Chapter 20: A night of battering

With the boys gone, the dojo seemed almost ominous. Mysterious, definitely. The only building painted red he could recall passing, its large yard surrounding it, keeping the neighbouring houses at arms distance.

As with most houses off the main streets, it faced the sea directly, but where most met the horizon reluctantly, squatting low to stave off the weather, it stood proud and defiant, as though the frigid winds of the mountain did not daunt it.

The low-lit braziers stood guard on either side of the entrance in challenge.

Pass through, if you dare.

He could read it as clearly as a written word. He firmed up his resolve and passed through the entrance.

The old man sat in the center of the ring on his knees, a sheathed sword across his lap. Rather than the wooden sword he’d had before, this one was lacquered black with no further adornments; simple and elegant.

The man was not the playful, teasing, old man Tsu he’d met earlier that evening. Instead, his features were stiff and serious, his eyes sharp enough to cut.

“Welcome back, Dantes. I will only hold you to your bargain this one night. After this, you may go your own way, or stay. So long as you learn under me, you will call me sensei or teacher. To wield such strength so amateurishly is an insult on my eyes, and I cannot allow you to go completely untaught. Draw your weapon.” With that the man lifted himself from seated in one smooth motion.

As Dantes stepped into the ring, the main drew his sword in one swift motion and quickly closed the space between them in two steps. He fumbled with his staff, growing it quickly, but stopped as he felt something cold under his chin.

The man, no, his teacher stood there calmly, arm outstretched perfectly straight, the sword extending it towards his neck.

“Your first lesson is to always be ready for a fight.” He withdrew his sword and held up a hand forestalling the complaint building in his throat. “Anyone who wants to kill you won’t wait for you to get ready. I was generous enough when I told you to prepare yourself.”

He should’ve known this. He used to be a guard dog. He thrust the thought from his head. This was a time for focus, not recrimination.

“Now, go again.”

Before his teacher finished the last word, his arm snaked up and towards his throat, but this time, he was… well not ready, but not caught off guard either. He batted the sword away with his staff, pleased to find the sword did not bite into the wooden staff like the material might’ve suggested.

Going in for a backhand strike this time he swung towards the man’s chest… and once more found the tip of the blade at his neck.

“Good. I can see you’re not all muscle. There’s some brain in there too. Do you know what you did wrong there?” his teacher asked, once more letting his sword fall.

“Is it that I let you get close?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“It’s that I let you get close, teacher.”

His teacher nodded sharply. “Among many other things, yes. You’re bigger and stronger, and your weapon is longer, if used properly. There’s no reason for you to step in close against someone you can keep away. Again.”

This exchange lasted three blows. He tried to keep a distance, but his teacher weaved between his thrusts, and deflected his horizontal sweep downwards, and he was defeated.

“You’re over committing”, then, “again.”

The next exchange lasted 3 more strikes. Rather than throw the first strike, they waited a breath before his sensei closed the gap. This time he timed his thrusts when his opponent was just inside his range without overcommitting. For the first time, instead of weaving right through, his teacher appeared to be pushed back, half stepping backwards from his thrusts instead, before finding an opening and deflecting an overhead strike.

Rather than holding it to his neck again, his teacher just tapped his neck with the flat of his blade before calmly retreating to the center of the ring.

“Better. Fight with your mind and body. Without both, you cannot hope to win.”

This time Dantes waited again, but rather than attack when he was in range, he timed his strikes with his teacher’s footfalls, striking when he committed to a step. Even so, the man evaded each with his freakish flexibility, slowly gaining ground. After 5 thrusts, Dantes was at the edge of the ring.

Wait…

When his teacher ducked past a strike to close in like the last times, instead of standing his ground, Dantes gave it again, stepping out of the ring.

“Good! If this were a real fight, what use would there be for lines drawn in the sand. Any boundaries you set are imaginary here!” As he said this, Tsumuji gave chase, resulting in the spar extending by a dozen more strikes, though he felt more than a little ridiculous running away before turning around to stall the man’s approaches, then repeating. Like a naughty child chased by a mother, he thought.

Hoping to stall him, Dantes got a question out between blows. “I thought. there would be. a lot more. of you. hitting me. and bruises. and such.” With each sentence punctuated by a thrust or swing of his staff.

It still ended in Dantes’ loss, but this bout felt at least like less of a beatdown, and more of a fight, if one sided. His teacher responded as he walked to the center. “I find pain a compelling teacher, but if you’re capable of learning without, I see no need.”

