Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

"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.