Stoker exited the building warily, realizing it was not an area he recognized. He sniffed, his head swaying back and forth, then went back into the familiar workshop. Sam knew the cat would get used to the new location, but it was just as well he wanted to stay put for now. Topping off the cat’s food and water and picking up a wrapped bundle from one of the benches, Sam closed the door again.
He found Rindu in his room, the same chamber he had in the weeks following Grayson’s death. When he knocked on the door, he heard the Zouy say, “Come.”
Sam entered the room, carrying his bundle, which he leaned against the wall near the door. The chamber was simple, as Sam imagined Rindu’s room at the temple must have been. Everything was in its place—the few things that the monk had—and it was immaculate, of course. The man himself sat at a low table on a thick rug. He was sitting on his knees, in a formal posture with his back straight. The Zouy was doing something, but Sam couldn’t tell what it was because Rindu’s back was to him. When he moved around the side, he saw that there was a large piece of paper in front of the monk, an inkwell sitting off just to the right of the paper, and a thin brush in his hand.
The Zouyim held the brush perfectly vertical with his right hand. With his left, he held the sleeve of his robe so it would not drag across the wet ink. He was drawing what looked like Chinese characters on the paper.
Sam silently watched as Rindu maneuvered the brush with expert precision, laying down lines of ink, creating characters on the page. He was mesmerized by the fluid motion, the grace with which the brush moved. He felt a lump in his throat. It was beautiful, a perfect blend of speed, grace, and patience. Rindu finished one final stroke, pulled back his arm, and cleaned the bristles with the same grace with which he had written the characters.
“Calligraphy?” Sam asked. He saw surprise register on Rindu’s face.
“Yes. How do you know of calligraphy?” the Zouy asked him.
“It’s done in my world. Chinese and Japanese calligraphy is an art form. Some famous calligraphers sell their works for great amounts of money.”
“I see.”
“Not only that, though. It’s supposed to develop supple wrists and fine coordination that help with swordplay and with other martial endeavors.”
“Ah, so you have heard of the value of the practice.” Rindu nodded approvingly. “It is more than that, however. It strengthens the connection with the rohw. It develops qualities that are important for a warrior.”
“What language is that?” Sam asked. “What are those characters?”
“The language is called Syray. It is no longer spoken. A great Zouyim master taught me the language and how to wield the brush when I was a young disciple in the temple. When he died during a mission, the masters gave the brush set to me, as per his instructions. I hid them when Nalia and I were fleeing from the Gray Man. I just retrieved them a few days ago. It was an eight-day journey to do so.
“This character is wisdom,” he said pointing to one of the characters. He pointed to the other three in turn. “These are power, harmony, and strength.”
Sam thought about it a moment. “How does calligraphy help the connection to the rohw?”
The Zouy looked into Sam’s eyes. “Ah, that is a fascinating tale, one my master told me when I was a young disciple in the Zouyim temple.
“It is said that when the Supreme Being created the universe, he pondered how he would teach humans to tap into the energy he had provided, the rohw. After much thought, he decided that a written language would be ideal. The formation of the letters, or characters, of the language would emulate the movements necessary to take in the universal rohw and thereby cause the writer to be in harmony with the energy and with his surroundings.
“The first humans were taught the language, the remnant of which is Syray, so they were, at the beginning, much more a part of the balance of the universe. As time passed, however, people began to forget the correct writing of the characters as they developed new dialects, new languages, until calligraphy was forgotten almost completely. So it is that people are no longer balanced in their oneness with the universe.”
Sam looked at the Zouy, waiting to see if there was any more to the story. Rindu looked back at him, a satisfied look on his face, as if his short story explained it all. “Uh, that’s a nice story, but it still doesn’t really tell me how your calligraphy helps with connection to the universal rohw.”
Rindu looked as if he might be offended, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. “I suppose you are right,” the monk said. “The history does not tell the mechanics.”
Rindu stood and faced Sam. “Do you recall the kori rohw exercises, Sam? They are the movements that help to bring one into harmony with the universal rohw. You observed Torim Jet and me performing them at Tramgadal when you were last in Gythe.”
“I remember,” Sam said, not wanting to discuss that Nalia had been teaching him some of the movements while they were in Telani. That bit of news could wait.
“Attend me,” Rindu said, as he assumed a stable stance that Sam recognized from watching the monk perform the rohw exercises. “Watch my movements carefully, especially those of my hands.”
Rindu moved slowly and smoothly. His body turned and gyrated, but Sam focused on the monk’s hands and saw that there were tiny movements and positionings that he never would have picked out if watching the entire set of exercises.
“Now,” Rindu continued, “watch my hands and wrists as I wield my brush to draw characters in the air.”
Sam did so and noticed that the tiny movements and the exact positioning of the monk’s appendages matched perfectly with those of the kori rohw. “Wow,” he said. “I see it now.”
“Good,” the Zouy said, becoming still once more. “There are, of course, other facets, such as meditative aspects and the meanings of the characters themselves, which are important for us to think upon, but you can see that, altogether, calligraphy is helpful in finding balance with the rohw.”
