Alanna

by Tamora Pierce

  Alanna shook her head. “But I haven’t done anything for you.”

  “That’s not how it works,” the thief said dryly.

  This was confusing, and Alanna said so. George laughed and took them to lunch.

  Shortly after this the four youngest pages—Alanna, a new boy named Geoffrey of Meron, Douglass of Veldine and Sacherell of Wellam—were ordered to one of the indoor practice courts, instead of the staff yards. Awaiting them were Duke Gareth, Coram and Captain Aram Sklaw, head of the Palace Guard. The Captain, a hard-bitten old mercenary with a patch over his missing eye, looked the boys over.

  “Hmph!” he snorted. “Not a promising one in the lot!” He pointed a thick finger at Geoffrey. “You—you look like a dreamer to me. Blood makes you sick, eh? You’d rather read than fight Huh!” He eyed Douglass. “Aye, you like your food, don’t you? Hang around the kitchens, I wager, begging from Cook.” He squinted at Alanna. “You? You’re not big enough for bird feed. You won’t be able even to lift a sword, let along swing it.” Alanna started to argue and remembered Duke Gareth’s presence. She stored that remark for later—she’d show Sklaw! The mercenary turned to Sacherell. “I’ve seen you on the courts. Lazy, that’s what you are, and slow to boot.” He stood at attention before the Duke. “With your Grace’s permission, I’d like to be excused.”

  Duke Gareth’s smile did not quite fit under the hand he used to hid it. “You ask to be excused every time, Aram, and yet you manage to turn out creditable swordsmen—every time.” He looked at the boys, his thin face stern once more. “You are going to learn the art of fencing.” Alanna gulped with alarm—Duke Gareth always made her nervous. “No, don’t look at me like that, Alan—I don’t waste my time on beginners. I don’t have enough for the more promising students as it is. Captain Sklaw and Guardsman Smythesson will be your teachers. You’ll learn how to forge a sword, how to draw it, how to hold it. For the next few months you’ll eat, sleep and study with your sword on. If it leaves your side, you get an overnight vigil in the Sun’s Chapel. This is not wrestling or tilting. You might go all your lives without wrestling, when you are knights. However, you may safely bet you’ll have to defend yourself—or someone else—with a sword at least once before you die. If any of you give the Guardsman or the Captain cause to complain, you’ll talk to me. I know how much you boys enjoy our little chats.” The Duke nodded to the men. “Gentlemen, they’re yours.” He walked from the room.

  Sklaw looked at them and snorted. “Before you likely-looking lads touch a blade, you’ll make one. Guardsman Smythesson will instruct you there, poor man. I leave them to you,” he told Coram, and walked out after the Duke.

  Coram sighed, his face grim. “Well, lads—let’s be off to the forge.”

  It was the beginning of a long, hard winter. After the practice swords were made to Coram’s satisfaction, Sklaw took over. He instructed them in the stances and passes that were such an important part of fencing. He taught them how to get a sword from its sheath quickly—a feat that looked much easier than it was. Always Sklaw hovered nearby, criticizing, growling, complaining. The boys learned to do everything while wearing their practice swords, because there was no telling where Sklaw would turn up. The only place it was safe to take the blade off was in one’s room, when one was bathing—and even then the door had to be locked. Alanna made sure her door was locked.

  Sklaw singled her out for special treatment, perhaps because she was the smallest of the group. She did nothing right, or even better than last time. She was clumsy; she was lazy; she didn’t practice because where were her muscles? She was a midget; she had been dropped on her head at birth; she would never be a full-fledged knight, only a “Lord,” fit to do nothing but sit at home and write poetry. Alanna took the abuse and practiced doggedly, trying to deafen herself to the old villain’s talk.

  “How d’you expect me to be confident if you’re bellowing at me all the time about how bad I am!” she yelled at him once.

  Sklaw grinned without humor. “Well, laddie, if you’ve let an old buzzard like me hurt your confidence, you couldn’t have had much in the first place.”

  Alanna bit her lip rather than answer him back, after that.

