Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 35

courage is its own reward. dying with honor matters more than valhalla. -general peusen raskogsson

Darkness descended over the western forest by the time Calistin finished his first session with Amazir. Bruised, scratched, and aching, he sat on a deadfall to clean, oil, and honor his swords, feeling better than he could recall in many years.The session brought back sweet memories of his youth, when his mother had drilled him beyond exhaustion and he felt like he had accomplished more than the gods themselves. New maneuvers, exciting details, a level of understanding that superseded the entirety of his life to that moment. Every day felt fresh, every new moment a chance to become more competent. Sleep, meals, conversation became nothing but distractions from what he might learn.

Those giddy days had disappeared during the years without real challenge, when he had to solicit his opponents in groups to achieve the modicum of danger that made him feel alive. He had become the only teacher who could truly challenge himself, bringing movements ever more complex, ever more deadly. Amazir knew many things he did not. Amazir had opened a whole new world. By the grace of the gods, Amazir is me in sixty years.

Finished, Calistin sheathed his swords and limped toward the campfire and the aroma of roasting meat. During the lesson, he had not thought about his stomach. Now, it growled wildly, and saliva bubbled into his mouth. Suddenly, his appreciation for both of his companions grew. Today, I might just be the luckiest man alive.

As he drew near the camp, Calistin could hear Treysind speaking, "… ain't so bad, once't ya gits passed tha mean stuff."

Amazir laughed, clear and healthy, without the graveliness that usually accompanies age. "Isn't the 'mean stuff ' exactly what makes someone bad?"

"No." Treysind was clearly having trouble making his point. "Tha mean stuff 's jus' on tha outside. Inside, in his spirit, he's rilly good."

"You're quite sure."

"Well, I knows it, but he don't belief it. Tha's why he acts tha way he do."

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks he ain't got no soul."

Calistin stiffened, more curious about Amazir's answer than angry Treysind had revealed his secret. The boy did seem to have common sense enough when it came to dealing with outsiders.

"Why does he think that?"

" 'Cause he beliefs some magic critter tol' him. Some angel or god or somethin'. But I seed him, an' he weren't talkin' ta no ones at tha time. Jus' yellin' at em'ty air that he do gots a soul an'…" Treysind trailed off.

A moment passed, while Calistin leaned closer, trying to make out a conversation that had drifted too low just when he most wanted to hear it.

Then, abruptly, an arm circled Calistin's waist and a sword poised expertly at his throat. He went still, and a voice hissed into his ear. "It's not nice to eavesdrop."

Trusting his new teacher not to kill him, Calistin spun free of his grip. As expected, the sword withdrew to allow the maneuver without opening his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to listen in-"

Amazir glared at his student. "Yes, you did.You stood there quite long enough to announce your presence, yet you didn't.When friends talk, you join them."

Irritated by the whole affair, Calistin turned sullenly. "You're not my father."

Amazir pounced. Calistin barely managed to whirl in time to face an angry swordmaster with two blades crossed at Calistin's throat. "Don't you ever turn your back on me!"

It was the supreme gesture of disrespect, and Calistin knew it; but he had not expected any ganim, even one so skilled, to catch the subtlety. "I'm sorry," he said, holding adolescent angst at bay. For once, his life depended on it. "I won't do it again. I promise."

Amazir sheathed his weapons in an eye blink. "A capable torke teaches more than swordsmanship."

"Torke?" Calistin stared in sudden accusation. "You're Renshai, too, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Though it had seemed certain a moment before, Calistin still had not expected that answer. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"You didn't ask."

Calistin started to splutter, then inquisitiveness, once again, overcame his temper. "How can that be? I've never seen you or heard of you. There aren't so many Renshai one could go unnoticed, at least not one of such age and skill. So who are you?" Recalling the Renshai tendency to appear younger, Calistin sucked air through his teeth in a hiss. "And just how old are you anyway?"

"Do you actually want answers, Calistin? Or are you just going to keep firing questions at me?"

Calistin fell sheepishly silent.

"Because I think Treysind deserves to be a part of this discussion, and we should return to the camp to talk."

Calistin did not see how any of this involved a street boy from Erythane, but he would not argue with a torke he respected. Silently, barraged with thoughts and questions, he trailed his new teacher back to the campsite.

Treysind had laid out three meals on piles of stacked leaves, an assortment of fresh fowl, roasted roots, and dried fruit.

Hungry as he felt, Calistin was more interested in information than eating. He sat in front of his meal but waited only until Amazir took his seat before turning to confront the elder. "And now, torke, my answers, please."

