by Ryan Kirk
Moriko’s barrage of questions ended when they came to a large tent. Most of the structures they passed had one or two decorative markings on them, but this one was bare leather, not a symbol to be found anywhere. Lobsang’s grin faded. “Moriko, you are a strange messenger, but you seem honest.”
The words stuck needles into Moriko. Her memory flashed to Kalden, his throat cut, astonishment fading to death in his eyes. Lobsang misjudged her.
He continued, oblivious to Moriko’s inner torment. “If you want to know more about our clan, more about the People, you must look in here.”
“What is it?”
“It is,” Lobsang struggled to find the word in Moriko’s language, “a death home.”
Moriko was shocked. She hadn’t expected to go from playing children to a death home. But Lobsang was right. She was curious. She stepped into the tent without hesitation.
Moriko had expected it would be filled with corpses, but she was wrong. Inside were the old, the sick, the young and injured. There were a few people wandering among them, caring for them, but most fought against death alone. She turned to Lobsang, who had followed her into the shelter. “Why do you call it the death home? These people aren’t dead.”
Moriko’s gaze settled on a young man, no older than she was. He had cut his arm, and it had gotten infected. She shook her head. With the proper care they could have prevented the infection. At worst, he’d have to lose his arm, the way Kalden had.
Lobsang spoke softly. “No, they aren’t dead, but they are fighting their final battle. They must live or die on their strength alone. If they aren’t able to keep up with us when the Gathering breaks, they will be left behind.”
Moriko considered herself a strong woman. She had seen death, been tortured. But this pulled at her. This was wrong. “Why show me this?”
“Because this place defines our clan. It defines all the People. Survival and strength are everything. If you aren’t a benefit to the clan, your life is forfeit. You would grieve over what you see here, but we do not. They do not. Life is hard, with no room for weakness. If you can understand this, you can understand us.”
Lobsang led her out of the tent. Moriko gave one last look at the barren tent before she followed him, her mind racing to explain what she had just seen. She didn’t understand.
It was surprising to Moriko how quickly she fell into the daily patterns the clans held to. She had thought when she first came into the Gathering she’d be able to get to the leader of the clans with little difficulty, but her assumption had been foolish. Clan politics were so complex she didn’t have a hope of learning all the intricacies in the time she had. Lobsang and Dorjee tried to explain what they were doing to get her an audience with the head of the clans, but she lost track of their plotting moments after they started speaking. She trusted them and they were making efforts, slow as they were.
Although the vast network of clan politics set her head spinning, there were some basics she understood. Dorjee and his clan, the Red Hawks, were on the perimeter of the Gathering for a reason. Clans fought for position closest to the center of the Gathering, and they were accorded honor based on how close they were to the elevated platform Moriko had seen coming down into the valley. Most cycles the Red Hawks were close to the center of the Gathering, but this time, Dorjee hadn’t even made the attempt. They’d hunted late and were one of the last clans to arrive. Moriko gathered that there was some sort of disagreement between Dorjee and the Azarian leadership, but no one would speak to her about it. Not even the older women, who gossiped all day, would say a word about it. They were much more concerned about how strong of a man Moriko was with.
Moriko had been informally adopted into the clan, and while she waited for a chance to speak to the Azarian leadership, she fell into their daily lives. They were up before the sun, no matter how late they had stayed awake to celebrate the night before. Moriko struggled at first to find her place in the clan. She slept with a group of unmarried women, and they talked constantly. As a deference to her, they spoke in her language as much as possible, although sometimes they became overwhelmed with passion and slipped back into Azarian. They were all kind to her, but it was the event of the year for them, and Moriko wasn’t much given to talk. She bore their questions with as much grace as she could manage, but her interests were a world away from theirs.
The Gathering was the most important event of the year for many women for a reason. Those Moriko lived with were of marrying age, and it was expected several would be matched to men outside the clan. It was a source of endless speculation. They were strong and beautiful, but they weren’t warriors like Moriko. Every morning she itched to work her way through her combat practice, but a close eye was kept on her and she didn’t want to draw more attention to herself.
The women she stayed with were industrious. They quilted, repaired clothing, and cooked. Moriko alternated between looking down on their habits and being jealous of their skills. Their fingers moved with a dexterity and grace she couldn’t match. She could repair clothes to some extent, but she was a horrible cook. Ryuu was much better. In the monastery, she had always been fed. She had never had to develop skills beyond boiling rice.
When boredom overwhelmed her, she wandered through the tents, being careful to stay within Red Hawk territory. She wanted to go hunting, but she needed to hide her ability with the sense, and she was worthless without it. The only reason she ever got food was because she knew where the food was going to be. Without her sense, the only person she was a danger to with a bow was herself.
It was with the children that Moriko found her place. She had never been around children much, but she naturally gravitated to the Red Hawk youth. They asked questions, but their questions were innocent, like how old she was and how many messages she’d delivered. She played frequently with them and got to know them well. They were strong and active, and after a day with them, she felt as though she had run for leagues without stopping. No other adults tended to them, except for the occasional mother who would come in and yell at them for making mischief.
