《Strike Me》 Tea Party Old man Jino looks up at the sky and decides, not for the first time, that today is the day he makes it. He gathers a small sack of food for the trip, and slides open his door. The air is cool, and a light breeze carries the scent of the herbs growing wild around his home. He takes a step outside, then doubles back to grab a large ornate box from his kitchen. He strides confidently out into the forest, and up the slope. He soon passes Lyle Woodcutter, who stops his work and walks the other way towards the town. Jino picks up the pace, scaling the wooded slope faster than a man one fifth his age, and within the hour he has reached his chosen spot. It isn''t the tallest peak on the row of hills overlooking the town, but it is the one with the clearest view of the sky. His apprentice used to call it ''Jino''s Cap'', until the old man grew his hair back. He sets those thoughts aside, and instead pulls out the box, opening it to reveal a tea set. It is his most prized possession, from his own Master decades and decades ago. The cups are fine porcelain, webbed with cracks that have been repaired many times. The teapot is silver, to purify the tea and draw out excess heat. And finally, the tray it all rests on is a hideous, gaudy, ugly flat disc of gold. Back in the old day, it might have been worth something. People used to think gold could carry a current of magic, or spirit. But nowadays, nobody bothers. A day spent focusing on the spirit is a day not spent gathering food or wood or fixing something. The townsfolk think he is a loon, but he provides herbs and entertains children so they tolerate him. Banishing idle thoughts, he continues preparing. From his bag, he brings out dry biscuits and herbs. He lays the biscuits on either end of the golden tray, as though setting it for himself and a guest. Likewise he sets out two empty cups. He drops the herbs into the bone dry teapot in the center of the tray. "Now, for the difficult part," he murmers, and extends his hands to the sky. He moves his wrinkled hands as though kneading dough, trailblazing a Path to water. --- "The old man is at it again," says Lyle as he enters the bar. Sliver Smith looks up from his untouched pitcher of beer. He glances out the door at the suddenly stormy sky. "You could have warned me sooner," he huffs, but thanks the man and rushes out. Lyle takes his seat and his beer with a self satisfied smirk. Glad to be sober, Sliver hurries in the direction of the gathering clouds. A mile out, he can feel the gathering energy. It thickens the air, slowing his breathing and his pace. His training with the old man isn''t for nothing, though. In this environment, his Path becomes clear. He hears it in his own heartbeat, the sound of metal coming into focus as he brings his footsteps into the rhythm. Every time his feet strike the ground, he folds the energy into his muscles just a little more, lengthens his stride another fingers-width. He hasn''t felt his Path this clearly before, and is uncertain whether he''s better at it, or if the old man is about to actually breach the Veil. He doesn''t know what he wants the answer to be. The old man is his benefactor, almost like his father. He can''t dwell on such things without falling off the Path, so he simply runs. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. --- Jino''s Path takes the form of a snake of cloud spiralling from the sky above all the way to his hands. He caresses it and directs it to his teapot. With some effort, he wrings water from it to steadily fill the pot. There is a clanging echoing up the hillside, and he knows his apprentice will arrive shortly. He smiles. The timing is immaculate. With the teapot full, he holds the head of the snake to his forehead. His awareness traces down the Path, all the way to its tail. The Veil is so close, that silent barrier of crackling energy on the edge of the sky. The snake''s tail lifts up and thrusts into that barrier. It instantly comes to life, and lashes out. The rage of the Veil arcs down the Path, exploding from the head of the snake. --- Sliver abruptly falls from the Path. He loses his footing and cartwheels up the crest of the hill, eventually flopping down on flat ground. He catches his breath and sits up, his eyes clamped shut. "Master, are you there?" "Of course. Follow my voice, the tea is almost ready." The old man''s voice seems to come from a world away. The young man shuffles across the grass until he feels heat near his outstretched hands. The tea, he thinks. "What happened?" "Tea''s ready." He hears the rising pitch of hot tea pouring into the cup in front of him. He waits for the old man to pour for the other cup, then prods around blindly to find the cup. It''s incredibly hot. But the moment doesn''t allow him to hesitate. He lifts it up. "It''s too hot. Can you cool it for me?" His hand trembles. "You know I''d never refuse you anything, lad. But I''m on my way out. I hope you miss me dearly and find happiness on your Path." The voice trails off, rising. The apprentice tips his head back to try and follow it. "Master? Did you make it?" He asks, but he gets no response. "Jino!" He stands up abruptly, spilling the tea. Some splashes onto his hand and he screams in anger and pain. He falls to his knees, and slams his fists into the ground. "JINO! Where are you!?" He swings his fists into the ground wildly. ---- Sliver had always had bad