Full-Blood Half-Breed Read Free Page A

ancestry. He was equal parts Kusini Watu, Oestean, Nord, and Shimabito, and had been practicing his unique fusion of the four martial techniques for as long as he could remember. His martial dance honored his blended heritage. A commitment to a single god or discipline would be a betrayal of all the gods and, by extension, a betrayal of his family. Ultimately, such a vow would be unfaithful to who he was in his blood andsoul. For him to claim one god over any other would be tantamount to him claiming one ancestry over the other, and that he would not do.
    “I cannot, Sensei Quicksteel,” he said. “All of the Divine Siblings created the Thirteen. I am devoted to each. They are all part of me—”
    “Go,” the sensei said, turning his back on Paladin. “You are no longer welcome here.”
    Paladin grabbed his cloak and staff and slunk into the hallway.
    “You forgot these,
halbrasse
!” the Runt jeered.
    The three worship candles Paladin had brought from home—Muumba’s gray, Creador’s scarlet, and Schöpfer’s brown—thumped him in the chest and broke apart at his feet.
    Sensei Quicksteel turned his angry glare on the Runt. “What did you say, Disciple Von Hammerhead? What did you call him?”
    “Sensei,” the Runt said, “I just wanted the blasphemer to have his candles.”
    “What did you call him, Zwergfuchs?” The monk’s voice sounded strained. “What is this ‘
halbrasse
’?”
    The Runt’s sneering grin stretched across his face. “
Halbrasse
means the same as
híbrido
.”
    When Sensei Quicksteel didn’t recognize either the Nordzunge or Lengüoeste slurs, the Runt huffed in frustration.
    “He is a half-breed, Sensei Quicksteel. A—
zasshu
. The mongrel get of a wild black dog and a wanton bitch in heat.”
    CRACK!
    The slap sent the Runt skidding out into the hall, where his head of short-cropped, white-blond hair smacked against the wall. The humiliation on the Runt’s face almost made Paladin smile. Almost.
    “You continue to disappoint me, Zwergfuchs,” Sensei Quicksteel said, his voice trembling with emotion. “To speak such disgusting—” The sensei took a long, deep breath and calmed himself. “You have a devotion to filth, Disciple Von Hammerhead. And I will honor it by allowing you to continue as—what is it you younglings call it? Turd Nanny? Yes. You will serve for another year.”
    “No! Please,” Fox the Runt begged, “Sensei, I—”
    “Get out of my sight,” Sensei Quicksteel hissed. “Both of you.”
    What little color there was in Fox the Runt’s cheeks drained away until his facewas a translucent mask of utter, hopeless defeat. His iron-gray eyes welled up with tears and his thin lips quivered pitifully.
    This time Paladin did smile.
    The Runt scurried away, puling like a colicky babe as he went. Paladin waited for him to get out of sight, and then left the communion hall.
    He had feared this moment since he first set foot in the Seisakushan temple. It was a scene he had performed thrice before, with the Creadorians when he had disciplined in their cathedral near his home in Westgate, with the Schöpferites when he had worshipped amongst them on Nordländer Hill, and the Muumbans when he had studied with them in the southern quadrant of the city, Pequeñas Pirámides. They had all banished him from their holy places when they had witnessed his singular dance of praise to the Divine Siblings. He was not surprised that the Seisakushans had reacted the same way. Still, it was a bitter draught to swallow. Of all the monks, priests, and priestesses he had studied under, none had seemed more fair or just than Sensei Quicksteel.
    Walking out amongst the sakura trees into a beautiful autumn morning, Paladin couldn’t help but wonder what he would say to his parents, especially his mamá, a devout Seisakushan. He had been expelled from every discipline in the city, banished from every temple and forbidden to formally study any of the martial techniques.
    In