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A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014
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<blockquote data-quote="ellinor" data-source="post: 5601442" data-attributes="member: 14561"><p><strong>22x02</strong></p><p></p><p>“Kiyari’s down!” —Kiyari’s naked!”</p><p></p><p>“Perfidy?” “It means malfeasance.” “—cheating! It means cheating! Kiyari was cheating!” </p><p></p><p>A cacaphony of voices surrounded Mena as she struggled to sit up. </p><p></p><p>Kormick pushed his way into the ring. Brother Soburu was hot on his heels, followed immediately by a tournament official and an Adept.</p><p></p><p>“I’ll show you what I mean,” Kormick announced to the official. Kormick pointed at Kiyari. “Get up.” Kiyari scrambled to his feet—and immediately slipped and fell again, as if a carpet had been pulled out from under him. “There,” Kormick pronounced, “you see, he has done something to the ring. It is a plot to fix the matches. He wins by cheating, and his cronies bet on his matches and make out like bandits.”</p><p></p><p>Mena jumped in as Kormick helped her to her feet. “Whatever’s making it slippery—it’s in his pants. He controls it by adjusting his loincloth or moving his hips.” She handed the loincloth to the Adept, who examined it thoroughly. There was a fine, sandy substance sewn into the hem along the bottom, with small apertures in the hem where it could be dispensed. </p><p></p><p>“A gambling scheme,” the official huffed, “at the Trials! This shall not stand. Dame Philomena-san, you shall of course advance to the next round. Kiyari-san shall be disqualified. And detained,” he added, indicating that Kormick should take custody of the prisoner. The ring cleared, and the official and several others busied themselves sweeping the ring free of its slick coating.</p><p></p><p>Mena retired to the competitors’ tent to prepare for her next match, where she’d face Brother Ono. Brother Ono sat alone in the corner, legs crossed, apparently meditating. He opened his eyes when Mena approached. “Brother Ono-san, I must apologize for that commotion—” Mena began. </p><p></p><p>“It was a commotion of justice,” Brother Ono cut in, “and no apology is necessary. When justice is served we all benefit.” He paused. “I shall request that the Inquisition begin an Inquest into Kiyari’s heretical actions tomorrow,” he continued, “assuming the Mother Superior agrees.”</p><p></p><p><em>A gambling scheme involving fixed matches. He’s right, that may be a Sedellan heresy,</em> Mena thought. <em>But the real question is who’s pulling Kiyari’s strings.</em></p><p></p><p>A few minutes later, Mena and Brother Ono entered the ring for their match. Mena slowed her breathing, bowed, and gave it her all. For minutes—it felt like hours—she and Ono were locked in a tight shoulder-hold, circling and staring into each other’s eyes. One would flinch; then the other; they would back away and then clinch and circle again. Finally, Brother Ono surged forward, pushing Mena into a stumble. She ducked, retreated, regained her footing, and plowed, shoulder-first, into his midsection. She could hear the crowd roar as Ono was forced back. But then he planted his feet, leaned in, and stopped, still inside the circle. </p><p></p><p>And then something strange happened.</p><p></p><p>It was as if Mena could hear Brother Ono’s voice in her head, reciting the same words over and over: <em>I am the rock, and the rock does not move. I am the rock, and the rock does not move.</em></p><p></p><p>Mena could hear Brother Ono’s voice in <em>her</em> head. </p><p></p><p>But voice or no voice, he was, in fact, not moving. Mena ducked again and dove again, this time going for his leg. She grasped it, and twisted, and he reversed the grab, pushing her down… <em>I am the rock and the rock does not move…</em> shoving her out of the ring . . . Brother Ono had won. But it had been a good match.</p><p></p><p>Two rounds later, Brother Ono had, as expected, won the tournament. “It was the only way to prevent a greater evil,” Mena commented, as they watched Brother Ono’s solemn bows to dignitaries and trophy-bearers, “but I still can’t believe I <em>pantsed</em> a man.”</p><p></p><p>“Like us,” Kormick replied, wrapping Mena’s cloak around her shoulders, “it was a little bit of chaos and a little bit of justice.”