“Did you?” she said in surprise. “Really?” I nodded. “That makes me feel better,” she said, smiling.
“Stop, now,” Casyn called after some time. I unstrung the bow and wiped down the wood, coiling the string to tuck in the quiver. After we stowed the bows, I drank some water, then joined the semicircle of women sitting in the dusty grass. I sat beside Tice, who glanced at me, smiled slightly, but said nothing.
When he had our attention, Casyn bent slightly to pull a short knife from his deerskin boot. He tossed it into the air. It tumbled, point over hilt, shining in the afternoon sun. He caught it effortlessly.
“This is the secca, the throwing knife,” he said. “You saw how it spun when I tossed it. It is balanced to do that.” He threw the knife at a butt. It turned in the air, flying straight and true to the target, embedding itself to the hilt.
“You will learn to do this,” he said bluntly. “The knife is the thing that can save your life, either from a distance, in the throw, or in hand to hand fighting. This is the one weapon that you all, all,” he emphasized, “even Casse, even Mella and Ranni, must learn.”
I gazed at the secca with bile rising in my throat. A handspan of metal—the size of the knives we used to debone a fish or to cut line—and Maya chose exile over it. Anger rushed through me. I took a deep breath to keep myself from screaming. Tice glanced at me, raising an eyebrow in question. I shook my head, re-focusing on Casyn’s lesson.
He sheathed the secca and brought out a wooden knife, banded with metal. “Like the swords,” he explained, “these are for practice. They are weighted so as to spin and fly like a secca, but are less dangerous. When we learn close combat, the points will be guarded, but we will first learn to throw them.”
He divided us into groups of five. Each group had one practice knife. It was all he had time to make, Casyn explained. “Now,” he said, “this is what you will do, for the rest of this hour. Hold the knife with the tip pointing into your palm, grasping the blade from the top, and flick it upward. As it tumbles back down, catch it by the hilt.” He tossed the wooden secca and caught it. I saw a hint of a grin on his face. “The first group to have all its members catch the knife correctly five times in succession wins the first lesson at the target tomorrow.”
Someone whooped, and suddenly the seriousness of the afternoon disappeared. The lesson had turned into play. We spread out. Laughter and curses rang over the field as we tossed and dropped the knives, scratching ourselves before we began to catch them properly. Groups began to shout their scores. As I threw and caught the knife for the fourth time in a row, my group chanting encouragement, the pain inside me receded, just a bit.
We lost to Dessa’s group, but we threw second the next day, and I fell over my sword less. Gradually, as spring gave way to summer and we spent our afternoons with sword and bow and knife, my muscles and nerves learned the skills, and my swordplay went from clumsy to competent. I learned the guards and the strikes; I could hold my own when we moved on to practice fighting. All around me on the field, I could see similar transformations taking place. Mella, her belly huge now, could, with a bird bow, hit the red centre on the target nine times out of ten from a hundred paces. Casse learned to throw the secca with deadly precision, delighting in learning something new at her advanced age. Casyn watched, corrected, sometimes chastised, and with his grave good humour kept us working through the long summer afternoons.
I slept well at night from sheer physical exhaustion, but when Freya and I sailed to and from the fishing grounds, I rarely thought of anything but Maya. In calm seas, I could sail without thinking, while my mind replayed the events of that evening, inventing scenarios in which I stopped her from leaving, or, alternately, went with her. Freya’s natural quietness, combined with, I suppose, her reticence to interrupt my reverie, meant that mostly my thoughts had free rein. Inevitably, this led to remembering the insights of that first, terrible morning, but I shied away from too deep a re-examination. When I forced my mind away from that fruitless course, by trying to think about the finer points of swordplay, or teaching archery, it always led me back to Maya, alone somewhere in the outside world, with no skills to defend herself. I feared for her, but more intensely, I missed her. Only the relentless focus of the practice field could distract me from the physical ache of her absence.
