“So then, what will you do instead?” Sazobo asked. The dining area around the group had suspiciously emptied a moment after Gyre had joined the teens.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Gyre admitted.
“You should go to the sea. Find a boat. Become Kastazee,” Ita said.
“I’ll take it under consideration, thank you,” Gyre said without condescension. A small part of him was considering it, after all.
“Are you quitting the Sect, or just being Sect Leader,” Baturya asked.
“There’s nothing left for me here, Baty,” Gyre said, sighing. “No path forward at least. I’ve left all of my old friends behind me, or they have left me. You three are fine company, but I am at least thirty years older than you. Perhaps once we all live to be six hundred years old that won’t matter, but right now it does. I need to figure out whether or not to take the next step in cultivation, and I can’t do that by staying here.”
“If you become immortal, you’re going to have to get used to being much older than everyone you meet,” Baturya pointed out. “Either that, or much younger. But will the hidden masters out there be willing to accept a friendship with someone so young?”
Gyre snorted and drank from the beer that he had collected from the kitchen. Since his Reformation, he had needed to eat and drink less, although the need hadn’t gone away completely. He had to slow his metabolism down in order to feel a buzz, however. Otherwise his body would simply purify the alcohol as quickly as he drank it.
“From what Qikobi told me, they are not a welcoming bunch to any newcomers,” Gyre admitted. “Many are territorial, others are xenophobic, the rest are acerbic, and all of them are extremely protective of whatever source they cultivate their spiritual energy from. Qikobi’s chosen energy was unique in that it is everywhere, yet he says that staying in one place results in strange occurances.”
“Even the Water-Walkers are bound to the sea,” Ita agreed. “Although not entirely. They can come ashore, but they slowly lose their strength in doing so. To reach their strength, they must stay in the confluences where the energy they harvest mixes together on the various streams that we cannot see.”
“Yes, it is much the same for us Rockmen,” agreed Gyre, “Although we are even more restricted in our movements. Tara cannot live around the unawakened for very long or she will begin to feed on their vital essence, and so she cannot leave the forest where she lives, where such energy is abundant. Her example is apparently common, with Immortals being bound to one location. Either situation is as much a curse as it is a blessing, as either I will be immobilized by my cultivation or I will be cursed to wander.”
“But it comes with the benefit of being living forever,” Sazobo reminded him. “That must be kind of nice, at least.”
“Is it? I am no longer so certain,” Gyre said, sighing wistfully. “Well, there is no need to decide now. Qikobi said that it is normal for those in my position to take three to five decades to make up their mind before deciding whether or not to continue cultivating. And that is why I am thinking to travel now. I have had enough of sect life and politics to last an eternity, but I haven’t been on the road since I was a young teenager coming to challenge for the right to wear a clay token.”
“I’ll come with you,” Baturya said.
Gyre’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Baturya, you’re too young to—”
“I only came to the Sudaman Sect because I didn’t know how to cultivate beyond opening and closing my gates,” Baty interrupted. “And now I am off the path which you teach here, anyway. Like you, there is nothing left for me here.”
“Nothing?” Gyre asked, glancing meaningfully at Ita and Sazobo. “Baturya, do not be so quick to dismiss your friendships. Loosing touch with the boys I arrived with is one of my great--”
“I go where Baty goes,” Ita declared. “I am Kastazee, not Sudaman. If not for Baty, I would have found a boat and returned to my family long ago.”
All eyes turned to Sazobo, who bit his lip in anger. “I’m not leaving. I can’t. I need to reach at least the third Reformation for my family. I am sending three fifths of my stipend home already, and it has helped them greatly, but I--”
“You don’t have to justify it, Saz,” Baty said. “I understand. I wasn’t asking you to choose between me and your family. We’re still friends, no matter what else happens.”
“Even if I fail to catch up to even Ita?” Sazobo challenged. “I have been stuck purifying my body for years because of the damn tannery I grew up at! It is so frustrating to see you two leave me so far behind!”
“Cultivation isn’t everything, Sazobo,” Baturya said. “Anyway, I’m not planning on leaving forever. I just need some time away. Like you I am getting frustrated with my current bottleneck, and although the Elders profess that I shall always be welcome to the Sudaman Sect, I would rather find another environment until I finish purifying my ki and step back onto the Orthodox path.”
“You Rockmen are so stupid,” Ita said with disgust. “So it is time for you two to get in separate boats. What does it matter? You will meet up again on the islands eventually, and then you will each have many stories to share with each other. This is a happy time, not one for anger and sadness.”
Gyre frowned; he had not considered taking anyone with him on his journey. He worried slightly about the responsibility that it would place upon him to watch over his child companion’s, but forced himself to put their ages aside and evaluate them on their abilities.
Baturya was only two years short of legally being considered an adult in the Empire, and he was mature and wise beyond his years. More importantly, he was a cultivator of considerable talent and strength, meaning that Gyre wouldn’t be required to protect him should they be attacked by the bandits who had grown brazen in the recent troubles that plagued the roads of the Empire. Coin wasn’t an issue either, as the boy had savings of his own to finance travel independent of anything Gyre planned to do.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
As for Ita, she was Kastazee. That was slightly more problematic. Gyre had always wondered about the Empire’s reluctance to try to tame the island and ocean people. He had always assumed that the military leaders of the Empire had simply concluded that it wasn’t worth the cost to chase down the ocean nomads, but the strength of the Kastazee individual also required consideration. Adults who failed to reach the third or fourth reformation were rare among the Kastazee; even among Kastazee children cultivation was the rule rather than the exception. Now, with the knowledge that their Water-Walkers were more than just a myth, Gyre understood.