</p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p><strong>TAVI</strong></p><p></p><p>As the sun reached its peak in the sky, Tavi arrived at the arcane wrestling venue. From the competitors’ tent, Tavi could see across the lake, where a small handful of individuals remained on the endurance platforms. Some of those seasoned few might be there until sunset, hanging by two arms and then by one. Rose, Savina, and Arden had gone back to the Inn, where Rose would clean up. </p><p></p><p>As the names of the first competitors were called, Tavi realized: he was the only heathen in the tent. It made him feel . . . conspicuous. Nervous, even. At first, learning arcane wrestling had been a lark, just another way of sparring. He even remembered having thought, “Here’s this thing I can compete in, sure, I’ll try it, what’s the harm”—but now, looking around the tent, he realized that he needed to do well in the Trials. The party needed the help of the Inquisition to gain access to the Lord High Regent, who might be the “dying king” mentioned in the prophecy. And to secure the help of the Inquisition, they needed to continue working the long way around the circle. If Tavi embarrassed himself today, everything would be that much harder. </p><p></p><p>A loud voice boomed into the tent: “Signor Octavian di Raprezzi.”</p><p></p><p>Tavi arrived at the edge of the lake with a spindly woman about his age. Together, they walked across a narrow plank to a five-foot platform atop a tower over the water. Officials removed the plank, leaving Tavi and the woman alone on the tower. The silent crowds lining the shore seemed very far away. From the corner of his eye, Tavi could see Rose, arriving in the back. </p><p></p><p>Tavi and the young woman bowed to each other and waited. An official said “Begin.”</p><p></p><p><em>If I’m going to be conspicuous, I might as well be interesting.</em> Tavi ignited his arms like gauntlets, as his sparring partner had recommended. The crowd let out a soft “ooh.” Tavi focused his mind and, using arcane force, pushed against the young woman. Immediately, she stumbled, but pushed back. Tavi felt his footing slip, but he returned the shove. The young woman flew off the tower and landed in the water.</p><p></p><p>Tavi’s second and third rounds went nearly as quickly. In the stands, Rose beamed. <span style="color: Magenta">Whee! On to the next one</span>, Phoebe cheered. </p><p></p><p>By the time Tavi’s name was called for the fourth round, there were only seven others in the tent with him. He was matched with the oldest of these, a wizened old woman with long hair. For a moment, Tavi felt uncomfortable about fighting an old woman—but then the match began. Immediately, Tavi began to feel as if he were being pulled backward by a thousand hands tugging on his arms and neck. Tavi stumbled. He focused his mind on her left leg, pushing up from her toes, trying to twist her body . . . he could barely breathe through the pressure on his neck. He began to slide backward. But just before Tavi reached the edge of the platform, the woman’s foot gave way and her whole body spun off the tower and into the water. There was a quiet hum from the crowd. It had been a good match.</p><p></p><p>The sun was low in the sky when Tavi’s name was called for the semifinal. He walked out to the platform with a boy of about twelve. The tops of the boy’s fuzzy hair reached almost to Tavi’s waist. He was cute, with chubby cheeks, like one of the novice students at the Academy just learning to wield an orb. <em>How did a kid like this make it so far in the tournament?</em> Tavi thought. But then a short bow; the word “begin”; and a blast of force landed against Tavi’s chest like a boulder falling from a cliff. Tavi was helpless against it. In seconds, he fell backward and rolled off the tower. </p><p></p><p><em>Time to make another impression,</em> Tavi thought. Just before hitting the water, Tavi teleported, blinking back into sight at the edge of the lake. He bowed to the boy, and then to the audience. Another soft “ooh” rippled through the crowd. </p><p></p><p>Rose met him in the stands, where they watched the last two matches. Remarkably, the boy beat everyone. </p><p></p><p>“I suppose it’s good to know I was beaten by the winner,” Tavi commented.</p><p></p><p>“And considering that today is an Ehktian holiday nearly everywhere else in the world,” Rose pointed out with a smile, “you certainly brought some fire to the proceedings.” </p><p></p><p><strong>NYOKO</strong></p><p></p><p>Although the pageant would not start until after sundown, Nyoko’s preparations began in the morning, with physical therapy and massage at the Adept house. Throughout the day, Nyoko practiced lightly while solicitous helpers stretched her muscles and Iwai-sensai paced in and out of the room with reminders and advice.</p><p></p><p>“Remember,” he said, popping his head in the room after lunch, “after the third turn, you must tilt your head before accelerating.”</p><p></p><p>“I remember,” Nyoko replied. His reminders were small, Nyoko thought, more to comfort himself than anything else. But some of the helpers and adepts who pattered in and out of the dance studio—Nyoko could tell they had doubts about her performance. Wanted her to fail, even. <em>Friends of Unsuku, no doubt,</em> she thought. When Unsuku herself swept into the room, Nyoko was gracious: “I could never have learned this without you.”</p><p></p><p>Unsuku nodded a polite, tight-lipped thanks, and swept back out. </p><p></p><p>By the afternoon, when the helpers began applying her makeup and styling her hair, Nyoko was desperately ready to go—to dance. But time ticked slowly.