Fire without smoke
Zou Ei
"We must activate him." Strike the Heart, head of the convention on rogue agents said. "I keep running into them, and they scare me even more than Thulio's thugs."
"Hmm, what? Who?" Nara-O, Gatekeeper of the Forbidding Manse, Lord of Secrets Untold, deity of secrets only one person knows, pretended not to know who or what his guest was driving at. That he even knew of this individual was troubling. Not that this was one secret Nara-O kept more secret than one another. Nara-O kept all secrets religiously, and collected them even more. Yet, this secret was closely held, especially outside the Division of Secrets. He suspected, perhaps uncharitably, that someone in the Division of Endings has spoken out of turn. That was unlikely. Saturn had given her word to Jupiter, and both had agreed, and Luna had been a witness. For secrets beyond 'normal', secrets that could threaten the Incarnae themselves, threats to Yu-Shan and Creation so intense even the Unconquered Sun and the other Incarnae could not guarantee against, there had been an agreement. A special convention.
It was not a bureau of investigation, for the Bureau of Destiny's Division of Secrets was already quite good at those, and finding the truth wasn't what would save Reality, either. It was not a bureau of silence, although, you could argue it silenced threats to reality. Wayang, Lord of Silence, and Nara-O, Lord of Secrets Untold, had a secret protocol, and a secret pact. It was an emergency convention, aiming to set right what would threaten reality. They let the other bureaus 'assist', but Mars and Mercury tended to be loud, while Venus got... distracted.
It was a result of emergencies, kept secret by necessity. Luna had given their champion blessings she had withdrawn from her own Lunars, and Jupiter and Saturn, similarly, had given Fire without smoke limited-issue benisons. Fire without smoke was training his replacement, in case his many blessings would be insufficient to keep him alive through the trouble to come. Many had been incensed at the thought that Fire had been given powers greater than the Incarnae. Nara-O knew of the others member of the convention, but never spoke of them.
He hadn't been given powers unanticipated, he had been given powers unanticipated by those who knew the Incarnae's limits. Those who thought they could determine the limits of Luna's involvement, or overcome the virtues subtending Ignis Divine's power, would have a harsh surprise, knowing they did not apply. Those who thought they'd account for the Five Maiden's and the Fivescore Fellowship's strengths would get no reprieve. But those powers were not above, nor quite even on the level of the Incarnae, but they were quite impressive on their own, nonetheless.
The maitre'd entered the shop, antique, minuscule and having seen better days, none would have suspected. And as an added precaution, it could not be found except by one who had touched Jupiter's pinky finger since last sundown. A portly man, whose clothes had seen better days, had appeared in the room when his hand had closed around the knob, as he always did when someone authorized to do so, did. "You may call me Claude, I am a distiller of Spirits, here at Thawckeray, how may I assist you today?" "I wish to order a special barrel. Not the usual mix, I want to have a blend of peaches of immortality, apples of youth, cherries of lust and lime of wit. I wish it tampered in linden barrel for a month, then in oak for the duration. I wish it to be ready by the earliest possible date, for I have a party next season." Claude understood, this was only a cover, there was a request, and it was for the special, unnamed band of operatives, including the one that always seemed to unnerve everyone, even her. Thes operative would have to be provided with credentials, money, ambrosia, weapons and armor, hearthstones, and he would need to be ready by the end of the week. The process to pick the five out of the twenty had begun.
