Livia’s PoV - Limbo - Monastery of Will’s Hand


    The third bowl Amdirlain hands me looks like it contains a lumpy fist-sized hunk of river mud. “What flavour is this?”


    “Double choc fudge,” says Amdirlain, already scooping out a spoonful.


    “Side benefit of hanging out in Limbo—you can at least eat foods you remember?” I ask teasingly, not sure what to make of the latest offering.


    My jest receives a cross-eyed look, and she starts innocently munching on this last dessert. When I tentatively try some, the flavour is robust, and I give her a dubious look. “I think I prefer the strawberry flavour.”


    “Heretic! Not liking chocolate,” laughs Amdirlain, and my bowl’s contents change to the pink colouration with almost red swirls that the second bowl had contained.


    Trailing the strange spoon—steel not wood—across the ice cream, I can’t help but smile at her good mood. “Isn’t that my choice?”


    Amdirlain pokes her tongue out before she goes back to eating hers, and I dig into the helping slowly to enjoy the taste. “Is this really what you’d do to get over heartache?”


    “Not for long, but indulging in nice food helps pick up someone’s mood. Normally I just trained for the next karate grading or got focused on work for weeks on end,” admits Amdirlain, waggling her spoon. “This is the first time I’ve indulged since coming here—ice-cream is more fun shared. What’s been happening?”


    “Eb gave me a bunch of please-don’t-talk-about subjects. She’s being very protective of you; a few of the Norse Gods wanted to talk to you, and she told them off, according to Torm,” I reply with a laugh.


    Amdirlain’s eye roll goes along fine with her happy smirk. “She’s such a big sister. Can you tell me where your adventures have taken you? Also, how did you meet Frey?”


    “I’ve met a few Freys over the years; you might need to be more specific,” I reply teasingly.


    Amdirlain gives me a pointed look at my avoidance and I have to work to hold my innocent expression. “A former prostitute who ended up gaining Monk, Wizard, and Priest.”


    “Oh, that Frey,” I say with a grin. ”Yeah, she and the others were getting strong-armed and extorted by an innkeeper. I taught them to access Ki and some Mana affinities; spent most of a winter teaching them. Some of them are still working in the trade, and others took up adventuring.”


    “Did all of them choose to become monks?”


    “After Frey asked me to teach her, the others joined in the lessons—all gained Monk—though the other classes they took varied. The Ki keeps their bodies healthy, the exercises make them more flexible,” I say, and add a wiggle of my eyebrows to get her laughing. “They make far more than they used to now, and they’re safer.”


    Amdirlain nods thoughtfully before eying me suspiciously. “What did you do to the innkeeper?”


    I still my thoughts wondering what I’d broadcast. The mantra for Diamond Mind encapsulates my thoughts and I remind myself to meditate on it while I’m here constantly. Hopefully, I didn’t leak too much information to all the Githzérai.


    “You were cheating! That’s a boring story, but he and his associates didn’t come out as well as he’d have liked,” I say, not mentioning the awfulness of the hearings that exposed their cruelties. “Will you show me around the monastery? It’s bigger than I had expected.”


    “After you finish that, we’ll go to one of the upper towers and I’ll point out the different landmarks,” Amdirlain readily offers. “It’s not like any town you’ll have seen before.”


    Her mention of the towers makes my hair stand on end. “There are towers that look like they’ve snapped in two and the top half folded on the break.”


    “Those are normally next to senior training grounds. The Masters look directly out from the floor’s balconies, reviewing those training. If classes observe an exchange of pointers, they do so from within the room.”


    “That makes even less sense,” I point out, and móeir’s expression appears confused until she suddenly nods.


    “Limbo’s gravity plays by rules according to the mind that controls it, and the Githzérai fully utilise this. If you’re not standing in the room, it looks like they should plummet straight over the balcony; that’s if the tower itself doesn’t just fall to the ground. To anyone inside the room looking out the balcony doors, it appears the people exchanging pointers are standing on a wall—not moving beneath them.”


    “That still makes no sense,” I huff, still unable to picture what she means.


