The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  As Sean wondered about it, other thoughts tried to intrude. Segments of his talks with Count Guyver sidelined thoughts of Jonas, and Sean’s early attempt at discovering the Three Roses also came up, reminding him of a life he could never return to …

  And then it hit him.

  He knew what the Three Roses were.

  He looked back at Jonas, seeing him as if for the first time. The veil of mystery about the older man was finally lifted, and Sean wondered why he couldn’t see through it before. It should have been obvious!

  He suddenly became very self-conscious, aware of the eyes falling on him. Did they know he had realized something important? Was it written on his face? If someone were to ask, he had to say something … only it couldn’t be the truth.

  Because if the truth ever came out and became public knowledge, it would mean chaos. Pandemonium. No one with loose lips could ever know and spread it like a dirty rumor.

  The fewer people who know about the Three Roses, the better, Cypher had said. It had upset Sean, nearly infuriated him … but now he knew his old teacher was right. Sean didn’t even fault him for not entrusting the secret to his former apprentice.

  And yet, for one crazy moment, he considered telling it to Callie. She had been so passionate about finding the Three Roses after all, and since he was indebted to her, perhaps he owed it to her.

  But no, the truth would drive her mad. He could never convince her to let it go, to simply forget about it and live as she normally would. If she heard the truth and believed it as well as he did, she’d say, What happened with Jonas was wrong, and someone has to answer for it!

  And she would be absolutely right.

  Callie blocked a few strikes before bursting out, “Dammit, why won’t you tell me?”

  Olivia stepped back and laughed as she swung her blade with a few flicks of her wrist. “Because I think it’s funny that you don’t know. I thought everyone knew.”

  “Well, ‘everyone’ is too broad a term. There has to be lots of people who don’t know.” Callie got into an offensive stance, giving Olivia plenty of time to be ready to block. As her sword connected with the other in a virtual ballet dance of slashing steel, she had to remind herself not to attempt any serious injuries—not even a flesh wound. Their practice was only to hone their reflexes and timing, not to exploit weaknesses and achieve victory.

  But dammit, Callie was jealous of Olivia and her twin sister, Avery … and the siblings probably knew it. Callie had always loved having hair as black as night, for it helped her blend into shadows, but there was something so appealing about straight hair the color of ripe maize. It was a disparaging obsession, but she somehow couldn’t help it.

  “I’d understand if you were from halfway across the world,” Olivia said. “But you’re from Consaria; you’re practically next door to us. Were you raised in a cave?”

  Callie tightened her mouth and made a few wide swings she probably shouldn’t have. An underground lair that used to be a catacomb wasn’t exactly a cave, but it wasn’t too far off, either. “I grew up with a lot of people, but no one ever told me. So why won’t you?”

  “Didn’t your clan ever get any visitors from Lonsaran?”

  “Not that I recall. But even if it did, I doubt a visitor would come just for storytime.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Come on, tell me!” The two women traded blows awhile, then Callie looked to Lucy and Lydia, who sat on the large root of an oak tree. “What about you two? Won’t you tell me?”

  Lucy shook her head as she munched on an apple. “No, we just like to see you mad at us,” said Lydia.

  “Oh, you’re all a bunch of insufferable little knits,” Callie growled. “I don’t know why I hang around you all.”

  Avery showed her amusement with a grin and a clap of her hands. “You’re acting like a child, it’s so funny!”

  Callie scoffed, thinking that if Avery wanted to see someone act like a child, she should go see Jonas. Maybe he’ll ask her to play pattycake or sing along to “Ring Around the Rosie.” Not that she would, if only to save Sean the embarrassment. “Well, you’re all being unreasonable. It’s not like I’m asking you to read an entire book to me.”

  Olivia continued to trade blows, only now she had a smile plastered on her face.

  “And what’s so funny?” Callie asked, as if she didn’t know the answer.

  “You get sloppy when you’re mad,” Olivia said. “When you’re not, you’re a better fighter.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get that all the—”

  Olivia suddenly parried a blow and hunkered down to deliver a roundhouse kick. But instead of a serious blow, her foot made only a light tap on Callie’s ankle. Nonetheless, what Callie received and what she expected were two different things, and by overcompensating her defensive move, she ended up falling to the forest floor with a squeal.

  Once the onlookers’ laughter was over, Olivia sheathed her blade and offered her opponent a hand. “Sorry, just wanted to see what you’d do, keep you on your toes. Peace?”

  Callie shook her head with downcast eyes, more from wounded pride than anything else. She then took the hand and got back up on her feet. “I really hate you … but you’re right. I can’t fight mad no matter the reason. I’ll have to learn to steady myself.”

  Olivia gave a knowing nod. “It’s hard to do it when you’re in the middle of a battle with blood and death around you, but it could save your life. Best not forget it.”

  Callie raised an eyebrow, for Olivia sounded like any one of her trainers in Clan Reno. As they got ready to continue, she considered telling her and the others about the last major fight she was in, when Rainer had killed her headmistress and Callie swung at him with all her fury. But no, she couldn’t, for thoughts of Rainer made her heart twist in her chest like a sopping dishrag. It was better to believe he was dead than to let his shade haunt her for the rest of her days—not even to impress her friends with the story of how she had won against such a terrible man.