Under the shop was a rough-hewn space, cut through the stone roots of mountains who were old when the universe was young. A single man was practicing hand to hand combat against three shadowy figures. Claude enters from above, and watches. He had no face, none that could be perceived, it was as if the Wyld inhabited the space he called a head. He was boxing, applying his brutal skill at unarmed combat onto the three first age combat automatons, and winning, Claude, the Distiller thought. Soon, his counterparts, the Brewer, and the Vintner, would join him, and they would speak with the faceless one, as they did, once a cycle, if time could be said to pass in this place, or for these beings. They would ask him his purpose, and he had always answered in the same way, until now. It was then, then it is now. The other two men were present. "I am the Brewer, I have come to ask you three questions." "And I am the Vintner, I have come to ask you questions three." "I am the distiller, I have come to learn three truths from you." "My name is of no importance, only my mission, my purpose, matters. I will answer your questions." A mere flicker of existance, for they were in Yu-Shan, and one did not need to shower, only the desire, the will, to be refreshed, and he was dressed in a loose robe, such as a patient in a hospital might wear. "And what is your purpose?" The brewer asked, on cue. "To defend the undefendable, to prevent the unpreventable, to defeat the undefeatable. To those that need me to have a name, I give: The blade that strikes in the night, or the Fire unheralded by smoke. But it is not my name, in truth, I have forgotten it." "And what is your mission?" The vintner added. "To defend Creation and Yu-Shan." "And with what tools do you propose to do that which cannot be done?" "I am a weapon, but should the current task require it, I will ask you, my keepers, for aid, I will entreat you and them that need not be named, to clad me in Arms that were old when the Primordials ruled, I will beseech for weapons that the Cataclysm of the Spheres narrowly missed. I will also ask for your help, in going unobserved. Who are you, keepers? For countless time, I have practiced, but I feel... different today, as if you will finally allow me outside, for the first time in aeons." That was not the usual script, either, filling all three with dread. "It is not for you to ask questions, but for us to inquire. Do you know what the task is?" Claude, The Distiller, or Luna, as was her proper name, had insisted upon this precaution, that knowledge of his task come to him, when the task was at hand, and not before. There had been accidents, once, before such precautions, and eager young exalts, keen on gaining favour. "I know that I am to eradicate a movement, such that has exceeded all pretenses of limit or restraint. It is the work of a prince of the Wyld, among the masses, they whisper its name: K'talan." "Do you know how many conspirators there are?" The Vintner, a portly, jolly man, face florid with wine, in any other time otherwise known as Saturn, asked gravely, for grave was a world that applied perfectly to everything she did. "Two-score and nine, there are, and I am to stop them before fifty they become." "And by what means shall you know them?" Samsara, destiny, fate, these words were key to understanding the Brewer, otherwise known as Jupiter, a ruddy, heat-baked man anyone would have believed a village blacksmith out of frock, as it were. The strands of Samsara were coalescing, Jupiter knew, Nara-O, who was also clad in the role and face of the maitre'd, had been right to come and order this, it was the right thing to do. Why does it trouble my conscience so? Why am I loathe to let this one slip his leash? She asked herself. And she couldn't hide the truth in her soul that it would bare secrets best left unexamined, to unleash this one... "By the red circle they mark themselves. By the words of prophecy, they call for K'Talan, by the whispers of the Wyld they call for even more invasions. But like Balor, they are the tip of a spear aimed for the Unconquered Sun." "You have answered two questions, from each of us. We will defer the third question, until after you've returned. You will go with the Vintner, he will bring you to the lower level." Asking him the last three questions would have made him forget, and sleep, why he had been activated. Leaving them unasked left him primed for his mission, ready for mayhem. For the first time, since these precautions had been thought of, they were apparently required. It was surprising to the Brewer that they were even required, for indeed, her purview of Secrets had led her to think through many scenarios, and ways to keep things secret. Fire undid his robe, leaving him only in his unmentionables. "I will obey." And so he did, following the Vintner, who brought him through the dusty passages, to a cave wrought out of primordial rock, glistening with light from stars that were no longer in the sky. When earlier, the Three Spheres Cataclysm had been mentioned, the Vintner remembered, it was a reference to how this cave, this bedrock, had been blown open, the safety and integrity of its structure among the casualties of that unimaginable destruction. Only Saturn could remember what had been ended, and only when she could see items that had survived, when such items were in her physical presence. "Concierge? Prepare him." She instructed Wayang, her colleague, friend, assistant? All of the above, perhaps. In the looming darkness, Saturn stepped in a direction not left, nor right, not up nor down, and, perpendicular to reality, she disappeared. "I am the