A Quick Sun Rises

by Thomas Rath

  The door suddenly opened and Jne pushed herself up to a sitting position and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The guard ignored the full tray of cold food on the ground and merely motioned for her to follow. No breakfast was offered and she smiled slightly, releasing a calming and head-clearing breath. She had barely slept the night before giving herself over to the extreme pain and suffering that was her lot at being completely exposed to the old woman in her status as Jinghar. Never before had she allowed herself to dwell on her position of dishonor and she admitted to herself that it had been too easy walking in the HuMan world to ignore what would have been a daily reminder should she have remained with Tjal society—albeit forced to exist alone on the perimeter. Even as Jinghar she held more honor then most of those she’d mingle with in the past months. But that was now behind her. Being here had almost crushed her in the weight of her guilt. The pain it yielded had almost been too much for her to bear.

  Reaching around and pulling her braid to rest in front of her, she rose and strode out of the cell following closely behind her guard. It was a different person from the one the night before; this time a woman strode before her with ease and confidence giving off an air of assurance at who she was and the honor she held as a Tjal-Dihn. Her strides were fluid and sure as her feet, as if on their own, picked the path of greatest balance without any visible effort. Her swords were crossed against her back the hilts worn from use though obviously well cared for. Again Jne felt her hands almost reaching for the swords at her back that she knew were not there. She couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was her judge.

  The air was still as they made their way toward the city portending a hot day. Already she could feel the sweat gathering on her back though the sun had barely risen high enough to drink the dew from the grass. Entering the city she found its occupants strangely absent figuring that the streets would be bustling with people moving about on errands and the daily business of life. She soon discovered why.

  Following a well-worn street they emerged from a darkened corner shaded from the low lying sun into a bright arena of open space that hailed itself as the famous Tjal marketplace of Kabu. It was a vast open space right in the heart of the city as if a great whirlwind had merely dropped down in the middle of the town and wiped it clean of any structures. A wave of people on all sides milled about pushing against one another as they vied for a proper spot to witness what would shortly take place. All the carts, tables, and covered wagons where usually goods were hawked and sold had been packed up and pushed aside against the outer rim of buildings leaving a large empty space in the middle where judgment would be rendered. Jne paused briefly becoming almost overwhelmed by the crowd that was gathered to witness whether she would conquer her shame or die. A loud hiss of disgust greeted her as she followed the guard out to the center of the area and then was somewhat surprised when she was left their alone. Apparently she wasn’t to judge her after all.

  Unmoving, she nevertheless turned her head about to see if her judge would soon present him or herself but all simply stared back in disgust as if she were something vile or contrary to nature. She took it all in stride though knowing that soon enough those stares would either become abruptly warm and welcoming or lost to her sight forever.

  She suddenly caught movement to her left and turned in time to see the old woman from the night before extracting herself from the crowd. Jne felt her face flush at the thought that someone of such advanced age would actually be chosen to judge her. There was little to no honor to be gained from it. The thought threw a sudden cloud of despair over her mind and she could feel the steel grip she had on her emotions suddenly slipping. Even though the woman had certainly proven herself as able the night before, it was still an unnecessary slap in the face to both of them; to Jne as accusation that she would not pass judgment by anyone else and to the woman as if to mark her as no longer needed or of little importantance to the community.

  The woman approached slowly until she finally stood at Jne’s left side and turned about a full circle eyeing the crowd that gradually went silent and still. “We are here to judge this Jinghar,” she spoke, her voice carrying farther than Jne would have expected from one her age. “Is there one among you who would give her judgment?”

  Jne’s eyes widened in. She felt certain that one had already been chosen to judge her. In this manner, if no one deemed her worthy of it, she would summarily be killed and the matter considered resolved. No one seemed to move as Jne’s hope for vindication slipped slowly away. Death did not frighten her in any sense but a feeling that she was failing her people, failing the one she loved was a bitter cup too cruel to drink.

