Quinober (Month Five), Anno 6660

TWELVE-YEAR-OLD MIC LEPANTRA WAMBA ENTERED her personal dojo dressed in full aikido gear, a white top and wide-legged black bottom. She bowed at the tatami mat first and walked barefooted to the center of its traditional weave. Then she turned to the picture of Shihan Morihei Ueshiba and bowed in respect.

From the left rack, she selected a Wakizashi with a sheath decorated with ornate ceremonial script. With the katana sword in her right hand, she bowed again and then tucked it through her black obi belt, her left hand holding it slightly slanted. Focusing on her breath, she let all her thoughts vanish like clouds in a blue sky. Then she spent a few minutes in intense concentration before her left thumb pushed the oval hand-guard.

Her right hand snatched the katana with a single fluid motion into a slashing arc at neck level. Faster and faster she moved. The sword blurred, slicing the air with precise cuts, pushes, and slashes, her body exhibiting graceful power, her eyes fierce determination.

The final downward slash froze over the floor, and Mic remained fixed in place with slow power breaths, until her heartbeat returned to normal.

She returned the sword and had just selected the heaviest spear on the wall rack when Amaltea's plump frame appeared beside the sliding door. As usual when in the dojo, the vessel's intrinsic intelligence wore a kimono, her everlasting bun sporting traditional bamboo hairpins.

"Mic Wamba, you have a visitor."

For an instant Mic froze, incredulity fighting the conviction that Amaltea never joked. "An unscheduled visitor? Really?" Then it struck her, but the weight of the yari kept her from bouncing on her heels in delight. "Oh! It's a surprise visit from Rinah."

"Rinah will arrive later. This is a special visit."

"Who's that?" Furrowing her brow, Mic replaced the spear and turned to her virtual caregiver. "How come you didn't give me advanced warning?"

"Remember your language, Mic Wamba." Amaltea's voice was soothing. "You are now a Daughter-in-training."

"My apologies, Amaltea. Who is it?"

"It is Oyama-san. He is here for your Qigong lessons. He never teaches remotely. His few and select disciples have to travel to learn from him in person. He refuses to teach otherwise. He made an exception in this case and acceded to come here. It is indeed an honor."

Now Mic remembered. The possibility had been discussed a few weeks ago, after her Medolescenthood Ceremony. But she never received confirmation. Excited, she adjusted her ponytail, stepped forward, and faced the door. "Well then, keep him not waiting. Please allow him entry."

Amaltea vanished as the door slid aside and a short, middle-aged man entered. Mic bowed deeply while appraising him. She had expected a gruff and muscular mountain of a man based on his impressive reputation and legendary accomplishments. Though retired from the martial arena, he had yet to be bested in combat.

This individual did not match her expectations.

"Welcome, Oyama-san," she said, keeping her face open and relaxed. "Please accept my gratitude for your kindness in coming here. I deeply appreciate the honor."

The Sensei bowed in response. "Actually, the honor is all mine." Then he smiled. "Are you ready?"

Mic blinked, slightly disconcerted. "Aye, I am ready. May I ask, how we should proceed?"

"It's simple. I'm going to teach you and you're going to learn."

"Well, aye, I knew that. I meant, what exactly do you want me to do?"

For a while, Oyama just stood there looking at Mic. But his seemingly vacant eyes and distracted expression puzzled her. Time slowed to what felt like an hour before he said, "I see the rumors are true. You're well ahead in your path. Since time is a factor, I shall give you, in a day, several years of instruction. The rest will depend on you. I can't spend my time to visit you often, and you hardly can stay in my dojo like the rest of my students. So you'll need to assimilate as much of my teachings as possible, and practice it after I leave."

Relieved, Mic replied, "Oh, that is not a problem. Amaltea can reproduce faithfully every thing you teach me."

Oyama snorted. "I don't doubt that. But it's not Amaltea I want to teach. So you must focus and open your mind and your heart to me. Okay, now I want you to show me how you do a kata. Choose any one, from any Martial Art, and do it." He retreated to the edge of the tatami to give her room.

After some deliberation, Mic decided to perform a Goju-ryu kata. She meant to impress, and the powerful movements of Karate seemed perfect for that. She did her utmost to perform it flawlessly. After finishing, she faced Oyama, waiting for any observation, either in approval or in critique. Instead, Oyama asked her to perform another, from a different Martial Art. And then another.

