by S. G. Night
She became the Hedgehog, defensive and spiny. He became the Bear in turn and shattered her defense.
She became the Adder. He became the Fox, agile and fast, designed to slip under your enemy and cripple their ankles and hamstrings.
She became the Spider, and he stymied her with the Hedgehog.
She became the Lioness once more, enraged and frustrated, lunging at him with furious force in her thrusts. He became the Kestrel again, driving her back with a storm of thunderous forehands and punishing backhands.
Soon, he had her. Her back hit the wall. Racath sprang, planted his feet on the wall and ran three quick steps up it. At the peak of his momentum, he pushed off of the wall, back-flipping over Nelle. Landing, he grabbed her from behind, trapping arms and putting the edge of his Stinger to her throat. This time, he was careful to avoid her chest.
“Yield,” he commanded.
Nelle growled and struggled against him, but she could not break free.
“Yield,” he barked again.
“Nelle,” Oron said. “He’s won. Submit.”
It took Nelle a moment to stop struggling. Racath knew what she was feeling — it took a good deal of humility to admit you’ve been beaten. Your pride gets bruised and it’s hard to save face by giving up. But even though he empathized, Racath wasn’t going to let her go.
Eventually, Nelle began to relax in Racath’s arms. She shut her eyes and stilled her breathing, slowly and calming down. The tension in her muscles uncoiled. Soon she resisting at all anymore. It was almost like he was…holding her. She was leaning on him. They both felt it.
Racath let her go quickly. Nelle looked back at him. He couldn’t quite read her expression, but it wasn’t anger. She inclined her head to him in deference.
“I see I underestimated you,” she smiled. “I apologize. I admire your skills, My Lord.”
He returned her subtle bow. “And I admire your tenacity, My Lady.”
Nelle’s smile turned sheepish. “Thanks…I knew I was screwed as soon as you started using Bear. You’re good, Racath. Very good. You’ll have to teach me your secret sometime.”
“Maybe I will. Sometime.” He nudged her shoulder teasingly. He was surprised by how natural the gesture felt to him, as if they were old friends at play.
Oron interjected before Nelle could respond. “Mrak did not exaggerate,” he commented. “That was some of the most amazing Stinger work I’ve ever seen. It’ll come in handy, I’m sure.” He stopped to rub the bruise forming on his face where Racath had hit him earlier. “Damn, I’m getting to old for this…we’re done for today, Racath. For now, you and Nelle will spar together daily. Three hours, every day after lunch. She will teach you the sword and hand-fighting, and you will help her with the Stingers. I will tutor you on other matters in the mornings and evenings.”
He turned away and ascended the stairs, leaving Racath and Nelle in the pit. “And one more thing,” he called back. “You must earn your keep here, Racath. You will assist Nelle with her chores around the farm. She will show you what you need to take care of.”
Racath was about to protest, the frustration — and humiliation — he had felt before welling up at the older Majiski again. But before he could argue, Oron disappeared beyond the rim of the pit.
Racath scowled. “Piss….”
Nelle put a friendly hand on his shoulder, smiling her sunny smile. “Come on,” she invited. “Farm work isn’t so bad. Once you get the hang of it, at least. We just need to collect the chicken eggs from the coop and feed the pigs. We won’t have to milk old Elba until tomorrow.”
Racath frowned at her. “Milk what?”
Nelle looked at him, puzzled. “Elba,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know. The cow.”
Pause. “…Milk it for what?”
Nelle stared back it him in utter disbelief. “Holy God, you’ve got a lot to learn. About, you know, life.” She sniffed, and then crinkled her face. “Blessed Mother’s toes, we stink.”
Racath breathed in. Indeed, both of them were dripping with sweat from their sparring.
She took him by the hand and dragged him up the stairs out of the pit. “Come on. We’re gonna go take a bath before we do anything else.”
Another blush began to burn up Racath’s neck. “Wait, wait…” he stammered. “Uh…we?”
