Farlander

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Serese A strange hush fell upon the monastery after Osh's announcement of vendetta, and the departure of the three Rshun set upon fulfilling it, inspiring a new sense of purpose that had been lacking before then. Even the older men, who had been spending more time cultivating their gardens than engaged in practice, began to re-hone their skills. Rshun huddled together, talking in serious tones, and laughter became altogether less common.

The apprentices remained largely unaffected by all this earnestness. They were still too ignorant of the gravity of the situation, and their punishing training regime was sufficient to keep their youthful minds focused on their own daily concerns.

*

Nico had never been able to make friends easily, and he discovered that had not changed much, even here in this high place of isolation. The constant company of others tended to drain him after a while, to the point where he often withdrew into himself for escape. At times, Nico knew, this made him appear aloof.

He had found, in the past, that this reticence had attracted its fair share of trouble, but here he found the opposite to be true. The other apprentices appeared to like Nico well enough, and joked and conversed with him easily. But they also sensed his distance and, knowing him at least a little better by then, took it not as arrogance but solely a desire to be left alone. They respected that desire, and in doing so often excluded him from those moments of true camaraderie that they shared amongst themselves, so that even when he genuinely wanted their company, he could never quite manage to breach the gap that had grown between himself and the others.

It was ironic, therefore, to discover, that another of the apprentices was afflicted by a similar condition and that one should turn out to be Aleas.

They all liked Aleas, too, but he was the apprentice of Baracha, who they roundly despised. More than that though was Aleas's manner. The young man was humble in his way, and naturally so, yet all the rest could see how brilliant he truly was. This unsettled his peers. Such talent and modesty combined suggested to them, in their own private thoughts, that Aleas was somehow superior to them, and they in turn his inferiors. Such personal dynamics do not offer a sound basis for friendship.

Yet it was because Nico and Aleas were both outsiders that inevitably their shared condition each spoke to the other. It suggested something of similar ways. At times, the two young men would both laugh at something only they considered worthy of humour, or one would find his words supporting the other's in some heated group debate. Often they would find themselves paired together for want of anyone else. Still, that distance remained between them as it did with the others – Nico somewhat intimidated by this confident young man, while Aleas felt restrained by his master's wish that they stay apart.

For Nico, a natural loner, life here was not at all as he had imagined it, though it was hardly as if he'd had any clear notions of what to expect upon his arrival. But whatever dim expectation he may have entertained of this strange place where men trained as assassins, it was not this.

For hours each day he hacked at the air in the practice square, stabbed and garrotted straw-stuffed mannequins, concealed himself from imagined foes, poured arrows on distant targets painted as men. Yet so engrossed was he in doing well, in maintaining his reputation, in surmounting the challenges of each new exhausting day, that rarely did he pause to connect these actions with the reality of what they meant, or the path that he was now set upon. For he was carefully being trained to cross a threshold without thought or hesitation. Some day, he would be expected to commit murder in cold blood.

Still, that was not on any day soon, and meanwhile the practice eventually made him insensitive to such a prospect, and hard effort obscured his contemplation of what it was all leading to. After a while, Nico did not dwell on it further.

It was a pleasant surprise for him to find how much he began to look forward to his daily sessions of meditation. They took place twice a day, for a full hour each time. Some of the apprentices struggled with these sessions, mostly those who still held to religious beliefs other than Daoism, which was odd, Nico thought, since all that was required of the apprentices was a commitment to the Daoist practices of stillness.

Nico was hardly much of a believer himself, having rarely connected with the rituals his mother had forced him to sit through, performed by those droning monks in their smoky temple whenever he had been unfortunate enough to be dragged along. Yet now he began to look forward to these hourly sessions in the quiet polished-wood confines of the chachen hall, or outdoors in the courtyard whenever the weather was fine. There was little religion involved, he found, for the Rshun did not concern themselves with doctrine. They merely knelt there, with hands in laps, and concentrated on the soft inrush and outrush of their breaths until a chime sounded the end of the session.

In time, Nico found that stillness was increasingly attainable once he learned how to relax while still maintaining his focus. Afterwards, he would feel refreshed and centred; altogether more comfortable in his own skin.

Weeks passed before he remembered to write a letter home. Nico felt somewhat chastened that he had forgotten about his mother so easily. In his untidy handwriting he let her know that he was well, and filled the rest of the page with an account of the more mundane aspects of his new life. He carefully left out anything that might suggest how desperate certain situations had been.