    “The gravity is subjective: whichever location you’re standing in, down for you, is always towards your feet. Go towards the wall, and try to brace your foot against it,” Amdirlain says and, without waiting, hops up—bowl still in hand. Giving me a wink, she steps up on the wall and is suddenly standing on it—even her braids’ fall is directed towards it—making my head spin. Though the ice-cream shifts position, it quickly behaves like the wall is now the ground. “They set the walls up to act as a running track. It’s why towards the ceiling they’re an oval shape instead of the rectangular shape of the lower sections.”


    A glance at the corners is enough to understand, and Amdirlain skips sideways. The way she moves, I can tell she isn’t just faking it with Flight, but I give her a mock-glare that gets her smiling more. “You’re having too much fun.”


    “I’m trying to find bits of fun to go with all the hard work,” admits Amdirlain.


    Setting my bowl on the ground, I jump and find the wall provides a perfect landing spot. “Okay, this is weird, but interesting. Those twisting staircases that ran upside down, people can walk on them without issues?”


    “Absolutely… well, once you get used to them; the ones that twist in a spiral on a single flight of stairs, I think they intend to be a subtle—or not so subtle—obstacle; but it could just be the Githzérai aesthetics. Their sense of art is interesting and could intend a twisting staircase to draw the eye to something on the building’s side rather than be an obstacle.”


    Flowing from wall to floor with a single step and a twist, Amdirlain turns back. “Your choice: we can talk here, or see the sights and talk?”


    “Talk here first. I’ll tell you about recent changes in Eyrarháls,” I say and note the interest mingled with concern in her gaze. “All good stuff. The cadre has started a Wizard school with co-operation of the Jarl’s Steward to draw in paying students.”


    Raising an eyebrow, Amdirlain’s aura lost its amusement as suspicion showed in her expression. “Last I heard, the Steward was being a pain.”


    “I don’t know all the financial aspects, but it should help the town, the Daughters, and help put past issues aside,” I blurt. “Something about oversupply ruining the holding’s tax base. This way they’ll attract wealthy patrons and crafters. You know how long they were looking for one silversmith?”


    “Yeah, I didn’t realise how rare some skills were,” admits Amdirlain almost sheepishly, not that it would have changed the outcome.


    “They have two already moved into town. One of the King’s cousins signing up encouraged them to move.”


    “I’m glad things are changing for the better,” Amdirlain says, and I see the momentary tension at my mention of the Steward vanish.


    “Lots of good things to tell you on that front,” I beam, glad for her vibrant, happy aura. “Eb won’t get grumpy for me for telling you the good stuff.”


    “What’s going-”


    Móeir doesn’t even try to dodge my finger tapping her nose as she did to me when I was ten. “Good stuff only, buster.”


    Amdirlain playfully nips at my finger before wrinkling her nose at me. “How did this change in Eyrarháls come about?”


    “I wasn’t there. A pair of Sunset Elves turned up, politely asked the Steward what was going on, and got him talking to the Daughters’ leadership. They got them to come to an agreement and provided funds to start things going—paid for in Dwarven trade coins instead of the tokens Elves use for trade.”


    * * *


    Fortunately, the skywalk móeir picked doesn’t have us standing upside down while I take in the view—unlike others about the place. The monastery is even more massive when seen from above its grounds, a circle of at least twenty kilometres from the central tower. The buildings’ construction is an almost uniform tan stonework, yet none are identical even if placed to serve the same purposes, such as the Masters’ overlooks above the training grounds.


    The districts moving towards the centre are in a strange interlocking configuration. It makes the paths inward wind through multiple districts and twice as many obvious defensive points. From above, the lines distract the eye while I try to trace the pathway that I know exists.


    Even knowing it exists, I can’t trace any section far. The section I try winds between offset buildings, only to enter another and emerge again two floors up and descend in a twisting course around the building. At least, I think that is where the passage emerges—there isn’t any other exit to that building I can see. When Sarith had guided me, I hadn’t noticed the effect, but from here I can tell how much situational advantage a defender would gain. The path doesn’t give those moving inwards a long line of sight, while providing positions for defenders to shower the approaches with attacks.


    Despite the complexity of the pathways, the innermost sections around the central tower comprise just four quarters. At each quadrant’s midpoint is a similar set of buildings, low and solid in appearance—foundation stones compared to the towers in the outer districts. The exception among the low sturdy buildings is a fluted tower in each group that looks to serve as a connection point to the central tower.


