Aethersmith (Book 2) (22 page)

Soria fought to keep a smirk off her face.
If only you
knew …

Managing to keep her composure, Soria turned to face her
would-be opponent. She cracked her knuckles as she let her vision fade to the
aether. Though she had not been told which of the two Kheshi was to be her
opponent, she knew immediately. The one to her right was the stronger of the
two by his Source and was the easy choice to test her skills. Drawing from her
own Source, Soria worked a straightforward telekinesis spell.

The one whom she had guessed to be Daar-Ben stood still,
dark eyes widening as he tried to adopt a formal Tezuan sparring stance. Soria
knew, though, that he now felt as if he had been buried in sand, his limbs held
tightly in place. He could wiggle a bit, but was otherwise held fast.

“Daar-Ben, step forward and face her,” Parjek ordered
impatiently when his guard had not made a move after a moment. “What are you
waiting for?”

“Do you yield?” Soria asked him, looking him squarely in the
eye. She had always hated being asked that question …

* * * * * * * *

The children knelt in orderly rows on the rough stone floor
of the courtyard in the Temple of the Sun. They were ordered by age, then by
skill, with the eldest students at the front and the strongest of each age
toward the middle. Soria knelt in the very center of the fourteen-year-old
disciples, as she had knelt in the center position of the thirteen-year-olds
the year before. The Parting of Ways had come yet again, along with another
chance at freedom.

She kept silent, unmoving, respectful. She had learned to
stopper the emotions that had gotten her into so much trouble in her ten years
as a Tezuan Sun disciple. They boiled inside her, but she had become more
careful about how often they showed themselves. It allowed her to watch the
formal proceedings with just the hint of a smile betraying her intent.

One by one, the students twenty years aged were called
before Mother Stina, the highest-ranked of their temple. One by one, each
learned their fate. By their skills and their conduct during their training,
each had been evaluated and the masters had figured out how best they would
serve the temple. The honored few were taken on as full Brothers and Sisters of
the order. Those would teach and lead as the successors of the temple’s legacy.
Others were assigned as gardeners, cooks, or other servant positions. The
temple allowed no outsiders and certain tasks were better suited for adults to
oversee, rather than the young disciples. Those chosen for such roles were
rarely surprised, as their later years had groomed them for specific
specialties. Another group was sent away from the temple. They would be
expected to use their skills to earn money, most of which would be sent back to
the temple to pay for their meager needs. It was the only source of income the
ascetics had.

Soria was impatient. She knew her fate and six years seemed
too long to wait. She would never belong in the temple. Juliana’s eyes saw more
of the world each morning than Soria’s had since the temple had taken her in. There
was a world beyond the walls, and Varnus had promised to show it to her. He was
waiting in Delfar for her, just an hour’s walk from the Temple of the Sun. All
she had to do was earn her freedom to leave.

“Are there any who would challenge their fate?” Mother Stina
asked after the last of the assignments was handed down.

They were the words Soria was waiting for.

“I challenge my fate!” Soria proclaimed, standing and
addressing Mother Stina directly. As far as she could recall, it was the first
she had spoken to the Mother of the temple aside from apologies and excuses for
her behavior.

“Your fate was not chosen today, young Soria,” Mother Stina
replied serenely.

“That is what I challenge. I want my fate settled,” Soria
countered and she began to walk forward, picking her way through the neatly
ordered rows of her fellow students.

She stopped a few paces from the elderly Tezuan ascetic. The
two women locked gazes. The younger was clad in nothing but the loose black
pants that all the students wore and the cloth wrap the girls wore about their
chests. She was barefooted, bare armed, but wore a look of determination like
armor. The elder wore a robe of silk the color of saffron, which shone in the
early morning light. She wore sandals beneath the robe, and walked with a staff
that was a badge of authority more than any sort of aid. Her wrinkled face kept
a serene look in place, but her dark eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance. Soria
had a rather inimitable ability to annoy Mother Stina.

“Your fate is to spend six more years learning humility and
patience,” Mother Stina spoke coldly, never taking her eyes from her
petitioner.

