The arms-master, a woman cursed with a male physique, shouted commands that were so twisted with a barbarous accent that no one really knew what the hell she was talking about. Pointing this flaw out was in vain. No one wanted to tell her that her voice sounded like a cat being slaughtered. Especially when the one in question stood three feet above you and favored a club big enough to rattle every tooth in your head. So everybody just nodded and smiled, which made the instructor nod and smile, making her safe in her deception. It was the way of things.
“Shayna!” the hulking woman boomed. In the wake of tittering laughter did she stride to the arms-master’s side, hoping against hope her reddened cheeks would escape the furor of the woman’s gaze. Something wooden tumbled through the air; instinct caught it. A practice sword. And there, striding to the opposite point of the ring the girls made as a barrier. Brianna. A thousand whispers through holes in the wall. A thousand sweet-muffins smuggled, eaten with giggles and dreams. A thousand inches distant, as the brooding cold of a warrior descended upon her, erecting a wall that no friendship could pierce.
Shayna fell into that battle-haze where the world narrowed to the blade in her hands and the opponent she faced. The arms-master’s words came sluggishly, as though encased within molasses. It did not matter. Nothing mattered; only the opponent mattered. Katas spun from her steel as though practiced for a hundred years. Graceful Crane. Fierce Tiger. Sea of Shattered Diamonds.
Brianna met the attack and launched her own. Pale Moon Among the Stars. Bloody Vendettas. Eye of The Hurricane. Shayna shifted on her right side, letting Brianna’s blade slice through air. Shifting balance, Shayna caught the other’s practice sword, brought it down and up, smooth as lightning. Brianna cried as the momentum tore the blade from her hand, to clatter upon the ground.
“Shayna!” the arms-master cried. The battle-black faded. The two combatants met gazes briefly. Shayna was not surprised to see Brianna glaring murder. Friendship was a pale thing besides competition. A strange development, for the Companions’ purpose was to nurture the human within the blueblood. Strange, indeed.
Next were the private shiisaa lessons. The Shiva’s Fingertips was comfortable in her hands. Granted the dilemma was the sacrifice of long range. Shayna would have to get into close quarters; a hard thing to do with Lindsay, her opponent. Her favorite shiisaa was the Phia’s Fear, a length of chain that could disappear and reappear from even the smallest quantity of metal. The feral gleam in Lindsay’s eyes told there would be no quarter given. Mercy was not an option.
The battle ended as it always ended. Metallic chains rose from nowhere and spiraled about Shayna from head to toe, coiling tight like the serpents they so resembled. The crash of Shayna’s head against the floor echoed in frustration and embarrassment. Not again.
“You are not focused.”
Shayna squirmed in the chains that bound her, to no avail. “You are too strong, Lindsay.”
“Strong? You think I won because I am strong? Do you really think magic is gauged by physical strength? No. Manna is the mind. The mind must be honed to manipulate the energy around us. The mind calls out the power of the shiisaa, makes it its own. Strength, you say. Hmph.”
“So how do I get out of this?” Her eyes bugged out at Lindsay spinning on her heel and started from the chamber. “Hey! You can’t leave me here!”
“You already have everything you need to break free.”
“What if I starve to death?”
“The idea is to free yourself before that happens. Before you let that happen.” Swiveling hinges echoed throughout the chamber. “You know where to find me.” The door slammed shut, and Shayna was alone.
She’ll be back. Any second now. She won’t leave me to die. Too much of a hassle. Too many people will notice me gone. She’ll have the elders crawling up her ass for killing a student. She’ll be back. Any second now. And yet there was no padded thunking of worried boots, or the anxious yelp of door hinges. Nothing at all.
She means it. Horror crashed down upon the corridors of her mind. Logic and hope corrupted into panic and despair. I’m going to die and there is nothing I can do to stop it. The evidence marched along her thoughts with cold cruelty. The training of manna was open to all that had the talent, but mystery was the catechism of the day. The hopeful students were taken to the classroom blindfolded. The chamber of teaching was unknown even to the maps available to any learner who wished analysis. No one knew where she was. Even if they did, no one would know where to look. The world became black with despair. I’m going to die.
