“Nice to know the Star Warrior is as human as the rest of us.”
I turn around, ready to snap, when I notice the amusement dancing in his brown eyes.
“But you’re wrong to think that I don’t trust you,” Cavas says.
My heart skips a beat when he takes my hands in his, exactly the way he did at the temple earlier today.
“This is new to me,” he continues. “And last night, you looked so vulnerable. I wanted to protect you. Silly, right?” A laugh follows, as soft as a breath. “A boy with little power of his own trying to protect the most powerful magus Ambar has seen in a generation.”
“I’m not the most powerful magus Ambar has seen in a generation. I’m not!” I insist when he scoffs. “I’ve always needed help from others!”
“Leaders don’t work alone, Gul.”
I say nothing for a long moment. “Let’s promise that we’ll be honest with each other from now on. No matter what.”
“Fine.” His eyes take on a sudden, wicked gleam. “Answer this then: Are you thinking of kissing me, right now?”
“What?” I blink, startled by the question. “No!”
Liar.
“I thought we were going to be honest with each other.”
“Do you think of kissing me?” I challenge in response.
“Every single day.” There’s no hint of humor now, nothing except stark honesty in that dark-brown gaze.
My heart kicks hard under my ribs. Without saying a word, I pull away from him and begin walking back toward the barracks. He doesn’t follow, but I can feel him watching me from under the tree.
Then, from a few feet away, I call out:
“Every hour, every minute, every second!”
Cavas’s face splits into a grin a second before I spin around and run, the hot desert air fanning my face, his triumphant whoop ringing in my ears.
7
GUL
Since Subodh’s training session took up most of the morning, I arrange to train with the Legion after lunch.
With magic. With magic.
The reminder thrums in my blood as I climb the stairs to the roof of the activities building, my seaglass daggers strapped securely to my hips. A group of women is already busy with lathi exercises, their long bamboo staffs spinning so quickly that it makes me dizzy to look at them.
“Shubhdivas, Gul ji!” It’s Sami, sweat patching the armpits of her blue tunic, her deep-brown skin aglow. “Ready for practice?”
I swallow against my rising panic and wish her a good day in return. Sami’s use of the honorific after my name always makes me feel awkward, but she never listens when I ask her to simply call me Gul.
“What are we planning today?” Sami asks, eyeing my daggers eagerly. “Should we—”
“I think we should have the Star Warrior warm up a bit before we begin,” a voice cuts in.
It’s Falak, Esther’s second-in-command, who normally leads these practice sessions. Older than Sami—in her midforties—Falak always dresses for battle, a brown leather cuirass tied around her sleeveless blue tunic and matching arm braces. A ridged white scar stretches from her right cheek down her neck and ends somewhere below the Zaalian amulet tied around her bare right arm. She narrows her eyes at me now and I wonder if she’s assessing the numerous ways she can crack her lathi over my head.
“Lathi practice will be good for her,” Falak addresses Sami, though she continues to watch me. “Will loosen up any stiff muscles. Put away those daggers for a bit, Star Warrior. They might hinder you during exercises.”
Strangely, my first instinct is to say no, the thought of being separated from my daggers instantly making me uneasy. But Falak is right. I’m not yet proficient enough in lathi that I can handle any extra weight on my body. So, reluctantly, I undo the belt that holds my magical weapons and put them where she instructs me to.
Staff in hand, I take my place at the back. The roof, though large, has enough room for only ten women to do exercises at one time. After the exercises, duels will take place, one after another, allowing for maximum fighting room.
I begin the warm-up exercise with the opening stance Esther taught me on the first day of practice: left foot forward, gripping the lathi from its center with both hands, my left hand always above the right. The exercise, when performed slowly, appears fairly simple. Bring the lathi down, raise it back over your right shoulder, bring it forward, and shift stances from left foot to right foot.
With added speed, the movement shifts from elegant to deadly, showcasing the fast, characteristic spins that make lathi a martial art to be reckoned with. Speed, as expected, is not my friend. Any attempts to move faster and I will simply trip over my own feet or—worse—send my lathi spinning in an arc into the air before it lands somewhere in the courtyard below.