  “Is there no one?” the old woman asked once more, slowly turning toward Jne while pulling a sword slowly from its scabbard at her back. Lifting the blade to Jne’s throat, she turned her gaze back to the crowd who seemed frozen in place as they watched. Jne kept her eyes looking straight ahead, her hope draining as quickly as her blood soon would be upon the ground. She knew she was about to die but she still needed to speak of the danger that threatened. It would doom her further in death but they had to know.

  “I must speak,” she whispered just loud enough for the woman holding the sword to her neck to hear. Jne kept her eyes locked straight ahead not wishing to see the look of disgust the woman certainly must have been burning into her at the moment. “It is of great importance to all,” she ventured once more as the blade pressed harder against her throat as if in warning. “I must speak.”

  “I will judge her,” a woman’s voice suddenly broke through the silence that had fallen as the crowd moved away to the right revealing her. Jne sighed. Not that she was to be given a chance but that her presumption in speaking may have forfeited the opportunity. Chancing a look at the woman who held her life in the balance she could see the rage in her old eyes as she stared back at her in shocked silence and fury. Jne sighed again, the last breath of one who was condemned to die and rightly so. She had failed.

  “I claim judgment,” the woman from the crowd cried again as she made her way to the center where judgment was already in the process toward execution. Jne closed her eyes and awaited her fate. She had heard that beheading was one of the least painful ways to die but it did not really matter to her what type of death was chosen for her. Nothing could match the empty pain she felt in her soul at that moment.

  “Judgment has been given,” the old woman spat, her blade suddenly leaving Jne’s throat pulling back for the final deadly blow.

  “It is my right,” the other woman’s voice sliced like steal and Jne opened her eyes to see her confront the old woman. “I have right to judgment here and I will not be denied.” Jne stared at the two in confusion. The aged woman was poised to strike her down in a moment and this other woman, who was somewhere in between Jne and the elderly woman in age, wanted the task for herself. The crowd was deathly still, no one moving or making a sound, all straining to catch the exchange and see what would happen.

  “What is your claim?” the old woman hissed, her eyes still holding fast to Jne and burning with loathing.

  “I claim the right of fersk,” she answered, her voice no less hard.

  The elderly woman was visibly surprised by the answer, her sword hand relaxing slightly as she turned to regard the woman making the claim. “And what proof do you bring?” she demanded.

  The woman smiled, pulling up the sleeve on her right arm until it exposed her shoulder and revealed a mark etched right into her skin. A long line crossed by another and then brought back creating a small triangle on the right side with a tail jutting out in the same direction beneath it. Jne gasped at the mark and before she could even react, the old woman was pushing up her sleeve to reveal the same marking on Jne’s arm.

  “Hello daughter,” the woman said to her but without the slightest emotion. Jne’s eyes widened at the revelation but she remained still as if uncertain as to how to react. Tjal children were raised by grandparents or other relations outside th
e Tja into which they’d been born. Jne had thus been given to her grandparents, who were part of the Rena’ja, when she was born. She had never met her mother until now. And this would be the last time they would see each other in this life.

  Sheathing her sword, the old woman said nothing but motioned toward the crowd. The same guard who had escorted Jne the night before suddenly appeared carrying her swords and unceremoniously dropped them at her feet before turning his back to return to his place in the crowd. Jne looked at her weapons, the joy at having them with her again almost overwhelming. The Tjal were whetted to their weapons as soon as they were weaned from their mother’s breast. To be without them was like to be without a piece of one’s body so much did they become a part of them. Reaching down, she flashed a quick look at her mother who stood by emotionless. Though she never knew her, Jne could not help but suddenly feel a sense of loss. They were of the same flesh and blood and though they never shared other than a sanguine connection, this was the woman that had given her life and she felt an attachment that was soon to be severed.

