by Cat Bruno
“Sometimes I find him watching me,” she murmured in confession.
After a moment, Gregorr thoughtfully said, “Tian is a land of mystery and a land where they understand better than most the connection between what is light and what is dark.”
“What do you mean?” she asked before he could finish.
“Here, they do not fear the shadows that the light must cast,” he offered as explanation.
Growing more confused, Syrsha huffed, “Do you think he sees me as the light or the shadow?”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “You must recognize that nothing is one or the other, but is always both. In Tian, it is always so.”
Nodding, she said, “I have heard him say just such and told Otieno of it as well. But am I the light that creates the shadow or the shadow that allows the light to glow?”
“Perhaps he will tell you,” Gregorr sighed, wordlessly suggesting that Syrsha still did not make sense of his words.
Steps before Ru’s private room, Syrsha reached for Gregorr’s arm and half-whispered, “Does he know of Makeena?”
Her eyes had darkened and she watched as the fennidi reached for a pouch at his waist.
They fear me yet.
With his narrow, piney fingers just inside a leather pouch, Gregorr answered, “I know not what Liang has told them, but the rest of us have said nothing.”
Before she could query further, the door opened and Master Ru appeared, wearing his sun-stained robe, the color as orange as flame. Never before did Syrsha desire her black leather than standing before the master who radiated like daybreak. Tugging at an ill-fitting sleeve, she bowed to the shihon and waited as Gregorr did the same. They were invited in and offered steaming tea by the master himself, for the room was otherwise empty.
Once all three were seated around a low-lying table, Syrsha gazed at the tiny cup, creamy-white with painted red great cats leaping from the base. She smiled as the cat’s claws stretched near her fingers.
“You are not afraid of the great cats,” Master Ru commented, causing Syrsha to hurriedly glance up.
Beside her, Gregorr sipped at his tea, with both hands curled around the cup. Neither hand searched for his beloved juniper berries. For now, she was safe, as was Ru, and the fennidi relaxed. But she had learned enough over the last half moon year to understand that he could shackle her quickly, with a few strokes of his painted fingers.
Unguarded, she blurted out, “I am much like them, shihon, and envy their freedom.”
Chuckling roughly, he said, “They are not without cages, although it is rumored to be so. We welcome them and honor them here, but they only live because we allow it. What envy is there in that, Syrsha?”
The way he spoke her name sounded like nothing she had ever heard before, and she paused while his words unraveled. The language was a difficult one, and it often took much of her focus to make sense of it without Liang’s assistance, especially here, outside of the training room and the simple commands dictated there.
“I hear them at night treading across the courtyard, under the glow of the moon, while I am lying on my bedroll under a bricked ceiling,” she slowly explained.
Behind his small-lensed glasses, Ru’s eyes sharpened as he told her, “The great cats have been restless since your arrival. Kun, who has been their keeper for many moon years, tells me he has never seen them so.”
She did not doubt that his words were true ones, yet Syrsha bided her tongue, much to Gregorr’s approval, she sensed.
Again, Master Ru spoke.
“Why have you come, child?”
Without looking to the fennidi, she answered, “I have mastered the sword and nearly the bow. But, for real mastery, I must learn to fight without weapons.”
Laughing once again, he cried, “Children from the West have no humility, I see!”
“I am no child, Master Ru. In truth, I might never have been one.”
She spoke without artifice, but he did not seem to notice.
“Tsk, tsk,” he scolded. “You walk now, so you must once have crawled. It is the way of things.”
The fennidi listened, but did not offer complaint or advice. He was only there to make certain the wolf did not rise.
“It is not the way of the great cats,” she called. “They walk now as they have always done, on four legs and not two.”
Suddenly serious, Ru stated, “Our way is not theirs. You would do well to remember that.”
“Why do you think they grow impatient, shihon?” she asked, without attempting to keep her voice free of disbelief.
