He hears all of us.
‘Yes, he does,’ Rowan answered, thinking Rosette’s words were directed towards him. ‘Sometimes he knows what I’m going to say before I even think it.’
‘I know what you mean,’ she whispered.
Rosette marvelled at the animal. He was tall—about seventeen hands, she guessed. His neck arched as he looked at her straight on, his huge brown eyes gazing through a long and dense forelock that covered most of his face. His nostrils flared as he took in her scent, then he tossed his head, trumpeting again.
‘Diablai,’ she said softly. ‘I would cherish a ride with you.’ She lifted her hand to stroke his shoulder, making it ripple with the touch. It felt like silk; the muscles beneath were tight, ready to spring.
Rowan grasped a handful of mane at the horse’s withers and vaulted up with practised ease before extending his arm down to Rosette. She ignored it. Grasping a handful of mane as well, she took a backward step towards Diablai’s head and vaulted up neatly behind.
Settling in, she pressed her face close to Rowan’s cheek. ‘Shall we be off?’
‘A horsewoman, are you?’
‘I used to be.’ She was about to frown but lifted her face instead.
‘Perhaps you’ll apprentice with the Sword Master after all,’ he said as he urged Diablai up the remaining slope.
‘He favours equestrians?’
‘Of course.’
She slipped her arms around Rowan’s waist. The power of the horse beneath her and the man in front of her made her take a deep breath. Invigorating! This was quite a contrast to the ride she had had earlier today. She could feel the undulation and tensing of every muscle in Diablai’s spine. Energy shot through him at such a rate, she thought they might fly up the cliff instead of climb it.
‘Why the sword?’ he asked.
‘What’s that?’ She turned her attention back to Rowan as she held him tight.
‘Why do you want to train with the sword?’
‘I feel more alive with a sword in my hand than at almost any other time.’
‘Any other reason?’
Rosette hesitated. ‘Promise not to laugh?’
‘Not if it’s funny.’
‘All right. Promise not to snicker?’
He nodded.
‘I train with the sword because…I had a dream.’
‘A dream?’
‘It was vivid, lingering. I know I will apprentice with the Sword Master. I have to. I’ve seen it.’
‘Do you base all your plans on dreams?’
‘Pretty much.’ She clutched him as they skirted around a cluster of oaks and up another steep incline. ‘Don’t you?’
He didn’t reply.
‘How’d you hear about
our
Sword Master anyway?’ Rowan asked, gripping Diablai’s mane.
‘He’s the best.’
‘Is that what they’re saying where you come from, in Dumarka?’
‘Actually, I come from the south, near Lister Bay, but either way, north or south, that’s what they say.’
‘And who are
they?
’
‘My mentor says so.’
‘Your mentor?’ Rowan said the words so softly that Rosette wasn’t sure he had actually spoken. ‘And who might that be?’ he asked, the question ringing out.
She cleared her throat.
‘Nellion Paree, of the Dumarkian Woods.’
‘Nellion Paree?’ He whistled.
Rosette bumped into Rowan’s shoulder as Diablai bunched his muscles to leap over a broad hedge that divided two tracks.
‘Hang on,’ he said.
They landed lightly on the far side of the hedge and galloped on.
‘
The
Nellion Paree?’ he asked again.
‘You keep saying her name, but you had it right the first time.’ Rosette pinched him and laughed.
He didn’t laugh back.
Rosette wasn’t sure what the problem was. ‘She’s a powerful witch, a great teacher.’
He didn’t respond for several strides as he urged Diablai up a climb of stairs. The horse’s hooves tapped out a beat as they hit the stones. Rosette tightened her leg muscles, and her breath came in rushes, though it was Diablai that ran. They crested the top of the stairs, directly behind the arena, just a short length from the stage.
‘Indeed she is,’ Rowan finally answered, turning his face to her as Diablai came to a halt. ‘And here we are.’
As promised, the short cut and the horse’s speed had secured them a spot in front of the main stage. Drayco stood very close to the horse, his tail twitching as he surveyed the crowd. His sides lifted and fell with each quick breath.
‘Amazing,’ Rosette said.
‘Did you doubt I could do it?’
‘A little,’ she said without apology. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘Perhaps we can remedy that,’ he said, giving her thigh a squeeze.
