Fear is not a pillar of our art, but it is the substance out of which the wheel is formed. Master it or submit to it and you will travel two very different paths.
DAIPUNA: THE ART OF COMBAT
Two Years Before the Fall of the Mantle
“Varten!” Roshon’s voice rose with his growing panic, echoing throughout the dark cave as he called for his twin brother. Next to him, Papa held the lantern high. The glossy walls sparkled in the flickering light, and shadows leaped about in a war dance, closing in on them.
“Varten!” Papa shouted. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he quickened his pace. The air inside was close and warm, unlike the frigid temperature outside, but Roshon’s blood still held a chill. He raced to follow his father, stumbling over the uneven surface of the cave floor.
The strap of his bag bit into his arm as the various items they’d purchased in town weighed him down. Roshon readjusted the bag and kept moving, struggling to find his footing. They’d been returning to their valley home, crossing the mountain that separated them from the tiny Elsiran Borderlands town where they bought whatever they couldn’t make or grow, when Varten had disappeared from the trail. Though his brother had a penchant for mischief, he wouldn’t have run off without telling anyone, not here with a storm threatening. And not so near the mountain caves Papa had long ago forbidden them to enter.
Papa had visibly shuddered before entering this one, his Earthsong magic having tracked Varten this far. Even now, his breathing was labored and he appeared to be in pain. Something about these caves affected Earthsingers, his father and sister included, differently than it did everyone else. The lantern light barely pierced the gloom, and though Roshon had no magic, he didn’t like being down there, either.
They turned a corner in the tunnel they were searching to find that the space widened into a vast chamber. Papa sniffed and lowered the lantern to illuminate the cave floor. A hollow feeling opened in Roshon’s gut when the weak light showed dark droplets on the strangely glossy surface.
Was that blood?
“Varten!” they both screamed.
It was getting harder to hold the terror at bay. If something happened to his twin, would Roshon know? Would he sense it? He didn’t feel anything different inside and once again cursed the fact that he had been born without magic.
Mama’s face filled his vision for a moment, and he froze, shaking. He couldn’t lose his brother, too. And their sister was waiting for them at home. Jasminda never went to town unless absolutely necessary, not that he blamed her. But how could he face her if something happened to Varten?
“Papa, can’t you try to track him again?”
The older man pursed his lips and gave Roshon a heavy look. Using Earthsong in the caves was different for him somehow, more difficult maybe. Papa kneeled and touched the drops on the ground with the tip of his finger. The liquid shone dark red against his skin.
Roshon held his breath. Varten wasn’t just missing; he was bleeding. Injured and lost in the darkness in this snarl of unnavigable tunnels and caverns.
“Take this.” Papa handed him the lantern. Roshon gripped the handle hard enough to bruise his palm as Papa closed his eyes.
If Jasminda were here, she could at least help Papa find Varten. They could link their power together and enhance it, using that strange connection to Earthsong that joined their inner Songs with the energy of every living thing. But she had stayed behind, electing to watch the farm and avoid the three-day journey to town and back. And Roshon was useless, helplessly watching his father concentrate to perform the silent magic of an Earthsong spell.
Papa gasped, clutched his chest, and fell onto his hands and knees. Roshon was immediately by his side, grabbing his arm. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
After a few huffs, Papa’s breathing steadied. “I think I found him. There’s another way out. Just through there.” He pointed, though Roshon saw nothing but darkness in that direction. Still, relief washed over him as Papa stood and led the way through the cave to a narrow tunnel.
“Is he all right?” Roshon asked.
“Yes,” Papa replied but didn’t elaborate.
“Are you all right?”
“These caves . . .” He looked around warily and hastened his steps.
At fifteen, Roshon was far too old to be afraid of the dark, and he wasn’t . . . usually. But when his strong and fearless father was this on edge, well, he made sure not to fall behind the man’s quick pace. There were plenty of things Roshon was afraid of, and losing another family member was high on the list. Should he have kept a closer eye on his twin? He was the elder brother, if only by a quarter of an hour, and he’d always tried to keep Varten’s flighty ways in check. What should he have done differently to stop this from happening?
They moved quietly through the tunnels, Papa’s unease seeping more and more into Roshon. There was no trail of blood, though, so perhaps the injury was not severe. Finally, the temperature began to drop and the sound of wind whipped against the rocks. The light, cold and anemic, brightened as they approached the exit.
Outside, they emerged into a heavy flurry of snow. When they’d entered the mountain, soft, fat flakes had been falling, but the surprise storm was growing.
Roshon looked up to find that they’d exited farther down the mountain than they’d entered, having lost ground somewhere inside. Now, once they found Varten, they’d have to fight the snow to get home. And Papa had said he felt Varten, so that meant they would find him.
The foothills had been spared the threat of the storm, which only raged on the mountain, and they descended into the crisp autumn day.
“Should we call for him?” Roshon asked, voice low. Papa shook his head, on alert, and Roshon wished he could sense whatever his father was sensing.
“Where is he?” Roshon whispered, searching the surrounding area but seeing nothing but a barely there path that led to a small grove of elms and oaks.
Papa squinted up into the red-gold mass of leaves still decorating the trees before them. He held up his arm to stop Roshon from moving any farther.
“Go back up the mountain,” he said, emphasizing his words with a push to Roshon’s chest. “Run!”
Roshon stumbled backward, then gulped, but before he could turn around and follow Papa’s command, a whizzing sound flew by his ear and his neck exploded in pain. He reached for the wound. Something long and sharp protruded from his body. That was strange. So was the warm, red liquid coating his hand. He tried to look at Papa, to ask him what was happening, but his eyes weren’t working properly. Neither was his tongue.
Before everything went black, he thought of Varten and wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.