  Spring came, and Duke Gareth returned to their class.

  “We’re trying something new today, girls,” the Guard Captain growled as the Duke of Naxen took a seat. He tossed two sets of padded practice armor at Geoffrey and Douglass. “Meron. Veldine. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned on the move.”

  The two boys put on the padding and assumed the “guard” position. “Begin!” Sklaw barked.

  After a few moments Alanna closed her eyes. She had seen Duke Gareth fencing with Alex, who was the best swordsman among the squires. This was a mockery of that kind of fencing. Geoffrey would lurch forward and swing his sword at Douglass. Douglass would hurry to block the swing, stumble back, then lurch forward to try a swing at Geoffrey. After a while Duke Gareth called a halt. Between them, he and Sklaw went over the duel, showing each boy how he could place his feet better, how he could move quickly without stumbling, how he could improve his balance. Finally they were permitted to strip off their now sweat-soaked padding.

  “Wellam. Trebond.” Sklaw shoved two fresh suits of padding at them. “If you can do as well, I’ll be much surprised.”

  Alanna assumed the “guard” position, feeling her knees trembling. It was like taking any other kind of test, only ten times worse. A knight lived or died by his swordsmanship. Without a mastery of swordplay, she would be no knight, have no great adventures. Suddenly Sacherell, who was a friend and a sometimes companion, looked like a menacing ogre—a tall, bulky, menacing ogre.

  “Begin!” Sklaw ordered. Alanna stumbled backward as she tried to avoid Sacherell’s lunge. Recovering her balance, she brought her sword up just in time to block Sacherell’s down-coming swing. She stumbled again and recovered only in time to block another swing—and another—and another. She stumbled and blocked, without making any swings of her own and without really getting her footing. The boy lunged forward suddenly, his sword point headed straight for Alanna’s throat. She tripped and fell over her own feet, dropping her sword. When she looked up, Sacherell was standing over her, his sword in the “kill” position at her throat. She closed her eyes as Sklaw let out a full-throated roar of laughter.

  That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Over and over she “fought” the duel with Sacherell in her mind. What had gone wrong?

  She heard Coram moving around in his room, getting ready to take up the predawn watch. When he left the chambers, she went with him, a small, silent shadow. Wordlessly she accompanied him down to the kitchens, sitting beside him as he flirted with a sleepy scullery maid and ate his breakfast. Still silent, she followed him up to his post on the castle walls. Together they watched the sky over the Royal Forest go from gray to red-orange as dawn came.

  At last Coram remarked, “Sleep at all?”

  Alanna shook her head.

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “You were there?”

  “Aye.”

  Alanna closed her eyes and shivered. The humiliation for Coram would have been terrible, and that made her own humiliation worse. It was bad enough to look like an idiot in front of her friends and Duke Gareth. But Coram was the man who had taught her how to use a dagger as a weapon, to shoot an arrow, to ride her pony. Coram had encouraged her all this way, had made himself a wall between her and the people who might have discovered who she really was. She had failed Coram, and he had seen it.

  “I don’t understand it,” she whispered finally. “It—it was like—my body wouldn’t do anything I told it to. My mind was saying, ‘Do this! Do that! Do something!’ And my body just wasn’t connected. Sacherell—”

  “Sacherell was well enough.” Coram yawned. “He’s a bit of a natural. Ye’re just not a natural with a sword, Master Alan. Some are born to it, like me. I never knew aught else, and I never wanted to. Now, so
me—some never learn the sword at all, and they don’t survive their first real fight. And then there’s some—”

  “Yes?” Alanna asked, grasping at this straw. She was obviously not born to the sword, and she had no plans for dying in her first fight.

  “Some learn the sword. They work all the extra minutes they have. They don’t let a piece of metal—or Aram Sklaw—beat them.”

  Alanna stared at the forest and thought this over. “It’s possible to learn to be natural?”

  “It’s just as possible as it is for a lass t’ learn t’ beat a lad, and the lad bigger and older than she is, and in a fair fight. Well—ye fought fair.”