Ash's old friend Kosh was happy enough to arrange for its delivery, and had it taken down to Cheem Port along with some of the Rshun who were travelling down to purchase supplies. From there it was passed on to a smuggler who made his living by running the Mannian blockade of the Free Ports. Nico hoped that it eventually reached her. In truth though, after that, he did not think of his mother often.

Every Foolsday they were given a day off, and were free to do as they pleased. On such days, when the others would team up in groups of two or three, Nico would leave them to their bantering and their small complicities and take himself off for a hike into the surrounding mountains, to spend some cherished hours by himself in their high clean splendour. It was like nourishment to him, to be this alone with his thoughts, which on those particular days, after a long enough walk, were mostly a form of no-thought, the same as when he had been a boy, and he had ventured into the foothills near their cottage for an afternoon just with Boon; times of peace, a way of finding quietness.

The routine of it all carved its own particular grooves in him. For a time, Nico looked neither backwards nor ahead.

*

One morning, before breakfast, Nico spotted a girl crossing the courtyard, and was startled enough to drop his pail of water to the ground. It was not simply that she was female that gave Nico such a start and set his heart hammering. Neither was it her appearance: a simple black robe which matched the hair that swept long and straight down her back, framing a sun-kissed face of sharp angles and large eyes. Rather, it was the way she walked, long-limbed and confident, with a swinging grace evident beneath her robe that captivated his male eyes starved of such a sight for so long. Nico forgot his bucket as he darted after her, watching her enter the door leading into the north wing. He thought quickly of some excuse to follow and discover who she might be.

Nico hurried through the door, and glanced to his left and right. She was gone. He even wondered for a moment if he had imagined her.

*

Over the next few days he saw her several times again. But each time it was merely a passing glimpse, and always he was engaged in training or on his way to training, and could not linger. It was frustrating, and he soon found that his eyes kept darting constantly from here to there, looking out for her.

'Who is she?' he demanded of Aleas, one evening at supper.

'Who?' inquired Aleas, betraying himself with a feigned tone of innocence.

'You know who! The girl I keep seeing about the place.'

Aleas flashed him a wolfish grin. 'That is not just a girl, Nico. That is my master's daughter, and you would be best to keep your eyes off her – let alone your hands. My master is fearfully protective.'

'Baracha's daughter?' Nico was stunned at such a thought.

'Nico, your liking or disliking of a fellow hardly affects his abilities to sire children.'

'Well, what is her name?'

'Serese.'

It was a Mercian name, and he said as much.

'Yes,' agreed Aleas. 'Her mother was Mercian. Why all these questions, or need I ask?'

'What questions?' he said, glancing away. But then he asked, 'How long is she staying?'

Aleas sighed. 'You sly, sly dog. Let me repeat myself, at the risk of sounding a bore. She is the daughter of Baracha and she is here for a few weeks visiting her father. When she is done, she will return to Q'os, since she works for us there. If, during her stay, she has been molested or accosted in any way – and by molested, I mean talked to, looked at, thought about while fumbling with yourself beneath the blankets – if any of these things have occurred between you and she in that time, then be assured, my master will take a knife to your balls. Look at him yonder. He watches us even now. He will have words with me later for even talking to you.'

Nico leaned back warily in his chair. He did not doubt Aleas's warning.

Even so, after Aleas had returned his attention to his broth, Nico scanned the dining hall to catch another glimpse of her, and felt disappointment when he did not gain one.

*

The next morning their paths finally crossed, and he instantly knew they were fated to have met. Nico believed in such things.

It was a Foolsday, therefore his day off, and he was entering the laundry room to wash some clothes before setting off on his customary hike across the valley.

There, in the steamy atmosphere of the cavernous room, she stood wringing out the last of her own washing. Nico halted in the doorway, unsure of whether to enter or leave.

'Hello,' she said casually, after a glance over her shoulder.

Her tone drew him into the room. He closed the door behind him, and crossed the floor. He dumped his clothes next to the metal tub of water bubbling over the fire, then nodded again to her, and smiled.

She finished folding a wet tunic and placed it on the pile of clothes already in her basket. The sleeves of her robe were rolled up, and her black hair tied back from her face, which was flushed pink from the heat and exertion. He realized that she was around the same age as himself.

'What?' she asked with a quick smile, aware of his scrutiny.

He shook his head. 'Nothing. I'm Nico, Master Ash's apprentice.'