“I can,” Sam said. “Thank you, Master Rindu. But before I forget why I actually came to visit,” he picked up the wrapped bundle he had leaned against the wall, “I wanted to give you a gift. Nalia and I found these in our travels. They belonged to a master who had died of disease. You would honor me if you would accept them and use them as your own.”
Rindu carefully took the bundle from Sam’s hand and bowed over them toward the younger man. His deft hands lifted the covering and set it aside, eyes going wide. That was equivalent to jumping up and down screaming for most people, so controlled were the Zouy’s expressions in normal situations. As the monk unsheathed the blades, ingeniously fitted together in the single scabbard, Sam thought he saw Rindu’s eyes go liquid for a brief moment.
“Sam,” the older man said. “They…they are magnificent. They are the finest broadswords I have ever had the privilege to hold.”
“They’re spring steel, so they are flexible, but not so flexible as many of the broadswords I’ve seen. These are a bit heavier weight, thicker. Technically, I think they’re classified as ‘battle broadswords,’ though I suppose that’s just to distinguish them from thinner blades used for demonstration purposes on Telani.”
The monk separated the swords and held one out straight, sighting down the blade. Stepping back, he whirled it in a circular motion, blade whistling through the air as he slashed with it, rolled it around his shoulders and whipped it out for another strike. A rare smile lit up the Zouy’s face. “They are exquisitely balanced and the hilt is very firm.”
Sam smiled back. “Yes, there is a full tang in the hilt so there will be no loosening and no rattling even with heavy use. When we saw them, Nalia and I both thought of you. They are fitting weapons for the man who will rebuild the Zouyim Order.”
Rindu expertly put the swords back together so that they looked like one blade and then, in one smooth motion, sheathed them in the black-lacquered scabbard. “Sam, this is a spectacular gift.” Holding the scabb
arded sword in his right hand while bringing it together with his left in a salute, he bowed formally. “Thank you. It is my hope that I will not have to use them except for training, but if the need should arise, they should prove to be valuable indeed.”
Sam returned the bow, his heart swelling within his chest. “I’m glad you like them. Hopefully Nalia won’t be upset I gave them to you without her here.”
“I will let her know how much I appreciate the gift. Did this master of whom you spoke name the weapons? Is that a custom in your world?”
That threw Sam for a moment. “I didn’t think to ask. I’m sorry. It didn’t really occur to me.”
“That is fine,” Rindu said, still eyeing the scabbard as if he could see the swords within. “I saw markings on each blade, but I believe those to be the maker’s mark. I will call them Sunedal, Teeth of Dal, in honor of my great master Chetra Dal, who was lost to us trying to accomplish a dangerous mission. Master Dal’s wisdom often clove through falsehood and confusion and made clear the truth of things. It is fitting, I think.”
“I think so too. It sounds like a perfect name to me.”
Near noon, Sam and Nalia teleported to Marybador. As promised, Shen Nan was there waiting, his smiling face greeting them as they appeared. He was not alone.
“I told the others that you may not show up for several days, but they insisted on waiting with me each day, with all their belongings,” Shen said to them. “As you can see, we don’t have much.”
Nalia busied herself in greeting each and every one of the refugees. The children had not been born when their families had left Marybador, or were very young, but the adults all recognized her even without her mask. They greeted her with respect and affection that made Sam’s heart glad. These were her people and it did her good to know there was still a remnant left, even if none of her sisters had survived.
It took only a few minutes to bring the group back to Whitehall, where stewards were waiting to show them where they would be living. There was more than enough space in the keep, so they would be given rooms near each other and found work to occupy themselves.
Nalia smiled at Sam as the bedraggled group was led away to their room so they could leave their possessions and head to the dining hall. They waved at her, smiling, as they left.
“When we rebuild Marybador, they will be given a choice to return there or to stay here,” Sam said. “Or to go wherever else they want to go. They’re long past due for being able to move on with their lives.”
“Yes,” the Sapsyr said. “It is good that we can help them. They will be happy, as I wish all Gythe would be happy. Maybe with the new government, all people will have a chance at that dream.”
“I hope so, Nal,” Sam said. “I really hope so.”
Chapter 9
Sam spent the next several days re-acquainting himself with the fortress and all its many corridors, chambers, and features. One day, as he and Nalia were heading out toward one of the many training yards to spar, Dr. Walt chanced upon them. He looked exasperated.
“Hi, Dr. Walt,” Sam said. “You look kind of frazzled. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, good morning Sam, Nalia. I’m fine. It’s just that dealing with the leaders and trying to get them to agree on anything for the new government is driving me batty.”
“What is it this time?” Nalia asked.
“Oh, several of the leaders want the seat of government somewhere else. They say that the reputation of the Gray Man will taint any government that is based in the fortress. They say even the name ‘Gray Fortress’ will call to mind the things that were perpetrated from here.” He shook his head and sighed, looking at the stone floor. “I can’t say I blame them. It’s all so fresh in everyone’s mind.”
“Do you think maybe it’ll pass, that people will forget about it in time?” Sam asked him.
