The vastness of the ocean had caught him unprepared. It was not the smelly waters of the lake surrounding Kenatos, but the real, foaming oceans that his forefathers had sailed generations before. The anticipation of it was delicious. They had chosen to stop and train on the hilltop, providing a view of the land west as well as the path east where they had come from.

Hettie finished the stretch and then switched legs, leaning down the length of her leg, her back arched. Paedrin knelt in the grass behind her and placed both hands against her lower back and pushed.

“Harder,” she said, stifling a groan. He put more of his weight into it and felt her breath quicken with pain. He leaned against her, seeing her jaw muscles clench with the suffering of the stretch and held it for several moments before easing up.

“Again,” she panted, shaking her head. “Push again.”

“You truly defy everything, including pain,” he said, then obliged her. He pushed even harder, feeling her firm muscles. He waited longer, knowing it was excruciating to her. Yet she did not complain. He eased up the grip. She gasped with relief.

“I’ll give you credit for your endurance,” he said as she got to her feet. “I’ve seen younger men weep during the stretches. Now for some forms to practice. Sugar Plum Fist. Then Snapping Legs. No stopping between. Go.”

Hettie nodded obediently and plunged into the routines with animation, despite her weariness. He noticed how being barefoot didn’t bother her so much now. The calluses were forming swiftly. Her boots were nestled by the travel packs. She finished the first form quickly and then launched into the longer one. When she had first learned them, she had made many mistakes with technique. But instead of being angry when he corrected her, she had immersed into the nuances with a keen desire to learn. She was a gifted student and craved to memorize not only the movements but the names of the movements: Heron Gliding on the Water, Serpent Seeks the Pearls, Black Dragon Swings His Tail, Leopard Fist. It was the Bhikhu way not just to showcase movements and applications, but to describe the forces of nature that had inspired them. The tradition had been passed down for over a thousand years. Hettie was a natural.

When she finished Snapping Legs, sweat dripped from her nose. She stood at attention though, not moving until he released her with a salute. Paedrin walked over to their packs and sat down cross-legged. She joined him, wiping the sweat away with her hands.

“You didn’t criticize me this time,” she murmured, picking the fragments of grass from her clothes.

“Your form is improving,” he said. “Give it another ten years and you’ll be ready to face a five-year-old.”

She chuckled, flicking away a speck. “Tell me, do you think it is odd that the Arch-Rike has not hunted us? Once we made it past the lake, there were no pursuers. Not even in the air.”

Paedrin shook his head solemnly. The pain of losing Shivu had dampened his joy. While he often thought of witty retorts, he did not use them nearly as often. Traveling alone would have been unendurable. He was grateful to have Hettie to talk to and had enjoyed her companionship.

“He already knows our destination, Hettie. His forces will be waiting in front of us, not behind.”

Hettie looked at him, startled.

“Always remember the Uddhava. Anticipate your foe. He has already sent others ahead of us to Lydi.”

“How do we succeed?”

He did not want to poison her thinking with his own ideas. What they needed were fresh ones and so putting it as a challenge would incite her creativity. “You are a clever girl. Think it through as we go. We still have some time before we get there.”

“It’s a beautiful sunset,” she said, folding her arms around her knees.

“I’ve never seen so many ships,” Paedrin said. “Not even in the harbors of Kenatos.”

Hettie nodded. “I’ve never been to Lydi before, but the Romani travel there. I heard the city is made of ships. There are no buildings, only reclaimed vessels brought to shore. It used to be a thriving city, ages ago. Now it is a graveyard of wooden hulls.”

“If they are all made of wood, you would think they’d have decayed by now.”

Hettie shrugged. “Lots of timber in the forest down below. They are the master shipbuilders, the Lydians. I do not know about their loyalties to Kenatos.”

“Do you know anything of their customs?”

Hettie shrugged again. “No, not really. I’ve never met a Lydian before.”

Paedrin stared at the sun, vanishing like a disc beneath the gray folds of the sea. It was a beautiful sight. Somewhere, past the Lydian city, somewhere buried and nearly forgotten was the Shatalin temple. His skin prickled with gooseflesh and his heart saddened again. His determination, however, only strengthened.