by Guy Estes
Dear Tamura, what have I done!
Aleena did not have the luxury of venting her emotions, for an enraged slaver was coming straight towards her, his lips drawn back so far as to nearly turn his face inside out. Despite her shock and crushing guilt, Aleena’s gift was too well wrought, her instincts too finely honed, her will to survive too strong to prevent her from defending herself and those she considered herself responsible for. With first blood drawn the entire tavern erupted into a riotous free-for-all. Aleena defended herself against all assailants, her senses a paradox of dim oblivion and dreadful awareness. She had not the slightest idea what anyone else was doing, but she watched her own actions unfold with appalling clarity. She would fend off incoming weapons with one sword and counter with the other, or she would strike with both in rapid succession or even simultaneously.
Forever branded into her mind’s eye was the image of her blades, in her hands, hacking her fellow men apart or skewering their organs, their flesh slit and punctured, their garish innards exposed to light. One man was rolling on the floor particularly horrified her. Her blow aimed at his neck had gone high and hacked into his face across his nose, horizontally splitting his upper jaw, the flesh of his cheeks falling down his lower jaw. His screams were made gurgling bleats by the torrent of blood filling his mouth and pouring out onto the floor. He’d gone from human being to living horror show. And she was the one who’d done it to him.
Then, with the abruptness of a mask torn from a face, Aleena noticed the stillness around her. Nearly all of the people, slavers, staff, and patrons alike, had withdrawn off to the sides to watch a sixteen-year-old girl hew down vicious flesh merchants as though they were nothing more than a patch of weeds. Only four men remained hostile. Until now, Aleena’s mind hadn’t had time for actual conscious thought. She had been simply reacting to a situation she had been superbly designed to handle. She’d only had time to offer a brief thought to Tamura and Donya that she was doing the right thing after she slew the slave traders’ leader. The sudden lull in action permitted an avalanche of doubts to come crashing down, accompanied by the distraction of conscious thought.
Victory is best achieved in a sort of stillness of the mind, a receptiveness, solving the problem without consciously analyzing it. Conscious thought simply takes too long to be of much use in the midst of swordplay. Through training (and, in Aleena’s case, design) a warrior simply knows what to do in the midst of battle. It required no more thought than walking. Aleena forced the thoughts and doubts away from her mind, willing herself to get back into the proper state of mind. She unconsciously knew that if she worried about things now she would not be around to experience them later. She instinctively realized that when faced with multiple opponents it was better to attack. They would expect her to cower or flee before their superior numbers.
Forcing tears to the backs of her eyes and choking bile back down her throat, Aleena willed herself back into that state of mental stillness and attacked the man on her left, swinging at his leg. The agile man leaped up over the blade and shot a kick at her. Aleena’s cruelly keen blade intercepted his leg, cutting it to the bone and knocking him screaming to the floor. Aleena tried not to hear his cries, failed, and forced herself to deal with the other three.
One, drunk with wine and rage, charged her bare-handed. She smashed him in the face with a bulbous steel pommel and spun to shove aside another’s thrusting blade and slice through his neck, nearly removing his head.
The last one came after her with a hand axe in one hand and a short sword in the other. Aleena sidestepped the descending axe and stabbed one of his kidneys. He spun around and Aleena ducked below the sword blade that sought her neck. She scooted backwards rather than hit him again. She knew she’d already dealt him a mortal blow and that he would expire within moments. He lunged at her again, and again she avoided him, and he stumbled to the floor. Aleena turned her attention to the two survivors, but primal instinct made her look behind her. She saw the blur, knew what it was, and jerked her head aside. The thrown hand axe whisked past, and when the man again fell, Aleena kept her eyes on him, but a sound from behind made her turn around.
