Tragic Providence Page 4

  “There’s room enough. Or should be, depending on the form.”

  Pylas looked around the room, pushed a table and a chair closer to one wall, and then proceeded to show Silestry.

  Silestry was grinning at first, expecting to be amused, but as the other continued, the grin devolved into a frown.

  “Well?” Pylas said on completion.

  “Eight days? You’ve been practicing that for eight days?”

  Now Pylas frowned. “Yes. Full of mistakes, huh?”

  Silestry shook his head hesitantly. “No. It wasn’t. You’re as good at that form as I ever was. It took me over a month to get it right.”

  “Oh. Well, I am trapped here and I have been rather single-minded in my practice.”

  Silestry smiled. “There may be hope for you yet, Pylas.” He suddenly patted his coat, reached inside, and produced a sheaf of papers bound by an old ribbon that may once have been pink. “I almost forgot. I thought you might like these.”

  Pylas took the small bundle, untied the ribbon, and nearly choked.

  “I’m sorry that echographs are all you have left of them.”

  Pylas shook his head and wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, careful to avoid marring some of the only remaining images of his family, of his newlywed bride. “Thank you.”

  • • •

  After Silestry took his leave, Jay returned and escorted Pylas through the house to a locked room. Inside was what could only be described as a shrine. The room was small, but seemed even closer than its dimensions suggested. Two wooden posts with an elaborately carved bridge joining them top to top stood just before the back, innermost wall. A well-worn cushion sat on the floor in front of the gateway the posts presented.

  “Sit down,” Jay said, motioning to the cushion.

  Pylas did.

  “Your physical practice will be done without your glasses, but this practice, at least for a while, will require you to wear them.”

  Pylas briefly looked around the room, not sure what he was expected to do. Within moments, he found himself staring straight ahead, towards the gate. Only then did he become aware of something occupying the middle of the gate itself. It was a leaf upon a thread as thin as spider’s silk, suspended from the bridge overhead. When his eyes settled on it, he found that he could not look away from the leaf.

  “What is it, Teacher?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “That it’s a leaf is obvious, but how and why it. . . commands attention. . . inspires vertigo. . .”

  Jay boomed and shook with laughter.

  “This, Pylas Crier, is a leaf from the Viscain Tree, and there is nothing obvious about it.”

  “No. . . Teacher.”

  “Everything in this room has been designed to direct focus to the leaf,” Jay said, “to isolate the truth of it from the mundanity of its surroundings. The Tree, I’m told, evokes feelings of peace, serenity, euphoria. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”

  Pylas had. He’d even entertained the idea of one day taking a trip with Aya to see it, just to be able to claim that he’d done so. People said that the Tree was divine, that in its presence one could find inspiration, could be cured of disease, could have years added to already long lives. He’d never believed any of it, of course, but now, captivated by but one of its leaves, he wasn’t sure.

  “No one speaks of these hypnotic properties with regard to the Tree itself—although I hear that it is a sight to behold. I can only speculate that the effects are reduced or even negated by the constant distraction provided by the other leaves or by the Tree in total.”

  Jay saw that Pylas was quite lost to him. He snapped his fingers, making Pylas flinch and returning him, though perhaps only somewhat, to the here and now.

  “Pylas, your first task in this training is to master yourself. To gain the ability to tune out the leaf at will. This may take you several days. Or it may take you several weeks. In any case, I’ll return for you shortly before the evening meal. You will likely need rousing.”

  Pylas wasn’t aware of Jay leaving. He was far too intrigued by the isolated, tunnel-world of the kaleidoscope leaf. It was like an explosion of life, all changing patterns and impossible colors. It was soothing, maybe dangerously so. This vague sense of looming danger caught in his subconscious, like a snagged bur, and helped keep him at least partially aware of the room—of the physical world—around him.

  After what felt like five minutes of tireless appreciation of what the leaf showed him, Pylas heard Jay snap his fingers again.

  “Pylas!”

  “Yes, Teacher!”

  “Remain seated, but turn completely around so that you’re facing me.”

  Pylas did as he was told, responding more to the sound of Jay’s voice than to any sense of spatial awareness. In moments, Pylas’s vision focused completely, so that the hard reality—the lines, the materials, the lackluster color—of the room that enclosed them stood out to him with knife-edge urgency.

  “Whoah,” Pylas said.

  Jay snickered. “It’s time for dinner.”

  Pylas cocked his head. “It isn’t,” he said incredulously.

  “It is.”

  “But only minutes have passed since you left me.”

  Jay shook his head. “No, Pylas. It’s been hours. Now tell me about what you saw.”

  • • •

  When he sat down at the table, Pylas realized that at least his body understood that several hours had passed—he was famished. He hadn’t felt that he’d been able to explain adequately what he’d seen in the leaf, but Jay nodded knowingly just the same.

  “How did you come by the leaf, Teacher?”

  “One of my students made the pilgrimage to Yana—he said on my behalf,” Jay said, laughing. “That was twenty years ago and the leaf hasn’t appeared to have aged a day. While there, just beyond the Tree’s boughs, he said that the leaf just spiraled down, lighting onto his forehead. He noted that the ground all around was spotless except for grass and shade, and he felt as though the Tree had spoken to him. He’d gone there for me, and the Tree had given him something to take back for me. He believed that very strongly.

