People have no idea that I think martial arts are nonsense.

  And I’m a Blacker!

  The irony is delicious.

  It’s my favorite secret.

  - Sibsil Creed, Stories of Shurwinn, (2782)

  RYST

  Strike. Dodge. Lunge. Bend. Roll. Parry. Lift. Move.

  I was dancing with Saran, the staffer who split time between Produced by Pedran and Living Foods, and she was a very fun person to spar.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She was bigger than me—an inch taller and broader and a Green Beader, Level 4, and I was trying something new with my Talent. I wanted to see if I could act like she was Peydran—virtually invisible to my senses. So far, I was unsuccessful.

  I wasn’t merging with her brain like I'd done with Denten four years ago, so, I was doing well, but I wanted to see what it would be like to try blocking all sense of her. I focused on the sensations of letting her strike, or grab. Just intently feeling what my skin and muscles felt, blocking out awareness of her thoughts or feelings.

  That was an excellent way to loose the match. Not a problem.

  Block. Strike. Jab. Hold.

  She had me down. “Yield.” We laughed and bowed, and I made my way home to shower. A week, and I still hadn’t heard from Peydran, Sorchen, or Denten about Within and Without.

  I was getting really, really edgy, and I couldn’t tell if it was just nervousness that they were reading it, or if it was that giant tangle pressing down on me again.

  Sparring had not taken the edge off at all. Maybe it was nervousness and the big tangle at the same time? Buzz: Incoming message from Peydran.

  Peydran: Who else read the book?

  Ryst: Sorchen and Denten.

  Later that day:

  Peydran: Meeting, my apartment. 3:00, with Sorchen and Denten.

  Ryst: ok