The one with the injured leg was out of the fight. He was crawling away like a wretched spider that has had four of its legs pulled off. The one she’d struck with her sword pommel, the unarmed one, was reaching for a dropped sword. His hand had just closed around the grip when he felt a pressure on his shoulders and a cold kiss on both sides of his neck. Aleena had caught him while he was on his knees and laid her blades upon his shoulders in an X, an edge on each side of his neck. All she had to do to send him to the Otherworld was pull her swords in opposite directions, something Aleena desperately hoped would not be necessary. She could see surrender slowly seep into his eyes.
Movement in her peripheral vision drew Aleena’s attention. On the far side of the room stood a slaver. He was raising a crossbow. Aleena felt her captive tense beneath her blades and knew what the suicidal fool had in mind. He’d been waiting for this opportunity. Now faced with two aggressors, one of whom had a missile weapon, Aleena took no chances. Once more steeling her stomach, she pulled her blades in opposite directions, opening the man’s throat to the vertebrae. Blood, warm like fresh urine, plastered her shirt and trousers to her body with a thick spurting. With a cry of revulsion she hurled her left hand sword at the crossbowman. The weapon twirled end over end to pierce his chest, splintering his breastbone, bisecting his backbone, and wrecking everything in between the two. He loosed his crossbow bolt into the ceiling as he fell. With that the battle was over and silence settled in. Aleena, her right hand still clutching its sword, felt her legs give way. She fell to her knees and looked very hard at nothing.
Look at it, she told herself. Behold the results of your gift.
With great effort, Aleena forced her gaze upon her sanguinary spawn. Clothing and flesh alike lay in limp tatters. Blood obscured the floor. Aleena’s shirt, once white, was now the color of wine. Blood still ran from the sword she held. The other one grew from a man’s chest, his clawed hand still feebly grasping the hilt when he had tried, in his last desperate moments of existence, to save himself. His fingers were still twitching. A few were still moaning, like decrepit old ships. The stench of offal and excrement slithered down Aleena’s throat to mingle with guilty realization and force something to rush up her throat and erupt onto the tavern floor. When the explosive effort of purging herself ended, Aleena’s trembling had become more violent. Then she screamed. She wailed out an inarticulate litany of remorse and shame. With her mind no longer preoccupied with self-preservation, she was completely vulnerable to the full tonnage of realization.
Rachel, Jac’s wife, was the first to shake off the spell of incomprehension that had fallen upon the tavern. She bustled over to where Aleena knelt on the floor in a blood-sodden heap and shrieked out her sanity. Rachel held her while rocking her and shushing her, telling Aleena not to think about it, that it would pass and all would be well. Jac cleared the patrons out and set to work cleaning his place up. Aleena’s screams had become shuddering whimpers. Rachel gently hauled her to her feet and led her to one of the back rooms to clean her off.
“Give me your sword, child,” she quietly ordered Aleena. “You’ve no more need of it.”
The sword clanged to the floor and Rachel drew bath water for Aleena. She then filled a second tub to launder Aleena’s clothes. All the while Aleena simply sat there, her eyes fixed on nothing but brimming just the same.
Rachel put Aleena in the tub, but Aleena remained inert, so Rachel scrubbed her clean. She then left Aleena there to soak in the warm water while she washed Aleena’s clothes. After she got out, dried, and put on some clothes the tavern had to spare, Rachel put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and spoke to her.
“Now you listen to me, girl. You had no choice. Those devils were about to rape Constance. Then they would’ve raped you, me, and every other woman and girl in here, then s
old us to the highest bidder. You tried to reason with them, Jac tried to reason with them, but they were too drunk to be reasoned with. They forced this decision upon you. You did not go seeking trouble. It sought you. They brought it to you, and you responded in the only way you could, in the way Tamura and Donya fashioned you to. You have done your gods proud this night, Aleena. Now, go home and get some sleep. Brood no more upon this. It shall pass.”
When Aleena got home her parents were waiting up for her, as they always did. It was immediately apparent from their daughter’s face that all was not well. Aleena had been hoping that someone had come to tell them and they would be waiting, ready to afford her shelter and comfort, but obviously no one had. She got to do the honors herself. Ilian was sewing. Ivarr was dozing in his chair.
