The Knife's Edge (29 page)

“If the Shining City had fought, would the war have been won?” Darius asked.

“Many think so,” said Karil. “It has been many years since then, but few in Farhaven have forgotten it, and least of all the Ronin, I expect. Their hatred for those who had a hand in their death so long ago still burns red hot, even deeper than the elves. The only thing they loathe more is their once-leader.”

“Kail,” Ayva whispered the legend’s name and the flames crackled and sputtered.

“The Betrayer,” Darius cursed.

“He is known by many names, Betrayer among them,” Karil said. “Soulless, Dark One, Traitor, but none are more well-known than the infamous Wanderer. One day perhaps history will know the true reason for his betrayal.”

Ayva couldn’t help but feel the ominous weight of the following silence.

“We should all get some sleep,” Rydel announced, breaking the silence. “I will take first watch, and then Mura.”

“Then I,” Karil said.

Rydel looked like he wanted to argue. “Then you, my queen.”

“Then me,” said Ayva.

“Three should be enough,” Rydel replied.

“Aww… nothing for me?” Darius asked with a feigned look of disappointment.

Mura winked at Ayva, “I’d gladly let you have mine my dear, but middle shift is definitely the roughest and I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Karil spoke, again, softly, “Get some rest, Ayva, and you as well Darius. I’m afraid we’ll all need it in the coming days.”

With that, they moved to their bedrolls, Ayva settled in beside Darius and even closer to Gray’s empty spot. Though as she lay there, she was restless. She knew Rydel and Karil were right, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what Mura had said. She glanced up and east, to where she knew Gray had wandered. Above, a spray of stars lit the night, casting soft light on their camp. The crackling campfires lulled her, and after days of hard travel, she found her restlessness overcome and her lids like weighted shutters. She drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts of distant lands and legends.

The Nexus

K
EEPING ONE EYE ON
M
ARIS,
G
RAY
watched his surroundings as they wove through the haze of mist and bamboo. Beneath him, Fael’wyn nickered. He stroked his mount’s neck, understanding the creature’s unease. Anything could hide within that mist.

Before him, Maris rode confidently. Gray eyed his swaying cloak and the insignia. It reminded him of his own, yet different. Instead of his two crossed swords, Maris’ bore the mark of a simple leaf.

Abruptly the Ronin stopped. They stood in a small clearing now, and green and black stalks of bamboo encircled them. The mist was thinner here. A white layer coated the ground and swirled around Fael’wyn’s hooves.

The Ronin dismounted. “Get off your horse.”

Cautiously, Gray obeyed and approached.

“Discard your blade.”

“Why?”

“You will not need it,” Maris replied. “Its powers will confuse your own for now. And in the future if I command you to do something, you will do it without question.”

He was taken aback by the Ronin’s sharp tone. Hesitantly, he grabbed the haft of the sword and threw it aside. The Ronin grasped Masamune, his famed blade, and threw it. The blade twirled end over end, sticking into the ground.

“Now what?”

Maris gave a wolf-like smirk. “Now, I’m going to teach you to maintain the flow.” The Ronin bent his head and there was a low hum. The mist pulsed. Gray’s blood stirred as a faint green aura sheathed Maris’ limbs. The Ronin raised his head and Gray took a step back. Maris’ pale eyes now glowed an ominous green.

“How did you do that?”

Maris’ eyes dimmed. “When a Ronin finally learns to control his power his eyes will glow according to their gift when he embraces the flow.”

Gray remembered Kail’s red eyes.

“I will not mince words with you, Gray. If you control too much of the flow, you will die, but if you fear it, it will control you. It is essential that you learn where you stand quickly, or you will be a victim to your own power. I know you’re afraid of who you are, but you must conquer your fear before you can maintain the flow. You must face your past.”

“But I can’t remember anything!” he said angrily.

“Ah, you can’t remember who you were, not who you are.”

He looked to the sword on the ground, “I’ve heard the same before, but what if my power still feels my hesitancy?”

“Then you must give in.”

“Give in?”

“Give in to the power that lies within you. There is a wall before you, Gray. You are trying to go left, right, up or down, to push the wall, or pull it. Instead, imagine there is no wall and walk forward.”

With a breath, Gray shut out his surroundings, and delved inward, probing the corners of his mind. It was different this time, like reaching his hand through shining glass. Just as before, the swirling ball of air appeared, glowing in his mind. He opened his eyes.

The swirling ball of wind now floated in the palm of his hand. He looked up and a note of surprise flashed across the Ronin’s face.

“Very good,” said Maris, as he approached.

Gray’s concentration wavered, and sweat beaded on his brow.

Maris circled, continuing, “If you can do that, I assume that you likely have found your source. That may save us some time.”

“My source?” he asked.

“What some call the nexus, it is what you draw your power from,” the man answered. “It is what you just pictured in your mind and what the power of the flow feeds on. For each Ronin it is different. I, for instance, see a leaf, Seth, a flame, but no one Ronin’s is the same.”

“The flow… is it only the power of the Ronin?” Gray asked.

“Correct. Reavers, magic wielders from the other side of the gates, wield the spark, not the flow. Some are powerful too, but it is not the true power.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked, still holding the floating ball of wind in his hand.

“The flow is the essence of all elements, whereas the spark is but a sampling. There is an old saying, ‘Ki are the eyes of the world, the spark its hand, and the flow its soul.’ Aside from the power of Arbiters, the highest of their ranks, there is no comparison.”

