(59) Not Special

“Ack!” Tara spat, spittle flying.

The column of stone that had gut-blasted her retracted back into the ground faster even than her reaction to the hit. It slid into place and became flush with the ground, invisible, perhaps actually merged back into the ground for all she knew.

“Hss,” she hissed, exhaling as she wiped her mouth with her arm.

It turns out the “I am not going to hit you” promise was good only during balance training.

Speaking of which, a small section of the floor rose up under her left foot, but she merely shifted her weight to the other, allowing the floor to push her left leg into a bend, while her right stayed planted firmly on the level ground.

This had been the escalation of her training. She started by keeping her balance on one foot; then Myra made it more complicated by making her close her eyes. He then started punching near her and throwing things, trying to distract her.

Now, she was doing actual combat training, yet the attempts to throw her off-balance never ceased. Always, the ground shifted and changed, forcing her to be on the move. The instant she grew too accustomed to one position, she would be thrown on her back.

“You are becoming distracted,” Myra observed, his voice echoing out from the formless black, just as another column shot from the floor.

Tara barely saw it coming and turned just in time for it to clip her shoulder rather than her chest. She was sent spinning with the momentum of the strike.

Claws suddenly shot from the tips of her fingers, and night-blue fur covered her arms. With a skrrk, she dug her claws into the ground to stabilize herself, stopping in a bestial crouch, her hands on the ground, claws buried.

She growled, her frustration mounting as sharp teeth extended from the corners of her lips.

“Peace, child. Your anger will accomplish nothing here. You possess neither the power nor the battle instincts to benefit from berserking,” Myra’s disembodied voice chided calmly.

“You mean to calm me by insulting me?” Tara barked, standing straight, her bestial features fading as she slipped back into her combat posture.

“I mean to ground you by telling you the truth,” Myra declared.

A silence followed, during which Tara remained still, her eyes unfocused. She watched her entire field of vision for motion, leaning on her other senses to cover areas her eyes could not.

“This is what I aim to teach you, what you need most right now. We are forming your combat style and naming it: temperance,” Myra said, his voice fading in and out, never giving a firm indication where he was.

Tara shifted her unfocused eyes across the field, scanning for the slightest motion, yet it was difficult. Though her eyes were open, Myra had somehow limited visibility to mere feet. Beyond five or six feet, she could see only shadow and darkness.

“Temperance? What does that mean?” Tara asked, slowly shifting her body in a circle, wary.

Myra liked to distract her with talk—

“Ha!” Tara shouted, throwing her arms out to either side, pushing herself away from two pillars of stone that erupted from the floor at the same time.

She skid across the floor, shaking her arms out. The backs of her forearms were sore, and she knew they would have gnarly bruises, but she had avoided the strikes, at least.

“I can see it in your eyes, child. The thing from your past that you cling to, what you consider your birthright,” Myra said.

Tara stiffened unconsciously before forcing herself to relax. Not only did she want to become better at controlling her reactions, but being too stiff during this training would earn her a black eye.

“I see your past suffering, your trauma. Because of it, you cling to this one nugget, this one silver lining, to get you through, to make it all your past suffering worth it:

“I am special.

“Born to a unique position in society, perhaps, or maybe you were born with unique abilities. Regardless, you cling to that one positive to wash away all the bad things you have experienced. It is understandable.

“But it is wrong,” he mercilessly declared.

Suddenly, the darkness vanished, as if a curtain was lifted. Myra stood towering over her. Though he stood several feet away, his size so thoroughly dwarfed her that she felt a child before a giant, which was not wholly inaccurate.

“You are not special,” he said, his visage carved from stone.

Wham!

A titanic fist crushed the ground she had just stood on, sending shards of stone skittering. Tara threw herself to the side just in time to avoid the fist, but its impact still sent her sliding. She dug her claws into the ground to slow and right herself, and her elongated snout, filled with sharp teeth, emitted a low snarl.

“Your unique position or ability—that thing you were born with or into—what has it gotten you thus far? How has it alleviated your suffering, set you apart from your peers?” Myra asked, staring down at her stone-faced.

Tara snapped her jaw and snarled loudly, her body shaking. Fur covered her from head to toe, the seams of her clothing straining against the furred bulk beneath. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles, her pupils dilated.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Tell me, how did you come into an apprenticeship with Starchild? Did she seek you out because you are special? No, I doubt it. I suspect it was rather more circumstantial. Perhaps, even, it was you who sought teaching from her? Not something a ‘chosen one’ would need to do, yes?” he reasoned with a raised brow.

Tara bristled, her fur standing on end. She hissed and rushed toward him, vanishing so quickly that the wind almost lagged behind her. She appeared in front of Myra’s face, her claws poised to rake across his smug mouth, yet in a move she could not even see, Myra casually swatted her out of the air with an enormous mit, just as one might swat a bug.

She hit the ground on her back and bounced, rolling across the stone several times before she found her feet again.

She crouched on all fours, her limbs tensed, ready for anything. The two stared at each other for several long seconds, the silence broken only by the faint sound of the wind blowing past the cavern exit at the end of the tunnel, as well as Tara’s low snarling.

“Do you know much about oni?” Myra suddenly asked.