Amazir laughed, then sobered an instant later. "I imagine the first thing you wish to know is…"

Calistin expected the old Renshai to start with his name, so the elder's next words caught him by surprise.

"… about your soul."

The enticing aroma of the meal seemed to utterly disappear. Calistin could only stare in shock and anticipation. "You… you know…? I… do I have… one?"

All humor left the old man's face. "I'm afraid not."

Calistin's original source had seemed infallible, yet he had still hoped he had misunderstood. "I really don't? How can that be?" He glanced at Treysind, who took a sudden, inordinate interest in eating. He wondered if the boy should be privy to the conversation at all.

Amazir was not the type to dismiss Treysind's presence and speak openly by accident. He had, thus far, been overly solicitous of the boy. If he believed Treysind should hear this, then Calistin would not argue. "I presume you know that your parents saved the world from a sterility plague."

Calistin nodded. He knew the general story. Dark elves had inflicted the plague upon humankind, and the light elves had assisted in its lifting. The task had taken Kevral, Ra-khir, and some friends to multiple worlds, including that of the gods. "I was there," he said cryptically, testing Amazir.

The old Renshai smiled. "In utero, yes." He studied Calistin's face as he continued, "It soon became clear that the plague only took effect when a woman cycled. In an attempt to maintain humankind that some considered cruel and others heroic, pregnant women were expected to carry another child as soon as possible after delivery. Others attempted to fertilize young women shortly before they officially became… young women."

Calistin cringed at the thought. He doubted those young innocents had much choice in the matter.

"I'm not condoning what they did, Calistin; but desperation can force otherwise good people into making decisions that might seem appalling in normal circumstances. And it also opens the way for evil to do what comes naturally." Amazir cleared his throat but did not touch his food. "Kevral had just given birth to the twins when that truth became apparent."

Treysind continued to eat, but he did so randomly, his attention locked on the men.

"So she and Papa did their duty and had me right afterward." Calistin tried to move the story along. Though interested in his past, the soul issue currently intrigued him more. That, he had to know. "What happened to my soul, and how do I get it back?"

"Very well." Amazir shook his head with a hint of displeasure but skipped to the part Calistin had requested. "On one of those 'other worlds,' your parents discovered spirit spiders."

Treysind swallowed and finally spoke. "Spirit spiders?"

"They're a type of demon," Amazir explained. "Clothed in magic, they appear as they wish; but their natural form is giant, highly intelligent spiders. They feed on spirits, not blood. One bite robs a man not only of his life, but of his very soul."

Calistin shivered. It seemed the worst of all possible creatures. Even a glorious death in battle meant no place in Valhalla for their victims.

"And Kevral," Amazir finished, "was bitten."

It took a moment for those words to sink in. "My mother was bitten?"

"Yes."

"But… she lived."

"A miracle, it seemed at the time."

A sense of dread crept into Calistin, chilling through his marrow. "And she went to Valhalla." He felt certain of it; no one could convince him otherwise. He had seen her soul rise and speak, had seen the Valkyrie who took it.

To his surprise, Amazir did not dispute the assertion. "She did."

Treysind gasped, and with the sound understanding came to Calistin as well. "Because… it was… my soul that was eaten."

Amazir pursed his lips but did not need to speak. They all knew Calistin had spoken the truth.

"So…" Calistin suddenly found himself air-starved and realized he had forgotten to breathe. He gulped in a lungful of air. "… I… have no… soul."

"No soul," Amazir echoed, with only a hint of Calistin's angst.

"So… it's true. I'll never find…" Calistin had to force out the word that still filled his every ambition. "… Valhalla."

Amazir shook his head, though whether in agreement with the negative contention or in opposition to it, Calistin could not guess. "Longer ago than you want to know, a god once told me I would never reach Valhalla."

Calistin jerked his head up hopefully. "Was he right?"

Amazir stared. A smile edged across his lips. "I know I've slowed down a mite with age, but surely you don't think I'm dead."

"Of course." Calistin felt foolish in addition to devastated. "But… I mean… is he going to be right? Have you lost your soul, too?"

Amazir rose, his food still untouched. "Actually, he didn't give me a reason, simply told me I'd never make it there."

Assailed by a fog of desperation, utterly demoralized, Calistin could only ask, "So what… did you do?"

Amazir turned away to look out over the vast forest. "I chose not to believe him.To do otherwise meant abandoning the only thing that gave my life meaning. Intimidating enemies by stealing the promise of Valhalla is a trick invented by Renshai, you know, back in the days when we deliberately dismembered our foes."

