This time, the applause was resounding. Excited chatter rose from students and Weaponmasters alike in an incomprehensible din.
“Not bad, but you try too much for speed.” Ryne strode to his side. “It makes your moves rigid and predictable. Breathe, relax. Allow your attacks to flow.” Ryne acted out the breathing exercise. “Don’t let your excitement show. Remember. Your body reflects your intentions.”
Ancel winced. “But … but,” he began.
Ryne’s upheld hand stopped him. “Think of your Stances. They represent the three elements and their essences within Mater. The Flows,” he announced, “Light as the wind.” Ryne shifted, took several steps back, and then glided forward, barely touching the ground, his huge feet leaving not a mark in the mud. “Flowing like water.” Ryne’s sword arm swayed in a slow, seductive dance.
“The Forms. Strong as the earth.” This time when Ryne swept away, his boot imprints crushed the earth beneath him. He spun and struck down, shattering a rock. Gasps rose from all around. “Pliable as wood, malleable as metal.” Bending and contorting into impossible positions brought more breathless noises from those in attendance.
“The Streams-the powerful energy that is heat and cold-able to strike or stop with force and fury.” Alternating breezes from Ryne’s strikes, first heated, then freezing cold, brushed Ancel despite where he stood several feet away. “The stealth of shade.” At those words, protests sounded from several, but Ryne ignored them. When Ryne imitated the slices and cuts, Ancel failed to discern where the attacks originated, nor did he hear or feel the man’s footsteps. “The speed of light,” Ryne said, his hands becoming a blur, a storm of movement so intricate Ancel was unable to track them.
A thunderous ovation followed. Ryne bowed to the onlookers then to Ancel.
“I’ve trained hard most of my life,” Ancel admitted, “but I can’t imagine fighting like you. Not even the Weaponmasters can.”
‘The Etchings will help guide you. You can call on them without touching Mater. It’s important to remember that, but don’t rely on them or on Mater itself. Training, preparation, and anticipation are everything. Hard work combined with skill is near unbeatable.”
“When will you teach me to Forge while using the Etchings?”
“You wish to swim without knowing how rough the sea is. To defeat the enemies you’re bound to face, your skill and knowledge needs to grow. Nurture them. For today, we’re done.”
The crowds began to drift away as they realized no more was forthcoming. Several Weaponmasters stayed behind, signaling to Ryne. He strode over to them, a few words passed, and they too left, some appearing more disappointed than others.
“Come,” Ryne said when he returned, “walk with me.”
Ancel followed Ryne out of the training area. They placed their training swords in the rack built alongside the open space and covered them with a tarp. Students and Teachers pointed or murmured to each other as they passed. As tall as he was in comparison to everyone else, Ancel felt like a child next to Ryne, his head reaching level with his mentor’s chest. Snow squelching under their feet, they strode along Learner’s Row and the many sandstone buildings.
“There’s more to the Etchings than the sword or Mater.” Ryne clasped his hands behind his back. “But I needed to know how far along you were. Specifically, I wanted to see how easily you entered and maintained the Shunyata or the Eye of the Storm as your people call it. You did well. And I don’t readily give praise.”
Ancel’s chest swelled at the compliment. “Thank you. I practiced with my father and another friend of mine who taught me the Ostanian name for the Eye.”
“Really? Who?”
“A woman named Kachien. She helped keep me safe when the shade was hunting me.”
“Hmm.” Ryne nodded. “You need to introduce me one day. I noticed how you empty yourself within the Eye, but that’s not all there is to it. The essences are as much a part of the elements as they are connected to your feelings. Heat to anger and passion, cold to emptiness, air to levity and so forth. Within the Shun-the Eye, you must be able to pluck each emotion as you need and use them.”
“Why?”
“Your feelings enhance your power. Think of how a burst of adrenaline gives you energy or how a man in desperation can perform amazing feats. Using your emotions give the same effect.”
Ancel nodded his understanding.
“A person’s strength and affinity in Mater is dictated by not only his bloodline, but by experience, personality, and practice,” Ryne said. “In time, one born strong in a certain essence can learn to master others as he develops. After all, it often takes more than one essence from different elements when Forging. For example, liquid plus energy makes a solid.” A bit confused, Ancel frowned. “In easier terms, water and cold create ice, which is a part of the Forms. Reverse that process, apply energy-the Streams, namely heat-to ice to form a liquid-the Flows. Most, if not all things, need the energy of the Streams. Take that away and it reverts to its baser components.
“Remember, Forging works best on something already in existence with a source to draw upon, like taking heat from a flame to create a fireball. Or the charge from a storm to release a lightning strike. Within a flood or a raging river is another form of energy that could be used, generated by movement. This you could apply to speed. This intermingling is because of the nature of the elements themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“The essences are living beings. They adapt as you do.”
Ancel gaped. He recalled Kachien’s warning of something similar. And when his father lay dying and his mother was threatened, he was certain he’d heard voices whispering to him. Since then, they had increased, growing stronger at times, often corresponding to his emotional state. He sensed the power behind him. It scared him. Automatically, he’d resorted to what he’d been taught, making sure to be in the Eye if he Forged. At times, he dismissed the voices as a fancy or maybe the effect wielding Mater could have on one’s sanity.
“Your expression says you experienced their ability to communicate.”
Ancel hesitated to answer. Finally, he said, “I–I have. When I allowed my emotions to get the better of me, I heard those voices. They promised power. Unending power.”
“Did you accept their offer?”
“Twice.”
Ryne stopped. His emerald eyes glinted like two polished gems. “Did you take a life when you gained the power?” His voice was hard enough to match his gaze.
“No. Twice I used the power to try save my parents, but both times I called upon it I was interrupted. The first time Shin Galiana stopped me, and the second time, the netherling came.”
A relieved whoosh left Ryne’s lips. “Good. Remember this, if you remember nothing else: here in Denestia, anytime you accept their power and do an actual Forge, you must remain within the Eye. Most Matii have either forgotten or refuse to believe the essences are alive. Many have accepted what they experience as a side effect of wielding the power they have, a warning, if you will, that the madness from touching Mater exists.”
“Can the essences harm me?”
“With direct physical contact? No.” Ryne resumed his walk. “Mentally, they can destroy you. They push you emotionally as well as feed on sela, yours or whatever you kill when under their influence. To avoid being driven insane, you must kill when you accept and complete a Forging using their power.”
Ancel frowned. “Unless I missed something, you were just glad I didn’t kill when I used the power, but now you say I must kill when I take it or I go mad.”
“Correct, but as you said, you didn’t complete those Forges. A fine distinction but one to be remembered.” Ryne paused. “Your mind and sela are connected as one. To appease them and replenish your own power, you must kill. The act of Forging takes a piece of your sela. Add what they bestow, and it takes more. Only a death can partially replace what they took. With too much sela gone, your mind lacks coherence, and eventually you drift into insanity. Continue to Forge and your sela depletes so much, your body can longer sustain itself.