by Wendy Wang
“All right, pick something.”
“How?” Sorrel asked.
“Just pick one of them up. It doesn’t really matter which one. All of them will do as you command,” Neala said.
Sorrel brushed a finger over each metallic item settling on a squat metal frog.
“Th-this one,” Sorrel said.
Weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the wall, held in place by metal pegs against the bricks. Neala turned and grabbed the smallest weapon she could find, a miniature dagger. Neala offered the blade to Sorrel and the girl’s wide eyes blinked at the weapon as she took it in her empty hand.
Sorrel wrapped her hand around the hilt of the dagger and brought the blade close to her face. She studied it closely for a moment before handing it back to Neala.
Sorrel took both hands and closed them over the frog. Her eyes shut tight and her smooth forehead wrinkled. A few moments later a pale glow of light escaped the edge of her fingers. When she finally pulled her hand away, a dagger appeared—an exact replica of the one Neala held in her hands. Neala's face broke into a smile and she chuckled.
“See,” Neala said. “I knew you could do it. You just have to know what you want. It can get complex though especially with a weapon because—here let me see your dagger.” Neala took Sorrel's knife in her hand and ran her thumb across the blade's edge. Just as she suspected it was flat and blunt. “This would work. You would definitely hurt someone with this point, but it's not sharp. Why don’t you hold this one in your hands and study it a little longer? It will help you make your intention for transformation.” Neala handed her the original dagger.
“All right.” Sorrel nodded and ran her thumb down the blade. She gasped and yanked her hand away. A line of blood appeared on the flat pad of her thumb.
“Sorry. I should've told you, it’s very sharp. Here let me see.” Neala held her hand out. Sorrel blinked, staring at her pale palm. “I promise I won't bite. I've been practicing my healing abilities. I can heal it right up. I’m pretty good with cuts and scrapes.”
Sorrel hesitated for just a second before finally placing her hand into Neala's. She called up a smile trying to reassure the girl, then closed her eyes, breathed in and out slowly before touching her fingertip to the stripe of blood on the girl’s thumb. Slowly she dragged it across the wound—heat and light and love—all the ingredients Gordon had taught her for healing, moved through her body, down her arm and across Sorrel's bloody thumb. When she opened her eyes she wiped away the slight residue.
Sorrel stared down at her thumb her mouth gaping. “Th-the healer in my village can't do th-that.”
“She must not have an affinity for earth then,” Neala said.
“No,” Sorrel said. “M-most of th-the villagers only have an affinity for m-metal. But we're full of seers.”
“That is a fair trade-off I think,” Neala grinned. “All right, are you ready to try it again?”
Sorrel nodded. “Yes.”
It took several tries for Sorrel to finally produce the blade of a usable replica, but when she finally did Neala was astonished at the exactness of it.
“This is amazing Sorrel, really amazing. I don't think I could've made it any better myself.”
Sorrel's pale cheeks turned pink with the complement. “Th-thank you.”
“Cai doesn't like people to have weapons in the palace that aren’t wardens or me but I think you should carry something with you even if it's just a few coins in your pocket,” Neala said. “All right, now you know how to transform let's see if you can throw.” Neala stood up, and pulled the dagger from the sheath strapped to her thigh. She pointed it at the large ball made of crystals suspended from the ceiling. Neala touched the tip of her knife to the glowing ball and said, “Target.”
A wooden target descended from the ceiling with the red bull's-eye painted on it. “Now I'm going to show you how to throw it and make it count.”
Sorrel sucked her cheek in and her brown eyes widened.
“It's all right, I promise. By the time I'm done with you you'll be able to hit a moving target.”
“I'm not s-so certain,” Sorrel said.
Neala shrugged. “That's all right, I am.”
******
After practicing for nearly two hours, Sorrel still hadn’t hit the wooden target. When she pictured the knife spinning through the air, it always pulled to the right and clattered to the stone floor. Twice the blade broke and she had to spend time mending it.