    I wouldn’t have guessed at their purpose except I saw a skyway temporarily appear to let a group move from one of them. I had never thought to see a Mortal place match Nova Roma’s claim to just shy of two hundred thousand inhabitants, yet this ‘small’ monastery far exceeds it.


    “It’s a small place but they consider it home,” Amdirlain says lightly, and I glance her way.


    “Did my thoughts leak?”


    “Yeah, watch that; ‘this place is small!’ was a scream, not a leak,” teases Amdirlain. My snort and eye roll before I turn back to admire the view sets her chuckling.


    A cluster of buildings catches my eye, a change in the light making it seem like a fist, even though not one of them changes, quite unlike the skyways’ sudden growth. “Is it me, or are they set up to look like other objects from different directions?”


    “We had trick pictures at home, lots of coloured dots that if you stared at them right would present an image—the Githzérai manage that with the buildings. When you’re done gawking, I’ll show you the refectory near your room for the night, and make sure you know the way.”


    Her aura isn’t the serene calmness of the Ki anymore; instead, it swirls with emotion. With the darkness providing a frame and backdrop to present her brightness—like staring at these buildings right—momentary shifts of emotion pop out, and form almost-pictures to me.


    “Will they be serving food?” I ask-the quiet rooms we’d left behind sitting in my thoughts. “Your dormitory is deserted.”


    “It’s only the first-year enrolments that get to go home for a time,” explains Amdirlain. Putting an arm across my shoulders warmly, she leans against me and points out a building to focus on. Staring down the length of her arm, they suddenly seem to leap towards me like a spear hand strike, though nothing has changed except my attention.


    “Defensive artwork?”


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Shifting position to give me space, she smiles when I grumble at losing her one-armed pseudo-hug. Still, she doesn’t put her arm back but leans over her arms now folded on the railing, her gaze scouring across the building tops. “No idea, I asked once and Master Tenzin said: Know your mind sees what it wishes to see, and will ignore insights it isn’t prepared to accept.”


    “Will they assign me a table like they did for you?”


    “No, you’re in a building for senior novices and they don’t eat at assigned tables. It’s a matter of rolling-up, getting food, eating, and then getting out. The courses of study grow increasingly tailored to each student, so operating in groups isn’t possible for seniors, what with studies becoming specialised and a lot of solo practice being conducted..”


    “I can’t believe there are enough novices to fill this place,” I remark. “Do you know how many live here? It looks more than Nova Roma’s two hundred thousand.”


    “I’d say closer to five hundred thousand, but I’ve never asked. It’s not only several years of novices—if it were, this place would feel empty. After they graduate, many stay living here and even bring up families under the monastery’s protection. Some earn Master rank at their own pace while others make up the core of the order. There are also scholars and crafters that call the place home, even if they’re not official members of the order—as long as they follow the rules, they’re allowed to remain,” Amdirlain replies.


    A twisting staircase juts suddenly out from a building, and a shudder races up my spine at its resemblance to jagged vines.


    Amdirlain, speaking softly beside me, distracts me from following the thoughts. “Your mind leaks too much. Focus on your mantra for Diamond Mind.”


    “What-”


    “You were worried about having let it slip earlier,” Amdirlain says innocently—and of all things—fluttering her eyelids at me goofily. For whatever reason, she’s in more of a playful mood than I’ve ever seen her.


    “Fine!”


    My purposefully sulky response sets her laughing, much to the surprise of a few too-serious Githzérai that walk past us.


    * * *


    The evening meal is simple but filling, exactly like Amdirlain had told me to expect. The shifting focus among those eating around me makes it obvious they’re speaking mentally behind my back. If not for the rarity of non-Githzérai among them, I’d be sure it was solely because of the escort Eb set on me. With the way some auras shift while studying my features, it’s clear my appearance contributes to their curiosity almost as much as who I arrived with.


    Among the first served, I’m finishing up when Sarith comes in and heads for the end of the counter where a server is setting meals in a box. Her arrival drew my attention with her difference in height from those around her, but also for the bitter colours in some auras among those watching the door. Rising to my feet, I return my bowl and flow up beside Sarith—still waiting for bowls to be filled—‘accidentally’ stepping on an outstretched foot.


