Chương 122: Training

"That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?" Miriam asked, incredulous.

"Hey, you asked how I ended up in the desert, and that's how. I don't gotta tell you my life story," Ultán grumbled.

"Shouldn't you be swinging some sticks around or something?" So Miriam did. Day after day she felt herself improve as the swords became more natural to her than her spears ever had. As another week passed Eoin declared that she was ready for some light sparring.

"But please," he said again with a wan smile.

"No Reborn blades!" They faced off out in the cleared area outside of Eoin's workshop. The Merrow tended to avoid the strangers - which made Miriam a little sad. One of her favorite parts of living in Lathair Maol had been getting to know the locals. But, it meant that no one was underfoot when it came to giving them space to practice. Eoin summoned two water blades.

"You may use your River reinforcement, but try not to rely upon any other techniques beyond the swordplay. We will get into mixing your skills, but we will start small first." Miriam had to actually stop herself from creating the Reborn blades, in spite of Eoin's joking reminder. She'd done it so much now it was almost second nature.

"What about you? Going to be using Bonecutter?"

"No. I will only be using the swords. No fórsa techniques at all," Eoin promised.

"I'm allowing you to use the River techniques in support because, well, I've been making you do it non-stop for the last two weeks. Seems unfair to take it away now. But also… this is what will bridge the divide between the strength of a Second and that of a Fifth. Or… at least get you a bit closer."

"Ok then," Miriam said, lowering herself into the opening stance of the First Form of the Unbroken Channel. Eoin launched himself at her. He was not holding back, she could tell. She recognized the same unbelievable speed and power she had been intimidated by in the tunnels below Teilgcheárta. The only difference was this time she could keep up with it. Almost. She got her blade up only barely in time to execute a shoddy block. The power from that strike rocked her back and she lost her balance.

But she had trained too intensely to let this throw her. She pivoted her upper body backwards, bracing the fist which held her other sword on the ground, turning the momentum that would have knocked her over into backwards cartwheel. She didn't wait to stand again before snaking one leg out, off of which she launched a series of attacks towards his knees. The Unbroken Channel taught its users to fight from any position. So Miriam didn't have to stand before launching her attack.

She forced Eoin to give ground and bend at an uncomfortable angle to block and remain on his feet. Of course, he was the master at this form, so he didn't stay hunched over long. Instead, with only a few well-placed stabs, he had her on the defensive again, scrambling back, not letting her stand up this time. Miriam growled; she was getting tired of him so casually disrupting the forms she had practiced so diligently.

So she leapt back to her feet, buoyed by a surge of River thrust, and began doubling the power she sent to her arms. Eoin's eyes widened as he took the force of her swings on his water blades. He wasn't rocked back as she had been, but it clearly wasn't effortless for him either. It was a strategy that cost her, though.

Her movements were still a lot more stiff with the force of her River fórsa behind it, and while the power it delivered was helpful for pushing Eoin back, no amount of power gave her the skill to get through his guard. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. With an elegant twist of his swords, his blades both thumped against her neck - blunted.

"Not bad!" Eoin said cheerfully.

"You applied what you've learned well!" Miriam dismissed her swords in disgust.

"You weren't even trying! How can I possibly attain mastery if this is how slow it's going to go?" Eoin exchanged glances with Ultán.

"Miriam, you're progressing at an astounding rate. You're fighting like someone who has been training in this style for more than a year."

"Not fast enough," Miriam grumbled.

"I understand that you're battling against frankly very difficult odds, but sometimes a thing takes as long as it takes," Eoin said.

"Turning up the heat doesn't bake a cake any faster." Ultán shook his head.

"That's bunk." Eoin frowned.

"You don't strike me as much of a baker, sir."

"No, not that. Miriam here is in a real pickle, and you're trying to tell her not to worry about how long it takes. That'd be fine if she had years to spend studying the sword, but she doesn't." Ultán pointed at Eoin.

"There are some shortcuts you could take, but you're not suggesting them."

"Shortcuts?" Miriam asked. Eoin shook his head.

"I think I know what he's talking about, but it's not feasible here. If our friend Solas were available…?" Ultán shook his head.

"He's had his head buried in the sand ever since you told him he wasn't real."

"Well, I suppose even if he were, in his current state it wouldn't help much. Skilled Mind fórsa manipulators can pass training from one person to another. It's a shoddy way of learning. In every city there are always some charlatans who are selling the secrets to faster ascension by letting you copy their skills. Even for those who actually do it, you end up with what amounts to the manual inside your head - not real fighting experience." Eoin dismissed his own swords.

"It can actually be quite harmful to your progression in some instances."

"Well, I suppose it's a moot point," Miriam said, disappointed. That sounded a lot like what she really needed.

"There aren't any Mind experts around, are there?"

"Your friends the Fetch are incredible Mind manipulators," Ultán suggested.

"No." Eoin said thunderously.

"Not a chance in hell." Miriam blinked. She supposed that was true. The Fetch reached inside your mind to pull their phantasms of death to the surface. But did that translate into the sort of skills Ultán was suggesting they could use?

"I could ask the Eldest."

"It's not happening," Eoin growled.

"The only way I am setting one foot near that forest is on the path on the way out."

"The Fetch won't hurt you now," Miriam said, wreathing her hand in flames of death.

"Especially not with me there."

"No," Eoin said. There was a fear in his eyes that was more desperate than anything Miriam had ever seen in him before. Suddenly she realized what must have happened. Eoin had gotten caught by the Fetch before - that much had been obvious from the start. Somehow he'd survived, but had been left forever scarred by the experience. What she had just now realized was how much this might explain Eoin's fear of death.

Miriam had just taken him at his word - a person who had lived so long had become miserly with his own life, as if each year were more riches added to his treasure trove. Instead, she considered if perhaps he had faced visions of his own death so haunting that escaping it had become one of his primary goals.

"It's okay," she said, touching his arm.

"We don't have to do it." Eoin looked at her hand, guilt washing over his face.

"If there were anyone else here who could do it…"

"I understand," Miriam said.

"I won't ask you to do something you're not comfortable with." Ultán snorted.

"Well, then I hope you're comfortable with dying."

"She will get there!" Eoin snapped.

"We will just continue to work. She is making incredible strides!" He summoned his blades once more.

"Shall we go again?" Miriam followed suit.

"Let's do it!" They sparred for the rest of the day. Miriam found herself brimming with fórsa now that she wasn't having to keep the Reborn blades active and she barely felt winded by the time the sun set over the Fetchwoods. Eoin called it then, insisting that while she might still be full of energy, the mind also needed to rest. She felt she had done well, though at no point did Eoin ever seem at all concerned that her blades might actually hit him. She tried to console herself that she still had time.

That this was only the beginning. Ultán cast a glowering look at Eoin.

"Do you think your precious Eternal King will forgive you if she dies when there was more you could have done to prepare her?" Eoin's face darkened and for a moment Miriam thought he would level his water blades at Ultán. Instead he dismissed them and stalked back inside his workshop.

"That was uncalled for," Miriam admonished.

"He's scared, I get it," the bounty hunter said.

"But you're being too nice. What is the cost of his 'discomfort' when weighed against your own life?" Miriam had no easy answer, but she was beginning to worry that he might be right.