  “I’ve wanted to go for as long as I can remember. Something always got in the way, though. First duty to the constabulary, then tournament life, then sedimentary routine. I could say that I’m too old, but physically I could make the trip. I have too many responsibilities here now. Maybe, if someone were to take over the school, I could still go. I’d like that.

  “I told you that what I teach isn’t just about punching and kicking. You’re smart, Pylas, but intelligence doesn’t always make for a strong mind. Sometimes it’s just the opposite. But, being smart will help you grasp what’s been put before you. You may not understand it, you may not believe it, but today you took the first step towards real strength,” Jay said this as he tapped his temple with his index finger, a gesture that Pylas would come to forever associate with Jay.

  Pylas listened intently to everything Jay had to say. Everything—his words, the table, the wood that paneled the walls, the very air he breathed—seemed so clear, so sharp, so full of meaning. He caught Brit smiling several times, and he somehow knew that it was because of the new dynamic in which he wouldn’t have to sneak out at night and Jay wouldn’t have to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  As the meal came to an end, Jay excused himself.

  “I will see you in the yard in one hour. Remember, no glasses.”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  • • •

  Despite the almost-preternatural clarity he was experiencing, Pylas was quite near-sighted and could see very little without his glasses. Objects lost definition, colors bled together, people became unrecognizable. Darkness, of course, compounded his difficulty. With enough light, though, he could get a sense of his environment and detect movement. Unused as he was to functioning without his glasses, he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive—exposed and more than a little vulnera
ble—as he proceeded through the house to the yard, which was, thankfully, wide open and without obstacles.

  Pylas was charged with performing all that he had surreptitiously learned so far, and he proceeded to do so. When finished, he stared expectantly in Jay’s direction. Presently, Jay folded his arms and approached. Pylas could see that Jay was nodding, which he took for approval.

  “Divine Pattern, like anything,” Jay said, “is made up of fundamental building blocks. You’ve managed to pick some of these up without knowing what they are. Your stance is good with proper weight allotted to each leg: solid yet mobile. Your hand movements, too, are crisp and accurate. Tonight, I’ll give you a primer on the Five Principles and the Twelve Methods. For now, I want you to continue to practice what you just showed me. We’ll break down the form and identify which portions reflect which Principles and which Methods. Ultimately, you must master all the Principles and Methods, but some may appeal more to your nature than others.”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  “What, if anything, have you observed about Divine Pattern in the short time you’ve been studying it?”

  Pylas thought for a moment. “It’s direct, always seeking to push through, to penetrate.”

  “Just so,” Jay said with unexpected enthusiasm. “Mastery of Divine Pattern will grant its practitioners many benefits, but the overarching goal is always to identify flaws in defense and drive through.”

  Pylas nodded. “Yes, Teacher.”

  • • •

  Pylas continued to sit before the Leaf of the Viscain Tree by day and train the physical aspects of Divine Pattern by night.

  It took him four days to come to his senses while contemplating the Leaf, but he did so early in his session and spent the day confirming his ability to both study and be free of it at will. When Jay came to collect him, Pylas was already standing, ready and beaming. Jay greeted him with disbelief, but narrowed his eyes and nodded, seeming to come to some conclusion he’d been working towards.

  Jay feigned skepticism still, telling Pylas that, from then on, he’d have to look after himself come dinner time and that tardiness to evening practice would not be tolerated.

  Unable to stop smiling, Pylas happily agreed.

  “And I have a new task for you.”

  “Yes, Teacher?”

  “You are to keep up your daily meditations on the Leaf, but you are now to do so while maintaining the basic stance. Additionally, except during evening practice, I want to you try to see in everything what you see in the Leaf.”

  “Teacher?” Pylas said frowning. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Maybe not yet, but that’s always the way with something new and unfamiliar. What you see in the Leaf exists in all things, though to a lesser extent. The Leaf is ultimately complex, dynamic, ever changing, but most matter is comparatively simple, static. Once you can attune your senses to objects other than the Leaf, you will be able to understand the true power of Divine Pattern.”

  A chill crept over Pylas at the prospect and he couldn’t help himself from thinking of other possibilities.

  “How are the new students coming along, Teacher?”

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  Pylas shrugged. “Just curious, I guess. Will I be mixing with them soon?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Will any be shown the Leaf?”

  Jay cocked his head, perplexed by the line of questioning. “It’s not something I share lightly. Few are good candidates.”

  “But I was?”

  “You are a special case. And yes, you have proven to be a good candidate. I’ll confess—there was a risk, Pylas. Most who look upon the Leaf have their attention snared, but then have their eyes roll up into their heads, and lapse into a seizing fit.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was quite sure that that wouldn’t happen to you.”

  “Why is that, Teacher?”

  “For various reasons. And I wasn’t wrong.”