“Maybe I'm not s-supposed to be able to do th-this,” Sorrel said. “Maybe—”
“I don't believe that,” the queen said. “Let me see your knife again.”
Sorrel handed the blade over and she took it and compared it to the original dagger. Blade length. Weight. Sharpness. A deep line formed between the queen's brows.
“What did I do wrong?” Sorrel said.
“Nothing.” The queen's eyes met Sorrel. “I can't find any difference between them. What do you picture, when you're about to throw?”
Sorrel scuffed the sole of her boot against the stone floor and looked down. “In my mind it keeps pulling t-to the right. It's just a flash, right before I let go.”
The queen nodded her head the line between her brows getting deeper. “All right,” she said. “I want you to do it again and this time don't let go of the knife. Go through the motions. Let's see if we can correct the intention. Or at least figure out where it's coming from.”
“Where would it be coming from if not from m-me?” Sorrel asked.
“I don't know. Maybe from the metal itself. If it pulls to the right again in your head we’ll try a different piece of metal,” the queen said.
Sorrel blew out a breath in defeat. It took so long just to get this one right.
“It won't take as long now that you know what you need. I promise. It will come much easier,” she said. Sorrel's mouth opened to ask a question but the queen answered before she could. “Sorry I didn't mean to read your thoughts without your permission. They're very strong though when you doubt. It's almost like you're shouting.”
“It is?” Sorrel asked.
“Yes,” the queen said. “I can help you with that too if you'd like. I wouldn't want anyone to take advantage of your thoughts because they can hear them so easily.”
“Th-thank you.” Sorrel took her knife and aimed it at the bull's-eye again. She pictured herself throwing it, pulling her arm back. Ready to release it. The image in her head had the knife spinning through the air tip over end and just at the last second a tiny pang of doubt stabbed through her heart and the blade pulled to the right. Was she doing this to herself?
“That's excellent.” The queen stepped up next to her. Sorrel lowered the knife in her hands. “At least we know where it's coming from now. It looks like will have to work on your confidence first.”
“How will we do th-that?” Sorrel asked.
“Wait here,” the queen said, turned and went over to the wall of weaponry. Neala moved back and forth stopping at different weapons, running her hand over their blades, studying them. Finally, she pulled five throwing stars from the wall, brought them to Sorrel and made her watch as the queen pricked her thumb and wiped it across the blades of each of the stars. Pale silver light shimmered across the surface of the blades and the queen's blood disappeared as if the metal had absorbed it. “All right try this.”
The queen showed Sorrel how to throw the star without cutting her hand. The queen was very adept, able to line the stars up in a row in each subsequent throw. She was able to hit the very center of the bull's-eye with one star then place the other four like a clock—one at midnight, 3 o'clock, 6 o'clock and 9 o'clock around the center star.
“Here you try,” the queen said retrieving the stars and handing them to Sorrel.
“I can't do that,” Sorrel said.
The queen took Sorrel’s hand and placed the stars on her palm, putting her hand on top. “Yes. You can. You have to believe it Sorrel. You have to believe i
t to see it. Do you understand?”
Sorrel looked down at her hand joined with the queen's. Felt the metal digging slightly into her flesh and nodded.
“All right then,” the queen said. “Let's try it again. You cannot fail with these as long as you tell them what to do. I’ve basically programmed an intention into them. You can't miss that bull's-eye, but it's also about training your mind. When you're setting your intention tell it to hit the bull's-eye. Not hit the target. The bull's-eye. In the center. Be as specific as you can be. Do you understand?” the queen said.
“Yes,” Sorrel said. “I th-think so.”
“Wonderful. Show me what you’ve got,” the queen said giving her a smile. Sorrel gripped the first throwing star as the queen had shown her. Hit the center bull's-eye. You can do this. The image of the star whizzing through the air hitting the center bull's-eye filled her mind and she cocked her arm back, thrust it forward and let the star leave her fingertips. It spun so fast all she saw was a blur. The star planted itself deep in the wood and the queen clapped and jumped up and down behind her. “You see! I knew you could do it.”
