LEARNING TO FIGHT
by Dawn Lloyd
My father led forty two raids before he was granted the rank of colonel. He stopped counting after that. My mother smuggled in supplies from our sympathizers in the villages, until one night she never returned. My brother, from the age of seven until eleven, had kept watch from the cliffs or the forest’s edge. His body was never found. And I, I wrote poems trying to convince all of them that we should give up our revolution and make peace. The rebels heralded my father a hero, my mother a martyr, my brother an innocent lost, and me a traitor.
Only when my father, my last protector, was killed on a scouting mission did I swear an oath of vengeance. I had no other choice if I wanted to stay in the camp. Despite my poems, only a fool would try to walk into an Isberian village openly.
It had been less than a month after my father’s death. We’d taken down our tent—how easy it can be to dismantle a home—and gone farther down the mountain to the Blue Canyon. I could only assume we were positioning to move against the Isberians. My oath of vengeance didn’t mean I was trusted with tactical knowledge.
I was helping our glorious cause by shelling peas when Colonel Azuria came in. I jumped up, more in surprise than at his rank. Father had earned through skill the same thing that Colonel Azuria had attained by birth. He waved me back. “Suddenly concerning yourself with military formality, Reha?” The heavy gray tent flap closed with a swish.
“Just startled.” I sat again, pulling the wooden bucket to my feet and grabbing a handful of peas.
He walked to the fire and rubbed his hands over it. “Didn’t your father teach you not to sit with your back to the door?”
I dropped the handful in the pan on my lap. “My father taught me to grow peas.”
“Oh.” An honest surprise laced his voice and I looked up.
He’d changed since we’d first started fighting for these mountains and he’d begun to lead the raids against the farmers in the valley. His manner of dress had shifted as well. Now, his close cut, high collared blue shirt bore no resemblance to the flowing red and gold robes I’d seen him wear as a young man less than a decade ago. The brown leather coat buttoned tight around his neck, his light brown hair just brushing his shoulders. It jerked a bit as he shivered with the growing warmth. “Your father was a good man.” He avoided looking at me.
I ripped the pea pods. “He said the same about you.”
“Rank earns you many kind words.” He gave a warm, friendly smile. It was the first time any one of the camp had looked at me with anything other than disdain. I didn’t know how to return it, so I kept my eyes on the peas. “Only to your face.”
He nodded once.
An awkward moment passed. How do you fill a silence like that? Swear loyalty and vengeance, yet again, to my father’s cause?
He surveyed the tent lashings brushing the center pole, then the peas, then the braided rug covering the dirt floor. “You know these mountains as well as your father did, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“You could escort a prisoner back to Harraras’ camp?”
I nodded again. What else was I to do? Never mind what Harraras’ camp was known for. Never mind I had no skill fighting. Never mind I didn’t even have any reason to wish ill on this man I’d be escorting to his eventual death. I’d sworn, hadn’t I?
“Good. We caught him this morning, down the river just outside camp. Says he was checking his trap line. We can’t spare anyone else to take him.”
I eyed him, wondering why he was sending me, of all people. “Gods forbid you’d let anyone on this side of the mountain when they didn’t even know we were here.”
“Pardon?”
The tone was quiet, friendly even. I almost repeated myself until I glanced up. He was still warming his hands over the fire, but his gaze had fallen squarely on me, cold blue eyes meeting mine. The peas fell back in the kettle.
“Would you care to repeat that?”
His voice was still friendly and quiet, but mine trembled as I answered the eldest son of Lord Iscah. “Nothing, Colonel.”
His tone had turned cold. “Perhaps you could repeat it nonetheless?”
I stared down at the peas. If I concentrated hard enough, maybe I wouldn’t have to look back. “I was only wondering if he was telling the truth and he honestly didn’t know we were here.”
“Perhaps.” Was his tone a bit warmer now? “And perhaps your oath was genuine, too.”
