Raiten:
"I think you've graduated from the art of Eternal Spring," Sorina says. I look up at her, confused. She had just knocked me flat on my ass for the millionth time, and to be honest, I was starting to get tired of it.
I gesture to myself. "You call this a graduation?"
"Trust me. You're good enough to match my six strikes with six of your own now. That should be more than enough to match other clan members in this particular art. However… we should move on now," Sorina concludes, extending her hand to me. I grasp it and she pulls me up, into her shoulder. She brings me uncomfortably close, not letting go of my head.
"What are you doing—"
Without warning, Sorina grabs my upper neck with her hands, interlocking her fingers. Then, I feel a sharp pain in my stomach and I am downed once more. I didn't even see what hit me — those are the blows that hurt the most.
"We'll be starting a new art today," Sorina says. As I try to stand up off my stomach, she sits on my back and crosses her legs, bearing her weight on me. I grimace. She giggles a little. "Today we begin learning the art of Iron Winter. I have no diagrams for this, but they are not necessary."
I try to sit straight. She responds by yanking my hair and pushing my head down.
"Why?" is all I can ask.
"100 pushups. Now. On my count. Ready?"
"No."
"Great. Down!"
I go down, then up. She clicks her tongue. "On my count Raiten, not yours. Did I say up?"
I don't respond. She smacks me behind the ear. I want to kill this woman. She has never been this abusive.
"Answer me."
"No, you did not say up Master."
"That's right!" she exclaims. I can hear her smile. She pats the side of my head. "I'm glad my dog's ears still work."
"Sorina?"
"Yes?"
"Don't push it."
"Right. Understand this Raiten: Eternal Spring is a graceful art. Iron Winter is not. It requires immense conditioning and strength, both of body and mind. I will be merciless. So, start over Raiten. On my count, you understand?"
"Fine."
…
Fifty-six push-ups later, a knock comes from Sorina's front door. I expected some interruptions today so I am not so annoyed. After all, for once I am training with her in the morning rather than the darkest hours of night — thanks to Erot letting me off early.
Sorina seems annoyed though. She huffs and stands up, before yanking my hair once more. "Keep going," she whispers. I nod and start doing pushups on my own. Then, as Sorina goes upstairs, she sighs, comes back down, and drops a heavy ton of books on my back.
"However many you just did, redo them."
"All right," I groan. What I truly meant to say was 'Go kill yourself' but she was gone before I could correct that mistake. In all honesty, I am curious about how Sorina conducts herself as mayor. That is a side of her I have never seen. But… I'm sure she'd do fine. In addition to training me in the Eternal Spring art and stealth, Sorina has answered any questions I've had about Katal and its storied history, lore, and magicks. Well, besides runic calculus. Regardless, she seems to be a knowledgeable person: she should be more than capable of running a small village like this.
I go down, annoyed that the weight of the books is somehow more than Sorina's body weight. I consider telling her this but figure that mentioning anything about a woman's weight is a recipe for death.
Movement above me. Sorina and her visitor talk loudly. They sound panicked.
I stop my pushups and try listening in. Nothing. The cave walls are too thick in this dungeon-like basement.
I don't have to wait long. Sorina comes running down the steps, eyes downcast and intense. She pushes the books off my back and helps me stand.
"Training can wait a bit. We have an issue."
I wipe some sweat off with a towel on one of her benches. "What kind of issue?"
Her mouth makes a thin line. "It's better if I just show you."
…
"What in the name of —" I can't even bring myself to finish the sentence. The poor boy's body is a rotting mess of boils and puss and blood. His corpse smells like spoiled milk and bad eggs. I cover my nose. We are in the village doctor's small cabin. He is a young man, handsome and perpetually weary. Especially today. He gives me a look of exasperation.
"I… don't know what to do," Lucian says. "I have never seen anything like this."
I don't blame the man. This is probably the most intense case he's seen in years. Sorina pats Lucian on the shoulder and gives me a nod. "A stall-girl found him at the back end of the village. Poor boy marched past our slumbering guards and fell right in front of her. Gave her a proper scare."
"Where's the girl?" I ask.
"She's in the waiting room. Came straight to me carrying the boy. Said he was 'light,'" Lucian says.
I am tempted to touch the boy's boils. I don't know why I feel this compulsion —perhaps it is some sickly curiosity. Before I can reach within an inch of him, however, Sorina snatches my hand.
"Don't," she warns.
"Right. Sorry," I say, stepping back. Lucian puts his head in his hands. He starts muttering. Sorina and I share a glance. "Lucian. What is it?"
"I think… I fear it might be plague."
Plague? Fear lances up my spine. "Shouldn't we… leave?" I ask, looking at the door. Lucian shakes his head, muttering some more.
Sorina places a calming hand on his shoulder once more, trying her best to soothe him. She's quite good at that. "Lucian, if it's a plague, are we not in danger by sharing this room with him?"
"No, no I've seen this before. Once. It's not airborne. It spreads by touch. By saliva and liquids. By… flesh."
I subconsciously back away from the boy, standing close to the two of them. The lamp light hanging above us flickers. What once seemed a cozy doctor's cabin now feels like a house of horror.
"Did you touch him, Lucian?" Sorina asks.
Lucian shakes his head, raising his gloved hands. "Didn't want to risk it." I shiver. Then, a thought occurs to me.
The girl! "Lucian, where is the girl that brought him?"
Sorina's eyes widen at that and she forgoes her gentleness, shaking Lucian. "Lucian! Answer him."
"She's — she's in the waiting room. I told her to stay there."
I tell Sorina to wait with Lucian and I run to the small waiting room at the entrance of the cabin. But, there's no one there: just a knocked-over chair and a wide-hanging open door.
I pump my legs, sprinting out in the streets. The village is out in full force: people are shopping, roaming, perusing, and exposing themselves to this new evil. My eyes hunt for the girl as I push past a trading caravan, nearly getting trampled by a group of horse riders. Nothing. The sun hangs high. It shouldn't have been hard to see her. I ask around for any sign of the girl.
"You mean Faith? I saw her limping towards the Southern gate. Poor girl probably got hurt while playing. I think she's going back home," one melon vendor says. I thank him and take to the rooftops, running and jumping across balconies, sliding on tiles, doing my damndest to make it to the gate.
I don't really have a plan in mind. I just know I have to stop her from touching anyone else.
I am too late.
When I reach the Southern gate, I spot a blond-haired girl splayed out on the porch of a low-wooden house. An older man holds her in his arms, looking panicked.
I run to them and shout: "Let her go!"
He looks at me and some deep, parental anger strikes up. His eyes light like fury. I skid to a halt and raise my hands. "She's sick!"
"She's my daughter!" the man yells. His voice is shrill. I look at the girl; she seems normal enough. But… she's passed out cold. Perhaps the plague is just now sinking its fangs into her.
A thought occurs to me.
How many people did she encounter on the way here?
I look to the open Southern gates, letting a steady flow of people in and out of Takemeadow. Traders. Families. Children.
I look to the distressed father, weeping now as he shakes his pale daughter, grasping her bare arms.
I can't stop this. It's already underway.
It is a sinking realization. One made worse by the darkening sky and the steady patter of rain that begins hailing forth.
Lightning flashes.
My little world is about to come to an end.