Daughter of the Flames (3 page)

When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. “That’s a real gift you have there, girl.”

“Thank you, namoa.” I bowed my head to hide my pleasure and embarrassment. I was relieved when Deo turned his gaze back to the practice ring.

I knew that out of the dozen we had begun training this afternoon, probably less than half would take the oath and stay in the House of God when they came of age. Of that handful, there might be one or two who had the talent or inclination to be a warrior namoa. That wasn’t the point of the training sessions. When we taught the children to defend themselves, we taught them courage. It was amazing how quickly they could recover from the fear which had dogged them all their lives when they had a sword in their hands. They would not cower from the Sedorne any more. They would have pride.

If they have pride, I can teach them strength.
The Rua needed all the strength they could get.

Deo cleared his throat, breaking into my thoughts. “Is Surya sure you don’t come of age until after Green Equinox? I could do with you teaching here full-time, instead of only alternate afternoons.”

I shrugged, embarrassed again. “She’s not sure of anything, including whether I’m even sixteen this year or not, but that’s the date she’s set and she’ll be true to it. Besides…” I shifted position on the wall. “Even once I take the oath, I might not get a placement in the fighters.”

“You’ll get the placement, girl. It’d be a waste of God’s gifts if you didn’t come to us, and Surya knows it. Mark me – in two months you’ll be a novice fighter.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully, whether at the prospect of adding me to his fighting unit or of having more time to torment me, I didn’t know.

I won’t mind him tormenting me, I said to God. Only please let me be a fighter. Please don’t set me to minding the goats like Rashna… I noticed a loose thread on my much-mended hose and pulled hard on it, then stared at the hole I’d made. “Burn it!”

“Mind your language,” Deo admonished. “Stop worrying. You’re almost a fighter now. It’s your destiny, girl.” He pushed himself away from the wall and strode ahead into the circle, clapping his hands for attention. Most of the trainees were panting and sweat-soaked, all too ready to let their weapons fall.

“Excellent. A very good first lesson. Now, for your entertainment, Zira and I will stage a little demonstration of how the long staff can be used in the hands of experts.”

My heart sank, though I tried to keep my expression blank. I should have known. Deo was well aware that I disliked the staff, so he made me use it every time he got the chance.

“If you continue to work as hard as you’ve worked this afternoon,” he continued, “one day you may be able to do this. Clear those staffs away and give those gloves back – all of them!”

He waited until the trainees had handed their weapons in and regrouped outside the ring, then reached into the barrel and pulled out, from among the short greenwood staffs, a long polished one, bound at both ends in plain brass. He tossed it to me and then picked out his own staff, lavishly carved with designs that echoed the wolf and stars of his tattoo, and capped with silver.

“Ready?” he asked me, twirling the wooden staff idly in one hand. Show-off.

I rolled my shoulders to loosen the tension I could feel contracting my muscles. I was tall for a Rua, a head taller than most women and an inch taller than Deo, but he had several inches on me in reach and the long staff was his favourite weapon. He was a demon with it. Resigned to the bruises I knew were coming, I took up the fighting stance, legs braced, staff held diagonally across the body, and nodded.

The familiar grin split his face, and he struck, his staff moving in a dark blur of speed towards my chin. I threw myself forward under his strike, which passed narrowly over my head, and jabbed towards his stomach. He turned at the last instant and I missed, sliding past his belly. I allowed the momentum to carry me past him, but he brought the staff around in a one-handed whirl and it glanced off my collarbone. I sucked in a sharp, painful breath as I dropped.

I rolled across the dirt and came back to standing with a pump of my legs, turning and kicking out sideways with my right foot in one movement, aiming for his knee. He deflected the kick, his staff hitting the sole of my boot and forcing me to drop back. As he blocked, his left side was open for a second and I brought the staff around in a horizontal two-handed strike. The brass cap thudded soundly against his side. The watching trainees gasped.

Deo responded with a savage overhand sweep of his staff. I panicked, dropping again. My shoulder hit the ground badly this time and I hissed as I tumbled forward, flattened and dived between his legs. A faint titter of laughter rose from the children. Scorch it! The staff was not my favourite weapon.

