Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  But she was the best at what she did.

  Three weeks had come and gone since my training with the Ilvarjo had commenced, and to say Doctor Kira had been less than impressed would be criminally negligent. Upon learning of my little charade with the Morrigan, the good doc had marched to the command tent without a word, only to march straight back two hours later and take silent refuge in her bed for the remainder of the night. My training had begun at dawn the very next morning.

  So early that a chorus of frogs could still be heard by the river, a red-eyed man had delivered me to a crumbling shack deep within the Ilvarjo enclosure. Moss layered the walls, and the roof was more pine needles than shingles, but the insides remained unseen to my eye as I was left alone, sitting out front inside a ring of strangely patterned stones. One by one, like starved piranha, the little masked miscreants sat around me. I didn’t know for sure if they were the same ones that had stared so rudely at me, but I could feel their hungry eyes burning my neck. Then they feasted, tiny balled fists implicating more pain than they had any right as they danced around, nipping at my heels.

  I had practically crawled out of the Ilvarjo camp that first day to find Ilya and Pogue, only for them to laugh at my misery. Eventually Ilya’s laughter died, and he took pity upon me, helping me with my technique until I wasn’t so defenceless against a gang of toddlers, but did nothing to help with the skipping of my heart around his mother. Even as Ilana leaned against the sword rack that morning, twirling a plum in her hand, my insides shuttered in her presence.

  It had become routine for her to examine me each morning before I joined the brats in their lessons. Rarely was a word spoken, never a single compliment, but that morning I was ready. Ilya and I had trained late into the night, correcting my bad habit of placing too much weight onto my back foot. Swallowing a smirk, I took three measured steps backwards and bent my knees and arms into an unrefined, yet undeniably correct, stance. I met Ilana’s eyes with an undisguised challenge, “my stance is perfect.”

  She stared at me for a moment, face a never-changing mask of glorious boredom, before setting the plum down on the sword rack and standing up straight. Like a shark circling its prey, Ilana stalked around me. Her eyes continued to scan, lingering too long on my wonky foot. I quickly double checked the heel was down, and not a moment too soon, for in the next beat Ilana tapped it with her own foot. It was impossible to bite down that smirk. Not that time, “Ilya thinks that I’m almost ready to start incorporating some weapons.”

  “And what do you think?” her stoic tone remained unchanged as she circled back around, eyes closely examining my leading foot. I mulled over the question for a moment and scowled. Surely, she knew what I thought. How could she not?

  “I wanted to know what you think,” I replied shortly.

  “Why? I hear that your stance is perfect,” she traced her hand from my shoulder to my wrist, making slight adjustments as she went. Only once her fingers trailed off my fingertips did she step back with a soft hum, “you need to clean the line of your chakra. Go through the basic kata again and remember to keep your weight off that back heel or I’ll push you over.”

  “You will not.”

  Ilana smiled, and before I could even realise what was happening, she had done as promised. I spluttered with indignity as my butt landed in the mildewed grass. Ilana squatted down, eyes looking with mine; a challenge returned. My cheeks were hot, no doubt an ugly shade of red, and Ilana nodded. Rising to her feet, she returned to the sword rack and picked up the plum, “you shouldn’t believe everything Ilya tells you. His own stance is rarely perfect. Now, do at least attempt to perfect five kata in a row. I don’t want to have to put down my breakfast after each just because you’re lazy.”

  What sort of sadistic entity had decided that stamina was to be a thing? My body had never been in so much pain. Not even seven minutes into our first session, Ilana had declared that what I truly had to focus on was my strength. Specifically, core strength, but weeks later my stomach remained as concave as ever. Nobody would be washing clothing upon my abdominals anytime soon, but Deities if it didn’t hurt. All the insane daily regime of sit-ups and crutches seemed to achieve was leaving me unable to stand up straight by the time the breakfast bell rang each morning. That sweet, glorious, merciful bell which signalled the end to sunrise torture.

  Not that morning.