An owl shrieked and the power in Gray’s hand died, air dissolving across his palm.

Maris’ eyes narrowed. “I see. Your power is pitiful and hard to hold. Then your true power can only be summoned under dire need.”

Gray bristled, but said nothing.

Maris summoned a breath, and a giant ball filled his palm like molten green fire. Angry and alive, the whole glade was illuminated by its glow. Maris made a fist and the ball disappeared. “The stronger you are, the more of the flow you can hold. I know my limits, but I’ve had the luxury of a thousand years of practice. You, on the other hand, do not. You will have to learn quickly. You will master the flow here and now.” Gray’s heart beat wildly inside his chest. “What comes next is of terrible importance. This once, you must summon every ounce of the flow that you can hold.”

“Assuming I can, what will that do to me?” Gray asked.

“I have heard it described a thousand different ways. To me, merely touching the flow is bliss and fear, like holding a flame that burns my hands, but ignites my soul. For you however, holding all your power may feel worse than death.”

Gray swallowed. “What happens if I don’t?”

“If you do not fill yourself to the brink, you will always fear what is inside you and it will never truly be yours to hold. It takes many years to acquire a relationship with your source, your nexus, but we do not have that luxury. We will have to force it.”

Gray looked to the ground. Strangely, he trusted the Ronin. Why would he suggest it if he did not think me capable? But why risk it? Was it not two days ago that I didn’t even know I held this power? At last, he smiled and looked up. “I’m ready.”

Maris nodded. “To trigger it, I will have to attack you, and it will have to be an attack that requires you to defend with all your power.” Gray’s fists clenched at his side. “But that is not enough,” continued the Ronin, “after you block the attack, summoning your power by need, you must make it yours. You may lose your mind up until that moment, but if you ward off my strike, you then must come to your senses and gain control of the raging fire inside you to truly make it yours. With that much of the flow inside you, it can be only contained by your sheer will, or you will die.”

“I understand,” Gray said.

“Then let us begin,” Maris said and closed his eyes. Bright green flames suddenly roared to life, coating the Ronin’s limbs. Gray threw up his arms, shielding himself from the flaring heat. He glanced down and saw the mist shudder when the air crackled and the hairs on his arm stood on end. Leaves floated, rising from the ground. Puzzled, Gray touched one and startled as it snapped, sizzling as if on fire. Fear pounded in his veins and he saw Maris through the haze.

The man was a flame of green, burning like an emerald sun. Green filaments pulsated from his center, making the nearby stalks bend. All the air in the glad rushed towards Maris, but wind coated Gray’s feet and anchored him to the earth. Roots burst from the earth all around him, undulating as if with a mind of their own. Maris raised his arm and a flaming green spire shot towards Gray.

Gray cried out, bracing himself when his world dimmed… Power roared inside him, but it was too much. He was useless against the storm rising inside him. He grasped, reaching for control, but his vision clouded completely and he fell into the abyss.

No! He raged. But it was no use as his voice dwindled, too small for even him to hear. Lost in a world of white, there was no pain, no anger, simply a shroud of endless pale… time and space of no consequence. A thousand years or a single moment might have passed. Something was oddly pleasant in that vague notion. Emptiness. He could finally give in… love and hate, life and death… none of it mattered in the ashen world. All strife and struggle was gone. Even existence was of no concern. Simply a fleeting memory.

Fight it or die! A voice pleaded. And as if thrown into a lake and drowning, he fought, scraping to hold a single thought.

Maris—the name was an arrow to his conscience.

Gray opened his eyes. The world was a blinding white and gold, so bright it hurt. His whole body felt aflame and everything Maris said came back to him in a rush. He knew he was being overtaken by his power.

In his mind, saw his nexus. It was alive and growing. Air sparked from its core, forking like white lightning. Gray reached out a mental tendril and then recoiled as if burned. He lunged, throwing himself onto the crackling ball of wind and cried out as it burned, but he held on. Light burst from every seam in his body, but still he held. Then at last, the nexus’ slowed its expansion. Listen to me! He ordered. Grudgingly, the lightening stopped and it shrunk, returning to its normal size until it was quiet at last.

Distantly, he felt the damp earth and he opened his eyes to see eddies of white and gold wind flow back into him. All around, stalks of bamboo lay shattered, felled from the might of the clash. Then he saw the Ronin.

Gray rushed to Maris’ side. The man knelt upon one knee in the middle of the glade, his head bent and cloak draped over his still form. As he reached the Ronin, Maris looked up. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and his green eyes looked drained, but otherwise, he appeared unharmed. His hair stood on end like flames of white and he gruffly wiped the blood from his lip.

“Are you all right?”

The Ronin rose to his feet with a chuckle. “To face the Kage, the foul legions of the Endless War, and then to die by the hands of a boy?” He cracked his neck with one hand. “It would take more than that.”

Gray sighed in relief when he sensed something behind him and turned. Morrowil lay quietly upon the ground.

“You feel the sword’s presence don’t you?” Maris grabbed the blade, and pain filled his eyes. Gray accepted it with open palms. “Morrowil is truly yours now,” he announced. “That was the final test. It recognizes you as its owner.”

Gray examined the blade. “There is one thing though. When I was overtaken by my power, a voice called out to me. Was that you?”