He saw the swift change in her at that information – a reappraisal of who she spoke to. Her dark eyes took in his features, seeming to linger. It was the kind of glance, he realized, that always made him look away with a blush – and turned him into a quivering idiot inside.

Nico kept his mouth shut, fearing that whatever came out of it next would be stammered or stupid or, even worse, both.

'I'm Serese,' she told him, in a voice that was deep and husky. It sent a thrill up his thighs.

'I know,' he replied, and instantly regretted it.

She seemed pleased by that – the fact that he knew her name or his sudden condition of embarrassment, he didn't know which.

'You must be Mercian then,' he ventured, trying to recover his composure. 'Serese. It means "sharp" in the old tongue.'

'Ah, I thought I recognized your accent.'

'Yes. I'm from Bar-Khos.'

'Ah.' Impressed again.

A bell rang outside, calling the hour.

'Well, it's all yours,' she said, gesturing to the bubbling water as she arranged the last of the clean garments.

'Wait,' he blurted, even as he recalled the stark warning of Aleas. But his pulse had quickened at the sudden thought of asking this girl to spend his free day with him. He pictured them hiking across the valley together, talking, laughing, getting to know one another. 'It's my day off,' he explained. 'I'm going on a hike after I've finished this. Why don't you join me?'

She seemed to consider it, at least for a few heartbeats. But then she shook her head. 'My father will be waiting for me, I'm afraid.'

'Oh,' Nico said, defeated; though a small part of him was relieved.

'But another time,' she said, brightening up. As she stooped to pick up her basket, he could not help but admire her shape from behind.

'Here,' he said suddenly. 'Let me help you with that.'

'It's fine. I can manage.'

He pretended not to hear and snatched the load up anyway. It was heavier than he was expecting, and he barely suppressed a groan.

Serese followed him outside where, in the brighter light of the corridor their faces shone with perspiration, and their hair clung in rat tails from the steam. They stopped, exchanged looks. His heart was still racing.

He wanted to touch her.

'Serese?'

Baracha stood in the open doorway that lead out into the courtyard.

The girl rolled her eyes. 'Goodbye,' she murmured smiling an apology. She went to join her father, looking back just the once.

Baracha glowered at Nico, his expression dark.

*

It was a slow Firstday afternoon, and Nico and the other apprentices were sweating through their cali manoeuvres as usual. The training ground was crowded with assembled Rshun all working their skills to a finer degree, the open space barely large enough to hold them all, while up in his tower, Osh could be seen watching from the window overlooking the courtyard.

The apprentices were confined to a far corner, panting heavily from the drawing strokes they had already been rehearsing, and now moving through some simple in-stroke, out-stroke combinations, as Baracha barked them through the drills.

He seemed his usual short-tempered self that day, no better or worse than normal, and his hand had clapped more than a few of them moving too sluggishly for his mood. At one point he yelled into the face of Aleas, for not paying attention to what he was doing, not unusual that, for he always pushed his young apprentice harder than the rest of them, but it disturbed Nico to see it, and the others too. They knew Aleas to be the best of them, and that he did not deserve such treatment.

It was in the midst of this tirade that a sudden hush fell upon the training ground. Baracha stopped in mid-flow, his angry eyes flashing about to locate the source of this new distraction.

There, striding on to the dust, Ash had appeared, with a sheathed sword in his hand, coming out to train with the others for once, rather than performing dawn exercises on his own.

The assembled Rshun quickly got back to business, but the apprentices now found their concentration less focused. Many watched from the corners of their eyes as the old man in his black robe practised along with the rest of them, his naked blade flashing and glittering in the sunlight, through a series of moves too fast for most of them to follow. The distraction only served to worsen Baracha's mood, and he slapped a few of them back into order, until they returned in proper earnest to their exercises.

After a while he allowed them to break for water and to take a breath.

'I see the old man plays with the rest of us today,' he called out to Ash, loud enough for all nearby to hear. Ash met his eyes for the briefest moment, then continued with his routine. He henceforth ignored the big Alhazii, and Nico could see how this lack of response stung the big man's pride.

During the break several of the other apprentices gathered around and asked Nico what his master was like in action. Nico waited for their eager questioning to descend into an expectant silence, then proclaimed in a hush: 'He is like the calm centre of a storm,' and the other boys nodded, seeing it in their own imaginations. And Aleas chuckled.

*

The next morning, Nico encountered Baracha again on his way to archery practice. The Alhazii was just leaving the armoury, and stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted Nico walking towards him.