She didn’t answer, just tugged him along by the hand like a mother pulling her child out of a mud hole to the tub. She led him across the plateau, past the garden and the well. They walked along the brook of flickering, crystal water that irrigated Oron’s crops, following it until it merged with a larger stream that flowed from one of the waterfalls falling at the edge of the domus’ circumference. Eventually, they came to a ledge overlooking a glistening pool that formed at the foot of the falls. Where the column of water hit the pool, its surface roiled and surged in a frothy rumble.
“This is the bathing pool,” Nelle told him, raising her voice over the gentle roar of cascading water. “Perfect for an after-sparring dip. The water’s always perfect.” She took a step forward to stand at the edge, ten feet above the water.
“Hold on a second,” Racath objected. “Are you—”
With her back to him, Nelle stripped of her black tunic and tossed it aside, shaking her hair out if its braid. It tumbled down her naked back in a graceful tangle, shining gold against the smooth alabaster of her skin. Without pause, hesitation, or the slightest hint of reticence, Nelle removed her dark trousers as well.
Tongue-tied and bewildered, Racath’s eyes dropped like rocks to the thick carpet of grass at his feet. But he hadn’t been fast enough to avoid catching a glimpse.
Racath’s mind jumped back to the conversation he had had with the Elias in the tavern. About how Majiski have control over their base desires, and how they are driven more by the heart than by the flesh. He realized that he might have misled Elias somewhat. The Majiski weren’t dictated or controlled by physical impulses…but that didn’t meant they weren’t affected by them at all. As Racath was now learning first hand.
Nelle turned her head over her shoulder and laughed when she saw him staring pointedly at the ground. “Oh, ease up, Thanjel. I’m not going to try to seduce you on the rocks, if that’s what you’re worried about. Trust me, I’m a good Jedan girl.”
A flustered stammer was all Racath could muster in response, staring fixedly at a rock near his feet.
The girl with golden hair made a carefree sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “You’re cute when you’re awkward.”
And then she dove, shouting in delight, into the pool below.
“God’s twice-fauled piss!” Racath spluttered aloud as soon as Nelle was out of earshot beneath the water. His face felt like it was on fire, and the words just started falling out of him. “Fauling — God damn — piss….”
Nelle resurfaced, laughing like a child, brushing her wet hair from her eyes. She was still wearing her gloves, but Racath didn’t have the concentration to notice right then.
“Don’t be so skittish, Racath! You act like you’ve never seen a naked woman!” she called up to him.
“Very perceptive of you!” he returned, grateful that the rippling water concealed anything below Nelle’s neck. “I haven’t!”
Her wind chime laughter echoed around the pool. “Well then, aren’t you in luck! Come on,” she jerked her head towards the water. “Jump in!”
Racath took a few uncomfortable steps back from the ledge. He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Did he have a choice here? Maybe, but his mind was reeling too hard to come up with any alternative.
What was he afraid of? Something. But he didn’t know for certain. Thus far, he had felt incredibly comfortable around Nelle, much more comfortable than he was with Oron. But he wasn’t sure he was this comfortable.
But…why not? Why make it awkward? Why not try?
Nervous as a new groom, he took a few steps back from the edge and undressed, leaving his Shado
w in a heap in the grass. Sucking in a deep breath, he faced the cliff again and ran off the ledge before he could stop for second thoughts. The warm water swallowed him, purging the grime from his skin as it flowed unrestricted over his body. Beneath the surface, he shook his head vigorously, loosening his matted hair. The water reach deep into his scalp, washing away the sweat and sand.
When he rejoined Nelle on the glossy surface, she greeted him an enthusiastic giggle. He averted his eyes self-consciously, glad for the distortion of the water.
“Goodness, Racath, I think you’re glowing you’re blushing so much!” she teased. “Relax. Breathe. Enjoy the water. I’m not gonna bite you.”
Racath struggled to steady his breathing, relax his muscles. When he succeeded, he realized that he was beginning to feel comfortable again. Or rather, less uncomfortable. The water soothed him, distracting him from the awkwardness of the situation, his bruises, and the resentment for Oron that had been building since he first entered the pit.