    “Pardon me, but perhaps you should line up properly. You wouldn’t want someone to have an accident, would you?” I ask and don’t give him time to respond. “Good evening, Sarith. Would you like a hand?”


    “Know that I can manage,” Sarith says, her gaze on the male looming behind me.


    I don’t have to turn around to know he’s glaring at my back. “I’m sure you can, but I’ve finished eating. Are you delivering that in a direction I need to go?”


    “Know the infirmary is located close to your room,” admits Sarith.


    Giving her a smile before turning towards the door, I keep it in place when I fix gazes with the glaring male. “Excuse me, but you’re in our way.”


    Sarith’s sigh sounds like it comes from the bottom of her boots, but by the time she latches the box shut, he’s properly in line. She doesn’t say a thing until we’re out the door, but the question is one I had expected at least “Why did Celestials escort you through a Gate here?”


    “Does everyone know?”


    Sarith gives me a look like she wants to say more. “Know the rumours and even images from the psi-crystals have been circulating. Know that I don’t like gossip; I seek only information on the symbol marking their clothing.”


    “Not sure what I should tell you about that. Would you first tell me why you ask?”


    “Know that one Novice in the same dormitory as your mother has that symbol on a medallion. She is training as a Priest, but won’t share the name of her Goddess,” Sarith readily admits.


    “Mother omitted to mention that to me. Well, that Goddess is better known on some worlds than others, but I don’t know all their practices,” I answer quickly and keep my mantra rolling in my mind. I’m now sure I’m going to get lots of practice with Diamond Mind, which normally only helps me hold off charm effects and harpy songs. “I’m not one of her faithful, but I’m on good terms with various of her Celestials, and one insisted on being overly protective when I announced my trip here.”


    When Sarith stops by a set of double doors, I push one open and let her step inside. Following her I find we’re in an infirmary which feels perfectly clean, something not managed in Tyr’s Temple, or even Eir’s own.


    The various occupants resting in the beds aren’t just novices but monks, judging from their ages. While I’m looking around, Sarith already had the box set in place on a dark wood table by the door. The catches’ release let the smell of the stew waft into the infirmary, but only a few of the injured look our way with much interest. Those that do seem more intrigued by me than the food.


    “Know I hadn’t expected you still to be escorting the monastery’s guest about, Sarith. Are you seeking more gossip or actual knowledge?”


    A male Githzérai rises from behind a desk causing Sarith’s skin to darken in what I assume is a blush, and I step towards him “I’m Livia, and you are?”


    He doesn’t seem bothered by my self-introduction and just tosses Sarith a grin before turning to me. “Know that I’m Arith. I help teach Sarith and I look after this infirmary much of my time.”


    “Nice to meet you, Master Arith,” I say, and he waves me off.


    “Know the only person who calls me Master Arith is Sarith, and it’s not actually my rank.”


    Nodding politely regardless, I move towards him already having noted the absence of spare beds. “Rough day for people training?”


    “Know that some days those training possess more desire to embrace risk than others,” replies Arith. I shift my concentration past the rich silver-green of his aura to better look at his focused grey gaze, and the sharp angularity of his features. Like many of the Githzérai, his yellowed skin looks sickly to me, but the vibrancy of his aura already told me otherwise.


    “I can help with recovery if there are any here just because of physical wounds,” I offer to Arith, and he hesitates before I continue. “Not blessings, though I could use those if you’ve no objection. I normally heal non-urgent injuries with Ki. Amdirlain said Master Cyrus, and those that came with him have shown it. If you’ve seen it used, you’ll know it doesn’t leave the same effect as blessings do.”


    “Know that I’ve seen a demonstration of it from Master Cyrus,” admits Arith, and nods toward a few patients resting at the far end of the infirmary with bound limbs. “Know those would take the longest healing, though the injuries aren’t life-threatening. Would my assuming you worship the Goddess of your Celestial escort be out of place?”


    “No, actually they serve a Goddess of choice, and freedom, whereas I serve a God of Justice named Tyr.”


    “Know I’m a Priest of Moradin. You don’t name their Deity, Priestess of Tyr?”


    “Well, apparently one of her priestesses is having fun by choosing not to tell others her name, so where would the justice be in removing her choice?”


