by David Ekrut
He looked to Zarah for strength. Her face appeared a mask of calm composure as she stood next to him with quiet patience.
His legs trembled slightly as he rose to join her.
“This stance,” Sir Gibbins yelled, “is water form.”
Feffer stood in line with his squad watching Sir Gibbins. His feet held a wide base, and he held a practice sword in both hands. Feffer wanted to take his own wooden sword and imitate the stance, but he made his limbs remain still.
“Water bends around the rock,” Gibbins said. “When it freezes, water then breaks the rock apart from within. You must learn to be like water. Now watch.”
Moving the sword from rest, Gibbins pivoted to the side and made a slight sweeping motion with his sword. He held the pose for the blink of an eye, then moved back to the original pose.
“This is called sweeping tide one,” Gibbins said. “It will deflect a lunge. We will talk more on lunges and other attacks later. Now, I want each of you to attempt to parry my lunge. I will demonstrate the maneuver a few more times. Watch carefully.”
Again, Gibbins performed the maneuver and returned the sword to water form. Then, he repeated the action several more times. Feffer found himself holding the sword in imitation of Sir Gibbins and performing the maneuver along with him. Sir Gibbins’ glower could have wilted roses in spring. Feffer dropped the sword’s point so quickly, he almost stabbed the ground.
“Oh,” Gibbins said with a cold smile. “We have a fast learner, do we? Feffer has volunteered to go first.”
As Gibbins approached, Feffer raised his practice sword into the water form. Something inside Feffer seemed to wake up. The sword in his hand and the bend in his legs felt right. Without moving into any stance, Gibbins lunged forward. As he had done before, Feffer moved the sword in sweeping tide one.
When Feffer struck Gibbins’ sword and pivoted, the larger man’s sword pushed to the side with comfortable ease. Feffer felt his jaw slackened, so he forced his mouth closed. The shocked expression on Gibbins’ face suggested he shared Feffer’s feeling of surprise.
Feffer recovered from the lunge a moment later and moved the sword and his feet back to water form as Gibbins had.
Gibbins blinked a few times and said, “That wasn’t … terrible.” Gibbins’ face hardened and he shifted back into water form.
“Again.”
Gibbins stared at Feffer for several moments without so much as blinking. No part of the other man moved or twitched. Feffer imitated him, fixing his eyes on the other man’s sword. Sweat began to roll down his back. At last, Feffer blinked. Before his eyes came fully open, something inside told Feffer to move through the sweeping form, and he obeyed without thinking. His practice sword struck his teacher’s weapon and pushed it aside as before.
No shock showed on Gibbins’ face this time. He nodded to Feffer in a gesture he had never seen from the man. Not quite sure what it meant, Feffer returned the nod.
“At ease soldier,” Gibbins said.
Feffer dropped the sword from water form. Then he smiled. Gibbins had called him soldier. His commander’s scowl returned, and Feffer quickly smoothed the smile from his face. Curse him for a fool. Soldiers didn’t smile like idiots.
“Alright. The rest of you worms get ready.”
One by one Gibbins lunged at them. Each boy took a few bruises before getting the maneuver somewhat correct. Every one of them looked sloppy. Except Gurndol. He pushed the sword aside with the same ease Feffer had. Then it became Fandar’s turn.
After ten attempts, Gibbins stopped trying to instruct Fandar and announced, “I guess this worm needs to see me bruise the rest of you a few more times before he gets it. Gurndol. Water form. Now.”
This time, Gibbins stood without moving and waited for Gurndol to blink before striking. The first lunge struck Gurndol in the midsection. Gurndol grunted and stepped backward.
“Broaden your stance,” Gibbins said. “Anticipate the attack.”
When Gibbins turned his attention to one of their other squad mates, Gurndol gave Feffer a look that could have baked bread. Feffer glared back. None of it had been his fault.