“I’m sure it will, but how much time is needed? Starting a new government is tenuous work. Something like this could prevent it from starting at all, keep the general population from ever supporting it.”
“What other location could be used?” Nalia asked. “There is no place that is suitable. Not one outside of the cities. The leaders of the other cities will never stand for that. Trying to find a location where a new headquarters can be built will be as difficult to agree on.”
“You are exactly right,” Dr. Walt answered. “Thus our dilemma.”
He patted Nalia’s shoulder and smiled a thin, sad smile at Sam. “Thank you for letting me complain to you. We’ll figure something out. It’s just all so frustrating. Anyway, don’t let me hold you up. Go and enjoy the day. We’ll talk later.” He hurried down the corridor, muttering to himself.
Sam looked to Nalia. “Nal, I have an idea. Can we postpone our sparring for a little while? I need to find your father and ask him about something.”
“Of course,” she said with a smirk. “I know you are afraid to spar with me, even after all this time. It is to be expected.”
Sam laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Exactly. You want to come with me?”
“I will leave you to it,” she said. “I will take the time to continue your mother’s lessons in Kasmali. She feels uncomfortable having only three people with whom she can speak. When you are ready to be bruised, come find me.”
Sam hurried to Rindu’s small room and found him there, reading.
“Master Rindu,” Sam said. “I was wondering if you would help me with something.”
The monk placed a piece of ribbon on the page he was reading and closed the book gently. “Of course, Sam. What is it that you need?”
“Please come with me, and I’ll explain as we’re walking.”
The two started off, Sam to the right and just slightly ahead of the Zouy.
“Dr. Walt has a problem with the leaders and the new government,” Sam started.
“He has many problems with them, yes,” Rindu added.
Sam laughed. “I guess you’re right. Well, this particular problem involves using the fortress here as the location for the government. People are concerned that in the citizens’ minds, they will connect the new government with Uncle Grayson’s…atrocities.”
The monk looked thoughtful. “Yes, I have heard this brought up. It is a valid point, I think.”
“I agree,” Sam said, “but what if we could do something to separate the place from the man and his actions, make it so that it is clear that things have changed and it is a different place, a different world now?”
“I would think that would ease matters. What is it that you propose, Sam?”
“Well, when I was reliving Uncle Grayson’s memories, when Skitter was broadcasting them into my mind as well as my uncle’s,”—Sam turned right at an intersection and began climbing up a set of stairs—“there was one thing that happened that I think is important.
“In the memory, Uncle Grayson was unhappy with the color of the Black Fortress, not wanting to be thought to be just another Arzbed. He used his rohw and changed the frequency of the fortress stone, just slightly, so that it reflected gray color instead of black.”
“Hmmm.” Rindu made the sound, obviously seeing where the conversation was going.
“The memories were played back in my mind as if I was living them. I could see, hear, taste, smell, and feel everything as if I was the one experiencing all those things. I can ‘remember’ changing the color of the fortress. I think I can work out how to change it again.”
“To a more suitable color, I assume?” Rindu asked.
“White.”
“Ah, that would be very good. Are you sure you can do such a thing?”
Sam moved onto a short landing that led to a narrow corridor. “I think so, but I figured I’d need you to help me, to guide me.”
“I know nothing of this technique, Sam, but I will do what I can.”
“I think,” Sam said, “it’s like when you helped me with the teleportation thing. We both read how it should happen and then you we
re able to guide me through it. I never would have been able to do it without your help. Or, at least, it would have taken me a long time to figure it out.”
“Yes, that is true. Between my experience and your raw power with the rohw, we will do this. It is a very good idea, Sam. I am proud of you.”
“Maybe you should reserve being too proud until we figure out if we can actually do it.”
“Oh, Sam,” Rindu said, eyes downcast, “have we not discussed this many times before? ‘When a man decides firmly to do a thing, the universe conspires to make it happen.’ We have but to apply ourselves wholly and we shall overcome all obstacles.”
Sam tilted his head and scrutinized Rindu. “Have you been reading the books I brought for you? Was that a quote from one of them?”
Rindu’s eyes twinkled but his expression remained neutral. “Dr. Walt has been kind enough to translate a few short passages for me. I am rewriting them in Kasmali. I will learn your language so I can read them myself and set the words down in the language of Gythe. There is much wisdom in your gift. I thank you once again for them.”
He bowed to Sam.
Sam spoke through the lump in his throat. “I’m glad you like them. As I was moving my books I chose them out because I know your love of quotes and parables. Maybe you can merge the wisdom of both our worlds and make Gythe a better place.”
“It will be so.”
Sam had given Rindu a handful of his books. Some were compilations of quotes from many different sources, but others were standalone classics, such as the Tao Te Ching, the Analects of Confucius, and the Bhagavad Gita. He knew if there was anyone who would appreciate them as much as Sam, it would be Rindu, though now that he thought about it, Dr. Walt may appreciate them solely because they were books. He was glad the Zouy appreciated his gift.
They arrived at the high battlement where Grayson, in the memory, changed the color of the fortress. Sam supposed it didn’t matter if it was the same location as far as actually performing the action, but he thought it might help him concentrate and remember more clearly.
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 60