Calistin's studies made him defensive. "But that was centuries ago."

"Yes."

"And also untrue." Calistin remembered when he had tried to prey on the dying Northman's superstitions, to no avail, right before a Valkyrie took him. Whether it occurs before, after, or during battle, loss of a limb or part does not bar a brave warrior from Valhalla."

"Yes." Amazir turned back to face Calistin. "And yet, the practice demoralized our enemies and, also, nearly resulted in our extinction. And haunts us to this day."

Now Calistin found himself equally monosyllabic. "Yes."

"My point is that I chose not to believe the god."

"The god was lying?"

"I did not say that." Amazir dropped to a crouch in front of Calistin. "I said I chose not to believe him. Because, no matter the truth of his assertion, I had no choice but to prove him wrong. Otherwise, I had lost all reason to fight, and fighting was all I knew. Besides, I had based much of life on doing what others pronounced impossible."

Warmth filled Calistin despite his distress. He had finally discovered a kindred soul, the only man in existence who shared the very features no one else seemed capable of understanding. And, yet, this man had appeared out of nowhere, unknown, when he should have been famous throughout every land, most especially to every Renshai. The thought stopped Calistin cold. "You're not real, are you? You're a figment of my imagination, how I picture myself in sixty or seventy years."

Treysind laughed, which startled Calistin. He had nearly forgotten the boy's presence. "He ain't no figment. Or if he is, I sees and hears it, too."

Calistin clung to the idea. Now that it occurred to him, he believed he saw a definite resemblance between this aged man and the one he saw in the mirror. "Then he's a lifelike projection sent by the gods to show me my future."

Amazir's expression turned cold. "I go where I wish; no one 'sends' me anywhere. I am not, and never will be, you. And I am brutally, unreservedly real as you will discover at your next practice."

Calistin could not help wincing. He'd already suffered more than enough pain from their last session.The sharper discomfort of bruises and lacerations were rapidly giving way to the ache and scream of overtaxed muscles. Years had passed since anyone, even himself, had driven him hard enough to leave him aching. He had come to believe that, no matter how hard or long he worked, he had moved beyond any ability to cause this kind of soreness. Amazir had proved him wrong. "Forgive the assumption, torke. It's just that we're in such great parallel."

"And not all of our similarities are coincidence," Amazir explained. "Because the Renshai leaders know potential and talent when they see it, and they train it accordingly.You and I are neither the first nor last Renshai to hold such promise."

"And the gods' pronouncing us both unable to attain Valhalla? How does that fit in with our training?"

"It doesn't," Amazir admitted. "But it's not coincidence either."

Where once despair threatened to overtake all, a glimmer of hope arose. "Is there a solution to my problem?"

"There is."

Calistin had to know. He would do absolutely anything to win back a chance at Valhalla. "What is it?"

But Amazir only rose and waved at Calistin's dinner. "Eat. You need the nourishment."

Calistin did not even glance at the meal. "You know I would give up food altogether for that answer."

"And you will get it," Amazir said, returning to his own piled meal. "In due time. When you've earned it by giving your all to your lessons." He sat, snagging a cold, roasted wing.

Calistin thought he might burst, yet he knew nagging his torke was as dangerous as it was foolish. Instead, he turned his attention to his meal and did as he was told.

Calistin had always drawn the hardest, most vigorous teachers. Even after he surpassed them, he had always driven himself to the point of exhaustion. Yet none of that compared to the technique, finesse, and plain bone-wearying detail he suffered with every lesson from his new torke. He bolted food without tasting it, too hungry to chew. He slept so deeply he could not remember lying down; and, always, his every moment filled with movement or memory of movement, and how to make it better.

What should have taken a day of travel took a week; and, at the end of it, Calistin finally took the time to insist, over another hastily devoured meal put together by Treysind, that Amazir tell him how a soulless man might reach Valhalla.

"Ironically, the answer lies," Amazir explained, "in the part of your story that you most believe you already know, the piece you skipped right over when we discussed how you lost your soul."

That particular conversation remained engraved, in vivid detail, in Calistin's memory. Nevertheless, he had to consider what his torke meant.

Amazir did not wait for Calistin's recollection, "You know you were conceived during the sterility plague, as near as possible to your brothers' births, to maintain your mother's fertility."

"Yes." It all seemed so foolish now. His mother had never borne another child, perhaps because she had birthed three children in the space of a year or, like many Renshai, she simply lived too violent and harsh a life to conceive or carry another baby. Infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirths were all a natural and common part of Renshai life. More miraculous, the actual births.