“I challenge that, too,” Soria shot back.

There were gasps from among the onlooking disciples and even
a few of the instructors. A few mutters were heard, but Mother Stina’s gaze
quickly swept the courtyard, and all was silent again, save for the morning
calls of the birds.

“So be it. If you would challenge me, then do so,” Mother
Stina declared.

Soria fought back a grin, gritting her teeth and pursing her
lips.

Many years, one or more of the disciples challenged the fate
they were assigned. Few ever managed to actually oppose Mother Stina. She would
stare at them until they changed their minds and yielded, never having so much
as taken a fighting stance. Soria had paid closer attention the last year, when
Ronmo had objected to being sent out rather than being installed as a fighting
instructor as he had wished. She had seen the rudimentary telekinesis that the
old woman used, holding her opponent in place with the power of her sann—what
the Tezuan called aether or Source—they did not understand the two separately.
Juliana had spent a good deal of time helping Soria find out how to counter
such a trick.

“Do you yield?” Mother Stina asked.

Her manner suggested the mere question was a formality.
Soria watched in the aether as the tendrils of Mother Stina’s spell wove
themselves around her. Soria’s Source was stronger than Ronmo’s had been, and
was not held entirely immobile. Fighting the spell, she brought her hands up in
front of her, palms facing Mother Stina. With a quick jerk, she spread her
hands, severing the spell’s connection to her. She continued the motion into a
Tezuan fighting stance. Mother Stina seemed the tiniest bit surprised, but accepted
that she would have to fight Soria to enforce her edict. The old woman let go
her staff, which balanced perfectly on end, demonstrating her skill and
control.

Soria saw through that little trick as well. She reached out
in the aether, and loosed the staff from Mother Stina’s spell as well. It
clattered to the ground. and Soria could not stop herself any longer. Her lips
curled into the mischievous grin that had accompanied so many of the troubles
she had gotten herself into during her years at the Temple of the Sun.

Mother Stina took the small disrespect for what it was, and
leapt to the attack. No follower of the Tezuan way was unschooled in combat;
age and experience often triumphed over the strength and speed of youth. The
old woman flew through the air with her body outstretched, one foot leading in
a kick. Soria ducked the blow and spun to face Mother Stina as the old ascetic
landed behind her. Soria slapped aside two punches, a kick, another punch;
Mother Stina thought to overwhelm an undisciplined defense. Soria kept her
aether in check, her Source balanced. She took aether to where it was most
needed within her body: legs to speed her footwork, forearms to absorb impacts
… hands to deliver blows.

While Soria had started out on defense, she merely wanted to
put on a show for the watching throng of disciples and instructors. Her first
punch was faster than Mother Stina imagined a disciple could throw. It caught
her squarely in the chest and took her from her feet. Mother Stina hit the
ground as fluidly as any ascetic among them could manage, landing in a roll and
popping back to her feet immediately. Soria could tell the blow had hurt her,
though. A few murmurs began again among the disciples, but this time Stina was
in no position to silence them.

“No, I do not yield,” Soria finally answered.

Mother Stina was more cautious in her second onslaught,
keeping her defenses up while making attack after attack. She tried trips and
feints, punches, kicks, and elbows. She tried to grab Soria to throw her. Nothing
worked. Soria was too fast, her Source speeding her movements by skilled
direction of the aether within it.

Finally one blow aimed at Soria’s face struck cleanly. Soria
had made no attempt to block, dodge, or deflect it. Even with her own sann to strengthen
and protect her, Mother Stina broke her hand against the shielding spell Soria
enacted. Juliana had learned to cast them two seasons before, and Soria had
been practicing them almost nonstop ever since.

As Mother Stina recoiled in pain from the unexpected impact
against something she had not seen, Soria grabbed the wrist of her broken hand.
She pulled down and across her body, bringing Mother Stina’s stomach and her
own knee into solid contact. As the old woman doubled over, Soria brought her
free hand across and stuck a blow to Mother Stina’s jaw. The Tezuan Mother’s
control of her sann kept her teeth in her mouth, but a spray of blood and
spittle spread across the stone floor.

