Make Haste Slowly

The sound of birds chirping wasn't something John was accustomed to waking up to in the morning. In fact, he was so use to rising at the crack of dawn to run military exercises that he felt out of place, out of sync. The disciplined legionnaire's life had been ingrained into him for so long that not doing it was making him restless.

Listening to the forest wake up around him, he forced his body into staying motionless in his bed of moss. As restless as he'd been about his new routine in life, he wasn't a fool. His new drill sergeant was a harsh taskmistress and she only gave him reprieve when he absolutely had to sleep. So instead of getting up, he reflected on the past week they'd been traveling Kalian's empty roads.

As his new mentor had predicted, his body 'Awakened', as she called it--which basically meant he went through his second puberty.

The first change that he'd noticed right away was the weight in things. Almost overnight everything had became lighter, including his own step, as his strength, speed, reaction time, and stamina dramatically increased. Shortly after that, his vision and hearing radically improved. It improved so much that he could make out an individual leaf on a tree nearly a league away and hear the heartbeat of a rabbit at the base of said tree.

But as miraculous as these enhancements were, he quickly discovered he had to relearn how to function in his own body again. Everything from holding onto things without breaking them, to trying to keep his eyes from focusing on the finest details. Celia, of course, had developed a number of exercises that he had to practice every waking minute of the day. Things like trying to hold onto a leaf without breaking it, or jumping only a pace high off the ground. The last one he wasn't particularly fond of as she'd intentionally waited for nightfall before he could do his jumps. By then, they'd make it to the next Waypoint and John was punished by the low ceiling if he jumped too high.

That was Celia's teaching style in a nutshell. She came from the tough love school of thought. All business with no mittens.

Not only did she push his body, but she also pushed his mind. Every waking moment she dumped on him everything he needed to know to function as a newly minted Slayer from Kalian. And what he had to know was a LOT. Northern politics, local gossip, places, people, history, traditions, customs, and a hundreds of other little details of Kalian that only someone who'd lived there for years would know. Even their weights, distances, and other forms of measurements was different from the Empire.

She would then quiz him randomly on something she told him hours or even days ago. His reward for getting a question right was being asked another question. But get a question wrong? There was always some form of pain inducing punishment waiting for him.

Thankfully, he didn't get her knowledge quizzes wrong very often. Not only had his body changed but also his mind.

Whatever the mage had done to him had turned his brain into a sponge. Anything she told him, he could recall instantly and in the most minute detail. It was truly a life saving gift as he was pretty sure Celia would have killed him by now if he'd been without it.

Against his will, John recalled their very first lecture. The lesson had been on her five golden rules that she lived by. Specifically the first one, "Don't get caught". Celia had told him that they had to be cautious to the point of being paranoid. Getting caught wasn't an option since that ended in a gruesome death. And if he was ever found out, she wouldn't try to save him. In fact, she told him to his face that she'd kill him herself if there was a chance to maintain her cover. At first, he'd passed it off as a scare tactic but there were other similar comments. After a while, he came to realize that, deep down, she was a hardened survivalist who kept everyone at arm's length. That and she really would do all the things she said she would do if he screwed up.

Thinking back now, it wasn't too difficult to believe considering her other rules:

Rule 2: Don't tell anyone who you really are.

Rule 3: Don't get emotionally close to anyone.

Rule 4: Don't trust anyone.

Rule 5: Don't take unnecessary risks

"Do you see the theme here?" she'd asked him with a challenging look. "Be fucking paranoid."

He also learned she had the mouth of a sailor.

[She's an enigma wrapped in a riddle surrounded by a mystery.]

Thankfully, it wasn't just his memory that he had going for him but also his mental endurance and stamina. His mind was razor sharp regardless of how hard she pushed him. And she pushed him hard. For three straight days at a time, to be exact. When she had told him before that he could go longer without sleep, he hadn't realized that meant he'd be training non-stop for days.

But as much as all of his new abilities were helpful, there were some things he just couldn't learn. Specifically, all the little different social protocols, phrases and mannerisms that only people north of the Empire's border used. He had over 26 years to develop habits that went against everything a Kalian would do.

Eye contact was the most difficult one for John to master. He'd thought it was comical in how people flaunted their status in the first few seconds of meeting someone new--only so the other person would know where to look. Titles and uniforms played a big part of the show and they did that for a reason. Status played an enormous part in the day-to-day interaction.

He was surprised to learn that only the bluebloods--or Royals, as Celia violently insisted he called them as no Northerner would use the word blueblood--had last names. Which gave him another puzzling piece to the puzzle that was Celia Tecard.

