LI: Live With A Whip

"You're a lot better at this than you should be," Kiren says as I lash at his shield once more. He holds his hand up, palm forward, emitting a misty bubble of translucence around his front body like an aegis. Whenever my whip strikes at it, the mist flashes white for a moment, before the rope itself is reflected off. But it weakens as I lash the same general area, over and over.

"Thank you?" I respond, not sure whether to take Kiren's comment as a compliment or a polite jab. "But why do you say that?" 

"Well, you have a weirdly good sense of how to lash. Especially for a beginner." 

Huh. I guess it comes from all the cloud-lassoing and Umbrahorn riding that I've done. 

"Yet, I feel as though I'm missing something," I say, as I bring the whip back and, like a bat, I cut horizontally at the shield with all the strength I can muster. My body twists and burns with the effort, sweat wringing off my head, dripping into my eyes, down to the handle itself. 

The arc is slow, long. There's no real power to it. It slams limply against the shield. 

Despite putting all of my power into it, this blow is somehow my weakest. 

I sigh. 

The sun beams down bright through the canopy, and cicadas harmonize on this musty day. The air is dry, my tongue flaking. Saegor and Zyla have gone to filter water through magickal means, leaving Kiren and me to practice at the camp. 

Kiren dispels the shield with one swipe of his hand and comes up next to me, holding his arm out. I hand him the whip and he rubs his finger along the diamond-patterned leather handle. 

"You feel as if the more you try, the less impact you have, correct?" he asks. 

I nod. 

"There's some nuance you're missing here. It takes time to learn," he says. "I could just explain it to you, but it's better if you see it first." 

Then, with a shrug, he points to a far off tree. Bending to his knees and centering himself, he takes a long, deep breath, before fluidly engaging the muscles of his shoulder, his arm, his wrist, transferring his momentum through them to the whip itself, letting it fly at the gangly oak. Just before the whip lashes against the bark, he twists his wrist and ever-so-slightly, flicks the handle up. The motion travels through the rope like a wave and, when the tree is lashed, it is as if thunderclap has sounded off. A satisfying CRACK echoes through the briars and sends a plume of blue birds squawking into the sky, their peace disturbed. 

I stare in awe at Kiren. That is what I need: that cracking blow. 

"How did you —" I pause, trying to search for what he specifically did, technique-wise. "How did you transfer your momentum like that?"

Kiren rolls his shoulder and tosses me the whip handle. "I'm glad you noticed that—you're right. It's not about power. No real weapon is solely about power." 

I'm about to protest this, thinking of hammers, but then I shut my mouth. Even those unwieldy stone-blocks probably have some nuance to their usage. 

"So, there's a subtlety to it I'm missing," I conclude. 

He nods. "I think of it as the harmony of three things: your shoulder, your arm, and your wrist." He flexes each part of his body for emphasis. I roll my eyes at the mock bravado. He chuckles as he strains to flex the wrist in particular, his veins popping blue as he makes a fist. Then, he exhales. "Well, you get the idea." 

"Shoulder first then?" 

"Shoulder first. It's a wave of motion: you engage your shoulder, then your arm, then, most importantly, right before the whip lashes against the target, flick the wrist. That will give you the cracking motion." 

I give it a shot, trying to lash the same tree he lashed. I feel an immediate difference when partitioning the movement like Kiren said, taking it in steps rather than one fluid arc. It seems counterintuitive to most combat rules I know — all other weapons and arts require flow, whereas this whip seems so deliberately piece-meal. But, perhaps that is merely just a sign of my experience. 

I get a better snap against the tree, but not the same crack that Kiren had. 

He pats my shoulder. "Better. Much better, actually. But, it takes time." 

"Right," I mutter, somewhat disheartened. I don't know why I expected it to be easy. I suppose nothing ever really is. 

"You'd best be careful giving him compliments Kiren," Umbrahorn says as he emerges from the ground next to us. "He's got too big of an ego already. Besides, I think Raiten is more used to brutalistic training, in the vein of young women sitting on his back and calling him a mutt." 

"Uh…" Kiren begins, before I nudge him aside gently. 

"Umbrahorn?" 

"Why yes Raiten?" 

I haul the whip towards him, its tip slicing through the air like a whistling sword. The shark gives a yelp and dives underground. 

I realize my mistake when the whip comes 'round and stings my back. 

Ironically, this is the shot that finally makes a cracking sound.

I wince and hop on one leg, leaning forward, all while Umbrahorn's laughter echoes in my ears. 

Even Kiren starts laughing, to my surprise. 

"I'm going to kill that damn hammerhead," I hiss. 

"What was that Raiten?! Couldn't hear you over the sound of your self-flagellation!" Umbrahorn hoots. 

"Come here you little shit!" With that, I spend the rest of the day chasing Umbrahorn around with the whip, trying to strike at him before he dives beneath the ground. 

It becomes a game between the shark and I. And we go at it for surprisingly long, into the dark hours of night. 

Not only does it make for good practice, but it also means I finally get an excuse to wipe that stupid, perpetual smugness from Umbrahorn's maw. He's gotten too raucous, too confident over the past few days. All because he took down a few crocodiles. 