After the fifth kata, Mic was sweating profusely. And still, Oyama made no comment. That was trying her patience, but she did not want to appear disrespectful. Eventually she dared to ask, "Sorry, Oyama-san... but have you not something to say about my execution?"

He smiled. "Your execution is flawless, your power is good. Why did you choose those specific styles?"

Her heart jumped at receiving such a favorable comment from the Sensei. "Because I love them and have practiced them many times."

"I understand. Nevertheless, I believe your body is better suited for styles that make better use of the attributes you already possess—namely, speed, flexibility, and agility. You are short and slim. Karate requires considerable power. However, that's for you to decide." Then he looked toward the ceiling. "Amaltea, how long till Rinah's arrival?"

"She will be here in three minutes."

He turned back to Mic. "It looks like you have time for another one."

This time she chose a Taijiquankuen. She had just ended by bowing with palm over fist when her red-headed friend entered. Mic wanted to run to give her a hug and chat for a while as they usually did the rare times they trained together. But this time, they just smiled before saluting the Sensei and each other, then waited for instructions.

Starting them with the same techniques they already knew, Oyama explained how the breath helped to move the Ki and how to use it to make their strikes more powerful and their bodies heavier, lighter or harder, to direct their Ki to heal injuries, or to become stronger. Seemingly indefatigable, he spent hours explaining method after method, motion after motion, principle followed by more principles.

The girls were fascinated. At the same time, they were concerned. How would they remember all that Oyama was trying to push into their minds?

Eventually, Oyama told them to sit cross-legged on the mat. "This exercise works better for a couple. Nonetheless, after you master the basics, you can practice alone. Hold your palms in front of your solar plexus and gather your Ki in there. Imagine a ball of Ki on your palms and make it as big as possible. I'll wait till you do that."

Mic focused on moving her energy from her torso via her arms to her hands. A glance at Rinah confirmed she, too, was very intent on doing it. After a while, Mic found her hands starting to tingle. She could perceive a growing hint of golden mist vibrate between her hands.The feeling increased and her palms grew warmer and then hot. She contracted her brow, worried that she would end up burning herself.

"Very good!" Oyama said. "Keep it there. Let's wait a little for Rinah to finish hers."

Mic fought not to lose her focus. How could he know she already gathered her energy with her hands? She had never met anyone who could see as she could. It was almost spooky.

"Now you're both ready. I want you both to throw your orb of Ki like a beach balloon. Focus on not allowing it to lose its shape, even when it's far from you. Now, throw it!"

∞

A few hours later, in a cruiser vessel orbiting the opposite side of the Earth, L'or Aug Leypa demonstrated her kata skills to Sensei Oyama before he delivered the same lessons to her and her friend Kantmiri.

The two sat facing each other on the tatami mat and pushed with their hands. L'or felt a slight resistance and then the weight of Kantmiri's invisible ball reached her.

"When you receive the orb of Ki, immediately push it back," Oyama said.

Playing the fake volleyball game did not require exertion, yet L'or found her arms growing strangely heavier.

Finally, Oyama signaled for the girls to stand up before him. "Our time together has come to an end. I must go. Wait a full 24 hours before re-starting your regular training. Then, you can begin to practice what you learned today. Before I go, either of you have a question?"

Feeling a bit timid, L'or Aug asked, "Why feel I so tired?"

"You've used a lot of Ki to perform at your best. Remember, the mind consumes a lot of energy. Always keep plenty of Ki in reserve. You may need it."

L'or restrained herself from exchanging surprised glances with Kantmiri who lifted a hand for attention. "What's the practical value of the game with the Ki orb?"

Oyama regarded her, his face serious. "It is not a game. I see you're skeptical."

He halted Kantmiri before she could protest and instructed her to stand closer to L'or. Then he raised his hands over his head as if to grab something invisible, then lowered them along his midline. When his hands reached the solar plexus, he thrust them out toward the space between the girls.

L'or gasped as something invisible grabbed her with irresistible force and threw her to the mat beside Kantmiri.

"That's one practical use," Oyama said. "Sayonara!"

Catching her breath, L'or found herself gazing at the ceiling and hearing the door slide open and close. Then she worked herself up on her elbows and stared at Kantmiri who looked as confused and disheveled as she felt.

∞

Despondent and restless after Kantmiri's departure, L'or Aug returned to the wall rack and chose a light katana. Just as she was about to start another kata, Daínnea's voice interrupted her concentration.