As Soria twisted her arm, and forced her to the ground, to
all appearances preparing for a fatal blow, Mother Stina spoke up.

“I yield,” the old ascetic croaked though bloodied lips.
“Begone and never return, you rotten, ungrateful child.”

“Thank you. That is all I wanted,” Soria replied, letting go
the old woman’s arm. To the rest of the assembly, she said, “Should I encounter
any of you in the world out there, we will be as strangers. There is no past
between us. I am starting anew. Friendships I may remember, but I leave all
grudges here. Any who seek to do me harm or take my freedom again, remember
this,” she said, pointing to where Mother Stina lay.

That night, she changed into some traveling clothes at the
inn where Zellisan was staying. She met his friends Tanner and Rakashi. They
did not care that she was not Kheshi born, like so many of her fellow disciples
had. They spoke Juliana’s language to her, until she re-learned the forgotten
Acardian of her infancy. They treated her like a friend.

* * * * * * * *

“What do you mean ‘yield’? You have not even begun to fight
him yet!” Parjek objected.

“I yield,” Daar-Ben whispered hoarsely, short of breath as
Soria’s spell held his chest tightly. A heartbeat later, he slumped forward,
coughing and gasping to recover his breath as Soria released him. She turned
her attention back to Parjek.

“Satisfied, Daar-Ben?” she called out over her shoulder,
watching Parjek as she did so.

“Yes. Master, she is Tezuan,” Daar-Ben confirmed between
ragged breaths.

“What nonsense is this?” Parjek demanded. “I ordered to you
test her in combat, not stare at her and lose your composure. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself.”

“Master, it is a Tezuan technique that is beyond me. My
muscles stiffened and I could not move.” Daar-Ben begged his master’s
forgiveness. “Please believe me.”

“Jovin,” Parjek turned his attention to his other guard.
“You fight her, then. See if you can actually attack her, unlike cowardly
Daar-Ben.”

“No, Master. With respect, I will not,” Jovin answered,
bowing slightly in deference, despite his insubordination.

“Fine. If you will not fight a girl, prove yourself against
the large one. This is your test, though, not his. If you will not fight this
one, I will dismiss both of you from my service,” Parjek snarled.

“Of course, Master. I hope to redeem myself in your eyes,”
Jovin replied, obviously relieved to be fighting the giant Zellisan instead of
the tall but wispy Soria. “No helmet or blade, but you may wear the rest of
your armor,” he told his opponent.

Zell grunted a reply, handed Tanner his helm and sword, and
stepped forward to meet his opponent. He was a full head taller and twice the
man’s heft but, he had seen Soria fight, and was wary of another with her
pedigree. He took up a brawler’s stance, crouched just slightly, chin tucked,
hands raised in loose fists with his forearms framing his face. He could
tighten a fist to punch, but was ready to grab as well; grappling seemed likely
to favor him, should the chance present itself.

Soria and Tanner exchanged looks. By a system they had
worked out over years of traveling and gambling together, they settled on a
wager without so much as a word or hand signal. Tanner favored the Tezuan
fighter for two thousand eckles. Soria gave him two-to-one odds in Zell’s
favor. Soria had never been able to manage a mind-speaking spell silently, so
they had developed other ways to communicate surreptitiously. They had no real
worry about their host and prospective employer learning about their wager, but
whoever was found to be betting against Zellisan would find themselves on the
wrong side of a very large man’s temper should he find out.

The two opponents circled, each feeling the other out. Jovin
shot quick punches and kicks at Zellisan to test the big man’s reaction time.
Zellisan threw jabs to find his range, and move close enough to hit the smaller
man. Zell had little formal training in Tellurak, but had been in many brawls,
stretched across decades back to his youth. His Kadrin training included some
hand-fighting, but he had never kept up with it, seeing as he always had a
blade near at hand.

Jovin landed a kick that Zellisan caught on his forearm,
taking it full force to protect his head. His mail coat spread the blow’s force,
and probably kept his forearm from breaking.

He doesn’t hit like Soria, though. Must not be able to do
that thing with the aether that she says she does.