Chapter 382: Better Ground [Bonus]

Chapter 382: Better Ground

Jin found the place where his footing had failed while he was cleaning his boots on Sunday morning.

It was a scuff on the outside of the left heel, a pale scrape through the dust and old polish. He knew exactly where it had come from.

When the second lizard had come round Glitch’s tail, he had stepped back without looking and caught his heel on a lump of quarry spoil. That was the moment Lucian had stepped in front of him.

Behind him, Glitch lay in the straw letting himself be inspected. The two scored plates on his flank had dulled to grey lines, and the small scrape above them had dried clean.

Verrick had pronounced it boring on Saturday, which from Verrick was the highest praise. Jin checked it anyway, and Glitch’s tail thumped once in complaint.

He spent the rest of Sunday doing very little, which was harder than it sounded.

The stones were in a lidded box in his drawer: ten big new ones in a cloth on one side, and the three smaller Thornwatch ones on the other, one of them dimmer than its neighbours.

He opened the drawer twice and closed it twice. Brand’s next session was Monday. His shin still pulled on the stairs.

One more day, he told himself. They’re stones. They’re not going anywhere.

On Monday at eight, Brand checked one of the new stones under her reader, comparing the result with his Association assessment.

“These will last you longer,” she said. “Your drawing rate stays the same for now. How’s the leg?”

“Better. Stairs still pull a little.”

She checked his readings and asked about his sleep before holding out her hand for the older stone.

“We’ll keep today short. Start with this one, and pay attention as it runs down. I’d like you to recognise when a stone’s exhausted without having to ask me.”

He sat on the mat with the stone in his right palm and his left hand on his knee, and found the thread.

It came easier than the first time. He caught a thin thread without having to search for it.

He drew it on the breath out, held it just below the Core, and waited for the grit to go out of it. It felt like cold water warming in the mouth. Then he let it sink. Then the next.

Ten minutes in, he caught himself wanting more.

There were ten big stones in a drawer and eight more stars between him and the top of Rank 2. At this rate, he’d have grey hair before he got there. He let the next thread come a little thicker.

It arrived coarse. He held it below the Core and waited, and it took much longer to smooth than the thin ones had.

When it finally went in, he’d spent so long holding it that he’d lost his breathing rhythm. He had to stop and find it again.

He took the next one thin. It smoothed in a few seconds, and he sank it and took another.

“You felt that,” Brand said. It wasn’t a question.

“The thick one took longer than two thin ones.”

“And it cost you your rhythm.” She tapped the tablet. “Most people try to go faster by taking more. It doesn’t work. You end up doing more cleaning, not more cultivating.”

She made another note. “Monday, Wednesday, Saturday with me this week. Same time. Thin threads. Stop at the first sign of grit you can’t clear.”

He stopped after twenty minutes, when she told him to. The old stone’s heart was very faint now.

“One more session,” Brand said, handing it back. “Then it’s done.”

Crowe spent the afternoon lesson on containment failures during live transport, most of which ended with somebody chasing something down a road. Jin listened harder than usual.

When the room emptied, he caught Lucian at the door.

“Have you got an hour?”

Lucian shifted his bag, exposing the narrow dressing on his forearm. “For what?”

“Practice.” Jin shrugged, a little too casually. “In the quarry, you covered me. I’d like to need that less.”

Lucian looked at him for a moment, then grinned.

“Yard three’s free till five,” he said. “We can start slowly.”

Yard three was a sand lane behind the stable block, with marker posts every two meters and a low wall at the far end. They agreed on rules before anyone moved.

Lucian would approach with a padded stave, beginning at a walk. They marked a casting area beside the six-meter post and a clear lane around it. Jin would use brief pulses; if either called a stop, he would release immediately and Lucian would break off.

Most repetitions would be footwork alone. Jin wanted to get better, but his first assessment with Brand had taught him how quickly repeated casts could spoil his control.

At a walk, it worked. At a jog, Jin set the patch exactly where he wanted it, and Lucian simply stepped round the far side and tapped him on the chest with the stave. It happened again, and then a third time.

“Why can you keep doing that?”

“Because you’re standing on your front foot.” Lucian put the stave down and came over.

“Watch yourself next time. When you cast, you lean in. Your whole weight goes onto the front foot, and you look at the patch like you’re trying to push it into the sand with your eyes.” He mimed it, badly and accurately.

“Then it lands, and you’re still leaning, and you need half a second to get your weight back before you can step anywhere. In the quarry, half a second was all that lizard needed.”

Jin opened his mouth to argue. Then he remembered his heel catching on the spoil.

“Fine,” he said. “What do I do?”

“Don’t throw all your weight forward. Keep enough balance to move either way.” Lucian nudged Jin’s rear boot into a more comfortable position. “And choose your next step before you cast.”

They left the skill alone for a while. Lucian approached; Jin pointed to where he would cast and stepped aside. Mostly, he still leaned. Once he corrected halfway and nearly crossed his feet, which earned him another tap.

After a water break, Jin tried one more brief pulse. It formed late because he was thinking about his feet, but when Lucian’s stave came round, he was already a step to the side.

“There,” Lucian said. “Did you feel that?”

“It was late.”

“It was late and you were somewhere else. That’s the right order to be bad at it in.”

Then it was Lucian’s turn, and Jin found out that Lucian had his own problem.

He came down the lane in a Stormstep: a short, crackling burst along the sand that covered four meters in a blink. It was fast.

Watching it from the receiving end, Jin had no time to do anything about it. But when it ended, Lucian’s weight was still going forward.

He had to take a skidding half-step to stop, and for that half-step he was looking at the sand.

“You do the same thing,” Jin said.

Lucian blinked. “What?”

“When you stop. You go past where you meant to, by about one foot, and you have to catch yourself. And while you’re catching yourself, I know exactly where you’re going to be.”

Jin pointed at the scuffed sand. “If I’d had a patch ready, I’d have put it there. Every time.”

Lucian looked at the marks in the sand for a long moment.

“That,” he said slowly, “is what my instructor keeps saying, and I keep thinking he means something more complicated.” He picked up the stave. “Again. Tell me every time.”

They worked on the stopping step at ordinary speed, adding an occasional Stormstep after a rest. Lucian managed two clean arrivals. His reaction to the less successful ones made Jin feel considerably better about being tapped with a stave.

By five, Jin’s legs were tired enough that they called an end to it. He knew where his weight had been going now, though making it stay where he wanted was another matter.

Walking back to the stables, he caught himself thinking about the Engine. For a week, it had been the last thing on his mind, with the exam and the stones and the walk home.

There was a branch off the Guard Corridor that he’d passed on the way to the Cocoon Cavern without exploring. He could send Flicker ahead, check where it led, and decide what to do once he knew.

Tomorrow night, he thought. If my legs still work.