When he did not answer, she stared at him without ward or mask. Now, Gregorr stirred, setting his cup upon a matching plate. His hands rested in his lap, nearer to the pouches that hung from his braided belt. The warning he offered was clear, but Syrsha did not heed it.
“My way is as much theirs as it is yours.”
“Do not seek to scare me, child.”
His words were clipped and curt, unlike any she had heard him speak. Even in discipline, he was often kind and encouraging.
With a raised hand, she explained, “Master Ru, I seek nothing of the sort.”
“Then I will ask again. Why have you come to Sholin Temple?”
Had Otieno been beside her, she would not have answered with truth.
Her hands grew warm and her vision reddened. But she was mortal still, and human, as she gazed at the master. She watched as he noticed her eyes shift from glittering green gems to orbs reflecting starless skies. His own eyes told her nothing, but his stained cheek, marked with the curved lines of the great cat, shined in defiance.
“I have come to claim the cats,” she chanted, the statement drumming and echoing around the tiny room.
Master Ru believed her, she saw, for his gaze saddened, wrinkling at the edges before he sat stoic and guarded once again. Without turning toward Gregorr, she knew that he had understood her Tiannese words, and knew, too, that she had not lied.
Into the spreading silence, Ru’s reply crackled and shook, nearly causing the delicate mugs to shatter.
“On the morrow, you will achieve second ranking. In two more moon years, you might be fifth. Only then will you be permitted near the great cats.”
His words were true, but not, and Syrsha argued, “I have learned much of Tian since we arrived. One only needs fifth rank to tend to them. That is not what I desire. Master Ru, your keeper has told you that the cats are troubled and sleepless. It will only worsen until I am allowed to visit them.”
“You are more insolent than most,” he berated, interrupting before she could further explain. His cheeks burned red, although his stripes did not fade.
She heard the complaint often, and evenly continued, “You have earned the markings on your cheek. And the orange robes that you wear. I only ask for the same chance.”
There were other men around the temple that had the clawed tattoos as well, but Syrsha guessed their numbers to be less than ten. And none had been female, despite the presence of young girls in the anjin rooms.
“It took over twenty moon years of training until I faced the great cats,” he told her. “Stay as long as that, and you will have the chance.”
Growing frustrated, Syrsha barked, “You know that I cannot stay so long.”
“In that time, you will learn much. Let it be enough.”
Her hands tightened into fists and her teeth clenched as she said, “One can only test for master robes once; I learned as much from the children. In a moon’s time, I will request to be so tested.”
Cheerful once again, as if he thought her bluffing or jesting, Ru quipped, “It is unheard of for one who is in the early ranks to be so tested.”
“Perhaps. But it will break no temple rules, for I have studied them in preparation for just such a chance.”
Syrsha realized then that Gregorr eyed her, with more understanding now.
In the language of the Ancients, she quickly asked, “Why must everyone I meet make me prove myself
worthy?”
He only shook his head as she added, “You might as well know now what I have planned. With the next moon, I will challenge the great cats. You knew this would be so, for you have seen me with the marks upon my cheeks.”
Finally, the fennidi responded.
“I have seen it so, but do not forget what occurred in Sythia. Your memory of your time there was false, and your path altered. And many will suffer for those lies.”
She fell silent as her fingers reached for her unmarked cheek.
Master Ru, who had listened to their exchange, reached to pour more tea in to the now-empty mugs. When the steam rose, he sighed.
“You are, I must admit, unlike any who have entered our temple, Syrsha. And you are not wrong that the great cats have not been the same since your arrival. Let us come to an agreement on what is best suited for all of us.”
After she agreed, he said, “Train here for another moon. I will allow you to test for a new ranking with each quarter-moon if you have improved enough. Once you have reached the fifth rank, which will be in little more than a moon, you will be allowed to challenge the great cats. Until then, you must not see them at all, for that is a temple mandate.”
“So when first I see them, it will be to kill one!” she cried.
