by L. Fergus
Trembling, Kita looked at the armor. It was beautifully crafted and would have been stunning on her mother. I hope I look as good in it. Every seam was triple-stitched, and the leather layered, so no seam sat on top of another. The shoulders and torso joints allowed for free and easy movement. All the buckles, lacings, and connectors had protective coverings. The black leggings were soft, thick, and made from a stretchy material she’d never seen before, even from the masters of fabrics in Champignon. The construction of the thigh guards and greaves made them light, thick, and flexible. Kita turned, hugged her mother, and cried.
“Thank you, Mommy,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome, dear. I’ve waited a long time to give them to you.”
As Kita pulled away to wipe her tears, her towel fell off, causing her to blush crimson.
“Come, dear, let’s get you suited up.” The duchess handed Kita a neatly folded pile of underwear.
“I had the servant bring one of your support bras.”
“The armor should have plenty.”
“Better to have it and not need it, then be without it when you need it.”
If you say so, I’ll wear it. I just think it’ll fit funny.
With her mother’s help, Kita put the armor on. Without any adjustments, the armor felt wonderful. The duchess tightened a few buckles and straps to make the armor fit perfectly. If not for the weight, it would have felt like wearing nothing at all. Kita swung her arms back and forth, then bent at the knees and found she wasn’t restricted in any way.
“The back of your armor is adjustable,” said the duchess. “You have quick release scabbards on your back, a quiver that you can move, and a holder in your lower back for Midnight. The bow collapses to take less space.”
I didn’t know armor was made like this. This set must have cost a fortune and been made for royalty. In the mirror, her creamy skin looked elegant surrounded by the black leather. The black and silver set off her blue eyes and the ribbons in her hair. I really do like the ribbons.
“You’re beginning to look like a true warrior,” the duchess said, smiling at Kita in the mirror. “Now, it’s time for your second gift.”
“A second gift? But this is more than enough,” said Kita.
“This second gift is your birthright.”
Huh?
The duchess opened the door. “Zidin, I’m ready.”
The pastry chef entered. He was a big man, five inches taller than anyone else in the castle and broad as a draft horse. I bet he’s as strong as one, too. He carried a leather case under his arm.
“Kita, I’d like you to meet Zidin.”
Kita looked up at him. She’d never been this close before. “Hello.”
Zidin nodded. “It’s an honor to meet my chieftess’ daughter.”
Doesn’t sound like much of an honor. He sounds like I killed his prize tart. I know how to be passive aggressive, too. Kita looked at the duchess. “Chieftess?”
“Yes, I’m from Arcone, and I’m his chieftess. Have you ever heard of Arcone?”
Kita shook her head.
“My homeland is an archipelago nation out in the eastern ocean. It’s a loose confederation of family clans and the professional guilds.”
“Was Zidin part of your company?” said Kita, trying to connect the dots.
“No. I found Zidin living in a Champignon forest. He was a survivor of a battle in which most of his company was wiped out. Arconian Tradition states if you leave the islands in a battle company, you must return victorious or not at all. I talked him into coming here. Since I found Zidin, I’ve found almost two dozen other Arconian refugees living in Yorq and Champignon. They live somewhere on our estate. With so many of us, and being far from home, I formed a clan, and I was elected Chieftess.”
Kita looked at her mother, confused. “Why do that?”
“To maintain order. Some haven’t adapted as well as others, and it helps with the homesickness. Even I miss home.”
“So, what clans or whatever did you belong to?”
The duchess nodded at Zidin. He opened his case and pulled out two towels that smelled like Sarge’s urine. He handed one to the duchess, and they both scrubbed their faces. The duchess’ face went from perfect skin to brightly colored.
When the duchess pulled the towel away, a set of dark brown lines from the center of each eye went straight down, curved out just above the corners of her mouth. On her chin was a large knot design in dark brown. Stretching across the duchess’ forehead was a green intricate knot pattern. It’s a tree.
Zidin’s face and neck were light blue. The area around his eyes was black. On either side of his mouth, curved lines stretched up the side of his face. Inside the lines were a series of triangles, continuing onto his lips. On each side of his neck were three curved lines. Something from a nightmare?
Kita looked at them in bewilderment. “Is it permanent?”
“Of course. These are the markings of our guilds. I’m of guild Oak, Zidin is of guild Shark. When a member of a clan is ready, they are put through a series of trials to determine what guild they shall belong to. There are many guilds. The most prestigious belong to the warrior profession. It’s been heartbreaking knowing I wouldn’t be able to see you go through the trials.”
I’m not sure I’m heartbroken over it.
“I may not be able to put you through the customary trials, but the elders of our clan have followed your progress and have decreed you’ve earned the right to be assigned a guild.”
“So, I’m to get my face painted like yours?”
“It’s a permanent dye. We wear special makeup to cover our markings. It was part of the agreement your father and I made with the king when we requested his blessing to marry. It showed the other nobles I was willing to give up my past.”
“Will I become an Oak?”
“No. The guilds are based on skill and aptitude, mostly, unlike here, where so much is based on lineage. You will be a Rose.”
