A Rare Encounter

  The tray teetered on legs of rushing wind, swaying dangerously as the little candle atop it flickered. Around the room it darted, chased by golden fans of light. The luminous blades slashed through the air, blowing fierce gusts that threatened the fragile flame.

  “Stay put and guard! You’re a windrider, not some field rabbit!” Luccello reproached.

  The light fans crumbled into mist, only to reappear behind the swerving tray and launch another assault on the fire.

  “I can’t! You’re making too many fans!” Skye yelled back as he fled around the room, struggling to balance the tray.

  To the edge of the cabin and back, the plate floated, rising and falling erratically, hounded by the relentless fans. Keeping it afloat with streams of wind demanded intense focus. Having to block incoming currents as well was too demanding.

  “Such restrictions don’t exist in a real battle,” Luccello said. “You can’t ask your enemies to go easy on you! You can’t plead for them to come one by one!”

  The goal of today’s exercise was to withstand the fans’ assault until the candle burned out. A simple objective in theory, but Skye wasn’t allowed to touch the salver, the candle, or block the fans with his body. He stood in the middle of the storm cabin, while Luccello perched under the dome above. His astrum rested on the back of his left hand, singing excitedly in his ears as he waved this way and that, conjuring streams to hold the tray and parry the fans’ winds.

  The more time he spent merged with his astrum, the more he understood its quirks. It wasn’t unlike a person, with its own preferences and temperament. And much like him, it loved a good challenge.

  “The bird’s right,” Redeyes said, sauntering across the room, lit hands clasped behind his burning back. “This trial’s about learning to create a calm bubble, not showing off your tray-balancing skills.”

  This was his thirtieth candle this morning. Not that he’d passed the trial twenty-nine times, but the opposite. Each time the flame was extinguished, the clock reset with a new candle. They burned for twelve minutes at most, but the farthest he’d gotten was four. This current run had been going for two minutes, tops.

  “I’ll kiss an aquaxos if you make it to three,” Redeyes said.

  Changing tactics, Skye stopped pushing the salver around the room, letting it hover in place. As the lightfans formed and struck, he countered with breezes of his own. To his surprise, it worked, the currents canceling each other out, leaving the flame flickering, but stable.

  For a fleeting moment, he thought he’d cracked the code. Then Luccello summoned more fans, attacking fiercely in unexpected patterns. Sweat ran down Skye’s face as he fought to block them all, turning in every direction, until he lost control. The tray wobbled, tipped, and plummeted to the floor, snuffing the candle in a final gasp of smoke.

  Skye collapsed to his knees and slammed the floor in frustration. “Oh, come on!”

  Luccello landed before him. “At last, you’ve grasped the spirit of the trial. Your multi-flow channeling has improved, though it still requires much work. Next time, focus on maintaining circular streams around the tray to deflect attacks from all directions.”

  Skye understood the theory behind the calm bubble, but its implementation eluded him. Rising to his feet, he dusted his clothes and headed toward the door. “I’ll fetch another candle.”

  “No need,” Luccello said, flying ahead of him. “We’re moving on to another course.”

  Skye frowned. “What will we do?”

  Luccello landed on his shoulder. “I misspoke, it is not we. It’s you and Rico. He’ll be your next instructor.”

  Skye’s expression brightened. Training with Rico was always a blast.

  “The master—and I—expect proper conduct and adherence to safety rules,” Luccello said pointedly. “In other words, don’t do anything stupid. Rico will be with you shortly. Until then, take some time to rest and recharge.”

  With a sweep of his wings, Luccello dissolved the golden door and windows before flying off into the open sky.

  Skye stepped into the meadow, stretching as Erillea’s warmth washed over him. A long yawn escaped his lips; he hadn’t slept much in days. Training from sunrise to midnight had left him exhausted, sore, and contaminated with fantasia. Every session brought new bruises, and he had to consume an unholy amount of Iggy’s to rejuvenate his body.

  He pushed himself not only to master channeling and prepare for his journey to Kastrala but because of the tension piling in his mind due to his bell. It felt like he stood at a doorsill, wanting to leave, atop a precipice contemplating jumping. The sensation drove him forward like an overseer with a whip, insisting something inevitable was about to happen.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He knew exactly what it was and dreaded it. He wished that fate, God, or whatever force granted prayers, would give him just two more days before the bell chimed.

  Standing in the heart of the meadow, he took a deep breath, letting a breeze from the mountains rush over him. The wind teased him, tempting him to surrender to its flow and embrace the fantasia it carried. But this wasn’t the time for indulgence. Clenching his fist, he released a sharp blast of wind toward the distant trees, the air rippling with force.

  Something strange had been happening during his training. His chest would be brimming with fantasia, yet his ability to perform certain actions would dwindle over time. When he asked about it, the master told him not to fret over this now, and to simply empty his reserves and charge again.

  Another punch, followed by a sharp kick, sent more auroras of his dwindling reserves in the shape of windbolts and air slashes. Though it was far from impressive, his capacity had grown significantly since he’d started. Spinning wildly, he unleashed a flurry of strikes, imagining hooded wardens surrounding him. His blows crushed his enemies, leaving them no chance to regroup or retreat. When his reserves finally ran dry, he announced his victory with a triumphant whoop.

  “If I were a fly, I’d be terrified,” Redeyes mocked.