Concierge, I have been preparing what you shall need, in accordance with the Vintner, the Distiller and the Brewer's instructions, please follow me." Wayang insisted on the title, even if none might discover this place, such a working had been lain on this place, that fate forbid it. In a darkness that ended not, a very senior god of endings put on armor upon his frame, cladding this limber, scarred exalt with mystical might, after untold eons of preparations. "The brewer's gift. I'm told it brings with it sharp, bitter, well defined notes of juniper, grapefruit and strawberries." Fire said nothing, but merely nodded, politely, feeling the mystical might of Dark is the Night, an apparently silken armour that had seen endless aeons, and the fall of that which could not fall, nor die, the end of the unstoppable. I have stopped the unstoppable, and paid the price, it whispered into his mind, pointing out a section that had been repaired, substituting the obsidian thews of a primordial it had vanquished for missing Soulsteel threads in its surface. "The Vintner's gift. Texture like velvet, cooked fruit notes, and some roasted tones." And it handed over gloves, their material like velvet, relics of a bygone age. The paraphernalia of the Jackal, it had been, in another life. None remained that knew who the Jackal was, nor what it had done. The Vintner had enspelled knowedge of the gloves into the next person to wear them, however, and so Fire knew their purpose was to make him potent in shaping combat, such as the Raksha engaged in, but also to allow him to completely deny their influence, whether in Creation, Yu-Shan or the Wyld. "Notes of pears, peaches of immortality, and Limes of wit." He added, as he handed over mahogany sandals, beautiful, remarkable sandals that would have been befitting a prince of reality, yet when both sandals were on his feet, they assumed a drab, discreet appearance, pauper's sandals they were now. They had a name: Tulat's Tread, and they knew the way to his destination. Indeed, they were already preceding him there, and yet, waiting for him patiently, their idea of distance was... distracting, until he quieted them. "The Distiller's gift. I'm told you will enjoy the bold flavours, the bouquet of sensations, cherries of lust, apples of youth, and a little something more." Added to the gloves were a pair of starmetal pearls, Queue and Manypenny, as if cufflinks for a non-existent suit, and three pearls of blackest night were added to the armour, none which stayed of one colour or appearance for longer than a second. "This will help, should you find a linden barrel, or oak." Slohn and Wayoun shone at his feet, in receptacles on the sandal's straps. Fire needed no other weapon, but his hands, indeed, his master of six martial arts styles was such it meant it was seldom matched, although, when The Concierge had brought Anys Syn for a spar, an event Fire no longer remembered, he had been, and yet the Concierge added: "Ignis Divine also sends a gift, although, you would be wise not to remind him of this. It is sharp, and brings to mind the blinding pain of a headache, much like the Sun after one has too much to drink." Holding out a scabbarded daiklave. Just as Fire's hand wrapped around the hilt, the enchantment forcing him to forget was partially lifted, allowing him to remember the attunement he had to the many artifacts, and the knowledge of how to use them was restored to Fire's mind. The sword had been part of what made him forget, so it was appropriate. It shifted from a long grey blade of non-metallic appearance, perhaps made of slate, its handle scuffed, to a great reaver daiklave of orichalcum, to what Fire thought of its true form: a finely honed perfectly balanced reaper daiklave of starmetal edged with jet-black soulsteel. Black Jade nails appeared driven, from one side, then the other, along its length at regular intervals, while two red eyes, star rubies of great price looked over the side blades, as if to see what it needed to cut, and angle itself appropriately. It did not merely cut the physical, however, this Forgotten Blade could cut a victim so intently as to make him forget. Fire knew it was also to be used to prevent... knowledge of the Foe to become widespread. With the Raksha, even rumours of their presence could be put to their terrible purpose, feed their legend, and indeed, their greatest acts of wickedness had occured after they had appeared to be defeated, only to count on rumours of their survival to rescuscitate them. At the merest expression of will, the sword ceased its shifting, becoming the non-metallic appearing blade, nondescript, and shabby, a journeyman warrior's weapon, thousands like it on the street outside. The sword, whose mental whisperings always called itself 'memory-cutter', quieted, recognizing a familiar feel to this wielder. The two eyes were hearthstones themselves, but they had long ago become merged with the blade. Fire didn't know if he could take them out, but then, he had never met mightier ones, and didn't think he'd ever want to. The left one was called Mirifik, and had been the eye of a Raksha pet, no, not one of their smaller ones. Akin to a dragon, it had spread its wings over a demesne, and called it its freehold. After its mutual kill of a perfect circle, a dragon-blooded had chanced upon the eye, now petrified, and thought it a mere gemstone. Aeons later, Mirifik yet powers unexplained events. Less malevolent than a demon, but only just, the Fair Folk pet was a necessary, powerful evil. The right one, Soun-Deen had been the captured essence of an exploding star, captured by Theion-the-empyreal-chaos, when