Part 9 (2/2)

”I... suppose not,” I said, feeling less certain of this by the minute. Then again, I supposed it was that lack of certainty I was supposed to be endeavoring to overcome. ”No, obviously you're not limited.”

”Then hop on your right leg.”

Taking a deep breath, holding on firmly to my staff, I switched in midhop from left leg to right, and was actually thrilled to discover that my lame leg supported my body weight... for perhaps two seconds.Then I collapsed like a puppet severed of its strings. My staff fell to the ground a moment after I did.

”What have you learned?” said Chinpan Ali.

”That you know nothing!” I snapped in mortification.

To my shock, he nodded approvingly. ”Excellent. You are an even faster student than I first believed.

Sit. Cross your legs.”

I wanted to knock his head off with my staff. Instead, still steaming, I did as he said while wondering whether there was any point to it at all.

”A riddle,” he said abruptly. ”I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. What am I?”

I had always disliked riddles. They seemed a waste of time to me, providing the interrogator the chance to sit there and look smug while you struggled to come up with some sort of interpretation that fit all the clues.

”You are thinking too much,” Ali said abruptly as if he'd read my mind. ”You must meditate. You must relax and ponder the riddle. That is the fundamental concept of Zennihilation.”

”I thought we were going to train. That you would teach me how you handled those men so easily.

How--”

”Master.”

I stared at him. ”Pardon?”

”You will address me as 'master.' That is the proper respect a student gives to his teacher.”

I didn't like the sound of that at all. It was not a word that would come easily off my tongue.

But I was hooked, you see. Desperately consumed by curiosity and desire. Here was this frail old man, far more frail than I. Yet he obviously knew techniques, secrets that made him virtually invincible.

Once upon a time, I had been invincible. No one was able to defeat me in combat, and I was feared wherever I went. It was a good feeling. No. No, it was a great feeling. Granted, I did a lot of horrific and barbarous things during that time, and I regretted much of it. But I had spent my entire life up until that point feeling endlessly vulnerable to a world that was--for the most part--bigger and faster and stronger than I. I, Apropos, limping along while the rest of humanity sprinted past. It was galling to live that way, and the exhilaration I felt during the time that I was the peacelord of Wuin was unequaled in my existence.

The problem was, it was puissance that came with too high a price, and I'd had to divest myself of it.

In fact, I still carried scars on my chest from when I had done so. Since then I had gone back to my previous, and current, form. And if it was frustrating before when I'd had to deal with my a.s.sortment of fragilities, how much more so was it having tasted indestructibility only to have lost it once more?

But this man, this shriveled little man... he knew something. Something that could make me, if not omnipotent once more, capable of defending myself with far greater confidence than I had before. And ifI wanted that knowledge, I was going to have to play along.

”Very well... master,” I grunted. ”But...”

”And you will not question me. The student never questions the master.”

My patience was beyond wearing thin. It was becoming so threadbare as to let chill winds through without obstruction.

This was getting ridiculous. As much as I wanted to be able to dispatch opponents the way he had, I did still have my pride. It was a tattered and pathetic thing, my pride, and really not all that fit for human company. But I had it nonetheless. It was at that point I decided that this was simply not going to work. I was just going to give up, that was all. Give up, forget that I'd wasted my time in this worthless attempt to find mental balance and a means of self-defense. I would just go back to my hut, or perhaps out into the fields to work--trying not to step upon freshly dug graves--and at the end of the day, go to sleep and hope that some clearer answer revealed itself on the morrow...

And then I stopped. I blinked, my expression going slack.

”Tomorrow,” I said.

”Yes?” said Chinpan Ali calmly.

”Tomorrow,” I told him with growing excitement. ”'I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball.' The answer to the riddle is 'tomorrow.'”

”The answer to the riddle is tomorrow... what?” he prompted.

I paused, and then smiled broadly. ”Tomorrow... master.”

”Yes,” and this time a genuine smile crept across his face. ”You see? Meditation leads you to be able to accomplish that which you did not know you could accomplish. To be able to rid yourself of all concerns. Once you find your core of inner peace, nothing can disturb you. All mistakes in combat stem from disruption of the spirit. With your spirit intact, you can be invincible.”

”Invincible. Well, I like the sound of that... master,” I added.

I look back on that exchange now and am, frankly, somewhat mortified by it. That I would have so quickly, so willingly given myself over to Ali and his teachings would seem to fly in the face of the inveterate skeptic that I have always painted myself to be.

I can offer you but one reasonable explanation, and indeed it is one that I have had to ponder long and hard to intuit.

The most fundamental impulse of a man is to please his father. But for all of my early years, I had no father. Just an unknown b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a knight who had produced a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a son. While I was growing up, the significant adult male in my life was an abusive tavern owner who employed my mother as a prost.i.tute. Eventually I did learn my father's ident.i.ty, and during our fleeting time together, all I wanted to do was kill him. Hardly an ideal situation for male bonding. In short, I had never had a significant, stable, fatherlike individual in my life. And although Chinpan Ali at first exuded a gruffness and emotional distance, I also believed that he wanted me to succeed. That he was looking for someone to whom he could pa.s.s on his techniques and knowledge, and considered me to be that person.

...I wanted more than I had. I wanted to be more than I was. My constant gnawing dissatisfaction was eating away at me like a cancer, and I believed that Ali might well be the cure.

I got to my feet with my usual clumsiness, and Ali said, ”Another riddle to consider until tomorrow: Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

”Because they both require quills to truly take wing,” I replied.

He stared at me. ”Oh” was all he said, and then quickly he added, ”All right. Come back tomorrow and I'll have another one for you.”

”I'll be here,” I said.

When I returned the next day, Chinpan Ali presented me with two handheld blocks, each of which had a rough, gritty texture on one side. They had straps on the back to make them easy to place on my hands. I held them up, studying them curiously. ”What are they?” I asked.

”For sanding,” he replied. ”Smoothing down of surface.”

”All right,” I said gamely. ”So... what am I supposed to do with them.”

”Sand the floor.”

I blinked. ”Pardon?”

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