You have everything you need to break free. The words were a lifeline, golden against the dark ocean of paranoia. Shayna clutched to those words. I will get out of this. I’m going to survive. Anger cleansed the doubt and fear in rivers of flame. I’m going to survive and I’m going to break Lindsay’s nose.
Shayna researched her options. The trio of shiisaa she had was called a Family amongst the Weirwynd scholars. A shiisaa Family worked in tandem for a specific purpose that would be unattainable were they separated. Very old, very ancient.
Not now. Focus. The Snow Maiden’s ribbons gave Frost-protection and resistance to the acolyte’s training gear. It gave nothing to destroy a Frost attack. The Chimon’s Bracelets were even more useless. Adding more Frost just meant more ice. And the rains of the Shiva’s Tears were meant to heal—
The revelation smacked her like a barn door. Of course! Why didn’t I think of this before? Granted it was a most unorthodox application of the shiisaa; and yet Lindsay’s words pealed in her mind. Manna is not muscle. It is the mind. She went over the shiisaa’s specifics to sharpen her focus.
The Shiva’s Tears was a black mask shaped in the form of a Mobius strip, giving one’s tears the power of a tincture depending on the material cried upon. Grass gave a potion that could cure poison. Blood gave a potion to dispel black humors from a patient’s body. Only with tears could the enchantment work, which obviously limited the shiisaa’s effectiveness. But perhaps now memories would be enough.
It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue, the sun was bright, and the birds were chirping. She was playing catch with Mommy, bouncing a ball back and forth in rhythmic precision. Once the ball veered away from her, and Shayna had to turn to get it, and then Daddy was there, picking her up with massive arms and swinging her about in a circle. Shayna stretched her arms out and pretended she was a bird soaring through the sky. After a while Daddy stopped swinging, hefted her to her usual spot on his massive shoulder and went straight to Mommy. They hugged until they hurt, and then went into the house for lunch.
There was a knock on the door. Daddy opened the door and smiled. It was her uncles. They didn’t share Daddy’s face or eyes or even the beard that tickled her cheeks when he hugged her, but they were his brothers all the same. They mussed up her hair and joined them for dinner. Mommy made her favorite dinner, and she watched as tales were told across dinner plates and napkins, and everybody laughed because it was funny, because they always laughed, because it was always funny. Soon after she slept, and felt Daddy’s arms carry her to bed, and she slept. It was the best day ever.
Her favorite memory. It was something Shayna cherished, to remember her parents’ faces after so many years without them. So why was there a tear in her eye? There was nothing to be sad about. There wasn’t a single concrete reason for her mind to summon it at a time when sadness needed to be utilized. And yet...
And yet...
The tear fell upon the chain, and the liquid meant to provide a healing balm instead turned the steel into mist. Shayna felt her knees thud to the stone floor. Desperately she clawed for a lifeline. The art of spell-casting was not perfect. Sometimes using shiisaa resulted in strange maladies. Yes. That was what it was. Just a simple reaction. Without foundation and
as annoying as feigned movement at the corner of vision. Nothing more.
The sorrow was drowned in Lindsay’s pride. Tradition dictated that she would wield the shiisaa upon mastering its intimacies, which was why Lindsay blinked when she asked for another shiisaa to use. It was the first request of the kind in the history of the Companions, but there was no rule against it. Shayna got the Gloves of Aisu, a shiisaa that bound a broken limb in a sling of ice to better accelerate the healing process. Shayna knew she was being silly, but the more distance she put between her and the trial, the better.
At the end of the night Shayna closed her diary, and took off her glasses to massage her temples. They were her design, mirrors delicately curved to amplify sight in short range. Like the diary, the glasses were a jealously guarded secret. There would be those who would exploit the fact of her hindrance, make it into words that twisted in her heart like barbs. There always was.
She dreamed. She dreamed of a grassy meadow, the wind stirring the sea of green stalks. Boundless happiness flooded her. The meadow. Her favorite playground. Beaming smiles upon her were her parents; she knew not in detail but the feeling was irreplaceable. None but a parent could gaze upon you with such a great capacity for love.