“Better?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Good!” She splashed at him playfully.
He ducked to avoid the spray, then splashed her back, catching her full in the face with a wave of sapphire water. She spluttered and coughed, bobbing up and down on the disturbed surface.
“Ohhh,” she said merrily. “Now you’ve done it.”
And they dueled with splashes of glittering water, back and forth until both were laughing uncontrollably. They spent a good long hour in the pool before laying out on the rocks to dry, retrieving their clothes, and heading back to tend to the chores.
Their chatter was idle, easy. Racath no longer felt bashful, or angry, or frustrated — at least for the moment. Instead he was…happy. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It kindled a warm fire in his chest.
He didn’t know why — he didn’t need a reason. All he knew was that he was at peace with her. He had a friend here, now. Maybe even a close friend. He hardly even knew her, but that day, he trusted her completely. And trust was a rare blessing for someone like Racath.
Somehow, someway, in spite of everything...he was happy with her.
TWENTY-ONE
Hymns of Ash and Ice
Later that day, after the sun had sunken behind the domus’s artificial skyline, the three Majiski retired to their rooms. Darkness fell, and the illusionary sky ignited with starlight. The cottage itself was wrapped in peaceful, nighttime silence. On his back, Racath lay thinking. Down the hall in the master bedroom, Oron lay sleeping. And in her room, beneath her heavy blankets, the augur lay dreaming.
True dreams were somewhat of a rarity for Nelle. Most nights, they were visions, glimpses of the storms brewing on time’s distant horizon. But tonight was different. Tonight, she dreamed of the past.
Racath’s arrival had stirred some memories inside her mind. Painful things, things she kept to herself, things she had buried deep down inside long, long ago. The death of her family. The destruction of the temple. The siege at Krvistata….Those stinging memories stabbed at her sleeping mind, hurting her, reminding her of things she had tried too hard to forget.
And even worse…the day that she and Racath had just spent together. The friendship that had begun to rise between them. She had known it would happen, had seen it happen a hundred times in her visions. She already knew of the bond that was fated to grow between them. It was the reason she felt so comfortable with him — she already knew him, better than he knew himself, from decades of seeing his face while she slept.
And yet…now that it was happening…it suddenly reminded her of another friend she had had once before. A friend just as close to her as she knew Racath would grow to be. A friend…from before the Demons came.
Those memories were cold. Those memories hurt the most.
——
Racath stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, his body bruised and aching. Exhaling an explosive sigh, he flopped into one of the chairs at the table — the chair that was quickly becoming his spot. His mind was empty as he smushed his face into his hands, too tired to think about anything other than his own discomfort.
A pair of musical chirps greeted him. Sighing, Racath looked through his fingers to see Sokol and Elohim perched on a shelf above the toasty stove. The two raptors watched him curiously, their heads cocked towards each other.
“G’morning to you, too,” Racath grumbled. “Nice to see you again, Soke.”
Sokol fluttered her wings a bit and made an inquisitive sound.
“Oh, I’m doing great,” he responded bitterly, his voice raspy with morning-mouth. “Life’s just great all around right now. A week ago I was knifing bureaucrats and hunting down traitors. Now sitting inside a mountain while some old guy beats me with a stick, and then tells me I’m supposed to free the country.” He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “Faul....If only Dad could see me now. He’d probably—”
The sound of shuffling feet interrupted his train of thought. A second later, Nelle shambled into the kitchen, dressed in the same nightshirt she had worn the day before, arms hugging her chest. Her hair was in a cloud about her head, as though she had been tearing at it all night. The skin of her hands and arms was still covered by her black, ever-present gloves.
“Morning,” Racath yawned.
Nelle flinched, startled, noticing him for the first time. When she looked at him, her eyes — which were sunken and subtly purple, like she hadn’t slept in days — went wide with bewilderment her whites were tinged with bloodshot red.
“Uh…” she mumbled, flustered, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Yeah. Hi.”
