When Comes the Fire

by Lisa Cochrane

  "Again," Master Dorozi called, giving a little glare at Namida's sparring partner. "And Darwe, stop going easy on her. She won't have such luxury in the real world, after all."

  Darwe grimaced, and Namida gave him an odd look before turning to retrieve her sword. She couldn't figure the older boy out. He was just barely of age, yet he seemed rather uncertain about a lot of things, especially when it came to her. He seemed to treat her like some fragile vase that could break at any given moment. She supposed the fact that she still often cried herself to sleep after several weeks of living at the complex could be a factor in his treatment of her, but it annoyed her to no end that he seemed to think she wasn't capable of taking care of herself. She didn't need to be babied, she needed to be let sort things out by herself. He would often try and help her with things that she had trouble doing with only one hand, but it only succeeded in making her angry at him. She had to relearn everything, and she wanted to be independent. She wouldn't always have people around to help her with things. She needed to grow up already, and her size and her handicap kept getting in the way of that. It made her want to hit something.

  Thank goodness for Master Dorozi's training, or she felt like she might have exploded from all of the anger and frustration that filled her up every day.

  Namida hefted the heavy training sword into her hand once more, testing her grip and fixing it until it felt as it did when Master Dorozi had first shown her how to hold it. Darwe had initially stated that he should use a one-handed sword as well to make the fight more even, but Master Dorozi had shot him down without a second thought, saying that Namida would have to learn to hold her own against heavier weapons and stronger enemies, because "life is not always fair, Darwe, and both of you need to learn that". The words had spoken to the bitterness within her, and she had taken them to heart. She could feel herself becoming more and more spiteful as the days passed, grateful as she was that Master Dorozi was teaching her to fight; grateful as she was that the others at the complex had taken her in. She still had a gaping hole within her where her family had been ripped from. She held such a burning hatred for Kaska and the bloody war that their country had sunk into that she didn't know what to do with herself except throw herself into her training and hope that someday she could get revenge for the wrongs that had been done to her.

  Namida stared down her opponent, sizing him up. She had started to learn his little tics and tells; how he would always feint right before he went left and would shift his weight back a little before he swung out at her, as if he was holding back on the power he put behind his blade. It annoyed her that he refused to go all-out in their spars. So what if she couldn't take it? That's what training was for, so she could improve; and she couldn't improve as much if he didn't treat her like he would a full-fledged opponent. Darwe's dark brown eyes stared into her own, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of something, an emotion she couldn't pinpoint. It was gone before she could figure out what it was.

  "Begin!"

  Namida slowly stepped to the right as the two circled, facing each other, neither of them willing to make the first move. Darwe tended to stay on the defensive during their spars, so it was usually up to Namida to make the first move. Every fiber of her being was on high alert, her nerves singing as her mind raced to think of some way to get past Darwe's stalwart defenses. He had the upper hand of having years of training under his belt, so she had yet to slip even the tiniest hit in on him. In a typical spar, it would take less than ten seconds for him to disarm her. At least she had gotten that number up from what it had previously been sitting at by five whole seconds, when they'd first started three weeks ago. It had taken four weeks after she'd woken up for Kilish to even relent enough to allow Master Dorozi to start teaching her the basics, and then it had been another week before Master Dorozi had given the go-ahead for her to start sparring with Darwe. She gritted her teeth at the frustration that bubbled up within her. She needed to keep her emotions in check better. Master Dorozi had scolded her the other day for letting her anger blind her when she was fighting. He said that was why she lost so quickly. She knew it wasn't the only reason, but he was probably right in saying that. Master Dorozi was usually right.

  Taking a deep breath, Namida glanced at the loose grip Darwe had on his two-handed sword. She knew he didn't expect much from her, but he was on the alert anyways. He was hesitant to strike out at her, and she needed to take that to her advantage. Perhaps... she kept her face carefully blank, not wanting the smirk that threatened to break out on her face to give her away. Perhaps she could teach him something by using his own tactics against him.

