3
Seth had expected to be doted on by Saim’s beautiful sister but when they got to the rundown and overgrown mansion where the two Asians lived, all he saw of her was her sinuous shadow against the porch wall. She handed Saim two small running packs and left them to talk in private.
We’re not staying here tonight?
No. We’re going into the wilderness.
For how long?
As long as it takes.
They had been walking by streetlight so far but those were becoming scarce as they neared the brush.
How do you see in the dark?
I can’t.
You can’t -yet, Saim corrected Seth.
Reach out to me. You can already.
Seth felt someone or something grab him as his mind grappled for the Asian Trainer -what he wanted to be called. And some force, warm, or so it felt grabbed back.
They were one minded, walking through the brush, between tall trees, until they came to a rocky outcrop which overlooked a shallow canyon.
We’ll set up camp here, said Trainer.
There were flares or fires burning on the other side of the canyon and he thought he saw forms dancing.
They’re witches, said Saim. Ready to meet them?
Seth could access his Trainer’s memories. Maybe it came from the Asian forged blade.
You’ll make a better one over on that other side, said Saim.
The stars were out and Seth could see the Milky Way like a band of glitter streaking across the night sky. That night he fell asleep while Saim watched the dancing flames, resting his mind in stages which ended with him closing his eyes for a few minutes every half hour. And in his dreams, naked flesh flushed with crimson rhythmically bent like a wobbling spoon handle around fierce, gushing flames. He was, as usual, emotionless.
The supreme council were a group of talking squirrels. They might be the same ones, or others, nobody knew. Except to suspect they were just willing, generic rodents controlled behind their backs by a select scion of the wise.
To be brought before the council was the last thing on Marjorie’s mind, but the cadets under Matthew led her among the oaks. It was a dewy morning, fresh like the green and tender fronds of ferns they were standing in. Cries came from overhead, a circling pair of eagles.
Who holds me here? Came a squirrelly voice from above.
I do, answered Matthew.
Who needs the learning refreshed? Another voice sounded.
Her name is Marjorie.
Who judges a brother by the color of his blood?
Whose blade broke upon the back of the blind?
Where is he -the man you would have win this war?
And so the voices went on demanding. But their answers were not as important to be correct as the questions. Wars fought in inexactness so keen could only mean that defeat was a form of victory -victory over the illogicality of being, while still asking your adversary: why?
Thus Marjorie, grabbed from behind by the group, could only tell her mind what it was, what it would be, and how it could.
Where is it’s blade?
Councillor, I offer it up…
But before Matthew could finish, the weapon vanished from his hand.
They stood silently, under the forest canopy waiting for a judgement but that once -maybe, it never came.
An old man sitting in a plush armchair turned the dull gray device over in his hands. He had his back to the view-portal and only his balding crown could be seen peeping over the back of his chair.
Obviously the woman was correct, Tim?
Obviously, Marsha? Obvious is passé for I don’t care to find out. Care is familiarity. But as far as correctness goes, it never bothered me much in the context I’ve seen too many times.
Where is Fred? He gave her the permission.
Teacher was living with a witch. They weren’t planning to marry but as far as women go, she was, well -somewhat different. Her name was Claire and she shimmered with unreal energies, if you could imagine the opposite of light, its photons streaming through the solidity of his fond considerations.
If water had ripples, it would look like her hair. If one could feel ‘empty’ space, he would know her heart. And the instrument would be true love.
They’re at the Canyon now, she spoke as if the words were a frieze of scenes she painted with the wave of her arm, her spread fingers, and the faint creases in her youthful countenance that belied her true age.
Frederick knew it was Saim who brought Seth there. And what was to follow soon after.
It breaks the mind to know a blade divides molecules. Pull one apart or can’t you? A knife is therefore inexact Science. The application of targeted force is futile at the quantum level. It is rather, the authority of generated nano friction.
Can you cut through crystal?
It would depend on the angle.
Correct. And how does one make s knife for that?
Resonance?
Good, said Saim, also perceived / believed density.
When they had done with the theorizing, the Trainer showed Seth how a blade was pressure forged. They did it together and the emotions which accompanied it pressed into his soul as he pressed his awareness into the amorphous compound. It was a weapon of love.
Love is something you don’t know you have until you meet someone who has it too.
Seth pondered the words of the Asian he had befriended. How could the group not trust an Asian?
Marjorie heard him and a faraway look came over her eyes. The stack of pancakes she had cooked drizzled over with a little too much syrup.
I suppose the issue is over then, Marsha?
The Asian will do.
So help them both. So help them…