My throat tightened as I looked up at him. That was the best way not to look suspicious, wasn’t it? He smiled. It was the exact same smile he’d had when discussing my father’s praise. How could I not have realized a smile could be as carefully trained a response as any other attack? His voice turned conversational again. “We’ve told him you’re simply escorting him off the mountain. He acts like he believes us. You shouldn’t have much trouble until you get to Dome Rock and don’t turn towards Isberian territory.”
I nodded. “Why don’t you just kill him here?”
He smiled again. I didn’t know how to interpret it this time, and for a moment, I thought he was going to leave me with the question. “Harraras is better equipped to get the truth.”
I stared at the peas. “And if he isn’t a spy?”
“Then I suppose we won’t learn anything. And neither will the Isberians.” He paused. “Is there anything special you want to take with you?”
I shook my head.
Walking towards the door already, he shot my one last glance. “As you wish.” The flap rippled as it fell.
At the time, I was furious that he’d send me on a mission he surely expected me to fail, if not be killed. My father would have insisted they send someone else. As I lay awake that night wondering if it was some sort of a test or simply a means of disposing of me, my thoughts turned to releasing the prisoner rather than risking my neck carrying out their orders. I could kill a rabbit and bloody my own clothes, even stay out an extra week and claim I’d been injured.
Not sleeping was a bad way to start an overnight journey, and I pulled myself up at dawn feeling no more ready for the day than I had the night before. I’d repacked a dozen times by the time they led him to my tent. In his mid-twenties, he was only a few years older than me. He was tall, and his bulging arms looked better suited to masonry than trapping. His hair was tied back with a leather thong in the way I’d seen farmers do, and he wore the brown leather pants of a trapper. His gaze rolled from me to the dagger and axe on the table, then back to me.
Naldus held out a coiled rope and a bow and stocked quiver. “He’s agreed to go peacefully. You can shoot him if he doesn’t.” I nodded, trying to shove the rope into my already full backpack, then coiling it around my shoulders instead. “Shouldn’t take more than three days off the mountain and three days back.”
Naldus nodded at the length, exaggerated to convince the prisoner of our destination. “Do you need an extra blanket? The mountains are cold at night.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I was just offering.”
I started to apologize, but the words stuck in my throat.
The prisoner looked down at me with a smirk, massive arms crossed over his chest. If he saw anything underlying the exchange, it didn’t register. Taking a deep breath, I tried to sound nonchalant. “Guess we’re ready to go.”
I threw Naldus an over-confident wave, gesturing for the prisoner to lead the way out the door. He had to bend his head slightly, something I’d never seen anyone have to do, as he passed. The tan camp dog flopped his tail as we went out, and for a moment, I almost ignored it. Then it occurred to me that he might be good for guarding. I called him, raising my voice and slapping a hand against my thigh. He bounded to my side, and I scratched his ears. “I’m taking Sed.”
An hour later, we were climbing up the canyon wall, pebbles and occasional rocks tumbling loose and cascading down the path with every footstep. I’d left at least ten paces between us as we cl
imbed, but I still cursed the distance every time he yelled, “rock,” and another stone came bouncing toward me. When we reached the top in the early afternoon, he looked back down the cliff, shoulders heaving. “I’d expected a pretty little girl like you to take the easy route up the other side.”
“This one’s faster.” I gritted my teeth. Around camp, I’d overheard plenty of comments about what female traitors were good for, and I’d taken to dressing in baggy clothes after my father’s death as a result. I didn’t need the same talk from prisoners.
He tossed his pack down and sat a few feet from me, untying the waterskin at his waist and gulping. Brushing the last few drops from brown whiskers, he called Sed. With an agility I hadn’t expected from such calloused hands, he poured a bit into a cupped palm for the dog.
“You got a name, little girl?” He wiped dripping palms on his pants.
I bristled at the “little girl,” but comforted myself with the thought of my own benevolence. I was, after all, still planning to free him in spite of his rudeness. All I could force out in response was “Reha.”