  Lifting the swords still secured in their sheaths, Jne strapped them to her back and let out a breath of relief and contentment. How uncomfortable she had felt the past week and a half without them there giving her confidence and reassurance. Without thought, her hands instantly reached for the hilts pulling them free in one quick, easy movement her body reacting to their weight with ease and familiarity. Swinging them in cadence and movement as if directing a symphony she flashed her blades in a complicated pattern weaving them together and then apart twisting her body as if in an artistic display before pulling them upright in front of her, a slight smile playing across her lips.

  Her mother’s face then came back into focus and Jne was snapped back into reality. The woman looked nothing like her, her hair was light in color and her eyes were dark. Her nose was slightly too large for her face and her skin was darker than Jne’s. But that was where the differences stopped. Jne gleaned from her physique and the way she carried herself that her mother was not one with whom to trifle. Her stance was casual, yet balanced and Jne could see death in every move and nuance of her toned form. Neither was there any semblance of pity or care that the one she faced was her own child. But Jne did not expect any such thing. To show any mercy would be dishonorable to herself and to Jne. No, the one who had brought Jne to life did not enter the arena to give her own life as a sacrifice but to bring back honor to her family by also being the one to bring Jne death rather than to let that fall to a stranger with the simple beheading deserving a Jinghar who was unworthy of judgment. Jne knew that one of them would die this day only because the other had proven more worthy with the sword not due to familial pity or sacrifice—to do so was not the Tjal way.

  Jne crouched at the ready, her swords out in front awaiting her opponent who had yet to draw her own swords. A hush fell over the crowd as all waited for judgment to commence. “I am Naye,” her mother said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think it only proper you know by name the one who judges you that the memory of it might carry with you to the afterlife.” She said it without boasting or jest but as one casually giving information to another as one might pass on the name of a horse.

  Jne nodded her head slightly but did not reply. To do so would have been a sign of disrespect to the one claiming judgment. Also, her mother would already know her name having pronounced it upon her head in blessing before surrendering the child to her grandparents to raise.

  Slowly lifting her hands to her swords, Naye removed them deliberately, her eyes locked on Jne as she did so. “Let the judging begin,” she breathed and then shot forward with one blade slicing for Jne’s neck while the other sought out her midsection. Jne’s body reacted instinctively meeting the swing to her middle with both swords while ducking under the cut to her throat and then sliding a blade along her opponent’s for a jab at her stomach. But Naye caught the thrust with a downward stroke with the blade originally meant for Jne’s throat and then reversed it toward the back of her neck as Jne passed to her right.

  Again and again, the two women thrust and parried, slashed and blocked back and forth as they mingled their swords in a rendezvous of death. The crowd having cheered with the first flashes of steel had fallen into a low rumble of activity as they watched intently to see which would retain or regain her honor. Side bets were suddenly being bandied about as an occasional cheer sounded after a particularly good attack or defense. The two women looked as if they had choreographed the whole fight and were now performing for the onlookers so close and quick were their assaults and parries against each other. And neither seemed the least bit winded by their efforts.

  Jne ducked again and then crossed her swords in front of her and down as Naye brought up her other sword in an attempt to gut her. Turning to the side as she did so, Jne kicked the other woman in the midsection pushing her back and then followed after her with her own complicated windmill of slashes and reverse directional cuts and undercuts. But Naye was undeterred as she met each swing with her own steel often turning it back with an attack of her own.

  Around and around they went, puffs of dust rising in the morning sun as each moved their feet to the rhythm of the dance. Sweat began forming on both women as their exertions, matched by the heat of the rising sun began taking their toll on their bodies. Both looked for advantage with the early morning rays but up to this point neither was caught by the blinding sun. Having been locked away for ten days, Jne felt the strain from the effort more quickly but the other woman’s age seemed to equalize the difference.

