by C. L. Roman
“What are they doing?”
“Practicing. What are you doing?”
The returned question didn’t seem to bother either child, but the sparring match had resumed and the boy was so absorbed by the scene that he seemed not to hear. The girl responded.
“Trying to decide,” she said.
Sena smiled. “Decide what?”
“Decide if you’re safe. Kefir says,” the child nodded at her companion, “that not everyone is, you know. And it’s important to find out.”
Sena nodded. “Kefir is wise to be careful, but you can rest easy with us. We are as safe as the house you live in. You have told me the name of your friend, will you tell me yours?”
“I am Ziva.” Wide blue eyes met Sena’s and seemed to find comfort in the spirit revealed there. The little girl turned her attention back to the combatants, wincing as Phaella landed a particularly telling blow with the flat of her sword to Gant’s ribs.
“That will leave a bruise,” the child said, and began digging in the small pouch she carried at her side. A moment later she uttered a muffled cry of satisfaction and held up a bunch of oval shaped leaves, ragged on the edges with a strong vein structure on the underside.
“Bruisease,” the child explained. “You can dampen them and apply them directly, but if you steep them in olive oil they make a lovely lotion. Danae says it stops the pain almost right away.”
Sena accepted the gift as gravely as it was given. “Danae says so? And have you not experienced its benefits yourself?”
“No. Kefir never lets me get hurt.”
“I see. Then why do you carry the leaves?”
The little girl rolled her eyes. “For Kefir, of course. He’s always getting hurt.”
“Oh? Clumsy is he?”
Ziva turned on her hotly. “He is not! He is brave and adventurous and…”
Sena held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course, of course, the most stalwart warrior is likely to suffer minor injuries from time to time.”
Ziva studied Sena’s face a moment. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her of the older being’s sincerity because her face relaxed once more into grave sincerity. “He is a brave warrior. He will do mighty things one day.”
“I’m sure he will.”
The two looked up as Gant and Phaella finished their match. Across the small clearing, Adahna stepped out of the trees and called to Jotun.
“Volot has found something he wants to show us. Can you come now?”
Jotun nodded and turned to his trainees. “Anyone else want to come?”
Phaella nodded, but Sena declined. “I need to get back to camp soon; it’s my turn to prepare dinner.”
“I’ll stay with Sena,” Gant said.
“Of course you will,” Jotun replied with a mocking grin. He and Phaella followed Adahna into the woods.
“So,” Gant said, walking toward the remaining occupants of the glade, “who are our visitors, Sena?”
“This is Ziva,” Sena said, placing a light hand on the child’s shoulder, “and this young warrior is Kefir, or so I am reliably informed.”
“A warrior is it?” Gant crossed his arms and rested his chin in the fingers of one hand. He studied Kefir intently for a few moments, then said, “he has the look of a fighter, it’s true. What is your weapon of choice, young man?”
Kefir drew himself to his full height and replied gravely, “I have a sling, sir. I can hit a bird in the grain field at fifty paces. I’m quiet and very fast…sir.”
“The sling is a fine weapon, very useful in taking an enemy by surprise,” Gant said.
Kefir took an impetuous step forward, eyes shining, “But not as good as a sword. A sword is the best weapon for fighting hand to hand.”
“Oh? And what knowledge have you of swords, young one,” Gant asked.
Sena and Ziva settled back against the boulder, unsurprised to have been forgotten for the moment. Kefir’s face took on a rebellious expression.
“None. My father says I am to be a farmer and will have no need of swords, so he will not buy me one. But I will be a great warrior one day. It is my destiny.”
Gant resisted the urge to chuckle and ruffle the boy’s hair, saying instead, “The life of a farmer is an honorable one, and not without its own difficulties. Has your father forbidden you to learn of weaponry then?”
“No. He lets me practice with wooden swords with the other boys.” He hesitated, eyeing Gant’s sheathed sword with obvious envy. “Could I see yours?” he asked, plainly expecting the answer to be no.
Instead of answering, Gant studied the boy for a moment, then drew his blade. Crouching down in front of Kefir he held the sword flat in front of him, grip in his right hand, left hand supporting the blade itself. Kefir immediately stepped back and thrust both his own hands behind him, as if afraid the temptation to touch would prove irresistible. Gant hid a smile and crooked one finger, beckoning the boy forward.
“You are right to be careful. No blade is a toy and you must never forget that.”
Eyes wide, Kefir nodded, approaching slowly. He reached out with one hand, caution in every movement, looking to Gant for permission and waiting for the warrior’s nod before touching the blade with great reverence.
“Easy there,” Gant warned, and shifted his hold to the pommel, providing room for a hand smaller than his own, “here, this is the grip.” Kefir looked into Gant’s face, hesitant, eyes wide with joyous light.
“Go ahead,” Gant said. “But keep your fingers clear of the blade.”
As young fingers closed around the hilt a look of awe suffused the boy’s face. Gant kept a supportive hand under the blade while he gave instructions on how to hold the weapon.
“Well enough,” Gant said finally, “I’m going to let go. Are you ready?”
Kefir couldn’t speak for excitement, but nodded furiously, unable to look away from the sword in his two fisted grip.