  Namida rushed forward suddenly, catching Darwe off-guard, if the slight raise of his eyebrows was any indication. Nevertheless, he met her blade with his own, the loud clanging of dulled metal ringing in the courtyard as she danced back a step, watching for the slight shift backward in his stance before he swung out at her, and...there! Just as Darwe shifted his stance onto his back leg, Namida struck out, Darwe barely lifting his sword in time as the force of the strike made him stumble, and Namida lifted her leg to kick him in the stomach.

  Darwe caught her foot in his left hand, pulling her forward. She cried out in frustration, swinging wildly out at him and making him drop her foot, allowing her to stumble forward, ducking just underneath his strike and swinging her sword up, Darwe reversing his blade's swing just in time to save his face from getting bashed in. He seemed to be totally aghast at her sudden skill. Before now, she had been all wild strikes and pent-up anger exploding in his face. This time, she had actually done what Master Dorozi told her to do and focused on her tactics rather than her emotions. And by Fate, she thought excitedly, it seemed to be working for--

  Darwe knocked her sword out of her hand with a solid swing, grabbing her by the wrist and holding his dull training sword to her neck. She glared at him in contempt, and his eyes flickered with that same emotion she had seen earlier before he schooled his expression once more. It only made her more frustrated that she couldn't seem to read the older boy. He was a complete mystery to her, and she hated not knowing things.

  Master Dorozi clapped, the applause ringing through the air.

  "Twenty seconds!" he called out, giving her an approving nod. "You're improving, Namida. Keep it up."

  Master Dorozi said nothing more as he turned to leave, the dull thud of his footsteps retreating back into the main building of the complex. Namida turned her head back to stare at Darwe.

  "You can let go of my wrist now, you know," she said blandly, giving a pointed look to his hand clamped around her thin wrist.

  "Oh, uh...sorry," Darwe said awkwardly, jerking backward as though she had scalded him. He hesitated before giving her a stiff nod and turning to go the same way Master Dorozi had, his training sword clenched tightly in one hand. He paused in the doorway, though, shoving the sweat-slicked strands of his long, black hair back out of his face as he offered her a tentative half-smile. "Um...good job, by the way. You really...caught me by surprise, there."

  Namida gave him a blank look, not really sure why he was complimenting her. Shouldn't he be embarrassed that she had caught him so off-guard? Shouldn't his warrior's pride be smarting that a snot-nosed little girl had almost disarmed him?

  "...Thanks," she said in a stilted tone, not wanting him to hover uncertainly in the doorway any longer. She just wanted to work on her form and swordsmanship on her own, not caring that the sun was now blazing high in the sky above, the heat of the day swiftly approaching even as they stood staring each other down, wondering who would back down first.

  Darwe broke the stare, glancing down at his feet, then at the hound lying in the barest sliver of shade next to the building, its tongue lolling as it panted, too stubborn to retreat inside to the cooler air of the complex as it watched over its master. "Don't let her work herself to death, Nyago," he murmured before heading inside.

  "I heard that!" Namida barked at his retreating back. His only respons
e was a wave, not even bothering to turn back to look at her. She fumed, but didn't bother going after him. Her time was better spent training. Training would lead to results, and results would lead to her eventually being able to defeat Darwe.

  She couldn't wait until the day he could no longer go easy on her. She looked forward to defeating him. Namida—the one-armed warrior girl.

  o—O—o

  Namida had been in a daze since that morning.

  She had started her day as she usually would; wake up, scrub her face and body with lye soap and the small bit of water they could afford to spare, then head for a breakfast of fresh fruit, greens, and salted meat. It wasn't until she was about to head for her daily training with Master Dorozi and Darwe that she realized exactly what day it was.

  It had been half a year since she had come to the complex already, and it wasn't until Kilish had mentioned as much that she had found out what day it was. It was the tenth of Korrin-los, the month before the rainy season started. As such, their carefully rationed water supply was very close to running out, but Momal figured they should make it to the first rainfall without difficulty.

  That wasn't what had been on her mind, though, as she moved robotically through the rest of the day.