What took first place in most surprising discovery, though, was the fact that slavery was legalized. That it wasn't uncommon for a coin strapped farmer to sell his daughter off into slavery because women were valued far less than men. Coming from an Empire that it was illegal to own someone, and who only allowed a woman to rule over them, it was an unthinkable concept.

The runner up in most shocking discoveries was the expectation for men to have multiple wives. The first wife, called the Headmistress, was the matriarch of the family while the other wives, the Maidens, bore the many children that was expected. John suspected this expectation stemmed from the fact that the North had been nearly completely wiped out when the Hellhounds were unleashed onto the world. Celia didn't delve into the history or the dynamics that went on inside of a typical household, but he got the impression it was messy and complicated. Which wasn't a surprise. He knew men who had enough of a challenge with one wife, he couldn't imagine having many.

John mentally sighed in irritation. Even though he was sure he hadn't slept more than a handful of hours, he just couldn't go back to sleep. His body was already fully rested and while his eyes were closed, the sounds of forest outside of the Waypoint hammered against his conscious as if he weren't buried under ten paces of solid stone and earth.

But even with the incessant sounds of the forest, the last thing he wanted was his mentor to rouse him up and yell at him for looking her in the eye or not bowing low enough--or any one of the hundred little things he did unconsciously that would cause people to look into his background a little more closely.

He'd come to the realization that being a spy was significantly harder than being a soldier.

"You know I can hear the change in your breathing and heartbeat when you wake up," Celia said from somewhere behind him.

[Son of a...]

"Just resting my eyes," John quickly replied, but he knew better than to stay there. Swinging his feet over, he crawled out of his hole and stretched his back.

His eyes took in the cavern as if it were high noon on a cloudless day. It felt like it had been months ago when he'd thought the Waypoint was poorly lit. He was getting use to seeing in the dark and he idly wondered if he'd ever stop remembering what it was like to be blind at night.

"What's the plan for today?" he asked, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes.

"I know of a hot spring nearby," she said, also swinging herself out of her bed. "We're overdue for a bath, novice."

John inwardly groaned.

Yet another thing that he hadn't gotten use to was the North's love of public baths and their lack of modesty.

He kept his eyes on her throat before he bowed his head by exactly one head length. Since he was a novice Slayer of humble origins, he held a rank three notches below her.

"Please lead the way, Slayer Celia," he said, sliding into their familiar role playing game she'd started day one.

Because they were acquaintances, he didn't have to use her last name. However, she held a rank three times as high as him so he had to use her title. If she held only one rank above him, or if she'd given him permission, he could have forgone the title.

All the different rules made his head swim.

"Not this time," she said, shaking her head.

He faltered, and then looked her in the eyes.

She looked… hesitant.

Alarm bells immediately started going off in his head.

"When you get to Tekal, you'll be given a slave," she said slowly.

[You've got to be kidding me.]

"Rule four applies to slaves I take it?" he said, feeling like an idiot. He'd intentionally forgotten about the slave he'd be acquiring. It had made his stomach churn the first time she'd told him about it. When a novice joined the ranks of the Slayers, they couldn't bring anything from their old lives. It was part of the process in becoming a full fledged Slayer. Once someone became a Slayer, they lost their previous status in life and gained a new one. For most people, it was a huge promotion. It was considered a high honor becoming a Slayer. After he passed his tests and became a full fledge Slayer, he'd be the equivalent of a Duke or Lord, depending on the nation. At which point, he'd only have to look lower to a ruler, the ruler's family, or other higher ranked Slayers.

Celia's eyes hardened. "We trust no one."

"Right. So, another role play?" John said, feeling uneasy.

She had pretended to be various people during her lessons, so he'd become well versed in how to interact with the different people he'd end up meeting. Sometimes she'd just name off what she was wearing as the only clue. It had certainly kept him on his toes the day before when she had switch roles every hour.

She didn't look happy when she nodded.

"What do slaves wear?" she quizzed him as she started unbuckling her corset. Today's corset was a black one with grey studs, which marked the eighth corset he'd seen on her. He'd begun to wonder if she'd owned anything other than corsets. That, and where the hell she found the room in her pack to store them all.

He looked at her forehead as she stared at his feet. "White robes."

Her corset hit the floor as she said, "What else can be used to distinguish a slave?"

"They also have an S tattooed on their left cheek."