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, a young Adept rushed into the dressing room. “Nyoko-san! You must come see! In the courtyard!” Nyoko threw a hooded robe over her half-done makeup and stood to follow him.</p><p></p><p>“What? What’s happening?”</p><p></p><p>“It’s the Go tournament. You—you have to see it to believe it.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ellinor, post: 5601442, member: 14561"] [b]22x02[/b] “Kiyari’s down!” —Kiyari’s naked!” “Perfidy?” “It means malfeasance.” “—cheating! It means cheating! Kiyari was cheating!” A cacaphony of voices surrounded Mena as she struggled to sit up. Kormick pushed his way into the ring. Brother Soburu was hot on his heels, followed immediately by a tournament official and an Adept. “I’ll show you what I mean,” Kormick announced to the official. Kormick pointed at Kiyari. “Get up.” Kiyari scrambled to his feet—and immediately slipped and fell again, as if a carpet had been pulled out from under him. “There,” Kormick pronounced, “you see, he has done something to the ring. It is a plot to fix the matches. He wins by cheating, and his cronies bet on his matches and make out like bandits.” Mena jumped in as Kormick helped her to her feet. “Whatever’s making it slippery—it’s in his pants. He controls it by adjusting his loincloth or moving his hips.” She handed the loincloth to the Adept, who examined it thoroughly. There was a fine, sandy substance sewn into the hem along the bottom, with small apertures in the hem where it could be dispensed. “A gambling scheme,” the official huffed, “at the Trials! This shall not stand. Dame Philomena-san, you shall of course advance to the next round. Kiyari-san shall be disqualified. And detained,” he added, indicating that Kormick should take custody of the prisoner. The ring cleared, and the official and several others busied themselves sweeping the ring free of its slick coating. Mena retired to the competitors’ tent to prepare for her next match, where she’d face Brother Ono. Brother Ono sat alone in the corner, legs crossed, apparently meditating. He opened his eyes when Mena approached. “Brother Ono-san, I must apologize for that commotion—” Mena began. “It was a commotion of justice,” Brother Ono cut in, “and no apology is necessary. When justice is served we all benefit.” He paused. “I shall request that the Inquisition begin an Inquest into Kiyari’s heretical actions tomorrow,” he continued, “assuming the Mother Superior agrees.” [i]A gambling scheme involving fixed matches. He’s right, that may be a Sedellan heresy,[/i] Mena thought. [i]But the real question is who’s pulling Kiyari’s strings.[/i] A few minutes later, Mena and Brother Ono entered the ring for their match. Mena slowed her breathing, bowed, and gave it her all. For minutes—it felt like hours—she and Ono were locked in a tight shoulder-hold, circling and staring into each other’s eyes. One would flinch; then the other; they would back away and then clinch and circle again. Finally, Brother Ono surged forward, pushing Mena into a stumble. She ducked, retreated, regained her footing, and plowed, shoulder-first, into his midsection. She could hear the crowd roar as Ono was forced back. But then he planted his feet, leaned in, and stopped, still inside the circle. And then something strange happened. It was as if Mena could hear Brother Ono’s voice in her head, reciting the same words over and over: [i]I am the rock, and the rock does not move. I am the rock, and the rock does not move.[/i] Mena could hear Brother Ono’s voice in [i]her[/i] head. But voice or no voice, he was, in fact, not moving. Mena ducked again and dove again, this time going for his leg. She grasped it, and twisted, and he reversed the grab, pushing her down… [i]I am the rock and the rock does not move…[/i] shoving her out of the ring . . . Brother Ono had won. But it had been a good match. Two rounds later, Brother Ono had, as expected, won the tournament. “It was the only way to prevent a greater evil,” Mena commented, as they watched Brother Ono’s solemn bows to dignitaries and trophy-bearers, “but I still can’t believe I [i]pantsed[/i] a man.” “Like us,” Kormick replied, wrapping Mena’s cloak around her shoulders, “it was a little bit of chaos and a little bit of justice.” ### [b]TAVI[/b] As the sun reached its peak in the sky, Tavi arrived at the arcane wrestling venue. From the competitors’ tent, Tavi could see across the lake, where a small handful of individuals remained on the endurance platforms. Some of those seasoned few might be there until sunset, hanging by two arms and then by one. Rose, Savina, and Arden had gone back to the Inn, where Rose would clean up. As the names of the first competitors were called, Tavi realized: he was the only heathen in the tent. It made him feel . . . conspicuous. Nervous, even. At first, learning arcane wrestling had been a lark, just another way of sparring. He even remembered having