“But, V, why? I just don’t get it. Fighting is—”

“Jack, I gotta say you’re askin’ the right questions, kiddo. Just in the wrong order.”

The old man paced around Jack, shuffling on the dirty stone floor. He adjusted the placement of the boy’s feet, his arms, even his back. The gnarled surface of the old man’s cane lifted an elbow, touched behind Jack’s knee, and tapped the side of the kid’s foot. Jack did as he was told.

Vardin was a gruff old bastard and this was about as nice as he got, partly because neither he nor Jack really knew what they were doing, and partly because he said Jack had a “lack of discipline.” He probably wasn’t far off on that.

“I still don’t get why we’re goin’ through this. Lyia says that this ain’t something I should know. She said the Shadowfold got taken out because they were fightin’ folks like this. Said it don’t matter what their reasons were.”

The old man kept nudging Jack’s stance into place, referring to the worn pages of an old notebook. Apparently he traded an awful lot to get his hands on that thing. “Your girl and I don’t agree on much, but she’s right. That’s exactly why your people got it from all sides. But their way don’t hafta be your way. They figured they were saving humanity.”

Vardin snorted at that last comment.

Jack held his posture, but confusion riddled his face. “That don’t make any sense. How’re you gonna save people by fightin’ them and killin’ them? Escaping seems like a better option.”

“The way they figured, they were helping folks escape. Permanently. It’s why they called what they did ‘mercies’ instead of callin’ them what they were. Mass murders.” He stepped back to check Jack’s pose. “Relax your shoulders.”

“Yeah, fine. But then why am I learning this stuff?”

“The thing they got wrong is that you can’t escape for people, kiddo. You can only defend them. Escaping is their decision, however they choose to do it.” He checked the notebook and nodded roughly, mostly to himself. “But, even if their philosophy was fucked, their way of fighting was unmatched.”

He was right. The soulmancers in the Shadowfold had been damn near unstoppable. And not just because of techniques like the Touch. It took both the Sheeps and the Goats attacking the Fold at the same time to finally take them out. That was probably the only time each side in the war came close to working together instead of tearing the world apart trying to destroy each other.

Vardin continued. “You an’ your girl Lyia come from that same stock. You two have a talent for this in your blood. Ol’ Maddy has got Lyia leaning into hers. I figure I should help you find yours. And besides, I ain’t gonna be here to save your scrawny loudmouthed ass all the time. You’re gonna need ways to defend yourself.”

Jack couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. Vardin was older than dirt and he’d been talking about “not being around” for as long as Jack had known him. Together, they’d built that little training space in Cliff City, hauling down all kinds of heavy gear into that room. Vardin said the room was originally something called a “kiva”, but he didn’t know how the room was originally used. Apparently no one did. The whole of Cliff City had been abandoned well before the war even started. Even before proper civilization. The only memory that survived all that time was the name for the place. Looking at the worn and gray features of the aging barkeep, Jack thought Vardin was old enough to have actually seen it when it was originally constructed. That said, when he and Vardin built out that room for training, the old guy was always picking up Jack’s slack. Always quit after Jack. The man may have still had all his hair, but he was way into the gray. Despite that, he never even seemed to get tired. The joke was on Jack, though. Vardin died about a year later.

“Alright, sure. But why does the bottom arm need to be so close to the body? This doesn’t feel natural at all.”

Vardin paused mid-stride in his loop around Jack and tilted the notebook so it could be seen better in the light. “No idea. That’s just what’s in these illustrations. Might be something you need to ask Lyia about.”

“You could ask her. I still think you should show that notebook to her. I betcha she could help.”

The old man let out a long sigh and resumed circling, his cane clicking on the ground. “It says here that ‘the shield posture is fundamental to nearly every other advanced posture, defensive and offensive. It’s not comfortable because you’re not supposed to hold it for long. Your discomfort is your strength. If you’re uncomfortable where you are, your mind and body are more willing to accept change. Fighting, like life, is defined by change.’” He paused to tap Jack’s shoulders. Poked the other knee. “Basically, if you’re comfortable, you’re vulnerable.”

Jack let out his own snort of frustration. Old Man Vardin had been good to Jack. Treated the boy a quite a bit better than just about anyone else in Bule, except maybe Lyia. It always bothered Jack how they never quite saw eye to eye. Vardin refused to include her in those practice sessions. Jack knew better than to press on that issue, though. He adjusted his weight to fix his stance like the old man wanted and kept staring forward. “But that still don’t answer the question. Why wouldn’t both of my arms be the same distance from my body?”

Finally finished circling, Vardin stood in front of Jack, wrinkled hands resting on the handle of his cane, notebook held by its spine. “When you fight with soulmancy, you ain’t always gonna be fightin’ mercs with tech or weapons. With this kinda fightin’, you need to be prepared to battle with and for your very soul.”

