by Fiona Patton
“Argued about it is more accurate,” Yashar interjected. “Kemal hated all of my very reasonable suggestions.”
“As you’ve seen,” Kemal continued, pointedly ignoring the interruption, “Yashar’s is fashioned in the shape of a boat for Caliskan-Koy, mine is a sheep for Serin-Koy. The Anavatanon garrisons are all affiliated with one gatehouse tower or another, so their pins are usually in that shape...”
“But we didn’t think that would suit you, given your history with the city guard.” Yashar said dryly. “I thought about a pickpocket’s dip,” he added with a grin, “but you said you never used them.”
“I said Spar never used them,” Brax pointed out mildly.
“Ah, well, it’s too late to change it now.”
“Finally,” Kemal said firmly, “the God Herself gave us the answer.” He held out his hand to reveal a silver, rectangle-shaped pin fashioned to resemble a section of wall. “Defend my barrier. Wasn’t that what She told you?”
The final protection on his arm feeling as warm as his face, Brax ducked his head, suddenly unable to speak as Kemal fastened the pin to his cloak.
“Your past: the city itself; and your future: its defense in Her name. And now...” Taking him by the shoulders, he turned him toward a heavy, gilt-framed mirror held by two of Oristo’s delinkon. “You’d hardly recognize the delon who faced down Estavia’s council a full year ago, would you?” he asked as Brax stared at his reflection in wonder.
An unfamiliar, armored youth of medium height, with long, thick, black hair woven with strands of silver and gold and wide, dark eyes stared back at him with far more maturity and confidence than he really felt. He glanced up and down, noting how the cuirass widened his shoulders and how his right hand automatically reached down to rest on the pommel of his sword. With the cloak pin at his throat gleaming as if it were made from the waters of Gol-Beyaz itself, he looked ... he swallowed... he looked like a Warrior of Estavia. Feeling the warm, internal caress once again, he glanced up at his abayon. Both men were grinning widely at him.
“So what happens now?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
Kemal made an innocent gesture in the direction of the door. “Now we go to breakfast.”
“Dressed like this?”
“It’s your Oath Day. You’ll be dressed like that until after dusk.”
“But breakfast. I thought...” Brax tipped his head at the plates of food.
“That’s just to keep you going through dressing. You’ll find there’ll be a lot of eating today Eating and celebrating.”
“But only if Spar will haul his lazy carcass out of bed sometime this morning,” Yashar added loudly.
Sharing a piece of halva with Jaq and Tanay who’d just rejoined them, Spar gave his older abayos an exaggerated salute with the last of it before sliding off the pallet. A few moments later, dressed in his usual blue training tunic and sandals, he fell into step beside Brax, nodding in satisfaction as he caught sight of the brown bead hanging from the older boy’s neck. As their abayon led them from the room, he reached up and tucked it under his tunic. Brax glanced over at him curiously.
“Most of the temple’s Oristo-priests know it’s there,” he noted.
Laying his hand over the bead woven into Jaq’s collar, Spar shrugged. “Just humor me,” he ordered.
Behind them, Tanay chuckled to herself.
The corridors between the infantry quarters and the refectory were crowded with warriors from every company. Each one slapped Brax on the back or shoulders, called out well wishes, or shouted unnecessary advice. By the time they reached their own dining hall, Brax was reeling and Spar’s hands were locked, white-knuckled, on Jaq’s collar. Even knowing the dining room would be full to bursting, the roar which greeted them as they walked into the room almost caused both boys to make a run for it, but with Kemal and Yashar blocking their escape they had no choice but to move forward. The crowds parted at once for Kaptin Julide and Birin-Kaptin Arjion who led them to the center table like an honor guard and, distracted as always by food, Spar grabbed for a plate while Brax looked around with an open mouth.
“The entire Company must be here,” he said in astonishment.
“The final few arrived from Anahtar-Hisar last night,” Kaptin Julide agreed.
“But who’s guarding the southern strait?”
