Chapter 12

Meeting with a Sword Youth

Magic was a mystery to behold. Even as Grey fervently improved his sword skills, he kept close to him a copy of the Magic Theory Vol. V book. A book that he had bought before he had left the city. He stayed inside the cart on most days, listening idly by as Ciara and Oswin argued about their strength and density of their spells. They had just left the city a day ago, having packed their things, and were on the road to a city called Beville in a wooden cart.

He sat in a meditative position. His legs crossed. His arms at his waist, palms facing down.

Magic had a weight to it like everything else. Heavier spells were stronger but slower. On some spells the average person could even see the arc tracing from incantation and jump out of the way if they were fast enough. Faster spells were lighter. Less apt at doing damage, but more suitable for disorienting or overwhelming a person's senses. Blinding. Escaping.

Grey tried to see if he could apply some of these speed principles to his sword skill. Vanishing Sky. He no longer trained with the teacups, but sat upright with his sword drawn. A candle flickered right in front of him. He set up a training method on his own to imitate what Iris had done when she had phased her sword through the floor.

He was to cut the candle into five pieces without toppling it over. In a moving cart, this was even more difficult.

One of his sword swings strikes the top of the candle. A miss. He adjusts and swings again. It hits the center, but at a slight diagonal. The candle flips over, spinning in the air, before falling down into two pieces. Grey picks the pieces up and heats them using another candle to combine them back together. He places the newly fixed candle back into place and tries again.

He begins to understand the principles.

The essence of the motion was speed control and angulations. If an object was struck at the correct angle and speed it would not fall over.

Sixth Strike.

The sword fades into the wax cylinder and comes out the other side. Success. The candle does not even wobble when the cart strikes a rock. The cut is nearly perfect. Grey feels the candle with his fingers. He is a little mesmerized. Advances come sparsely and without reason. Repetition only gives him more chances to replicate past successes.

He spends the rest of the day practicing till his hands are sore from swinging. His skill has gotten better. 4 out of 10 swings. He would be able to cut the candle without flipping it over. A truly productive and well spent day. He fell asleep quite satisfied.

A week past without anything eventful. The road was long and narrow. One of paved dirt that led away from the rocky outcrops and plains of the Eastern Northlands to the Western Northlands of the Gahol Kingdom. Red. Yellow. Purple. The soil has become a dazzling neon that stretched out into the horizon. There were no trees here. Simply patches of moss that speckled the ground.

"What kind of thing is this!" yelled Ciara, excitedly. "Why is the ground so many colors?"

"It is twilight moss," said Iris. She drove the cart, pushing the horse forward. "The moss here changes colors to match the sky between the hours of dawn and evening. The color the moss right now is the color the sky as it was in the morning."

"Really?" said Ciara, looking up to the sky. Right now, it was light blue. White fluffy clouds drifting along the winds.

"It changes at dawn silly," smiled Iris, "The sun has already come up so the sky has changed back to light blue. Wait until the sun sets and you will see it change again."

"Okay," said Ciara, sitting back into the wagon. She looked at the ground curiously, imagining herself rolling on the ground. She wondered if the moss was as soft as their bed back at the inn. To her it looked like the whole world had been covered in fuzzy patches of fur.

They set up camp in the evening. They had one sheet they pulled over the cart and beddings laid in the back. Ciara prepared the campfire. Oswin went and gathered some of the moss from the soil. In this world everything can be eaten as long as it is cooked. Even the most poisonous of things could become a famous delicacy if heated under an iron pot.

Iris rinsed the moss in water and tossed them in the pot, simmering the moss over the fire. She adds six cups of water , eight peeled potatoes, four red pepper, and a slab of butter and mixes them together with a wooden ladle. When she was done three wooden bowls are set on a wooden traveling table and soup poured into each one.

