Cirin felt the course dirt dig into his palm. His body weighed as much as the earth, and his arm had become the sole pillar to support it.

“One more time.” He huffed to himself. Yet one more push seemed impossible. “One more…” he croaked pushing himself ever higher. Impossible, impossible. His thoughts seemed to race faster and faster, though nothing could be as fast as his humming bird heart.

Feeling his arm quiver, he finally buckled and collapsed chest first onto the ground. Cirin winced. Pain. Cirin rolled over and grit his teeth as a scornful moan leaked through his mouth. His eyes lay shut as he rolled over again, face first into the dirt. As if it could not get worse, his right arm writhed in agony. It remained a constant reminder of his previous failure.

The dry dirt stuck to his face as he breathed into it, feeling the wretched pain subside. His head sat on its side, and his one open eye could see the whole of the golden plains from the bottom up. He closed that eye, surmising what right he had to gaze upon such brilliance when he failed even the task he had been given.

“One more time.” He whispered to himself.

And one more time he tried. He pushed hard against the earth, and little by little he rose his trembling form off the ground with just his left. The moment he reached the apex of the push, he held himself there and remained breathing. He let his eyes flick open as he stared at golden grass fields ahead of him. The shimmering skyline that ventured in the distance. He earned that fleeting sight.

A second later, he collapsed.

“I counted two hundred and thirty eight.” Claimed the voice of his master.

Cirin heaved madly, too weak to even raise his head, “I-I.” he choked on his own maddened breaths, “My sweat be telling me ta stop.”

“Ya give up, mouse?”

“No, but my body has.” He grumbled into the dirt.

Azhar’s feet scraped the ground as he stood up. A few steps later and Cirin’s world spun whilst the man swooped the boy under his arms.

“Betta dan yestaday.” Commented the man.

“Hah.” Puffed cirin, “Dis is betta?”

Azhar stayed quiet as he walked with Cirin in his arms.

Cirin let his head fall to the side. Normally he would hound his master for such an action. At better times he would have fought to stand on his own, yet now he felt his whole body numb with fatigue. He blinked slowly, making out the outline of their camp for the day. He couldn’t fight back if he wanted to.

“Listen mouse.” Said Azhar, “We fight wit one more blade dan dose we hold. Dat blade be our bodies. Unlike our udda blades, dere be no fire ta temper it wit, nor hamma to shape it. We decide how tough dat blade be and we set da limits of its steel once we find out what would break it normally.”

“You a blacksmith now, old mon?” mused the boy.

“In a betta time, I wish I was.”

Cirin smiled, but only briefly as the sight of those at the camp made him reconsider his situation, “I tink I can now.” Wheezed Cirin. He could handle having Azhar carry him when they were alone, but to have Toftof, Sol, and especially Manama see him that way was unthinkable. The more he traveled with the women, the more it became apparent that Manama was the type of companion who teased those around her endlessly.

Azhar kneeled and let the boy down.

Cirin stumbled to his feet and continued to walk, momentarily leaning on Azhar for support.

“I’ll have ya carry more tommora when we travel.” Said Azhar.

Cirin nodded stoutly, “Two weeks.” He sighed.

“Two weeks.” Confirmed the man.

Azhar had Cirin train his strength and endurance first. No sword practice. He claimed this was to build the boy’s ability to withstand fatigue novice swordsman often felt. He knew not how to limit his movements so he needed the body to endure it.

When three more days had passed and their company had waded well into the famous illivari drylands, Azhar finally treated the boy to daily spars, each time viciously felling the boy.

On one their duels amidst the setting sun, Toftof and Manama watched them. Sol stared on to, but to less of an extent as hid behind the adults and peaked every so often when he felt brave enough.

Toftof crutched his scruffy chin on one hand as he admired the fight, “He never holds back, eh?” he noted.

“Manama tinks dat be necessary.”

“Oi.” Started Toftof, “You some sort of sadist, lady? He’s a child.”

“No one out dere will hold back eider.” Said Manama. She then smiled and pointed at Azhar, “Fighting against dose who don’t hold back is da best way ta counta dem. If dere be one man who’d want ta protect dat boy, it be da one beating him right now.”

Toftof shook his head, “Ya bot be mad.”

There was one climatic grunt as the two met in a final clash and a telling thud as Azhar stood overlooking his fallen student.

Azhar shifted his attention to his onlookers and made for them without notice. He perched he blade on his shoulder as he staggered by.

“Clean his wounds and tend ta his bruises.” Barked Azhar as he passed the two.

Toftof and Manama both turned to the man.

