Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 147
imitation of some domestic scene, each bent over an evening
task. Except that Calandria was not darning, but poring over a
map on the table top; and Axel was not repairing tools or his
boots, but polishing the steel of a wicked sword; and Jordan
was not playing games or cleaning, but sat cross-legged in the
center of the floor, hands on his knees, eyelids fluttering. He
was trying to count to three, one digit per breath, without
allowing any stray thoughts to intrude on the way. Tonight he
felt he was finally starting to get the hang of it.
At two-and-a-half breaths, he caught himself thinking
hey, I can do this! Stop. Back to one.
"Shit." He slapped himself on the forehead. Calandria
laughed.
"You're doing well," she said. "You can rest now."
"But I had it once or twice!"
"Good. Don't push it, or you'll get worse rather than
better."
He unwove his legs and stood. Two deep breaths, just as
she had taught. Jordan felt great, relaxed and able to deal with
things. He'd never really felt like this before... oh, maybe when
he was really young, and didn't know what the world was like.
All his cares and worries seemed distant, and he was able to
pay attention to the here-and-now. He smiled, and plunked
himself down on the edge of the bed.
"Axel tells me you have quite a mind," Calandria said.
"He told me you figured out your own history of the Boros clan
by reading their architecture."
"Yeah," he said suspiciously. He and Axel had moved on
to talk about that this afternoon, after their conversation about
the Winds and 3340 had ended in impasse. Axel had been
quite unaware of the contradiction between the Boros' official
history and what the stones suggested.