Zidin’s face remained neutral, but Kita felt he didn’t agree with the decision. So, is that why you don’t like me? Am I too good for guild Shark?
He bowed deeply. “It has been a long time since Arcone has had a Rose. It will be my honor and privilege to give you your marking, my lady.”
“There have been few members of the Rose guild,” said the duchess. “Painting the mark of the Rose guild is the highest of honors for a marker. We should do this in my sitting room, where you can lie down.”
A small door off the duchess’ chambers led to the tiny area. It had several windows. The duchess closed the drapes.
“Will this do, Zidin?” said the duchess.
“Yes, Chieftess. We will not be disturbed?”
“No. The staff knows not to enter when the door is closed.” She looked at Kita. “I must attend to the banquet preparations and get myself ready. Zidin will take care of you.”
Kita nodded.
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be back before it’s done.” The duchess left, closing the door behind her.
Zidin pointed to the daybed. “Lay there, my lady.”
Kita lay on the plush bed. Zidin pulled out a set of brushes, color vials, and a board with an oval cap and belts. “What’s that?”
“It’s so you don’t move during the process.”
Zidin positioned the board behind her, putting the cap on her head. He looped straps around the bed, and then across her forehead and under her chin. Kita tried to turn and strained against the straps, suddenly wanting to be free, but the device was effective. She took several deep breaths to relax. Zidin wasn’t going to hurt her.
Zidin cleaned her face with another cat-urine smelling rag. It stung.
“How long will this take?” Kita said as Zidin dipped his brush into a vial.
“The process is long and will be painful.”
So, I have to endure some pain for a while. I’ve done it before, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?
“Alright, m
y lady, we begin,” Zidin said in cold tone.
“I’m ready.”
“No one is ever ready.”
What does he mean by that?
Zidin touched the brush to a spot below the corner of her mouth for a moment and then waited while Kita screamed.
The agony crept across Kita’s face. She screamed herself hoarse through her clenched jaw and learned tears made it hurt worse. Zidin worked like a man enchanted. He paid no mind to her cries. She concentrated on a spot on the ceiling, losing herself in the pain.
A door opened far away. Everything was shrouded in a fog of misery. Then distant, muffled voices. A shape entered her vision. Before she could comprehend it, the shape vanished. In the distance, a door closed.
The fog swirled and became thicker, making it impossible to judge the passing of time. She fought to piece together her disjointed thoughts. In the distance, the door opened again, followed by indecipherable voices. Kita strained to hear, but every time she thought she deciphered a word, the fog would swirl, and the word vanished. The shape appeared again, and she thought she felt pressure. Maybe on my hand? Pain came and masked the sensation, though the shape remained. It’s only here to taunt me. She yelled at it to go away through her clenched teeth and leave her to her torment. The distant voices spoke, but the shape never moved. Kita slipped into paranoia, first yelling, then quietly and politely asking the shape and voices to leave. She tried begging. They remained just out of reach, phantasms in the fog.
This must be what it’s like to go mad. The fog closed around her. The skin on her face boiled. She begged for death. It has to be better than this. It has to be. Nothing compared with this.
An alien sensation brushed her like butterfly wings. It pushed the fog aside, burning through the agony. The pain wasn’t so torturous. The voices stopped, and the shape was gone. She wept at her good fortune. Maybe I’m not going mad after all. This lessening of pain she could handle. Anything was better than what she’d experienced.
The pain vanished with the fog. Her mind swirled with memories of a jumbled dream. Realizing her eyes were shut, she opened them.
The duchess stood at Kita’s feet as Zidin released the restraints holding her head.
“Kita, are you alright?” said the duchess. “I don’t know of anyone who stayed awake through the entire process.”
“This is my first,” said Zidin. “I’ve heard of a member of the Basalt guild who did, but that was decades ago.”
Kita sat up and wanted to rub her face—it tingled—but remembering why she was here, she thought better of it. “I…w-what happened? I don’t remember being awake.”
“You were awake the whole time. You talked to me and the chieftess.” Zidin nodded respectfully.
“If you say so.” Ugh. I hope these Arconians aren’t like Yorqians and believe strength is the measure of a person.
The duchess dismissed Zidin. Her mother wasn’t wearing the formal hooped dress and jacket Kita expected. Instead, she wore a loose shirt and a knee-length pleated skirt with a peculiar horizontal and vertical line pattern, the fabric continued over her shoulder. On her back was a simple longsword and dagger. Her hair was pulled into a bun.
“What are you wearing, Mother?” said Kita, groggy with visions.
“This is the traditional dress for Arcone. It’s rather simple compared to what you’re used to. We’re expected to survive with our combat skills and not the weight of our armor. I did later learn that armor has its uses.” She waved a hand at Kita’s armor. “Would you like to view Zidin’s artwork?” The duchess took Kita’s hand and guided her to a collection of mirrors.
Kita gasped. Red roses were painted on her cheeks, eyes, forehead, and lips. Thorny stems traced their way down the side of her face, intertwining toward the bottom.
“You’re still healing, but it won’t take long. The red splotches will fade. One of the benefits from the process is that your skin will remain perfectly smooth for the rest of your life.”