With a shrug, Master Ru explained, “To wear the stripes, one must earn them. To earn them, one must tame a great cat.”
“I do not wish to harm them, Master Ru,” she hissed. “That is not why I have come.”
“And the great cat does not wish to kill you, either, child. But it is their way. No other animal in Tian is without predator except for the laohus. To become hu-gao, you must prove yourself to be stronger than even the great cats. How else can one do so without death?”
After a lengthy pause as she considered his words, Syrsha asked, “Does Hu-gao not mean in the arms of the great cat?”
Her question surprised him. The room again quieted as he thought on what she had asked.
Finally, he said, “I had long forgotten that the word originally meant such. I must study this and speak with the temple Elders about what you suggest. Until then, ready yourself to work day and night in training.”
His words were a dismissal, and more impolite than any that she had heard him utter. Gregorr and she softly exited the room, while Master Ru did not move. The fennidi’s cloth-like shoes, made of rough-spun cotton, soundlessly pattered across the hallway as he walked at her side. The silky ties laced high up his legs, reaching beyond his knees. To see him dressed as a Tiannese boy made her smile crookedly, but Syrsha sensed that his silence would not last. Gregorr had not been wrong to remind her of Sythia and how her memory had shifted. Even moons later, she still did not understand why so much had changed, nor why her thoughts were untrue ones.
It was not until they were near the temple entrance that he said, “I must agree with Ru and ask what it is that you want here, faela.”
The courtyard was near enough that Syrsha could smell newly carved pig carcasses, and her mouth watered in response. Before she turned toward Gregorr, she swallowed hard, breathing deeply as was taught in the temple.
“I want to free the striped cats, Gregorr. They call to me at night, pleading with growls and moans. I can hardly sleep at times, for their cries fire my blood,” she confessed when her vision cleared.
“You long for home, Syrsha, and for the Tribelands. But these animals are not kin,” Gregorr softly declared, without scolding.
Her eyes clouded, misty and warm, as she listened to him speak of Eirrannia. It was not the first time that the thought saddened her.
“What is it that you fear?” he suddenly asked. The unexpected words caused her to step back.
Otieno had taught her as much as Conri might have, Syrsha had long believed, but it was Gregorr who loved her most. The diauxie would have noticed the tears in her eyes and called for her to dry them, while the fennidi would have done so himself. She needed Otieno more, for without him, she would not survive long in Cordisia. But it was Gregorr who perceived her best.
For the first time in nearly a moon, Syrsha placed a ward across them both, shielding their words.
Trembling and hoarse, she whispered, “When last I was in the North, it was to watch my mother die. In Cossima and in Sythia, I could visit her still, and time-walk to a place where I knew her to be well. Once I return to Cordisia, Gregorr, I will lose her once more.”
The ward around them throbbed in tune with her life pulse as Syrsha lifted her fingers toward her moistened lashes. It was the first time that she had admitted her reluctance to return.
“I should have saved her,” she sobbed, hunching over as her shoulders shook and her night-shrouded hair masked her face.
His arms embraced her, encircling Syrsha’s waist as he cooed, “Faela, she would not have let you, even if you could. Now tell me why you think that you will no longer be able to time-walk?”
Still shaking her head, Syrsha whispered, “When I return, I close the circle.”
Gregorr asked her to further explain, but Syrsha knew not how to describe how she was able to time-walk. Twice over she tried, likening it to a path that ends when the beginning is reached. But, still, he did not understand.
“Jarek time-walks,” he countered.
“He never left,” she explained, acknowledging that her words made little sense.
Releasing her, he said, “Nothing is certain. But we can stay in Tian, or return to Cossima. Or go anywhere you would like. We need not ever return if you wish it so.”
Shaking her head, she answered, “How many would die if I do not defend Eirrannia, Gregorr? How many have died since I have been gone?”
