A Paladin's Journey Ch. 15

The par'vali seemed happy with that, but Amina was not. "No, Tavish," she began as sternly as she had with Ayla. "Receive her apology. Own it. You dishonour both her and yourself by not allowing her to atone. She was wrong, and she has admitted it. Now you must."

Tavish shifted uncomfortably. Was it so difficult for him to allow his sister to be wrong? Even after she'd insulted his intelligence? What had happened to the world in the last millennium? If you truly cared about someone, you let them learn, no matter how hard the lesson.

Eventually, Tavish firmed up and owned Ayla's apology. For the briefest moment, Amina got a glimpse of the man he would become. With raised chin and level eye, he regarded his sister straight-backed and proud as he inclined his head in wordless acceptance of her remorse. This new bearing came not from arrogance, but from love. Pride swelled in Amina's chest, and she permitted herself a small smile as she watched the silent exchange between the par'vali.

Twins among arohim were rare - Amina had known only one other pair in the old world - and this moment had her wondering just how great their destiny would be. As one, they resumed their seated position on the grass and closed their eyes, ready for further instruction.

A rising vala far to the east pulled Amina's head in that direction, directly behind her. "Aros orava messe," she breathed in prayer as she stared through the waterfall. That was Aran's vala! Dimly, she was aware of Tavish exclaiming as he, too, felt Aran's power. For Tavish to be sensing him at this distance was even more amazing.

What was Aran doing? He would bring every enemy within a thousand leagues down upon his head! Amina wished she possessed the far sight. The a'haiya would come in most useful at this moment, but alas, it was not among her abilities.

Unable to do naught else, Amina ushered the twins inside - despite their protests and questions as to what was happening - and stood in the valley alone, watching to the east.

***

Sara sat on the small but comfortable bed in her quarters, legs folded beneath her and hands on her knees. This deep in her vala, she was aware of every sensation in minute detail. The gentle whisper of air through her nostrils as she breathed. Each individual strand of fur on the plush bearskin rug beneath her. The strands of her own hair as it shifted infinitesimally on her back and shoulders with the rising and falling of her lungs.

The other people in the Temple appeared as shapes of light in her mind's eye. Sorla, Jeira, Rayna, Bella, all busy with various chores. Lynelle, reading quietly before the hearth in her chambers. Amina outside in the valley with Ayla and Tavish. Sara could tell that Ayla would be troublesome, from time to time. Her spirit was disquiet, unsettled. Sara knew that feeling all too well.

It was good that Ayla had Tavish there to ground her. Sara had watched the twins often since they'd arrived at the Temple. It had been Tavish that concerned her, at first, with his deep thirst for revenge against the Heralds for what they'd done to him and his sister, but the more he learned about his vala, the more peaceful his heart became.

Sara felt the seductive tug of the young man's vala even from all the way down here, in the bowels of the mountain. She had not lain in a man's arms since before she'd met Aran, and according to Amina, would not until Erik returned from his journey to Suravale with Sylvia. Tavish was in training and therefore off-limits, and Aran was away, which left Erik as the only suitable sexual partner.

He was not a bad choice by any stretch; with that strong jaw, deep chest and that salt-and-pepper hair, he was far better looking than any of the men Sara had slept with in Maralon in order to find a warm bed or a hot meal. And he was kind and strong, to boot.

When Erik returned to the Temple, Sara intended on tripping him into bed the first chance she got. And I won't let him leave for at least three days, either. She thought with a smile.

While her thoughts drifted over Erik's shoulders and well-muscled arms, something idly nudged at Sara's mind as she allowed her vala to wash over the valley outside. There was something nagging her about Ayla, and it eventually pushed itself to the front of her awareness.

Where Tavish's vala was still weak and undeveloped, Sara could feel his potential, as if his power was a sporadic trickle of water coursing through a wide stormwater pipe, which it would one day fill with its torrents.

In Amina, Sara could sense the pipe, too - though it was much wider than Tavish's. That suggested that Tavish would not grow as strong as Amina. No surprises, there. The woman was a walking legend, capable of things that boggled Sara's mind.

Where Ayla was different was that Sara couldn't sense the pipe at all. Honing in on the girl, she concentrated, trying to find an answer. Sara had discovered something about herself since coming to the Temple; she loved solving problems. In fact, it's what she'd spend most of her early years doing.