“You just told me these can't fail,” Sorrel said glancing over her shoulder.
One corner of the queen's mouth quirked into a sly smile and she shrugged. “I lied. There's nothing really special about those stars. Although technically, they can be used to even kill a Metal Kael now.”
“Really?”
Neala nodded. “You hit that bulls-eye all on your own.”
Sorrel turned back and stared at the target. She had placed it exactly where she had intended all by changing her thoughts just a tiny bit. “All right then,” Sorrel said. “Let's do it again.”
Sorrel closed her eyes, wound up her arm and let the next star go. It landed square in the middle of the bulls-eye.
Six
Every day for the next week Sorrel and the queen ascended the tower steps and Sorrel practiced transforming the different metal objects the queen brought her. Her favorite was a tiny square box made of burnished steel. It gleamed all on its own and the corners of the box had been smoothed and rounded. She often changed it into a gleaming dagger similar to the queen's. Her favorite thing about her meetings with the queen wasn't really about strengthening her Metal Kael abilities or throwing knives or axes or whatever weapon she happened to create, it was talking to her.
They sat on the floor of the battle room, Sorrel cross-legged and the queen with her legs stretched out before her. A cache of weapons lay on the floor between them.
“We can go get him you know,” the queen said. “You don't have to ask permission. He is welcome here and so is his sister.”
“Th-thank you,” Sorrel said. “I don't know if he would come.”
“I bet he misses you,” the queen said.
Sorrel shrugged, a half-hearted smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.
“So,” the queen started. “Is it just friendship or is it more with him?”
Sorrel chuckled, her face warming. How was she to answer that? “I don’t know. He’s never kissed me.”
“That’s all right. Cai didn’t kiss me for a long time, but he believed in me. Jorgen believes in you, doesn’t he?”
“Like n-no other.”
“He would be proud of the progress you’ve made.” The queen touched the toe of her boot to Sorrel’s knee and grinned. “I know I am. Your drawing alone has improved so much. And even your stutter is better. I don’t know if you realize this, but you don’t stutter as much.”
Sorrel’s lips stretched into a wide smile and her eyes focused on her feet. The queen had taught her more than any apprenticeship ever could. Sorrel whispered, “Thank you.”
“You know I’ve been meaning to ask you about that—why don’t you stutter when you whisper?” The queen leaned back, supporting herself with her arms.
Sorrel shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t happen when I s-sing either.”
“That is so interesting. I bet the healers would love to study it,” Neala said. Sorrel frowned and shifted her legs a little. “Not that I’m suggesting they study you. It’s just fascinating, that’s all.”
Silence crept up between them but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Neala took a couple of deep breathes and blew them out before getting to her feet again. She held her hand out, to help Sorrel to her feet. “You ready to do some more work?”
Sorrel nodded and the queen pulled her up by the hand, and reached for a sword from the wall. She glanced over her shoulder at Sorrel. “You know, I think we should work on your escape technique again. You’re still holding back because you don’t want to hurt me. Maybe I should call Gordon in here. He’s easy to want to hurt sometimes.” Neala grinned.
“N-n-no. He’s too n-nice,” Sorrel protested. “I don’t want t-to hurt anyone, really.”
Neala nodded. “I understand that.”
Sorrel hesitated. “I’d rather practice t-transformation. If th-that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Neala nodded and smiled. “You want to know a secret?” Sorrel eyes lit up with eagerness and she nodded. “Gordon and Cai would both tell you technique is the most important part of winning a fight. But it’s not.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Neala grabbed a dagger from the wall. She swiped it across her hand and a long stripe of blood appeared across her palm. Her fingers closed around the blade and when she opened them again, the blood was gone. Only a thin, pink wound remained.
“You did th-that before. How does it work?”
