(THOB) Chapter 45: Hallowed Step (Patreon)

Ezril and his brothers found themselves under the command of Father Fravis the next day. The hall he led them to was different from the one they had practiced in their years in the seminary. This hall was grand and open with more air than they thought a building capable of accepting. The ground was level with the pick of dust at the slightest step.

As they walked, their feet raised dust. But Father Fravis seemed to glide above the sand, each step was soundless, the one to succeed each was even quieter than the one before. It was a feat he seemed to perform without thought.

“This,” he told them, frowning at the dust conjured around their feet, “is where I will teach you the most basic move of the Hallowed: The Hallowed Step.”

Under his instruction they stripped free of their boots, settling on the sand with bare feet. The sand was not sharp; unlike what they were used to. It was warm to the touch, and reminded Ezril of wood dust. Unfortunately, their feet proved to summon more dust than even their boots.

For the entirety of the day Fravis had them stand in place, spread out from each other at a distance so that one would have to take at least ten full strides to get to the next.

For the entirety of a month they did naught more than stand in the sand from dawn till dusk. For the first time Father Fravis employed the use of the cane, making them appreciate the gravity of their lessons. Any of them caught as much as shuffling in place bore the brunt of it.

“The Hallowed have a connection with Vayla that normal men do not,” he told them. “You must first be unmoving, like the trees and the mountains, for these are a part of her purest forms.”

And stand they did, in a stillness that ached their bones more than their muscles. Rigid in their posture at an attention so closed in, it was a wonder how none of them simply tipped over and fell. The only freedom allowed them was the occasional relief of the practice of the blade with Father Talod, and Ezril’s practice of the bow with Sister Ellenel. Even the free time afforded them on Frostiff was subjected to the torture of Fravis’ lesson.

It was in its third week when Ezril came to an understanding of what Fravis sought to teach them. It was reminiscent of the old trick he’d used as a child. A trick he’d nearly forgotten.

Sweat marred Ezril’s body where he stood, as it always did. His legs long accustomed to the training were free of the bouts of wobbled shakes they were prone to exhibiting by the tenth hour. He felt the cool evening breeze waft over his body. It was like a gentle caress, and he bathed in it.

Next came the sense of oneness, like his hands and legs were not merely part of a whole working together in harmony, but a single entity. His emotions swirled within him: rage, sadness, hate, love, anger, fury, joy, happiness. They seemed to exist within each other, all at once. His world was one of information. But sight seemed to hinder him, and so Ezril closed his eyes against the distraction of the bodies around him.

He felt it now, the part of his mind he dared not venture. Its recesses where all that consumed men festered in the dark. He would not probe it. He would not seek to understand it. He knew very well the price that would come with it. But he knew he would have to face it one day. Like the blades in the throne, his mind whistled, drawing him back to his memory from the test of awareness. Even pain proved itself an emotion, a piece of information for his body to process. And it felt all too familiar.

“VI ANTARI!”

Ezril’s eyes were jarred open. His vision blurred. He adjusted it to the world as it spun around him. But he remained firm in his place, rigid and unmoving, like a mountain.

Someone called his name a second time. This time it was a normal call, one that proved irrelevant to him as his surroundings sought to arrange itself around him. It failed. He was losing his grip on whatever it was that had held his mind. His body remained rigid. But his mind wavered. The world tipped to the side and the ground came up to meet him.

When his vision focused, he gazed at the ceiling of the hall far above him.

“So nice of you to rejoin us, Antari.” Fravis sounded mildly pleased. “Next time do not get so lost in my teachings.”

His mates chuckled at the words but Fravis’ expression spoke neither of humor nor scorn. Ezril saw only advice. His brothers did not know. But he and the priest did.

When the next month came Father Fravis’ lessons took a turn in the opposite direction. He had them run the space of the hall in full sprint. They ran till they could run no more, and after a few minutes of rest and a measure of regained energy, they ran again. Each day Fravis pushed them beyond their limits, requiring they attain speeds faster than the day before.

“Run with your toes!” he bellowed when Olbi proved lacking. “Your body is not a conglomeration of parts; it is a single whole. If it runs as one you will beat your limit with every step.”

The third month rolled in and Fravis began regarding them with an expression that said they were not perfect but they would have to do.

This morning, like every other morning, they trooped into the hall, and after taking off their boots they stood in silence, awaiting his instruction.

“Today, I will show you the Hallowed step,” he told them. “Then you will learn it over the next six months when you will take the seminary’s test of the Hallowed.”

Then he stood without ceremony, his hands clasped behind him leisurely. It was the form of a man on a stroll, a man standing to appreciate the world around him. Unlike them, he wore his boots. He raised his leg from the sand in a single step. And it never came down. At least not where they expected it to.

Fravis blurred.

This was different from the blur that came with the speed of his attacks. Though it was speed, he seemed to disappear. He appeared a distance from them, distorted again, and appeared farther away. Fravis continued to move in his distortion, distorting and appearing until he stood before them again.

“That is a Hallowed step.” He sounded unimpressed by what he had done, but Ezril and his brothers had all watched in awe. They still watched in awe. Takan’s mouth was left open.

Fravis had covered a distance of greater than thirty strides, back and forth, in mere heartbeats. Counting how many times he saw the man flutter, Ezril counted four steps.

“This is what you will learn in the six months you have dedicated to me.” Fravis took a sit on the sand. “You must prove capable of covering that distance before the test.” And with the same of level of disinterested, he added: “Begin.”

What followed was a pitiful attempt from all of them. They attempted the step in the manner Father Fravis had begun, only to find themselves with a simple step, one covering an even shorter distance than the one they used every day.

They held the lessons with three other towers, slaving away each day at the lesson of the Hallowed step.

“Do not try to run,” Fravis lectured. “It is like the dash you already use in combat, but more. Think steps. Imagine a number of strides required to cross a distance. Then compress it all into one compact step.”

Olufemi was the first to perform it accurately. As they continued their failed attempts amidst beads of sweat, with aches in their legs, and cramps in their toes from bearing all their weight on it, Olufemi stepped through the air. He blurred briefly, as Father Fravis had done. But his speed did not render him distorted to the eyes. And as he moved he amassed a cloud of dust so large it blanketed his presence.

When he came to a stop he had covered three strides, soliciting cheers from the brothers, and, Ezril noted, a skeptical frown from Father Fravis.

“Well done, Olufemi,” Fravis complimented. “Now the next step is to step without raising any dust.”

The achievement set to spur them on. However, the next success came a month later. By the third month into its lessons they all proved capable of the Hallowed steps even if it was poor. The brothers struggled to achieve the feat required, and Olufemi proved his ability beyond their reach, achieving fifteen strides over their struggling nine and occasional ten. Olufemi achieved the mark a few weeks after, often soaring passed it in a manner that told Ezril he did it for fun. Each step rose but a speck of dust. The hall, however, bore a solemnity each time they stepped into it.

It was a week from the test and Ezril had still not taken his first step.