One thing was certain, he wouldn’t have done what Brother Yarit did.
To say that Brother Yarit was an impatient man is to do him a disservice. In matters of his own craft of stealth and thievery—and of imparting it to others—he was capable of endless patience. When it came to enduring the foibles of others … well, that was another matter.
It was some six weeks into Vironesh’s time at the Fortress of the Winds. Brother Yarit told no one what he intended; none of us had the slightest inkling of what he’d done until we entered the Dancing Bowl one morning to find him kneeling in the center beneath the shadow of the stone bridge, tending to a brazier from which a foul-smelling smoke billowed.
“Elder Brother,” I said cautiously. “What is it that you’re burning?”
Brother Yarit got to his feet and grinned. “Oh, I expect you’ll find out soon enough.”
That we did.
In six weeks’ time, Vironesh had shown no emotion. This morning, it was different. This morning, he entered the Dancing Bowl like a thundercloud, his brow furrowed as he stalked the grounds. Catching sight of the brazier, he halted. “What have you done?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
Despite the morning’s heat, Brother Yarit made as if to warm his hands over the brazier. “Can’t you guess?”
Vironesh’s shoulders tensed. “You had no right.”
Brother Yarit raised his chin. “I am the Seer.”
In a few swift strides, Vironesh was upon him; but no, it wasn’t Brother Yarit he was after. Not yet. He kicked over the brazier with one sandaled foot. Ashes of gahlba spilled across the ground, a few embers yet glowing. Brother Yarit retreated several discreet paces, hands twitching toward his sleeves.
“You had no right!” Vironesh repeated, his voice rising to an anguished shout. It was like hearing a boulder crack; it seemed mountains should crumble in its wake. “No right!”
Brother Yarit stood his ground, hands low at his sides, concealing the deadly zims I was sure they held. “You need to feel, brother!” he said. “You’re no good to anyone if you can’t!”
I moved to place myself between them. Across the Dancing Bowl, I saw Brothers Hakan and Ramil exchanging hand signs, signaling their intent to flank Vironesh from behind.
Vironesh glanced around, a great beast brought to bay. His broad shoulders slumped in defeat. “You are mistaken,” he said to Brother Yarit with quiet dignity. “The coursers of Obid valued my service. I think it best if I return to them.”
It was a statement on which to make an exit and Vironesh turned to do so, but Brother Yarit wasn’t done with him yet. “The coursers must value it indeed to overlook your use of gahlba,” he called. “Do not the followers of Obid disdain the use of any substance that might impair judgment?”
A shudder ran through the purple man’s flesh, as though Brother Yarit’s words had struck home. Still, it was not enough to sway him from his course. “I’m sorry, Khai,” he said as he passed me, and it felt as though he were truly seeing me for the first time. “I pray you never have cause to understand the choices I have made.”
No one made a move to halt or dissuade him. We stood and exchanged uncertain glances, looking to Brother Yarit for guidance. Brother Yarit’s hands passed under his sleeves once more, sheathing the hidden zims. His expression was unreadable.
Once Vironesh had vanished into the interior of the fortress, it was Brother Merik who broke the silence. “Please tell me this scheme of yours is in accordance with the Sight, Elder Brother,” he said in a formal tone that nonetheless managed to convey a considerable amount of disapproval.
Brother Yarit grimaced. “‘Accordance’ is a strong word. Let us say I’m attempting to nudge events in the right direction.”
Brother Merik stared at him. “Nudge? When the Sight first came upon you, I seem to recall you saying that attempting to tip the scales upsets the balance of everything. Everything! Am I mistaken?”
“No,” Brother Yarit admitted. “But something needed to be done, and quite frankly, it was the only thing I could think of. We’ll see whether or not it bears fruit.”
“And how, exactly, might that come to pass?” Brother Merik demanded. He gestured toward the west. “Even as we speak, the only other living shadow in existence is gathering his things and preparing to depart for good!”
“Yeah.” Brother Yarit cocked his head. “I tried that once, too. Remember?”
