Open the Doors

Rin cut the cue track in the middle of a note.

The sudden silence brought faces toward the stage. Sori stepped forward without a microphone and told the front rows that the infirmary doors were closing. She asked anyone who could move freely to help someone who could not.

It was not an inspiring speech. People at the back could not hear it. A master shouted that she was disrupting a medical demonstration. Two spectators began arguing about their ticket money.

Then Mae opened the west service door and came through supporting a woman in a nightshirt. Behind them walked Sena with a child on her back. The sight carried farther than Sori's voice.

Hesh reached the north gate as its locking bar descended. She wedged the short half of her spear beneath it. The wood cracked. Two students helped her lift. A third stood rigid in the gateway, his lips moving through an exercise count.

Hesh said his name. He did not answer. She asked his friend to speak to him instead. That brought his eyes around, long enough to pull him clear.

Below the city, Virelia kept her hands away from the central lattice. She opened one door at a time, waiting for the attendant beside it to confirm that the passage was clear. It was slower than holding them all. Twice she reached instinctively for every root in the room. Twice Gorrath tapped her wrist, and she stopped.

In the main court, Vale pulled the disc's covering free.

The branching mark flared. Students completed the opening posture. Their swords lifted. Along the balconies, masters who had meant to question the demonstration found themselves joining it instead.

Deren stood at the dais with both hands pressed to the rail.

Mali emerged from the service shaft behind him. Her knuckles were raw. Her ribs felt loose inside her chest. She caught his sleeve as she had in the correction court.

“Dismiss them.”

He looked at her empty belt. “Where's your sword?”

“I left it.”

“You can't face him without one.”

“I came for you.”

Below them, Ember entered the central return chamber. The brass tube was rooted into a ring of glass. He set his hammer against it and listened to Boon's instrument crackle. Not yet.

Vale saw Mali. His face hardened. He raised one arm, and the first rank turned their blades toward the platform.

Deren tried to shout. What came out was the count for the next posture.

Mali slapped his face.

She had imagined hitting him for years. There was no satisfaction in it. His cheek reddened. His eyes filled with shock, then anger, and beneath the anger something like recognition.

“Ask me,” she said.

He gripped the rail until the wood creaked. His mouth opened. Closed. The first rank advanced.

“Help,” he said.

Mali took his right hand. She could not make it open. She pulled him off the dais instead, into the space between the students and Vale. A sword point brushed her sleeve. Another slid across Deren's shoulder, parting cloth.

“Lesson ends,” he said, too quietly.

No one moved.

“Lesson ends.”

The nearest woman blinked. Mali recognised her from the balcony, a fellow student whose name she had been too angry to remember. Anet. Her sword lowered a fraction.

Vale brought his own blade down against hers. “Complete the form.”

Anet looked from him to Deren. Her mouth twisted. She let the weapon fall.

The sound of it on stone broke the court's perfect count. It did not free everyone. Three students lunged. Deren pushed Mali aside and caught one blade in his robe, winding it until the wielder stumbled. Mali dragged Anet under the dais as a sword struck the rail above them.

“Tell someone else,” she said.

Anet crawled out toward the next rank.

Across the court, people began calling names.