Jack couldn’t take it. Too many riddles. Too much mystery. Not enough straight answers. He dropped his arms to his sides and gawked at the aging barkeep.

“What does that even mean? What you’re saying doesn’t make—”

Jack should’ve seen it coming. Vardin’s foot had slid back ever so slightly and his arms were raised before Jack even had a chance to understand what the old guy was doing. In fact, if Jack thinks back on it, he’d have to admit that Vardin probably held himself in the shield posture for a full second, waiting for Jack’s brain to catch up. It was the exact same pose Jack had just been holding moments prior, but better. More correct. Resolute.

An instant later, Jack felt a pressure—a draw, both a push and a pull downward. But it wasn’t like anything was actually in contact with his body. The pressure came from deep inside. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Intense and forceful. Demanding.

Next thing Jack knew, he was on the ground. His hands and knees barely kept him from lying on his belly. He wheezed and gasped as everything at the edge of his vision started to darken. It was all he could do to keep from blacking out.

And then the feeling was gone.

No draw of energy. No pressure. Things were back to normal, but Jack felt light and airy. Light, airy, and exhausted beyond anything. He looked up and was greeted by Vardin’s grin. He’d already lowered his hands back to their rightful home atop his cane.

They gray-haired barkeep tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “Is that a good enough answer?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

In honesty, no. That wasn’t the answer Jack had asked for, but it was the answer he needed. Of course, like with any good answer, this one brought even more questions. Jack rocked back to sit on his knees and collect his thoughts along with his breath.

He must have sat there a while, because the next thing Jack knew, Vardin was sitting next to him with a hot cup of coffee. The old man wasn’t looking at Jack. Just staring at the same wall.

He placed the cup on the ground in front of Jack. “Drink.”

The boy took the cup and sipped it. Bitter. The way the old man liked it. At the time, Jack’s tendency was still to put in whatever kind of sweetness he could when he made coffee. Jack was pretty out of it, though, because he was well into his third pull before he realized that this wasn’t one of the crap mugs from the bar. This one was polished steel. Jack was drinking from Vardin’s personal kit.

Jack’s surprise must have been plastered all over his face when he looked at the old guy. Vardin’s mouth went from the already uncharacteristic grin to full-on toothy smile. Way weird. “Looks like the caffeine has finally started to kick in.”

His smile faded as his gaze shifted away from Jack, looking a million klicks beyond the windowless training kiva. Vardin did that staring thing a lot near the end of those practice sessions. Jack never did get that. They’d spent weeks building out that room during off-hours. Fixing the old masonry. Rebuilding its roof. Putting up shielding. And now that they were using it, all of the old guy’s focus was always someplace else by the end of a session. Jack wasn’t ready for this one to end just yet, though. Not when he felt he was so close to understanding.

“You didn’t tell me you were practicing on your own.”

“There’s a lot I don’t tell you, kiddo. But I can’t teach you unless I know a thing or two myself. That said, I don’t have your talent. You get this down and your version will be on a whole ’nother level.”

That move he did had dropped Jack to his knees in an instant. What the hell would a stronger version feel like? The boy sat in silence, his brain spinning. It was exciting to think about. And scary as shit.

Jack took a couple more sips of coffee before speaking again, wincing each time at the bitter flavor. “So, what you just did … was that offense or defense?”

Vardin kept looking straight ahead. His voice was distant as he said, “The notes say even though it’s called a shield posture, you are a sword as well as a shield. You can attack and you can defend. But, who do you attack? Who do you defend? And why? You gotta know the answers to these questions—not by rote, you hafta truly feel the answers. Your own answers. That’s the only time you’re really gonna get it.”

He let out a long sigh and rested his hand on the top of Jack’s head. In that moment, he suddenly seemed so much older. Worn. Weary. It was probably around that time that he had actually started trying to learn the Touch on his own. Learning it so he could teach Jack. Even though Jack called him “Old Man V,” he never really thought of Vardin as actually being old until that last year.

They sat there for a bit, silent and thoughtful. Not at all normal for either of them.

Jack found that his finger was tapping on the side of his cup, a bit of an involuntary tic of Vardin’s that Jack had picked up. “There’s no straight answers for any of this shit, is there?”

The slightest hint of a smirk leaked onto the old man’s gnarled face, like he’d just remembered a funny joke. He pushed on Jack’s head to help himself back up to his feet. “Ask your questions. Asking leads to answers. But those answers hafta be yours. Too many folks rely on the answers of others.”

Helping Jack stand too, Vardin looked into the boy’s eyes, deep and piercing. “The questions should never stop. Never. Even if you think you’ve found the answer, keep asking. If your answer is the right one, questions will only reinforce it as being that way.”