He felt his shirt, it was already starting to dampen with sweat despite only having sparred for maybe a minute of total combat. To preserve it, he removed it and tossed it into the corner.

“Again, but stay aware of your surroundings, for if you don’t take advantage of them, then your enemy will.”

This bout started the same as the previous, but as they fought back and forth Dantes backed up and felt heat on his back. Letting his teacher close the gap, he instead dodged around the brazier at his back and gave it a solid kick. It did not tip over, being more solid than it appeared, however it shot up an angry swarm of sparks towards his opponent.

It forced the old man to dodge sideways where he stopped, the sweat beading his brow gleaming orange in the torchlight.

For the first time this evening Dantes realised the man was not stronger than him. Nor was he faster, or taller or more athletic or had greater stamina. The only thing he lacked compared to his teacher was flexibility, which he’d noticed his teacher hadn’t used much, and skill.

The man had never moved faster than he could react to, or struck a blow that he could not stave off, or strike him from outside his range. In fact, these were all his advantages. Their first duel this afternoon, he’d been defeated without knowing what happened, but playing it back in his mind, he felt the man could have lightly hooked his leg as he stepped, resulting in the fall. No strength, just skill.

He felt he could fend the man off until his stamina triumphed over his teacher. Would that make him strong? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing. He wanted to win.

He could do this.

He gathered himself as Tsumuji took a breath and relaxed his stance. A near transparent film covered his sensei before he exploded forward once again, this time faster than before.

It was no so fast that he could not follow it, but fast enough to catch him off guard once again, and he lost almost instantly.

“What did you learn this time?” his teacher intoned.

“That I should not have assumed I knew your speed.”

That earned him a nod. “Correct. The worst thing you can do is thinking you know your enemies’ limits. Only from time and patient study should you build that confidence, not off a mere dozen exchanges.” His teacher returned to the center of the room and sat.

“Were you going easy on me this whole time?”

“Yes and no. When you had me at stalemate there, that was the peak of my basic physical abilities. What I used there was the most basic of body enhancements, [Strength].”

“Is that magic? Is that what that aura was? I thought magic was for those guys with pointy hats.” He got a smile in response to that.

“You can see magic? That will make things easier. Yes, it was magic, in a way. But no, it’s different from what those ‘guys in pointy hats’ do.” Now that he was seated with his sword sheathed, his sensei appeared to be more willing to joke around.

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“Can you teach me?” It would be great if he could get even stronger. Then instead of four crates of stuff, he could carry twice as many! Ten crates! He bet even Mitty would be impressed at his strength. He wondered how many tennis balls could fit in ten crates.

“Perhaps, perhaps. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. First tell me exactly how you could’ve beaten me in that last spar. Those pokes you were doing might keep an old sack of bones like me at bay, but what if I were a hundred pounds heavier? And armored. And younger.”

And so Dantes started on his path of learning the art of violence, going deep into the night sparring, and analyzing, and sparring again.

***

Selia had already thrown all the dishes from dinner into a box, which was currently humming, and cleared up the kitchen from supper over a scant few minutes. With everything ready, it was time for her to uphold her end of the deal. Not that she imagined Selia would kick up a fuss if she declined, but she’d like to pay her back for her hospitality. Something about her and her home set her at ease. It was just so warm and welcoming.

“First things first dear, why don’t you put on an apron. I’d hate for that lovely dress of yours to get stained.”

Unfortunately, her picks were a pink apron with white frills, or a cream colored one that had ‘Kiss the Chef’ written in bold red letters across the front.

She reluctantly chose the pink one.

“Good choice dear. You look fabulous. Here let me tie that for you.” As Selia occupied herself with that, she took stock of the kitchen.

Below the counter was densely packed with all sorts of boxes and cupboards of all materials, each and every one brimming with the scent of magic.

The counter had various circles marked in white over the black stone material. It was broken by a single stovetop in the middle.

Above the counter and cupboards, she could see all sorts of spices in glass containers. She doubted she could reach them even with a chair or short ladder. That would be annoying.

From the cupboards she could smell all sorts of ingredients. Cured meats and cheeses and fruits, though she couldn’t tell if there was any magic in the ingredients with all the scents in the air already. I’ll check that out later.

“Don’t feel overwhelmed with all the gadgets we’ve made over the years. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll help as best I can. What are you making?”