  It had taken weeks of training in secret to beat Ralon. The long hours, the bruises and her constant exhaustion were fresh in her mind. But it was worth it, Alanna thought. More than worth it.

  She stretched, yawning widely. “Can I borrow your sword?”

  Coram looked at the weapon hanging from his belt. “This? It’s bigger than ye are!”

  “Exactly.”

  Coram stared at her for a moment, then slowly unbuckled his belt. He handed the sword to Alanna, his face expressionless.

  Alanna hefted the weapon in her hand. It was the largest, heaviest sword she had ever handled. It would be work to wield it with only one hand. “Thanks. I’ll return it later.”

  She trotted off to find an empty practice room with plenty of mirrors. Coram was right. A sword could not beat her—and neither could Aram Sklaw.

  six

  Womanhood

  It was the fifth of May. Alanna awoke at dawn, ready for another session with Coram’s big sword. She got out of bed—and gasped in horror to find her thighs and sheets smeared with blood. She washed herself in a panic and bundled the sheets down the privy. What was going on? She was bleeding, and she had to see a healer; but who? She couldn’t trust the palace healers. They were men and the bleeding came from a secret place between her legs. Hunting frantically, she found some bandage and used it to stop the red flow. Her hands shook. Her whole body was icy with fear. The servants would be coming to wake the pages soon. She had to do something in a hurry!

  She gnawed her thumb until it bled. Coram was on guard duty. Besides—she couldn’t tell him. This wasn’t something she could confide to the old soldier.

  She could trust only one person to help and keep quiet There were those who might wonder just how trustworthy the King of Thieves could be—Alanna wasn’t one of them.

  With no time to waste, she couldn’t afford to sneak from the palace and run all the way to the city. She would have to ride and take the consequences. A quick word to Stefan, and Moonlight was saddled. The hostler even lured a guard away from one of the smaller gates. Alanna rode out for the city at a full gallop. Within minutes she was hitching her mare to a post behind the Dancing Dove.

  Swiftly she clambered onto the kitchen roof and pried one of George’s shutters open. George himself had taught her how to make a second-story entry. When Alanna slid into the man’s room, she was seized from behind. A very sharp knife pressed against her throat

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to enter by way of the door?” a voice drawled softly.

  Alanna held very still. That knife was no joke. “George—it’s me! Alan!”

  The man let her go and made her face him. He wasn’t dressed—he always slept bare. “So it is.” He put his knife on the table. A smile lit his eyes. “And what makes a noble sprout break into the Rogue’s bedroom?”

  “I need your help.” She twisted her hands together. “I’ve got to see a healing woman right away.”

  “A healin’ woman, is it? You’ll have to give me more than that, lad.” George crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. He had always known there was a secret to Alan. “Why a woman? And why a city healer? The best in the land are at the palace.”

  Alanna swallowed hard. “I’m not a boy.” It was incredibly hard to say. “I’m a girl.”

  “You’re a—you’re a what!” George yelled.

  “Hush! D’you want everyone to hear?” She scuffed her boot against the floor. “I thought you’d guess. You have the Gift.”

  “And your Gift shields you. Alan, if this is a jest, it’s a poor time for one.”

  She glared at him. “D’you want me to take my clothes off?”

  “No—great Mithros. Turn around whilst I get clothed.”

  She obeyed, arguing, “That’s silly. I’ve seen you naked before.”

  George hunted for his breeches. “This is different. All right—turn about Why d’you need a woman?”

  Her eyes were pleading. “Don’t ask. Please “

  The thief made a face. “Come on, then.” He hustled her down his back stair and into the street “I know just the lady—she was a priestess in the Temple of the Mother here in the City before she married, got trained there. She’s my own mother. She wouldn’t talk if you pried her jaws apart” He spotted Moonlight waiting patiently. “You’re little enough—the mare will carry us both.” He swung himself into the saddle behind Alanna. “We’re ridin’ for the Street of the Willows.”