Countless times, she'd solved the problem of starvation by finding food. Solved being cold by finding warmth. Solved being preyed upon by street toughs and starving dogs by outsmarting them. These situations made a woman very good at thinking outside the box, sometimes quickly.

A sudden and tremendous force shoved its way into her mind, then, pushing all else out of its path. Sara gasped at the enormity of it. Aran? His vala felt far, far away, but enormous! She was having trouble wrapping her head around its immensity.

An answering pull came from inside Sara, as if responding to Aran. It was more of a hard yank, really. She was surprised she wasn't dragged bodily from the bed by the force of it. She'd never felt it's like before, but she knew what it meant.

Aran needed her.

Wasting no time, she leapt from the bed and rushed to the open stone robe built into the wall. Snatching up a leather satchel from its bottom shelf, she hurriedly began to pack.

*

Sara scurried through the Temple's corridors and passages, her vala suppressed as far as it could go. Even so, Amina would be able to sense her, if she tried, but Sara was hoping the Priestess was too preoccupied with whatever Aran was doing to notice.

With her vala so low, Sara had lost most of her perceptive abilities, which is why she didn't see Ayla coming around the next corner. The two women almost collided at a connecting passage near a collection of the Temple's many sleeping quarters - those that were fit to be occupied, anyway - and Ayla jumped back with a squeak.

"Sara!" She gasped, putting a hand to her throat. "You scared me! I am terribly sorry. I was rushing and not looking where I was going."

Ayla still had not donned any clothing, and Sara noted the subtle changes in the slightly younger woman. Her walnut-brown hair had a sheen, now, and her cheeks carried less baby fat, as did her thighs and waist. Her breasts were still plump; they would be an asset for the par'vala once she was at her peak. The triangle of dark hair between her legs looked smaller than it had, though Sara suspected Ayla had been trimming it; body hair didn't vanish until one had more access to the vala than Ayla did presently.

"Relax, par'vala," Sara soothed. "You have done no harm." Sara had been making a conscious effort - after repeated scoldings from Amina - to speak as a Priestess should. 'Eloquently,' as Amina put it. When Ayla thanked her and made to move past, Sara stopped her with a hand on the shoulder.

There it was again; that strange impression that there was something to sense, but at the same time nothing. Sara didn't like it; she liked being able to quantify things. She stared at Ayla for long moments, and the younger woman looked back uncertainly.

"Is everything alright, par'avale?" Ayla asked politely, using the proper term for a Priestess still learning.

Sara heard the words, but only at the edge of her awareness. "What does it bloody mean?" She whispered absently, forgetting all about proper speech and slipping back into her common accent.

"W-what does what mean?" Ayla stammered nervously. "Is something wrong with me, Sara?"

"No," Sara replied after a moment. "I don't reckon so." Having a hand on Ayla's shoulder was giving her more of a sense of what was there - or not there. Dropping her pack, she put her other hand on Ayla's chest, right over her heart. Another tug in her belly pulled her east, to Aran, but she ignored it for the moment and pored every ounce of her focus into Ayla.

Closing her eyes, she opened her vala enough to see into the girl's spirit. Hopes, fears, dreams, love, hate, fear, joy, gratitude all washed over her as she felt into Ayla's heart. The tiniest spark, the merest flicker of her undiscovered vala lay there, like a distant candle at the other end of a long, dark void.

"But where's the tunnel?" Sara muttered to herself. "The conduit?" Suddenly it made sense. Opening her eyes, she met Ayla's uncertain gaze and smiled. "You haven't lain with a man, yet. That's the difference. That's why I couldn't feel it."

Ayla's brow drew down as she momentarily forgot her place. "It would help if everyone stopped mentioning that, you know!"

"Shush," Sara told her, resisting when Ayla tried to remove herself from Sara's grip. "I don't think it matters." While Ayla started to ask what Sara was talking about, Sara pushed her vala into that dark void and looked for the boundaries that must be there. There has to be an edge. A limit. Where is it?

Using her vala, she filled the space inside that surrounded Ayla's tiny, undeveloped ability, until finally, she found a wall. Heart skipping with excitement, she followed the way around until it met with itself again. It was round, like a conduit.

Ayla's breath sounded a little ragged. "Sara, what are you-?"