“Aleena,” Ilian asked as she put down her sewing, “what is wrong?”
Ivarr came awake and sat up. Aleena’s eyes darted about as her mind tried to plot an escape, but there was none. She tried to tell them, even getting as far as opening her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again, and this time a cracked whisper struggled out. The third attempt left her as she had been at Jac’s – collapsed on the floor and sobbing her anguish.
“I killed them!”
“What?” Ilian’s anxiety rose from concern to wholesale fear. She stood, her hazel eyes wide.
“I killed them! Tamura help me, I killed them!”
“Who,” Ivarr gently prodded. “Someone on the way home?”
“At the tavern! The slave traders! They were drunk and they had Constance and they were going to rape her and I killed them!”
Aleena withdrew then, shuddering and keening but refusing to say more. The only response she gave to questions was a violent shaking of her head. Ivarr and Ilian looked at each other. Slave traders were going to rape someone at the tavern? Both of them knew that their daughter would never stand by and allow that to happen, but they also knew there was no way Aleena’s spirit could have been prepared for the ghastly reality of mortal combat. Ilian threw a shawl around Aleena’s shoulders and led her to her room. Ivarr set off for Sharleah for some answers.
* * *
“Dear Tamura, my poor little kitten.”
Ivarr, Madigan, and Jac were alone in the tavern. They sat at a table, the lamps turned down low to lend an atmosphere of privacy. They were drinking one of Jac’s little concoctions. All felt the need for something stronger than ale or wine.
“I feel somewhat responsible,” Madigan said. “I could see something looming on Aleena’s horizon, but because I am close to her I could not see it clearly. All I could see was darkness. That darkness is now here. Aleena must tread with caution, for her trials are not over yet. Indeed, I fear they are only beginning.”
“We’ve always known what Aleena’s gift was,” Jac stated, “but it was quite another thing to see it at work.”
“My poor baby girl,” Ivarr lamented, quaffing the Elixir of Life, as Jac called it. “What sort of animal attacks an innocent girl?”
“Well, now, Ivarr, she did draw steel on them.”
“I was speaking of Constance. How is she bearing up?”
“Quite well, actually. She was as sickened as the rest of us at what happened. But she feels, as do we all, that they got exactly what they deserved. As far as Constance is concerned, Aleena is a veritable goddess.”
Ivarr took another pull on his drink and once more cursed the slave traders as animals. Jac shrugged.
“What can we expect from men who are in the business of crushing spirits?”
“You excuse their behavior?” Ivarr challenged.
“No,” Jac replied, calm but cautious. Ivarr’s temper was flying free and looking for a place to land. Jac did not wish to raise his hand against his friend. Perhaps more to the point, he had no desire to receive a blow from so large a man as Ivarr. He’d seen what Ivarr’s fists could do before. “I merely explain it.”
Ivarr sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“I apologize, my friend. I meant not to judge. I find that I am somewhat shaken this night.”
“As would I be if I was in your spot, but do not be too troubled. Your daughter did the right thing, Ivarr. We exercised every peaceful option we could think of, short of total surrender, but they were numerous and drunk and spoiling for a fight. There was no avoiding this. If I’d refused their patronage they simply would have gone to Pepin’s, where there would have been no Aleena to fight them. For all the damage it has done to her spirit, your daughter is now a hero. She spared Constance and everyone else who would’ve fallen victim.”
“At what price? It has driven my daughter mad.”
“It has done her damage and caused her great pain, but Aleena’s is a strong spirit. She will get through this.”
“I truly hope so.”
“You must believe, my friend.”
* * *
Aleena’s first conscious thought the next morning was to pull the covers up over her head and shut everything out, but then she realized that to sit about with nothing to do would force her to think about last night. She would be alone with her guilt.
Ilian had breakfast on the front porch, but the very sight of food made Aleena’s throat constrict. She tried to eat, but what she felt between her teeth wasn’t ham or fruit but human flesh and blood. Sighing, she pushed her plate away.