Deo’s weapon thudded into the ground by my head, ripping a few stray hairs out as I rolled and popped up. I slid left to avoid the powerful kick he aimed at my torso, blocked a high strike at my face and a low one at the hip, caught a sideways blow to my stomach that almost made me double over as the air whooshed from my lungs, and managed to get in a light hit on his right forearm.

We could be at this all day, I thought. Time to try something different.

I slammed my staff point into the dust and, still holding the other end with both hands, flung myself up and sideways in a two-footed flying kick. He brought his staff up but it was too late – my weight thudded into his shoulder and knocked him literally off his feet. I fell as he did.

He hit the ground with a shout and rolled, hoping to knock me over as he went, but I’d already backflipped off him and out of range. He snapped to his feet at the same moment that I came upright. For a split second, we faced each other, breathing hard as the sweat made flesh-coloured runnels over our dusty skin. Then Deo lunged. I twisted left, but the turn was too slow and I recognized his manoeuvre too late. His staff hit my bad shoulder with enough force to numb my arm, and before I could adjust my grip, the second strike came, hitting the staff at the exact right point to scoop it from my fingers. My staff flew from my hands, rapping me sharply on the head as it turned in the air. It rolled off my shoulder and landed behind me.

“Ow.” I rubbed my bruised head and heard the children giggling at me. Wonderful.

“An excellent bout!” Deo planted his staff in the dirt and leaned on it. I saw with a mixture of irritation and admiration that his breathing was barely disturbed and already slowing. “Your two-footed kick is improving, though your aim is bad. You know you should go for stomach, not shoulder. If you’d hit me right I wouldn’t have got back up again.”

“I will practise, namoa,” I said through gritted teeth. I winced at the pull on my shoulder as I bowed.

Deo waited for me to straighten and then returned the bow neatly, but I noted with some satisfaction that his spare hand had risen to surreptitiously massage the shoulder I had kicked. My aim was bad, was it? Ha!

He turned to look at the children. “Do you see how the movements we have taught you today can be used in a fight?”

There were some dubious nods. I couldn’t help laughing. Deo was a wonderful teacher, but sometimes his love of showing off was counterproductive.

“Come on! It’s easy!” I called.

“Easy for the teacher’s little pet,” a mocking voice said.

Everyone turned to look up at the steps along the inner wall. I felt the laughter wilt and die away as I saw the woman with a stylized wave tattoo on both cheeks, leaning against one of the stone pillars. There, as if my earlier thoughts had called her up, was Rashna.

Rashna was a year older than me and had taken her vows to God the year before, but despite all her promises of humility and compassion, her nature was as prickly as a porcupine’s back. I was just grateful that, for the most part, her new duties as a novice kept her busy and out of my way. Hopefully by the time I took the oath and became a novice myself, she might have advanced again and be too busy to bother with me.

“I assure you, novice, that I do not have pets of any kind,” Deo said sharply. “If you would care to spar with me yourself, you’d have the bruises to prove it.”

I looked at him in surprise. It wasn’t like him to snap.

Rashna raised an eyebrow. “I certainly meant no disrespect to you, namoa. Or, of course, to your favoured pupil.” She nodded to him, then turned and swiftly mounted the stairs.

“That girl…” Deo muttered between his teeth.

I stooped to collect my staff from the dust. “She has a wicked tongue,” I agreed, hoping my tone did not give away my rampant curiosity.

Deo’s scowl suddenly turned into a grin. “I hear Surya put her on duty with the goats. Not precisely what Rashna expected, eh?”

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Did she request a placement as a fighting namoa, then?”

“Demanded it, more like. It never crossed her mind she wouldn’t get it.”

“Then why didn’t she? We all know she was the best fighter in her age group. I thought she must have decided not to take the placement, for some reason.”

“Oh, she has a definite talent. Especially with the long staff.” He grinned again.

“Then why isn’t she in your unit?” I repeated.

