Brandt had always enjoyed a strong fire affinity. He’d always known he could do more than most. Even here among the best in the empire, his strength was only slightly less than the others. His control, though, lagged far behind. In their sparring matches, no one pulled punches, and Brandt discovered a dozen different ways to lose every day.
The monks didn’t just have superior control. Their imagination was far beyond his experience. When he fought against a water affinity, his opponent would keep a globe of water around his head, ruining his vision, interfering with his breathing, and frustrating him to no end. Against an air affinity the breath would be pulled from his lungs, or a gust would blow straight up his nose, giving him a pounding headache.
But he learned. The other monks were patient, a trait developed throughout the monastery. Most monks trained primarily in a single element, but everyone had at least some ability with another element. What Brandt had considered impossible a month ago was day-to-day life here.
Some part of his learning came from just being around the other monks. Their unique abilities demonstrated a long history of experimentation and practice. In a sense, he was learning how to learn in an entirely new way. The military had trained him to become a soldier, but here, no one knew where the limits were.
His single greatest initial achievement was focusing flame. He was used to pouring more energy into a fire and watching it grow, but pushing more energy into the flame and keeping the ball contained created spectacular results. After less than a fortnight he could create little balls of flame that burned through armor.
The other elements didn’t come so easily. Brandt would sit for an entire afternoon in front of a pile of stones, but he couldn’t be sure he heard their song again. Memory and reality mixed, confusing him terribly.
Fortunately, he had just enough success to stay motivated. One day he got a pebble to roll over without touching it. Another day he succeeded in cleaning up a small puddle without a rag.
He had a template, though, memories of his own training in fire. Learning to control flame had been a long and arduous process. There was no reason why learning other elements would be any easier.
The martial training was no less enlightening. Brandt was an excellent sword, but here he studied under true masters. Much of their focus centered on manipulation of their internal energies. The practices benefitted both affinity and martial skills. They made him fight, switching between being light and not in less than a heartbeat.
The training demanded a focus he’d never summoned outside of combat, but the rewards were immediate. Even after his initial sessions he was convinced he was a stronger fighter. And the masters were evidence enough that he had much left to learn.
In many ways, those first weeks were a nearly idyllic existence.
Except for the hole in his memory, tormenting him with the passing of every day.
Then one day he was summoned to the abbot’s study.
He was welcomed in and given tea. After checking in with him she came to the reason why he was summoned. “Have any of your memories returned yet?”
Brandt shook his head. “None.”
Kyla looked disappointed, but not surprised. “The others report that your skills are considerable, but your techniques are limited.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. He considered his techniques sufficient, but he had seen how varied the others’ were.
Kyla gave a slim smile. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. We see it often with those who were active warriors before they arrived. When your life depends on your skills, it’s better to master a few skills than be decent at many.”
Brandt sensed something behind Kyla’s words, an undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. “What is it?”
“We’ve received word back from the wolfblades and Landow, Brandt. I know what happened to your squad.”
The look on her face said enough. He had suspected, already. If they had been alive and well, they would have found him. Some part of him had already known.
But it all hit him like a boulder rolling down a hill. How had his entire squad been killed, and why was he still alive? Tears trickled down his cheek, but he ignored them. Kyla knew he had guessed. “What happened?”
“Your last assignment was in Landow. As you’ve said, you were responsible for pursuing and capturing a bandit that had been a nuisance in the area. Your squad was involved in several conflicts. Witnesses report a fight in the forest south of town and another within the town. It was the fight within the town that killed three of your soldiers. One is missing and presumed dead. It’s where you received the wound on your chest as well.”
Brandt stood up, unable to contain his emotion. The memories had to be somewhere in his mind. He was sure of it, like a name on the tip of his tongue that refused to be spoken. But no matter how hard he pounded on the doors of his memories, they remained locked to him. He remembered setting out for Landow, and then walking here, with blackness in between.
“Does any of this sound familiar?”
“Yes, but I still don’t remember anything. Did the wolfblades send orders along?”
Kyla nodded. “In my letter I mentioned that you had passed the tests. Your commander wishes to let you know the choice is yours alone. The wolfblades will welcome you back, but you are welcome to stay here with us.” She held out a piece of paper in his direction.
Brandt took it and read it. He recognized the neat handwriting. It was, indeed, his commander. There was a very straightforward, rational tone to his words that Brandt found familiar. The tone of the letter said enough. Brandt could still call himself a wolfblade, and could return if he chose,