the being had had too much time on its hands, it had no 'voice' to Fire, and that was surprising, considering just how powerful its essence was. "Here, you may exit the building on this side, you will have to walk, although the way is not far, to the building marked, with a red circle." "Couldn't supply me with a cirrus skiff, or a simhata, I would imagine?" "And how noticed would you be, if you traveled with such a manner? Besides, your feet have been told the way, you wouldn't want to disappoint them, nor misuse the Vintner's thoughtful additions." "I will go, thank you for the thoughtful gifts." "They are not gifts, but what was ordered from the Distiller. We expect you to return them to us, once your tasting is done. But first, you must visit with Stick." Fire without smoke groaned wordlessly. "Surely, I have proven my skill enough times?" "It is not your skill you must prove, but your restraint." And so, in a blink of an eye, they were elsewhere, in a dojo on the outskirts of Greyfalls, chalk covering the fighting area, no students in sight, the master, clad in a yellowed gi, obviously blind and deaf, its face scarred. 'Why is he always the only one who sees me as I am?' "Stick" also known as Breeze blowing out smoke through a sakura grove, the taste of rain signed, his fingers imperious, his signing more fluid than in a century. "It is necessary, his compassion for you is what's being measured." "Why do you never measure anyone else's?" "Anyone else's isn't as important as his, to the mission. But you will forget I said this, you will forget this fight, once it's done, but concentrate on it, while you may." The blows rained like torrents, neither side expecting nor giving quarter, every martial artist giving its 100% to defeating his foe, who happened to be a colleague, a fellow member of the convention. That almost never happened, for all the other members brought supernatural skills to a fight that make them quite uneven. Special Skills could punch you so hard as to make you sick. Both Friendships Broken and Equilibrium of a Soap Bubble could strike you and hurt your friendship with another. Yule Delivery without subtlety could hit you and make you go back in time a minute, or perhaps five. Breeze and Fire without smoke could hit you and make you go back in time as well, but they had agreed not to do so, for this fight. Breeze's particular flavour of martial arts could kick space so hard as to change distances, while Fire without smoke, without dwelling into time-changing arts, channeled a demon's lusty passions into rending Creation, or channeling the cold chill of the grave itself, could use the cold pall of nothingness to freeze opponents, until the assault is inevitable, causing death, defeat and endings to surround the foe. 'I yield.' Signed Breeze, after Fire without smoke had walked into his draw distance to flurry him with attacks, unconcerned for any counterattack. "I accept your surrender, come, let us drink tea, and talk of better times, friend."
"You think you have it bad?" 'I cannot speak, know only meaningful contact once a month or two, and your point?' "He only is let out when you see him, you're the only one strong enough to spar with him really." 'Special Skills can spar with anyone.' "Special skills leaves everyone in the hospital, it's hardly a good thing. And Nineteen-tails kitsune, lack of chemistry and equilibrium of a soap bubble damage opponents in their own way." 'So I'm the "least damaging"?' "The most considerate, most understanding of the limits of spar, I'd call it. The way you fight leaves one able to fight another day." 'And yet, I'm the one who tapped out.' "You did, but I consider that you drew up to a draw, for all my worth as a referee. The fight was exquisite, and so fast as to be unfollowable, the stick versus the sword, and while the sword won, it was by the narrowest of margins." 'If he had brought The Forgotten Blade against Calibration, this fight would have gone on forever, or close enough." "That's very much a degenerate result we want to avoid, the eternal fights are not fights we want to win, they're fights we want to not fight."
"We are the guardians of this place, who are you, so that we may write the proper name on your tombstone?" "My name is of no importance, I will be walking back to heaven to resume my duties, and none shall know I've disturbed your routines. I am the pause between breaths, the air between "
The maitre'd entered the shop, antique, minuscule and having seen better days, none would have suspected. And as an added precaution, it could not be found except by one who had touched Jupiter's pinky finger since last sundown. A portly man, whose clothes had seen better days, had appeared in the room when his hand had closed around the knob, as he always did when someone authorized to do so, did. "You may call me Claude, I am a distiller of Spirits, here at Thawckeray, how may I assist you today?" "I wish to order a special barrel. Not the usual mix, I want to have a blend of peaches of immortality, apples of youth, cherries of lust and lime of wit. I wish it tampered in linden barrel for a month, then in oak for the duration. I wish it to be ready by the earliest possible date, for I have a party next season." Claude understood, this was only a cover, there was a request, and it was for the special, unnamed band of operatives, including the one that always seemed to unnerve everyone, even her. Thes operative would have to be provided with credentials, money, ambrosia, weapons and armor, hearthstones, and he would need to be ready by the end of the week. The process to pick the five out of the twenty had begun.