With a push, Sara surged forward with her vala, toward the tiny, flickering pinprick of light at the other end of the tube, paving the way for what was to come. How she knew this, she could not understand, but she knew it would work.

Wrapping her vala gently around Ayla's, she pulled it forward up the conduit. There was a stretching feeling, like a bowstring being drawn, growing tighter, harder to pull the further you went. Ayla shuddered, but remained silent. When Sara had pulled as far as she dared - there was another limit there which she didn't understand, but she knew going further would have terrible consequences - she released Ayla's light and let it race down the tunnel and snap back into place.

The result was immediate. A bright glow sprung up around Ayla as her vala roared to life. With a wide-eyed cry, the younger woman went limp as a ragdoll. Sara caught her and lowered her to the stone floor, cradling her head in the crook of an arm. She shivered and trembled, gasped and twitched as her body adjusted to the sudden power flowing through it.

"Hush, now," Sara soothed, stroking her hair. "It will be over soon." Again, Sara didn't know how she knew this, but her instincts told her Ayla would be well. Better, actually. The girl was now years ahead of where she was a moment ago. All Amina would have to do now is teach her how to use it.

"Amina. Shit," Sara muttered as she realised her risk of being stopped now had just grown exponentially. Gently moving Ayla so she was in a sitting position with her back against the nearest wall, Sara gave her a gentle kiss on the lips and stood to retrieve her pack.

"I cannot wait to see you when I return," she told the par'vala as she smiled down at her. Already, the shivers were subsiding and her breath was returning to normal. "Let's see Tavish keep up with you, now!"

At that, she hurried off, eager to be away.

***

"Ready!" Smythe barked at the two par'vali facing each other in the Chapel's training yard. The afternoon sun cast slanted shadows from the surrounding trees of the Emerin that stretched across the Chapel grounds. The shadows shifted slightly as the wind rustled the leaves in the ancient figs and oaks and elms that made up the legendary forest.

Kedron and Ostin had their wooden practice swords up, the points almost touching as they readied themselves. As usual when Smythe trained the lads outside, a gaggle of girls - and no few of the women - gathered to watch a short distance away at the rear of the Chapel, giggling and nudging one another at the shirtless men - boys, really - receiving instructions from their master.

If Smythe didn't keep an eye on these two wolf pups, they would end up with ten meldin each and forget all about their bloody training. Thinking of meldin brought his attention to Elsa; he could feel her inside the Chapel on the second floor. Smythe wasn't sure what she was doing, but she seemed content enough. She had hardly let him out of bed since they'd melded - not that Smythe had complained once - and her heart was often full of joy.

Smythe had to admit; it was bloody nice to have a meldin again. A couple of times he'd noticed Elsa chatting secretively to Lacie and Brenna, though whenever he asked Elsa what it was about, she simply told him not to stick his nose into women's business.

Clearing his throat, Smythe snapped an order at the boys. "Kedron, defend! Ostin, offensive form!" Kedron shifted almost smoothly into a defensive stance, right foot back and blade held high, the hilt held close in front of his head and blade slanted downward across his body right to left. It was a useful form when you were surrounded and wanted to minimise movement if you had to turn and strike quickly. Smythe had learned it from the a'hagari to the far east.

Obviously, Kedron was not surrounded at present, but Smythe wanted him to get familiar with the stance. As for Ostin, he assumed the attacking stance Smythe had taught him with only a little fumbling around.

"Begin!" Smythe ordered. The clacking of wood on wood soon echoed around the yard. He watched them with a critical eye, correcting when necessary, offering encouragement where possible. To Smythe's eyes, a light glowed around Kedron as he used his vala. The light was not strong, yet, but it did not flicker unsteadily as it once had. There was no light for Ostin; it would be weeks, yet, before he had even a minor grasp of his power.

Still, the tall, lanky lad with his shock of blond hair attacked Kedron deliberately, if not with any finesse. His strikes were simple, yet he put effort behind them, as if Kedron was a tree that he intended on chopping down one swing at a time. Kedron deflected the blows easily, though he watched Ostin warily. Smart, that. One should never underestimate their opponent, whether it's their first time picking up a sword or their thousandth.

Boys being boys, the exchange began to heat up. Ostin's brow was drawn into a frown as he began to attack with more vigour. Smythe watched, not ready to intervene unless they were at risk of doing themselves an injury. They circled each other, Kedron still in the same stance as he pushed Ostin's practice blade away again and again.

