Stormcaller (Book 1) (3 page)

If they hadn’t been using training lashes, that would have been a crippling strike.

Their Sid-Ho master, Noah nodded stoically. “Good.”

Juzo turned on a dime, gritting his teeth, presumably holding a form of Warrior’s Focus. He spun his lash once, building power, and cracked it at Walter’s left knee, attempting to snare the leading leg of his stance. Walter raised his left leg, skillfully avoiding the attack while launching a disarming attack at Juzo’s weapon hand. Walter pulled back on the steel gauntlet wrapped around his right forearm, connected to the leather tentacle about to intercept with Juzo’s weapon arm, causing it to wrap rather than strike his target. Walter’s lash wound around Juzo’s weapon arm like a boa constrictor on its prey, seizing it in its grasp. He pulled hard, forcing Juzo off balance.

Juzo stumbled toward Walter, wearing an odd expression of satisfaction. Walter understood why a second later when a knee to his abdomen, combined with the force of Juzo’s stumbling, expelled the air from his lungs, causing him to collapse to his knees. He gasped with ragged breaths. Walter opened his eyes, his vision obscured by tears of sharp pain, realizing Juzo was now behind him. He caught a glimpse of Noah’s face, seemingly chiseled from stone, observing them with imposing arms crossed.

Walter felt Juzo’s thick lash being worked into double-wrap, carotid-artery choke, closing tightly around his throat. Walter scrambled, attempting to work a fingertip under the lash to relieve the pressure. It was too late. The image of Noah and the other students standing at attention behind him transitioned from blurry, to swirling shadows, to a sheet of red.

“Well done!” Noah exclaimed, striding off to watch another pair of students sparring.

Juzo released the choke and Walter’s vision returned, displaying his smiling friend above him offering a hand. Walter took it, and clapped Juzo’s shoulder. “My friend, that was amazing. I definitely did not see that coming – well played.”

Juzo peered around the wide training floor. “It is hard being the best all the time, you know.”

Walter furrowed his brow. “Interesting. I bet that welt on your back says otherwise.”

Walter rubbed at his throat, still reeling at how rapidly Juzo had executed that choke.
He’s come long way after just a year
. Walter was on his third year, and they were nearly equal in skill. They strolled over to watch Sadit and Will grappling, their lashes lying lifelessly on the soft hay floor.

Walter and Juzo had practically been brothers, both only children. Their parents were friends, so it was only natural. Walter’s father was an elixir bean entrepreneur, and Juzo’s as well. Juzo’s parents unfortunately did not have the luck Walter’s had with the soil composition and turned to fishing to make ends meet. Their parents initially met in a symbiotic business relationship, but that was how most friendships in Breden incubated.

Juzo Pulling was a hand shorter than Walter, with a narrow face said to be handsome by many of the women of Breden. Walter was more handsome, not that Walter was comparing. That was just what other people said, of course. Juzo wore dark, loose clothing that made his wiry form appear larger. He liked to be able to move without the restriction that tighter clothing could cause. He had deep-set almond eyes that harmonized nicely with his hazel hair, with early-onset gray strands.

Noah clapped loudly, causing the students to snap to attention. “Alright, boys, nice work today.”

Will clambered from on top of Sadit, standing and helping his sweat-soaked training partner to his feet. Another pair disengaged from a standoff, a circular dance of vicious lash-cracking. The dozen students stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, lashes dangling behind their Gi pants kissing the Sid-Ho dojo floor. Noah glanced at each student, allowing his icy eyes to linger on each one.

“Boys, today I am going to teach you some things I have learned about self-mastery.”

Noah allowed his gaze to briefly rest on each student’s eyes.

“All of your strength is within. There is nothing outside of yourself that will allow you to become stronger.” He ambled along before the students, his bodily control and power emanating with each step. “Seek nothing that is outside of yourself.”

He audibly inhaled and exhaled deeply. “There is always more than one path to the top of your personal mountain,” he continued, his deep voice penetrating the walls. “In life, in combat, in business, if you wish to control others you must first establish mastery of thyself,” he commanded. He paused a moment, allowing them to ingest and contemplate his truism. “To control others, you must first control yourself,” Noah said. “The ultimate aim of your training is never requiring its use. You have all trained hard this year. Have fun at the Festival tonight and don’t eat too many sweets!” he chuckled.

“Assume Warrior’s Focus,” Noah commanded with a rapid tone change, kneeling, closing his eyes and facing his students. Walter closed his eyes, kneeling through soreness. He tossed, churned, and massaged Noah’s words, allowing them to assimilate into his consciousness, brooding upon on their meaning.
There is only me. I am power, strength, life, death, a conqueror.
He embraced the physical exhaustion, enjoying its calming effect. Colors swirled in his vision and time was no more, as he entered Warrior’s Focus. His senses were dulled, while simultaneously enhanced. Time stretched to what felt like eternity.

“Soon, you’ll learn to embrace the Warrior’s Focus in combat,” said Noah. He circled the meditating students. His footfalls sounded like the beat of a hide drum in Walter’s ears. Walter drowned the sound by instinctively going deeper into the mental abyss, away from the noise.

The colors dancing in his vision started to materialize into what could be a face. The face had ocher skin that appeared to be painted on its skull. It wore an oversized crest of jagged stone shielding where one would presume eyes to be, forming the shape of a spade beyond the apex of the head. Walter’s mind absorbed this with the calm realization that this was the creature he had seen lurking at the edge of the forest at his house.

The head turned imperceptibly, looking directly at him, and screeched, “Zahna!” Walter’s eyes snapped open, shattering Warrior’s Focus like a mirror dropped on stone. He sprung to his feet panting and covered with cold sweat. A few students opened their eyes, shooting him curious glances.