“The militia garrison at Satos-Koy.”
Yashar sputtered with laughter as he caught sight of Brax’s expression. “Why, Delin? Don’t you think they’re up to the task?”
Brax scowled at him. “Well, sure, but ... it’s just... Never mind.” He fell silent as the older man stuffed a plate into his hands.
“Don’t fret,” his abayos said gently. “Eat. There’ll be plenty of time for worrying about the future later. Just remember, the sun will rise and set as quickly as it always does today, but this day, your day, will never come again. Try to enjoy it if you can.”
Glancing over at Spar who was already carrying a mountain of food toward their usual table, Brax nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.” Eyes tracking to the heavy storm clouds gathering beyond the dining room’s latticed windows, he shivered. “Later.”
Beside him, Kemal followed his gaze with a concerned expression. First Oaths were a serious matter, but they were also a time for celebration, and as Yashar had said, this day would never come again no matter how many ceremonies, oath-takings or triumphs he might observe in the future. He hoped this worry over Spar’s nightmare wasn’t going to cloud the day for Brax. Elif and Sable Company had gone into vision every day since and had seen no more than the usual spring danger building over the Berbat-Dunya. But they had agreed; Brax was vulnerable because of his experiences on Liman-Caddesi and at Serin-Koy and just as Spar had predicted, Elif had seen that this day’s oath-taking would take care of that. Kaptin Liel also believed that Brax’s link with Estavia’s first Champion would further protect him so he and Spar were to spend all three nights of Havo’s Dance in Kaptin Haldin’s shrine while the rest of the Battle God’s warriors stood ready to send their combined strength to the God of Battles as they had a year ago. They were prepared. Brax had nothing more to fear than any other delinkos had on his or her First Oath Day.
Reaching for the coffee urn, Kemal shook his head with an embarrassed smile, remembering his own.
Chian had rolled him out of bed long before dawn. Still six years away from the battle that would rob him of his mind and his body, his older kardos had towered over him like a giant. He’d caught Kemal up in his arms and carried him, struggling and protesting, into the bathing room and tossed him into the scented water with a great roar of laughter.
Badahir had pounced on him when they’d emerged. After she’d satisfied herself that he was armed and armored to her exacting standards, she’d handed him over to the rest of his kardon. Zondar had draped a huge garland of flowers around his neck while Radiard and Nathu had grilled him over the details of the oath-taking. Ever the most demonstrative of the family, Bayard had taken him in a huge bear hug, declaring in a voice loud enough for half the village to hear that their abayon would have been proud of him. Kemal would have run from embarrassment if he’d had any breath left, but he’d been too busy trying to pry his cuirass out of his rib cage.
The memory was enough to make him flush even now. But now, as then, it caused a lump to grow in his throat. He hadn’t wanted to admit to Bayard that he couldn’t remember their abayon anymore; that his huge, loud, balding kardos and his gentle and quiet arkados had been the only abayon he knew. But somehow the older man had seen it in his face and his own eyes had grown damp before he’d stepped aside to allow Maydir, the infant Aptulli on her hip and their three older delon crowding around her, to come forward with his cloak pin. Kemal hoped he and Yashar had made Brax feel as loved as he had when’d she’d pinned it to his throat. Laying his fingers over it gently, he smiled at the memory before catching up a mince borek and following the boy to their table.
The single note of prepar
ation a few moments later caused a general stampede toward the central parade square. By the time they reached their positions it was already filled to bursting. Brax started to take his usual place in the rear with the other delinkon but Kemal quickly caught him by the shoulder.
“Not today, Delin,” he said. “Today, you stand with us.”
Spar shot them a dark look before leading Jaq to their usual seat beside Elif, but as one gnarled hand reached out from her blankets to take hold of his, Kemal was relieved to see the younger boy’s face relax. He hoped that was a good sign. Resisting the urge to glance up at the cloudy sky, he straightened as an anticipatory hush fell over the courtyard, the occasional creak of armor the only sound above the rising wind. As the final note of Usara’s Invocations faded, a thrill of anticipation rippled through the ranks. Standing between himself and Yashar, he felt Brax tense, one hand straying to the pommel of his sword to grip it convulsively.
