Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

to add to it. But this is the perfect opportunity to get more information on what Astor cannot give me.

“Yes, Elder.”

“If all you need is a single cell to regenerate life, then are we capable of bringing someone back from the dead? Resurrection?”

Master Backwater smiles, and the entire room fills with snickers and whispers. “Elder, I think you know the answer to that question,” he replies politely.

“But if all you need is a single cell and you can regenerate from there, then it ought to be possible.”

“Challenging what is already known. I appreciate that, Elder. However, we cannot resurrect a conscience. That is where the problem lies. There is a possibility you may be able to bring the flesh back to life, but without that consciousness, it will rot and deteriorate.”

“How do you know the conscience leaves the body?”

“Elder, it is taboo what you are asking about. We do not choose life or death. Even if our talents were capable of such, it would not be acceptable. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Not true. There is no other explanation for what happened to Captain Crowbill. Is there? Maybe he wasn’t dead. His heart stopped beating. But does that mean he’s dead? By definition it does. Right? Maybe I ought to drop it. Nobody seems willing to carry on the conversation.

Up next is my Organics lesson, in which we learn about what objects have and don’t have the ability to be manipulated. It is a rather dull topic to me. Essentially everything that is alive and grows can be manipulated, and sedentary objects like rock cannot. I suppose there are several nuances like fire and water that cannot be manipulated as well, and this is what the course is all about, but it seems obvious to me what can or cannot be manipulated. There is a presence about them. Like there’s an energy I can sense. An aura. I just know.

After my Organics lesson, I have one last course to attend. Stealth and Combat with Master Stormwood. He’s taken a liking to me; though, I have yet to figure out why. Initially, I thought it was my unique ability to heal myself. But after discovering it’s common among Lahyf, I’m not sure what he thinks of me. Could it possibly be he thinks I’m a Graft? Like Grimry accused me of. Regardless, I’ve improved due to the personal attention he’s been giving me.

“Perzkeeler! Linderman! Out of the thorn pit. Alderock, you’re up!”

Linderman hustles and exits the ring. Grimry pauses at the thornwood fence before climbing out of the ring. “Sir?” he pauses, waiting for permission to speak.

“Yes, Perzkeeler.”

“Why do we not get the privilege of sparring with Alderock, sir? Only you have sparred with him since the day he stepped into this ring. I think it would benefit him to have multiple opponents, not just yourself, sir.”

What he really means is he wants an excuse to pummel me himself. He’s a good fighter in the ring. And he has a good point. How am I to expand my skills if I fight the same man every time?

“I accept the challenge, sir, if you’ll have it,” I say.

“Perzkeeler, get out of the ring. It doesn’t concern you why Alderock spars with me. Alderock! In the ring.”

Master Stormwood leaps over the fence without touching it. It is only waist high, but he makes it look too easy. And with his colorful locks bouncing as he plants his feet and his muscles tight and glistening with the never-ending heat, he is an intimidating, flamboyant presence. I place my hand on a portion of the fence between thorns and use it to hold my weight as I hop over. My tunic snags it and frays the bottom hem.

“Defend!” the master commands just as I get into a ready stance.

The Master of Combat charges. I anticipate an upper blow with his fists, but he quickly drops and sweeps my legs out from under me and stomps down. I manage to roll out of the way before his boot crushes me. He allows me enough time to get to my feet, and he is at me again, this time with fists flying. I parry, parry again, defending his attacks, but he is too quick. He hits me in the chest, knocking the wind from my lungs. Then another in the jaw, throwing my head to the side. Then another in the gut, leaving me hunched over. And a final upper cut into my forehead, sending me sailing backward onto the rough, granular dirt.

Why don’t we spar in a grassy meadow?

“Again.” He waves a hand, gesturing for me to get to my feet.

It’s a struggle, but I do so. He’s so tough on me, I would think he is intentionally pushing me to my limits.

“Defend!” he calls out. And he charges again.

He leaps into the air, utilizing his knee as a projectile. He is quick with the attack, but I easily spin out of the way. With his back facing me, I take the opportunity to counter. I fully extend my leg and hit him in the back with the ball of my foot. He already had a forward momentum, so it merely causes him to stumble and nothing more. I move in with his back still facing me. He flips around and plants an elbow across my ear. The pain is excruciating, but I don’t let it slow me. I counter with a jab of my own. I make solid contact with his chest, but he’s too dense, and his footing is remarkable. It doesn’t faze him. He grabs my arm, pulling me in closer, and headbutts me. The world around me whirls and gets blurry as I stumble backward. I feel another blow to my chest, and suddenly, the clouds above me are whirring like I’m in the eye of a storm.