eyesight. Something had lodged in his eye when he was a baby and it never sorted itself out. His parents basically gave up on him, and left him with the old loon while they dealt with the more promising children. For his part, Jino was overjoyed to have someone to babble at every day. "Back in my day, every young''n was chasing their own Path, trying to bust through to the Heavens." He lectured. "What''s the point of that?" asked the boy. "Well... It''s the Heavens, isn''t it? Who wouldn''t want to see what''s up there?" He bubbled his lips in thought. "I think once you know your Path you can''t help but want to walk it. Nobody finds their Path anymore." "Do I have a path?" asked Sliver. Jino placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone and everything has a Path." "I probably couldn''t find mine. I can''t find anything." "You mean with your eyes? If you can''t see, use your ears. If you can''t hear, feel it out. You can always find your Path." ---- Sliver steadies himself, and brings his fists into rhythm. His Path is a knocking, and he waits for a response. The tray responds, revealing its location. He brings one hand down on it, and it dents satisfyingly. It feels crackly to the touch. He keeps knocking, finding the rest of the tea set and biscuits, but no old man. He looks for hours, taking breaks only to pack up the mess. But he can''t find Jino. Eventually, his vision returns to a smear, and he rests his hands. The old man is really gone. And when he looks at the sky, he can barely see the bruise-colored tear in the Veil marking his departure. First Strike "The incredible Spirit of the Heavens is like a sea above the world, held back by the thin membrane of the Veil. The Veil is strong, but it is not impregnable. It''s possible to take it by surprise and poke a hole, allowing a high pressure stream to escape before it can repair itself. Spirit is not material, and doesn''t fall, but follows Paths like a river. Many seeking power have tried to harness the Spirit of the Heavens, but they fail to consider the ways even a humble creek shapes the land it passes. They think themselves a dam or a water wheel, but they drown like everyone else in the flood. Me? I''d like to try swimming upstream, like the fish that becomes a dragon." - Jino --- My life, if you can call it that, began with an impact. My surface, used to the occasional spill, was struck by a something unnatural. As though it didn''t exist at all, it somehow passed through and between my material. It should have escaped out the other side, but it stopped. Something about me made it hesitate, and remember my history. It remembered who I am, and became me. I am a hallowed altar. The living made their offerings atop me, and I felt the warmth sap away. The particulars don''t remain in my memory. After all, I have no mind to keep such things. It is more like a series of grooves that the energy now flows through, an imprint left from a hundred years of repeated ceremonies. Objects laid on me. Fluids spilled. And every time, wiped clean and stowed away. I feel a twisting in my core. I''m... predicting. The current setting is familiar. Heat above me and the clattering of ritual tools indicate something is underway. And when it cools... I will be cleaned and covered again. Will I remain awake for that? Or will I cool and fade? I don''t want that. There must be some way for me to exert my will, like the living that used me. After all, I am alive. The first step must be awareness. Limited as I am, I focus on vibration. Everything that touches me shakes me, and by transference I can feel when the things touching me touch something else. The larger the object, the more it can touch, and the more I can learn. Or so I assume. The objects above me are small, but the thing below me is vast. But I can''t feel far through that massive thing. It must be keeping some touch to itself. But not everything. There is a thumping coming through. Such violence! That can''t be right. I can''t remember anything this forceful near me before. I strain to hear better. The living strikes the ground with a steady rhythm. It''s somehow appealing. I reach out to it, trying to determine what special quality it has. We connect, for a moment. The living strikes me, and I understand immediately. Its movement carries the energy that flows in me, that IS me. I greedily take it all. My body buckles, but I do not care. I know how I can continue living. --- Sliver returns to town after nightfall. He makes his way to Jino''s house with heavy steps and heavier lids. The day has drained him. He stumbles in the herb garden, and falls between rows of low leaves. Their familiar scents lull him to sleep. The dreams that come to him do not feature his master. Instead, he visits with the banging of hammers. It sounds like home. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Though he is a Smith child, Sliver did not receive the mantle of town smith. That position belongs to his elder brother, Tongs. He dreams of ten-years old Tongs, already built like a slab. They''re learning while they work, making nails for houses while their mother scrutinizes them. Tongs beats the metal with an unrelenting fury, outpacing Sliver''s cautious efforts. Sliver knows he''s falling behind, but he can''t match the faster rhythm. He always falls back on the slow and steady pulse of his Path. His nails are slightly straighter for it, but his mother has recognized his limits, and knows she can teach Tongs care more easily than she can teach Sliver speed. He''s lucky that there''s so much extra work to be done around the forge. She''ll keep him working even as she stops trying to train him. He''ll pick up enough to take over if something happens to the real smith. The scene changes to something more fanciful. He''s at the forge, trying to make horseshoes. But the metal refuses to take that shape. It fights him, seemingly ignoring the direction and force of his hammer, taking shape of its own volition. The rod flattens and takes an edge, then changes its mind and works itself into a disk, then something else entirely. It never settles, the dream ending mid-strike without choosing a form. Sliver blinks groggily at the sunrise. He''s still sprawled in the garden and his clothes are damp from dew. He''s holding the pack of Jino''s things close to his chest like a blanket, and to his surprise, it is warm. Reaching in, he finds the source immediately and pulls it out. The hand holding it feels tingly, and his hairs stand on end. The slab has a radiant warmth, like a stone left in the sun all day. He inspects it. Aside from the dent he put in it the previous day, it appears as mundane as it ever did. "You really are a hideous dish," he says to the tray. He wants to toss it, but it feels like an insult to the old man. He turns it over, inspecting the damage. "Should be easy to fix, though. Shouldn''t even need heat." He places the tray back in the pack and returns the rest of the items to the old house. He walks into town, to the home of one of the elders. An old lady lets him in and listens to him describe Jino''s fate. When he explains the explosion, she shakes her head with a grimace. "Jino should have known better than anyone not to tamper with the Veil. What a shame. Blown to smithereens like his master before him. Ah well, he was well past his time. I''ll spread the word, and we will have a ceremony for him in a few days." She waves Sliver away. "Actually, what will be done with his house?" She waves him away again, annoyed. "I thought that was obvious. Nobody else wants to inherit from a loon. Do whatever you want with the place. Now go away. It''s time for my breakfast." Sliver leaves, more confused than glad. What can he do with it? He has bed and work at the forge. What good is a house he can''t live in? The thoughts loop back on themselves in his still-groggy mind. He still doesn''t have an answer after catching up on his chores and eating. He looks out the open door of the workshop, working his way down a particularly stubborn strip of jerky. There''s no real work yet. A new thought pops unbidden into his mind. "Pick up the hammer." Hammer Brothers Sliver lays the gold tray on the anvil and lightly taps it back into shape with his hammer. He lets out the breath he was holding, relieved that his dream wasn¡¯t a prophecy. His eyes wander along the walls of the workshop, looking for where he left a cloth to buff it with. A movement catches his attention. Light is dancing back and forth on the wall like ripples in a pond. He squints at it, traces its origin to the tray, still untouched and unmoving. He lays one hand on it, and it prickles his skin in waves. His heart beats loudly in his ears. This is a feeling he¡¯s only heard secondhand from his brother. He swallows his disbelief. Sometimes the metal really is asking for a beating. His hammer falls heavier each strike, but the shock never reaches him. The way the hammer sinks into the gold makes it difficult to find his rhythm. ¡°Metal. Should be. Hard.¡± he seethes between blows. ¡°You are. Pudding.¡± Sliver adjusts his grip to better lift the hammer. The plate is already unrecognizable as an antique tea tray. He can feel its greed, and begins to understand why the rhythm is so elusive. The gold is tugging at his Path, making it into a moving target and forcing him to accelerate to catch up. He closes his eyes and focuses on the movement, swinging not in time with an inner metronome, but towards the cresting of a wave that washes over and through the gold foil. It lands with a satisfying resonance. With each step onto this new, more difficult Path, his confidence grows, and landing the next strike gets easier. ¡°It¡¯s easier to forge if you actually use the forge, y¡¯know.¡± Sliver startles at the sound of his brother¡¯s voice, pulling him out of his trance. ¡°Oh? Afternoon, Tongs.¡± He sets down his hammer, and his arms suddenly feel like reeds. ¡°Afternoon, huh. You really got into it.¡± The room is dark. Sliver shrugs sheepishly, then realizes that Tongs can¡¯t see the gesture. ¡°Jino¡¯s gone. I wanted to uh, make something new with his ugly old tea set.¡± ¡°So what did you make?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t see it.¡± The dark room is quiet for some time. ¡°Well, I guess we¡¯ll both find out what mess you¡¯ve made in the morning.¡± ¡°I suppose so.