“I have a shrewd idea that her temper’s got her into trouble one too many times. Hopefully goat duty’ll cool her down, and then Surya can reassign her somewhere more to her taste.” He shook his head and glanced at me. The smile turned to a look of concern as he saw me massaging my shoulder. “I’ll take care of this lot. You should go to the herb room and get Mira to mix up some ointment for your shoulder.”

Mira was Deo’s wife, a gifted herbalist and fellow namoa. She was two months pregnant with their first child.

“Would you like me to request some extra for you?” I asked, straight-faced.

He narrowed his eyes. “No, thank you. Go on – before I change my mind and have you scrub the rust off my battle plate.”

“Yes, namoa.” I bowed primly, handed him my staff and walked out of the ring. Only when I was out of sight did I allow myself to laugh.

By the time I had finished all my chores and got back to my cell, it was almost dark. The shoulder bruise had been numbed with a judicious application of Mira’s salve, but my head was pounding. I pulled the thick curtain of blue fabric across the doorway, blocking out both sound and draughts, and sat down cross-legged on my thick pallet of blankets and furs with a quiet whimper of relief.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated, counting each breath until my mind was focused and I had fallen into a light trance. Gradually the bass thudding behind my eyes began to smooth out.

By the time I stirred again, the silvery light at the window had been submerged in darkness. My head still felt a little tender and my hands trembled, but I knew that would pass soon. I’d been getting the headaches all my life and I was used to them. At least this one hadn’t been too bad. Sometimes the pain was so intense that I saw flashes of light, strange faces, and thought I heard voices. It was like going mad. When I was younger, Surya had nursed me through the fits. Now I tried to keep them to myself as much as possible. Surya had enough to worry about.

With an effort I uncrossed my legs and kneeled up. I sat for a moment in the darkness, adjusting, then reached out for my candle and tinderbox. I lit the candle very carefully and placed the thick glass shield over the flame as soon as it caught, then set it on the windowsill.

There was an earthenware jug of water and a basin on the little wooden table by the bed. I stretched out absently for the jug and poured the basin full, then realized what I was doing and set the jug down so abruptly that I slopped water onto the floor. I stared at the basin with something close to loathing, struggling against the urge to complete the ritual.

It was a stupid habit. Stupid and childish. Most of the time, I didn’t even remember. But it was dark and I was alone and – as if the headache had stirred up emotions that at other times lay dormant – I couldn’t resist.

The rich yellow light created strong reflections in the water as I bent over it. I raised my hand, cupped the trembling fingers over the left side of my face and looked down.

I saw waving black hair, cropped at chin length. The movement of the water made it seem to drift around my face like a shadow. Skin the colour of toasted almonds, a right eyebrow that was thick but naturally arched, lashes a glossy frame to the slanting, amber eye. The nose was thin and hawkish, but balanced by the wideness of the mouth.

I met my own eye, and saw the wariness there. Why do I do this to myself? My reflection had no answer. Sighing, I took my hand away.

The scar began as a puckered white line cutting through the deep widow’s peak on my forehead, but it thickened as it curved, and was an inch wide by the time it trailed down over the top of the nose. It slashed across my eye and upper cheek, ending at the left ear, where it had seared away the bottom of the lobe. There were no lashes on the scarred lid of the left eye, only a ridge of pinkish tissue that made an S shape and created a lopsided, hooded effect over the eye that, by some miracle, had been spared.

I brushed a finger over the scaly, uneven skin. In some places the scar tissue was so thick that I felt nothing; in others, so fine and delicate that even a faint breeze seemed to rasp against it. I stretched my mouth into a smile, and watched the way the normal skin around the scar wrinkled.

Every time I looked into the water, or a mirror, I saw the same thing. The same old face, the same old scar. And yet, every time, I somehow expected it to be different. I didn’t understand myself. What did I really want to see? It wasn’t as if I could ever remember looking any different. In exasperation, I plunged my hands into the water, shattering the reflection into a thousand drifting black-gold fragments.

Enough, now. Enough.

The octagon room – where the temple’s population gathered to eat – was almost deserted that evening. When I entered, fresh from the bathhouse with my hair still curling damply, there were only a handful of people seated at the long, low tables that filled the large space. Surya was one of them.