Sect Year 1 · fifth month · night of day 19 · the ninth life: Greywater, a river village with a sword school, his ninth year
“One night. One life. Will you turn?”
“Teach someone better than you.”
“Perfect Recall.”
The sword yard at Greywater had been swept before first light, and the rain had come over the wall since then and undone the sweeping. Wet boards gave back the grey of the sky. Along the far side stood a rack of bamboo practice swords, each one bound at the grip with cord gone dark from hands. The rack leaned a little toward the river, as everything in the village did. Edric counted the swords before he touched one. There were twenty-two. He counted them again because the number pleased him, and then he took one down.
He was the youngest in the morning class by three years. The others wore blue cotton let out at the shoulders, and they stood in their rows with the loose weight of boys who had been told the rules since they could walk. Edric took his place at the end of the second row. The sword was too long in his hand. He held it level anyway, as the others held theirs, and nobody looked at him for longer than it took to see that he was there.