“Class dismissed. Slowly rise to your feet, come back to your body,” said Noah. He peered at Walter and raised his thin eyebrows. The students rose, and started to exit the sparsely adorned dojo.

Juzo walked up beside him. “What the eruption was that?” he asked.

“I’m certain you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Walter replied.

The cool wind of the Abyssal Sea entwined his hair, highlighting hues of gold.

“I’m certain that you’re not really certain that I wouldn’t believe you,” Juzo said, wagging a finger at him.

Walter sighed and glanced over his shoulder, half smiling.

“I saw this really bizarre monster-like thing during meditation, something out of a nightmare,” Walter said, shaking off the image.

“Maybe it was a nightmare. I think I heard you snoring.”

Walter feinted a knee to Juzo’s abdomen and Juzo pushed it away.

“You’ve been working the elixir fields too much.”

“My dad thinks I don’t know what work is yet, apparently.”

Juzo slapped him on the back, grinning.

“You’re pretty lazy, he’s right.”

“Right – oh, wait a minute.” Walter spun and headed back through the veiled archway into the dojo.

He strode in, seeking the large blue glass jar of cream he’d forgotten. “Looking for this?” asked Noah, offering it from his desk.

“Thank you, sir” said Walter, taking it from him.

“What did you see?” asked Noah.

“Nothing, I–”

“Don’t ignore your visions,” he interrupted. “They’re often manifestations of our own demons, things we must settle within. They may portend certain events, but that is extremely rare and unheard of this side of the Silver Tower.”

Walter nodded, and returned to Juzo. If he told anyone that he knew in his gut that the vision confirmed the truth of what he saw behind his house, they would surmise he consumed Fang Cress. Ralph Seaborn had developed the taste for its long thin leaves dotted with yellow flowers and became a babbling fool, left by his wife to fend for himself. The young men started north towards Nyset’s house through the bustling Breden Square.

Fruit and vegetable vendors hocked their wares, shouting prices and freshness quotients into the marketplace. Michael Bisbon led his herd of goats to the leather worker’s table, assuming his negotiation face. He waved to the boys as they passed. With his leg Juzo nudged an extra-fuzzy white goat that stepped in front of him, making its bell to chime. Juzo then lunged at the goat, causing it to scurry away towards the herd. Mr. Bisbon shook his head at Juzo, muttering.

Walter stopped by Janelle’s fruit wagon and fished two dull glass beads from his gem pouch. They had an indiscernible sliver of diamond within, the lowest denomination of Zoria, often referred to as a common mark. There were also clear, topaz, opal, sapphire, diamond and power-diamond marks in order of increasing value. Power-diamond marks were infused with the essence of fire by the rare money changers who could use the power of the Dragon. A power diamond mark was worth ten thousand common marks. Walter purchased two shiny green apples, tossing one to Juzo, who expertly caught it from the air.

“Nectar of the Phoenix!” Juzo exclaimed after taking his first bite.

“You got that right. Let’s go check out what they’ve set up,” said Walter. He motioned towards what would soon become the main attraction for the Festival of Flames. They approached the center of the square, where decorations for the festival became more abundant. Swathes of red and orange cloth mimicking flames adorned shops and hung from signs, creating a stark contrast between the browns, grays and blues of the buildings. Juzo waved at his lithe mother, Mindred, at her fish cart. She was in the midst of wrapping three salted cod in thick, brown paper for a rather portly fellow wearing a green sweater.

In the center of the square, unlit torches circled a wooden structure at least twenty paces tall. Five carpenters cut, hammered and climbed the structure, massaging the wood into the shape of a large bird. Their sweat glistened brightly in the mid-day sun. The boys admired the structure for a moment, chomping down the last of their apples. Mr. Camfield, Nyset’s father, waved to them from atop the large structure, then resumed affixing a crossbeam.

“Let’s go see what Casey is cooking up today,” Walter said. Juzo wiped sweat from his brow and looked towards the chef.

“Seems like he’s been tasting his food more often than usual,” Juzo smirked.

Walter pinched the taut skin under Juzo’s mustard shirt, hardly able to grab any between his fingers. “Someone needs to lay off the sweet cakes,” Walter said. Juzo laughed and swatted his hand away. “His soup is Phoenix worthy, but his odor could contend with the mouth of the volcano,” Walter said.

The grotesque man stirred a large pot of simmering beef stew while examining a tray of loose spices. The scent filled Walter’s mouth with saliva. Three other large pots boiled on open flames and occasionally sputtered, vaulting their intoxicating aromas into the noses of passers-by.

“Hi, Walter. Hi, Juzo,” Casey muttered. He wiped his soiled hands down an apron that hadn’t seen fresh water in months. He forced a smile and his right eye twitched as he nodded at them.

“What can I get you guys?”

“I don’t want to spoil my appetite. The Camfields are making us dinner,” said Walter. Casey nodded six times in his usual disconcerting way. Juzo peered into the various cook pots, savoring each one.

“Could I have just a taste of the lamb stew, chef?” Casey flashed a toothy smile with his tongue clamped between his molars. He held a large, polished wooden spoon towards Juzo’s lips. Juzo slurped it down and his light-brown eyes bulged. “Mmm – fantastic! I think it’s the best stew I’ve ever had. Don’t tell my mother or she’ll cry herself to sleep for weeks,” said Juzo.

Casey chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me, all secrets are safe with me. Yep, all secrets are safe with me. You can tell me any secrets, boys.” Walter folded his tanned arms, standing with his legs wider than shoulder-width apart, and peered down over his nose at the strange man, now sifting a green herb. There was always something off with Casey, but variety is what keeps life interesting, he reminded himself, shrugging off his awkwardness.
Never judge a man by his state of life. It may be just that, a temporary state
,
his father had said.

Chapter 3 – The Festival of Flames