Chapter 133 – The Dervish

“A dervish can never remain one thing. To be a dervish is to embody change,” Rostal said as an introduction to his first lesson.

They were back to standing in his courtyard, rapiers drawn.

“I will skip the lessons on the Silver Sky, because it is not a true form, merely a training tool. You have already demonstrated the ability to internally reflect, which is the first condition required for one to do anything as a dervish.”

Mirian nodded, still a bit wary. Rostal’s demeanor had changed as soon as he’d started giving instructions, and she was worried it might shift again just as easily.

“There are six true forms I know. They are the legacy of countless generations, but they are not true things anymore than the word ‘stone’ is the truth of a rock. ‘Water’ does not convey the majesty of the ocean, nor the properties of the substance, and so is not truth either. Names are nothing more than convenience. God will not be impressed that you know names.”

That made sense to her. But I wonder if the god he believes in would be impressed by knowledge of the glyphs and runes, since they are a true reflection of reality?

“Since you are not Persaman, I will also tell you this: the mind and body are not separate things.”

That disagreed with a century of Baracueli philosophy, but Mirian had passed those classes because she was good at memorization, not because she particularly cared about the arguments. She could work with his statement.

Rostal tilted his head as he looked at Mirian. “You said your soul persists, but not your body. This is also in keeping with the teachings of the Isheer. We will have to try something. There may be a way to keep what you have gained. If memories persist, then muscle can too. The First Saint said, ‘memory is but a thread in the mind.’ And what are muscles, except bundles of threads?”

“So how will that work? If I keep bindings on myself through a cycle, they stay with me when I loop. But it takes time for my body to adjust.”

Rostal shrugged. “If it’s your soul traveling, you would expect the body to take time adjusting.”

“Then does a dervish use runic bindings on their soul? I know a lot of points on the soul, but not that deal with muscle.”

Rostal contemplated that. “How to explain? I know. When you want to build muscle, do you slice open your arms and stuff meat inside, then stitch it up?”

Mirian didn’t bother answering, since it wasn’t a real question.

“You eat the food, your body builds the muscle. It builds the nerves, it strengthens the bones, and your mind adapts to them. These complexities cannot be achieved by bindings. Your body and soul know how to build themselves. You must simply prepare them, like a painter preparing a surface for a masterpiece. When we push your body to its limits, it will strengthen, and if you are using the right techniques, your soul will be more ready to accept those changes. The poorly prepared soul has… inertia.”

Here, Mirian had to ask what several words he’d just said meant, and Rostal reluctantly used the Cuelsin words before swapping back to Adamic.

“We will go through the forms. Then you will lift iron weights in other forms. Then you will perform the basic dances.”

“Dances?”

“Hmm. Does not translate well. Warrior dances. A pattern of movements that build agility and strength, and are useful in a fight. Each form has a dance associated with it.

“Once I know what you need, I will assign you the best strengthening exercises. Then I will teach you the first of the techniques. The Blooming Red Iron readies your soul to be tempered and molded. It’s dangerous, because it becomes more ready to accept any change, so you must make sure you are changing it to become stronger. Your body will impart to your soul the lesson you’ve taught it, regardless of the lesson. This is why your form and warrior dances must be perfect first.”

Mirian nodded.

Rostal sighed. “Usually, there is more ritual to this all. But you say we are short on time. So let us begin. Lunge.”

Mirian lunged.

“Good form. First parry. Mediocre. Second parry. Good. Third parry. Passable. Fourth parry. Good. Fifth parry. Good.”

One by one, he went through all the basic dueling motions. Mirian did each one as quickly and precisely as she could. She was no stranger to the exercises. Then, it was on to the iron weights. Those, she had used rarely in preparatory school, and Rostal was disgusted with her form.

“The iron should flow with your muscle. You do not jerk it around like a poorly made puppet. Strength will be the first thing we work on,” he said.