  Alanna nodded and urged her horse forward. George’s warmth at her back was oddly comforting.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be so damned scared,” she snapped.

  “That’s true—I’ve never seen you overset,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ve got to talk, you and I.” They turned down a small street lined with walled houses. George dismounted and unlocked a gate marked with the healer’s sign—a wooden cup—circled once in red and once in brown. “What are you called, then?”

  She hesitated. “If I tell, you might forget and let it slip out later.”

  “Not me, youngling.” He motioned for Alanna to ride into the courtyard and then closed the gate. “I let nothing slip.”

  She dismounted. Moonlight butted her affectionately. “It’s Alanna,” she whispered.

  George’s mother came to the door of the house. She was a tall woman, with her son’s twinkling hazel eyes and an air of command. Only a single streak of white in her chestnut hair revealed her to be a little more than middle-aged.

  “A patient for you, Mother” the thief announced. “I’ll be stabling the mare.”

  Mistress Cooper showed Alanna into a small, neat room. Healing plants of all kinds hung from the rafters, giving the room a fragrant smell. A small wooden table covered with a clean sheet sat in the room’s center.

  “Sit there,” Mistress Cooper ordered. “Now. What’s the problem?”

  Alanna explained quickly that she was a female, not a male, and that she was a page in the palace. Mistress Cooper raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Alanna drew a breath and added, “I—I’m bleeding.”

  “Bleeding?” was the calm response. “Where?”

  Red with embarrassment, Alanna pointed. George’s mother began to smile. “Has it happened before?” Alanna shook her head. “Did you injure yourself there? No? When did it start—this morning? No pain?”

  Too ashamed to speak, Alanna either shook her head or nodded, depending on the question. There were others so personal she wanted to hide when she thought about them. Her embarrassment only tripled when Mistress Cooper began to laugh.

  “You poor child,” she chuckled. “Did no one ever tell you of a woman’s monthly cycle? The fertility cycle?”

  Alanna stared. Maude had mentioned something, once—

  “That’s what this is? It’s normal?”

  The woman nodded. “It happens to us all. We can’t bear children until it begins.”

  “How long do I have to put up with this?” Alanna gritted.

  “Until you are too old to bear children. It’s as normal as the full moon is, and it happens just as often. You may as well get used to it.”

  “No!” Alanna cried, jumping to her feet. “I won’t let it!”

  Again Mistress Cooper raised her eyebrows. “You’re a female, child, no matter what
clothing you wear. You must become accustomed to that.”

  “Why?” Alanna demanded. “I have the Gift. I’ll change it! I’ll—”

  “Nonsense!” the woman snapped. “You cannot use your Gift to change what the gods have willed for you, and you would be foolish to try! The gods willed you to be female and small and redheaded, and obviously silly as well—”

  “I am not silly!” Alanna wailed. “I just—” She rubbed the back of her hand against burning eyes. She knew Mistress Cooper was right. She had tried to use her Gift once to make herself grow, and her head had ached for days.

  “Well, then, perhaps not silly.” A comforting hand was laid on Alanna’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Your place in life you can always change, whether you have the Gift or not. But you cannot change what the gods have made you. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be.” She led Alanna into the kitchen and put a tea kettle on the fire. “You’re not used to your body doing things you haven’t asked of it, are you?”

  Alanna made a face. “It’s bad enough my chest keeps growing. Now something like this happens.” She put her head in her hands. Finally she looked up and said, “What do I have to know about this—this thing?”

  “Your cycle comes once a month, and lasts five days or so. Bathe each day. Bandage yourself, of course. The cycle will not come if you lie with a man and he gets you with child.” The woman made a cup of tea and handed it to the girl. “Here. This will make you feel better.”

  Sipping it did make Alanna feel calmer. “Will it slow me down?”

  “Not so long as you stay out of men’s beds. A babe will certainly slow you down.”

  Alanna shook her head. “I don’t plan on children.”

  “Many girls don’t.” Mistress Cooper poured herself some tea. “Do you know what happens when you lie with a man?”