The tent finally came into the light and Gwaynn realized there were people around him. Pugg and Alynn were suddenly there bending and helping Vio from beneath the corpse. Tar Kostek and Amon silently studying him, and Tar Nev, one hand on Gwaynn’s shoulder and the other running through his own bushy hair. As always, there was a slight smile on the face of his teacher.
Gwaynn moved forward as if in a dream, wanting to know the identity of his attacker, wanting it to be Navarra as he never wanted anything else in his life, for then some of the pain in his life would be over, behind him. He limped forward, bent and saw instantly that it was not the Executioner; it was instead B’dall of the Deutzani, this year’s katas champion.
XI
The following morning Gwaynn found himself bandaged up and on board the Carol-Anne, on his way to Lato Island. As he suspected, he had a serious stab wound in his right thigh, but Alynn cleaned it and carefully placed a poultice of moss and other herbs directly on the wound to pull out any possible infection and to aid the healing process, then she wrapped his thigh tightly.
“You clean this every other day, and pack it in tightly,” Alynn instructed giving him a small bag filled with bandages and the wet moss.
“We’ll see he’s taken care of,” Nev said and Gwaynn noticed the shy look of respect Alynn gave the Tar.
Gwaynn thought he might have some deep reservations about boarding another trireme after his last experience, but now as he lay comfortably in a hammock on the bustling deck he felt no such apprehension. He was not surprised to find that he had complete confidence in Jon, for it was obvious that the man knew his way around his ship. Gwaynn watched as the crew loaded the last of the goods and supplies that they would be taking with them. The pace was a bit frantic because the launch was a few days early, but Jon, at Nev’s urging, quickly made arrangements for their departure. They could have made the trip by Traveler, but Jon would not hear of it, and insisted that he be allowed to ferry them the thirty miles east to the island of the Scholars.
Gwaynn sat quietly out of the way, enjoying the blue skies, the soft breezes and the pleasant smells of the sea. He watched quietly as the crew loaded and stored their goods and ware. Nev was off attending some business of his own, but assured Gwaynn he would be back well before they were scheduled to pull anchor. Gwaynn didn’t mind he needed some time alone to think. He went through the battle with B’dall over and over again in his mind, sifting through what he could remember, concentrating on the points where he’d made the mistakes that had led to his injures. He had no illusions that he was indestructible, and knew that with only a few minor changes, he would be the one now lying dead in the tent. He had been lucky…good yes, but also lucky.
“Nev also likes time with his thoughts after he has killed,” Jon said taking a seat on the deck next to Gwaynn without asking, but Gwaynn hardly felt that the man had to ask; after all, it was his ship. Jon sat, flipping a knife over and over again, catching it by the handle deftly in his palm each time.
“I keep going over the fight in my mind,” Gwaynn said, watching the twirling knife.
Jon nodded, and took a moment to direct a sailor storing rope near the main hold. “Yes, I thought from the look on your face you just might be.”
Jon cocked his head. “Tell me Gwaynn, how old are you now?”
Gwaynn frowned; surprised that he had to think about it before answering. He and Gwynn were about month and a half from their sixteenth birthday when Solarii fell and Gwynn had died. He had turned sixteen shortly after arriving on Noble Island. “What day is it?” He finally asked.
“You don’t know what day it is?” Jon asked with a smile. This lad was going to go far. Jon could tell he was all business, but then Jon had never known his brother to make a rash decision.
Gwaynn shook his head with a rueful smile of his own, and then his face lit up. The Competitions were always held mid March, culminating on the fifteenth, the ids. “March sixteenth?” he asked tentatively.
Jon laughed and slapped his leg. “Close my man, it is the eighteenth,” he said and threw the knife up high, spinning quickly before catching it again.
“Well that would make me sixteen. I won’t turn seventeen until July first,” he said not smiling, his thoughts turning melancholy. It was hard to believe that nearly a year had past since Gwynn’s death, his Mother’s death, and that awful day on the scaffold. He thought about it in silence for a spell, reliving those last horrible moments. In some ways it seemed a lifetime ago, and in another way it seemed only yesterday. Time, he thought with a haunted laugh. It was like time moved at different speeds…at least in him, in his memories and thoughts.
Gwaynn’s eyes suddenly widened as his mind plunged over the falls of understanding. If he could control himself, he could control time, speed it up, slow it down. At first it did not seem possible, but he knew subconsciously his mind had already achieved the impossible countless times. During moments of intense concentration, pressure and action, came such clarity of thought that it was beyond time. When he was under duress or endangered, time seemed to slow and even stand still. He relived the fight with B’dall once more, focusing on the moment of his attack. Time had slowed in the dark tent. He remembered back, to the moment he knew what B’dall would do next; he remembered being in control. He concentrated on the moment when the fight began to slow. At first nothing appeared to happen and then Gwaynn closed his eyes reliving the fight on the beach with Navarra, the Executioner. He still felt the sea breeze, could feel the rocking of the ship, and through the twine of the hammock he could feel the vibrations caused by the footfalls of the crew around him, but all of this slowly faded as he remembered and relived.
Gwaynn opened his eyes suddenly. The breeze was gone, but more eerily so was the sound of the lapping sea against the ship and the sounds of the crew around him. All about him, complete silence. It made Gwaynn shiver as he glanced around. Jon was talking to him, but his mouth was moving very slowly and no sound was coming from his mouth. The knife he was flipping was near its apex, hardly turning. Even Jon’s hair was barely rippling in the stillness. Gwaynn smiled. He could feel in his mind what to do. He understood completely now that Nev was not keeping the feather from falling at all. The feather continued to fall just as it always had. Time indeed had split in two, one path moved quickly and the other much, much slower. Gwaynn felt a swift and suddenly awe for the man who’d chosen to be his teacher. Gwaynn flexed his mind, adjusting his own time frame and Jon paused and then talked slower still, until Gwaynn could barely discern any movement from the man beside him at all.
To Gwaynn, the entire world suddenly became surreal. This could not be happening. But it was, and more than that, it was easy. Gwaynn smiled and yelled out for joy. The sound of his voice was hollow, dead. He heard it only through the interior of his body and not through the air itself. He frowned, shivered again, and attempted to climb from the hammock. Pain shot through his injured leg, so he settled back down, but he did lean over and carefully snatch the knife out of mid-air, before fully reclining back once more. Gwaynn smiled and concentrated on returning his pace of time to normal, but for a long moment nothing happened. Time was still passing slowly. Panic flashed through Gwaynn and he had visions of going through his life alone, surrounded by a motionless world, but then all at once Jon was talking, the ship was rocking and the breeze was blowing against his face. Gwaynn’s stomach gave a sharp jolt; much like when he’d stumbled at the top of a long staircase back home.
“Ah!” Jon said in surprise, actually glancing around for the missing knife.
Gwaynn grinned, but then doubled over in pain. His stomach felt hollow and his hands were shaking badly. He looked up at Jon, who was staring at the knife in Gwaynn’s hand with a mixture of fear and awe that Gwaynn was not at all sure he liked. The large man’s breathing was coming in gasps, and without warning his face darkened with anger.
“That…” he sputtered, “is not very polite.”
Gwaynn’s mouth popped open.
“I’d have thought my brother would have taught you better,” Jon added still angry. “A bit of warning before you do your parlor tricks would be nice.”
“I’m sorry,” Gwaynn answered and felt another cramping pain rip through his abdomen. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Frighten me,” Jon bellowed indignantly. “I’m not frightened, just startled is all. Knife bloody disappeared on me mid-throw. Thought I was going to cut myself. Nev was always pulling such nonsense back in his younger days.
