“I’ll give you credit for your endurance,” he said as she got to her feet. “I’ve seen younger men weep during the stretches. Now for some forms to practice. Sugar Plum Fist. Then Snapping Legs. No stopping between. Go.”
Hettie nodded obediently and plunged into the routines with animation, despite her weariness. He noticed how being barefoot didn’t bother her so much now. The calluses were forming swiftly. Her boots were nestled by the travel packs. She finished the first form quickly and then launched into the longer one. When she had first learned them, she had made many mistakes with technique. But instead of being angry when he corrected her, she had immersed into the nuances with a keen desire to learn. She was a gifted student and craved to memorize not only the movements but the names of the movements: Heron Gliding on the Water, Serpent Seeks the Pearls, Black Dragon Swings His Tail, Leopard Fist. It was the Bhikhu way not just to showcase movements and applications, but to describe the forces of nature that had inspired them. The tradition had been passed down for over a thousand years. Hettie was a natural.
When she finished Snapping Legs, sweat dripped from her nose. She stood at attention though, not moving until he released her with a salute. Paedrin walked over to their packs and sat down cross-legged. She joined him, wiping the sweat away with her hands.
“You didn’t criticize me this time,” she murmured, picking the fragments of grass from her clothes.
“Your form is improving,” he said. “Give it another ten years and you’ll be ready to face a five-year-old.”
She chuckled, flicking away a speck. “Tell me, do you think it is odd that the Arch-Rike has not hunted us? Once we made it past the lake, there were no pursuers. Not even in the air.”
Paedrin shook his head solemnly. The pain of losing Shivu had dampened his joy. While he often thought of witty retorts, he did not use them nearly as often. Traveling alone would have been unendurable. He was grateful to have Hettie to talk to and had enjoyed her companionship.
“He already knows our destination, Hettie. His forces will be waiting in front of us, not behind.”
Hettie looked at him, startled.
“Always remember the Uddhava. Anticipate your foe. He has already sent others ahead of us to Lydi.”
“How do we succeed?”
He did not want to poison her thinking with his own ideas. What they needed were fresh ones and so putting it as a challenge would incite her creativity. “You are a clever girl. Think it through as we go. We still have some time before we get there.”
“It’s a beautiful sunset,” she said, folding her arms around her knees.
“I’ve never seen so many ships,” Paedrin said. “Not even in the harbors of Kenatos.”
Hettie nodded. “I’ve never been to Lydi before, but the Romani travel there. I heard the city is made of ships. There are no buildings, only reclaimed vessels brought to shore. It used to be a thriving city, ages ago. Now it is a graveyard of wooden hulls.”
“If they are all made of wood, you would think they’d have decayed by now.”
Hettie shrugged. “Lots of timber in the forest down below. They are the master shipbuilders, the Lydians. I do not know about their loyalties to Kenatos.”
“Do you know anything of their customs?”
Hettie shrugged again. “No, not really. I’ve never met a Lydian before.”
Paedrin stared at the sun, vanishing like a disc beneath the gray folds of the sea. It was a beautiful sight. Somewhere, past the Lydian city, somewhere buried and nearly forgotten was the Shatalin temple. His skin prickled with gooseflesh and his heart saddened again. His determination, however, only strengthened.
She noticed the subtle frown on his face. He saw it register in her eyes. “Let’s go a little farther,” Hettie suggested quietly. “I don’t like being exposed on the hill like this. Let’s go down to the woods before it gets too dark.” She stood and offered him her hand.
Paedrin stared at it, feeling the swell of difficult emotions that always threatened tears. She was recognizing his moods now. When he wanted to banter. When he wished for silence. He gripped her hand and let her pull him to his feet. She then tugged on her boots and swung the pack around her shoulder. As they started down the hill, side by side, he felt her hand graze his. Part of him wanted to reach out and hold it, to cling to her grip like a rope to save himself from drowning in grief. He rebelled against that part of himself, the part that felt reassured by her presence. He needed to clear his mind.
Yet Paedrin struggled against the thoughts and emotions that kept flitting like inside him like a hive of enraged bees.