Celia nodded just as her skirt dropped to her ankles. "And what if the tattoo has a family crest on it as well?"

"Then the slave has offered their name and the owner has accepted it… whatever that means," he added a touch of annoyance to the last bit. She'd kept the explanation very vague on what accepting a slave's name meant but, from what he'd been able to piece together, it was a slave's way of binding themselves permanently to their owner's House… that's capital H, House, so the option was only available to Royalty.

Stepping out of her knee high boots and the ring of clothes around her, she dropped to her knees in an act of submission.

Naked as the day she was born.

He forced his eyes away from her exposed flesh and focused on her hair as he started doing his multiplication tables. As much of a royal pain in the ass she was, he couldn't deny her beauty. She was a goddess in her own right and John privately cursed the gods for his predicament.

"Stop looking at me," she snapped.

John blinked.

[Idiot. I'm suppose to ignore her. She's a slave.]

He opened his mouth to say sorry, but stopped himself. "Come along, Celia."

"Slave" was also another acceptable name to call someone wearing white robes, but he just couldn't bring himself to call her that, even if it was a game.

Turning, he made for the gate that led out to the forest.

When he reached it, he almost made a move for the door but stayed his hand at the last possible second before the motion became obvious. Not only had she not taught him how to open the gate yet, but protocol stated he wasn't suppose to open a door when someone lower in rank was with him.

Celia rushed forward and opened it for him.

Consciously, he held his ground after she opened the door and allowed her to go first--even though the sneaky woman hesitated long enough to allow him to go through. As the highest ranking person to leave, he was suppose to be the last to exit. Protocol also stated that he ignored her unless he needed something from her… but against his better judgement his eyes strayed to her bare ass as she sashayed out of the Waypoint.

"That's two," she hissed.

He snapped his eyes forward. How she'd known he had looked at her, he had no idea. Her eyes were aimed at the ground and she wasn't facing him but he suspected she'd stripped ahead of the bath for this very reason. Either way, he knew better than to deny it. Letting his eyes glaze over her, he walked outside.

"Take me to this hot spring you told me about," he commanded.

[Gods this is weird.]

Wordlessly, Celia ghosted forward on silent feet. He followed after her and made damn sure he didn't look anywhere near the naked woman.

[Just going for a stroll, John. A boring stroll. Nothing to see but trees and breasts.]

[Bushes!]

[I meant trees and bushes!]

The hot spring ended up being a short walk away, and he immediately felt his body relax upon seeing the steam covered pool. It was the second hot spring he'd ever seen in his life but, if it was anything like their first one, he was ready for it.

John was proud of himself when he didn't make a move for his clothes. He turned to her expectantly and she started undressing him.

[11 times 12 equals 132. 12 times 13 equals 156….]

As much as he tried, though, Little John couldn't concentrate on the numbers. All he could concentrate on was the feel of her warm breath against his skin, the smell of her rosemary scent, and--eyes drifting--her pale perfectly sized breasts.

Celia didn't comment on his growing manhood and wordlessly finished undressing him.

Feeling both aroused and embarrassed at the same time, he turned his back to her and marched himself right into the water. Closing his eyes, he let the warmth consume him until half his body was submerged into the blissfully hot water.

The surface of the pool shifted as his mentor joined him, and then her hands found his back. As she started to rub his shoulders, he couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips.

[Greatest. Role play. Ever.]

Then she smacked him across the back of the head. Hard.

His forehead slapped the hot water and stars exploded into his vision.

"Blood and sand woman!" he roared when he pulled his head back up from the scalding hot water.

She smacked him even harder.

Heat swarmed over his head as the force of her blow sent his head underwater. Caught unprepared, he came up for air coughing the water out from his lungs before he roared, "I mean bloody hell woman!"

[I can't even curse like a Ce'lian!]

Turning, he saw a ghost of a smile on her but it was gone before the red and black spots in his vision had a chance to fully clear. Only hard eyes looked into his now.

"You're still blushing," she criticized. "And you still oggle."

She motioned to her naked body. "Is this really the first naked woman you've ever seen?"

Involuntarily his eyes ravished her nakedness before he had the decency to raise them back to her throat.

"No," John said behind gritted teeth.

[Just the most gorgeous one.]

She motioned to his shrinking manhood. "And that isn't acceptable in the public baths."

Giving an exasperated sigh she looked to the heavens.

"He'll just have to avoid the public baths," she finally muttered to herself, something he probably wouldn't have caught if not for his enhanced hearing. Louder she said, "Stick with the bath in your apartment and don't invite anyone over. Worst case, your slave will get the wrong impression… Just don't accept her name if she offers it and you should be fine."