†††††
Two weeks after Maya left I had moved back to Tali’s house. “Are you sure?” my mother had asked gently. “You know you’re welcome to stay.”
I shook my head. “Tali is alone, too,” I said. “It’ll be better for us both. We can be company for each other.” I didn’t know if that was true. When Tali and I had spoken, she had said little about Maya, but at my mother’s, I found myself reverting to the familiar roles of childhood, arguing over little chores, squabbling with Kira. I wanted to grieve as an adult. At my mother’s house, I could not acknowledge the emptiness of my arms and my body’s need for Maya’s warmth. I cried into my pillow, but I needed to howl. My mother considered, twisting her hair.
“I do worry about her,” she acknowledged. “But please come here, to eat, or to talk.”
“I will,” I promised.
Once a week, we had a day with no training after our morning’s work. Casyn insisted on this, saying our minds and bodies needed rest. On the next free afternoon, I packed my few clothes, slung the bag over my shoulder, and walked down the path toward the harbour and our house. Empty rooms greeted me. I climbed the wooden stairs to our room, hesitating before the closed door. Then I stepped forward, opening it.
Tali had changed the bedclothes, and an unfamiliar blanket covered the bed. Why? I wondered, then realized Maya must have taken the other one. With that thought, all the grief and anger resurfaced.
I began to cry. Pulling the wardrobe doors open, I dragged a shirt she had left behind out to hold it to my face, smelling her on it. “Maya.” I wailed. I collapsed across the bed, sobbing, despairing of comfort. I could find no hope in my mind for Maya, or for me. When I could cry no more, I simply lay on the bed, staring at nothing, hugging the shirt. Tali found me there when she returned from the fields. I blinked up at her.
“I slept with Mar’s tunic for a year,” she said gently. “I think you were right to come home. Pel misses you, both of you, and it will help him to have you here. Supper’s ready. Wash your face and come down.”
Pel chattered happily to me, and I made the effort to respond with interest. We ate chicken and dumplings while he told us about shepherding on the hills, where he spent much of his time with the young apprentices guarding the sheep and lambs.
“Is Maya coming home, too?” he asked suddenly.
Tali raised her eyebrows, signalling me to answer him. I swallowed, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Not yet,” I answered. “Maya’s gone to another village. She won’t be home for a long time.”
He thought about this. “Will I have gone with the men before she gets back?”
“Yes,” Tali said. “You will have. I told you she said goodbye, and told you to be good, too. You remember?”
He nodded. “I remember, but I miss her. Do you miss her, Lena?”
I smiled, blinking rapidly. “I do, Pel. I do.”
Chapter Four
In high summer, another messenger came. He arrived in the morning, spending the day with Casyn and the council leaders. None of us expressed surprise the next day when we heard that afternoon training would be replaced by a meeting on the following day. It seemed a luxury to return from the fishing and have time to soak in the baths and eat a leisurely meal twice in one week. Generally, I disliked rest days, as nothing distracted me from thoughts of Maya, but today, with the expectation of something new happening, I welcomed the change.
After a meal of fish and early root vegetables, we walked up the hill to the meeting hall. Heat radiated off the ground, and a fine layer of dust covered everything. The world seemed baked and hard, and around me, the women seemed the same, skin burned b
rown from the sun, muscles taut in hard bodies. We had been fit before, but not like this. We settled in the circle. I sat with Siane. I had taken to visiting with her when I could find the time.
Casyn and the messenger spoke quietly to my mother and Gille. The new man, slightly built and about my height, appeared not more than some half-dozen years my elder. His hands were callused like mine, or Dessa’s, hands that worked with ropes in salt water.
Gille called the meeting to order. “This is Dern,” she said simply, after the formal words of opening had been spoken. “He has come to tell us what the Empire requires of us now. We—Casyn, Gwen, Sara, and I—went over the plans with him this afternoon.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “In a week or two, a ship will arrive at Tirvan, a fighting vessel from the Empire’s navy. The ship is called Skua. Dern is her captain, and she has a crew of forty men. While she is here, Skua must be provisioned and made ready for the invasion of Leste. Also, and perhaps more importantly, Skua’s crew are fighting men, who will test our readiness to defend Tirvan. Over the weeks they are here, they will hone their skills, and ours. They will attack our defences, to find our weak points. And they will help us correct them.” Gille paused. “I find this reassuring. We will not go into battle untried.”
