"Had the chance to learn it?" Colbey suggested. "Never had the need?"
"Yes," Calistin snapped defensively. "It's the only way to become the best at something. To live it from sunup to sundown and into your dreams. Because every moment you're eating, sleeping, or engaging in unnecessary conversation or entertainment, you're missing a chance to improve your skills. And time is one thing you can never get back."
Colbey bobbed his head thoughtfully. "Thank you, Calistin. I can't say I haven't lived those very words at certain times of my life. But I do hope you spared some time to learn the Northern tongue, because you're going to need it for the next few weeks or months." He pursed his lips, "Unless, of course, you intend to walk into the first tavern you see and announce your tribe. Then, I can virtually guarantee you won't need to know any other words."
Calistin snorted. "I can handle myself against dozens of Northmen."
"But eventually, the hundreds that follow will overcome even you. Is that how you want to die?"
"It's how every Renshai wants to die."
Colbey did not say another word, but his brows slid upward.
Treysind's face revealed all the emotion the others did not. His features creased in agonized worry, and he wrung his hands in frantic circles. "If ever' Renshai wants it, how's come they don't jus' all do it?"
"Yeah," Colbey said taking up a position directly beside Treysind. "How's come they don't?" Although he mimicked the boy's speech, he did not do so in an insulting manner, and Treysind clearly took no offense.
"Because," Calistin started heatedly, then paused to consider. As he did so, his mood went from heated to less so, and finally to embarrassment. He felt the warmth move from deep within him to only the surface of his skin. "Because deliberate suicide is only courage if there is no other way."
"Go on."
"If one chooses a course of action solely for the purpose of dying, it… it…" Though Calistin had heard it from his mother and other Renshai, he could not remember the rest of the quotation.
Treysind gave it his own twist. "It's jus' stupid."
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Colbey smiled and winked conspiratorially at Calistin. It was one of his own famous sayings his charges had mangled.
Calistin could not help grinning. It was the first time he and Colbey shared a joke at Treysind's expense rather than his own.
Colbey turned serious almost immediately afterward. "I'll leave you with this: First, don't hurry. With or without true immortality, your divine blood will cause you to age far slower than even the average Renshai. The gods do nothing quickly. Immortality can never be won overnight or with a singular action. It will require you to think, to emote, and to behave in a manner that makes you worthy of Asgard at all times. Competent swordsmanship, Calistin, will not be enough. Until now, your ignorance may have helped you, but-from this point on-it can only hurt."
Calistin licked his lips and closed his eyes, suddenly terrified for reasons he could not wholly understand. His life, once so simple, had become complicated beyond all reason. No longer could he hide behind his strict dedication to his sword. Other matters demanded his attention, and the Renshai no longer tended to his every other desire, obviating his need to think, to consider, to grow. He raised his head to beg reassurance, to ask one more question, then another, to prevent Colbey from leaving him when he most needed guidance. But, when he opened his eyes, the old Renshai was gone.
CHAPTER 38
Never despise your enemy, or you may lose the chance to research his strengths and weaknesses.Too many wars are undertaken with faith in one's own genius and the belief that the enemy has none.
The stream bubbled merrily through the mountains, a silver sliver reflecting sunlight into Saviar's eyes. He perched on a deadfall that bridged the water, his legs dangling, right hand clasped around Chymmerlee's, the left clutching a flat stone. He drew his arm back, flicked his wrist, and sent the stone skipping.
Chymmerlee counted aloud, "One, two three, four, five… six. You beat me."
Saviar watched the rings widening from each touch, then his stone sank, leaving a wake of tiny bubbles.
"And with your left hand." Chymmerlee gave their entwined hands a shake. "And I thought I was so good at this."
Saviar did not bother to mention that which hand he used did not matter. Renshai trained to use both equally; any tendency to favor one got fixed in childhood drills. He pulled her hand toward him, drawing her along, and pushed forward for a kiss.
"Saviar!" Subikahn appeared out of nowhere.
Startled, Saviar dropped Chymmerlee's hand, reaching for a sword hilt, leaping in front of her to guard her. Instead, his quick movement sent her careening from the log. She tumbled gracelessly into the muddy stream with more thud than splash.
Subikahn's tone changed from one of excitement to horror. "Sav-ee-ar!" He charged into the water.
Aghast, Saviar stared at Chymmerlee in the stream. Sitting, the water came up to her waist, her clothing soaked, face and hair a mucky mess. "Chymmer, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Helplessly, he ran first one way, then the other, trying to divine the fastest way to her. Jump, you idiot. He sprang into the stream, the weight of his landing spraying Chymmerlee and Subikahn, who had grabbed her elbow to help her out of the water.
An instant later, Saviar found himself standing in brown water up to his shins, staring at his brother and his friend splattered head to toe in wet filth. Subikahn graciously held Chymmerlee's arm, his hair dripping plant matter and mud.
Realizing he had only managed to make things worse, Saviar flushed. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. "I was trying to help."
"Yes," Subikahn noted, shaking the mess from his hair. "How thoughtful. Thank you."
Saviar looked at Chymmerlee, waiting for her to slap him, to cry, to call him something worthy of the idiocy he had just displayed. She started shaking, gently at first, then harder. Laughter emerged from her, sweet and bell-like. She stooped, scooped up a handful of mud, and threw it at Saviar.
Saviar could have dodged it, but surprise held him rooted in place. The mudball hit him in the stomach, slapping against his tunic, then running in a wet line back into the water. He remained in place until the second handful of mud sped toward him. Then, he attempted to duck. Mud splattered into his hair as it whizzed by, the bulk of it missing. "You… wench," he sputtered.
Subikahn joined the action, dredging up handfuls of muck and hurling them at his brother.
"Hey," Saviar yelled. "Hey!" Opening his mouth turned out to be a bad idea. The mud tasted of fish and greenery, and he spat out bits of rock and filth. "All right, then! If that's how you want it." He grabbed his own muck, feeling a ball smack against the top of his head as he dropped into a crouch.
It devolved swiftly. Water splashed in mighty, man-made waves, mud flew in all directions, shattering into watery bits as it hit a target. It became a three-way war, as Chymmerlee's aim betrayed her and she hit Subikahn one too many times.
Saviar laughed, careful to keep his lips clamped tight as he did so. Mud weighted his feet and gushed over his boots to leave him wading through mush. His filthy, sodden clothes clung to every part of him, and his hair dripped large clumps of grime. He had to squint to keep the mud from his eyes, though he could see it clinging to his lashes. Whenever he tried to wipe it away with the back of a hand, he only wound up adding more. He could not remember the last time he had had so much fun.
Shielding her face, Chymmerlee giggled, finally wading to shore.