  “Now, back to training!”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  1.4 WIL PARISH

  It had been forty-seven days since Pylas had come to Jay’s school. His face was half-covered with a beard that had taken that long to look merely well-groomed instead of unkempt as it truly was. His hair hung in waves and curls of sandy gold, effectively covering the other half of his face. Even with his glasses, Pylas would have been unrecognizable. Without them, though, he was a completely different person, a vagabond used to life on the streets. That was, until he opened his mouth. He couldn’t hide his youth or his education, much as he might have liked to.

  He had, indeed, been able to perceive an inherent pattern, akin to that of the Leaf, in many things. He’d clung to some notion that once he was able to do this, he would no longer need his glasses, that his eyes would somehow become superfluous. He was disappointed. Without his glasses, he could not achieve the proper focus and could perceive nothing but an imperfect, ever-blurred picture of the world. The more he applied himself, though—with his glasses—the more he could discern individual Patterns and their characteristics. He scared himself when he found he could see through lesser materials to denser ones hidden within. As he stared at a simple chair, its upholstery, a weave to begin with and a simple enough Pattern to grasp, faded as he inadvertently focused on the springs buried in the cushions. Startled by what he wrongly saw as their movement towards him, he lurched backwards, raising a hand in defense—and then laughed himself to tears.

  When he shared this story with Jay, Jay nodded sagely.

  “This is a big transition. You will no longer train directly with the Leaf. For now, anyway.”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  “Instead, starting tomorrow, after the evening meal, you will maintain the basic stance before a mirror and try to perceive your own Pattern.”

  “How will I find it in a mirror, Teacher?”

  “You won’t. But you need a starting point, a reference. How long can you maintain the basic stance?”

  Pylas shrugged. “I’m not sure. An hour?”

  Jay nodded. “Good. That should be enough to start. This will be harder than the perception training you’ve done so far. Everything has been right in front of you, plain and exposed. Perceiving yourself will take time and experimentation.”

  “Yes, Teacher. But you said after the evening meal. What’ll I do during the day?”

  “Tomorrow, you will join the other students in the yard. The Constable and I have created a persona for you in anticipation of your. . . debut. It’s time we see how both your training and your disguise hold up.”

  Pylas grinned enigmatically. “Yes, Teacher.”

  • • •

  Jay stood before the neat, orderly rows of students—thirty-two in all—all of them men, ranging from their late teens to mid-forties.

  “This is Tai Sonsen,” Jay said. “He’s been training with a colleague of mine in Palas and will be joining us from today. He is somewhat advanced for still being a beginner. Make sure he feels welcome.”

  “Yes, Teacher,” came the collective reply.

  “Tai, you’ll partner with—”

  “How about him, Teacher?” Pylas said, pointing to a rangy, dusky-skinned young man, somewhat taller than himself, towards the back.

  Jay cocked his head and narrowed his eyes—mystified by Pylas’s ability to identify one person, any person, from among the many students—and then he understood. “Very well,” Jay said. “Barz, you work with Enzo today. Tai you’re with Wil.”

  Pylas passed through the rows of students, from senior-most to newest at the back, and extended his hand to his new sparring partner.

  “Tai Sonsen. Nice to meet you.”

  The other swallowed hard and took Pylas’s hand, clasping it firmly. “Likewise,” he said.

  The two fell into line and followed the course of instruction as it was laid out for the day.

  • • •

  As the sun began to descend, more and more student
s took their leave, until only the seniors remained, taking special advantage of their exclusive time with Jay. Pylas and Wil remained as well, at some remove from the rest, until their presence was challenged by Barz, one of the senior students.

  “That’s okay, Barz,” Jay said. “Tai is lodging here, and as such, has nowhere else to go.”

  “Yes, Teacher,” Barz said, somewhat grudgingly.

  “Maybe it’s time for us all to finish up, eh Mr. Parish?” Jay said, eyeing Pylas’s sparring partner.

  Wil Parish started, his eyes darting from Pylas to Jay.

  “See you tomorrow, Wil,” Pylas said.

  “Yeah,” Wil said. “Nice meeting you. . . Tai.” He walked a little hesitantly to a motorbike—an Oyodyne Buteysian 10—parked next to the gate and wheeled it out as he looked back over his shoulder.

  To the seniors, Jay said, “That’s it for today. The older I get the less I can keep up with you. Now run along and let me regain my strength.”

  After the last of the students left for the day, Jay took Pylas by the arm, yanking him close.

  “That was very foolish.”

  “Teacher?”

  “Don’t pretend with me any longer. You recognized that young man and it was clear that he recognized you. You’ve been asking about him, though indirectly, since he came here. You obviously memorized his place in line long before today. There can be only one person besides the constable and myself to whom you would consider revealing yourself in so direct a manner.”

  The false surprise drained from Pylas’s face and he nodded. “Yes, Teacher.”

  “You managed a very subdued reunion, but there may be other discriminating eyes upon us—problematic considering your already unique circumstances as a guest at this school, Mr. Sonsen. Your friend was very discreet. Despite the timing of his joining, I thought nothing about him untoward. If I could be deceived by one, I might have been deceived by another.”

  “I’m sorry, Teacher.”