  The sun was shining like noon when the ring came from the forest. Lightning had struck one of the giant oaks during the night, and the smell of burning wood permeated every orifice as my shoulders drooped, only to stiffen when Ilana pushed off the rack with a wooden practice sword in her hand. She pointed to its abandoned twin behind me, “pick it up.”

  My eyelids were heavy, a metallic taste on my tongue, “why?”

  “You wanted to incorporate weapons, we will incorporate weapons.”

  The woman was a monster. It was impossible to lay a single finger upon her, let alone gain the upper hand. If I went on the offence, she was on the defence, if that’s what you could call Ilana simply sidestepping my blows like one does cow dung on the road. But my attempts to defend was were the real torture lay. I didn’t stand a chance at countering her blows, for I barely stood at all. Over and over, she knocked me to the ground, leaving me so tense and disorientated from the dance that my mind seemed woozy and disconnected, unable to tell up from down.

  For the fifth time in as many minutes, I hit the floor, knocking all air from my lungs with a groaned cough. I tried to rise, but couldn’t find the strength, my abused stomach muscles refusing to obey any commands. Ilana’s face appeared over mine, unchanged and unphased other than the string of silvered gold that had come loose from her braid, “get up.”

  “Why?” I groaned, “you’ll just knock me back down. I’m saving time.”

  Her face remained unsympathetically unchanged as she spoke slowly, “get up.”

  “No,” I spat, “you win. My stance is shit. Everything’s shit, and I’m a failure. Satisfied?”

  “You are a failure if you stay down there,” she said without an ounce of compassion, “failure is a choice. By refusing to get up, you are choosing to fail. Even if I knock you down a hundred times, you get up one hundred and one and you label it an attempt, not failure. Then you learn from that attempt and aim to not make the same mistakes again, but you get back up and you try again. You try again until you get it right, then you get it right until you don’t need to try again. You only fail when you choose that path for yourself. Do you understand?”

  “No,” I said, “look at me. All the attempts in the world aren’t going to make me a warrior.”

  Ilana looked me over as asked, her face stoic as ever. Which was just as well, for I might’ve knifed her where she stood if she had looked at my spindly arms with the distaste, I was certain she had for them. Finally, she looked to my face and stated, “You’re right.”

  Oh, she was a dead woman. She just didn’t know it yet, “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’m not your mother, Kilco. It’s not my job to make you feel good,” Ilana offered me her hand, “my job is to prepare you for the realities of a potential confrontation with the Morrigan. Physically, you are a tiny girl. You are never going to be a hardened warrior, capable of taking down a hoard of enemies on raw strength alone. That’s the reality of the situation.”

  I stared at her hand in distaste before grasping it, allowing myself to be pulled to my feet against my will. The fire inside rose with me, and I met Ilana’s eyes in a different, more territorial brand of challenge, “Ilya is small, and he took down five men without help.”

  Nothing. Not even as a wince.

  “You are not Ilya,” Ilana said, “I have trained Ilya from the moment he could walk unaided, but even if we had fifteen years together it still wouldn’t be enough. He utilizes a traditional Ilvarjo technique that you are too old to be efficiently taught. Even if you could, I haven’t the time, and you haven’t the discipline,” she dro
pped my hand and stepped back, towering over me like a gazelle. If nothing else, at least those lessons would harden me to the glares of taller enemies, “however, you are not without your advantages.” That sparked my interest, and I looked towards her beautiful face that always churned my core. Ilana licked her lips as she looked me over like a farmer does cattle, “you are obviously intelligent. Abundantly so. You have well-above-average natural reflexes, and you are a gifted liar.”

  My heart leapt into my throat and I couldn’t swallow it down, “I’m not a liar.”

  “Are you certain?” Ilana asked in her insufferable bored tone.

  “Pretty certain, yeah.”