  Namida had done poorly in her training, not even getting a hit in on Darwe, as she usually was able to do these days at least once during their daily training sessions, and she barely touched any of her food at the noon meal or dinner. She missed the strange looks that everyone sent her when she didn't eat, seeing as she usually had quite a hearty appetite. She also missed the looks that they shot one another, the raised eyebrows as they silently conversed between themselves, all eyes finally shooting to a single source.

  Namida was sitting in the greenhouse, where she usually seemed to end up when she wanted a quiet place to think. The purple petals of the sugar violets and the spiky tendrils of the aloe plants were a familiar, nostalgic sight. The air smelled of damp earth and flowers, and it brought her back to her first day here. She could feel moisture building in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked it back rapidly. The sound of a twig snapping underfoot reached her ears before a muttered curse did, as well. She didn't need to look to see who it was as someone folded themselves down into a cross-legged position on the dirt beside her.

  "What's the matter, Mida?" Darwe asked, for once being blunt rather than beating around the bush. Namida sighed, not really wanting to talk about what was bothering her, but deciding to return the favor. Darwe had been rather standoffish ever since she had first come here, and he had comforted her while she cried like the baby she was over everything that was wrong in her life, but he had never been unkind. In fact, he'd been too kind to her, too generous during their fights; too gentle. She didn't think he was meant to be a warrior at all. Something told her he thought as much, too. Namida took a deep breath, not looking at Darwe as she answered him.

  "Today is my nameday." Something about saying the words out loud just made them all the more real. They sounded hollow to her ears, like there was no meaning behind them. To her, though, there really wasn't any; not without her family here to celebrate with her. It was her first nameday without them, and it had hit her like a blow to the gut when she realized it. She bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself from the tears that were threatening to build up again.

  "You know, I used to cry all the time when I came here. Loud, ugly crying, like a baby. An ugly baby, at that," Darwe said, and Namida could feel the anger bubbling up inside her. Why was he telling her this? Was it supposed to make her feel better, knowing that he used to cry? Was he mocking her for wanting to cry? She turned to him, ready to yell, but he held up a hand to calm her, his face devoid of any sign of mocking. "No, don't do that. Don't get mad at me, okay? Just...just let me finish," he said, looking tired. Namida bit her lip, but nodded, watching him as he turned his eyes to the dirt, grabbing a handful and sifting it between his fingers as he spoke.

  "I used to cry myself to sleep all the time when I came here. I felt like my parents had abandoned me, for sending me to be Master Dorozi's apprentice." He gave a wan smile. "It wasn't until Master Dorozi spoke to me about it that I stopped. You know what he said to me?"

  "'Crying is weak,'" Namida said quietly. She had heard this story before, from Kilish.

  "Well, yes," Darwe relented, "but that's not all he said. He also said, 'Even if a warrior cries, no one should be able to tell that he has.'" He gave her a small smile. "You see, he never told me not to cry. It's okay to cry...even warriors do."

  Namida grit her teeth, still trying to blink back the tears, but a few fat, stubborn drops slipped down her cheeks.

  "I'm a warrior," she growled even as she wiped the tears away with her sleeve, her voice wobbling a little. "I'm not weak."

  "I know," Darwe said as he sat quietly beside her, not saying anything as she cried silently for the family she would never see again, and the happiness she wasn't sure she would ever rediscover.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Here, Nyago," Namida called as the hound paced close to the thirteen-year-old's side. A year and a half of training with Master Dorozi and Darwe had given way to more responsibilities, all of which she was more than happy to accept. She still struggled with the concept of only having one hand, and some mornings she would wake up and forget that even though her left arm ached it wasn't actually there, but she had become adept in handling a sword and doing most daily tasks despite her handicap. The one thing she still hadn't gotten the hang of, however, was doing her own hair. Pulling a comb through it in the morning was bad enough, but trying to pull it back with a leather cord was another thing entirely. The moment she tried to loop the cord around her hair to hold it together, part of it would slip out of her fingers, or the cord would be too loose and would fall out before she had even left her room for the day. It frustrated her to no end, but she was stubborn, and she refused to ask anyone else for help. If she couldn't do it for herself, then she just damn well wouldn't have it done at all.