“Well, I would like to take a look at what you have first, but I have some Featherfish I’ve been trying to turn into something good. Unfortunately, it never really turns out very good, and the [Softness] aspect is very weak.” Something about talking to another chef felt good. She knew her ability was unique, but it wasn’t as though she was the best, or even a great chef, and it would be nice to have input from someone who really knew her stuff. Well…

She looked upwards at the spices lining the space above the cabinets. Perhaps there are some oversights. Maybe she won’t mind if I knock those over.

“Oh my, it’s been a long time since I’ve had Featherfish. Why don’t you make what you were going to make, and we can work on improving it afterwards” she suggested, getting out a cutting board and boning knife from some lower cabinet.

She withdrew one of her three remaining Featherfish from her pocket. She’d whittled down the dozen or so she started with to her current stocks through experimentation. They were small, so they only went so far with how many dishes she could make with each. That, and she occasionally snacked on them raw. They were quite light. It was a good thing they kept fresh in there, because she didn’t know what she would do if she couldn’t bring her snacks with her.

Now, how to get the feathers off… She could do it as a cat, but she didn’t love advertising her feline form, especially not in a city that banned them. Well, not that being banned from a place ever really bothered her, but she’d rather not bring trouble to Selia at least. A thought occurred to her. “Do you mind if I borrow your chair?”

“Of course, dear, but if its for the fish, I have something for that.”

She noticed then, that beside the cutting board Selia had set up, there was a long, white bird feather.

Seeing her curiosity, Selia elaborated. “This is a feather from a Blizzard Owl. They’re found up north, mostly during the colder seasons. They need to be extra soft because it helps them fly silently for ambushes.”

She felt the feather with her hands. Softer than… She struggled to find anything save the chair that compared to it. She didn’t smell any enchantments, which now that she thought of it was probably for the best. She didn’t know how enchanted items might interact with the ingredients, and she’d rather test it on things she wasn’t running out of.

She quickly rattled off the ingredients she needed.

“I’m going to make fish and feather chips. We’ll need some peanut oil, and something to make the batter. I usually use this stuff I found in Esthar along with some flour and plant starch and my personal spices” she said, holding up the black baking powder she’d acquired long ago. Or perhaps not so long now that she thought of it. Only a couple weeks.

Selie, the dear, was already setting ingredients out measuring them into little pink ramekins.

“Alright dear, I’ll lay everything out. What next?”

She wasn’t used to cooking with someone who could help, and had to quickly scrap together the recipe in her brain.

“We’ll need to blanch the feathers, so put on some boiling water. If you please.” She added the uncharacteristic please because something felt wrong about bossing about Selia, even if she was taking the lead for this operation.

While Selia was doing the measurements and simple stuff, she took charge of preparing the fish. The fish’s feathers provided no resistance to the Blizzard Owl feather, and she brushed all four of them off with two flicks.

She noticed the [Softness] was still perfectly intact, though as usual, [Freedom] and [Flight] were dead. Wait. She drew a deep breath.

She felt a flicker of life from [Flight] that she never did before. It was there, just barely, like an aftertaste.

She mentioned it to Selia.

“Oh my, that’s a lovely discovery. Perhaps it’s because we are kilometers above sea level, or maybe its all the birds around, or just all the natural wind mana in the air. Voyager powers sometimes work in very strange ways.”

Mitty froze at that.

“Voyager? What do you mean?”

Selia just smiled that kind smile that painted her face so frequently.

“A good response, dear, and one I suggest you stick to, but it’s dead obvious to anyone who knows a thing about magic. Not even Rowy could revive a dead enchantment, or even the legendary Strangietto himself.” She said, pointing a wooden spoon at the feathers on the countertop. “They’re not quite there yet, but I can sense signs of life. You’re doing great.”

She was taken off guard and took a moment to gather her thoughts. She knew bad things tended to happen to voyagers who were too obvious about their powers, but she trusted Selia. She was definitely a good sort, and as much as she found him annoying, she trusted Rowan wouldn’t go talking either, assuming he knew.

He probably does.

She’d be more careful in the future, but for now she focused on the task at hand.

With all the ingredients prepared, Selia was now watching from across the counter in a little bar stool. She gave an encouraging nod.

“Go on, dear. I won’t tell a soul. It’s not every day you get to see something like this up close.”

She blanched the feathers in water just briefly before frying them. As they fried, she mixed up the dry ingredients for the batter before coating the fish. She then threw on a layer of egg and coated the fish again.

