65th Trial of Ymiden, Arc 515
Signing
"Signing while speaking"
"Speaking"
“So what happens now?” Big asked.
His tongue speak was improving marginally.
Quiet shrugged. He wasn’t sure, in all honesty.
The sun had risen and set only once since he was chosen for Reception, and since he was the only one of his group to survive the trial. Everything up until that point had been obvious; it had been clear. Now, however… He wasn’t sure if that was the case. He realized now that getting the gift, arguably, was the easiest part of this particular challenge. There are guidelines, known precedent. Quiet had accomplished this.
Now that he had gotten it, there was nothing.
It was an open ocean, and Quiet was on a raft.
And he was asked to make his own sail.
Quiet tightened his grip on his quarterstaff.
“I do not know.” He replied.
As they often did, Quiet and Big had retreated to an isolated part of their island, where they could reliably act alone, without fear of judgement or failure. Their feet dragged in the sand as they circled each other.
Quiet was the first to strike. He choreographed his move obviously, striking with his staff to Big’s left defensive, which Big easily blocked, the sound of their collision sounding out above the crashing waves.
“What of Patient? Has he given you instructions?” Big asked, pushing Quiet’s staff back with his own and thrusting an attack on the opposite side.
Quiet blocked.
“No. He has not spoken to me.”
Big relaxed his grip, the offensive end of his staff sliding down the length of Quiet’s, which was still in a defensive position. “Quiet?” Big asked.
“Yes?”
“What does The Gift feel like?”
Quiet took a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I have only felt it once, and I was falling from the cliff. I was too busy to notice.”
This seemed to disappoint Big. Big and Quiet had been steadfast friends for a seeming eternity, and Quiet had learned to detect Big’s troubles, even in his silence. Big had never been a candidate for Reception - it wasn’t that he wasn’t wise enough, or even that he wouldn't be enough of a boon to New Haven if he were selected. Big was weak. He was always weak. His power was in his legs, in his acrobatic skills. But his training with his quarterstaff failed him. And if he couldn’t learn how to communicate with the world around him through martial prowess like the others, he could not be given The Gift.
Big knew this. He understood it as well as any other. When he was passed over for Reception, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t jealous, or so Quiet thought.
“Would you like me to try?” Quiet offered.
Big lit up. “Would that be okay?”
Quiet nodded, relaxing his quarterstaff stance, and sitting on the ground. Big followed in suit as Quiet took his meditative position.
Quiet meditated. He focused on the world around him, on the air, and on the slight sea breeze. He focused on the sand beneath him, the water lapping against the shore, the heat from the sun.
He attempted to align himself with their energy, feeling their movement, breathing with them. He imagined the world as a tapestry, rich with separate images, but woven with the same few stri-
“Do you know what you are doing?” Big asked.
“No.” Quiet replied.
There was a moment of silence.
“What made it happen the first time?” Big asked.
“I needed it.” Quiet guessed, not entirely certain of the answer to that question.
Big thought for a moment. “My mother talks about The Gift sometimes. Maybe that can help.”
Quiet shrugged. “Try,” he suggested.
“Hm.” Big said, likely attempting to remember relevant lessons. “You told me that The Gift helped you because you needed help, yes?”
“I believe s-”
Quiet was interrupted by a splash of sand to his face. Instinctively, Quiet shut his eyes and his mouth, recoiling back from the strike.
“Wait. Before you get angry, listen. Stay still.” Big said.
Quiet, although confused and, frankly irritated, complied, keeping his eyes and mouth shut but straightening his sitting position.
“Keep your hands at your sides. Do not touch your face.” He instructed.
Quiet obliged.
“Open your eyes.”
Quiet hesitated, obviously fearful of having an alien object in his eye. But he trusted Big. So, after a moment of intense self control, Quiet’s eyes opened.
Clean and unbothered by sand.
Perplexed, he also opened his mouth, moving it around, testing his boundaries.
No sand fell behind his lips.
Quiet wiped a finger on his cheek, and, sure enough, sand which had before stuck to his skin fell to the beach once more.
“I thought so,” Big said, “the sand listened to you.”
“What do you mean?” Quiet asked, wiping his face clean.
