Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

The boldness of the question, though reasonable, took Calistin aback. The only people in his life he had ever learned to treat with respect were those who had the talent to kill him.

Amazir nodded, "I'm afraid so."

Treysind rubbed his chin, still thoughtful. "Well, I s'pose I kin handle it. If Hero wants ya, I wants ya."

Calistin looked between his two companions, surprised to find both so serious. Obviously, they truly considered Treysind the decision-maker, no matter how ridiculous the assertion. Nevertheless, Calistin did not argue. He had what he wanted, the greatest teacher who ever lived, and he could think of nothing that mattered more.

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 New maneuvers, exciting details, a level of understanding that superseded the entirety of his life to that moment.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.