Almost a full moon passed in this manner. She talked with the women, she talked with Dorjee and Lobsang, and she talked some more. She had never talked so much in her life. It wasn’t that she was happy, but there was a contentment in the clan that was hard to resist. A part of her knew it couldn’t last forever. The Gathering was reaching its peak, and action had to be taken soon.
On the last day of the Gathering, Lobsang came to see her. The grin on his face was contagious, and Moriko wondered if they’d finally been successful in garnering an audience for her. She asked, and he shook his head. “I am sorry. Dorjee doesn’t have many friends close to the center of the Gathering right now. You will have to decide what to do, but the clans aren’t separating. We’ll stay together and march north.”
Moriko didn’t have to ask what that meant. Her heart dropped at the thought of so many thousands of Azarians heading towards the pass.
“Will you keep trying?”
Lobsang nodded. “Dorjee believes you when you say you come with offers of peace. Perhaps it’s not too late yet. He’ll keep trying.”
Moriko frowned. She could put off her decision for a few days, perhaps, but if they didn’t make progress soon, she’d have to try something else. She still didn’t know why the hunters had come after her and Ryuu. “Well, if you’re not grinning from ear to ear because you have good news for me, why are you here?”
Lobsang laughed. Moriko listened. She loved how he laughed from his belly, getting his entire body into it.
“We are having a contest as a clan this afternoon. Perhaps you’d like to join?”
Moriko glanced sideways at the man who seemed more bear than human. It was hard to tell if he was joking or not, but she was pretty sure he was joking. She smiled. “No thanks, I’d like to let the men have a chance this time.”
Lobsang roared with laughter. Moriko worried for a moment he would actually blow over one of the t
ents with his hearty laugh. Despite herself, she grinned. It was hard to remember that she was among enemies and not friends here. She had been watched closely, yes, but that was hardly unexpected. She had been treated with a kindness she hadn’t expected.
“I thought you would say so. I’ve seen the way you watch our warriors. You may be a messenger, but I know the sword you carry isn’t for decoration. Dorjee has insisted you participate.”
Moriko considered it. In the time she’d spent with the Red Hawks, she had decided Dorjee was a pacifist. At the least, he eschewed violence when other options were still available. What would he gain from having her fight? Did he expect her to win? There was no way of knowing. But the idea of stretching her muscles was more tempting than she cared to admit, and it seemed rude to deny Dorjee after he’d opened up his clan to her.
“Fine. I’ll participate.”
Lobsang grinned. “Excellent. I’ll let everyone know. We’ll be starting after lunch.”
When Lobsang had told her there would be a contest, he seemed to have understated just how big a deal the contest was going to be. The entire clan had gathered for the display, the first time Moriko had seen everyone together. Although Lobsang hadn't mentioned it, the event was clearly the final celebration of the Gathering for the Red Hawks.
Moriko found Lobsang in the crowd and worked her way towards him. "What exactly did I agree to?"
Lobsang chuckled. "It is a tournament we hold at the end of every Gathering. There are three events. Archery, mounted archery, and the blade. Each event has a winner, and the person who has the highest score after all three events wins."
Moriko shook her head. "And I'm expected to compete in all three?"
"Yes!"
With that, Lobsang was carried off by a crowd of people wanting his attention. Moriko was left alone trying to decide what to do. The only event she had a chance in was the sword, but it would be rude to deny Dorjee his request.
The first event was archery. Moriko was able to watch several rounds of archers go before her, and she tried to study their style. They were good. At fifty paces, their arrows always landed near the center of the targets. She supposed that in the plains their aim needed to be excellent.
When Moriko's name was called, she stepped forward with several other archers, realizing too late that she was the only one without a bow. Everyone else had brought their own. There was a chuckle in the audience and Moriko fought the impulse to turn red. A bow was given to her, and she tried to mimic the style of the archers she'd watched.
She shot five arrows and was pleased with the result. Three of them managed to stick into the target, the other two missed by just a little. It wasn’t near as good as even the youth who were competing, but she felt it an impressive display for her first time. Some of the children she'd befriended even clapped for her. She gave them an exaggerated bow.
When the standings were released for the archery competition, Moriko was dead last. She didn't mind. It was no more than she'd expected.
Next came the mounted archery. Again the warriors of the clan displayed their prowess with bow in hand. Moriko couldn’t even imagine hitting the targets they hit as a matter of course. Despite herself, she was impressed.
When Moriko's turn came, she shook her head. Riding a horse was bad enough. She didn't dare try to shoot while riding. It would have been irresponsible and dangerous to bystanders. A murmur went up from the crowd. It was one thing to take a trial and fail it, but they considered it another not to try at all. Moriko brushed aside her irritation. It was the right decision.
When the names were read, again Moriko's name was in last. She'd have to win the sword competition to even get halfway up the ranks.
It was late afternoon when the sword competition began. Based on her standing at the bottom of the list, Moriko was the first to compete, against the highest-ranked Red Hawk so far. She wondered how they were going to run the competition, and was relieved when wooden swords were given to each combatant. Moriko studied hers. It was smaller and lighter than even the wooden practice swords she was used to. She tried a few swings and cuts with it to get a feel for it.