“Without The Gift, the world around you will not respond. You are a part of it. A leaf on a tree. You are a rock on a mountain.But with The Gift, you are separate. You can speak to the world around you, and it will listen, as you listen to it.”
“Listen to it?”
“Yes.”
“How do I listen to it?”
“Hm.” Big said, struggling to explain. He grabbed his quarterstaff, and poked Quiet in the chest.
“Big-”
Big poked him again, harder this time, enough to knock Quiet onto his back.
Big stood, pinning Quiet to the ground with his quarterstaff.
“Why are yo-”
“Because I want you on the ground.” Big replied. “Do you want to be on the ground?”
“No!” Quiet exclaimed, struggling to break loose.
“That is because you are not meant to be on the ground, under my staff. You are meant to be sitting on the beach, as you were before I disturbed you.”
“Yes! So let me go!”
“This is how the world feels when you call it to your will.” Big explained, pressing a bit harder. “The wind is not meant to bend to your will. The ocean is meant to wash against the shores, not to follow your feet. The earth is to stay as it is, not to be flung wherever you decide it to be flung.”
Big released Quiet, digging his quarterstaff into the ground.
“You listen by respecting that you are no longer part of its cycle.” He continued. “You are separate. This is dangerous and confusing for the world. It is dangerous and confusing for you. The world wants to continue being as it is, and you desire to change it. The wind outstretched a hand to you when it saved you from falling to your death. It was gracious. The earth was kind enough to not fall into your eye.”
Big offered Quiet a hand up. Quiet accepted, pulled up by his friend, standing at his side as he continued speaking.
“Be grateful for what the world has done for you. You broke away from its cycles. You are no longer a leaf on its tree, and instead of punishing you for running from it, it embraced you. It respects you. Respect it back.”
Quiet nodded, understanding.
“Have you said thank you, Quiet?”
Quiet took a moment of silence. He hadn’t.
He released Big’s grip, facing towards the ocean, feeling its breeze on his face.
Thank you. He signed.
“That’s better.” Big said.
And Quiet could have sworn he felt the breeze become the slightest bit warmer.
Signing
"Signing while speaking"
"Speaking"
“So what happens now?” Big asked.
His tongue speak was improving marginally.
Quiet shrugged. He wasn’t sure, in all honesty.
The sun had risen and set only once since he was chosen for Reception, and since he was the only one of his group to survive the trial. Everything up until that point had been obvious; it had been clear. Now, however… He wasn’t sure if that was the case. He realized now that getting the gift, arguably, was the easiest part of this particular challenge. There are guidelines, known precedent. Quiet had accomplished this.
Now that he had gotten it, there was nothing.
It was an open ocean, and Quiet was on a raft.
And he was asked to make his own sail.
Quiet tightened his grip on his quarterstaff.
“I do not know.” He replied.
As they often did, Quiet and Big had retreated to an isolated part of their island, where they could reliably act alone, without fear of judgement or failure. Their feet dragged in the sand as they circled each other.
Quiet was the first to strike. He choreographed his move obviously, striking with his staff to Big’s left defensive, which Big easily blocked, the sound of their collision sounding out above the crashing waves.
“What of Patient? Has he given you instructions?” Big asked, pushing Quiet’s staff back with his own and thrusting an attack on the opposite side.
Quiet blocked.
“No. He has not spoken to me.”
Big relaxed his grip, the offensive end of his staff sliding down the length of Quiet’s, which was still in a defensive position. “Quiet?” Big asked.
“Yes?”
“What does The Gift feel like?”
Quiet took a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I have only felt it once, and I was falling from the cliff. I was too busy to notice.”
This seemed to disappoint Big. Big and Quiet had been steadfast friends for a seeming eternity, and Quiet had learned to detect Big’s troubles, even in his silence. Big had never been a candidate for Reception - it wasn’t that he wasn’t wise enough, or even that he wouldn't be enough of a boon to New Haven if he were selected. Big was weak. He was always weak. His power was in his legs, in his acrobatic skills. But his training with his quarterstaff failed him. And if he couldn’t learn how to communicate with the world around him through martial prowess like the others, he could not be given The Gift.