So, this is Mother’s beauty secret. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
The duchess nodded.
“What does it mean? And what does my guild do?”
“I can’t tell you yet. You’re still an initiate. Don’t worry. You’re a perfect fit for the Rose guild. With your natural abilities and Angus’ guidance, you’ll be exceptional. You normally wouldn’t get your marking until after you’ve passed your Proving Ritual. However, the elders and I felt that Yorqians weren’t ready to see the Marking Ritual. Under normal circumstances, the Marking Ritual is done in front of everyone.”
“They sit around and watch one person?”
“Oh no, normally there are many going through the process. People wander between the different markers watching them work. It would be like an artisans’ fair in New London.”
“What else do I have to do complete my initiation?”
“I can’t tell you, but I can tell you about Arcone.” The duchess smiled. “You belong to Clan MhicAoidh.”
“Mac-Kay?”
“Not bad for an outsider. The sounds take a little practice. The clan is a family, community, and government all in one. Each clan is autonomous, but the chieftains do meet regularly. We formed this branch of Clan MhicAoidh as a way of remembering home and keeping Tradition alive. What I’m wearing is called a kilt, and the plaid pattern is unique to each clan.”
The pattern consisted of black stripes of different widths on a blue background with a single orange stripe running vertically and horizontally. Kita wasn’t sure she liked it.
“Do I have to wear one?” she asked, looking down at her pretty armor.
The duchess laughed. “Not if you don’t want to, but it’s the traditional daily wear for the clans and for going into battle.”
“Why don’t they wear armor?”
“Tradition. All the warrior guilds go without to prove their skill and bravery. They would rather die from a blow than be spared by armor. They feel there is no skill, and therefore no honor, to be gained from wearing armor. A few progressive mercenary clans take a different approach—armor to them is something to be mastered like a weapon. It takes skill and practice to fight effectively in armor.”
That’s for sure.
A knock came from the door.
“Excuse me, duchess?” Leana called from the other side.
“What is it?” called the duchess.
“The back-gate guard says a group of exotics request entrance. The guards were going to send them away, but they presented my lady’s seal. The sergeant brought it to me to present to you to verify the authenticity.”
The duchess opened the door a crack, and Leana stuck in a medallion.
“It’s my seal, Leana. Instruct the guards to escort them to the west tower. Tell the pastry chef to meet me there as well. Have the kitchen send up some platters of bananas and pineapple.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Tell the duke, he and Jeffrey will make their entrances first and are to sit in the front row. Kita and I will make our entrance once all the guests have arrived. How many are here now?”
“Yes, my lady. About half, my lady.”
“Let me know when the last guests arrive.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The duchess closed the door. “The clan is here. Shall we introduce you?”
The duchess introduced Kita to a group of twenty stern faces waiting in the west tower. Kita recognized several of them. They were the men her mother sent to bring her home when she ran away. She didn’t know anything about them. They rarely spoke to her on the return trips.
“Hell—” Kita snapped her mouth shut after getting some harsh looks from members of the group. I guess I should only speak when spoken to. Fine by me. To keep busy, she helped herself to the pineapple and bananas. She now understood where the duchess developed a taste for the exotic fruit. It’s yummy. I always wondered where it came from.
Approaching a mirror in the corner, she saw the red splotches on her fa
ce had vanished, and the colors in her marking were vibrant.
“Clansmen, the time has come,” announced the duchess. “Tonight, we shall welcome a new member into the clan and test an initiate for membership to the Guild of the Rose. We march in column of twos. Initiate, you shall be in the rear. Line up.”
I’ve never heard Mother use her command voice before.
The duchess opened the door, and the clan marched down the main corridor. All wore kilts, but only a few matched. The same went for the guild markings. Each carried a sword and dagger, sword and shield, or a greatsword. There was no armor. For kit, each wore a coarse woolen shirt, a belt, a kilt with a furry pouch in the front, and shoes of hide with wool socks.
The columns stopped in front of the large double doors of the main hall.
“François, announce our arrival,” ordered the duchess.
The massive doors swung open, and the butler announced, “My lords and ladies, the Duchess of Arbol, Marie Logine.” Everyone turned to look. “Escorted by Clan MhicAoidh.”
A quiet murmur went through the crowd. The clansman Kita followed turned and said, “Not you. Wait until you are called.”
Kita broke rank and moved away from the door. No use in spoiling the next surprise.
“Forward, march,” commanded the duchess.
The clan moved into the main hall. The door close and Kita elbowed the butler to move so she could look through the peephole. Sorry François, but what are you going to do about it? Kita’s eyebrows went up at the number of guests. Every noble in Arbol and many from the neighboring estates were here. She could see the stage, but not the faces of the crowd. I’d have given anything to see Father’s face when Mother marched in.
The group marched up the aisle. On stage, the clan deployed into a wedge. Extra risers had been added at the head of the stairs, and the duchess stood at the top. At least two men stood on each step. Some bore three or four. Kita wasn’t sure why. The extra men lined up along the bottom of the stage. They’d done it as precisely as the best of the king’s drill team.
The giant room was so quiet you could have heard a mouse’s heartbeat. What is your plan, Mother?