Both of his hands flailed into the air, waving about as he reminded her, “You are barely out of childhood. To the Tribe, you are a pup yet. And we are three seas beyond Cordisia.”
Her face was dry when he next looked up. And the ward hummed louder, prickling his skin.
“That is not so,” she whispered.
Half-trembling, she confessed, “I was in Vesta. It was more than time-walking, Gregorr. I was there. I held a dagger, and I carried Blaidd free.”
His unguarded face drained of color.
“You were all so angry that I feared telling you more,” Syrsha confessed.
“We will talk on this later. For now, ready yourself for the morrow.”
He could say no more, for what she suggested was no mortal feat. Nor was it one that even the High Lord could perform. With another glance at her, he moved away, yet Syrsha stood where he had left her. There was no need for her to practice further, for she had mastered the beginner’s poses by the first evening. Instead, she walked toward the front of the temple, forcing herself away from the courtyard. Soon, she was outside the temple doors.
Above, the skies grayed, tinted red, like most of Tian. Beyond the tightly trimmed trees, clouds lingered, edged with the glowing silver touch of the moon. Staring at the rolling clouds, Syrsha again thought of her mother. When last she had visited, her mother was with Ohdra, meeting the fennidi queen for the first time.
No longer wanting to think on the healer, Syrsha crossed to where her swords had been stored. Tucked under her leather vest, she found her shortsword and grabbed it. As she pulled it free, Syrsha moaned, content to have steel in her hand once again. Under the watch of the stained sky, she parried and jabbed, readying herself for a battle that she knew must come.
*****
“You seem no worse for the visit,” Aldric stated as Gregorr entered the room. The fennidi shrugged, as the mage added, “And your hands are unstained.”
His words caused the other man to smile.
“She was well-behaved. The temple has had that effect on all of us perhaps.”
None of the others were in the room, but Aldric sensed that there was more that Gregorr did not share. The girl’s blood was god-touched and fiery, and few would name her calm.
“What need would she have of a ward then? And d
o not try to tell me that she did not call for one. Her magic leaves a trail that is easy to follow.”
“Aldric,” the small man hummed, “She wanted to speak to me without anyone else hearing. No more than that. If you could sense the ward, then you know it was weak and temporary. Syrsha is a long way from home, farther than any of us might know. And she is a girl with no mother. Allow her that pain.”
“Why did Ru request that she join him?” Aldric questioned, dropping any further mention of the ward.
“He asked her why she had come to Sholin Temple.”
The master is testing her, Aldric thought, and Gregorr knows it as well. The mage looked at his hands, which were now wrapped in strips of silk. Sharron had rubbed a Tiannese salve across the burns soon after they had entered the temple. His pain had lessened, and, now, he could move his fingers once again, although they were stiff and slow. Within a moon, he hoped to attempt some small magics, but for now he was mostly powerless.
Aldric had not spoken to Syrsha about his burns, but he thought her regret genuine. To believe anything different would mean that she was more her father’s daughter than any suspected.
“How did she answer?” Aldric asked, trying to break out of such thoughts.
The fennidi’s eyes sparkled, reminding Aldric of freshly fallen rain on pine.
With a voice as old as clay, Gregorr sighed, “She has come for the great cats. But Ru will not let her see them, not until she had achieved their fifth rank.”
Making more sense of why Syrsha would have need of a silencing ward, Aldric said, “She no longer wants to stay. Or she has plans to see the cats on her own.”
Gregorr must have noticed his concerns and countered, “Neither is true. She and the master have come to an agreement. She will be permitted to test with each quarter-moon, and should reach the necessary rank within a few moons.”
“And she is not with the great cats now? I noticed that she did not follow you to the room.”
Sterner, his voice of the mountains now, Gregorr exclaimed, “Let her be, Aldric. I watched her exit the temple, far from the courtyard.”
With a mumbled apology, Aldric said, “I wonder what her father would think of her love for these cats.”