Smythe's lips curled in a small smile as he watched. A sense of pride overcame him at the sight of two young men dedicating themselves to the way of the arohim. He remembered his own training under his master. As beautiful as the sunset and as powerful as a summer storm, Maelie Thunderblade had been a wonderful mentor.

A worm of sadness crept up in Smythe's chest at the thought of his old master. When his training was complete, he had left her - as was the way of arohim - to settle in a place of solitude on his own. With the Plane of Aros, however, they could see one another as often as they wished. One day, however, Maelie had simply stopped appearing. Smythe had told himself all kinds of reasons why that may have happened, but in his heart, he knew the truth. Maelie was dead.

He often thought about her, even now, sixty years on. Discovering Elaina had helped Smythe heal his hurt; training her had taken all his time, care and attention. He wondered what she and Aran were up to, right this moment. Had they reached the Dwarven capital alright? That earthquake a few nights ago had shaken the land something fierce. It was a miracle the Chapel had not been damaged beyond a few things falling off shelves and the like.

The furious clacking of practice swords brought Smythe's attention back to the present moment. Ostin was now swinging wildly, trying to penetrate Kedron's defences, though Kedron was giving no ground to the less experienced par'vala. Healthy competition was one thing, but letting this carry on would be of no help to Ostin.

Smythe opened his mouth to order a break, but the words died on his tongue as a massive vala rose up in the east, rolling outward from its origin and washing over the Chapel in a wave of light. Kedron gasped lowered his practice blade as he felt the immense force, which unfortunately left him open to Ostin's next attack.

Kedron hardly even winced as he was struck hard in the upper arm by Ostin's sword. His dark eyes were wide and staring east, as was Smythe. Dimly, Smythe heard Ostin stammering apologies to Kedron in his unpolished country accent, though Kedron was apparently too dumbstruck to reply.

There was no doubt about it; Aran had surpassed every limit Smythe could imagine. It was inconceivable; a vala that could span hundreds of miles. Smythe was regarded as particularly strong in the vala, but he doubted he could push his out to more than about fifty miles.

Aran felt far enough away that Smythe was ready to believe that he was indeed in Dun'Arghol, but what he was thinking, raising his vala like that in the city, was another question. The first time Smythe had felt Aran pull a stunt like this was during the goblin raid on their caravan a few weeks back. Aran had blazed like a storm of light, fierce and terrible and frighteningly powerful.

Smythe had been concerned for his friend, then, but Aran had changed since. Now his power was a soothing, graceful cadence, like a tune that lifted your spirits and made your heart sing. Indeed, looking around the yard, a peaceful quiet had fallen over the onlookers. They couldn't feel Aran's vala as Smythe and Kedron could, but still they sensed his presence.

"What is that, Master?" Ostin asked as he walked up to Smythe. He was almost tall enough to look Smythe in the eye.

"That," Smythe began proudly. "Is the most powerful force on this earth, young Ostin."

"It's Aran," Kedron explained to his fellow par'vala. "You haven't met him, yet. He's the strongest of all the arohim. I once saw him fell two hundred Heralds with a shout."

Ostin turned back to Kedron in astonishment. "Incredible! I want to be as strong as that someday!"

Kedron laughed and grounded his practice sword. He leaned on it and adopted something of a worldly air. "You wish to fly among the stars, my friend. Master Aran is far stronger than even Master Smythe."

Smythe pursed his lips. "Alright, you two," he said, turning to the par'vali. "That's enough for today. Go and get cleaned up and eat something. Tonight, you will be studying your history. Report to the library an hour after sunset."

With a practiced, "Yes, Master," they hurried off toward the Chapel, only stopping to scoop up their shirts. Imella and Lena were waiting eagerly for Kedron among the women that had been spectating the training. Ostin was ushered inside by a couple of girls who appeared set on making him dinner. They would no doubt end up in the bath with him, too, had Smythe not implemented strict rules on fornication where the new par'vala was concerned.

Smythe's rules were enforced by Elsa. His meldin had become something of a matronly figure in the Chapel, and most of the other women seemed happy to follow her lead. Elsa had employed a small group of trusted women to keep an eye on any girls who might try and trip Ostin into a corner at an opportune moment. Several such attempts had been foiled, much to the girls' - and Ostin's! - chagrin.