She replaced the frying feathers with the fish and let them cool in a wicker basket lined with cloth to drain the oil. The fish came out of the fryer after a short few minutes, and she’d prepared a little garnish of dried herbs and spices to sprinkle on top of both.

She plated everything and presented the dish to Selia who was softly clapping and wearing her signature smile.

“Bravo dear, it looks delicious.”

It did look pretty good, but she took a sniff.

“It’s a failure. The [Softness] aspect has almost completely disappeared, and the [Flight] is so minor, I wouldn’t be able to pick it out if I hadn’t made it.” She sighed. She’d been hopeful about this one, given the city’s apparent affinity to wind based magics.

“Not at all, dear. It was fascinating to watch. Thank you for the show. May I?” she asked, gesturing.

“Of course. I know the magic part was a flop, but I was hoping you could give me some tips on the regular parts of cooking as well. What do you think?”

Selia sampled half a feather and a bite of the fish before responding.

“It’s great, dear. You should be very proud of this. I bet you made this recipe yourself, didn’t you?”

Mitty blushed at that. She had made it herself, and she was pretty happy with the taste. She’d really wanted to make something that would impress the woman she was quickly coming to respect.

Selia continued. “You might try mixing in some of the spices with the coating. They can make lovely complex flavours when properly fried. Also, when tailoring a meal to an individual, choosing a drink to go alongside it can completely alter a meal, so maybe put some thought into that. Also, the feathers themselves probably don’t need blanching, given they’re so thin already. Did you adapt a potato recipe for them? The flavours are simple but lend themselves well to each other, and it is not as heavy as first impression might lend you to believe. Overall, a very well rounded dish. Good job dear.”

She could feel her face getting hot. She’d thought she’d done a great job, but after considering all Selia had said, she’d been overconfident.

“Now, now dear, new recipes are always hard, and it takes practice and time to get these things right. How about we discuss the magic side of the dish.”

Mitty mumbled an agreement. Anything to move on to another topic. She could feel something welling up inside her that she didn’t want to face right now.

“From what I saw, the preparation of the dish is important to preserving, and in fact, reviving, the innate magics used in the dish. I was watching, very closely mind you, the magic in your food, and I noticed the feathers lost their magic during the frying stage. It’s all a little guesswork, but perhaps you need a dish better suited to [Softness]. A soufflé, perhaps?”

She couldn’t believe she didn’t think of that herself. It was so obvious in retrospect. Of course the fried chips couldn’t be soft. She might as well have baked a brick with how she’d approached it. Stupid! This woman saw her ability for 5 minutes and was already knew it better than her. She felt her nose running and gave it a big sniff.

“Now dear, how would you like to learn how my grandmother made soufflé. She had a way with those things I could never pin down for myself.”

*Sniff* “Yeshh”

Mitty felt her eyes watering as something just burst forth from within her. She tried to clamp down on it, but a little choking sob popped out.

Selia’s eyes widened a moment, only now realising what was happening.

“Oh dear, oh dear. Here let’s take a break okay? Oh dear.”

She repeated those two words over and over like a magic charm to ward off her the new feelings assaulting her. She’d just wanted it to be perfect, and worse, she’d thought it was.

“Oh dear, come into the living room, let me get you something warm. Here, take a seat.”

Mitty quickly found herself sniffling in the soft chair with something warm in her hands, and the motherly woman in the rocking chair across her. She didn’t trust herself to talk right now, so she just sat and sipped occasionally. It tasted warm.

“It’s okay to be upset, dear. Showing your creations to another for the first time can be upsetting. When you pour your heart and soul into something and it’s not perfect, or how you imagined it would be, it’s okay. It’s something every artist faces. Why I remember when I submitted my first design for the new dockyard all those years ago, the man threw it out after barely a glance. Why I’d spent weeks on the design. I was so upset, even more than you are now. Mama said I wouldn’t calm down until I saw the design that won. I learned how far I had to go. And… oh dear, look at me talking about myself again. Forgive this old lady. Here, how about you keep that mug of hot chocolate, and I’ll show you how I make a nice cheese soufflé?”

Mitty dabbed her traitorous leaking eyes on her sleeve and nodded. She shuffled over to the bar stool at the counter and watched Selia dance around the kitchen like some sort of ethereal angel. At some point, a warm blanket had been draped over her shoulders as she took small sips from her drink and watched.

It felt nice. It felt kind. It felt like home.