"L'or Aug, a visitor requests permission to enter."

L'or rolled her eyes. "Really, now. More visitors! And who might that be?" Hadn't she had enough excitement for one day?

After a moment, her vessel's intrinsic intelligence responded, "The name is Lupolk Mikhail Mikhailovich and he will be part of the Circle. He is the Sword."

She hesitated. Already? The Sword was a member of The Circle—a very select group of people. Their lifetime commitment was to protect and advise their Queen. They prepared and trained as rigorously and carefully as the Potentials. There were always two teams—each comprised the Shields, the Swords, the Advisers, and the Protector in charge of coordinating and organizing the others. One team protected the Queen during her Queenhood, the other the King during his Kinghood. They were loyal only to the Queen or King under their charge and had no other loyalty—no children, wife, father, or mother. Their absolute allegiance was to their sovereign.

"You mean, 'Future Sword' or 'Sword to be', surely," L'or said.

Daínnea's answer surprised her. "Mikhail Mikhailovich is already Sword Lupolk. He passed all the tests, standards, and even some extras the Elders devised especially for him. He has the full endorsement of the Elders Council. Now he awaits his assignment, so he is authorized to meet the Daughters beforehand. Because one of you will be his next Charge."

"Oh." She stared at the tatami mat.

"L'or Aug?"

She snapped back to the present, sliding the katana back into the sheath. "I need to freshen up and change. Could you entertain my guest for a while? Make a cozy sitting room. I want to offer him ka phe."

"Of course."

Several minutes later, L'or sat in a comfortable chair in the manifold space converted for the occasion, dressed in a simple, three-quarter sleeved ao dài shirt with embroidered edges. Opposite the solid crystal pillar serving as a table, a lean, broad-shouldered young man watched her with bright, blue eyes. He wore a cream, knee-length cassock over tight pants and high boots, a wide multipurpose belt decorating his waist—an indicator of his station.

At least, he was supposed to be young. To L'or's twelve-year-old mind, he seemed much older—and tall. But she restrained herself, glad for the opportunity to practice the custom she learned at her first community living.

French drip filters with an appropriate amount of ground Vietnamese coffee sat atop two tall glasses containing a heavy layer of condensed milk. Mikhail focused on his glass with intense curiosity as she carefully filled it with boiling water and then filled her own. They waited in silence until the last brewed drop squeezed through and fell. She removed the metal filters, placed them on their respective saucers, and picked up a long, silver coffee spoon. He followed her lead as she thoroughly stirred the liquid in her glass, then emptied it into another glass filled with pulverized ice.

Mikhail took a sip and nodded, lifting his brows. "Very tasty."

"And not too sweet?"

"No, it's refreshing. Nice!"

L'or smiled, relieved. "I am glad you find it to your liking. It is a very popular drink from the people of Vietnam."

"Aah... You've been exposed to the culture of Vietnam."

"Aye. I started my community living last year. It is fascinating how people live and celebrate their cultures, and experiencing them—participating in them—it is completely different from just studying them."

"But you only get to spend a few months with them, isn't that correct? You move from family to family... How do you feel about that? Not having a permanent family... or home?"

"Oh, but this is my home." She gestured around her, smiling. Daínnea and the vessel had always provided for her needs and wants. She never felt like her life was lacking when excursions and land-based activities with her lifelong friends of Vastra Peace Corps interspersed her weekly learning and training periods. "But I do enjoy visiting and living with the people. Aye, it is just three months at a time, but it is my duty as a Daughter to understand all peoples I will serve."

Mikhail nodded in appreciation and took another sip of his ka phe, thoughtfully regarding her. "Have you always known that you're a Daughter? If you don't mind me asking."

"Nay." L'or paused with the cold glass in front of her mouth. Although it had not been an official topic of discussion, it never stopped the Corps members from speculating which of them was a Daughter—or what it was like to be one. Especially in the dorm before bedtime. "All of us at the Corps received the same training and treatment. Until last year, when we started our specializations... that was when I started to wonder. I found out the day of my Medolescenthood Ceremony."

"Four months ago."

She nodded, pensive. The knowledge had sunken into her being with profound inevitability that day. When she met her sister and the Queen for the first time. As if... she had always known it to be so. Yet, sometimes, the feeling of disbelief still washed over her when she thought about it.

I am a Daughter.

— ∞ —

©2019 by kemorgan65

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