  “Interesting. Let’s test that confidence,” Ilana stepped forward, and though she didn’t touch me the close proximity was enough to make me shiver as she looked into my eyes, like she was looking into my soul, “the morning that I returned from Swannanoa, Ilya wasn’t with his bed. In fact, he was with you. Why was that?”

  Damn. What was the reason? “he threw up.”

  “I know he did, he doesn’t lie, but that wasn’t why he was with you. If he was feeling that unwell, he would’ve gone to our healer, not to you,” she was close enough that I could smell the pink pepper and juniper notes of her perfume, “why was he there?”

  “I don’t know. Ask him.”

  “I’m asking you. You see, I have a theory of my own. Do you wish to hear it?”

  “Would you listen if I said no?”

  Ilana rewarded me with a smile. No teeth showing, but a smile nonetheless, “I’ve been watching them both very closely. Ilya isn’t sleeping probably, and those he is bunking with tell me that he sometimes disappears during the night. He’s never been much of an eater, but now even less so, and his lessons…well,” she bit her lip, “can you guess my theory?”

  “That he’s dying?”

  “That he’s in love,” her tone was as mild as milk. She released her lower lip and stepped back, the scent of her perfume going with her and leaving the empty air thick as cement, “I realise that he is becoming too old for me to control, but understand that Ilya isn’t yours to have. He was born into obligations that must be fulfilled. There are a handful of Ilvarjo girls that I have on probation and rarely does love factor into it. You must accept this.”

  Mine to…wait, did she think? “Sorry, you’re mistaken. It’s not me Ilya is in love with.”

  Ilana leaned back in, a polite distance away, but still close enough for those plump lips to almost graze my ear, “such a response bespeaks the existence of a longer answer. Are you claiming that he’s not in love?”

  “No, he’s definitely in love,” I was drowning in the scent of her perfume. She was close enough that I could’ve tilted my head up just a little and lick the skin of her neck, just below the ear, “just not with me. With Pogue.”

  The moment the name passed my lips, I wanted it back, but a second gone cannot be reclaimed. The exhalation against my ear signalled that my lapse in judgement did not go unnoticed. Ilana blinked as she pulled back, but I had trouble focusing on her face. A hand landed lightly against my cheek, tracing down until the thumb rested on my lips, “thank you.”

  Something in Ilana’s voice niggled at my brain. It carried a soft, almost teasing tone, one that invited me, and only me to…what? I didn’t know, but I felt a sudden urge to share something meaningful with her. The heat inside exploded, and I stepped away from her touch.

  “But you knew that already,” I said.

  Ilana held herself still as her gaze locked with mine, allowing me to study her face, her hair, her posture. Letting me have my fill as if sensing that shrouding herself behind a blank mask would lose me. I watched the play of muscles flexing in her cheeks and jawline as she inhaled slowly, exhaled in kind. The deep redness of her eyes, as open as she dared them to be. Lovely. Finally, she closed them, reimposing neutrality, before walking outside. My lip twitched. That was the answer I needed. After all, there was nothing that happened which she didn’t see.

  Despite popular opinion, the walls which separated the Ilvarjo camp from everybody else were not there for our comfort. One of the first things I had learned about the Ilvarjo was they didn’t appreciate other people poking around in their business. That gate was a conscious effort to put a physical barrier between themselves and the rest of the world. Practical, I had thought it, right up until that moment when it became the one thing standing between me and the outside. With nowhere left to go, I trailed behind Ilana like a lost puppy.

  If she noticed, she didn’t say anything as she marched towards the hut with its stone circle. It was larger than I remembered it being. My step faltered as we approached, and all I could hear were voices and slight scratching from the walls. I didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to be within those walls anymore, but there was no way out. I followed Ilana in.

  Weapons of all sorts lined the rustic walls as the floor was split in two: half decorated with rugs and silken pillows, the other just dirt upon which eight masked Ilvarjo knelt in rows of two. A bearded man walked between them, saying things my brain couldn’t comprehend. He paused his speech, but the masked lot didn’t break eye contact with the front wall as Ilana went to speak with their teacher in hushed tones. The bearded man frowned.