  Earlier that day, the convoy had visited a small town that was hurting for food. The soldiers traded some of their game for semi-luxury items like clean clothes, cheese, spices, and herbal teas. And so that evening, Callie sat in the comfortable heat of a fire with a mug of delicious chamomile tea, her muscles pleasantly aching from her sword practice. She had been incredibly rusty when she began training with her four new friends (months of doing nothing but laundry and busywork will do that to you), but she felt she was improving. Her fighting instincts which had lain dormant for so long were finally becoming sharp again, and with the taste of good tea and the company of friends, she could once again say that life was good.

  Avery sat next to her with crossed legs. “Olivia and I drew straws and I lost, so I get to tell you what you want to hear.”

  Callie raised a shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Don’t you mean you’re the winner? You get to be my teacher.”

  “No, I mean I get to put the baby to bed.” Avery grinned at the face Callie made and continued: “So, you’ve heard of Cardinal Clarkson, right?”

  It was the year 525 A.D., when the teachings of Micah had been spread across the continent whether by force or persuasion. Cardinal Clarkson was a man instrumental in establishing Lonsaran as a Micahn nation, being a gifted orator who could use the colloquialisms of the gentry and commoners alike to get his point across. A stern man, he held several hardline opinions such as on the merit of the death penalty for murderers and harsh punishments for fornicators.

  When it came to the two sexes, Clarkson drew a deep, thin line: Men could do certain things that women couldn’t and vice versa. For instance, men were the breadwinners and women were the child-raisers. Even if men were allowed to occasionally give lessons to his children, women were in no way allowed to hold a job to earn income for their families. In the case her husband dies, a woman was to ap
peal to the Church for help until she could find a new husband to look after her.

  Cardinal Clarkson’s teachings were always controversial, but over time they became more radical, venturing into territory that not even Micah had gone into. He claimed that women were incapable of fighting because God did not make them that way. Women were not as aggressive as men since their motherly instincts got in the way; therefore, he said, women could not be warriors, and any who tried were going against what God intended.

  Going on Clarkson’s advice, the king at the time outlawed women from picking up weapons, and they could only join the military to do menial work such as mending and washing. There were few voices of dissent, and those voices were usually shut down by threats of imprisonment or public humiliation.

  One of those voices belonged to Sister Alexia, a nun within the cardinal’s jurisdiction. In her early days of sisterhood, she wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind to Clarkson, claiming that some of his teachings were ridiculous and potentially harmful. For instance, women were not as physically strong as men, but many harbored deep desires to develop battle skills to protect themselves and their families. Clarkson insisted that such desires were an affront to God, and sought for the kingdom to punish her. Alexia resisted being silenced for a long time until she found the opposition was too great. Although it saddened her, she relented and vowed to no longer relate any beliefs that went against Clarkson’s.

  One day, Cardinal Clarkson was taking a stroll through a forest with Alexia and a number of other clerics. Within a rocky area, they spotted a female fox dart out of hiding and into its den. Judging from the sound, the fox was a mother who had rejoined her brood.

  Sister Alexia asked the cardinal what would happen if he were to stick his hand in there to kill the fox and her young. Clarkson replied with ironclad belief that the fox would do her best to wiggle out of his reach, and if she was lucky she could run past him and escape.

  “Are you saying that fox would abandon her pups for her own safety?” Alexia asked. “You wouldn’t expect her to fight back to defend her family?”

  “Of course not,” Clarkson replied. “Females cannot fight, for God did not make them that way.”

  “Then, for the sake of experiment, put your hand in there and try to touch them. Not to harm them, mind you; just touch them to see what happens.”

  Clarkson was hesitant, but he agreed in order to show the nun that she was wrong about females fighting. He climbed up onto the ledge, peered into the den, and reached out to the frightened animals. A moment later, he howled in pain and scurried away, holding up a hand that was bleeding from bite marks and scratches. He rejoined the group and haughtily claimed that the impossible had happened. According to him, a fox was a creature which was inherently cowardly since it ran away from anything larger than it, and the females especially should not have any desire to fight.

  “Tell that to the fox,” Alexia said with a chuckle. “Or if you’d like, I’ll gladly go up there for you. I’ll tell that fox she should never use the fangs and claws that God gave her to protect herself, for God didn’t make her that way. Then again, she might not know who God is.”

  Cardinal Clarkson said nothing more that day, and it was said that for months after, he was unusually reserved. He always had a quick lesson for whoever he met, but after the incident in the forest, he held back on his old preaching habits. He didn’t even quote the Holy Book, which was something he did every single day. Something had changed in the cardinal, and those who knew him best were divided on whether it was a good thing or not. He had been a steady source of guidance, a bright light in the dark … but suddenly he had lost his spark, seemingly snuffed out by a continuous inner conflict.