It had been several days since the incident on the poles, but no prank had been directed at Feffer or Fandar. And Feffer had continued to cause them extra work, trying to take the blame from Fandar. By the glint in Gurndol’s eyes, Feffer would have wagered an ox cart of gold to a copper pence that Gurndol would do something soon.
“Feffer,” Gibbins said. “Water form. Now.”
Almost without thinking, Feffer moved into the stance and parried the coming blow. As if the sword had grown a mind of its own, Feffer found his body countering with a lunge. Shock filled the other man’s eyes as Gibbins blocked Feffer’s blade with a downward strike.
The larger man moved his feet backward and slashed down at Feffer’s face. Feffer jumped back and repositioned his feet into water form. Gibbins lunged again just as Feffer’s feet settled. Mimicking Gibbins’ block, Feffer struck down at the lunging blade and countered with the downward strike he had seen from his teacher.
Gibbins parried with a different form, then countered with a new strike, which narrowly missed Feffer’s skull. He felt both of the new moves imprint onto his mind. Gibbins gave Feffer an opening to repeat the attack, and Feffer took it. Gibbins blocked with an upward parry and gave yet another counter attack. Without pausing, Gibbins gave Feffer an opening for the new attack.
Back and forth they went. Feffer attacking and blocking in imitation of his teacher. After going through twelve attacks and twelve blocks, Gibbins moved even faster without giving any new maneuvers. He cycled through the same attacks several times, then without warning, he began to do the attacks in a random order.
Feffer’s arms moved through the motions of each maneuver, keeping his center in the water form. Each block seemed to give Feffer more of an advantage, but every counter Feffer made was batted aside with ease. Without warning, Gibbins’ attacks increased in intensity, until all Feffer could do was block. Gibbins’ blade began to move too swiftly to follow, so Feffer had watched his shoulders and continued blocking. After several moments, Feffer’s arms began to burn and the sword became heavy.
Sweat stung his left eye, then WHACK! WHACK! The loud sound of cracking wood filled his senses.
Feffer smelled fruit pies baking. Maybe Momme had placed them in the window to cool. He could sneak up and take one without her ever noticing. It seemed like forever since he had eaten anything sweet. Because he … wait. That wasn’t right.
The lights above him began to move and take shape, and he heard voices.
“In all my years of training new recruits, I’ve never seen anything like it. He mimicked every new maneuver with near-perfect precision.” It sounded like Gibbins. Was he dreaming?
The lights and shadows still moved, but his eyes wouldn’t focus on them. His skull throbbed with pain. Another voice spoke in an agitated tone.
“I don’t care if he is Faragand the Red come back to life,” the other man said. “You don’t split a new recruit’s head the first time he has a sword in his hands.”
At last the two men came into focus. The other man was Lord Zaak Lifesong himself. Neither seemed to notice Feffer. He decided to lie there for a moment to figure out why he was flat on his back. Hadn’t he been looking for pie a moment before?
“I tell you sire,” Gibbins said in a defensive tone. “He could be the best I’ve ever seen. I’ve trained thousands. His first day, and he’s mastered water form!”
“Are you sure your head wasn’t the one that was split?” Lord Lifesong asked skeptically.
“The Seeker take me if it isn’t true,” Gibbins said, “but if we can condition his body to keep up with his mind, the boy will be the greatest swordsman we’ve ever seen.”
Feffer could see Lord Lifesong’s face clearly. He had an annoyed
expression, and his tone would have made Feffer recoil had it been directed at him. “The boy won’t even be able to hold a sword if his brains are leaking out of a cracked skull.”
Then, the memories of his training session came into his mind. He could recall every detail of the fight. The Lifebringer save him. He had fought Sir Gibbins. Had he lost his wits?
Gibbins cast his eyes downward. “Aye sire. Of course. I … Every weapons trainer can only dream for such a student. I might have gotten a bit carried away.”
Who were they talking about?
“We will speak on this further,” Lord Lifesong said. “It appears he has awakened.”
