Prince of Time

Chapter Four - Calm

Maple arose from the depths of sleep steadily, her dreams tidily filed away at the back of her mind. She dressed rhythmically, unstressed, in a white tunic. She pushed her feet into boots and fastened her knife around her waist.

 White-clad novices strolled down the corridor, relaxed and chatting. Maple fell in beside Pepper, nodding to her friend as they walked.

“Hey,” Pepper smiled sleepily. “How were your dreams?”

“Not bad,” Maple frowned, remembering. “I dreamed about the sea and the ships.”

Pepper looked sympathetic. “You miss it?”

“I haven’t seen the sea in nearly three years. I grew up by its side. Of course I miss it!”

They both knew that it scarcely bothered Maple these days. Perhaps it was confined within the training compound, with limited scope for sky and horizon, but that didn’t worry them. Little worried them this year, after all.

 They talked through breakfast, sharing thoughts and dreams, speculating on techniques for dealing with pain. They ate less than they had done last year, sticking mostly to the kind of foods that induced sleep.

 A bell sounded, a tuneful, delicate ringing. Maple got to her feet and ambled out of the room, dawdling down the corridors towards her training room. She wasn’t in a hurry. There was nothing to hurry for.

 It had been strange initially, after the frenzy of the orange-tunic training, to be forced to settle back and relax and focus on sleep and dreams and quietness. Maple was still strong with muscle but her mind was smooth and waving.

  Her trainer offered her a brief smile. That too had come as a shock. Acknowledgement was unexpected amongst novices who had spent years being background or the lowest servants. Maple returned it and bowed.

 “Did you sleep?”

“Soundly,” Maple replied.

“Did you dream?”

“I dreamt of my old home and my past life,” she explained. “I dreamt of the sea and the waves and ships cutting through the water.”

The trainer nodded. “This is good. You are returning to centre.”

“You spent years driving me away from centre,” Maple objected.

The trainer corrected, “I spent years giving you a centre to find.”

Maple sat cross-legged on the cushioned floor and closed her eyes. She knew this section of her training. It happened every day just the same. She let her mind drift and wander, fading to mist yet still sharp and still aware.

“Where do you belong?” the trainer asked.

“Here, within these walls,” Maple answered, automatically.

“What is your duty?”

“To uphold honour, to serve the way of life, to allow the wheel of the world to turn and to prevent madness from destroying.”

There was a brief pause of approval before Maple felt her nose twitch. The sickly scent of incense invaded her air, befuddling her mind. She tried to breathe normally, keeping her mind calm.

“Who do you serve?”

Maple struggled against the cloudiness of her thoughts, searching for the space where the answer was.

“Who do you serve?” her trainer repeated.

“I serve the defenceless,” Maple replied and she could almost hear the smile.

“How do you serve them?”

“As I see best.”

The mind-destroying incense was removed and Maple felt the drugged heaviness leaving her, leaving her mind feeling clear and white and bright. She didn’t open her eyes. It wasn’t over yet.

“Who do you bow to?”

“All,” she said, confidently, “save those who have lost the right to respect.”

“How does one lose the right to respect?”

“Betrayal of those who should never be betrayed.”

After these years under his care, Maple knew her trainer well though she did not know his name. She could sense his pleasure. The answers she had learned, through hints and careful guessing, rolled off her tongue like a childhood prayer.

“What is the purpose of a warrior?”

A sharp pain ripped along her shoulder as a knife re-opened the old wound that had been opened every day since this part of her training had begun. It stung. It never hurt any less but Maple grew better at ignoring it.

Pain is a message, she told herself. You can ignore a message.

“A warrior is a person who fights when others cannot, dies when others cannot, wounds themselves and others when others cannot. A warrior is the one who will sacrifice everything.”

“What is meant by sacrifice?”

Salt in the wound now, stinging and painful. Maple bit the inside of her cheek.

“Sacrifice is the surrendering of things you value for the sake of things others value.”

“What is a warrior?”

“A warrior is brave. A warrior is selfless. A warrior is strong. A warrior is intelligent. A warrior is armoured in the soul. A warrior can be hated and yet not hate. A warrior can be loved and yet not love. A warrior knows and controls their emotions but does not resist them. A warrior is like old leather.”

The pain was replaced by a soothing feeling as the wound was gently cleaned and bound. Maple sighed slightly in relief. Pain could be ignored but that made it no less constant. She didn’t open her eyes. She waited.

“Child, your father is dead.”

Her eyes flew open and her breath caught in her throat. She stared at the grey wall in front of her, heart pounding and falling all at once. Her stomach swooped. But she remembered her lessons.

“The Drawer of Nets gathers all to her in the end,” she croaked. “I shall miss him but I shall not let missing him consume me.”

“Congratulations, child,” her trainer said, softly. “Few react so calmly to such news. As far as I am aware, your father lives on still and works well.”

“It was a test,” Maple whispered, relief flooding through her.

“Everything is a test, though you may never be told how well you did. Not until you stand before the Death Goddess shall you know how well you chose.”

Maple nodded slowly. “I…thank you for your preparations.”

“You are a good pupil. Our lesson today is not over.”

Maple nodded and closed her eyes again.

“Who are you?” her trainer asked.

Maple smiled. “I am Maple Greenberg. I’m thirteen years old. I am a warrior.”