Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin

by Caren J. Werlinger

  The older apprentices were already gathered. Ash had not spoken to them since the night of the full moon, and she eyed them curiously.

  Diarmit hurried over and spooned a large portion of stew into a bowl. The others followed. A platter of freshly baked loaves sat on a table long enough for all of them to be seated on benches on either side. Ash stood and waited until Enat was seated with a bowl before taking a seat herself.

  She raised her spoon to her mouth, glad now that Enat had insisted she learn how to use it, but paused as she sniffed. “Deer?”

  Enat nodded. “Yes.”

  After the lesson of the morning, a few of the others paused their eating.

  “Did you hunt?” Ash asked.

  Ivar frowned. “Aye, we hunted.”

  “Why?” Gai asked from down the table. “Don’t badgers hunt?”

  Ash looked at her bowl and did not respond.

  “You told me you ate meat,” Enat reminded her. “We have honored the spirit of this deer, giving thanks for his sacrifice in order that many may eat. We’ll make use of every bit of him, so that his death is not a waste. When we die, our bodies will likewise go to replenishing the life of the earth. So ’tis for all living things.”

  The eating gradually resumed, and Ash ate silently. In her mind, she thanked the deer again for his sacrifice. She had never thought about this when she and the dogs scavenged meat from the village. The hunting was already done, and she was doing what she had to to live, but she had never killed. She had stolen eggs. She supposed the birds she’d stolen from considered that killing. She wondered if she would ever be asked to kill, and she wondered how she would respond.

  Ash’s mouth gaped as she stared at the map Ivar had laid out on the table. It was drawn on a large animal skin and depicted a land completely surrounded by water.

  “You are saying if I walk far enough in any direction, I will reach the endless water?” Ash found this impossible to comprehend. She and Enat had walked for many days but, looking at where their forest was drawn on the map, were still nowhere near the edges of the land. How far would she have to walk to get there?

  “Éire is an island,” Ivar said. “So, yes. If you walk far enough, you will meet the sea. That is how invaders come to our island from other lands. But they are not the only threat.” He pointed again to the map. “A hundred winters and more ago, we had only four main kingdoms: Uladh in the north, Laigin in the east, Munster in the south and Connacht in the west. But over those hundred winters, clans have been fighting for land, and the four kingdoms are now broken into many smaller ones. Our forest sits on a boundary between kingdoms. This is why you must all know how to fight.”

  “Only to defend,” said Neela. “Defend our forest, and those who are weak and cannot defend themselves.”

  “If we know magic, why do we have to fight?” Ash asked.

  “Are you afraid to fight?” Gai challenged her.

  He had bragged many times of being taught fighting skills by his father’s warriors when he was young. Ash knew that Cíana and some of the others already had been taught some of these skills.

  “I do not know,” Ash replied. “I have never fought. Do humans know how to do anything but fight?”

  Cíana hid a smile. Ivar stepped forward and said, “You’re right, Ash. We should avoid fighting whenever we can. But our island has been invaded by many tribes from other lands – from the north, from the east.” He pointed on the map. “When they come, they come to kill. This forest is protected with enchantments to keep non-magic folk from finding it. Most would encounter fog and mist and wander about lost on the boundaries until they gave up. But some of the invaders have their own magicians, and they sense the power of this forest. They might lead the invaders in and allow them to do harm. We must be prepared to protect our home. The forest cares for us, and we must care for it.”

  Though Ivar’s reasons were sound, that did not make Ash feel better. Smaller than all of the others and hampered by her scarred leg and arm, she knew she would be at a disadvantage and was not looking forward to learning to fight.

  Fortunately, there were other things to learn first. She spent days listening to Neela tell them tales of the gods and goddesses who protected their land – the Dagda and Danu, Morrigan, Aonghus, Brighid, Arawn – the list went on and on until Ash’s head swam with the names and deeds.

  “Do you believe in the gods?” she asked Enat one evening as they sat outside their cottage. It was a gentle night. The new warmth of the spring lay heavy on everything, and the scent of flowering bushes and trees perfumed the night air. Ash lay on her back, watching the stars wheel slowly through the dark sky, listening to the activity in the forest around them.

  Enat smiled as her fingers deftly wove a basket from reeds, working by feel without the need for light. “I believe people need something to believe in. They need a way to explain what they cannot understand, and they need to feel that there is something bigger than themselves.”

  Ash thought about this. “Animals do not do this.”

  “No, I would guess that they don’t.”

  Ash sighed impatiently. “Life with the badgers was much simpler.”

  Enat smiled. “I’m sure it was. Would you go back?”

