Zeph Kaizen's Arc

Chapter 12 of 51

Zeph packed snow around Keji's ribs and stood up. The tiger rose with him. The old man's breath was steady now but shallow. Zeph could not carry him and fight at the same time. He had thirty counts of the merged doors. The next enforcer would come at him longer than that. He had to stretch the hold or he had to break it on purpose and use what came out. He walked ten paces from Keji and set his feet in the snow. He would test it now, before the enforcer arrived, not after. He closed his eyes and named it. I will not lose him. I will not run. The candle came up. The quiet settled behind it. He counted. At twenty-eight his knees shook. At thirty the quiet slid off him and he stumbled forward and caught himself on his palms. He tried again. Twenty-nine. He tried again. Twenty-seven. Each attempt cost more than the last. The doors would not open wider by pushing. Keji had taught him that already, with refusal. Force was not the key. He sat down in the snow. The tiger padded around him and lay across his legs, heavy and warm. Zeph put his hand on its neck. He stopped counting. The short figure was standing in front of him again. White hair up like flame. Pale eyes. Blue sash. The mark on his brow. "You are chasing the number," Zento said. "Thirty is a wall you built. Stop building it." "I need longer," Zeph said. "Then do not hold. Release and take it again. Release and take it again. A breath is not one breath. It is many." Zeph opened his mouth to argue. Zento was already thinning. "Do not chase me," the ancestor said, and was gone. Zeph understood. He had been trying to hold the door open like a stone on a rope. Zento meant to open it, let it close, open it again. Chain the thirties instead of stretching one. He stood. He named the refusal. He brought up the quiet. The warmth rose. He counted to twenty and let it go on purpose. Then he named it again. The warmth came back faster this time, as if the path was worn smooth. He counted twenty and released. He did it a third time. His legs held. East, through the trees, he heard a branch break. Not wind. Weight. He turned toward the sound. He did not have the gold form. He did not have one long merged state. He had a rhythm now. Open, close, open. He could chain it as long as his lungs would hold. Behind him the tiger stood up. Keji drew another slow breath under the overhang. Zeph faced east and began to breathe.