“Watch your stance, Star Warrior!” Falak calls out shortly into the session. “Move your feet along with your lathi and it will spin more easi—by Zaal! Be careful, girl!” she shouts as my feet cross over in a dangerous move, nearly making me fall over.
Spinning the lathi is no joke, but after so many weeks of training, I certainly am.
Three months in and I still haven’t got the hang of the most basic exercise, still don’t have the speed or the accuracy of the other women, who spin their sticks in every direction Falak instructs them to, moving from one stance to another so quickly that I can barely see what they’re doing.
By the time we take a break, my body feels like an oven. My heart pumps at twice its usual speed and my clothes stick to me like an unwanted layer of skin. I look enviously at Sami, who walks over to me, not seeming the least bit winded.
“Are you all right, Gul ji?” she asks quietly.
I’m going to collapse doesn’t seem like the right answer, so I simply nod.
“You practiced Yudhnatam before, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
The martial art of Yudhnatam was my earliest exposure to combat at the Sisterhood of the Golden Lotus. The Sisters, however, had quickly discovered that a small and agile body did not necessarily translate to good combat skills. Useless, Amira had called me on more than a hundred occasions.
“Well, lathi is similar,” Sami tells me now. “It requires breath control and balance. It needs agility—”
“Neither of which I have,” I cut in. “Look, Sami, I was never good at Yudhnatam. I won’t be any good at lathi, either.”
“But you’re good at magic,” Sami whispers. “Don’t deny it! I saw what you were capable of yesterday.”
Yes, I think, dread pooling in my belly. But you didn’t see everything.
“Time for dueling,” Falak shouts after the last batch of women finish their exercises. “Rohini will partner with Nav. We’ll watch them spar and try to look for ways they can improve their technique.”
We step aside as two women enter a circle drawn on the ground with red chalk, their lathis held before them in a defensive position, leaping at each other barely a second after Falak’s sharp whistle.
The duelers are of unequal height, Nav taller and more muscular than Rohini. But, somehow, both are evenly matched, their sticks slicing the air, crashing so hard at times that I wonder if they’ll break. Unlike the lathis used by Ambar’s thanedars and other law enforcement officials, these are simple weapons, unenhanced by magical amplifiers. I can’t help thinking that in an actual magical battle, they will not last. A thanedar or Sky Warrior could easily shoot a spell that would not only kill these women but also turn their lathis into piles of wood chips.
Are you going to tell them that? The voice in my head sounds a lot like Esther’s. Are you going to help them before it’s too late?
Before I can speak up, though, cheers rise from the circle. Nav, who has ducked Rohini’s swing, hits the other’s right shoulder blade. Hard.
“Are you trying to break my bones?” Rohini shouts.
“My point,” Nav shouts back, grinning.
“Yes, well done, Nav,” Fala
k says. “What went wrong, Rohini?”
“I left my right flank undefended,” Rohini mutters. “She tired me out.”
“She did,” Falak agrees. “To avoid that, you need to attack more than you defend. Get your jabs in first.”
After dismissing them, Falak looks toward me. “Very well, Star Warrior. Let’s see what you are made of. And please—feel free to use magic this time. We’ll make sure your opponent uses a magically reinforced shield to deflect spells.”
“Wait,” I begin, a stone forming in my throat. I force myself to swallow. “Where’s Kali? Shouldn’t she be here, too?”
Falak frowns. “She should, but Kali joined Esther today to help check on the boundary. The shield should work fine. It has mammoth tusk chips in it.”
“You don’t understand,” I say. “A shield may not be enough if—”
“We’re not so inept at fighting, Star Warrior,” Falak cuts in impatiently. “We’ve been doing it for years! Come now. We haven’t got all day.”
I grit my teeth, ignoring the snickering in the back.
“Falak Didi,” I begin again, but Falak has already blocked her ears to my protests.