'You!' he barked.

'Me?'

'Yes, you. Come with me.'

'I have a lesson to get to. I'll be late.'

'Come!' Baracha barked impatiently.

Nico swallowed as the Alhazii strode off along the corridor. For a moment he considered making a dash for it, but that would look stupid and childish. Instead, he propelled himself along in his wake.

They marched through the kitchen area, steamily hot. The two cooks paid little heed to them, engrossed in a tug-of-war over use of an empty pot. Towards the back of the kitchen Baracha bent and opened a trapdoor in the floor. He stepped down into darkness.

Nico peered down at the stone steps, and the massive form of Baracha vanishing into the gloom. He wondered what this was about. But then, he already knew what it was about.

An angry, over-protective father.

'Down here,' echoed Baracha's voice, and it tugged Nico forward so that he placed a foot on the first step. He descended the rest as though in a dream.

It was a storage room, stone-clad and cold. The only light came from the stairwell behind him. In the dimness, Nico could discern shapes hanging from iron hooks fixed to the wooden ceiling: joints of wild game, smoked and salted, next to sacks of flour, spices, or dried vegetables. Something swung on its hook just to the right of him. A bird ready plucked and gutted.

He stepped that way, stilling the bird with one hand as he passed by. It felt cool and fleshy beneath his fingertips.

Ahead, a shape shifted in the darkness. He saw a sudden flash of whiteness: Baracha's grinning teeth.

I did nothing wrong, Nico reminded himself. We merely talked for a moment.

It hardly reassured him, and sweat began to prickle his forehead.

'Over here, boy.'

Nico swallowed nervously. In a daft moment of fantasy he wished he was carrying a blade on him.

The silence was heavy like that of a tomb. Baracha leant back against something, arms crossed. As he drew nearer, Nico saw it was the raised lip of a stone well, perhaps six feet across, covered by a rusty iron grille. Within it, deep down, he could hear the echo of fast-flowing water.

Without a further word, Baracha turned and laid his hands upon the grille. With a grunt of exertion and a squeal of hinges he pulled it open.

Nico stared down into darkness. Water rushed down there, unseen but frightening. He felt the coolness of it against his face. It was an underground stream running right beneath the grounds of the monastery.

Nico took a quick, involuntary step away. 'What do you want of me?' he demanded.

Baracha bent to lift something from the floor. It was a bucket, green with algae, fixed to a rotten rope. The end of the rope was tied to the iron grille.

The Alhazii lowered the bucket down into blackness.

'My daughter may have lost something yesterday,' he explained. 'I want you to climb down there and find it.'

Nico took another step away from the well. 'I'm fairly certain I will not.'

The rope almost yanked itself from Baracha's hand, suddenly caught by the flow. He tightened his grip on it. Nico could hear the bucket bouncing against stone, the sound of water even louder as it rushed past the obstruction.

'You will,' said Baracha. 'One way or another, you will climb down there.'

Nico stared dumbfounded at the man's shadowed face. He couldn't tell if he was being serious.

If he's trying to frighten me, he is succeeding!

Nico wanted to run but his feet seemed rooted to the stone floor. Baracha took a step towards him, dragging the rope with him. Still, Nico could not move.

The young man opened his mouth – to shout for help, to plead his innocence, he wasn't sure – as a large hand fell on his shoulder. Baracha's fingers grabbed a fistful of his robe. The cloth tightened against Nico's throat. Without any visible effort, the big Alhazii pulled him back towards the well.

'Get off me!' Nico shouted, as he felt his feet dragging across the floor. He struggled then, trying to break loose of the man's grip. 'No!' he yelled in anger, as the dark opening of the well reared towards him. He tried to get a hand up to Baracha's face, fingers groping wildly for his eyes. The man lifted his face out of reach. His strength was staggering as he shoved Nico's head down into the well, tried to get the rest of him inside too. Nico's hands flailed for a grip against the slimy rim, while the unseen waters crashed deep and cold through the earth below him.

And then, mercifully, Baracha's grip loosened and with a surge Nico broke free. He staggered away from his tormentor, catching the amused look on the man's face. 'Bastard,' spat Nico, retreating in a rush, batting aside the hanging obstructions, as Baracha's laughter flayed his back with mockery.

Nico did not stop until he was outside in the fresh air, gulping deeply, squinting in the sunlight and cursing himself for the fool that he was.

Serese, he later heard, was sent away from there that same day.