    Giving him a nod, I head for the infirmary’s end and ignore Sarith’s grumbles.


    By the time Sarith finishes handing out the meals, I’m working on the sixth patient, my hand hovering above her shoulder. The sensations provided by Universal Life give me an understanding of the original injury and the healing regeneration her mind is adding to my own efforts.


    “Know that I’ve seen others use Ki to heal, and their hands glow blue. Why do yours and Amdirlain’s appear golden?” Sarith asks, standing discretely at the end of the bed having come back to watch me work.


    “The colour of my Ki surprised my Master as well. Initially, it was gold and blue, but when I gained levels in Monk it shifted to pure gold,” I explain, knowing it’s likely not the information she hoped.


    “Know that I can tell you are her daughter,” Sarith declares resignedly.


    “Why do you say that?”


    “Know you both provide information that sounds like it should be insightful, but actually reveals almost nothing,” states Sarith, with no heat in her tone.


    “Before I leave, will you provide me directions from here to my room, and to Amdirlain’s dormitory from it? Mother provided me some, but I want to double check I have them right.”


    “Know that either I or Master Arith can do that for you,” acknowledges Sarith, her gaze not having left my glowing hands. While Sarith watches I move my focus from the patient’s shoulder along the hairline fracture I can feel present in her upper arm, her psi healing technique having focused on the worst injuries yet hasn’t touched it.


    * * *


    Though my room was simple, to the point of being almost barren, it still provides a comfortable resting spot. I expect to sleep longer than usual but I wake up with the monastery still enfolded in silence. Following Sarith’s directions leads me back to the dormitory easily enough, and as I walk down the quiet corridor passing by sleeping cells, I idly wonder which of them is móeir’s. From within the training hall on the lower level, I hear sparring even before I get past the second door.


    A pair blurs about the far end of the chamber, their auras bright with focus and joy. They shift position so fast with their attacks and counters I can’t track the individual movements, just the major shifts in position. The bands of silver within Liran?’s aura are forearm wide in places compared to the silver threads within móeir’s own. Mostly, the colours I’d seen in auras about the place are much the same as in other places. It’s the silver that is something I’ve never seen in an aura before, and the way it shifts certainly seems to be related to their psionic capability.


    A happy sigh I can’t help draws Cyrus’ gaze my way, distracting him from watching móeir and Liran? spar despite my entry, not having warranted even a quick glance. “Does no one sleep around this place?”


    “It seems we four don’t seem inclined to take much rest, but I know most require sleep,” Cyrus says, motioning unnecessarily to include everyone present. “I take it that the result was a joyous reunion.”


    “Yes, she’s doing far better than I had dared hope,” I say. “Your boss really told you to follow the other monks here and help my mother?”


    “The koans he gave me after telling me to seek the Githzérai monastery the order had assisted gave that impression,” admits Cyrus. His gaze quickly returns to the blinding fast motions between the duo, but he still continues. “The wording of your questions almost sounds like a complaint, but your tone certainly doesn’t match.”


    “All the extra time to learn with individuals that can challenge her, will delight her,” I admit readily enough. “As for helping Amdirlain if you’re genuinely here to do that, I’ve certainly no complaints. She told me she wouldn’t have figured out that cycling pattern without your explanations.”


    “I provided some guidance, but it was her hard work and persistence that made it possible,” says Cyrus, and with his aura matching the modest reply, I shift my estimate of him further. “Since you know of my Third Eye ability, might I know what it is you see with your unusual eyes? Aside from them, you look human. Is that the case?”


    The question is calm curiosity, and I stop in the middle of saying no to consider the polite tone he used. His relaxed attitude doesn’t deserve a smack on the nose, unlike his earlier conduct. “I was born human. My eyes result from an unusual life event, you could say. Now I constantly see auras, and though I look past them as best I can, they’re always there.”


    “Most interesting. It sounds like your Third Eye might end up opening,” offers Cyrus, and he continues when I don’t ask about it. “How long have you had that ability?“


    Though his tone isn’t pushy this time, I don’t even hesitate in giving a glib reply, “Oh, a few years now.”


    “Not even a clue? I behaved and didn’t enquire about the life event,” teases Cyrus lightly and gives me sad puppy-dog eyes.


