Chapter 11 #3
“That might work if you're in an area that has sunlight. But there may be times when there is no sunlight for you to use to gauge direction, such as nighttime, being underground, or in rugged weather conditions.”
She was right, there were a lot of reasons why there might not be any sunlight to measure. I tried again. “Well I could wait out the weather, or for sunrise until there was light to use.”
She shook her head, still giving me the same patient smile. “And what happens if you are in a position where you are severely injured and unable to move, without enough time to wait for the sun to return?”
My brow furrowed. She made another good point, time-sensitive injuries were a serious reality for Voyagers. Many lost limbs to miasma exposure.
What else could I use, besides the shadows and moss, that would give me a hint as to the sun's direction? Or direction in general?
Sandy dirt laid beneath us, and my search for any lichen or liverworts that might only grow presenting in one direction was fruitless.
There was nothing but bamboo sprouts, fuzzy caterpillars, and scuttling beatles in the area near us.
No footprints either, Instructor Garcien must have cleared any trail we’d left.
Turning my face up, I shielded my eyes to see if the sky might give me a hint, but it was too close to midday. If there was any slant to the sun's angle, I couldn't discern it.
And the bamboo looked equally as healthy in all directions, just as verdant and alive.
Staring more closely at the bamboo that surrounded us, something about it was off, asymmetrical. Not the color, the trunk and stalks were equally shaded on all sides. I squinted at it, finally noticing what it was.
The branches were thicker on one side than the other on nearly every stalk.
And if they were growing toward where they received more light...
“There.” I pointed parallel to them in what I hoped was a northward direction.
“How did you determine the direction?”
I pointed at the nearest bamboo stalk. “There are more branches growing on the side with more light.”
Instructor Garcien beamed at me. “You know, you're only the second person today who has correctly been able to ascertain their direction from this exercise with more than sheer luck.” Pride warmed my chest.
Curiosity ruffled, I asked, “Who was the first?”
She shook her head. “Teaching trainees how to identify which skills your future crew mates can offer is another important lesson.”
I wanted to ask why they would teach that, when we were all learning to be self-sufficient and survive on our own in case of an emergency. But I paused and considered it, and the reason smacked me in the face.
“To determine who is qualified to captain an Arc,” I answered my own unspoken question. Another one immediately replaced it. “But if only two of us have successfully been able to determine where north is, what is this lesson about for the other trainees?”
Her smile widened. “I felt it in the Tide that there was something special about you. There are many lessons that someone can learn from this exercise. How to quiet your ego enough to ask for help from others.” She gave me a rueful glance.
“Not enough trainees this year have learned that one quite yet.
How to use other clues and senses to make educated guesses on your direction, even if you are wrong.
The most frequent lesson we've taught today is how to fail with dignity.”
“Why would we want to teach Voyagers how to fail? Shouldn't we be teaching them how to succeed?”
“Failure is part of the Tide, something everyone experiences eventually. Accepting and learning from each failure helps us improve ourselves and any future attempts at those same endeavors. Staying open to opportunities wearing disguises like failure keeps us growing, even when you’re my age.”
I pocketed the thought for later consideration because Instructor Garcien kept going.
“Wisdom is the ghost of curiosity. Some would say curiosity is cursed, contrary to the consistency that keeps our island stable,” she tilted her head, no longer smiling as she looked at me.
“You have a gift for it, something that is increasingly rare. Be careful who you share this gift with.” She reached out and patted my arm in an affectionate way, almost sentimental.
“We enjoy more freedoms than most citizens but that does not mean we are protected against retaliation when we go too far. I would think you, especially, should not forget the population revolution. Be careful of the questions you ask, and who you ask them in front of.”
My attention sharpened.
She was right, curiosity was frowned upon more than choices, and I'd asked her a lot of curious questions today.
Even if they had centered around the lesson.
Her reminder of the population revolution was a not-so-subtle hint at my own past: records that should have been sealed.
How much about Apostates did the instructors know?
I studied her in silence for a few moments. “Is it alright for me to ask you more questions?”
She let out a bark of a laugh, her bun bobbing up and down with the movement.
“Of course. Although, there will always be ways to ask the right question to the wrong person. Or the wrong one to the right person. My job is to teach, and an inquisitive nature is a rare and wonderful aid for instruction. You remind me of myself, when I was going through training.” Her eyes softened.
A feeling of relief warmed my smile. I found myself grudgingly respecting Instructor Garcien more after her thoughtful words. She had the air of someone older, or maybe she looked young for her age. My gaze snagged on the Skinscript visible on her arms. “What do those mean?”
She chuckled. “And that is exactly the type of question that could get you into trouble.” She shook her head. She pointed to one of two lower on her left arm, more pointed than the other. “This one means 'Magnetism', and this one,” she trailed her hand up to the other, “Means Acumen.”
Before I could ask her more about them, she started walking away from me.
“I think that’s enough for one day,” she mused, guiding me back toward the trail and pointing back down the path toward the training exercises.
“And we should be considerate of time, since there are many trainees who I haven't spoken with yet.”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I started back up the trail.
“Oh, and Lisia?” she called.
Looking over my shoulder, her eyes were steady dark pools, warm but unwavering as she considered me.
“Don't ever be afraid to bring your curiosity to me. I will answer your questions as best I can, and I will not repeat them. Or penalize you for asking them, no matter what you want to know.”
I dipped my chin, returning the secretive look she gave me.
It occurred to me as I walked back that no one had ever encouraged me to be curious before. In fact, my parents and several in the Reformatory had actively discouraged my knack for asking questions.
But wondering about things was in my nature, even if I wasn't particularly observant.
It happened without me even thinking about it, and the questions that sparked had historically gotten me into trouble.
Instructor Garcien had shared a kernel of erudition that stuck with me, more so than everything else she'd said.
I should consider my present company, before I expressed any questions.
Contemplating what she'd said about failure, I tried applying it to my continued matches against Rosa when I got back. To my surprise, I had her in a choke hold in under an hour.
And of course, Zevrial's eyes were still tracking me more than anyone else in the clearing.
Delight curved my lips with my small victory and I returned the smug expression he had sent me earlier. He raised an eyebrow at me, and something shifted in his expression. I couldn't tell what.
I took great pleasure in removing my weighted vest, but I didn't allow myself to lounge the rest of the day away. I took breaks, trained more, and thought about Instructor Garcien's advice about the upcoming midterm.
Even though I had been among those who had managed to pass today's lesson, I wasn't physically ready yet for whatever the midterm might throw at me.
I did shuttle runs until my legs felt like pain-filled ropes, and then sit-ups ‘til my stomach threatened to rebel.
To my satisfaction, Zevrial looked as tired as I felt when I stopped training. He shot me an annoyed look, wiping sweat from his face. I sent back a saccharine smile.
I was drenched in perspiration and exhausted by the time we headed back.
So exhausted that I didn't notice that we had fewer people with us than when we'd set out that morning.