“Okay, let’s do that.”

He grinned, happy to have made himself clear.

According to Finch, Pidge and Booster were both in their third hour on the pole. To my surprise, Hosea was, again, completing the challenge with them. If I didn’t know exactly how much pain he was in, after three additional hours, I would have dismissed his efforts. As it was, my respect for him grew more robust. It settled, like a warm flush, in my chest.

“How does he do it?” I said, urgently. His endurance on the post was the key to his superior skill with the Helix. If I could muster half his ability, I would never be afraid of Jones again. “How does he stand the pain?”

Finch answered quickly, as if he had considered the question before. He lifted his hand and inhaled, slowly, bringing his hand down, running it along his throat and chest, all the way to his stomach. He held his breath a few seconds, then exhaled.

“Breath?” I guessed. “You think Hosea bears the pain with his breath?”

Finch nodded, smiling.

“I don’t understand.”

He explained more, turning me so that we faced each other squarely. He took another breath, then he pointed at me.

“You want me to breathe?”

He nodded.

Obediently, I inhaled.

He clapped his hands harshly and shook his head. You’re doing it wrong. Taking my hand, he placed it on his stomach. It ballooned out as he inhaled and it filled with air. It flattened when he exhaled.

When he pointed at me, I tried again. My chest and shoulders rose, but my stomach remained flat. “I’m doing it wrong!” I said, convinced.

Finch demonstrated the technique once more. His stomach ballooned up, his chest stayed flat.

I turned to watch Pidge and Booster and, suddenly, Hosea’s advice came back to me.

When the pain attacks your balance, look inside and meditate on what you observe. Do this, and you’ll master your Double Helix.

From a distance, I saw that Hosea, like Finch, was breathing from his stomach. It worked rhythmically, in and out, as the rest of him remained immobile. I closed my eyes and focused. Once again, I tried to fill my abdomen with air. Instead, my chest rose and fell. My stomach remained deflated. Frustrated by my repeated failure, I opened my eyes.

“We should go,” I said to Finch. “Walker will be expecting fish.”

Finch looked about to protest, but shrugged. He led me the rest of the way to the stream.

The Champion

THE CHAMPION

That night we celebrated all the trainees passing the first test. At the feast, Pidge and Booster soaked their feet in water as Pidge recounted the tale of Booster’s initial fall from the post. As they laughed, I surveyed them. Each man did their part to support the camp.