Asheron's Fall: The Power of Ten, Book Six

The swordmaster was delighted to receive honored guests, and there was nothing for it but to serve us tea.

Unsurprisingly, given his reputation, he had been a simple man in life, wandering about and engaged in a personal meditation upon the sword, the philosophy of Joji, and putting his talents to use where they were most needed.

He had even been the Master of a faction of noble-minded adventurers called the Celestial Hand before the Fall, dedicated to helping protect the people of Dereth from the overly ambitious among their own kind, as well as the machinations of other races seeking to exploit us.

Perhaps it was that very duty, when all the dire predictions and worst nightmares of humanity came true, that had kept him in his cursed state, and perhaps drawn so many of the dead to his cause who might otherwise have passed on.

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“Master Ben has lost his sense of smell.”

The slow pouring of the tea paused as the skeletal swordmaster acknowledged Princess Kristie’s words. His execution of the Sho tea ceremony was sublime and precise, a master at the craft, and he handled the unexpected words with unruffled grace and calm.

The Mick looked ready to explode at her comment, however.

“Is there something wrong?” Master Ben asked calmly.

“You are a master of the tea ceremony. There is no way under heaven you would serve this tea, were you capable of smelling it.”

Master Ben paused significantly, and then slowly set down the ornate porcelain tea kettle he had been pouring from, before sitting back with a hollow sigh. The Mick looked confused and grateful at the same time.

“It is as you say. My unliving students find nothing wrong with it, but they have little sense of taste or heat. The few living have been too polite to say otherwise, knowing how much I loved fine tea.”

Kristie reached out to take up one of the poured cups, raising it to her lips to take a sip.

Without any ceremony, she lowered it, and flicked it out behind her. All eyes followed the liquid as it arced impossibly through the window and outside, vanishing from view.

“Very polite students,” she confirmed, setting the spotlessly clean cup back down. “Temperature, consistency, and the leaves are all horribly off-balance, Master Ben. Your sense of taste and ability to discern temperatures have also suffered, I see.”

Another hollow sigh escaped him. “It is not so much they have been lost, but they have… changed, Your Highness,” he explained sadly. “I am… incapable of discerning what used to be so obvious. I must confess that I can both smell and taste little of the tea that I make now, and that which seems palatable to my few living guests is now repugnant to my new tastes.”

Kristie took that at face value. “Then we must teach you how to drink again. Lord Mick, you have some tea among your supplies, and I saw at least three different flavors among your scouts. Could you round those up for us?”

He arched an eyebrow, and was about to say something when she turned to me. “Ryin, there’s a sample pot for you. We’re going to need four more, with cups to go with them.”

“With Master Ben’s permission?” I asked, and the skeletal swordmaster inclined his bony head. The teapot wafted over to my hand, and I rose and headed outside, followed hastily by the Mick.

“Oi, lass, is she playing at something?” the Mick asked carefully once we were outside. “Mocking the old Master is not very respectful.”

“She is displaying grace, Lord Mick.” I unceremoniously dumped the tea off to the side on some rocks. “And, I think, going to be administering a profound lesson you will find most helpful.” I smiled at him. “Remember she has experience with Sho teachers. She is not going to insult him, she is going to reward him for his nobility. I need do my part as well.”

He thought that over, and hurried off to the building nearby where his scouts were bunking. They were dozing, but he’d soon have them digging out their private supplies for our use.

I flew over to where the vivic fires were still burning in the Deathstone Pit, and reached out with Shaping Stone. It wasn’t fired clay, but emulating such with stone wasn’t difficult. I flicked up a Disk, and the purified white rock flowed and settled into new forms and positions. Soon I had four new tea sets available for use.

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My hand glowed red, and soon the conjured water in the pot was bubbling. I passed it over to Kris, who took it with deft aplomb, uncaring of the heat, and she poured out four cups with carefully spooned tea in each for us.

“Masters, draw and cross your swords,” she stated calmly, lifting up one of the cups. Quaver slid out behind her, and extended over the tea tray.

“Lass, it could be construed an insult to ask a sword to be drawn without drawing blood,” the Mick warned her, with an uncomfortable glance at Master Ben Ten.

“His blade is going to drink the blood of the land,” she replied serenely. “As is yours.” She held forth Quaver without effort. “Cross our blades, gentlemen.”

Bunita finally came out, Master Ben not missing the way it Morphed in size as it touched hers, forming two legs of a triangle. With a nod, he cross-drew his own blade and completed the triangle, his katana resting atop Quaver, and underneath Bunita.

“The unliving energies of the dead are not the same as the living, but one thing has remained pure and true, Master Ben, and that is your Blade. The ki upon it is strong… you have started on the path, but without a teacher, you have stumbled along. Yet the foundation is strong and pure, and it rings along your Blade in a technique we call a Profound Weapon.”

The Mick glanced at his master sharply, who looked back, clearly feeling something on the Mick’s Weapon he had not before.