“Kefir,” Gant said, “it is going to be very heavy, and you can’t let the blade strike the ground. Are you sure you are ready for this?”
“Yes,” the boy whispered, “yes, I’m ready.”
Gant let go and Kefir’s arms sagged with the sudden weight of a weapon far too large for him. He managed to hold it aloft for several moments, while sweat sprang up along his hairline and upper lip, before Gant took pity on him and took the sword back.
“Well done,” he said, clapping Kefir on the back in congratulations. “Most buckle at the knees when they hold their first sword. You stood the test well.”
Exultation shone out of Kefir’s face like light from a lamp. “Will you teach me?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Teach you?” Dismayed, Gant glanced over at Sena, who merely cocked an amused eyebrow and shrugged.
“To fight,” Kefir said.
“Well,” Gant shifted his stance, “I, uh…”
“Please? Please sir,” the boy looked up at his hero, manfully resisting the urge to go to his knees and beg.
“You really should, you know,” Ziva said, her face the definition of sincerity. “He’s going to be a mighty warrior someday, and then you’ll be able to say you trained him. It will be a great honor for you.”
“Sena,” Gant shot a desperate look at his beloved, “what do you think?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes at having been drawn into the discussion but, looking into the intent faces of the two children, she hadn’t the heart to utter an abrupt denial. Besides, Gant had started this, he really should finish it.
“Well, we may not be here long enough for any real training,” she said. Gant’s sigh of relief was arrested mid-inhale as she continued, “But, if we did stay, you’d need to ask permission of your father, Kefir. And Gant will need to ask permission of his trainer, Jotun, who will have to get permission from our ca – our leader, Fomor.” Eyes twinkling, she cast the last stone on the pile, “But, if they give their consent, I can see no reason why Gant shouldn’
t train you Kefir. He is one of our best fighters, after all.”
Ignoring all but the first part of her statement, Gant sheathed his sword. “Right,” he said, “there probably won’t be time—”
His statement was cut off by a wild whoop of glee from Kefir, who obviously had only heard the end of Sena’s words. The boy tore down the path towards his village, but skidded to a halt after a few steps. He turned back, shouting, “Thank you, sir, thank you,” and was off again before anyone could so much as draw breath to protest further.
“Call me Gant.” The fighter offered a weak wave in farewell. As his hand fell to his side, he felt the reassuring squeeze of small, warm fingers nestled against his palm.
“Don’t worry,” Ziva said, “his father will say yes. It is his destiny.” She smiled up at the big warrior before skipping off down the trail after her friend.
“Don’t worry,” Sena sidled up next to him, “it is your destiny.” She gazed up at him with wide eyes and a sappy smile, but was only able to hold the expression of vacant hero worship for a moment before nearly collapsing with mirth.
He gave a huff of laughter that was half humor, half self-mockery. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “If I just said no, the boy would be crushed. Let his father crush his dream, not me.”
Sena raised an eyebrow. “And if Nephel consents?”
Gant turned a hopeful gaze on her. “Fomor will say no?”
She laughed again. “And deprive you of such an honor?” Now Gant looked almost hunted and she took pity on him at last. “Don’t worry, one of them will say no.”
“One can only hope.”
Stifling another chuckle, Sena started off towards the encampment. “Hope all you want, but you might also start planning a training schedule,” she glanced back at him, “just in case.”
“If they do say yes, you’re helping,” he said.
“Hah, you’ll have to catch me first.” Warned by the militant light in his eyes, she gave a smothered shriek and ran down the path.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” he muttered, and gave chase.
***
The misty light of early morning shrouded the trees as the seven sat down to breakfast around their morning fire. Volot was, once again, urging the unit to make this place their permanent home.
“We have seen no sign of Lucky or his BVs,” he pointed out.
Fomor thought about the last two weeks. Each day had brought new encounters with the villagers, which strengthened relationships and created ties between the unit and the people that both comforted and worried him. How peaceful it had been to simply live with so little fear of attack, and none over where one might find shelter for the coming night. He thought about Danae. Is it any surprise that each day I have managed to find a new excuse to extend our stay?
“It is peaceful here,” Sena said, unconsciously echoing Fomor’s thoughts. “And the alabaster deposits we found in the hills could provide us a trade, a reason to stay.” Gant reached out and took her hand.
“Adahna?” Fomor looked to his logistics officer, thinking that if any of them could think logically about this decision, she would be the one.
She pushed one slender hand through her blond curls and bit her lip, an uncharacteristic gesture of hesitancy that silenced the entire group. “I am not, perhaps, the right person to ask for an unbiased opinion.”
“Why Adahna? What has happened?” Fomor forced himself to ask the question calmly. What have I missed while looking at Danae?
“Nothing really. At least, not yet.”
Fomor’s eyes widened and he heard Phaella’s gasp of surprise as a pink flush crept up Adahna’s cheeks.
“I prefer not to discuss it,” she finished stiffly.
Only Jotun seemed unperturbed. “It seems that Adahna has found a compelling reason to linger in this place.” He glanced at his friends. “The truth is, she is not alone, is she? Almost all of us have found something, or rather, someone, to interest us in the village. Volot, has not the lovely Shahara been seen often in your company these past two weeks?”