He tapped a hand to his heart and forehead in the traditional formal greeting to those of higher station. “The greatest of honors to meet you. It is Oren who has the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
The stylized greeting had, even then, fallen out of favor in our own camps, and was nothing more than a further mockery anyway. I ignored the sarcasm. I was, after all, the better person. “Good to meet you.” I untied my own waterskin, then realized the musket was lying menacingly between us. I moved it to my far side so it seemed less threatening. I hoped he didn’t notice.
It was a foolish hope, and he laughed. “You Rebels think I’m a spy, don’t you? You were probably sent out here to shoot me as soon as we’re far enough away that my body won’t bring flies.”
I fingered the rope across my chest. “All I know is that I’m to escort you back to Isberian territory.”
He picked up a flat rock, turned it slowly, swallowed it with his large hand. “Two weeks ago this was Isberian territory.”
“That was before they started raiding.” My voice almost caught at the word, but I forced myself on. “We weren’t the ones looking for a war.” I picked up a rock as well, larger than his. Not that it would have done me any good if I needed it, but it felt better to hold it.
He tipped back his head and laughed. The sound boomed over the canyon and vanished into the emptiness around us. “Raiding! What do you have that they would want? A few tents? Some buckets? That rope perhaps?”
It did sound ludicrous. I clutched the rough edges and pitched the rock into the canyon. It was too large and I was too small for it to fly far. “I don’t want to get into politics. I’m just the person making sure you leave safely.”
He snorted. “Of course. Who am I to call something ridiculous?” He leaned back and threw his rock as well. It arched higher, and flew a good deal further. “Who’d they kill, anyway?”
Even I could spot a spy’s question. If I were actually going to take him to Harraras’ camp, I would have told him. What would it matter if a dead man knew? But I was still trying to work out the details of how I could release him without getting caught. The knowledge that we’d come over the mountain was not so significant. They were bound to learn it from some other hunter. But the knowledge that we’d lost one of our top officers would have hurt.
“We caught them before they were able to kill anyone.” I wondered how the news would be received among the Isberian officials if he reported it.
My breath had slowed. It was as good a time as any to tie his hands, now that he didn’t need them to climb, and I fingered the rope again.
“Time to tie me up, little girl?”
I bit my lip. “I hadn’t planned on it unless you give me a reason.”
“Only if you want me to.” It was more a leer than a smirk.
I pushed myself to my feet, sliding on the sand and scree that had made the climb so difficult. My pack was light, carrying only one of the two ropes, a bedroll, two days’ food, and of course my dagger. I assumed his was the same. Strapping the bow to my back and the axe to my hip, I pointed vaguely at the hill that had, centuries before, been dubbed the Dome and now served as a landmark to cut south towards the desert or north deeper into the mountains. Not so foolish, even then, as to let a prisoner walk behind me, I waited for him to go first.
My mind raced as we walked. The far side of the Dome was where he’d expect to turn south. There could be no pretendings once we passed.
The knot in my stomach relaxed as I reassured myself that we could walk nearly to the camp and I could still release him. But I would likely have to tie him at the Dome, and that pulled the knot back.
We trudged on in silence over the flat ground for perhaps half an hour. I couldn’t say whether I asked in order to learn if he was a spy or simply because of boredom. “You have a family?”
“Only have one use for a woman, and you don’t need to marry them for that.” He glanced back at me and his eyes traveled over my body. I cringed into the rope and shrugged my shirt looser under the backpack.
When he turned back to the path, I shrugged out of my pack and dug through the pockets, finding the dagger and strapping it where I could grab it easier. Whether it was his intention or not, my interest in conversation slipped away. We plodded on in silence.
By evening, even Sed’s footsteps dragged. I watched the man wipe his forehead on a shirt sleeve, and noticed that he drank down most of his waterskin, pausing to pour handfuls for the dog. He knew of the spring at the base of the Dome just as he’d known the other trail up the canyon. The Isberians had never shown interest in these mountains. It seemed more likely that he was a trapper.