From the reaction of the women around me, I gathered that most of us felt the same. If nothing else, this new challenge would provide a diversion from the rote practice on the field. Gille called us to order.
“With fair winds, Skua should arrive in ten days,” Casyn said. “In those ten days, we will continue to practice with sword and spear and bow, but we must also give thought and time to organization. I will not be here when the attack comes. I will be leaving aboard Skua.”
Several women gasped. We had assumed Casyn would be staying with us. He continued. “Gille will command, with Gwen and Sara as deputies. They know the strategies and the plans. We need now to divide you into cohorts, with one woman designated to command each cohort. I have watched you for ten weeks, on the field and about your work, and I have met with the council leaders. In battle, there can be no democracy, so I—we—have chosen the cohort leaders, and the cohorts.” He paused. “I know this is not your usual way of doing things, but these are not usual times. Shall Dern and I leave you for a while, so you may debate this?”
He watched us, grave and courteous as ever. I wondered if the soldiers sent to the other women’s villages had the same qualities. I had thought soldiers brusque, rough in manners and speech, from what I had seen at Festival. Casyn’s boundless patience, his courtesy towards our customs and traditions, his gentleness seemed at odds with this. Did it have to do with the skills needed to command?
“Do we need time for debate?” Sara asked the assembly.
“I’ll abide by your decision,” said Kyan, the bowyer, from the other side of the hall. “We’ve all had ample time to see that Casyn knows his business. If he and the councillors have chosen our leaders, I trust they will have chosen well.”
A chorus of “ayes” followed this statement.
“Does any woman here request debate?” Sara asked again. Silence pervaded the hall.
She glanced over at Gwen and Gille. “We will proceed. Casyn, if you would?”
He nodded, stepping forward, a list in his hand. “There will be seven cohorts, twelve women and apprentices each. Your council leaders, and a few of the oldest women, are not included in any cohort. I will address their roles later. Some cohorts will be specialists in one skill; for example, we have put the best archers together. Others will have a mix of skills. Each cohort will be assigned a specific role in the defence of Tirvan. I will tell you, first, who the cohort leaders are and then who is in each cohort.”
Women leaned forward in their seats, waiting.
“These are the cohort leaders. Please stay in your seats for now,” Casyn said, “but I will want to meet with you briefly, after all the assignments are made. Kyan, Tali, Dessa, Dari, Binne, Lena, and Grainne. Do you all accept?”
Kyan, I thought, would lead the archers, and do it well. Tali had proven herself expert with a sword, endlessly patient in correcting the parries and thrusts of others. But the others... I realized Siane was clapping me on the back. “Lena,” she said urgently, “Lena! Casyn is waiting for your answer.”
“What?” I said stupidly.
“You have been chosen as a cohort leader. You must formally accept.”
“But I’m only just eighteen.” My birthday was a few days after midsummer.
“You are an adult and more than competent.” Siane said firmly. “Do you doubt Casyn’s judgement, and your mother’s? Give him your answer.”
I thought of Casyn watching me on the field, his rare words of praise. A week ago, we had spoken at the end of training.
“Tell me, Casyn,” I remembered saying. “We haven’t learned anything new for a week or two. I know we need to keep practicing, but won’t there come a point at which we think we know it all, get bored, and start making mistakes?”
He had looked at me gravely. “Complacent, I think you mean.”
“Yes,” I had agreed. “Complacent. That would be dangerous, wouldn’t it?”
“It would be. You have good instincts, Lena. You would make a good soldier. Be patient just a little while longer. Changes will be coming soon.”
The changes had come. I met Casyn’s gaze. “I accept.”