“Aleena,” her mother said, “you had no choice. You did what was necessary. You rose to an exceptionally difficult challenge and I, for one, am very proud of you.”
“How can you make that judgment? You weren’t even there.”
“Your father went to speak with Jac when you went to bed. We’ve heard everything. Aleena, you mustn’t punish yourself for this.”
“But what if we’re wrong? What if they weren’t going to do what we think and I killed them for nothing?”
“Aleena, you can second guess yourself until the end of time and accomplish nothing. At some point you must find a belief and stand behind it. One thing for you to consider is if you hadn’t acted last night you wouldn’t be here to wonder if you did the right thing.”
Aleena sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but I can’t just forget what I’ve done. I can’t help but wonder if I was wrong.”
“That is because you have a heart. You were not wrong, Aleena. A thousand times, you were not wrong.”
Aleena moved to embrace her mother but stopped. Would her mother want blooded hands upon her?
“Come,” Ilian said with a smile and took Aleena in her arms.
“Thank you, Mother. I pray you are right.”
“Of course I am. Mothers always are!”
Aleena decided to go to school that day, for the same reason she’d decided to get out of bed. Moreover, Sharleah’s academy was renowned for the quality of its education. She had but two years left before her schooling was complete. She was not about to jeopardize the degree she’d worked so long and hard for by skipping class. She had gone to her room to prepare for school and was heading for the front door when three men walked up onto Ivarr and Ilian, who were still having breakfast on the porch. Their leader was a short, plump older man.
“Ivarr and Ilian Kurrin,” he greeted.
“Councilmen,” Ivarr said. “I assume you’re here about last night?”
“We are.”
“Very well.” He turned to look inside the door. “Aleena? These men need to speak with you.”
Aleena slowly came through the door to stand on the front porch, her eyes wide and frightened.
“It’s all right,” Ivarr reassured her.
“We’re from the craft guild council,” the plump older man told her. “We need your account of what happened at the tavern last night. You may have your parents present.”
“Am I to be jailed?” she asked in a small voice.
“At the moment we’re just gathering information.”
Aleena watched them the way a mou
se watches a cat. Then she told them what happened. She began weeping when she was halfway through and was sobbing by the time she finished. The leader nodded.
“Your account matches those of every witness we’ve spoken to. Clearly, you acted in defense of others and the slave traders were the ones to initiate violence. Your actions were in accordance with our laws, and you are obviously aware of the magnitude of your actions. Consequently, our inquest is finished and you are under no penalty.”
He patted her shoulder and they left. Aleena composed herself and started off to the academy. As she walked to the academy, she pondered the nature of her major gift and why the gods had given it to her. As priest and priestess, Madigan and Rita had schooled the students in the various gods and goddesses. Through quiet meditation they became personally acquainted with all of the deities in their belief system. Most had their light and dark aspects. The light aspects of the head god and goddess were Tamura the All-Father and Donya the All-Mother, but their dark aspects were Crewahk the Huntsman and Nevawn the Death Breeder.
Each student would eventually focus on only a few deities, though. Aleena felt a closeness to Tamura and Donya. She also felt an affinity for Tahlsen and Letaran, god and goddess of poets, singers and storytellers. This was only natural, as her minor gift was that of bard. However, she also felt an acute closeness with Crewahk and Nevawn. She felt particularly close with Nevawn. She could not help but be slightly bothered by feeling a natural compatibility with a death goddess, an anxiety that had eventually sent her to council with Rita a few years ago.
“Headmistress, may I speak privately with you?”
“Of course,” Rita replied, escorting Aleena into her private chambers. “What troubles you?”
“Headmistress, we have all communed with the gods, and we have found the ones we feel the greatest kinship with.”
“Yes. Who are yours?”
“Well, Tamura and Donya, of course. Tahlsen and Letran. Also, Gwynor and Cassandra.”