“In the ring, Star Warrior!” she commands before holding up a hand to stop Sami from following. “Not you. You go too easy on her, Sami. I think it’s time she dueled with someone else. How about Roda?”
Roda rises to her feet, pale-skinned and brown-haired, her black-and-silver tattoos forming a starry crown over delicately arched eyebrows. She saunters over, whistling, spinning the lathi expertly with one hand.
“Are you sure, Falak Didi?” Roda asks, narrowing her hazel eyes at me. “We might not have a Star Warrior once I’m done with her.”
Laughter follows her comment.
“That’s enough,” Falak says, frowning. “This is a practice, mind you, so you’ll focus only on hitting your opponent’s shoulders and sides. You do not aim for the head or the legs—do you hear me? Now pick up your shield.”
Roda smirks, sliding the polished wooden shield over her left arm. “Yes, Falak Didi.”
“Wait, you want your daggers, don’t you, Star Warrior?” Falak asks.
I’m tempted to say yes. Roda chews on her lower lip, her smirk gone, her gaze shifting between me and the daggers. A couple of well-placed spells and she’d be bouncing around the roof like a frightened rabbit.
If my magic cooperates and does exactly what I want it to.
The last thought turns my blood to ice. Annoying as Roda is, I don’t want to be responsible for her untimely death.
“The lathi will be fine,” I tell Falak.
“Are you sure? These lathis aren’t amplified with magic enhancers.”
“That doesn’t matter. Magic simply requires a weapon to channel it. Any weapon will do,” I bluff.
And I’m not planning to do magic, in any case.
Falak frowns. “Fine. Now listen, Star Warrior, keep an eye on your footwork and keep moving. Because in an actual fight, someone will try to break your legs or skull. Now, are you both ready? Good—begin!”
Barely a second goes by before Roda brings her lathi down over my left shoulder with a hard spin. I raise my own weapon and block it—seconds before another hit comes my way. Sweat beads on my forehead, slides down my neck. The silence around us turns to whispers, then to instructions and catcalls, mostly directed at me:
“From the right, Star Warrior!”
“Watch those feet, Star Warrior!”
“Don’t kill Roda with your nonexistent death magic, please!”
Laughter erupts when I stumble at the last comment. Roda’s lathi catches me in the torso instead of the shins, where she’d originally aimed, making my eyes water.
“Gul ji, are you all right?” Sami cries out. “Roda, that was a foul move! She aimed for her legs, Falak Didi!”
“I’m fine,” I mutter—not that anyone’s listening. Maybe I should simply get knocked out again and save myself further humiliation.
“I noticed that!” Falak says, her tone sharp. “Watch yourself, Roda. Or you’ll be banned from practice for a week.”
Roda raises a brow. “If anyone should be banned from practice, it should be this so-called Star Warrior. She acts like she’s so good, like she’s better than the rest of us because she can do some magic. But the way she fights … Zaal’s beard, we’d be better off renaming ourselves the Legion of the Dead.”
More laughs follow Roda’s comments. Though Falak’s frown deepens, she says nothing.
My face burns. Is that what they feel? That I think I’m too good for them?
I recall the sky goddess’s words, spoken to me once in a dream: Cast your pride aside, for it can lead to your downfall. I glance heavenward, momentarily tempted to call on the goddess for help now.
Roda’s lathi lashes out again. Instinctively, I raise my staff to block it, the blow rattling all the way to my bones. Eyes narrowing, Roda attempts another hit. Then another. And another.
For long moments we dance around each other, lathis clacking, until I miraculously land a blow on Roda’s shoulder, making her wince.
Someone shouts in the background, but I’m not sure what they say because in that instant, Roda’s lathi slaps my right ear. Stars burst before my eyes, and I am suddenly pinned to the floor, skull pounding, the tip of an unforgiving staff pressed right against my throat. I curse myself for not listening to Falak and leaving my seaglass daggers behind.