“I command the metal to take the blood and make it part of the blade.” Neala presented the dagger to Sorrel, handle first.
“What does th-that do?”
“I don’t know exactly how it works, all I know is it will kill any Kael with any affinity I have in my blood.”
“I don’t want to k-kill anyone.”
“No, of course not,” Neala shook her head. “It also makes it possible to throw that dagger blindfolded with my back to the target and still hit the bulls-eye,” Neala said.
“N-no,” Sorrel scoffed. “S-show me?”
The queen took the knife and turned her back to the bull’s-eye. She closed her eyes and held the blade by its tip before flinging it over her right shoulder. Hilt over tip it cut through the air until it landed on the center of the red circle.
Sorrel clapped her hands together, her face splitting into a grin. “I want t-to t-try it.”
Neala took one of the throwing stars from the wall and handed it to Sorrel. “It’s very sharp. Just press the point into one of your fingers and smear the blood over the blade. Then you’ll need to set this intention—blood and metal unite into one, as part of me you will now act as an extension of me and all I deem worthy.”
Sorrel did as she was told and set the intention. The blood seeped into the metal and it thrummed against her fingertips. Sorrel turned her back to the bulls-eye, just as Neala had done, and flung the star over her head, picturing it landing directly to the right of Neala’s dagger. It landed with a sharp whump and she turned quickly to see if it had obeyed.
Neala placed her hands over her mouth, not quite covering the grin on her face. “See? What did I tell you?”
Sorrel walked to the bulls-eye and stared at the star planted firmly beside the dagger. Just as she pictured it. “How is th-this p-possible?”
Neala shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. It’s something I learned from Peter though. Something Gordon and I have infused into every single weapon available to the wardens.”
Sorrel plucked the star from the wooden target. “We’ll have t-to win now.”
Neala nodded and smiled but the corners of her mouth didn’t lift very high.
“What is it?” Sorrel asked.
“He’s using it the same way we are,” Neala said.
“Then we just have t-to make s-sure we do it better.”
Neala’s smile widened, and her eyes were glassy with tears that didn’t fall. “Yo
u sound a lot like my sister.”
“I’m s-s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean,” Sorrel began.
“No… it’s all right. I like your optimism.”
“You m-miss her.”
Neala ducked her head and swiped at her cheek. She sniffed once, and when she glanced up again she didn’t meet Sorrel’s eyes. “We should probably go downstairs now. I’m sure the chief will be waiting on us for dinner.”
“Yes,” Sorrel said. “Thank you for sh-showing me.”
Neala nodded. “You should take the star with you. Turn it into something inconspicuous, like coins or a thimble. Just in case you need it.”
“Why would I n-need it?” Sorrel brushed her thumb over one of the sharp points.
“Because things are changing faster than I’d like to admit. I just want you able to protect yourself. And anyway, it’s marked with your blood now. It belongs to you.”
“All right. Th-thank you.” Light flashed from the corner of Sorrel’s eye and her breath quickened. Dizziness swirled through her, the taste of ash and smoke coated her tongue. A flash of fire surrounded them and her hand landed on the queen’s arm. She steadied herself, and waited for the familiar explosion of stars auguring a vision.
“Sorrel? Are you all right?” The queen sounded far away. Sorrel blinked and the fire disappeared. Only the queen remained and concern etched deep lines into her forehead.
“Yes. I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
“Did you have a vision? I should keep some paper in here with us.” The queen’s hand covered Sorrel’s and she glanced around the room, as if paper might appear.
“N-no, n-not exactly. I don’t know what it was. I didn’t mean t-to worry you.”
“As long as you’re all right.” The queen patted Sorrel’s hand.
“I am.”
“All right, let’s go eat. I’m starving,” the queen said letting her go and heading towards the door.
Sorrel looked over her shoulder one last time. No fire burned. No smoke filled the room but it didn’t stop dread from shrouding her heart as she followed the queen down the steps.