She released her arms from around his waist, leaned forward and slid her leg over Diablai’s rump. Next thing she knew, her feet were planted on the ground, her head tilted up to thank the horseman. It was then she realised he was barefoot, his toes brushing her arm as he turned Diablai around.
‘You have a wonderful horse.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Actually, he’s the Sword Master’s.’
Rosette’s eyebrows went up.
‘Go on,’ Rowan prompted, giving her a wink. ‘Find a good place, right up front.’
She followed his gesture then turned back only to see him galloping away. ‘Thank you…’ she called out.
Too late. Horse and rider were gone.
She looked over at the crowd. ‘Ready to get amongst them, my lovely?’
Ready,
Drayco purred.
She’s near.
‘Who’s near?’
The one like me.
‘Maybe you’ll meet her soon.’
Not yet. She’s hiding.
He pressed his head briefly into Rosette’s hand and led the way into the crowd. A path parted before them as they moved towards the stage, dead centre, front row. Rosette looked straight up into the faces on the raised platform. She guessed immediately which one the High Priestess was.
Even though Rosette had never met La Makee, she had heard her described many times. She was easy to spot. The red hair gave her away, and the fact that everyone around her was listening intently, responding to her directions with nods and gestures. She was definitely in command. Red hair, short stature, huge energy. Huge? The woman was luminous. And her hair wasn’t just red. It burned like fire, falling in tresses to her waist. Several large azurite stones were draped at her neck, secured with a double chain of silver. They glinted in the sunlight while she paced back and forth, stopping now and then to speak with the others. A sword swung at her side, the hilt inlaid with silver and bluestone. Rosette took a quick look at her own lapis bangles. They were of similar design.
That’s interesting.
What, Maudi?
Just noticing La Makee’s sword hilt.
You would.
Drayco sent a playful purr with his thoughts.
As the High Priestess strode about the stage her silk robe blew open, revealing black leather trousers and a finely quilted vest. Embroidered on the edges of her robe were entwining green serpents, and on the back a soaring golden falcon. Her hands lifted gracefully above
her head, slipping on a band to secure her hair away from her face. They were tattooed, somewhat like Nell’s.
La Makee stopped suddenly and stood like a warrior—legs apart, arms crossed under her breasts. She eyed the crowd as if they were new troops. The High Priestess of Treeon Temple wasn’t very tall, five or six inches shorter than Rosette, but what she lacked in height she made up for in sheer potency. La Makee exuded power and command, her toned muscles well defined, each movement agile and precise.
Her face seemed timeless, ancient and full of youth all at once. She had to be over fifty years old, but her birth data—like many of those in high rank—was kept secret. Nell said she was born under the sign of the Archer: adventurous, philosophical and free. Looking at her on stage, Rosette didn’t doubt it. La Makee beamed with fortitude and conviction, and something else. Something regal. She guessed the sign of the Lion was on the eastern horizon when this woman entered the world.
‘She’ll not let you off with the slightest imprecision or flaw,’ Nell had warned. ‘She knows true from false at the glance of an eye. Be honest in what you say to her, though know you may not always want to say too much.’
She knew Nell and La Makee had a history. They hadn’t seen each other or communicated for decades, until the letter Nell wrote applying for Rosette’s entry to Treeon. Rosette had asked what lay between them, but her mentor seemed reluctant to speak of it, and Rosette hadn’t pressed. Now that she was here, she wished she had.
As La Makee clapped her hands several others joined her, though they stood further back. Rosette was startled to see two men leap up onto the platform
belatedly. They shed their black robes, one tightening his sword belt and striding forward to stand beside La Makee. He towered above her, powerfully built, serpent tattoos entwining his forearms, shaved head revealing a striking face. The other, a slightly shorter man with spiky hair, followed quickly behind to stand beside him. Both were bare to the waist, barefoot and sculpted like fine art.
Rosette swallowed hard. There was no question about who stood directly alongside La Makee. It was the man who called himself Rowan. As if he knew he was being watched, he glanced down into the crowd and winked at Rosette. Without breaking eye contact he leaned towards the shorter man beside him, whispering something out of the side of his mouth. Both now looked in her direction. She felt her face flush.
Why would he deceive her like that? Her mind spun.
Trickster!