"And I told you that the plague had made many men desperate, stooping to acts of cruelty they would never have considered in ordinary circumstances to assure the continuation of humankind."

Calistin recalled all that, and nodded.

"And, as you can imagine, the kings were most distressed, and their loyal followers. For, if their line perished, they reasoned, who could possibly rule in their place?"

"Nearly anyone?" Calistin ventured. He did not hold the awe for bloodline that many did. His parents did not raise him to believe ancestry mattered much.

Amazir laughed. "As I agree, but others gain silly attachments to things of little import.To equate shared blood with love is to doom all of us to marrying our mothers and sisters. Yet, to the king of Pudar, blood meant a great deal. He had recently lost his beloved older son to murder, leaving no heir. He branded his younger son a fop and a fool, but no one else could sire the line. So, he imprisoned Kevral and forced her to lie with his younger son until she either cycled or was proved to be with child."

Amazir's words lit a fire in Calistin's veins. Rage filled him, so hot it caused him pain; and the urge to slaughter the entire Pudarian royal line seized him. "He raped my mother? My mother?" That led to another scorching realization. "I'm a child of rape? And my blood… my blood…" Suddenly, he wanted to slice open every artery, to drain himself of the tainted, now boiling, life-fluid of his enemy. It explained so much, not the least of which why he looked as different from his brothers as they did from one another.

Treysind moved toward Calistin, as if to drag him into an embrace, but stopped short of actually completing the action. He knew better.

"No," Amazir said softly. "The prince no more wanted a part of it then Kevral, but he had little choice."

Calistin refused to believe it. "A man always has a choice."

"He would have been killed."

Calistin folded his arms across his chest, still seething. "I doubt that. Then the king would have no heirs at all."

"As I said, King Cymion thought little of his younger child. He would have executed him without much provocation."

Calistin gave no quarter. "The threat of death doesn't matter. A good man would choose to die rather than commit such a vile crime."

"But Prince Leondis surmised, rightly, that if he was executed, the king would have taken his place in Kevral's bed."

Calistin made a noise of outrage and revulsion. "She would have sliced his manhood from him and fed it to his dogs. Then she would have killed him."

Now Treysind cringed and made a sound similar to Calistin's.

Amazir only smiled. "I'm quite certain she would have, had she not been jailed and fully shackled, with her newborn twins as hostages."

"So I'm an heir to the throne of Pudar." Calistin tried to muster some interest in the idea but failed miserably. At the moment, he would rather carry Treysind's blood than King Cymion's.

"No."

Treysind and Calistin jerked their heads to Amazir simultaneously and in just as shocked a silence.

"No?" It made no sense. Calistin knew only nine months had elapsed between the birth of his brothers and his own, and he had carried full term. "How could…?" He recalled heroic tales from his grandfather about how his father had single-handedly challenged the army of Pudar to rescue Kevral from their prison. Knight-Captain Kedrin had never mentioned the details Amazir elaborated now, but Calistin knew the stories had to intertwine. "Papa?"

"Acted with courage befitting the bravest Renshai, but he did not arrive in time."

Treysind did not give Calistin a chance to gather his thoughts for a full question. "So who's Hero's real father?"

Amazir gave Treysind the first stern look ever aimed, by him, at the boy. "Ra-khir is not fake or false. He is Calistin's real father."

Treysind looked even more confused, staring at his feet to avoid the harshness of Amazir's gaze. "But yas sayed he didn't 'rrive in time."

Calistin rescued the boy. "He means Ra-khir is my real father because he claimed and raised me. Bloodline doesn't matter, and a man's seed alone doesn't make him a father." He gave Amazir a pleading look. "Nevertheless, I would like to know whose ancestral line I carry." He could not help adding, "And it's my right to know. My parents should have told me."

Amazir nodded sagely. "In their defense, they were sworn to secrecy. A Knight of Erythane would die before he broke an oath, and Kevral loved him too much to risk losing him by violating her own promise."

"She loved me, too," Calistin found himself saying defensively. "Or so she said."

"Poor Kevral," Treysind murmured, apparently catching a detail Calistin's outrage forced him to miss.

No longer irritated with the boy, Amazir nodded. "Imagine having to live with such a secret. To keep it meant violating her son's trust, but to reveal it meant betraying her husband and her own honor."

Calistin fell silent. He had not yet looked at it from Kevral's viewpoint, might not ever have done so if not for his two companions. He suspected most of the details of his life might look different from others' perspectives, yet he refused to analyze them. He might not like what he found.

"And one last event helped tip the balance. Your blood grandfather gave his blessing to Ra-khir as your father. He promised that his family would not interfere."