  Then, in the winter of that year, he announced that he had changed his mind about women’s roles in society. Women were not as physically strong as men, but that did not mean they couldn’t fight. Instead it was noble for a woman to want to protect her loved ones from a predator, and if her husband was away earning their keep, a wife had no choice but to fight if a home intruder cornered her and her children. Knowing this, it was unfair for the law to prohibit women from arming themselves, because in a tight spot, nails and fists were not enough.

  His most devout followers were outraged and confused, and they wondered aloud if the evil Malboth had whispered into Clarkson’s ear. They pressured him to take back what he said, but he held fast and made no apologies. He would later advise the Lonsaran king to repeal the prohibition on women arming themselves, and he even suggested allowing women to be soldiers—at least on a trial basis.

  “And that’s why we have women soldiers while Consaria doesn’t,” Avery finished. “All because a fox bit some guy when she actually shouldn’t have.”

  “Wow,” Callie said, genuinely impressed. “Good on him for having common sense in the end … but what about Sister Alexia? Did he ever thank her or apologize to her?”

  “No one knows for sure. I’d like to think he did, but it was never written down. Some say she never even existed, which I think is poppycock.”

  “Now if only Consaria would change its ways …” She sipped the rest of her tea then stared balefully into the fire. “Oh, but that’s none of my concern, isn’t it? Not anymore.”

  “Were you ever disallowed from picking up a weapon?” Avery asked.

  “When I was little, yes, but that changed after I joined the clan. In St. Mannington, women wielding weapons is frowned on, but there’s no law against it. In other cities, other baronies, armed women are prohibited, so I guess I lucked out.”

  “I’m sorry you had to leave your clan. They must miss you a lot.”

  Callie frowned, knowing the truth of the matter. She trusted her new friends enough to tell of her background in a clan of thieves, but she left out the fact that the clan was disbanded thanks to her, so her former fellows more likely cursed her than missed her.

  “You’ll like it in Lonsaran, trust me,” Avery said. “You could join us in the Guyver estate and wait out the war in the city with me and my husband, Kevin. It’ll be good for you.”

  “Thank you, but it’s too soon to make promises. I may have other plans.”

  “You shouldn’t reject help when entering a new land, Callie … but do what you want. I’m turning in.”

  Callie wished her goodnight and stayed by the fire awhile. Avery was right about accepting help, of course, and she would gladly take shelter with people she was comfortable with, but she was too proud to stay dependent for long. She desired to go back to her old lifestyle, carve a niche for herself in a city’s underbelly. It was the way she knew best, and after being enslaved by an army for three months, she had her fill of following orders with little gratitude in return. She supposed it was a lifestyle with too much risk to ensure a stable future, but she was certain she could figure things out as she went along.

  Women were allowed in Lonsaran to be soldiers … but that didn’t stop some men from being pigheaded.

  After traveling with the convoy for some time, Callie naturally drew attention from the swordsmen, whether they were unmarried or not. She was young and fit, and she had a pair of steely blue eyes—she could have had any of them wrapped around her little finger. Nonetheless, she was careful in not currying too much favor with any one man, giving each one who approached her equal time. The last thing she needed was to have them fight over her and make her appear to be more trouble than she was worth.

  She was pleasantly surprised to find the men of Lonsaran to be less uptight than Consarians, for they generally didn’t take offense at her being strong and skilled with a blade. Their attitudes reminded her of the men in Clan Reno, only less slimy and weird. Some were less confident than others, such as one man who could hardly put two sentences together in front of her, but she always managed to find their comfort zone that let them relax around her.

  Of course, there always came a point when a ma
n stopped talking of trivial matters and attempted to be more … serious. He would be subtle about it by asking where she thought her future lied, or he would be more direct and ask if she had her eye on anyone. Only one man was bold enough to move close and go in for a kiss, only to be greeted with empty space as she leaned away and sidestepped him. “Waaaay too early for that, bud,” she had said. The response earned her a dirty look, but what did he expect? She gave no signal that she was strongly attracted to him, and he was kidding himself if he thought a kiss could turn her around like a spinning top.

  In addition to talking, her suitors were always up for swordplay. Her training sessions with men were similar to the ones with women, where the opponents took things slow and steady, intending to build reflexes and muscle tone rather than chalk up a score. But just as in conversation, Callie’s opponents would test her limits, see how well she would perform under pressure. They would deliver a strong parry or do some quick footwork, and if she adjusted adequately, they would compliment her for her skills, hoping to gain her favor. She would then respond in kind, attempting sly moves they didn’t see coming and ending with pithy remarks instead of brutal blows. It was all in good fun, making training sessions tolerable and something to look forward to.

  That is, except for one man who grew desperate and frustrated each time Callie blocked his advances. His name was Brian, and he was taught at an early age that when there was something within reach that he wanted, he should do whatever it took to get it. And if he couldn’t get it … he should look for ways to ensure no one else could.

  With his strong jaw, short dark hair, and piercing brown eyes, he wasn’t exactly a catch but wasn’t bad-looking, either. Sean would always think of him as “Mr. Crooked Tooth,” for that was the man’s most notable feature whenever he grinned.