Flying Feet, chosen of Journeys
"Thank you for this spar, Flying Feet, I know Fate keeps you busy."
"No, thank you, Hesh-Sensei, you honor me with this spar.
"Five-four-three-two-one." And the opponents took one step towards each other, sizing each other up, then Flying Feet, true to his name, dove onto the floor on his belly like a snake, his feet flying up, and striking the opponent's thigh, putting him off balance.
"A hit!"
"I've never known you to throw a spar, sensei..."
"Err, lots on my mind, son." Few knew this was literal: Flying Feet being the product of a not-totally licit union between his Sensei and his Patron. But it showed to those paying attention: Hesh-sensei always heaped praise on the boy, no young man now, all of nineteen, and a recruit of the Golden Barque of the Heavens since his exaltation last year. Showing massive promise, he was already the lead of the Barque's three Martial Arts instructors.
"How's mom?"
"Fine, as usual. She's bustling about on campaign this season. Something bothering you?
"I think you were holding back..."
"What could I be holding back, son?"
"Only the Sidereal Martial Arts, father, I know you know some of them..."
"Bah, that's not sporty. Some of them have you going back in time to hit your opponent twice, or jumping in a mirror, to avoid a blow, then come back to give your own."
"But I hear of fights, where those are used..."
"What? But that's ridiculous. Who'd even know of them?"
"Well, I can't be teaching them, I don't know them yet..."
"You know one, I know that much. I hated your mother for teaching you Asna's Pounces..."
"I don't know the whole style, just bits and pieces."
"You know bits and pieces of more styles than most."
"I've seen you flinch though, you've practiced against a master of a style I don't know. And a style that would make you flinch, that'd had to be a Sidereal Style..."
"Hrrmph. Just Charcoal March of Spiders Son, and I practice it against her..."
"Asna?"
"No, I meant your mother..."
"Does she know any other style she hasn't shown me?"
"No one knows exactly what she knows, but I'm pretty sure she knows at least three styles. Charcoal March of Spiders, Citrine Poxes of Contagion and Obsidian Shards of Infinity. She used all three of them when we helped capture the Ebon Dragon."
"Mom was part of that? I thought the Yozis had made them swear not to raise their hands against them?"
Bahal Hesh, preceptor of ten thousand styles knew worry, right then. He was trying to cover a lie with a lie, and having a bad time of it. The boy was sharp, and well-read, exactly like a son of Mars should be. Quite a few of Mars' scions were excellent generals in their own right, or politicians, one was a professional athlete in Yu-Shan, the first such... But for the first time, the Maiden's policy of letting the other maidens in predilection to the parent was giving him fits. He'd had to use many excuses to cover the The Convention, and the duties they required of all its members and allies. Few could spar with 'Special Skills' or 'Breeze', like he did, and fewer were not hopelessly outmatched.
And Mars was making excuses lately, so he was pulling double duty, ever since Breeze had boasted, in his mute sign language: 'When I make this sign, what I strike will be cut, even if it is a Goddess.' and followed through. He'd almost severed Mars' pinky finger, no less a fighter than Ligier, the very Sun of the underworld, had never managed that close to a palpable hit.
But that just led to Hesh's current predicament, the boy was sniffing around the convention, and that had to be kept secret. His mother knew, his father knew, but he could not be allowed to know. He was much too public a figure. Everyone knew of the Sidereal Boy who was whupping Chosen of Battles like they were nothing, despite exalting as a chosen of Mercury. He'd stolen the Dojo placard of the Violet Bier of Sorrow's dojo as well, until he got whupped by The Lapis Ewer's defending champion, and her unexpected use of Dreaming Pearl Courtesan. The boy was easily among the twenty-five best martial artists he knew, possibly the best twenty, and that was a scary concept indeed. But also balm, for a father's pride: 'that's my boy'. At sixteen, he'd gone on a tour of creation, defeating dojo champions in each direction, despairing of finding a worthy challenge, and that was before his exaltation! Bahal Hesh reminded himself to ask Jupiter again what exactly had happened, that the boy had needed to exalt to fight it?
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