"What's wrong with accepting her name?" he asked, hoping this time she'd fess up.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," she said with a dismissive hand. "Now hurry up and scrub yourself clean. It's time you started learning how to handle a slider."

To Celia's annoyance, he took his time bathing. By the time he got himself out, dried off and dressed, Celia had already returned from the Waypoint with her enormous oversized bag in tow and blessedly fully clothed. Without a word he followed her as she passed him. Leisurely they walked through the forest and, for the umpteenth time, he took in the giant redwood trees that towered over them.

[Amazing.]

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her looking at him. There was a hint of amusement before it morphed into something less humorous.

"Don't worry," he said, still taking in the trees. "I'm getting all the gawking out of my system now."

She sniffed--as she always did when he said the right thing but didn't want to acknowledge it--and then she threw her pack onto the ground with a heavy thunk.

Stopping, he eyed the small clearing she had led him to.

Celia fished around in her pack before producing a tangle of leather straps.

Throwing it at him, she said, "Here."

As he picked apart the straps, he discovered it was a sheathed dagger.

"A slider is your primary weapon as a Slayer," Celia said, pulling an identical dagger free from the sheath strapped to her thigh. It slowly grew into a sword. "Created by the mages, it cannot be broken. It's sharp enough to shave with and it will never dull. Since it uses your own energy to grow, it will only respond to a Slayer's touch. Just like portals and Waypoints. Today, you're going to work on extending yourself into the weapon. This is the first step in learning how to wield your own energy."

"My own energy…" John said, playing with the foreign words.

"Every human on the planet has a small amount of energy," she explained patiently. "Mages found a way to uncap the amount of energy we can hold. Using a water analogy, they essentially created a well. We unconsciously draw upon the energy around us to fill up that well. Energy is everywhere you look. It's what moves the air, and keeps us grounded. It's movement. It's life."

Pulling free his new slider, he spied Tekal's emblem etched into the guard. Three triangles positioned to look like a Hellhound's eyes and nose.

"So how do I make it grow?" he asked, looking back at her.

"Only when you can imagine the slider as an extension of yourself will you will be able to extend it like another one of your appendages," she said.

Her tone implied the words were from a textbook.

John eyed the dagger again before turning a flat look on her.

"That doesn't help."

Celia flashed him a dazzling bright smile that only magnified her striking beauty.

Immediately he became suspicious of her.

Her—dislike—of him, to put mildly, hadn't diminished much since their first encounter. Which he supposed he understood her reasons, not that it made it any less painful. There was only one person in the world she cared about and that was herself. His sudden arrival, and orders to get him up to speed--a nearly impossible task now that John knew the drastic differences between their cultures--definitely posed a serious threat to her precarious life as a spy to the Empire.

Sure enough, his instincts were right and she lunged at him.

Having expected it, he dodged her attack easily.

John knew fighting a swordsman with a dagger required keeping close to the attacker but the swordsman in this case was an experienced Slayer and keeping close in his still new body wasn't a simple task. He'd gotten a lot better at using his new abilities, but this was swordplay. It was a whole other level of control that was required.

Moving faster than any normal human being should have been able to move, she struck again and this time she clipped his arm.

Hissing, John pulled back his injured arm.

"Are you crazy!?" he yelled.

"I was told you were a Sergeant in the Vanguard," she said, ignoring his comment. "Aren't Vanguard's suppose to be the second most dangerous men in the Empire?"

John's eyes narrowed at the popular joke the Blood said to the Vanguards.

"Now you're just pissing me off," he said darkly.

Her sword shrunk to a short sword as she expertly made a playful flourish.

She flashed him her beautiful smile again.

"If you want to come out of this unscathed, I'd suggest you become one with your slider."

Annoyed, he mouthed her own words back at her mockingly, drawing out an angry strike from her. He dodged three of her attacks before he had the chance to step under her guard, but she danced away from him just before he could do any damage.

"Nice footwork," she commented before lunging at him again.

This time it was a faint, and he just barely dodged a nasty slice from a second dagger she'd produced from behind her back. Catching him off balanced, her foot blurred and slammed into his stomach.

It was a well timed and executed maneuver.

[Where the hell did that come from?] he thought, as he was lifted off of the ground and sailed into one of the great red tree's behind him. He grunted upon impact, and half the tree's leaves started to float down around him.

She was good.

Maybe even better than good.