An errant breeze skirled through the Dancing Bowl, raising puffs of dust. It stirred my memories.
Rising wind, lowering sun.
“Do you think Pahrkun will turn him back as he did when you sought to flee?” I asked Brother Yarit.
“Turn him back?” He shook his head. “Not in the same way, no. But I’m gambling on the hope that Pahrkun the Scouring Wind is long overdue for a word with his eldest chosen.”
Brother Yarit was right.
In the uncertainty that followed Vironesh’s abrupt departure, Brother Merik assigned us sparring matches. I was matched with Brother Drajan and used one of the maneuvers I’d learned from Vironesh to catch him wrong-footed and slip inside his guard, but I was too distracted to press my advantage.
The wind continued to rise, and my skin was prickling. Brother Drajan walloped me alongside the head with his kopar. “Don’t lose focus, Khai!” he chided me. “If I were an enemy, you’d be dead.”
“Ow!” I rubbed my stinging ear; it would be swollen by nightfall. A nest of red ants emerged from a crevice in the floor of the Dancing Bowl and scurried toward the east in a straight line. I watched the line veer gradually southward as they progressed.
“Khai?” Brother Drajan tapped his weapons together, gesturing for me to resume our bout.
“Your pardon, brother,” I said to him. “It’s just … I think Pahrkun is coming.”
He stared at me. “Here? Now?”
I shook my head and pointed at the ants. “No, but near. Soon.”
Brother Drajan lowered his weapons and let out a shout. “Brothers! The Scouring Wind draws nigh!”
He sent me to fetch Brother Yarit, who summoned us to gather atop one of the high lookouts. Although the mounted figure of Vironesh appeared small in the distance, he hadn’t gotten far from the fortress yet; there simply hadn’t been enough time. I reckoned the distance was less than half a league.
In the east, the storm that was Pahrkun was approaching, a tall figure looming in a wall of moving sand. Though we had the benefit of our high vantage, it seemed impossible to me that Vironesh had not yet seen or sensed him. Even as I thought it, I realized that I was mistaken. Vironesh was making for a stunted thorn tree. Dismounting, he tied his horse’s reins to a low branch, then made his way toward the east on foot, putting some distance between himself and his mount.
Atop the lookout, we watched.
At what he gauged to be a safe distance, Vironesh halted and genuflected three times, then sat cross-legged on the stony ground and waited with his head bowed, patient and still. Whatever else one might say of him, he didn’t lack for courage.
I rubbed the prickling skin on my arms and wondered if I would be brave enough to do so when my time came.
Pahrkun the Scouring Wind came, crossing the desert with great strides, robed in blowing sand. Although the sandstorm of his approach blotted out the sun, it was there behind him, causing his immense shadow to stretch before him for leagues and leagues, darkening the ochre terrain and falling over the seated figure of Vironesh. Pahrkun’s long, dark, misshapen head moved to and fro as he came, green eyes in deep-set sockets glowing through the veils of sand as he surveyed the desert. Although he was too far away to see clearly, it seemed almost that the very flesh of his face was in a strange state of constant motion.
One day, I would encounter him face-to-face.
But not today, no. Today, he had come for Vironesh.
The winds atop the lookout were buffeting. I braced myself against them and squinted into the sand-stinging gusts.
&n
bsp; The Scouring Wind came and came across the desert and halted at last. One enormous figure standing, long, inhuman head held high; one tiny figure seated, head bowed in submission.
“That is what I Saw,” Brother Yarit murmured to no one in particular.
Pahrkun spoke to Vironesh.
If there were words, we could not hear them; and yet I sensed them. I felt them buzzing against the drums of my ears; I felt them in the low rumble of the earth against the soles of my bare feet.
I felt … what? Awe. Terror.
Envy.
Yes, envy.
Vironesh listened; Vironesh lifted his gaze to meet Pahrkun’s immense green-glowing eyes. Vironesh put his palms together and touched his thumbs to his brow in salute.