Under the shop was a rough-hewn space, cut through the stone roots of mountains who were old when the universe was young. A single man was practicing hand to hand combat against three shadowy figures. Claude enters from above, and watches. He had no face, none that could be perceived, it was as if the Wyld inhabited the space he called a head. He was boxing, applying his brutal skill at unarmed combat onto the three first age combat automatons, and winning, Claude, the Distiller thought. Soon, his counterparts, the Brewer, and the Vintner, would join him, and they would speak with the faceless one, as they did, once a cycle, if time could be said to pass in this place, or for these beings. They would ask him his purpose, and he had always answered in the same way, until now. It was then, then it is now. The other two men were present. "I am the Brewer, I have come to ask you three questions." "And I am the Vintner, I have come to ask you questions three." "I am the distiller, I have come to learn three truths from you." "My name is of no importance, only my mission, my purpose, matters. I will answer your questions." A mere flicker of existance, for they were in Yu-Shan, and one did not need to shower, only the desire, the will, to be refreshed, and he was dressed in a loose robe, such as a patient in a hospital might wear. "And what is your purpose?" The brewer asked, on cue. "To defend the undefendable, to prevent the unpreventable, to defeat the undefeatable. To those that need me to have a name, I give: The blade that strikes in the night, or the Fire unheralded by smoke. But it is not my name, in truth, I have forgotten it." "And what is your mission?" The vintner added. "To defend Creation and Yu-Shan." "And with what tools do you propose to do that which cannot be done?" "I am a weapon, but should the current task require it, I will ask you, my keepers, for aid, I will entreat you and them that need not be named, to clad me in Arms that were old when the Primordials ruled, I will beseech for weapons that the Cataclysm of the Spheres narrowly missed. I will also ask for your help, in going unobserved. Who are you, keepers? For countless time, I have practiced, but I feel... different today, as if you will finally allow me outside, for the first time in aeons." That was not the usual script, either, filling all three with dread. "It is not for you to ask questions, but for us to inquire. Do you know what the task is?" Claude, The Distiller, or Luna, as was her proper name, had insisted upon this precaution, that knowledge of his task come to him, when the task was at hand, and not before. There had been accidents, once, before such precautions, and eager young exalts, keen on gaining favour. "I know that I am to eradicate a movement, such that has exceeded all pretenses of limit or restraint. It is the work of a prince of the Wyld, among the masses, they whisper its name: K'talan." "Do you know how many conspirators there are?" The Vintner, a portly, jolly man, face florid with wine, in any other time otherwise known as Saturn, asked gravely, for grave was a world that applied perfectly to everything she did. "Two-score and nine, there are, and I am to stop them before fifty they become." "And by what means shall you know them?" Samsara, destiny, fate, these words were key to understanding the Brewer, otherwise known as Jupiter, a ruddy, heat-baked man anyone would have believed a village blacksmith out of frock, as it were. The strands of Samsara were coalescing, Jupiter knew, Nara-O, who was also clad in the role and face of the maitre'd, had been right to come and order this, it was the right thing to do. Why does it trouble my conscience so? Why am I loathe to let this one slip his leash? She asked herself. And she couldn't hide the truth in her soul that it would bare secrets best left unexamined, to unleash this one... "By the red circle they mark themselves. By the words of prophecy, they call for K'Talan, by the whispers of the Wyld they call for even more invasions. But like Balor, they are the tip of a spear aimed for the Unconquered Sun." "You have answered two questions, from each of us. We will defer the third question, until after you've returned. You will go with the Vintner, he will bring you to the lower level." Asking him the last three questions would have made him forget, and sleep, why he had been activated. Leaving them unasked left him primed for his mission, ready for mayhem. For the first time, since these precautions had been thought of, they were apparently required. It was surprising to the Brewer that they were even required, for indeed, her purview of Secrets had led her to think through many scenarios, and ways to keep things secret. Fire undid his robe, leaving him only in his unmentionables. "I will obey." And so he did, following the Vintner, who brought him through the dusty passages, to a cave wrought out of primordial rock, glistening with light from stars that were no longer in the sky. When earlier, the Three Spheres Cataclysm had been mentioned, the Vintner remembered, it was a reference to how this cave, this bedrock, had been blown open, the safety and integrity of its structure among the casualties of that unimaginable destruction. Only Saturn could