Kemal smiled in sympathy. He’d felt the same eight years ago. Standing between Chian and Badahir, his palms damp with sweat, he’d locked his knees, afraid that everyone would be able to see his legs shaking and stared out at the morning sun rising bright and red above the Degisken-Dag Mountains, their slopes black with fallen pine nuts. The first stirring of Estavia drawn up from deep within him as Militia-Kaptin Davak had begun to sing had made him feel dizzy with relief.
Now, the heavy clop, clop of Marshal Brayazi’s huge mount sounding overloud in the hushed square brought him back to the present. Releasing a breath he’d hadn’t known he was holding, Kemal gripped the pommel of his own sword. As the marshal swept her weapon from its scabbard, he felt the familiar buzz of the God’s lien within him begin to rise.
“You make your oaths as the first note sounds, speaking directly to Estavia in your mind.”
His own words to Brax last week overlaid the memory of Badahir’s. words to him eight years ago.
“But what do I say?”
As Brax’s words overlaid the memory of his own.
“Whatever you want to say, or need to say, in your own words. ”
“But what if my mind goes blank?”
“It won’t.”
“It might.”
“Then ask Her for help. She’s your God; She’ll answer you.”
As the marshal sang the first note of Estavia’s Invocation, Kemal glanced down to see Brax, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, begin to move his lips silently.
“So, how do I know if it takes?”
“It?”
“You know, the whole sworn thing.”
New questions he’d never thought to ask.
“She’ll tell you. They talk, remember? And loudly?”
“Oh, right.”
New questions but same ancient and familiar fear: what if She won’t accept me? What if I’m not really worthy?
As the marshal’s first note was picked up and repeated from Anavatan’s three Hisars, to the ships on the Bogazi-Isik Strait, to each and every village along the shores of Gol-Beyaz, Kemal could feel Estavia’s presence rising in response; feral, eager, and greedy for worship and for power.
What if She doesn’t accept me?
She will She has to. It’s what She is It’s what They all are.
Deep within him, he felt the Battle God’s exultant agreement. It caught him up as it always did, snapping his head back, and drawing his lips off his teeth in a snarling grimace. As he swept his sword into the air to channel the streams of crimson fire that streaked down the blade, he felt the minds and oaths of every warrior in Her service join to call the God of Battles into the physical world. Beside him, the intensity of Brax’s newly sworn oaths blazed across his inner vision like a field of stars, so bright and hot it hurt his mind to look at them, and when Estavia burst into being above the courtyard, he felt Brax’s own power take flight to meet Her. The boy’s arms flung wide as She caught him up in a violent, ebony embrace that nearly blotted out the sun, and Kemal felt his own oaths explode into the sudden maelstrom that was their greeting. As the power of each of Her followers was sucked up beside him, he felt himself shredded and re-formed over and over until he could no longer tell where he ended and the God began.
The return to earthly mortality was almost painful.
Silence echoed across the parade square for one endless moment, and then, one by one, the Warriors of Estavia broke ranks to collapse against each other. Holding a nearly unconscious Brax up with one arm, Yashar glanced over at his arkados with a dazed expression but, his body feeling as flayed as his mind, Kemal could only shake his head. Finally, Marshal Brayazi pushed herself up from where she had fallen over her horse’s neck, to give the boy an awestruck look.
“I swear, Delin, if this is how Her Invocations are going to go from now on, we’re all going to die happy.”
The responding flush across Brax’s face brought the gathered back to their feet and suddenly he was swarmed by rejuvenated warriors.
Across the square, Spar watched them with a somber expression, but when Brax finally broke free of the press to catch his eye, he nodded.
“You’re for Assembly, Ghazi.”