I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
Pahrkun the Scouring Wind turned and departed, striding back toward the deep eastern desert. The winds died in the wake of his departure and the blowing sand fell and settled. The sun shone brightly once more. Beneath the thorn tree, Vironesh’s mount stamped its hooves and gave a plaintive whicker that carried over the now wind-still distance, tossing its head and tugging restlessly against the reins.
Unfolding his legs beneath him, Vironesh rose with an effort and trudged back toward his horse.
We waited long enough to see that he meant to return to the Fortress of the Winds before Brother Yarit ordered us to disperse. It would have been foolish to pretend that the Brotherhood of Pahrkun did not know what had transpired; and while Brother Yarit might lack tact, he was surely no one’s fool. He bade me accompany him to welcome Vironesh upon his return.
“Elder Brother,” Vironesh addressed him from the saddle. It was the first time he had used the term of respect. “It seems I am meant to be here.”
“Yes,” Brother Yarit said simply.
Light glinted on the strange, mica-flecked scars beneath Vironesh’s eyes. “You sought to manipulate fate based on the gift of Sight. I bear a message for you. Pahrkun the Scouring Wind says, Do not attempt the like again.”
Brother Yarit inclined his head. “I will not.”
Vironesh dismounted. “Good.” He looked at me, a reluctant spark of life in his gaze. “Khai.”
I saluted him. “Yes, brother?”
“I will spend the rest of today in contemplation,” he said to me. “Tomorrow morning we begin anew.”
FIFTEEN
Things were very different the next morning. When I emerged from my lesson with Brother Ehudan, the fortress was nearly empty, the grounds deserted. Vironesh was waiting for me alone in the Dancing Bowl.
“Where is everyone?” I asked him.
“Brother Yarit arranged a hunting expedition,” Vironesh said. “I wished to speak with you without the distraction of the entire brotherhood around us.”
“I see.” I was disappointed to miss a hunting party, which was always a welcome relief from the eternal regimen of training, but I tried not to let it show.
Vironesh noticed anyway and essayed a faint smile; it seemed a great effort for him. “Come. Walk with me.”
I fell in beside him. We climbed the stairway to the stone bridge, and I followed as he set out across the narrow structure.
Halfway across, Vironesh halted, gazing down at the Dancing Bowl below us. The expression on his strange bruise-colored face was unreadable. “Do you remember catching the hawk’s feather?”
My pulse quickened; I’d never known anyone who shared the same experience. “Yes,” I said. “Do you?”
“Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “Vividly.”
We stood together in silence for a moment. The breeze tugged at my tunic, stirred his robes. I was confident in my balance, but Vironesh seemed as immovable as a mountain atop the slender span of stone.
“Brother Yarit tells me that despite your youth, you are a blooded warrior,” he said at length. “That you have fought and killed.”
“Yes,” I said. “Twice.”
He looked at me. “And when you did, did you have a sense within you like a rising wind?”
I met his gaze. “Yes, I did.”
Vironesh nodded. “It is the essence of Pahrkun’s spirit coursing through you. That is what you must learn to harness and channel, Khai.”
“How?” I asked him.
“By dint of long practice,” he said dryly. “But one must begin somewhere. If it is mortal stakes that you require to evoke it, so be it.” Shifting to face me, he drew his yakhan. “Let us spar.”
I gaped at him. “Here?”
Sunlight ran like water along the edge of his blade. “Here.”
“No.” Shaking my head, I took a careful step backward. “As much as I wish to learn from you, I’m not mad enough to court death, brother.”
Vironesh laughed, a sound like rocks grating. “You, who fought your first battle at the tender age of ten? You, who stood first post in the Trial of Pahrkun at eleven? It seems to me you are eager to court death.”
“That was different,” I said stubbornly. “This…” I gestured around. “There’s no purpose in it.”
“But I have told you the purpose.” Vironesh cocked his head. “Are you afraid?” There was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice.
“Common sense is not fear,” I retorted. “And if you think to provoke me into losing my temper, I’ve seen that trick before.” I tapped my temple. “Brother Saan taught me that a warrior’s first and greatest weapon is his mind.”