remember what had been ended, and only when she could see items that had survived, when such items were in her physical presence. "Concierge? Prepare him." She instructed Wayang, her colleague, friend, assistant? All of the above, perhaps. In the looming darkness, Saturn stepped in a direction not left, nor right, not up nor down, and, perpendicular to reality, she disappeared. "I am the Concierge, I have been preparing what you shall need, in accordance with the Vintner, the Distiller and the Brewer's instructions, please follow me." Wayang insisted on the title, even if none might discover this place, such a working had been lain on this place, that fate forbid it. In a darkness that ended not, a very senior god of endings put on armor upon his frame, cladding this limber, scarred exalt with mystical might, after untold eons of preparations. "The brewer's gift. I'm told it brings with it sharp, bitter, well defined notes of juniper, grapefruit and strawberries." Fire said nothing, but merely nodded, politely, feeling the mystical might of Dark is the Night, an apparently silken armour that had seen endless aeons, and the fall of that which could not fall, nor die, the end of the unstoppable. I have stopped the unstoppable, and paid the price, it whispered into his mind, pointing out a section that had been repaired, substituting the obsidian thews of a primordial it had vanquished for missing Soulsteel threads in its surface. "The Vintner's gift. Texture like velvet, cooked fruit notes, and some roasted tones." And it handed over gloves, their material like velvet, relics of a bygone age. The paraphernalia of the Jackal, it had been, in another life. None remained that knew who the Jackal was, nor what it had done. The Vintner had enspelled knowedge of the gloves into the next person to wear them, however, and so Fire knew their purpose was to make him potent in shaping combat, such as the Raksha engaged in, but also to allow him to completely deny their influence, whether in Creation, Yu-Shan or the Wyld. "Notes of pears, peaches of immortality, and Limes of wit." He added, as he handed over mahogany sandals, beautiful, remarkable sandals that would have been befitting a prince of reality, yet when both sandals were on his feet, they assumed a drab, discreet appearance, pauper's sandals they were now. They had a name: Tulat's Tread, and they knew the way to his destination. Indeed, they were already preceding him there, and yet, waiting for him patiently, their idea of distance was... distracting, until he quieted them. "The Distiller's gift. I'm told you will enjoy the bold flavours, the bouquet of sensations, cherries of lust, apples of youth, and a little something more." Added to the gloves were a pair of starmetal pearls, Queue and Manypenny, as if cufflinks for a non-existent suit, and three pearls of blackest night were added to the armour, none which stayed of one colour or appearance for longer than a second. "This will help, should you find a linden barrel, or oak." Slohn and Wayoun shone at his feet, in receptacles on the sandal's straps. Fire needed no other weapon, but his hands, indeed, his master of six martial arts styles was such it meant it was seldom matched, although, when The Concierge had brought Anys Syn for a spar, an event Fire no longer remembered, he had been, and yet the Concierge added: "Ignis Divine also sends a gift, although, you would be wise not to remind him of this. It is sharp, and brings to mind the blinding pain of a headache, much like the Sun after one has too much to drink." Holding out a scabbarded daiklave. Just as Fire's hand wrapped around the hilt, the enchantment forcing him to forget was partially lifted, allowing him to remember the attunement he had to the many artifacts, and the knowledge of how to use them was restored to Fire's mind. The sword had been part of what made him forget, so it was appropriate. It shifted from a long grey blade of non-metallic appearance, perhaps made of slate, its handle scuffed, to a great reaver daiklave of orichalcum, to what Fire thought of its true form: a finely honed perfectly balanced reaper daiklave of starmetal edged with jet-black soulsteel. Black Jade nails appeared driven, from one side, then the other, along its length at regular intervals, while two red eyes, star rubies of great price looked over the side blades, as if to see what it needed to cut, and angle itself appropriately. It did not merely cut the physical, however, this Forgotten Blade could cut a victim so intently as to make him forget. Fire knew it was also to be used to prevent... knowledge of the Foe to become widespread. With the Raksha, even rumours of their presence could be put to their terrible purpose, feed their legend, and indeed, their greatest acts of wickedness had occured after they had appeared to be defeated, only to count on rumours of their survival to rescuscitate them. At the merest expression of will, the sword ceased its shifting, becoming the non-metallic appearing blade, nondescript, and shabby, a journeyman warrior's weapon, thousands like it on the street outside. The sword, whose mental whisperings always called itself 'memory-cutter', quieted, recognizing a familiar feel to this wielder. The two eyes were