“Ki is an extension of the soul, and you both have strong ki.” She lifted the cup, bent forward, and very deftly, poured one drop each onto each of their Swords.

“Ki like water.” The very gentle swirls of Lost Light around her Sword broke apart into ripples and waves, running up and down her Blade, and both men muffled little gasps as they felt it against their own. “Feel the water of the tea, Masters. Too acidic, too bitter, if not overmuch.”

“This...” Master Ben said excitedly, leaning forwards, while I watched the lights of the Runes on his own Blade begin to ripple and flow in time with hers… and the Mick’s did likewise.

“Ki like wind.” The tea steamed in her grasp, and this time, she waved the cup under the triangle of Swords, the Light on Quaver curling into whorls and wisps, a change rapidly reflected by both Swords touching it. “Imbalanced, is it not? Astringent, pungent, not carrying the headiness and depth of truly fine tea…

“Ki like fire.” The light flickered and ran into active tongues of phantasmal flames, random and racing about as if alive, if subtle and not outstanding, like a fine coating over the steel of the Weapons. Fascinated, I watched both men make the same adjustments in feel and flavor with her there providing exactly the guideline both needed to do so. “This blend of tea needs to be served even hotter to break down the acids. You can feel the temperature caress your ki.” One drop on each Sword, plop, plop, plop, not spilling, not even bubbling, simply hissing there on each rock-steady Blade as it went to steam directly.

“And lastly, ki as moon. Balance.” A gentle, uniform radiance, somehow underscored with shadows within the light, danced over Quaver, and the other two Swords followed with amazing ease and speed.

Yeah, both of those men were Twenties, no doubt about it.

“You can tell this is not a drink in balance, and in which direction it needs to be balanced.” Drop, drop, drop. This time, the tea spread out in an impossibly thin film, slicker than any oil, until it vanished into the subtle light on all three Swords.

“This is extraordinary,” whispered Master Ben. “You are a true master of the sword, Your Highness.”

“No, Master Ben. I am a student,” she corrected him mildly. “You and Lord Mick just imitated ki structures that normally take students a year to achieve, each, and you did it in seconds, with nothing but feel and harmony with your swords to guide you.

“It did take me a few months to learn each of those. I think that readily displays who is the student and masters here, does it not?”

The men looked at one another, unable to argue that point. “But I know of no such techniques myself!” the dead swordmaster protested humbly.

I didn’t see the ki pulse, but all three of them pulled their Weapons back at the same moment, and she set the cup down. “If someone wields a club and you wield a katana, are you a great master because you have the finer weapon?

“If someone wields a katana with Biting Strike, and yours is a Crushing Blow Slash Rending thrice-enchanted masterpiece of smithwork, does that make you a great master?

“I am merely using techniques you have no knowledge of, training you have not been exposed to, and thus you cannot emulate it.

“Your foundation is as solid as a rock, and only your lack of a teacher means you are not eclipsing me, Master Ben. I am not so foolish as to proclaim that because I know things you do not that I am a master.”

“Aye, but that does qualify for us t’ be calling you ‘Teacher’,” the very amused Mick interjected.

“You will both surpass me in short order, but that is what a proper teacher does,” she sniffed right back at him, before picking up the tea cup one more time, motioning the Mick to do the same, and taking a drink. She made a face, one soon reflected by the Mick.

“Rogar’s brew is an acquired taste,” he said diplomatically.

“I note you’re not saying where he acquired it,” she fobbed right back. She tinked the pot with her finger, and I retrieved it and the cups. The next batch of tea was set before her, and I began heating another pot of water. She sniffed the tea experimentally. “Floral accents.”

“Gillifor’s. He takes his light, just to clear his head.”

“Well, then, let us have our Swords drink, and measure it accordingly.”

Two straight Blades and one curved reached out precisely, locked together, and Princess Kristie poured again.

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“Miss Ryin? The cup seems to be done.”

“Thank you, Selena.” I waved the black cup over from her hands to my own, the faint gleam of silver Rune-lines upon it, and she backed out of the room respectfully.

The Mick’s blend had received general approval, if not raves. He promptly raved and complained about lack of good leaves and cultivation like a proper tea snob should, and there was nothing to do for it with proper materials lacking.

Princess Kristie poured out a cup for Master Ben, held it out for him, and he took it from her hand, pausing as she clasped his skeletal fingers.

There was a swirl of darkness, and the tea within the cup went black.

Master Ben brought it back, looking at it strangely, and then slowly and carefully, despite having no tongue nor lips nor anything, tilted it back to sip.

Black rivulets ran up his face and down his jaw before dissipating, none dripping through, despite the lack of an oral cavity to catch them.

“Ah. Ahhhh...” he whispered. “This, I can taste...” He took another sip, and looked over to the Mick. “This is the Kryst Jungle Lily blend, but the leaves have not aged enough...”