After that, it was on to the movement techniques. The ‘dances,’ were complex, and it took several days for Mirian to complete the basic ones to Rostal’s satisfaction. Each was associated with the archaic classification of elements the ancient Persamans had used to describe the world, predating even the Triarchy. There was lightning, air, fire, stone, iron, and water, each of which had an associated fighting form as well.

Each set of movements had a feeling to them that matched their element. The lightning dance had a series of rapid, direct movements. Some were very close to the dueling forms she’d trained on, and she recognized some of the movements as ones Liamar made. The air dance used slow, exaggerated movements, and was more to train strength and coordination than for fighting. The stone dance was all about keeping movements close to the center of gravity where there was more power, and using her core and legs to power her arms. That was more important for someone using longswords or two-handers, but it wasn’t wholly unimportant for rapiers.

Water was her favorite dance, because it flowed beautifully from each form to the next. It was an evasive form, helping prepare a fighter for how they might dodge a blade they couldn’t block, or reposition themselves even when in a tight corner.

The Lowfort District’s tension only grew as the riots and lawlessness engulfed the city. The communities started patrolling the district and set up several barricades to prevent foot traffic. Near the outskirts of the district, several shops burned. Ibrahim’s changed the timeline enough that the Persamans are getting persecuted by mobs now too.

On the 28th of Solem, Rostal finally agreed to teach her the first form.

“The Blooming Red Iron is like metal in the forge. It’s not a fighting form, but an exercise form. Some dervishes have used it in combat to better prepare for an enemy or situation they expect to face again. It opens you up to learn, in every sense. I will repeat once again that it is dangerous, because I’ve seen too many foolish students for my conscience to allow anything else. Then I will say it no more, for you’ve heard me.”

Preparing for a form involved a great deal of meditation, at least for a beginner. It was like how a brand new spellcaster often took nearly an hour just to bring a catalyst in contact with their aura. At first, Mirian had to reflect inward and spend time carefully adjusting the flow and patterns of her soul. She was used to doing that with bindings. It was significantly harder to push the flows and currents around without them, especially because the soul had a natural tendency to flow a certain way.

“Damn, how do auramancers do it?” Mirian muttered at one point.

“Traditionally? They use the form The Sinister Hand of Shadow. The Akanans? They are using bindings. Much cheaper, even if it does mutilate the souls of their soldiers.”

That was not the reply she’d expected, but it did explain a lot. Soul magic was still clearly suppressed and hidden in Akana Praediar since Troytin didn’t know the first thing about it, but someone there knew something about it.

The Blooming Red Iron form couldn’t be be done piece by piece. She had to move the totality of her soul in a rhythm. It was like trying to grab water.

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Rostal, for all that he was annoying and aloof, was a patient teacher. “Don’t be frustrated,” he told her one evening.

“How do you know I’m frustrated?” she asked.

He gave her a knowing look. “You aren’t very good at hiding your emotions. They pass through you like a tremor before you can suppress them.”

Mirian grunted.

“You’re learning faster than any student I’ve taught. Probably because this is not your first time controlling your soul. A child does not learn to walk immediately. A dervish does not learn perfect soul control overnight. Practice the techniques that keep everything in motion. Practice the type of motion in a small area. Soon enough, you’ll be able to combine them.”

She sighed. “What do I tell you next cycle?”

Rostal became contemplative again, eyes looking at something distant that wasn’t there. “I’ve not made demands of you, because such things are easily discarded. Persama is… a beautiful place.”

He was silent again, then he gave a sigh. Replaying some memory in his mind, Mirian guessed.

“If you have a chance, you should see the harvest festival in Alatishad. The sunset on the sea by Urubandar. Walk the oasis gardens of Mahatan. Such care has been put into the sanctuaries. The desert has this subtle beauty to it. The painted hills, the dusk hawks, the bursts of flowers hiding in the sands. By Jiandzhi, the high desert has the most beautiful sandstone spires and canyons. If you can visit it…”

“I suspect I will,” Mirian said. If only to see Ibrahim’s power base and what can be done about it.