“Sleep well?” Racath asked conversationally.
“Hmm?” Nelle’s neck twitched as if she was repressing the urge to look back at him — she did not meet his eyes again. “Oh. Um…sure. Fine.”
Racath frowned. “You alright? You don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Nelle said quickly. “Just fine.”
She was lying. I know it now, as do you: you and I both know that she was not fine, because, as I just told you, of her dreams from the night before.
Racath knew it, too — he could see it in the tightness of her shoulders, and the way she was putting all her weight on her right foot. This was not the blithe, carefree girl he had swum with the afternoon before. He wasn’t sure what to make of it: what could possibly have troubled her so much?
“I’ll just…start on breakfast,” Nelle murmured, hobbling sluggishly over to the stove.
Racath pushed himself back from the table. “Need some help?”
“No, no,” Nelle waved her hand at him, stopping him halfway out of his seat. “I got it. Oron’s got a big lesson for you today, so you take your time to get your head ready. I can handle the food.”
He wanted to protest, but something held his tongue. He wanted to help, almost desperately so. But he couldn’t. Reluctantly, he lowered himself back into his seat.
Nelle opened the pantry and unpacked some raw meats, fruits, and a few of the eggs that they had collected together yesterday. Her movements were stiff and brittle as cracking hoarfrost. The curtain of her hair hid her face from Racath’s concerned stare.
As she worked at the stove, cracking the eggs into a skillet, Nelle began to hum a slow, familiar melody. The gentle music snagged at Racath’s memory, tugging somewhere deep in his chest. Gradually — like the sound of the eggs turning from a slow bubbling to a sizzling hiss — Nelle’s humming turned to song.
“Once you were beside me in our
Castle made of stone.
But now I spread your ashes on this
Wind, and I’m alone.
The storm is calling, to me:
There’s thunder in the night
Bidding me to come and fight for
Truth and candlelight.
My rage has brought me to this —
To vengeance and to spite,
To burning hatred of those
Who robbed me of your lig
ht.
Now I stand here, empty, amidst
This sea of blood and pain.
I sit here, singing ashes, for the
Slaughter in your name.
I have now redeemed you, my love;
I’ve quenched my need for light.
And now the sorrow blinds me,
Like ashes in the night.”
The final, woeful line hung in the air for a long time, hovering like a winter cloud. Racath blinked, surprised to find a tear in his eyes. He knew the song. It was Salmur dye Hüron — the Hymn in Ash. He had heard his mother sing it several times during his childhood. The sound of it was melancholic, reminiscent, like tears brimming at your eyes.
The music faded. A cold silence fell. It seemed to smother the room like a frigid blanket, stifling the coziness of the stove, choking the warmth of the morning sunlight. Soon, the air rang hollow with silent ague, as it took up roost in the space that Salmur dye Hüron had just vacated. It became a song of its own, a soundless hymn of ice.
The chill gripped Nelle the hardest. She looked so fragile, so distraught. More concerned questions came to Racath’s mouth. But they didn’t make it past his lips. The silence was too great, like a sheet of ice over the entire cottage. Ice that held Nelle deep in its center. And he feared that if he broke that silent frost, Nelle would shatter with it.
A powerful impulse pushed at Racath, an itch demanding that he act. He wanted to say something. To reach out to her. Help her. Comfort her in whatever way he could. Because, at that moment, all that Racath could see was a beautiful, troubled girl who had extended an unconditional hand of friendship to him.
Him. Despite his all flaws — his anger, his arrogance, his hotheadedness — she had reached out to him. She hadn’t judged him as the stupid boy that, in his heart, he knew he was.
He barely knew Nelle. Barely knew her at all. But something deep down inside him — deep in the heart that he had long hidden beneath a mask of shadowy indifference — was desperate to thaw the ice that bound her. To ease the pain of whatever awful thing she was concealing. Anything to resurrect the warmth of her smile. Because any moment that the girl with golden hair wasn’t smiling was a moment wasted: a moment empty of nightfire.