The cohort I would lead consisted of younger women and several apprentices.
“You will need to become highly skilled with the secca,” Casyn explained. “I told you once before that it is the knife, above all other weapons, that may be the difference between life and death. Your skill with it may also mean the difference between winning the battle here, or losing.”
I glanced around the cohort. Their eyes flicked from Casyn to me, and I realized they were waiting for me, their leader, to respond.
“How so?” I asked, thinking as I spoke that the question lacked insight.
“When the invasion comes,” Casyn answered, “this cohort will not fight openly. Your job will be to lay hidden, to be the last line of defence. You will need to know every loft and winter store and stable in the village—all the places you can hide. You must be able to move between them silently in the dark, and to kill, silently, in that dark.”
I swallowed. “Why were we chosen?”
“Youth,” he answered, “and the speed and reflexes you have all shown in the training. You all handle the secca well, too, but you also have something more: fearlessness, perhaps, although that does not quite describe it. A willingness to take chances, when chances are required.”
Take chances? If I took chances, wouldn’t I be with Maya now? How could Casyn think me not just fearless, but capable of leading such a group and such a task? To command women older than I, if only by a few years, disconcerted me. I marshalled my thoughts.
“What must we do first?”
“Choose a second–in-command and begin your work together.”
The twelve of us sat in a circle at one side of the council hall. Four apprentices, including Freya, and eight women, including myself, under thirty. Looking around the circle, I saw no hostility, no obvious challenge to my leadership. I knew I had to show decisiveness in this, my first task as leader. My eyes travelled round the circle again to rest on Tice. I knew her only slightly better than I had at the beginning of the summer. At spring Festival one night, she had danced in the southern style, graceful and precise and silent. I thought of that, of her grace with the sword, and of her calm, assessing gaze. “Tice, you are cohort-second.”
Her dark eyes met mine, and she nodded. The other women said nothing, but I saw Freya nod in approval. I glanced out the window. A good hour of daylight remained. “Fetch your knives,” I said, “and meet in the upper corner of the training ground in ten minutes. Tice, stay back, please.”
“I need you,” I said when we were alone, “to teach the others to move silently. And to teach me, too.
I’ve always envied the way you dance.”
Tice chuckled. “What a reason to be chosen cohort-second,” she said. “Because of the way I dance!” Her chuckle became a deep, full-throated laugh.
I blinked, spluttered, and then found myself laughing with her. The tension drained out of me. I couldn’t remember when I had last laughed.
“Can you think of a better reason?”
Tice shook her head, still laughing. I realized we had piqued the curiosity of other cohorts still in the hall. “We’d better go out to the training ground.”
She nodded, solemnly, then burst out into gales of laughter again. “Yes, commander.”
“Don’t call me that!” I protested. “It makes me feel about six again, playing soldier with the boys in the hills.”
She stopped laughing. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing? Except now, the boys have grown up, and the game is deadly serious. I will teach them, and you, silence, as best I can in such a brief time, and you will improve their knife skills and show us all how to think. Casyn did not choose you as cohort-leader because of your skills with secca and bow, Lena. You are good, but so are others. He chose you because you think differently. You see what could happen and plan for it. That’s your strength. Teach us to think like that, a bit, and you may keep us alive, more so than silence in the night.”
“She’s right,” a voice said from behind me. I turned to face Dern. His eyes—blue, with fine lines radiating out from the corners—met mine. “Casyn said as much to me, and Casyn is a fine judge of men. Of soldiers,” he amended. “He was my cadet-officer, once. I am Dern, captain of Skua. You are Lena, and this is—?”
“Tice,” I said. “She’ll be our cohort-second.”
He inclined his head to her. “From Karst?” he asked. She nodded. “I have served with men from Karst. They are like cats, all stealth and grace and silence. You have chosen well, Lena.”
“We were just going to watch some knife play.” Dern’s casual judgement of both myself and Tice annoyed me. How could he know anything about us?
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 6