Sure enough, he angled toward the spring, shedding his pack and dropping to his knees to splash water over his face. It ran down the front of his neck and disappeared into his shirt, turning the dirt-grayed cotton several shades darker. I did the same, but more carefully. I didn’t want any of it dripping down my shirt.
He moved to where the stream bubbled over the rocks and filled the waterskin, then drank deeply. I waited until he moved away and sat on a flat rock before doing the same, squatting several feet away.
“You know, one of the best places for foxes and rabbits is just over there.” He waved with the waterskin. Water splashed onto his hands.
There was only a large boulder and an acacia. “Where?”
“Over there, at that rock. There’s a game trail on the far side. Lay a snare just this side of the rock, you’ll get something almost every night. If we were to stop here, we’d have a good breakfast in the morning.”
The sun was dipping downward behind the Dome, and we’d have to stop in an hour anyway. It was as good a place to camp as any. Besides, if I were to release him and claim I’d been injured when I went back to camp, what did an hour matter?
It was a relief not to have to make the decision. “You don’t have a trap.”
“You’ve got rope, and there are more Acacias out that way. That’s all I need.”
It was foolish to let him see that I was considering it, but I wanted to know if he could lay a snare.
A smile spread under his whiskers when I nodded. “Good girl. Now, hand me that axe and I’ll get started.”
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll cut it.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Run along then and cut me two sticks, straight as you can find, about so long.” He held a hand waist high off the ground.
I left the pack, but kept the dagger and bow with me. Picking through the branches and avoiding thorns, I hacked off the sticks. By the time I came back, he’d laid out a noose. He tested the sticks’ flexibility, mumbling annoyance, then pointed instructions. “Carve a notch there and there.”
I did, and watched as he strung the trigger, adjusting ropes and sticks, then stepped back to admire the handiwork. “May not be anything come through here tonight, but check it on your w
ay back.”
He walked back to the packs, grabbing both. “We sleep downwind. Over there.”
I followed him thinking that he likely was a trapper to a place sheltered between the Dome and boulders. He tossed his pack near the ashes of an old campfire and kicked away rocks. I did the same, spreading out my bedroll. Sed sniffed the bushes.
I spent the rest of the evening scratching words and lines into the hard dirt, wiping the ground clean and writing new ones. The words that came were of my father’s strength and courage. I tried to force my fingers to turn out words of his murderers and the need for vengeance, but my hands trembled. The prisoner contented himself with staring into the distance or throwing rocks at the flitting birds. Occasionally I glanced over to see dirt fly where a stone had hit.
Finally he looked over at me. “Drawing rainbows and bunny rabbits over there? Or do you guys dream about your hawks eating Isberian bears?”
“I don’t care about our hawk eating the Isberians.” After years of declared indifference, alluding to hating the Isberians felt odd now.
He snorted. “You mean you’re actually stupid enough to buy in to that Isberian raiding story?”
I jabbed a dot on the i in the word life. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“How do you know it was them? Did they ride in waving flags to kill your Iscah?”
“It wasn’t Lord Iscah they killed.”
“Thought you said they didn’t kill anyone.”
“Tried to kill.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me, heavy arms resting on knees. “Who was it, then?”
I didn’t answer. It was another spy’s question. Precise. Measured. I clenched the stick now, and for a split second the same tension worked its way up my muscles as had that night. I dropped the stick.
He laughed and slapped his leg so hard Sed jumped. “It was Azuria, wasn’t it? Pretty little girl like you is hot for him.” Sed lay back down as I glowered at the ground. “So that’s the story? They send someone to take out Azuria, make it look like a random raiding party, and make sure to do it in front of the girl who’s too stupid to figure it out. Got to make sure the story spreads, after all.”
Kzine Issue 10 Page 4