized he had much to learn. As for Mistokko’s comments about the Guild, they aligned closely with his own after meeting the arrogant sorcerer, Roniki. Perhaps he could learn more before they landed in Boriako.