“There he is,” Gibbins said, kneeling beside Feffer. “Can you sit?”
Feffer tried. Pain shot through his midsection and his vision reeled. He closed his eyes and said, “No.” The word sounded odd in his ears.
“I think I cracked his ribs,” Gibbins said.
Lord Lifesong knelt beside him as well. Both men stared at him with probing eyes.
“What is your name, soldier?”
His mouth was dry, but he forced the words out. “Feffer Hanck Madrowl.”
Gibbins spoke next. “Where in the abyss are you from?”
“I’m from Benedict.” The words came easier this time. “To the east.”
“Have you had any previous training?” Gibbin’s asked.
“No.”
“Open your eyes wide,” Lord Lifesong said.
When Feffer obeyed, a large thumb pealed back his eyelid. Lord Lifesong’s dark eye peered at him for several moments.
“Dragons take me,” Gibbins cursed. “Looks like I’m going to have take him to the temple for healing.”
Feffer blinked as much from the curse as from the idea of healing. Swearing by dragons was a bad omen, but the idea of having another person use the Elements on him didn’t seem much better.
Lord Lifesong looked at Gibbins with an emotionless mask. His words held little inflection. “Yes. That would be wise.”
Feffer closed his eyes again.
Chapter 9
Escaping the Inquisition
Feffer awoke in a bed.
The thick cushions beneath him suggested he was somewhere other than his bunk. Light came in from windows all around the room. Outside, he heard the sounds of someone shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words. The inflection of the voice had the sound of a city crier. He had heard a few throughout the city upon their arrival.
He sat up to get a better look at his surroundings. The large room had several rows of beds covered in white sheets. As far as Feffer could tell, he was the only occupant.
“He wakes,” a woman’s voice said from beside him.
Feffer jumped, almost falling off the bed. He turned to see a woman not more than a handful of years his senior sitting in a chair at his bedside and smiling at him. Even beneath her simple white robe with yellow trim, he could make out the round shapes of ample breasts. On her shoulder was a teardrop falling on a yellow flower. Her round eyes seemed too big for her narrow face, and her nose came to a sharp point. He found his eyes drifting back down to her breasts.
“Uh,” Feffer said. “Where am I?”
“This is the Temple of Life,” she said. “By His powers of Life, you have been healed.”
“Healed?” Feffer said not bothering to hide his confusion. “Why did I need to be healed?”
She laughed as if he had said some great joke. Her bosom bounced in a pleasant fashion, and he found himself grinning at them. Uh. Her.
“Oh,” she said. “Well. Your skull was cracked by a practice sword. Do you remember being brought here or any of the events before or after your incident?”
Feffer frowned, making himself look up at her face. Incident. What incident? He remembered training in the yard with water form. Then, he had learned the sweeping tide one.
“Gibbins,” Feffer said. “I was in the yard and … Wait. He cracked my skull?”
“And three of your ribs,” she said with a smile. “They are healed now. What else do you remember?”
He reached up to touch his skull and found cloth wrapped around his head. “What’s this? If I’ve been healed, why do I need a bandage?”
“It soaked up the blood,” she said. “We will move you to the bath and have you cleaned up after you have had some stew. Now, what can you remember?”
Feffer closed his eyes and tried to think. He could feel the moves he had learned working through his mind. A large part of him itched to grab a sword and go through all of the maneuvers. The match with Gibbins was fresh in his mind, all the way up until the sound of cracking wood. No. Not wood. That had been the sound of his skull being cracked. Everything after that was a blank. He told her as much.
“This is a very common symptom,” she said, her smile never wavering. “You will need to eat to get your strength up. Here.” She placed a wooden bowl in his hands. “Take this.”
It contained a brown broth with chunks of something in it.
“What is it?”
“It’s a stew of sorts,” she said. “Eat it all.”
He grabbed the spoon and tasted it. The texture did not have the consistency of meat, and it all tasted like … salt and sage? Still, it wasn’t any worse than the porridge and stew in the mess hall. He ate it in large bites, trying to get it into his belly as quickly as possible.