Her opponent was first in the ranks, but not because of his swordsmanship. His archery might have been unmatched, but his strikes were obvious. Moriko parried his blows easily, the light practice sword moving through the air with incredible speed. It was over in two passes, the young man down on the ground with blood pouring from a broken nose. There were hoots and hollers from the crowd at the leading champion being defeated by the outsider woman.
Moriko watched the rest of the first round with interest. She had seen some of their training, but she hadn't seen any combat. After a few matches, it was clear to her that the Azarians, even those who weren't hunters, were dangerous opponents. Their youths were as well trained as many Three Kingdoms soldiers, and their adults even more so. She began to understand why the Azarian threat kept Akira awake at night.
In time her turn came again. Half the field had been eliminated. Her second battle was more intense, and she had to rely on her sense to defeat her opponent. He had seen about twenty-five cycles and was a smart fighter. His defense was nearly impenetrable, and it was only when he over-committed to a strike that she was able to beat him.
As the skill level of the fighters rose, so did Moriko's interest in the tournament. Some of the second round fights were incredible.
The last of the second round fights horrified her. It was two young men, both younger than her. The fight had drawn on, and the two youths had resorted to attempting to overpower each other. Their blades were coming together with tremendous force. Moriko feared one would break under the pressure. They clashed and clashed again, and finally, one of the blades broke. To his credit, the boy whose blade broke didn't even hesitate. He spun under the guard of his shocked opponent and made another cut. With a practice sword it would have injured the boy's shoulder, but with the broken, jagged edge it cut through skin near the armpit of the boy.
There wasn't a sound from the audience. The fight was over, one boy's arm hanging limply from his side. He was taken to the dead house. Moriko was in shock. The boy couldn’t have seen more than sixteen cycles. The cut was bad. But with herbs and treatment he had a good chance. There was no need to send him to the dead house. She pushed her away across to Lobsang. "I can try to save the boy."
Lobsang turned and looked at her. "I know what you are trying to do, but the boy must survive on his own. We will close the wound and do our best to keep it clean, but it's his job to live or die. Not yours."
Moriko almost cursed in frustration. It was a meaningless death, if it came to that. The third round started and she was up again, and she took her frustration out on her opponent. As soon as the match started, she snapped and time slowed down. Her strikes were quick, efficient, and brutal. The Red Hawk she faced was down on the ground, unconscious. The crowd was hushed. They had never seen her move so fast. Moriko glared at Lobsang, but he just kept grinning. It seemed nothing got under his skin.
Her turns came more and more quickly as the number of competitors decreased. Her fourth round was against one of the young men she had fought when first entering the camp. He was more cautious this time, but Moriko was still furious, and she snapped and brought him down with a none-too-gentle groin shot.
Her fifth opponent was an older man with reflexes like a cat. Moriko fought him without snapping, her sense enough warning against his blows. The fight took longer than she expected, but it was a good one. The old man’s style was a wonder to behold. It was as though she was watching water wield a sword, his moves were so smooth.
Moriko's final match of the day was against Lobsang. She had been watching him fight the entire time, and she realized he hadn't been using all his skill the first time they met. He was an incredible swordsman. He was fast and strong, and his size allowed one to underestimate him easily. He moved with uncommon grace, especially for one so large.
They squared off against ea
ch other. Moriko wouldn't allow herself to snap. To sense was natural, she wouldn't be able to avoid that in combat, but she could avoid snapping. It seemed a fairer fight to her.
Their battle began with a flash. Lobsang's strikes were quick, and he came out swinging. Moriko lost ground immediately. She'd gotten used to combat escalating in intensity, but Lobsang meant to end this right away. She blocked and parried and ended up diving away from a cut that got inside her guard. He was fast.
Moriko rolled to her feet, but Lobsang didn't give her any time to recover. Moriko was amazed. Lobsang was nearly as good as the hunters, nearly as good as a nightblade. She met his attack with all her energy, their swords dancing in the evening light. For a man so fast and so strong, he never made a mistake. He was always perfectly balanced, but he had so much mass behind his strikes, they kept forcing Moriko backwards.
Her only advantage was that Lobsang was getting tired. It took energy to move so much bulk around, and he was running out. If she held out long enough, she'd be able to press her own attack. Lobsang knew it too, and redoubled his attacks with a ferocity Moriko could hardly match.
Even knowing where the strikes would be coming from, it was all Moriko could do to keep herself from getting hit. She was fully focused on the battle, her world no larger than the two blades dancing and striking.
Then her sense picked up something she hadn't felt for a long time. Someone else was using the sense. Someone close. Moriko immediately cut herself off from the sense, swearing to herself. She'd been using the sense to fight. Anyone sense-gifted would know who she was. Anyone like a hunter.
Without her sense, Moriko was no match for Lobsang’s skill. She couldn't tell where Lobsang was going to strike, and in three moves he was inside her guard. His blow to her stomach flattened her. Not only was he fast, he was strong. She crumpled to the ground, more worried about a hunter nearby than the pain to her gut.