He was alone and fuming about the fight an hour later. Maybe he'd been too harsh. These people didn't have courts beyond the wisdom of Thoko and his appointed minions, and Thoko himself had been in the audience enjoying the show. He knew all too well from his homeland that laws and judges meant nothing when the basic honesty and honor of the system behind them broke down. So were these people on the way up, clawing their way from total ignorance to something better? Or on the way down, remembering bits of an ancient "Builder" culture and hardly caring?

A minor courtier of Thoko's court fetched him. "Weren't you in line?"

"I'd forgotten. Thanks."

So he found himself back in the palace, where the high chief said, "A little too much excitement, eh?"

Arlen knelt. "Is this common?"

Thoko shrugged. "I dueled three times before I became a chief. The young men have their blood up."

"It wasn't just their blood."

"It's a lesson to us all, that we mustn't let our feuds spill over to hurt others. A man should stand and take the blow or block it if he can, or others might suffer."

He could see the wisdom in it, but not in using bystanders to make a point about feuds. "Where my people's young men have fights like this, it's in a fence that holds back any threat from the audience."

"Hmm. I see good and bad in that."

Arlen said, "I want to see the Roaring Storm, and the other islands."

"Why?"

"To see the severity of the storm, and what the other islands are doing with iron and other tools."

"Then I'll have someone take you out on a boat tomorrow to see the edge of our domain. You should be back by sunset. As for other travel, I think not; the people there can't be fully trusted with you. I'd prefer you stay here, and I bring you craftsmen to train."

Arlen thanked him and left the palace, but felt once more that he was the high chief's property.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

#

He'd been training occasionally with the martial artists. Magic was a key part of doing them well, in their opinion. Now that he could wield a bit of that power for himself, they taught him a way of conjuring a bit of water rapidly, flinging it in such a way that it became a hailstone in mid flight. He grinned when he finally got the trick to work. Turning and stepping with his instructors, he lashed out with one palm and his hand glowed, chilling painfully for an instant before the humid air crushed inward and lanced ahead where he aimed. A ragged golf-ball-sized chunk flew out and struck bare sand.

"Missed the target, though!" said the lead fighter. A painted plank stood untouched in front of Arlen.

"I'll keep trying!"

There was an art to it, not just in the sense of difficulty but in how it felt to do the steps, the bit of mental and physical gymnastics to turn will into reality. The islanders understood it all as a gift of the spirits, and he was learning the techniques only at a surface level. His handful of magic lessons with Voz or others were more studious, involving sitting cross-legged and calling to his chosen element slowly. This too was a skill that rewarded patience and care.

The people had been doing this for many generations. On the one hand, they hadn't much improved at it, and were confused at being asked what new spells they'd invented in the last century. Vaguely offended, even. On the other hand, a tradition had built up of master and apprentice, prayers and meditation, elegant forms he'd heard of but barely seen yet. Voz had not formally accepted him as a trainee and was humoring his curiosity. So during one of the more sedate lessons Voz offered, Arlen asked him, "Do you think it's wrong of me to try developing new spells?"

The shaman-adviser's eyes were shut and a ball of water and swirling air hovered between his hands. He had advanced far enough to beg the spirits for another of their three elements. He said, "I'm less of a traditionalist than most. It's not wrong to try, but there are ways that work and others that don't. Those of the spirits are stronger than we can ever imitate."

"Where I'm from, there's a constant struggle to find some new tool or material or crop." They were sitting outside in early evening, and the moon had come up. Swirling clouds hinted at new lands to explore, with much more promise than barren Luna. "You see that, there? My people would take one look at that and say: That's a challenge. We're going to go there somehow."

Voz laughed and the spell burst between his hands, dropping rain onto his lap. "You arrived, looked at the moon, and challenged it to a duel?"

Arlen grinned and scratched one ear. "Well no, my first thought was that I was obviously a long way from home. And the shockjaw critter challenged me right after."

"That's your lesson, then. You have the potential for a good life here without trying to rip it all up and rebuild it for some goal you can't really reach."

Arlen could sympathize. "What about Thoko's goals, though? He seems to want more and more tools and weapons. I thought you approved of that."

"I... will not speak out against the High Chief. Solving some of our local problems is a job worth doing. In the meantime, study what you can. If you do want to innovate, you should know the basics first!"

That was certainly true.