"This is a meal my mother taught me when I was a kid. It is called 'Three Spring Months.' The first month of spring is Jia. The month for growing wood. So I added water to the moss so that it may become a delicious soup. The second month is Yi. When the wood is tall enough to be cut. So I add potatoes that have all been peeled so that the soup may have a rich earthen texture. The third month is Bing. The month where the sun begins to shine bright. So I have added hot pepper whose taste is strong and fierce."

"What about the butter? Does it also have a meaning?" asked Grey.

"No not really," laughed Iris, "Butter just helps bring out the flavor in the moss and makes the soup a little thicker. Come let's eat. I will tell you where we are going next."

The place they were to arrive to next was a Hamlet of Killua near the Great Forest of Tephra in the State of Ai.

"We will meet up with a friend and follow them up the mountain passage," said Iris, sternly. "I received a message the other day that a bandit group has taken residence in the foothills. If we are lucky we will not need to meet them till we reached the city. Beville is about six kilometers from Killua, but in the case we do find the bandits before then all of you are to remain hidden in the cart. There is a secret compartment underneath the beddings that will keep you safe. Go there if I start to whistle."

"But can't I fight?" said Oswin, "What's a bandit or two? They can't use magic. I can fry them like boiled eggs."

"And what bandit hasn't attacked an adventurer?" said Iris, shaking her head. "You make one mistake and it will be over. Stay in the cart and I will let you know when it is safe. Okay?"

"Okay," sighed Oswin, drinking his soup.

"Ciara? Grey?"

"Yes," said Ciara

"Yes," said Grey.

"Good," smiled Iris, clapping her hands. "Now for desert."

At night when everyone had fallen asleep, Grey woke up feeling restless. He found Ciara using him as a pillow and holding him tightly. He gently brushed off her hand and put it on Oswin. She shifted her position and hugged Oswin tightly instead. His face grimaced in pain as if having a nightmare.

"Sorry Oswin," whispered Grey as he made his way out of the cart. He could already imagine Oswin waking up the next day and smacking Ciara on the head. Grey got dressed and made his way to an open field of moss a few paces away. He took out his sword and began to practice.

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The teacups taught him balance. That a light object can lift a heavy object given the right posture. The candles taught him speed and skill. That it was possible to swing a sword through an object without disturbing them. Grey began to grasp the secrets behind this technique. Iris had told him the Vanishing Sky Style was a style of motion. Of understanding how materials work in tandem with the forces of nature.

Grey begins to dance, feeling the resistance of the air against his weapon. Swish! His sword cuts an imaginary bamboo stick in half. Slash! It pierces through an imaginary wall, straight and center. Balance and movement without the use of magic. He swings for an hour till he hears the sound of another sword slashing through the air. Cling! It was close by.

"Grey," says a voice, startling him. It was Ham. She woke up having slept in his hair.

"I thought you were in the box with the cheese," said Grey. "Didn't you say you could sleep there forever?"

"I was sleeping there, but cheese is not as soft as you this head," giggled Ham, comfortably. "What are you doing so late. You keep moving so violently. I was having a good dream, but you kept running around."

"I was training silly," said Grey, lightly poking Ham on her furry forehead. "What kind of mouse can sleep through that. If later you become fat and lazy you will have only yourself to blame."

"Hehe," said Ham, "It is because you feed me so well. Hmmm? What is that noise? Is someone else practicing?"

"I don't know," said Grey, a little curious. He remembered Iris's warning about the bandits but they should be miles away. He approached the sound of the sword swings. A boy's voice huffed mightily as he attacked Grey.

"Sword Style! Pulsating Wave!"

The boy extends his hand and strikes the earth. The ground ripples from his blow, shooting spikes into the air. Each spike is two centimeters wide. One centimeter thick. A hail of needles which flies in all directions.

"Gah!" said Grey, surprised. He could hear the earthen needles fly towards him. He jumped out of the way and felt a few prick his arm. Ham stayed with Grey, hiding in his hair. Her eyes look angrily. Her teeth ready to bite!