“Very good,” she said in a patronizing tone. “I will have more brought to you shortly.”
She stood as if to go, and Feffer grabbed the sleeve of her robe. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You are to rest.”
“For how long?”
“Until you are better.”
Feffer gritted his teeth. “How long will that take?”
“Oh,” she said in a reproachful voice. “Irritability is also a symptom. Rest will make you feel better.”
The sounds from outside became louder as if a crowd had gathered. A second crier joined the first, and Feffer could just make out the words.
“A Death bound has been captured! Bear witness to the trial! Come see the trial of Elwin the Dark!”
Feffer dropped his spoon into the broth. He shook his head and strained to hear the crier. He repeated the phrase over and over.
“What in the abyss?” Feffer said.
For the first time, the woman’s smile faded. “Mind your tongue. You are in the Temple of Life.”
“Did he say Elwin?”
Her lips thinned into a frown and her voice sounded remorseful. “Yes. Some young boy murdered a soldier in some small town to the east. A pity one so young was corrupted by the power of Death.”
“Dragons take you for a fool,” Feffer said. “He isn’t a thumping Death bound.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Feffer as if he had grown a tail and breathed fire. Her jaw worked for several moments without producing any words. She crossed her arms beneath her ample breast, making some of her cleavage show at the nape of the neck. Feffer felt as if his eyes had become attached to her milky skin by some invisible string.
She quickly covered her breasts with both hands and spoke in a shrill voice. “Young man! You will mind your tongue, or I will take soapstone to it.”
He felt a profound sense of disappointment at no longer being able to see her cleavage. The feeling became replaced by an intense anger.
“Where is this trial?” Feffer said, getting out of the bed. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he forced them to work with sheer will. And anger. “The Seeker take you all. Where is this thumping trial?”
Elwin stared at the Temple of Life, while standing to the side of the cobblestone road to avoid the flow of traffic. He hardly saw the people leading carts or walking with wicker baskets filled with goods. The temple seemed to loom over him.
> Made of plain stones, the front of the building made a giant L. The shorter part of the L jutted toward the street, while the longer part running parallel to the road had several windows. A fenced garden rested in the crook of the building facing the street. Flowers of many colors surrounded tall redwood trees.
Behind the L, tall walls stretched into the sky as if trying to reach the sun. Several of the windows on the upper floors were stained with colors. The top most window looked like the tip of a candle flame, but the lower glass held an array of patterns that didn’t seem to look like anything at first. But, when he looked at the building as a whole, the windows formed a red crescent with a golden circle inside it.
“We should go,” Zarah said.
Elwin jumped at the sound of her voice. Though she had led him there, he had forgotten she was with him. He felt his cheeks burn and felt a nervous laugh escape his lips.
She smiled at him. “Are you ready?”
He nodded.
Though the double doors were propped open, two guards stood to either side of the entrance. Standing against the wall, each man struck the same rigid pose with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eying passersby down the length of his nose. Both men wore a tunic with the symbol of a golden circle resting between the tips of a red crescent moon.
When Zarah approached the door, they regarded her without blinking. She walked up the steps as if she had every right to the place, not even bothering to glance at the men standing at the entrance. The guards regarded her for the briefest of moments, before their eyes settled on him.
He attempted to mirror her confidence, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at their faces. Cold eyes seemed to pierce his thoughts. He quickened his steps, eager to cross the threshold of the temple to move beyond their gazes.
Once inside, Elwin stopped.
Light spilled into the expansive courtroom from the entryway, but no windows lined the walls to give light to the room. Bare walls surrounded several rows of wooden pews, split by a center aisle, facing a raised platform at the other end of the room. Sparse lanterns made the space between the rows of benches seem darker at the front, but provided enough light to see seven ornate chairs atop the platform. Beyond the chairs, a hollow doorway opened up to darkness.