Stop, stop, stop. I can’t gasp the words out loud; I can barely breathe. Falak’s and Sami’s voices blur in my ears. Red begins flooding my vision like a sky at sunset.
They want your magic, Gul, a voice in my head purrs. So why don’t you give it to them?
I raise my right arm, green light scorching my open palm and blasting back Roda and her shield several feet. Screams echo in my ears. My head pounds, worse than it ever has before, and all I want to do is sleep. But I force myself to blink and sit up, my eyes adjusting to the scene around me. With the pressure on my throat now gone, my previous rage turns to horror.
I’m surrounded by sawdust, my palms indented with a straight line of burns. For a wonder, my nose isn’t bleeding. A small group of women stands next to a figure on the ground. Roda, her magically reinforced shield lying splintered beside her.
No. Nonono.
A hand grips my shoulder. “… okay?” Sami’s voice breaks through.
“I’m fine,” I say hoarsely. My ribs squeeze, as if held tight by invisible ropes. “Roda … is she—”
“She’ll be all right,” another voice says. Falak, who’s also crouched next to Sami, a curious look on her scarred face. “You only knocked her out.”
“She’s not hurt, is she?” I ask, trying to rise to my feet. “I didn’t ki…” My voice trails off, choking on itself.
“Sit!” Falak says sternly. “We want to make sure you aren’t dizzy.”
“I’m not!”
But Sami’s hands hold me in place while Falak asks me several questions: What’s your full name? Where are we? What day is today? How many fingers am I holding up?
“Savak-putri Gulnaz. Tavan. Twenty-first day of Song, three,” I answer rapidly. Seconds later, someone from the other end of the roof terrace cries out:
“Roda’s awake!”
“May I see her, please?” I beg.
“I don’t see why not,” Falak says, and Sami helps me to my feet.
I make my way over to the other side. One of the women is sitting next to Roda, asking the same questions Falak asked me. Roda’s face is chalky, but her eyes appear clear, and she answers everything correctly. Finally, Roda looks up at me.
“Here to finish me off?” she says.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…” My voice trails off when I see Roda’s grin. “What’s so funny?”
“She’s only joking, Gul ji,” Sami says with a laugh of her own. “Roda has taken worse blows before.”
“Though never with magic,” Roda admits. “That
was more brutal than I expected.”
“It’s not funny.” My hard tone makes every smile slip. “It’s not funny when I injure someone so badly they can’t walk for weeks on end. It won’t be funny when my magic kills someone—when I lose complete control over it the way I did now.”
I take a deep breath. “I won’t do it. I won’t use magic on you in practice battles!”
“You can’t be serious!” Roda cries out, her voice hoarse. “Magic is exactly what we’ll be facing out there!” She points to the distant golden bars gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun. “You not practicing with magic will only be more dangerous!”
“Roda’s right,” Falak says, her voice firm but not unkind. “We need you to use your magic, Star Warrior. We need to know what it’s like out there and learn how to protect ourselves. We don’t have any magic of our own, remember?”
I swallow, suddenly feeling very small. Yes, Falak’s right. The women of Tavan don’t have their magic anymore. But I can also, very easily, kill them.
Why doesn’t anyone understand that?
“You really don’t have any magic left?” I ask, changing the topic. “I mean, Kali was also at a labor camp. She got her magic back with meditation.”
“Yes, she told me.” Sami looks oddly ashamed. “We’ve tried, Gul ji. Raja Subodh taught us to meditate himself. But it didn’t work for everyone. Sometimes, a few sparks shot from my fingers. But they weren’t enough to shape into a proper spell.”
“Frankly, none of us stuck it out the way we should have,” Falak says. “It’s frustrating to sit still and concentrate on communicating with a god or goddess or, in the case of us Zaalians, try to reach for something as elusive as magic. Eventually most of us gave up, except for Esther. It took her over five years to regain her powers. But Esther’s half magus and not capable of doing death magic during battle. The guards at Tavan were reputed to be the best at extracting magic from others—they had trained to be vaids.”
Rising Like a Storm Page 6