It was not the Kastazee that existed at the forbearance of the Empire, but the Empire that existed at the forbearance of the Kastazee. If ever the scattered Kastazee united into a common purpose, they would sweep across the continent like a tsunami, implacable and devastating.
The problem, however, was that the Kastazee believed in communal property. Although they respected property laws while on the continent, Ita had come to shore with only the clothes on her back. No coin, no credit, no resources except for her level of cultivation. She was due to break through to the third Reformation anytime now, but she was not an official member of the Sudaman Sect and such an accomplishment would not earn her the small stipend normally that Sazobo was so eager to earn for himself. Rather, Ita was living on the generosity of the Sect at present. If she left, then she would either have to earn her keep, or live off the charity of Gyre and Baturya.
So he said as much, reminding her that in the Empire it was custom to trade silver coins for food and shelter. She just scoffed.
“Baturya has coins falling out of his ears. I will just take some of his. He is my future husband after all, it is only prop--”
“We are not getting married! I don’t care how many times you say it, it will never be true!” Baturya bellowed, causing Gyre to grin.
“You have not objected to lending me coin--”
“Those are my coins! Keep your hands off of them! There, are you happy! And we’re still not getting married, so don’t go back to that again!”
Perhaps a bit of company at the beginning of his walkabout would be a good thing. At some point Gyre would have to try isolating himself to see if he could handle the strain that the immortals warned him they all felt, but he had decades. At present, there was still much to teach Baturya, and much to learn from him. And it would be good to have company.
“You’ve agreed to go with me, but I have not even told you my destination. I haven’t even decided upon my destination,” Gyre reminded the children.
Baturya simply shrugged in indifference. “If you don’t choose something, then I will. Perhaps you’d like to know how Qikobi chooses which direction to wander? But before that, if you don’t mind, I would like to revisit my Master’s grave.”
Gyre considered the suggestion for a moment, then acquiesced. “I will begin making arrangements, as should you, Baty. We will leave at the end of the week.”
Then he frowned, a distant thought coming to the front of his mind. “What will you do about your slave?”
Baturya simply shrugged. “I suppose he can carry some baggage for us.”
~~~~~~~~~
While his master had been enjoying a meal and a leisurely conversation, Shaji had skipped his own supper in favor of writing feverishly to his grandfather, begging the patriarch to reconsider. Unfortunately, he could think of very little leverage to use to appeal his grandfather’s decision except appealing to his emotion and his sense of duty to his family.
He listed the worst of the indignities he had suffered and cried out for salvation. Unfortunately, he had never been the most eloquent, nor the best with his penmanship, and his letter came out looking like it had been written by a petulant child. Proud of his accomplishment and certain that his grandfather would be convinced by his effort, he placed the letter on Baturya’s desk.
Next to an open envelope, with a letter already inside.
Curious to see what Baturya had written – it was ridiculous that Baty had even learned to write after being born a slave! - Shaji pulled out the letter and read it. His frown grew at the cryptic words.
“My name is Baturya Etrus, and I need no other.”
That was all. Baturya was paying for postage, which was presently at a premium, to send a single sentence across the entire continent to the east. Shaji would have thought nothing of it before, but now the fact that Baty could do so without hardship or consideration, while Shaji could not, was infuriating. Shaji almost ripped the letter to shreds, but stopped himself before his actions got him into further trouble for once.
Instead, he frowned, wondering what the missive meant. The letter had not been addressed to Shaji, but to Baturya, and when reading it Shaji had skipped over the apologies that his grandfather had made to Baty over his treatment as a child at the hands of the Makavian family. It was outrageous, a powerful patriarch like his grandfather apologizing at length to an upstart former slave!
Except, as Shaji calmed down, he realized that it was also reasonable. Although Shaji was pained to admit it, Baty had risen high in station. He was strong, a Master, and although he walked the Unorthodox path, personal power held great weight in the Empire. Baty was also part of a powerful Sect, increasing his standing further. While the Makavians hadn’t done anything improper in their treatment of Baturya in the past, his grandfather suffered no shame in congratulating Baturya on his rise in the world. But the few passages Shaji had read had made it sound like supplication! Shaji’s family had powerful Masters backing them as well, there was no reason to sound like a pauper before a tax collector!
Shaji regretted his impulsivity in tearing his grandfather’s letter apart earlier. Fishing the remnants out of the rubbish, he pieced them together to reread it. The entire letter this time, not just scanning it for the part which addressed him. Slowly, as he read and reread his grandfather’s words, Shaji began to suspect that he had missed something in his haste and anger.
“Grandfather invited him to visit,” he said quietly to himself. “The roads are dangerous lately. Of course I’d need protection on the way. Grandfather is trying to convince Baty to make the journey on his own, bringing me with him, so that I am safely escorted incognito. But he cannot simply come out and make the request for reasons of pride and security, in case the letter was intercepted.”
With this understanding, he tore his petulant letter to shreds and started afresh.
~~~~~~~~~~