Then the meadow darkened. Night swooped in, changing the sky from blue to velvet to black. There were no stars shining, no constellations glittering, nothing. Shayna shuddered and reached back to her parents, only to flail at empty air. She spun to find the loving warmth gone; and in the spinning, she was transformed from child to woman. Dream. Only a dream. Then why can’t I wake up?
In the distance firelight glowed softly. A step forward ate yards instead of inches. Warmth pulled her deeper into the light, to find tents and caravans of intricate design. Walking further revealed a stone-ringed bonfire, with people circling the warm fire, eating and talking and laughing. They stirred at her presence, and for a moment freezing cold stabbed her through the heart. Only for a moment, and then warmth flooded her body. Guided to a seat she broke their bread with them, content with the warmth, content with the seduction of fellowship, of belonging. It was not until she had finished her first bread that chance made her glance up.
They had no faces. Eye and brow and mouth, replaced by a smooth layer of skin. Shayna rose on wooden legs and backed away. The...the things noted her fear, and suddenly the air crackled with their malevolence. Fingers spun like clay extended to double their length, hard cords to wrap their pray in, to hold as their prize wriggled and struggled and whimpered out its last breath, till the pray was nothing more than sacks of bones.
Shayna felt numb. She knew she should be defending herself, but something heavy bound her arms, as if someone were holding them back. The rest of her body ignored her demands. A lifetime of knowledge, forgotten now in the cold epiphany of death. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and pray the end would be quick.
A metallic shrill sounded in the air. Slight moans, the last remnants of life. Shayna opened her eyes and saw the faceless demons splayed out in fear, rubricate pools spreading slowly underneath them. She looked up to see her savior, and somehow her eyes were compelled from his frame, curving away before any detail could be memorized. There was another beside him, the details shrouded, letting only a voice to boom from the black arch.
“Your life has been spared. It now belongs to me. An errand to be run, a debt to be repaid. So shall it be...unless you want to hand your life over now.”
There was an ominous edge to them, a malevolence that was not to be defied. Shayna was frozen, her tongue cloven to her mouth. Fear ran loose within her, making her shrivel, down, down to the earth. She would have clawed a hole in the ground to get clear of the sickening fear, if she were able to move. “No...”
“Wake up.”
Shayna lurched from the bed with a sob. Details spun through her mind, fear overwhelming her, while logic and reason sorted the barrage of images flashing like quicksilver across her mind. Instinctively her arms wrapped about her, rocking back and forth till the world made sense. It was a dream, she told herself. I will not be deterred by this. I won’t allow it. She slid from bed hesitantly. She would walk the balcony, above the garden. Seeing the emerald beauty below always soothed her fiery mind. She turned to the door—only to find there was none. Just a wall of rock where it had been. Impossible. Panic flooded her. Her fists bruised upon the stone. She screamed and found her voice stolen. Whirling about she saw the window, too, gone; but the world would not stop the swirling. Shayna crumpled to her knees, moaning soundlessly. No. This can’t be happening.
“You have a debt to repay.” The sound was everywhere, though there was no mouth to produce it. “You will repay it.” The words slipped into her brain, chasing her every thought. You will repay. You will repay it. You will.
Shayna let out a silent scream—
—And lurched from her bed, panting as though drowning. Her fingers shuddered in their touching. So real. Was this real? Is this real? Or is it another dream? It took a moment for anger to work through the fear. It was just a dream. I have read the works of Badswell and O’Neal. Every scrap of knowledge she gleaned from yellowed tomes told her dreams were but the amalgamation of pent up fears and mental distress. They are only real if I let them be real. I am above this. I won’t let this hound me. Still Shayna leapt at the creaking of her door. It was just a dream.
“Shayna?” A wrinkled, motherly face peeped from a deep cowl. Angela, the matron of the Companions, the one voice among the order that offered comfort and sympathy usually denied by duty and routine. “Shayna, you look absolutely pale. Did you have a nightmare, honey?”