thought, “Here’s this thing I can compete in, sure, I’ll try it, what’s the harm”—but now, looking around the tent, he realized that he needed to do well in the Trials. The party needed the help of the Inquisition to gain access to the Lord High Regent, who might be the “dying king” mentioned in the prophecy. And to secure the help of the Inquisition, they needed to continue working the long way around the circle. If Tavi embarrassed himself today, everything would be that much harder. A loud voice boomed into the tent: “Signor Octavian di Raprezzi.” Tavi arrived at the edge of the lake with a spindly woman about his age. Together, they walked across a narrow plank to a five-foot platform atop a tower over the water. Officials removed the plank, leaving Tavi and the woman alone on the tower. The silent crowds lining the shore seemed very far away. From the corner of his eye, Tavi could see Rose, arriving in the back. Tavi and the young woman bowed to each other and waited. An official said “Begin.” [i]If I’m going to be conspicuous, I might as well be interesting.[/i] Tavi ignited his arms like gauntlets, as his sparring partner had recommended. The crowd let out a soft “ooh.” Tavi focused his mind and, using arcane force, pushed against the young woman. Immediately, she stumbled, but pushed back. Tavi felt his footing slip, but he returned the shove. The young woman flew off the tower and landed in the water. Tavi’s second and third rounds went nearly as quickly. In the stands, Rose beamed. [COLOR="Magenta"]Whee! On to the next one[/COLOR], Phoebe cheered. By the time Tavi’s name was called for the fourth round, there were only seven others in the tent with him. He was matched with the oldest of these, a wizened old woman with long hair. For a moment, Tavi felt uncomfortable about fighting an old woman—but then the match began. Immediately, Tavi began to feel as if he were being pulled backward by a thousand hands tugging on his arms and neck. Tavi stumbled. He focused his mind on her left leg, pushing up from her toes, trying to twist her body . . . he could barely breathe through the pressure on his neck. He began to slide backward. But just before Tavi reached the edge of the platform, the woman’s foot gave way and her whole body spun off the tower and into the water. There was a quiet hum from the crowd. It had been a good match. The sun was low in the sky when Tavi’s name was called for the semifinal. He walked out to the platform with a boy of about twelve. The tops of the boy’s fuzzy hair reached almost to Tavi’s waist. He was cute, with chubby cheeks, like one of the novice students at the Academy just learning to wield an orb. [i]How did a kid like this make it so far in the tournament?[/i] Tavi thought. But then a short bow; the word “begin”; and a blast of force landed against Tavi’s chest like a boulder falling from a cliff. Tavi was helpless against it. In seconds, he fell backward and rolled off the tower. [i]Time to make another impression,[/i] Tavi thought. Just before hitting the water, Tavi teleported, blinking back into sight at the edge of the lake. He bowed to the boy, and then to the audience. Another soft “ooh” rippled through the crowd. Rose met him in the stands, where they watched the last two matches. Remarkably, the boy beat everyone. “I suppose it’s good to know I was beaten by the winner,” Tavi commented. “And considering that today is an Ehktian holiday nearly everywhere else in the world,” Rose pointed out with a smile, “you certainly brought some fire to the proceedings.” [b]NYOKO[/b] Although the pageant would not start until after sundown, Nyoko’s preparations began in the morning, with physical therapy and massage at the Adept house. Throughout the day, Nyoko practiced lightly while solicitous helpers stretched her muscles and Iwai-sensai paced in and out of the room with reminders and advice. “Remember,” he said, popping his head in the room after lunch, “after the third turn, you must tilt your head before accelerating.” “I remember,” Nyoko replied. His reminders were small, Nyoko thought, more to comfort himself than anything else. But some of the helpers and adepts who pattered in and out of the dance studio—Nyoko could tell they had doubts about her performance. Wanted her to fail, even. [i]Friends of Unsuku, no doubt,[/i] she thought. When Unsuku herself swept into the room, Nyoko was gracious: “I could never have learned this without you.” Unsuku nodded a polite, tight-lipped thanks, and swept back out. By the afternoon, when the helpers began applying her makeup and styling her hair, Nyoko was desperately ready to go—to dance. But time ticked slowly. Suddenly, a young Adept rushed into the dressing room. “Nyoko-san! You must come see! In the courtyard!” Nyoko threw a hooded robe over her half-done makeup and stood to follow him. “What? What’s happening?” “It’s the Go tournament. You—you have to see it to believe it.” [/QUOTE]
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