Sohrab stretches into a high mountain-stance. A half-hearted effort. Unimpressed, I scoop up pebbles and whip them at his limbs.
‘Ow!’
‘Your stance is so weak, pebbles are unbalancing you. Pathetic.’
‘I’m hungry!’
‘Your stance should be sturdy enough to withstand seventy times your body weight. Success equates to food.’
Arezu is the sharpest in her stances, Yasaman is the fastest, and Sohrab is efficient in his kicks.
‘Better to be a master at one technique than mediocre in all.’ I have Sohrab focus on one kick, repeating it over and over again against the trees.
After the completion of different breath cycles, I toss figs and skinned almonds into their mouths. If they are on the cusp of quitting, I dangle a fig close to their lips before snatching it away. Soon, I force them to meditate with the water bowls while perched atop tree branches.
‘Master, I want to spar,’ Sohrab protests.
‘Sure, imprudent boy.’ I pass his bowl of water to him before pointing up. ‘I will hear no complaints.’
‘I read about this in a martial tale,’ Yasaman says.
I glance at her in amusement. ‘You like many martial tales.’
‘And folktellers,’ she answers and I pale. ‘One day, I will be a scribe for Za’skar, under the Sepahbad.’
My amusement disappears.
‘The Sepahbad,’ Sohrab laughs. ‘You would have to be the best of the scholars.’
‘Fools, we need to survive first. If we fall, we could die,’ Arezu points out too sensibly.
‘And?’ I raise a brow.
Arezu smirks. ‘Her kind is cruel to children.’
‘Was this not what you wished, Arezu? To stance train upon the highest tree? You fall, you break your bones. How pitiful. Now begin.’
Arezu spits her date pit into the sand. Then, obediently, they climb up, except Yahya.
‘Why are you still down here?’ I ask.
He holds out his short arms. I sigh and grab him, hoisting him on to my back before climbing up the tree.
Perched upon trees, we meditate through dawn. At times, they scratch or pick their noses, and I swat them. Below us, No-Name crouches in the dirt; today, the shape she takes on is akin to my uma. Her long hair curls down to her velvet waist-sash, wrapped around a pale qaftan. She does not acknowledge me as she yanks out thin weeds.
Later, we practise summoning. Through her Plague affinity, Yasaman can summon a swarm of the cursed creatures from the scriptures: locusts, scorpions, white beetles, fire ants and rattlesnakes that invaded sinning tribes in the past.
Slowly, Sohrab, with his Clay affinity, is able to manipulate ores from the ground. But there are limitations in his Heavenly Contract; he cannot yet extract large metals from it. He requires a pocket of metal on him to work with. Even with this, he cannot expand it greater than the size of his own body.
When Arezu demonstrates her affinity of Brother-Nature with the virtue of temperance, she manipulates plants and three black dahlias, bending their spindly stems.
At an attempt to produce more flora, her concentration breaks. ‘I told you, my affinity is useless compared to the others.’
I shake my head. ‘Every affinity of the Heavenly Birds holds importance.’ I rub the dahlia between my fingers.
‘That is easy to say when you have nur.’
Behind us, No-Name continues to yank at weeds. At seeing this, a sudden memory from my girlhood bleeds through my thoughts: Umabent over the royal gardens in Azadniabad, trimming weeds and flora with the monks.