¡± ¡ª The buffet is over. Oh well. I was full to bursting some time ago already. I can feel my form creaking, struggling to contain the surplus of energy. Luckily, this meal also gave me the opportunity to learn how my body changes shape. The heavy hard thing that the living kept hitting me with seems perfectly designed to move parts of me around. More interesting, I think I can manipulate that living. When it feeds me, it creates a groove in the space between us. I can make it strike where I want by moving the groove from my end. I had it shape me into something larger. There are two living in the room with me. This creates some problems for me. I can¡¯t tell them apart. I¡¯ll need to work on that, because it would be a shame to lose such a good source of energy. I try to perceive details of the two, to find differences. To my frustration, they are remarkably similar. The new one is thicker, and makes rougher sounds. I¡¯ll call it Rocks. The one that feeds me can be Knocks. Stolen story; please report. They leave, and I test my new larger, thinner form. At some point, I need to figure out how to move like the other living do. Circulating my energy, I can make parts move a little. Slowly, slowly, I practice flexing my edges. ¡ª The moon rises, a vast disc of light on the other side of the Veil. Its light spreads over the forest, touching on the nocturnal creatures and shimmering in the ponds and springs. The clouds above are still, but for one. It drifts, long, pale, and thin like the finger of a wraith. The far end stays put, pinched in the Veil. Drips of Spirit trickle down it, all the way to the tip, and pull it to the nearest Path. The unfortunate creature slumbers, unaware of its approach. ¡ª Sliver rolls off his bed at the crack of dawn. He finds Tongs already in the workshop, peering curiously at the odd gold shape on the anvil. It looks like a large golden blanket with the corners tied together. He gets closer and feels it. It¡¯s made of gold foil. He lifts it and flaps it in the air to clear it of dew. To his surprise, when it catches the air it puffs up into a hollow pocket. Feeling a bit overwhelmed so early in the day, he hands it to his brother to inspect. ¡°Hmm. A metal cushion. Good work. Strange, but good.¡± Tongs hands it back to him and prepares the forge for the day¡¯s work. ¡°Woodcutter¡¯s gonna drop off an axe head for repair later, and Farmer¡¯s lost a few tools. There¡¯s your duties.¡± Sliver wonders which Woodcutter might show up. It could be Lyle. The man never missed an opportunity to needle him about Jino. ¡°I¡¯ll handle the missing tools first,¡± he says, thinking to avoid a confrontation, and walks out the door still holding the golden pillow. The Farmers live on the far side of town, where the hills on either side of the valley are short and the stream is wide. They tend to several fields of grain and have the largest family by far. As he crosses their fields, he starts clapping to search out the tools. The pillow gets in the way, and he tries to collapse it by pressing it between his hands to force the air out. It doesn¡¯t work. He slaps his hands together around it, and it emits a satisfying crack. But it doesn¡¯t pop. He scratches his head. It¡¯s surprisingly sturdy for something full of air. But it is loud, and he can make use of that in his search. In a short time, he locates one of the tools laying in a rut. When he stands back up with it, he¡¯s face to face with Payt Farmer. Her slightly-too-large eyes look him over and seem to find him lacking. She plucks the gold pillow from his stunned hands and holds it to the sky. ¡°What is this thing? It makes such a ruckus I thought the goats were breaking in again.¡± She squeezes it in a hug and opens her eyes wide at him. ¡°Can I have it?¡± Despite himself, Sliver¡¯s face is bright red. ¡°No, that¡¯s- It¡¯s a- Okay I don¡¯t know what it is, but I¡¯m not done with it.¡± She shrugs and hands it back to him. ¡°Worth trying. Works with beer. Speaking of, you haven¡¯t treated me in a while. What¡¯ve you been up to?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been busy. And Jino just uh, left a couple days ago.¡± ¡°What a shame. He had funny stories.¡± She closes her eyes in a solemn moment. ¡°Did you get his house?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a vulture, you know. And yes, I did. I don¡¯t have any plans for it yet.¡± He looks her in the eyes for once, defying her to make requests during the mourning period. She relents. ¡°Fine.¡± She takes the tool from him. ¡°What are you waiting for? Find the other ones.¡± ¡ª It¡¯s harder to find his Path with Payt watching, but he manages to locate the remaining tools before noon. As she puts them back in their shed, she seems thoughtful. ¡°Can you teach me to do that?¡± Sliver¡¯s brow furrows. ¡°It¡¯s on my own Path. So probably not?¡± ¡°Can you teach me about Paths?¡± He glances at her. ¡°What would a Farmer need a Path for? It¡¯ll just distract you and make you loony like the old man.¡± ¡°The Farmer life just isn¡¯t for me, Sliver. I¡¯d like to get out into the forest. Maybe as a Hunter.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± ¡°Not like THAT, idiot. I want to go on patrol, not be a Hunter Mama. I just need to develop some useful skills first.¡± ¡°A simple task for sure,¡± he says. ¡°Hey hammerhead, just tell me if this Path stuff would help.¡± She flicks his ear. ¡°Ow. Yes, you seem the type to have a Path suited for hunting. With your sneaking and your disregard for boundaries.¡± He looks over to see her grinning at him. Expecting him to give her what she wants. He sighs. ¡°Yes, I can teach you to find your Path. It¡¯s mostly going to be on you to figure it out, though.¡± ¡°I knew you were the best man in town!¡± She chirps. ¡°Officially, I¡¯m the looniest.¡± ¡°A walking contradiction, for sure. Will I find you at the old man¡¯s house this evening?¡± ¡°You will now.¡±