"An' yet," Treysind said with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness and an intensity of expression that focused squarely on Amazir, "ya has now, hasn't ya?"

Amazir smiled.

Calistin gawked. "Are you saying…?" He turned fromTreysind to Amazir. "Are you confirming…?" He shook his head to clear it, wishing his mouth would work. "You? You are my blood grandfather?"

"I am," Amazir admitted simply. "But I wasn't planning to tell you just yet.Your astute companion has a tendency to help you when you least deserve it, usually at my expense."

Calistin expected his mind to fill with questions, but he found only one and that he aimed at Treysind. "How did you know? How could you possibly know?"

Treysind only shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Who else's gonna know so much 'bout ya? Or care 'nough ta cram it through ya's big, fat head?" He added the simplest detail as if in afterthought, "An' yas looks 'ike some, too."

Calistin studied the wrinkled old man in front of him and wondered how anyone could notice anything similar about them. Only then, he remembered he had once considered the possibility that Amazir was a vision of his own future.

Amazir laughed. "You should not see any resemblance, regardless. I've altered my appearance."

"It's tha eyes," Treysind explained. "Ya can't das'guise 'em."

It seemed a family trait of Kevral's children, that, when it came to appearances, each tended to most favor his paternal grandfather. Subikahn looked more like Weile Kahn than anyone else; and Saviar had inherited all of Kedrin's splendor, including his natural, damnable charisma. Suddenly, Calistin had to know what the future held in store for him. "So what do you really look like? Can I see? Please?"

Amazir rose with a quickness that belied his age, though Calistin had become accustomed to it. Only as the swordmaster disappeared into the brush to change did some of the more important queries rise to Calistin's mind. It seemed petty to worry about appearances when so much of his origins still remained obscure. Amazir could answer so much, if Calistin only thought to ask the right questions.

Treysind moved closer. "Yas all righ', Hero?"

Treysind's worry seemed nonsensical. "Of course I'm all right," Calistin snapped. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"He gived ya big news. Don't it matter ta ya?" Treysind threw himself into Calistin's arms, embracing him.

Uncertain how to handle the situation, Calistin remained still, allowing the warmth of the boy to reach him. It was a hug that radiated brotherhood and understanding, and it did make him feel a bit better. He would die before he would admit it, however. "Get off me, Treysind." He gave the boy a light shove. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin'." Treysind backed away. "Jus' tryin' ta make ya feel better." A glimmer of disappointment flashed through his pale eyes. "Ain't I doin' it right? 'cause I ain't got much practice."

Once again, Calistin found himself looking at the world through Treysind's eyes, an orphan scarcely old enough to remember a mother's love, if he had ever known it. "No, I'm sure you're doing it right… if I was a great big girl. I can handle my own problems, no matter how overwhelming they might seem to you."

Clearly hurt, Treysind turned away.

Calistin closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Treysind. Don't think I don't appreciate your trying to help me. I do, but-"

To Calistin's relief, Amazir returned before he had to come up with the words to finish. Previously, his torke had appeared ancient; now, he seemed merely aging. His hair was Northern golden, with a liberal sprinkling of silver. His features looked solid, chiseled, with blunt cheekbones and a gently-arched chin. Four straight scars marred one cheek, in lines, just in front of his ear. The body remained lithe, lean, and sinewy; but the skin now looked healthy and well-veined instead of paper thin. The eyes remained the same timeless and intense blue-gray. It was not, Calistin realized, a particularly handsome or homely visage, but one that might easily disappear into a crowd. And he believed he did see some resemblance in the oval of his torke's face, the fine straight nose, pointed chin, and the average-sized lips; but, most of all, in those damnable, piercing eyes.

The questions remained, but Calistin found himself nearly incapable of asking. Hating one's torke was a time-honored occurrence among Renshai; he doubted a single one of his students could stand him. He demanded only respect and obedience, never love. Yet to discover that this man's son had raped his mother would drive him past outrage to murder. Amazir's words still rang in his ears: "Your blood grandfather gave his blessing to Ra-khir as your father. He promised that his family would not interfere." What cold and terrible arrogance would cause a man to believe he had a right to any child conceived to his family through rape.

But Calistin did not ask. He could not. For to do so meant losing the one truly good thing that had happened since the Northmen had come to Bearn. If he never learned the answer to that obvious question, the truth became solely what he made it out to be, nothing more and nothing less. He might never learn to love or trust this man who had taught him so much; but, at least in ignorance, he could continue to learn from Amazir's spectacular talent.