As a light misting of rain began to fall, Kemal scowled as he hurried toward the Derneke-Mahalle Citadel. Kaptin Julide had pounced on him directly after the Invocation and he’d just stared at her in surprise.
“Today, Kaptin?” he asked, glancing over at Brax who’d managed to work his way through the crowds of warriors to Spar’s side.
“You’ll be back long before his midmorning feast, never mind before dusk,” she replied sharply. “We need to send a proxy-bey. Havo’s Dance begins tonight and there’ll be questions the marshal doesn’t want answered.”
“There’ve been questions all year,” Kemal pointed out.
“Yes, and our answers all year have been that Estavia’s warriors are prepared to meet any and all challenges to Anavatan’s security. As always. You’ll say the same today.” She gave him a stem look from under her brows. “Spar’s vision and our preparations regarding Brax are not to be discussed. It’s private temple business, period.”
“And the spirits, Kaptin?”
“What about them?”
“Shouldn’t we warn the other temples that they may have increased in strength or numbers this year?”
“No. The temples were warned last spring. The spirits will do what they’ve apparently done every Havo’s Dance: attempt to breach the walls of Anavatan. The citizens and the temples will also do what they’ve done every Havo’s Dance: barricade themselves behind strong walls and shutters to wait out the storms. This year should be no different. We’ll be ready; Incasa’s oracle-seers probably will be, too. The city is secure.” Noting his recalcitrant expression, the kaptin made an impatient gesture. “It may seem that we’re always devolving a petty and annoying duty onto you arbitrarily, Ghazi, but Estavia-Sarayi has good reason for whom we chose to represent us among Anavatan’s leaders. You’re for Assembly. Now.”
Closing his teeth on what would have been an unwise and likely insubordinate reply, Kemal merely saluted stiffly.
“Yes, Kaptin.”
Now, stepping around a bit of broken cobblestone, Kemal growled low in his throat. “Good reason, my arse,” he muttered. “The good reason is that no one else wants to risk getting caught in an early thunderstorm.”
Glancing up at the heavy clouds gathering overhead, he quickened his pace. The residential area situated between Estavia’s temple and the center of Anavatan was mostly given over to the homes of the more prosperous warrior families and, with no Usara-Cami nearby, it was not unusual for the surrounding streets to be nearly empty of people today, but even with that knowledge, it seemed to Kemal that the air hung more heavily and the trees rustled more ominously than in previous years.
Brax’s words from last spring echoed in his mind as he hurried along the street.
“The spirits attack the unsworn on Havo’s Dance. That’s why nobody goes out. They used to just suck the life out o
f things like spiders and mice, sometimes a sick rat, but last year they started on the feral dogs and cats. That made them strong enough to go after people, but they can only get to the unsworn, so we keep under cover when they’re out hunting.”
And Proxy-Bey Aurad’s.
“There are no unsworn in Anavatan. It’s the City of the Gods; everyone follows one Deity or another here.”
Purposely ignoring the dark recesses between the houses, Kemal had to agree that at least there were no unsworn in this particular district. Nonetheless, he was still relieved to leave the quiet, shadowy mansions behind and exit into the vast, bustling marketplace that surrounded the Citadel.
A dozen people asked after Jaq as he made his way through the maze of tents and stalls—a dozen people whose only interest was in taking advantage of the buying frenzy that always occurred just before Havo’s Dance sent most of their customers into a self-imposed house arrest for three days. The scene was so familiar that it almost banished both his worry and his pique. Almost.
As usual, he arrived late but was surprised to see that the Central Assembly Chamber held no more than six people today, a young server standing by the side table, one scribe, the three representatives from the city’s Trisects, and Aurad. The server offered him a cup of very black tea and, as he grimaced at the taste, Ystazia’s proxy-bey favored him with a sympathetic expression before gesturing at the empty cushion beside him.
“Just hasn’t been the same since Dorn died last summer,” he noted, saluting the other man with a small china coffee cup.
“Point.”
“Where’s Jaq?”
“With my delinkon, as usual.”