  Catching a sudden opening, Jne was able to pull a thrust and catch Naye in the face with her elbow drawing blood from her opponent’s nose but paid for it when one of Naye’s swords connected with her forearm slicing into the flesh just enough to draw blood but not so deep as to cause her to drop her weapon. Jne cursed herself for being drawn in knowing now that the supposed opening had been a ploy. She also knew that it was only her decision to attack with an elbow instead of a sword that allowed her to draw blood on Naye and actually possibly saved her life, otherwise the cut would have been in a different spot and most likely fatal. Both stepped back for a brief moment for a quick survey of the damage done to each before throwing themselves back into a hailstorm of steel.

  Quicker and quicker the strokes seemed to come until it appeared that neither could possibly see nor react to the swing of the other. Only instinct born from years of practice could answer the question as to how either survived this far. Suddenly, Jne pulled back and the crowd roared with approval as a distinct slash along her right thigh revealed that one of Naye’s strokes had gotten through again. Jne had only a brief glimmer of time to assess her injury before Naye, smelling blood and victory, advanced with another blur of complicated swings and cuts that suddenly put Jne on the complete defensive unable to turn back quick enough to mount her own attack.

  Jne gave up ground as Naye forced her back, her swords coming at breath stopping speed. Jne parried as well as she could but could tell that her reaction time was becoming slightly slower and that her mother’s blades were getting closer to meeting her flesh again. A sharp pain suddenly shot across her chest and she knew before the damp feel of blood registered in her mind that she’d taken another hit. Naye suddenly slowed her attack having felt the resistance of flesh instead of steel to her right hand. Backing a pace she inspected the damage she’d done giving Jne a quick opportunity to check for herself.

  Just below her neckline a long streak of red was suddenly cascading rather quickly into her shirt where it mingled with her sweat. The strike had meant to take her head from her shoulders but Jne had been able to sidestep the swing just enough to make the sword miss its intended mark. Yet, still, it was a significant injury that would impede her ability due to blood loss if the judgment continued for too much longer.

  Their eyes met briefly, neither showing any emotion yet both realizing that the verdict was almost all but decided. Raising her swords to the
ready, Jne kept her eyes locked on her mother pausing only for a brief moment before moving quickly toward her, her swords already in motion. Naye watched Jne’s approach as if she would simply stand motionless and be cut down. Only at the last moment did she move catching either sword easily and then turning the fight back on her daughter.

  Jne’s breathing was beginning to become more labored as the fighting continued, the minutes stretching out ever longer. Her wounds stung mixing sweat with blood though she had yet to reach the point where blood loss became a factor. Snapping her head back, Naye’s blade just nicked the bridge of her nose and would have blinded her had she not reacted so quickly. Having done so though, she was thrown of balance and just barely turned away the counter slash that Naye had meant for her midsection that would certainly have spilled her intestines had it connected.

  Recovering with some difficulty, Jne attempted to turn the attack back and go, herself, on the offensive but Naye seemed too fast. Every assault was met and turned back making her slip into the defensive and barely giving her time to react, let alone attempt another attack. She was losing and she didn’t have much longer.

  Strangely, even though this fight seemed already destined to end in her death, it exhilarated her at the same time. The power of arm against arm, steel against steel, and will against will was intoxicating even more so because her opponent seemed her better and that this was not a practice game where quarter would be given. Thane had cursed her with life because of his ignorance of honor and the effect it would have on her. Naye would not do the same and that knowledge made Jne strangely eager to see it through.

  As she fended off wave after wave of slashing and jabbing steel, Jne found herself studying and finding beauty in the precision and exactness of Naye’s form and she caught herself smiling at the privilege it was going to be to die at her hand. Again and again her mother’s assault rained down on her, the clang of metal sounding almost like music as the tempo increased and waned. She found herself anticipating the sound, her movements settling in with the cadence that was a beautiful dance created by Naye as she moved about, her swords the instruments with Jne’s making the music. The melody was almost hypnotizing as steel rang against steel in a crescendo before falling away in a diminuendo. It was the most beautiful melody Jne had ever heard.