The Sound of Fire

What sound does the fire make? Is the music of fire bound to the material that it consumes? The wood pops differently than flesh. Earth eats fire, and in return fire burns the roots of tall and proud trees. Water may douse the flame but the heat remains and the smoke coils. Wind however. Wind encourages the flame. On currents it carries the song.

"Wake up!"

A loud thought woke Tai’So from his nap.

"What?" Tai’So thought back.

"You have a challenger," The same thought-voice from before said.

"Send them in then."

****

Tai’So sat cross-legged upon a raised pile of earth. A small plateau raised unnaturally from the surrounding space. It wasn’t a mountain. It wasn’t even all that great a height from the ground. About two and a half feet in total. But even so Tai’So was proud. It had earned him the title of the Earthen Fist.

The challenger that entered wore a sash of brown and white.

A novice? What gave him the right? Ah - of course.

Tai’So smiled.

Son of Kresh’Ai why has one so young come to challenge me?

The young monk bowed in reverence and made several signs with his hands. Not allowed yet to use the mindspeak of the elders his movements were crips and could easily be understood.

“To gain understanding” He signed.

Very well. Come.

A few children gathered at the edge of the backyard turned arena. There was an old oak tree in the corner of the barren field. Piles of rocks were gathered here and there, fist holes pockmarked most of the larger rocks. A true battlefield.

Leaves fell and the wind blew. Neither of the opponents dared move an inch. A bow was given and the younger of the opponents made several hand signs. The master on his risen plateau of earth nodded once and smiled.

Then a flash of movement that was nearly imperceptible caused the rocks nearby to move in their holds. The fist of the younger was caught in the clasp of the older. A struggle of muscles young and old continued.

More akin to a dance than a fight, neither fighter gave an inch, and yet the younger was sweating profusely through his light and airy gi made of fine silk. The elder was much more flexible than his frame would’ve suggested, and he moved with the grace and poise of one who was accustomed to this particular style of dance.

Fist on forearm, forearm on knee, foot to palm. Practiced choreography could rarely be seen as so poetic as this improvisation of force.

After two and a half minutes of ferocity both men were breathing heavy. The sound of their footsteps barely audible over the tension built up into the air. Each strike now heavily warped with an invisible but palpable energy.

A gasp broke out from the group of children gathered and they turned to each other signing frantically, fingers moving faster than thoughts would allow.

The younger fighter threw a fist of flame. Not large enveloping flames, but the fire licked his fingers naturally. Each punch from then on grew brighter and brighter as an iron striking metal.

So this is the training of the Ai clan. Impressive but-

On this thought the hot-as-coal fist met a hand of hard and cold clay. A look of surprise caught the young man.

Earth will crush flame.

The child strained all of his young muscles, his forehead bursting with vain and his breath hoarse and ragged he tried to release himself from the earthen grasp. Twisting and turning only serviced to further the trap upon his arm. Like a snake that relishes in the struggle of it’s prey Tai’So smiled and breathed.

With a faint sign from the hand not yet captured the signal to end the fight was given.

"You did well son of Kresh’Ai. For one so young you hold much potential. Join me for tea."

The young man nodded and fresh tears flowed from his eyes.

“Thank you master” The young man signed, “But I must return to the house of my father at once”

"Very well."

A ceremonial bow was given from both parties, but Tai’So saw through the ceremony to the broken young man. The amount of flame that was produced was certainly enough to be shaken by. There was something else though. Tears belong to one who did not try hard enough. Tears belong to someone who did not fight as valiantly, and certainly not to one with such a bright future.

‘It is difficult to be talented in Sheri’Lao’ Tai’So thought loudly enough so that the children nearby could hear. They dispersed upon being recognized but the young man acknowledged what Tai’So was trying to say.

***

Not an hour later there was a young boy in a chamber of heat. His tears were drowned with the sweat of his body, and his fresh wounds were being cauterized one by one.

“And why didn’t you win Isho’Ai?” Thought the older man, raven black hair tied in a neat ponytail revealed his cold-hot face.

"I was not hot enough father" his fingers signing lazily from exhaustion barely conveyed the message clearly

The whip tore through his flesh again, cauterizing itself neatly as it came off of his back.

“I couldn’t understand you, why didn’t you win Isho’Ai?”

A silent scream tore through Isho’Ai’s body. But of course no sound escaped his throat.

“I didn’t burn enough” His fingers barely refusing to listen to his mind. The pain searing on his back took up so much of his attention that concentrating on anything else was too taxing.

Another lash. Another silent scream.

“Why didn’t you burn hot enough Isho’Ai?”

“I did not want it badly enough father” was what his fingers said. His secret thoughts. The ones kept from the probes of his mother and father said something else:

Because Tai’So is a master father. Because he’s a monster in his own right. Because he’s of the So clan, which is an earth clan. Earth crushes flame father.

“And why did you not want it enough?” two more lashes. One of them curled around to the front of the young man’s neck, clearing skin that hadn’t yet been torn before. Fresh pain. The worst kind.

Why don’t you fight him father - Isho’Ai thought in his secret thoughts. Is it because you too are weak? Is it because you know that to fight earth with fire is madness?”

“Because I am weak” Isho’Ai signed.

Two more lashes one on the back of each leg tore new flesh once more. A silent scream and an audible tear falling from Isho’Ai’s eyes.

“And how do we gain strength?”

“Through pain father.”

“Indeed. Through pain.” No more lashes, The father left without thinking more.

The boy openly wept now. Each new wound was cauterized with the efficiency of a practical surgeon. Nothing bled, and so there was nothing visible to prove a new pain. Just another new scar. The skin on his back was already leathered with rippled and broken skin. The back of his legs now were going to face the same fate.

Isho’Ai vowed to himself to get stronger. Through pain or through victory, he would get stronger.