Volot, though flushed a bright red, nodded in grudging agreement, and Jotun continued. “It seems only Gant and Sena are exempt. Perhaps because they have been otherwise engaged?” His grin was tinged with only a trace of friendly malice, and the couple smiled comfortably at each other.
Fomor ground his teeth. “Unwise! You have allowed yourselves to be trapped by emotion! Our reasons for moving on have not changed. Lucky hasn’t been sighted yet, it is true, but it is only a matter of time.”
Jotun gave his captain a steady look, but it was Volot who broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Then why are we still here? The order is yours to give.” He paused but his commander remained stone silent. “Could it be that you have a reason of your own for staying? Might her name be Da—”
“Enough!” Fomor grated. “We have endangered these people with our presence long enough. We move out at dawn tomorrow.” He surged to his feet and stalked away, not daring to ask himself why it was that his feet and his heart both felt like the biggest stones at the bottom of the pond.
Chapter Six
Nera giggled and brushed back a swath of straight brown hair as she pushed through the reeds at the edge of the small pond. Small, like her, she thought, glad that the falls here were not wild like those at Shahara’s favorite pool. Instead of crashing over a high ridge, plummeting straight down to roar into the broad pool below, these falls were gentler, falling almost softly from ledge to ledge until the final drop of only a few cubits. Standing in that spray was like standing under the special pot Mama had made in the bath house, with its loosely woven mat over the top for the water to pour through. It made washing one’s hair so much easier, but Nera still preferred her special place. There was no need to fill a pot with warm water here.
Moving without hesitation behind the sheet of water to a rocky ledge, Nera stopped and raised delicate features to the spray, delighting in the smooth coolness of the falling water. After a moment she turned and continued down the corridor of natural stone and entered what she thought of as her secret place. The same line of low hills that surrounded the rest of the oasis formed a secluded, pocket sized valley here, the only entrance hidden by the falls. The hills came right down to the water’s edge in places and were dotted with cave openings, many of which the young girl had never explored. Neither did she intend to seek out any new discoveries this morning. Instead her sights were set on something less exciting, but more productive.
Edging carefully across a rock ledge worn smooth by years of running water, she made her way behind the falls and into the hidden valley. She flitted along the edge of a small lake to the marshy area that contained her favorite type of reeds. No one else makes baskets as beautiful as mine, she thought. No one else can because they don’t know my secret. Before her stretched a reed bed of brilliantly colored stalks; red, blue, green and her favorite, a sort of iridescent gold that shifted color in the light. She smiled. More than enough for the new basket she had planned.
Smiling and singing, Nera gathered reeds for a new basket, stopping occasionally to turn her face to the warmth of the sun. The water felt good, cool and soft against her knees. She giggled again at the tiny fish darting through the mud stirred up by her slow steps. The stone knife in her hand cut easily through the pliant reeds and she soon had nearly enough. The gold reeds were fewer, and harder to reach, but she liked to use them for the spokes so that just a glimmer of the color showed through. She turned towards the hillsides and saw a patch close to a cave she had not explored yet. Nera grinned; perhaps she would make a new discovery today after all.
Moving closer to the cave entrance she stopped and tilted her head, bird-like. What was that sound? Face tense with concentration, Nera listened. People didn’t come here. No one else knew this place, she was sure. But there was no mistaking it. The sound of a woman sobbing echoed faintly across the water, getting louder as she approached the cave
.
“Hello?” The gut wrenching sobs continued unchecked; someone was weeping as if in terrible pain. Nera moved closer. Maybe they were hurt, needed help?
“Hello, who is there? Don’t be afraid, it’s only me, Nera.” She stepped carefully into the low arc of the cave mouth, blinking as her eyes adjusted to dim light. A figure moved convulsively in the darkness. The sobbing, softer now, seemed somehow familiar.
“Danae, is that you?” Nera moved closer. Who could have hurt her sister so that she was crying like this? “Danae, it’s Nera, what happened?”
The figure moved again, the weeping stopped, the head lifted. Malevolent green eyes glowed in the darkness and Nera knew without a doubt that whatever crouched before her now, it was not Danae.
***
“Come on! Are you always so slow?” Danae pulled at Fomor’s hand, laughing as she led him along the path.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” He laughed back at her but followed willingly. He had sought her out to tell her they were leaving, but the words wouldn’t come. Now, with every step, the sentence that would chase the laughter from her eyes seemed to retreat further into the back of his mind.
She nodded and rolled her eyes. “Always. Father says it is my main method of communication. I think it is important, yes? To know things? I want to know everything.”
Fomor laughed again, but grimly. “Not everything is good to know.”
Danae frowned. “Now you sound just like him. He has said the same thing to me many times. Last time he compared me to…”
“To what, a curious animal perhaps?” Fomor grinned at her but she didn’t smile in return.
“A tiger actually, one my brother killed several turnings ago.”
He grinned down at her. “Hmm, sounds serious, being compared to a dead cat. Not at all complimentary.”