“You did dat to him, so you take care of it!” protested Toftof.

Manama nodded her head in agreement.

Azhar sighed and pointed his blade at Cirin, “Do it, before da damned boy we7’re to protect ends up doing it.”

Toftof turned to the boy instantly and stumbled of his seat, “Oi Prince Sol, you mustn’t do dat!”

Manama glanced at the man running to Cirin. “You plan ta tell him don’t ya?” said the woman.

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Azhar paused, “Not yet.”

Manama’s bead clacked as she waved her head about, “Da way ya be training him now seems ta be desperate. Almost as if ya sense ya own time runnin’ out.”

“You’re da fortune tella, Mana. Tell me what ya see.”

“I see a lie.” She said after a long silence, “One terrible long lie yea haven’t da heart to reveal.”

Azhar stood silent.

“And I see a truth yea be wanting to get off ya chest more den da lie ya spinnin’ now. About da boy.” She said staring towards the fallen Cirin, a desperate Sol, and a frantic Toftof trying to pry said Sol away from Cirin. “About his past. Ya past.”

Azhar sheathed his sword, “Did da spirits tell ya all dat now?”

“No.” shrugged Manama, “Manama guessed. Ya be too kind hearted to be da type of man who hides tings from da ones he loves.”

Azhar smiled and started walking away, “I suppose ya be right sometimes, fortune teller.”

When Cirin finally opened his eyes that night, he found himself on a rollout mat by their camp. Sol was huddled in a mat close to his, and Toftof was snoring well on his back a little ways from the Prince’s mat.

Cirin looked to the other side of the dancing fire and found Azhar sleeping on the other side. From that he surmised that Manama was keeping watch that night.

He stood up as quietly as he could and wandered along the grass side. He rubbed his head as he walked. Azhar had thoroughly pummeled him there.

“Headin’ out?”

Cirin turned to a curious Manama. Somehow, she always the one who caught him leaving.

“Just ta stretch out my body.” Admitted the boy.

Manama nodded, glancing slightly at Azhar, “Go and come back quick den. If Azhar wakes up ta find ya missin’.”

“I know.” Finished Cirin, “He told me well enough in Ezmir.”

From there Cirin wandered well into the grasslands, stopping every no and then to howl of hyenas, the spotted vermin were a plague to those lands.

When he was far enough away, he found himself a seat amoungst a clearing in the grass and laid down. He used his left hand as a pillow as his eyes drifted to the clear sky.

He had noticed it the first night they spent in the grasslands. The stories were true. The stars really did litter the sky by the grasslands.

I almost though you were in my homeland if not for those things up there.

Cirin sat up to the sound of the voice. It had been days since he heard its’ deep thrum rummage in his head. And even then, that had been no more than a sly remark about his stance, or there lack of.

“You’re homeland? You come for somewhere?” asked Cirin.

Everything has a home, pig.

“Even strange voices?”

The voice remained silent for a while.

Do you really think I’m just a voice?

“You haven’t told me what you are, so dat be all I have to go by.”

Strangely, the voice sighed in his head.

In lieu of your recent efforts, I’ll disclose something to you. My home had entire plains full of the same golden grass you see before you. In fact I’d say it was better than anything you’d have stepped on in your entire spec of a lifetime. My people’s grass grew up to our chest and each blade glistened like the very sun in the sky. Ha, even the grass you pigs step on is small and insignificant.

Cirin’s eyebrows twitched, “You keep calling me pig. Dere be a reason for dat?”

Are you not a pig with two legs instead of four?

Cirin shut his eyes and laid back down with his head on his hand.

“If I were to eva meet ya people, I’d pray dey be betta at talking den ya.”

Go east said the voice.

Cirin’s eyes flicked open.

“East?” he queried.

Another theory, but I can guess as much based on where the moon is. If you want to meet my people someday. Go east.

“East, huh? And what do I tell dem when I get dere? Dat I have a talking voice of dere ilk trapped inside my head?”

The voice went silent once more, making Cirin count the stars in an effort to make time pass by.

Finally, after what seemed the twentieth star, the voice spoke up.

Our relationship, if you’d call it that, is an unnatural one. Probably brought about by that tower.

Cirin rolled his eyes, he’d waited in eager anticipation only to hear the voice say the obvious. Yet before he could reply, it spoke again.

You are no shaman, so you can’t sense it, but I can. My time is limited. Eventually, I shall fade away.

“What?” blurted Cirin.

Before then, I have much to reveal to you. About my people, my will. You should be seeing them soon.

“Seeing what?” said Cirin. The voice did not answer.