hearthstones themselves, but they had long ago become merged with the blade. Fire didn't know if he could take them out, but then, he had never met mightier ones, and didn't think he'd ever want to. The left one was called Mirifik, and had been the eye of a Raksha pet, no, not one of their smaller ones. Akin to a dragon, it had spread its wings over a demesne, and called it its freehold. After its mutual kill of a perfect circle, a dragon-blooded had chanced upon the eye, now petrified, and thought it a mere gemstone. Aeons later, Mirifik yet powers unexplained events. Less malevolent than a demon, but only just, the Fair Folk pet was a necessary, powerful evil. The right one, Soun-Deen had been the captured essence of an exploding star, captured by Theion-the-empyreal-chaos, when the being had had too much time on its hands, it had no 'voice' to Fire, and that was surprising, considering just how powerful its essence was. "Here, you may exit the building on this side, you will have to walk, although the way is not far, to the building marked, with a red circle." "Couldn't supply me with a cirrus skiff, or a simhata, I would imagine?" "And how noticed would you be, if you traveled with such a manner? Besides, your feet have been told the way, you wouldn't want to disappoint them, nor misuse the Vintner's thoughtful additions." "I will go, thank you for the thoughtful gifts." "They are not gifts, but what was ordered from the Distiller. We expect you to return them to us, once your tasting is done. But first, you must visit with Stick." Fire without smoke groaned wordlessly. "Surely, I have proven my skill enough times?" "It is not your skill you must prove, but your restraint." And so, in a blink of an eye, they were elsewhere, in a dojo on the outskirts of Greyfalls, chalk covering the fighting area, no students in sight, the master, clad in a yellowed gi, obviously blind and deaf, its face scarred. 'Why is he always the only one who sees me as I am?' "Stick" also known as Breeze blowing out smoke through a sakura grove, the taste of rain signed, his fingers imperious, his signing more fluid than in a century. "It is necessary, his compassion for you is what's being measured." "Why do you never measure anyone else's?" "Anyone else's isn't as important as his, to the mission. But you will forget I said this, you will forget this fight, once it's done, but concentrate on it, while you may." The blows rained like torrents, neither side expecting nor giving quarter, every martial artist giving its 100% to defeating his foe, who happened to be a colleague, a fellow member of the convention. That almost never happened, for all the other members brought supernatural skills to a fight that make them quite uneven. Special Skills could punch you so hard as to make you sick. Both Friendships Broken and Equilibrium of a Soap Bubble could strike you and hurt your friendship with another. Yule Delivery without subtlety could hit you and make you go back in time a minute, or perhaps five. Breeze and Fire without smoke could hit you and make you go back in time as well, but they had agreed not to do so, for this fight. Breeze's particular flavour of martial arts could kick space so hard as to change distances, while Fire without smoke, without dwelling into time-changing arts, channeled a demon's lusty passions into rending Creation, or channeling the cold chill of the grave itself, could use the cold pall of nothingness to freeze opponents, until the assault is inevitable, causing death, defeat and endings to surround the foe. 'I yield.' Signed Breeze, after Fire without smoke had walked into his draw distance to flurry him with attacks, unconcerned for any counterattack. "I accept your surrender, come, let us drink tea, and talk of better times, friend."
"You think you have it bad?" 'I cannot speak, know only meaningful contact once a month or two, and your point?' "He only is let out when you see him, you're the only one strong enough to spar with him really." 'Special Skills can spar with anyone.' "Special skills leaves everyone in the hospital, it's hardly a good thing. And Nineteen-tails kitsune, lack of chemistry and equilibrium of a soap bubble damage opponents in their own way." 'So I'm the "least damaging"?' "The most considerate, most understanding of the limits of spar, I'd call it. The way you fight leaves one able to fight another day." 'And yet, I'm the one who tapped out.' "You did, but I consider that you drew up to a draw, for all my worth as a referee. The fight was exquisite, and so fast as to be unfollowable, the stick versus the sword, and while the sword won, it was by the narrowest of margins." 'If he had brought The Forgotten Blade against Calibration, this fight would have gone on forever, or close enough." "That's very much a degenerate result we want to avoid, the eternal fights are not fights we want to win, they're fights we want to not fight."
"We are the guardians of this place, who are you, so that we may write the proper name on your tombstone?" "My name is of no importance, I will be walking back to heaven to resume my duties, and none shall know I've disturbed your routines. I am the pause between breaths, the air between "
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