    His difference from Master Farhad’s serious demeanour has me snorting in disbelief, and he just regards me curiously.


    “Aren’t you an enlightened Immortal?” I ask, puzzled by the oddity of his behaviour.


    “I am. Enough that I know enjoying life brings light into one’s Soul,” replies Cyrus, without a sense of deceit, his relaxed mellowness so different to Master Farhad’s own. The thought makes me frown in consideration, and I gesture for him to hold up.


    “Shall we start again?” I ask and explain when he gives me a puzzled look. “I believe my loyalty to Master Farhad might have made me annoyed with you yesterday, and that isn’t just, so might we start afresh?”


    Cyrus looks thoughtful and turns towards me, his attention entirely off the two playing ahead of us. “Why do you feel the loyalty to your teacher tainted your attitude?”


    “He has spoken of your order over the years. Every time he did, I saw the regret and sorrow in his aura,” I explain, and Cyrus motions me to continue. “Mother said he was mistaken about why they sent him away, but that didn’t invalidate the pain he suffered from the misunderstanding.”


    “You hold the order responsible for his pain?” asks Cyrus and stops at my nod. “Perhaps in part, but I lack the knowledge to speak for us as I wasn’t involved in the incident. It took time and Amdirlain providing additional details even to recall what I’d heard.”


    “And what had you heard?”


    “Your Master Farhad had achieved a poor state of enlightenment and challenged one greater than himself for a position and knowledge he believed he had a right to. He failed, and they placed him in a role where his understanding wouldn’t harm others’ progress. They didn’t expect him to gain the Immortal Spirit Power your mother told me he possesses,” replies Cyrus, without a flicker of doubt or deceit in his aura. “Since I spoke to your mother on the matter, I’ve confirmed the order’s records show this. Yet I don’t know what was told to him or how he understood it.”


    “Would you do me the honour of getting to know each other?” I ask.


    The beaming smile he gives me is a clear answer, but his reply almost sets me laughing. “We can spar since your mother has a playmate at present.”


    When I cough at his terminology, his smile broadens at the suspicious look I send his way. “Has she been influencing your language?”


    “She has some interesting turns of phrase,” Cyrus readily admits. Though I can see his aura shifting focus, there is no apparent intention to attack.


    “You have no intention of attacking, and I like to see how opponents will start. We could be here a while,” I comment, and his smile causes pieces to fall into place. “You want to see how desperate I’ll get to score a touch.”


    Rolling my eyes in disappointment, I step back and sit to watch the swirling colours of the pair that get to have fun.


    “Not going to try?” asks Cyrus, and I sense his probing intent.


    “Correction. I did, and your aura told me much.”


    Cyrus looks down at me, unbothered that my focus is no longer on him. “What did it tell you then?”


    “You’ve let yourself become too far removed from everything, Master Cyrus. When was the last time you allowed something to touch you physically or emotionally that had the slightest risk of bringing pain?” I ask, focusing on his aura’s shifting colours so bright they silhouette his body. “How can you find a greater understanding of your Soul, when the world’s trials no longer make an impression?”


    “Why do you ask that?”


    “Enjoying life adds polish and brightness to our existence. Yet, while a weapon might look perfectly forged, only in the test of battle will its flaws become apparent.”


    “The Soul is not a weapon,” Cyrus corrects and leaves himself open for my counter.


    “I grew up in a warrior culture, but wisdom comes in many forms. If you aren’t open to finding it, you are no longer improving.”


    Cyrus’s expression doesn’t shift, but instead of remaining standing, he’s suddenly kneeling beside me in móeir’s odd style, proving my belief about his speed. “That’s three touches for you.”


    “Men!” I huff and ignore his chuckling, aware I merely matched his expectations. After a time, I feel the weight of his gaze on me and look his way.


    “Will you be seeing your Master Farhad after you leave here?” He asks.


    Wondering why he needs to make conversation, I nod and readily answer. “I plan to see him and his wife before working on progressing my classes.”


    “Then, with your permission, I will accompany you,” Cyrus says, and at my mental yelp of surprise, both Amdirlain and Liran? halt. “I should assess the situation with him for myself. The Emperor’s koans always have multiple meanings only through the journey do we find the truth in them and in ourselves.”