I don't realize Saegor and Zyla are back until I hear their chuckling from behind, turn to see their shaking heads, waterskins bloated in their hands. 

When I finally do manage to score a lash on Umbrahorn, he stops running and the two of us get into another brawl. 

The mancers begin rolling with laughter at this. 

Even I can't help but smile as I headbutt the idiotic spirit. 

Things are finally looking up. 

For the first time in this dreadful journey, our group of mancers feels like an actual team. 

…

"You've lightened up a lot over the past few days," Zyla tells me by the fire. Saegor is humming to himself while roasting some nasty looking fish, all while Kiren makes defensive wards around our camp for the night. "Why is that?" 

I give her a shrug. "It's hard to be angry all the time." 

"But you seem like one of those people who could pull that off." 

I chuckle. "True." There's a lot more I could say, a lot more I want to say, but I don't really have the words for it. I can't articulate this strange sense of… ease—this relief that has eclipsed all else. Ever since my encounter with the witch, my release of nightmares, I've had no dreams of my particular monsters. It's as if I've conquered them. If only, I begin to think. After all, Masaru still persists. 

Yet, even he is no longer my sole focus. Other things cloud my judgement, war for space in my subconscious—Dandy, Hui, and Sorina namely. My nightmares of monsters have been replaced with nightmares of myself, of how I acted towards both Sorina and Hui in the past. 

It's not a pleasant image. 

Yet, even all of that bubbling conflict cannot keep me down. We are making electric progress through the briars. Just yesterday, we faced three more turned and disposed of them without injury. 

And I can't deny the effect Kiren has had on me. 

Despite Saegor's perverted darkness and Zyla's ever-prevalent suspicion, he has treated me kindly. He never expects anything in return for it either. I almost admire him for it—he's certainly a stronger man than me. 

I stare at his back now as he works the shields. 

"Become fast friends with Kiren, eh?" Zyla asks. 

"He's a good man, you're brother." 

She scoffs. "Too good for you." 

"Probably," I answer. I won't rise to her bait. It's as if she wants me to snap, to show any sign of malfeasance. She's been doing that a lot recently. 

When she stares a hole at me now, I meet her gaze with a level head. "I know I was an ass," I begin carefully. "And I'm sorry. He didn't deserve that." 

She doesn't react to this, making me think that she's about to berate me regardless. But then, surprisingly, she sighs and shakes her head. 

"I don't know what he sees in you. But, I don't think you're taking advantage of him. Not anymore at least." 

I frown. "He was the one who offered to teach me." 

"My brother is a dunce at times. Wants everyone to like him." 

"Why is he a mancer then?" I ask. "He's a bit too good of a person for this occupation." 

Now it's her turn to shrug. "What can I say? We've both had a natural aptitude for magicks and killing. And, wherever Saegor goes, we'll follow." 

Saegor, Saegor, Saegor. It always comes back to him. I know next to nothing about this one-eyed mancer, yet it seems both my enemies and allies love or hate him to some capacity. 

I think of what the witch said about him. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, but what in all the hells is it about Saegor that you both like?" I ask. 

"You wouldn't understand." 

"Humor me and pretend that I would." 

"Sorry, but no," Zyla says, standing up now. "Unlike Kiren, I don't care to befriend you Raiten. And I don't want to." 

She's frustrating me now. I can understand holding contempt for me for the way I treated Kiren at the beginning of our journey, but this strange hatred goes beyond that. 

"What have I done to you?" I ask, trying to remember any sort of slight or way I could have offended her. 

"Nothing. I just know men like you." 

I grab her wrist before she goes. "What does that even mean?" 

She's getting angry now. It's the way her voice pitches that startles me: "Men like you, they drag everyone else down with them in their stupid pettiness. Their selfishness." 

She twists her wrist away and stomps off to the opposite side of the fire. 

I watch her go and furrow my eyebrows. There's something that I'm missing with her; something very crucial. I just can't tell what. 

My gaze eventually meets Saegor's, who seemed to have noticed our reaction. 

He just shakes his head and gives me a sympathetic smile. 

"Don't mind my sister Raiten," Kiren says, slapping my back as he sits next to me. "She's a bit antsy on missions like this." 

"'A bit,'" I snort. "She hates me." 

"She hates everybody," he says dismissively. 

"But she really hates me." 

"Well, then maybe you're special. That's a good thing." 

I sigh. There's no raising concerns with Kiren. He finds a way to spin everything positively. 

"No use dwelling on it too much. Get some rest," Kiren says. "After all, tomorrow, we finally delve into the unknown." 

Right. I think, my mood turning grimmer. We will soon be past the marshes, venturing into the areas that Catolica's scouts never came back from. 

The areas where the plagued are probably most dense.

Not for the first time, I think of the horrifying appendages that protrude from the turned children—the black worms that wriggle from their noses, that spread their rot, their disease. 

Hui was right. Thraevirula is a child-murdering bitch. 

After I kill Masaru, I'll be sure to pay her in kind. That dark thought makes me oddly giddy. 

I hope my nightmares still haunt her. 

Because if they don't, I'll just have to revisit and remind her of their horrors—personally.