  For an experienced windrider, Skye’s strikes were nothing impressive. Someone like Ficar could probably match his strongest blow with a mere sneeze.

  ‘You need to learn control before attacking,‘ the master had said when Skye had asked about combat training. ‘Without control, you’ll end up hurting yourself, or those you wish to protect.‘

  Drained of fantasia, Skye sat cross-legged on the grass, focusing on his breathing to calm his racing heart. Starting with his numb fingers, he carefully drew fragmented traces of fantasia through his arms toward his lungs, following the master’s teachings. The process was slow and imperfect, but every small gain mattered. Bit by bit, he worked to clear the contamination from his body.

  His dizziness proved harder to combat. The Aero contamination from training was manageable, but the Psycho fantasia his bell brought made clearing his head a strenuous task. After several minutes of labor, he inhaled deeply until his chest ached and his throat burned, then released the fragmented fantasia in a sharp exhale.

  Even so, he’d only cleared a fraction of the contamination.

  “Aero is supposed to be the easiest strain to purify,” Redeyes said. “If you were training as a firedancer, you’d have set yourself on fire and achieved nothing.”

  Empty of fantasia and as cleansed as he’d ever get, he began charging. He moved through the steps methodically, feeling his reserve slowly refill. This was his seventh day of training, and while he’d learned a lot, he’d also discovered how challenging proper charging was.

  Anyone could flail and flounder like a beached fish, but true mastery lay in controlling the flow. Rico had claimed the master could charge for hours and not get contaminated. Skye would need years to reach that level.

  When he exhausted all the steps he’d memorized, he started over. It was wrong, he knew, as windriders charged freeform and rejected katas on principle. It was all about going with the flow, and reading the winds. But those were skills he hoped to learn in the future.

  Once full, Skye allowed himself a brief respite. He lay back on the soft grass, ignoring his bell’s urging to act. Rest, as Luccello had often reminded him, was just as important as training.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long before Rico flapped toward him.

  “Are you ready?” Rico asked, bouncing with excitement. “Today, I’ll teach you how to fight!”

  Skye leaped to his feet with a blast of wind, only to miscalculate and flip himself head over heels, landing face-first in the grass.

  “You okay?” Rico shouted, startled.

  “Did you say fight?!” Skye yelled, spitting dirt out of his mouth. “I’ve been waiting for this forever!”

  “Me too!” Rico replied, wagging his tail. Then he stopped, suddenly serious. “But listen up. We stay in the meadow, no wandering into the forest or garden. We stick to the master’s plan, meaning we don’t practice any moves that’re not scheduled for today. And above all, we don’t do anything stupid. If we break any rules, especially the last one, Luccello will pluck all my feathers and plant them into you.”

  Skye nodded eagerly. “What’s the plan? Will we launch tornados? Shoot condensed air blades? Will we summon a hurricane?”

  “You’ll learn this…” Rico spread his wings, took a deep breath, and flapped hard, sending a blast of wind hurtling toward Skye.

  It came fast.

  Skye saw the grass part as the wind approached, but before he could react, it struck him in a series of rapid blows—chest, stomach, shoulders, face—sending him stumbling sideways. But only a little.

  “That was too weak!” Skye complained, feeling disappointed. “I need to fight wardens and monsters, not toddlers!”

  “I know plenty of toddlers who’d get tickled by that,” Redeyes said dryly. “And some who punch harder.”

  “We’re not doing any intense training today,” Rico explained. “The master wants you to learn control before—”

  Skye stomped away in frustration. “I’ve been learning control since I got here! This training is a waste of time!”

  Rico’s tail drooped, and his hair feathers flattened. “I’m sorry you don’t like my training. I’ll… I’ll go tell Luccello.” He turned toward the treehouse, trudging with his head down.

  “Well said, coalhead,” Redeyes mocked.

  Skye sighed deeply, then ran after Rico. “Wait, I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to train with you. It’s just that I don’t have time. I’ll have to leave soon, and I need to be able to defend myself.”

  Rico paused, then turned back, tail wagging faintly. “I’m not allowed to demonstrate powerful blows, but I can give you tips on how to perform them. Will you do today’s training with me?”

  “Yes, gladly!”

  “Alright!” Rico’s tail wagged furiously. “Let’s start. Try to replicate my attack.”

  “The weak one?”

  “I made it weak on purpose! You’re supposed to focus on the technique.”

  “It was fast, I guess, and it hit with multiple streams. They all came from the same side, but at different angles, which knocked me off balance.”

  “Exactly! They were miniature twisters. You shoot multiple currents side by side and send them spiraling into your enemy. If you align them properly, they amplify each other, creating a stronger blow than a single stream.”

  “What if I want to make them even stronger? Do I just pump more fantasia into them?”

  “You could, but it’s tricky. You’d need to space them so they don’t cancel each other out. Try it with three currents to start.”

  Skye closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He visualized the spiraling currents, aligning them in a straight trajectory. The iris buzzed; his anticipation flared. With a sharp motion, he thrust his hand forward, releasing three gyrating streams.

  They shot ahead, but two collided and unraveled in a violent burst, while the third veered upward and dissipated.

  “You’re terrible,” Redeyes laughed.

  “It’s harder than it looks,” Skye grumbled, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “It’s alright,” Rico said. “We have the whole day.”

  **********