“You do not trust me.” Vironesh lowered his blade and rested the tip on the stone. “That is fair; I have given you no reason to do so.” He hesitated. “You cannot truly know what it is to be a shadow, not until you’ve been paired with your charge. But suppose … suppose someone you loved lay injured and dying on the other side of this bridge. Brother Saan, were he still alive. Would you not do everything in your power to reach him?”
I felt the sense of which he had spoken stirring within me at the notion. “Of course.”
“Good, good.” Vironesh raised his yakhan. “Now suppose I am the only thing that stands between you and saving Brother Saan’s life.”
Common sense told me I should abandon this mad endeavor; but common sense had never availed me in learning whatever it was that Vironesh had to teach me. The rising wind inside me owed nothing to common sense.
And Pahrkun had sent the broken shadow here.
I drew my weapons. “As you will, brother.”
We sparred atop the high, narrow arch, blades clashing, the drop looming beneath our feet, and a sense of exhilaration filled me. It was madness, but oh, what a glorious madness it was!
“That’s it!” Unexpectedly, Vironesh was grinning; a hard, fierce grin that showed all his teeth. “Channel it, harness it!” Pressed by my attack, he retreated a step, then parried my follow-up blow with enough force that I nearly lost my balance, teetering on the stone bridge. I glanced down involuntarily and felt my heart leap into my throat at the sight of the ground far beneath me. “Don’t look down! You know damn well how far a fall it is. Keep your eyes on me!” I regained my balance and acknowledged him with a grim nod. His blade feinted and teased, hinting at openings that never quite materialized. “Let the wind guide you, Khai. Look for the spaces between things.”
“I don’t understand,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, but you do.” His blade flicked mine away with one of those infuriatingly subtle parries. “Wind will blow through any chink it can find, flow around any obstacle in its course. Follow the wind’s example and let it guide you into those spaces. Between a strike and a parry, between a step and a turn, between a thought and its execution, between one breath and the next—ow!”
I’d caught Vironesh on the knuckles of his right hand with the blunt inner edge of my yakhan in a backward-sweeping blow. He dropped his blade out of sheer surprise, and it fell glinting through the sunlight to clatter onto the ground below.
Breathing hard, I stepped back and put up my weapons. “May I presume Bro
ther Saan is saved?”
“You may.” Vironesh shook out his hand, regarding me. “Congratulations. That’s the first time a lone opponent has landed a blow against me since … well, it’s been a very long time.”
“I am not so vain as to believe I could have done so if you were not intent on instructing me at the time,” I said wryly, sheathing my yakhan and thrusting my kopar into my sash.
“True.” He was not given to false modesty. “But what I spoke of … you understood it, did you not?”
I hesitated. “Let us say I have the first inkling of understanding.”
“An inkling is more than I possessed at your age,” Vironesh observed. “In time, you will come to understand and channel Pahrkun’s wind at will. You will find that time itself seems to slow when you do, and you will develop a greater facility for seeing the spaces between one thing and another.”
It was a beginning.
I should like to say it was a beginning that changed everything, that the spark of insight I’d gained atop the stone bridge that day was transformative. Alas, it was not. In the days that followed, I was no more able to summon the essence of Pahrkun’s spirit at will than I was able to summon Anamuht’s lightning from an upraised fist. It was a spark that needed to be carefully tended and fed. But it was a spark, and it was the beginning of my true training with Vironesh.
He pushed me; he pushed me hard in an effort to provoke me into channeling the wind. It did not always work. Unless we were sparring atop a deadly precipice—and Brother Yarit, when he learned of it, made it clear that was not to be an everyday occurrence—I was too aware of Vironesh’s superior skill to believe that my life was at stake in the battle. He was just that much better than me, better than all of us. Vironesh might deal me the odd injury to remind me that it was serious business we were about, but I didn’t believe he would truly do me a grievous harm. I was far more likely to suffer a serious injury at the hands of a less skilled opponent.
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