  Nyago nudged at her hand, hovering close to the hilt of her sharpened sword as it was, her fingers twitching in remembered frustration. She sighed, patting the hound on its large head as it whuffed its approval. If anything, the hound had only grown along with her. She had shot up a few inches, and she'd thought that the hound would stay the same size as it had been when it had come to her, but it had grown right along with her. It made her wonder how old the thing was, or young, for that matter. The thought was a little disturbing; after all, if it got any bigger, there would be no way they could afford to keep feeding it. The hound even went out for nightly hunts just to make up for the nutrients it wasn't getting by eating the food at the complex. It was already almost the size of a small horse, and she wondered if it were even possible for it to grow any bigger. Master Dorozi had admitted to her his lacking knowledge on the subject of hounds, and that he had never heard of one growing as large as Nyago had. It made her wonder just how much stranger the beast could get.

  Nyago tensed suddenly, stopping in his tracks as he sniffed the air, his expression intense. Namida frowned, stopping as well and gripping the hilt of her sword. "What is it, boy?" she asked, scanning the dark horizon. All she saw were the rolling sand dunes and hardy desert foliage, not even a fox or lizard in sight. It felt...wrong, somehow. Maybe that was what Nyago was sensing. It was almost too quiet, too still. It felt as though the desert were holding its breath, waiting for something.

  Without any warning, Nyago took off over the next dune, his long legs eating up the distance. Namida growled in frustration, running after him as fast as she could, unable to keep up with his long strides. She heard a cry of pain and tried to lengthen her stride, thanking Fate for her years of training that she didn't trip and fall in the shifting sands as she reached the top of the dune.

  Below her, there Nyago was, jaws clamped around the arm of a man wielding a knife, a sword lying in the sand just out of his reach as he struggled with the angry bea
st.

  A quiet grunt behind her was the only warning she got before she ducked to the side, glinting steel barely missing her head. She pivoted as she crouched, unsheathing her sword in one swift movement and slashing at the legs of her attacker. The man jumped back, but a small rip appeared in the fabric of his right pant leg.

  One.

  She fought down a smirk at the small victory, knowing she still had to fend him off for at least a few minutes while Nyago fought the person's partner. Their dark clothes rather gave away their intentions. Only spies and mercenaries wore dark clothes in Solus. Being a desert country, it was rather impractical for people to wear dark clothing, unless their chosen profession meant they only ever worked by the light of the moon.

  The man gave an angry growl, charging at her with his sword raised. She moved to parry his blow to the right, but the cool night wind gusted suddenly, blowing her hair into her face. She hastily moved to push it out of her face, dodging to the left as she did, but by the time she could see again, the man's sword was already too close. She parried it as well as she could to the side, but she grit her teeth as the steel bit into the flesh of the stump where her left arm had once been. Taking advantage of the man's moment of shock at the lack of limb in the sleeve he had just torn open, Namida slid past his defense to slice at his exposed side. The man recovered just in time to dodge away from the blow, but still gained a shallow slice just below his ribs. This time, she could see the line of red that had opened up against his skin.

  Two.

  The man paused for a moment, shaking his head as he readjusted his grip on his sword and charged at her once more. They must be feeling it now, she thought as she launched herself into a somersault to dodge the overhead strike that she wouldn't have been able to parry without losing her weapon in the process. There were certain drawbacks to only being able to wield a one-handed weapon, and strikes like that were one of her greatest weaknesses. Her only option was to dodge out of the way when she saw them coming, because when it came down to a matter of strength versus strength, she was almost certain to lose. Her opponent gave an annoyed grunt, and she could see his hands shaking slightly as he turned to strike out at her again. This time, she slapped the blade to the side with a loud clang and took advantage of his suddenly sluggish movements to land a clean slice across his abdomen.