We scarfed the rest of our food, then headed upstairs and out of the Heartchamber. The ferals had collected again over the few hours I’d been asleep, so there wasn’t any shortage of targets. I got to work strengthening Three Corpse Sickness and Death Grip, letting only one or two ferals come at me at a time so I could try to take them out while cloaked.
Off to the sidelines, Rali hmmed. “I can see your Spirit flows as bright as the day suns.”
After a few more kills, he joined me out in the rain.
“You’re charging in here like you’re rescuing someone,” he said. “Big noise, no stealth. But what if you just want to slip by unnoticed? What if you want to be Death on silent feet? Sneak away with a life before anyone knows it’s gone?”
“Silent but deadly?” I offered.
He cracked up. “I think I’m starting to see why you haven’t figured this out yet. You’re supposed to find the essence of your Spirit before you can cloak it, right? So, think about it this way—death is an inevitable step in everyone’s walk. Some of us will die in loud and painful ways, but others of us will just sort of sneak away in the night. Death doesn’t have to be a huge and frightening experience. I like to think someday it’ll come for me like an old friend, put an arm around my shoulders, and walk me off to that next adventure.”
I grinned. “You’re nuts.”
“Probably,” he said. “But just try to think of Death like that for a minute. No huge shield bashes or exploding skulls. Just a quiet departure in the middle of the day, with the sun on your face and peace in your heart.”
I started to head back out to intercept the next band of ferals, but Rali stopped me.
“You’re not exactly hurting for physical training, Death cultivator,” he said. “We both know you can kill them from here, so why don’t you?”
I nodded, then took a deep breath and tried to cloak my Spirit and reached out with Dead Man’s Hand to the closest feral.
“You’re not doing it,” Rali said. “Your Miasma’s still just out there for anyone to see. Isn’t there anything you want to keep to yourself? Are you just going to let them know everything about you? What about your privacy, Hake? What about those things you want to hold onto just for you?”
Kest’s face popped into my brain, along with that dream I’d been having about her the night before.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block that out. I could hear the ferals coming in a lumbering herd. They got closer every second.
Focus, I told myself again. Old friend. Sun on your face. Silent death.
With a fist of Dead Man’s Hand, I grabbed the closest feral’s life point and ripped it out. There was nothing friendly or sunny or silent about it. The feral gurgled, the sound cutting off halfway through as it tumbled to the wet ground, dead.
Rali grimaced at the heap of rotten corpse.
I blew out a disgusted breath.
“Maybe if you try it with one of your more subtle techniques?” Rali suggested. He pointed with his walking stick. “From what I’ve seen so far, Dead Man’s Hand looks painful.”
I used Three Corpse Sickness and my Death Metal shields on the next feral. That kill wasn’t any cleaner or quieter than the last.
“Thirty-minute warning,” Kest yelled from under the eaves.
“Crap.” I raked my hands through my hair.
“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” Rali said. “How do you see death, Hake? What does it look like to you?”
The first thing that flashed through my brain was anger at the grim reaper who killed the wrong guy and then refused to admit she’d screwed up.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Rali nodded. “That might be your problem. Maybe if you solidify in your mind the implications of your Spirit and your relationship to it, to Mortality in general, that will help.”
But when I tried to meditate on whatever that meant, Hungry Ghost spoke up again.
Warm Heart cultivator grasps for the essence of Death, but cannot reach it. The power of Death is inextricably linked with oblivion, which Warm Heart cultivator cannot comprehend a need for.
Hungry Ghost must’ve been right, because we trained right up until I only had ten minutes left to the fight, but even with Rali’s expert training, I didn’t manage to cloak my Spirit.
Versus Glass Hammers
THE ELEVATOR RIDE DOWN to the arena was dead silent, and none of us said anything as our rain-soaked shoes squeaked across the market court.
The twins stopped outside the locker room doors.
“Good luck,” Kest said, squeezing my hand.
I gave her a half smile. “I thought you said luck was for the unprepared.”
“Well, aren’t you?” she said.
I tried to laugh at that.
“Just do your best, Death cultivator,” Rali said, flipping his wet hair out of his face. “Stay true to yourself, and everything else will follow like it’s supposed to.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said.
As they headed up to the arena’s seating area, I pushed through the locker room doors.
The Ylef was already inside, waiting for our fight to be called. He caught my eye and wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Ready to lose again, meat roach?” he sneered.
I smirked. “This isn’t your nice safe tournament, Champ. Down here I won’t get disqualified for murder.”
Obviously I wasn’t being serious, but it was pretty gratifying to see the look on his face when I said it.
The announcer’s overhyped voice rang through the PA system. “Winner—Warcry Thompson, one win, zero losses!”
I couldn’t hear anybody cheering out there until the arena doors popped open and Warcry shoved his way into the locker room. Then a couple random claps filtered in.
The ginger caught sight of me and looked like he was about to say something smart.
“Next bout,” the announcer cried, “Sedryk Nameless, zero wins, zero losses, versus Grady Hake, zero wins, zero losses!”
The Ylef tried to shoulder check Warcry as he