"Oh no!" cried the boy. Grey lay on the ground. His arm had been skewered. Two needles in his biceps.

"Ow, it really hurts," said Grey, gritting his teeth.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were there!" said the boy running up to Grey. He dropped his sword next to him and took Grey by the arm. He begins to put medicine on Grey's wounds. "It is not bad. I am not so good at it anyway."

He rips off a piece of his shirt and wraps Grey's arm in a sling. "Good as new right? Are you hurt anywhere else? You definitely won't tell my dad I did this will you?"

"Tell your dad?" said Grey, incredulously. The pain vivid in his mind. "Why were you doing something so crazy. If I had not jumped away I could have been killed. This needle hitting my head instead of my arm."

"Ack?!" said the little boy, feeling a guilty. If he had really killed Grey. Would that not make him a criminal? A murderer? He trembled and got down on his knees, touching the ground with his forehead.

"It is like you said. I could have done you a great wrong. Please forgive me!"

"Humph," said Grey, petting Ham on the head. She had gotten agitated and Grey could feel her fur standing up. He pet her gently, calming her nerves. To the boy it looked as if Grey was stroking his hair. This was because rats are born with a talent in stealth. If they do not wish to be found, then it is difficult to see them.

"I guess I will forgive you," said Grey, after a long pause. The boy had dressed his wounds and apologized a lot. Didn't this mean he was pure of heart with no evil intentions?

"But tell me then why did you attack me? I didn't do anything to you."

"I didn't attack you. I was practicing when I accidently hit you," sighed the boy. "My dad is a sword instructor and I have to carry on the family tradition and learn my father's art."

The boy shrugged and sat down, resting his chin on his hand in deep thought.  

"but honestly I am not that good. I have to practice when he isn't looking...so I don't become an even bigger disappointment."

"I see," said Grey. "Is your camp nearby?"

"It is a few paces from here by that big rock," said the boy. "Is your camp nearby too?"

"It is over the hill in the back."

Grey does not turn when he speaks, but simply points behind him.

"So we are close by. We must have missed each other on the road."

The boy takes a closer look at Grey's face and is surprised to see his eyes are a dull white.

"Your eyes? Are you blind?"

"So what if I am," Grey frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"No, nothing is wrong." said the boy. He leaned closer, inspecting Grey's eyes. "I didn't do that did I?"

Grey shook his head.

"I have been blind for a long time now. It is not your fault."

"I see...so what are you doing out here late at night? Where you going to the bathroom?"

Grey laughed, imagining himself getting attacked without his pants and sat on a patch of moss, rubbing his arm. He could heal himself if he wanted, but Iris had told him not to show that healing skill to anyone. He would have to wait till he got back to camp.

"I wasn't going to the bathroom," chuckled Grey. "I was feeling restless so I went out to practice my sword skills. I did not expect to get attacked though."

"Sorry," said the boy, clapping his hands together apologetically. "Wait a minute? You practice with the sword too?"

"That's right," said Grey, "It isn't something so fancy as your move though."

He nodded towards the crater the boy made in the ground.

A boy's eyes started to sparkle.

"I don't suppose? I can ask you to spar?"

Grey's face turned to shock. "After nearly killing me! You want to kill me again. Is this what they call beating a cute puppy? You animal abuser."

"No! No!" said the boy innocently, waving his arms frantically in front of him. "I am not beating anything. A meeting is a chance to improve. To compare one's truths with the with the truths of others."

He seemed to say it as if reciting a passage of a textbook.

"If we never meet again then I would have truly missed an opportunity. Please! I will not use one arm. We will be even. Sheaths only. No edges."

Grey hesitated. If things got too serious maybe they might accidently hurt each other. But on the other hand the boy was right. Skills did improve best by sharing experiences.

"Okay," shrugged Grey. His shoulders felt heavy. "I guess it wouldn't be so bad. Let me get ready."