“It is nothing.” A sudden glare told her morning had dawned, but with no crow. Shayna knew she had slept too deeply, yet the doubts festered within her reason. Leave me alone, damn you!
“Dear, you’re shaking. Here.” The matronly Companion wriggled out of her robe to drape it upon Shayna’s shoulders. “Honey, are you sure you are all right?”
“Yes. Truly I am.” It finally occurred to her that a Companion, sweetness aside, was in her chamber. “What is it? Has something gone wrong?”
“No, no, my dear. Nothing is wrong. In fact, nothing of this day can hint of wrong-doing.” Angela extended a wrinkled hand. Shayna took the hand, took the comfort of solid contact. It was just a dream. She gained confidence with each step.
Of knowledge, that was a different matter. Nothing familiar was in the path Angela led her. It was further disturbing thanks to the fact that Shayna had studied the history of the school quite extensively, and none of these passages were shown in the reports. Fear bubbled within, but Shayna forced it down. Logic and rationalism. Those were the oaths Shayna put trust in. The fear withered away. Still, this conflict of mind and reality was irking, if nothing else.
The chamber that Angela finally led her to was nothing special. All the stark comforts of her room, but this time a long rectangle of glass traced a horizontal line through the stone. Edging to the window Shayna saw a terrific gap of height. She was ten feet above ground. The chamber itself was the announcement room. Her cohorts swelled the room to near bursting. They were ants, arranging themselves in rows, pressing lip to stone as if kissing it. They were waiting for something. Or someone. Who?
She spun as the door creaked open, and paled as Samantha entered the room. This didn’t make sense. Why would Samantha, the legendary Companion, be here? Why would she have cause to be in the same room as a lowly novice? Her lips parted for greeting, and her throat suddenly became tight and dry. Any words that passed came out as a choked whimper, which flushed her whole face red. Shayna wished she could crawl into some hole and die.
Hands clasped her. Words ringing from a far distance, telling her to move this way, then that. Lift your arms. Suck in the belly. Take a deep breath. Woodenly Sh
ayna followed the commands. At last when they brought a mirror, Shayna was speechless. This beautiful girl...it can’t be me.
Her cheeks and lips were rouged, eyes sparkled with kohl. A maroon cloak, trimmed with fibers of gold, bore the Companion symbols of duty and honor. The neck was pinned with a gold ring, inset with a heart’s outline in the middle. Shayna blinked as recognition came over her. “This...this is the cloak of the chosen.”
“Yes. It is.”
“But they only give these to the chosen Companions.”
“Yes. They are.”
“Then I’m...I mean...” She turned to find both women smiling from ear to ear. “I’m the Companion?”
“Yes.”
Shayna willed herself not to faint. She dared not move; dared not breathe, lest this was an illusion that would pop at the slightest hint of movement. The two women took her by the arms, guided her down a secret stairway ending at the forefront of the meeting chamber. A hidden gong bid everyone to rise. A chorus of gasps echoed through the mammoth chamber. Gossip chased the girls from whisper to whisper. More than a few eyed her with anger, and Shayna felt their thoughts with each burning stab. Why her? What does she have that I do not? Why not me?
Samantha made a speech, but Shayna knew it naught. She was still hazed in awe. The only words she recognized were “Bow to the Princess.” The awe collapsed like a popped bubble, and with a great thrum of sound did the novices fall to one knee. Shayna hurried to follow suit.
The doors creaked open with a sliver of light peeking in. The doors swung free; the light enveloped the whole chamber. From the midst of that light a shadow appeared. Step by step the flagstones rang her advent; step by step did her features were sculpted. First the hair and skin, both a tanned brown. Sharp amber eyes narrowed above high-set cheekbones. A cloak with emeralds and sapphires woven into the fibers flared out like a banner, displaying a slender but well-rounded figure, clad in skintight sand-silk. Boots of the same color gave her the exotic flavor of desert-born; her strides demanding allure and respect. More than a few whispers echoed jealously, but the figure ignored them. They were but worms to grovel at her feet.
Sefiros Eishi: Chased By War (The Smoke and Mirrors Saga Book 2) Page 2