‘Is that…is he the…?’ She didn’t avert her eyes from Rowan as she tapped the young girl next to her, pointing towards the man on stage.
‘The Sword Master?’ the girl finished Rosette’s sentence. ‘Yes, it’s An’ Lawrence. He’s amazing. Unbelievably fast. You’ll see. They’re going to give a demonstration.’ She looked down at Drayco and her smile fell. She edged away.
‘Hush!’ A woman standing behind scolded both girls. Drayco turned his head, but she didn’t flinch. ‘La Makee is about to speak.’ She glared at Drayco and he glared back. At least someone here wasn’t intimidated by the feline. Rosette nodded at the woman and looked back to the stage.
‘For those who are new…’ La Makee paused to scan the crowd as if she identified them immediately among the hundreds in front of her, ‘welcome to the coven of Treeon Temple.’
Everyone raised their hands over their heads and cheered their greeting, Rosette joining them. Drayco sprang up to rest his front paws on the edge of the wide stage, whiskers twitching as he took in the scents.
‘I have one thing to impress on you today,’ she continued. ‘It’s a simple thing. It takes only a moment to say. You’ll spend the rest of your life considering it.’ Makee’s voice boomed out into the crowd. Her head turned slowly, scanning each face.
‘There is no turning back.’ There was no other sound in the entire valley. ‘When you enter Treeon Temple for training, you make a binding commitment to this coven and to the gods. It will not always be an easy bond. There will be times when the growth and development of your skills will be arduous. You may question if there is any progress at all. These are the times that test your will, your power to become who you are meant to be. The path is not simple or straightforward. It is not one to choose lightly. Make certain you understand this without question, before you commit.’
She paused and drew her sword, raising it above her head. ‘I say it again, one last time: there is no turning back.’ She looked down at Rosette then, her eyes boring into the girl.
Rosette broke out in a sweat. No-one spoke. The valley seemed to echo with La Makee’s voice, though she had stopped speaking. The sun shone directly overhead, making her sword tip flare, lighting it like a beacon. Far off towards the cider barn, a dog barked.
Then a cloud passed over the sun, dimming the light and breaking the spell. Cheers welled up and the crowd became animated. The High Priestess spoke in detail about commitment and intention. She talked of the mentors and tutors, of the masters and how they chose
their apprentices. Rosette was riveted, her senses catching every word and nuance.
Directions were given. Her name was called, along with a dozen others for the dormitory of Mistress Savine. She hoped all her dorm-mates would cope with Drayco. She didn’t notice any other familiars in the crowd and Dray had spoken of only one other—apparently bonded to the Sword Master. Rosette didn’t imagine she would be coming into contact with him again, or his familiar, at least for a while. She flushed at the thought of her casual manner only moments before. Did he assess all his potential students in such a covert way?
The clash of steel on steel grabbed her attention. Two apprentices were giving a demonstration, the arc of their swords slicing through the air with choreographed grace. It was the beginning of the
forms,
the prescribed movements exhibiting calmness, strength, dexterity and precision. She watched, transfixed, as the two apprentices, a tall man and a woman nearly his height, danced with the swords to the pounding of wooden drums. Their focus was amazing.
Whoops and hollers burst out around her as the apprentices finally froze, sword hands thrust forward, bodies facing each other in a deep lunge. Then they stood back, briefly lowered their eyes in an almost imperceptible bow and sheathed their weapons in perfect synchronicity. As they backed away two more students stepped up, executing progressively more complex forms, their movements astonishing. The drum-beat increased, sending chills up her spine.
Each demonstration proved more intricate and hazardous than the one before. Rosette took a deep breath when the High Priestess and Sword Master An’ Lawrence walked to the centre of the stage, squared off, and drew their swords. The ring of steel sang over the assembly.
La Makee had dropped her robe, her hair a tail of fire behind her. Both she and the Sword Master were barefoot, and they moved at precisely the same instant. Rosette watched wide-eyed, the complexity mesmerising. Maka’ra hadn’t taught the forms like this. He had said,
I teach you island-style. It is not as they do in the temples. It will save your life if you trust it.
He’d talked of the sword forms as living things, and sparring as a chance to let the soul of the sword speak. Rosette smiled. Their souls were certainly speaking now.