Big knew this. He understood it as well as any other. When he was passed over for Reception, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t jealous, or so Quiet thought.
“Would you like me to try?” Quiet offered.
Big lit up. “Would that be okay?”
Quiet nodded, relaxing his quarterstaff stance, and sitting on the ground. Big followed in suit as Quiet took his meditative position.
Quiet meditated. He focused on the world around him, on the air, and on the slight sea breeze. He focused on the sand beneath him, the water lapping against the shore, the heat from the sun.
He attempted to align himself with their energy, feeling their movement, breathing with them. He imagined the world as a tapestry, rich with separate images, but woven with the same few stri-
“Do you know what you are doing?” Big asked.
“No.” Quiet replied.
There was a moment of silence.
“What made it happen the first time?” Big asked.
“I needed it.” Quiet guessed, not entirely certain of the answer to that question.
Big thought for a moment. “My mother talks about The Gift sometimes. Maybe that can help.”
Quiet shrugged. “Try,” he suggested.
“Hm.” Big said, likely attempting to remember relevant lessons. “You told me that The Gift helped you because you needed help, yes?”
“I believe s-”
Quiet was interrupted by a splash of sand to his face. Instinctively, Quiet shut his eyes and his mouth, recoiling back from the strike.
“Wait. Before you get angry, listen. Stay still.” Big said.
Quiet, although confused and, frankly irritated, complied, keeping his eyes and mouth shut but straightening his sitting position.
“Keep your hands at your sides. Do not touch your face.” He instructed.
Quiet obliged.
“Open your eyes.”
Quiet hesitated, obviously fearful of having an alien object in his eye. But he trusted Big. So, after a moment of intense self control, Quiet’s eyes opened.
Clean and unbothered by sand.
Perplexed, he also opened his mouth, moving it around, testing his boundaries.
No sand fell behind his lips.
Quiet wiped a finger on his cheek, and, sure enough, sand which had before stuck to his skin fell to the beach once more.
“I thought so,” Big said, “the sand listened to you.”
“What do you mean?” Quiet asked, wiping his face clean.
“Without The Gift, the world around you will not respond. You are a part of it. A leaf on a tree. You are a rock on a mountain.But with The Gift, you are separate. You can speak to the world around you, and it will listen, as you listen to it.”
“Listen to it?”
“Yes.”
“How do I listen to it?”
“Hm.” Big said, struggling to explain. He grabbed his quarterstaff, and poked Quiet in the chest.
“Big-”
Big poked him again, harder this time, enough to knock Quiet onto his back.
Big stood, pinning Quiet to the ground with his quarterstaff.
“Why are yo-”
“Because I want you on the ground.” Big replied. “Do you want to be on the ground?”
“No!” Quiet exclaimed, struggling to break loose.
“That is because you are not meant to be on the ground, under my staff. You are meant to be sitting on the beach, as you were before I disturbed you.”
“Yes! So let me go!”
“This is how the world feels when you call it to your will.” Big explained, pressing a bit harder. “The wind is not meant to bend to your will. The ocean is meant to wash against the shores, not to follow your feet. The earth is to stay as it is, not to be flung wherever you decide it to be flung.”
Big released Quiet, digging his quarterstaff into the ground.
“You listen by respecting that you are no longer part of its cycle.” He continued. “You are separate. This is dangerous and confusing for the world. It is dangerous and confusing for you. The world wants to continue being as it is, and you desire to change it. The wind outstretched a hand to you when it saved you from falling to your death. It was gracious. The earth was kind enough to not fall into your eye.”
Big offered Quiet a hand up. Quiet accepted, pulled up by his friend, standing at his side as he continued speaking.
“Be grateful for what the world has done for you. You broke away from its cycles. You are no longer a leaf on its tree, and instead of punishing you for running from it, it embraced you. It respects you. Respect it back.”
Quiet nodded, understanding.
“Have you said thank you, Quiet?”
Quiet took a moment of silence. He hadn’t.
He released Big’s grip, facing towards the ocean, feeling its breeze on his face.
Thank you. He signed.
“That’s better.” Big said.
And Quiet could have sworn he felt the breeze become the slightest bit warmer.