Keeping his eyes locked onto her, he pushed himself away from the tree trunk and approached his opponent with a lot more seriousness than he had before. He wasn't one to boast but, back in the Vanguard, there were few that could match him, and that said something. Getting his ass handed to by a 90 pound spiteful woman wasn't an option for him. His pride wouldn't allow it.

The Vanguard had a saying: "Never back down. Never surrender. And for gods' sake, die young."

Her slider shrunk back to the size of a dagger as she circled him.

Knowing at any moment it could grow to a full length sword, he watched his distance.

"Remember to think of it as an extension of you," she said with a smug smile.

Seeing an opening, he took it. She tried to pull up her guard, but he was just as quick as her--no thanks to her exercises. Using his free forearm, he blocked her guard. Thrusting forward, John's dagger hit it's mark and brushed her cheek.

She quickly retreated away from him before he could do any more damage.

"Your form could use a little work," John noted critically, before giving her his own smug smile. It was a small victory, but he'd take it.

She wiped the thin line of blood with the back of her hand. Looking down at the red smear, she made a sound deep in her throat.

That was the only warning he got.

One moment she was ten paces away, the next she had her dagger sheathed into his shoulder. The force of her strike pushed him backwards and he landed on his back, hard. The wind was knocked out of him and he opened his eyes to find Celia arching her slider--now a full sword--down on him in a killing blow. Panicked, fight or flight instincts took over him and in a frantic move he thrust his slider forward.

Celia's eyes flew wide open, mirroring John's.

They both looked down to see his dagger had grown to a full length sword and a good portion of it was behind her.

He'd impaled her.

Celia's slider shrunk before falling from her fingertips. Dropping to her knees, John withdrew himself from the slider, pulling the sword out of her as it shrank back to the size of a dagger.

Just as she had predicted, he was able to retract it as if it were an extension of his own hand. There was no way he could explain it, other than he knew he could do it without thinking.

"You bastard!" Celia screamed.

"I thought you were going to kill me!" John said, torn between being afraid for her well-being and defending his actions. He knew he'd cut into her stomach and probably her spine. An injury like that wasn't a minor thing.

He gingerly grabbed her shoulders.

"Why don't you lie down? I'll… I'll find a mage."

She looked down at the widening blood stain.

"That was my favorite corset!"

He blinked. "Wha--?"

Celia rolled her eyes. "Idiot. Where are you going to find a mage out here in the middle of nowhere? I told you already, it takes a lot to kill a Slayer."

To prove her point, she grabbed the dagger in his shoulder and ripped it free.

Gritting his teeth from the sudden shot of pain, he looked down to see his gaping wound clouting before his eyes. Blood should have been flowing out freely and his broken shoulder should have hurt like hell—but it didn't. In fact, he wasn't even sure if his shoulder had been broken in the first place.

"Our bones can't break easily," she said, reading his mind. To prove her point, she motioned to the tree she'd knocked him into. He hadn't noticed it before, but a third of the giant tree trunk had been pushed inward right where he'd slammed into it. He was pretty sure a strong breeze could tip it over.

"Help me up, I think it's healed enough," she said, pulling his attention away from the swaying monolithic tree.

Dumbfounded, he helped her up with gentle hands, still untrusting of her condition. To his amazement, he watched the skin that had been exposed by his blade slowly mend itself. It was as if someone had fast forward time.

And then it dawned on him.

The kill-John-act had been for his benefit, to get him to activate the slider.

[Leave it to her to use that tactic.]

He looked down at his shoulder again to see the healing process and watched the muscles stitching themselves back together. There was an uncomfortable warm tugging sensation as the wound slowly closed itself up. It was the strangest feeling but before he knew it, only smooth bloodied skin was left.

[That explains why all my wounds healed shortly after the mage knocked me out,] he thought with wonder. [Even my old scars are gone.]

The sound of her rummaging through her pack drew his attention back to her.

She produced a vambrace and threw it at him.

"Try this on," she said.

He pulled it over his left forearm and, like the slider, he sensed it was more than just a regular vambrace. Extending himself into it, the outside edge of the vambrace slowly grew into a small shield. Eyes wide, John coaxed more of it out until it was a full sized tower shield.

"You're a quick learner," she said with an approving nod.

If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought there was pride in her voice.

"I've yet to see anything that could put a dent into one of those," she said, the short lived pride vanishing before he could really enjoy it. "But it isn't the most fashionable accessory we ha--"

Her head snapped to the right, and then John heard it too.

Footsteps.