  “Ilya,” he called.

  A lithe figure detached itself from the back of the herd, moving gracefully forward with confusion and suspension clear in their eyes. I looked at the ground, the feeling of guilt making my hands sweat as he approached. “Take Kilco and wait outside,” Ilana said before Ilya could speak, “I’ll be a moment.”

  Ilya nodded and tried to take my hand, but I pulled away and walked out of the tent on my own. He joined me seconds later, stopping by my side to take a deep breath before grabbing my shoulder, “what happened?”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said quickly, “it just slipped out.”

  “What did?” he whispered.

  I didn’t even have the chance to decide whether to respond or run, for Ilana chose that moment to leave the hut and stole it away by grabbing Ilya by the forearm and pulling him along behind her like a naughty child towards the closest tent.

  Only once the tent flap had stopped swaying did Ilana release Ilya’s arm. He immediately stepped backwards, putting space between the two of them while looking around like a frightened bunny. I couldn’t even meet his eyes as he swallowed heavily, “mother?”

  “It appears that you omitted vital information from your reports,” Ilana said.

  Ilya stared at her blankly for a moment before shaking his head, “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t try and deceive me, Ilya. I cannot help you if you do,” Ilana said coolly. Ilya’s gaze remained blank, but his left hand went to his throat, two fingers resting where I knew Sedna’s bit lay hidden. He blinked and turned to look at me. Ilana leaned in, as if sharing a secret, and grabbed his face, forcing it back to her, “do not blame the Bethallan girl. She only confirmed what I already knew. I have led our people for too long to have missed something like this. I am both your mother and your leader, and as such, I advise you to take this opportunity now to unburden yourself while I’m offering you the chance.”

  “I…” he went still. Such tense rigidness was unflagging in a creature full of such youth.

  Ilana sighed and pulled down the cloth, revealing Ilya’s face in full, “I’ll make this simpler: she claims that you and the Shield seem attached to one another. Is there truth in that?”

  Ilya looked at me, but I looked at my hands, ashamed by the wetness that plagued his cheeks, “I-I cannot help it,” he said quietly, “I know it’s wrong and I try not to, but I can’t.”

  “For fu-” Ilana released his face and wiped a tear from his cheek before pulling Ilya against her chest to speak softly in Ilvarjo against his hair. I watched, shifting from foot to foot. I couldn’t help but feel like I was intruding, witnessing a private moment that was never intended for me but found myself unable to look away. Eventuall
y Ilya’s tears ceased, turning into short nods and quiet responses until with one final confirmation he pulled away. Wiping his eyes, Ilya looked at his mother, “thank you.”

  Ilana quickly replaced his mask with a nod, “You should take Kilco home now, then return to your lessons. I have something else that I need to attend to.”

  Ilya shifted his weight, almost like a nervous twitch, before moving to the exit. He paused as he passed me, eyes glaring into mine, “come on.”

  Shit.

  I shuffled out behind him, glaring at the bright light penetrating the leaves. There wasn’t time to accumulate though, for Ilya walked so quickly that I had to jog to keep up, all the while thinking what to say. Maybe simple was best, “I’m sorry.”

  Ilya paused so suddenly that I slammed into his shoulder, “you need to stop talking now.”

  “Okay, I will,” I said before continuing, “but you need to understand that I didn’t tell her on purpose. Your mother is like a succubus or something, it just slipped out.”

  “A succubus?” Ilya scoffed and continued walking, “how does something like that just slip out. ‘Nice stab you’ve got there. By the way, did you know that your son kisses the Shield?”

  “It was a jab,” I said dryly, struggling to bite back the defensiveness that was itching to be set free, “she called me a liar.”

  “And that was the one truth you could think of to convince her otherwise?” Ilya asked as we reached the gate. He immediately started twisting the locks, and a jolt of annoyance flashed through me. The defensiveness was breaking through.