A few of the stars twinkled in the sky as Cirin let his head fall back. The voice had left. It was right when it said he was no shaman, but he was human and any human could tell when they truly were alone.

About noon the next day they spotted large cliffs far off in the distance. The monstrous things stood as tall as the towers

Azhar noticed both Cirin and Sol staring at them and quelled their curiosity, “We won’t be going dere just yet.”

Cirin followed the man’s hand as he pointed in the opposite side where the cliffs lurked. There in the distance, he could see the droves of yellow grass transitioning into lavish greens.

“Listen.” Remarked Azhar.

And so Cirin did by draining out the sounds of bird squawking and the pack serpents slithering. He listened as he slowed his pace. Water. Cirin started to run ahead of the pack. The sound of water became and more apparent as a stream.

He stopped just moments before falling into a fairly narrow river gushing away from the cliffs.

The grass rustled as Azhar appeared shortly after.

“We’re close.” Said the man. He swaggered up to the river, squatted by it, and placed his hand in the stream. “All rivers lead to Gin.” He turned to his young apprentice, who’s equally unruly hair hid everything but his nose and mouth, “Be an old saying from da people of my home town.”

From there on, the company traveled along the river bank. Cirin awoke and fell asleep to the sound of the rushing waters. It was both an alarm and a lullaby. It reminded him of home.

Nearly a day after they traveled along the river, several offshoots had joined the mainstream making the river wide, calm, and shallow enough to bathe in. So that night, after weeks of wading across the grasslands, the company finally managed to bathe.

Cirin had already dressed and was in the process of drying his hair when Azhar passed him by to their fire that night.

Cirin lowered his drying cloth and made for his blade the moment he saw his master.

“Not tonight.” Said Azhar, as he rose his hand, “I goinna have ya train extra hard tommora, so rest just this one night.”

Cirin nodded and plummeted on his bum as the man had. Cirin stared at his good hand. The gap between his thumb and index finger had already started to bulge from excess sword play. He crumpled his hand to the sight of that, remembering the order the voice had given him that night.

Never lose again. Or so it went. Cirin lifted his head to face his master. Though by their duels alone, he had already lost a thousand fold.

“Old mon.” started Cirin, “When ya fought in da past, ya eva come across some one dat made ya…” Cirin struggled to find the words. His hand flew instinctively to his crippled right, “Afraid?” he said at last.

Azhar was engrossed by the flickering flame, “Quite a few times.”

Cirin blinked madly and leaned in, “You were afraid?” he choked on the smoke.

Azhar shrugged with head tilted to his side, “It be only natural, mouse. When ya fight fa real, ya life be a gamble in a game ya cannot rig. Da best ya can do is rely on ya skill an read as much as ya can about ya enemy.”

“Read?” said Cirin, “From annals and scrolls?”

Azhar stifled a laugh and shook his head, “No ya fool of a tulek, I mean read ya opponent. Watch fa what dey do. No matta what, ya can’t kill ya fear, but ya can count on ya enemy fearin’ ya just as much. So long da gap between ya strengths remain minah’. If it ain’t minor and you be on da losing side, den ya must run.” Azhar lifted a finger in expression, “Hence da point of half ya training.”

Cirin puffed, sourly remembering the countless laps Azhar had him do.

“Back to my point.” Grunted the man, “When a man realizes he may die, he tends to look or fidget to da side he is most vulnerable.” Azhar lowered his chin, “Da words we speak be not the only language we use, weder we intend to or not.”

Cirin tossed his eyes to the side, “And what about dose who use magic?”

“Magic again?” lauded Azhar, “Is dis about da magic user ya fought? Ya tink you’ll face him again?”

“Not exactly.” Teetered Cirin, “But I neva felt so… so beaten before.”

“Hah, I beat ya myself many times.”

“It’s not da same!” protested Cirin, “Dey were going to kill me.” He lowered his voice and edged away from the fire, “Kill Sol…”

“And so ya lost ya composure, ya will ta fight on. Ya asking me now only confirms it.” Azhar threw a stick into the flame and watched it roar to life, “Take it from me, mouse. Magic be no different from swordcraft. Just anodda sword and just anodda way of using it. I couldn’t tell ya da specific way of fighting one magic or da udda, because dere be many kinds. But I can tell ya dat magic be of no use wit out da caster. Watch what dey do to make da spells work.”

Cirin flinched. He rose his ruby eyes slowly as he realized it.

Azhar spoke on as the boy spied at his own hand curiously, “Look for da one constant and prevent it.”

Cirin snapped his fingers.

“Ya figure it, mouse?”

Cirin nodded, “Maybe.”