  Ash was quiet for a long time. “I have learned much, yet I miss them.”

  Enat set her basket down and came over to sit beside Ash and pointed to the sky. “You are like the evening star, one with all the others and yet apart, brighter than the rest.”

  Ash shook her head. “I am not brighter. The others – Cíana and Gai – they all know more than I. Even Diarmit does.”

  “Not more. At least, not more important,” Enat said. “You know things that cannot be taught. One day, you will understand how rare that is.”

  At last, the day Ash had been dreading arrived.

  “Today, we will go to the sparring ground.” Ivar led them to a clearing not far from the village. There, a three-sided lean-to sheltered a forge. A fire was already lit. Ivar had Diarmit pump the bellows, each gust of air shooting flames and sparks high as Ivar moved a bar of metal sitting in the fire, glowing red. When it was soft enough to mold, his thick arm wielded a hammer, hitting the bar with blows that rang in Ash’s ears.

  “Are we going to make our own weapons?” Daina asked, raising her voice over the clanging of the hammer.

  “No,” said Ivar, his face glistening. “But you should know where they come from.”

  Nearby was a small stone building that held weapons of all types: long and short sparring sticks, round discs of wood nearly as large as Ash, and an array of actual weapons, their metal edges gleaming in the half-light coming into the storehouse. Ash’s nose wrinkled at the sharp odor of the metal. Ivar appraised her for a moment and handed her a short stick. He handed fake weapons out to the others as well.

  “These are your swords,” he said.

  Gai protested. “I can handle a real sword.”

  Ivar looked at him. “Until I’m sure you can handle real weapons, these are what you’ll use. You’ll watch and learn.”

  He took them all through slow-motion moves with their sticks: blocking, slashing, stabbing. He left them to practice while he went to supervise some of the older apprentices who were fighting with long sticks on the other side of the yard.

  Ash and Diarmit and Daina sat together watching Gai and Cíana spar with their wooden swords. Ash winced as she listened to the sharp clack of their sticks as they parried. For a long while, they seemed evenly matched, but gradually, Gai, being taller and heavier than Cíana, forced her off-balance with a thrusting push with his stick. Ash groaned as she watched Cíana fall backward, certain that Gai had won. Cíana quickly rolled to one side, using her legs to sweep Gai’s feet out from under him. He landed heavily on his back and lay there, gasping for air as Cíana stood over him, her stick held to his throat.

  “Well done!” Ivar came over to them.

  “He’ll be angry as a wet wasp over that,” Daina w
hispered as Gai pushed to his feet.

  “Why?” Ash saw no reason to be angry if an opponent bested her. When an animal lost a fight over a mate or territory, it was best to retreat and fight again another day. Staying only led to injury and death.

  “He’s told us so many times how he was taught to fight by his father’s warriors, and he thinks he should never be beaten.”

  Ash frowned. “Can anyone never be beaten?”

  Ivar gestured to Ash and Diarmit. They took their places as Gai and Cíana sat to rest. Ivar showed them again how to hold their fake swords, and took them through slow-motion moves, some attacking, some defending. He then stepped back to allow them to practice what they had been taught. Diarmit advanced, and Ash stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

  Gai laughed, and Cíana elbowed him to be quiet.

  “Again,” Ivar said.

  Ash scrambled to her feet.

  A short time later, Diarmit knocked Ash to the ground for the twelfth time. She couldn’t seem to move fast enough to get her sword in position to block his blows, and his greater size overpowered her every time.

  “Enough.” Ivar looked angry, his black brows furrowed over his fierce eyes. Ash stood, sweaty and panting, her fake sword hanging at her side. “Sit and rest.”

  He dismissed them. Dejected, Ash got a long drink of water and sat with the others to watch two of the older ones spar. Méav’s long black braids whipped through the air as she spun, swinging her staff at Fergus. He moved just as fast, their staffs a blur of movement as they fought. Ash thought they looked like two of the gods in Neela’s tales. Farther away, the other three – Una, Ronan and Niall – all practiced throwing long, thin spears that impaled their targets like needles piercing cloth.

  “I will never be able to do that,” Ash murmured.

  “Not to worry,” Cíana said, laying a consoling hand on Ash’s shoulder. “It took me a long time as well.”

  Ash suspected that was not true, but her heart lightened a little at Cíana’s words.

  “Focus,” Neela said. “Try and pull the smoke toward you.”

  What Ash lacked in fighting skills, she made up for in her other lessons.

  “The elements existed long before us,” Neela had told them. “They will exist with or without us. They do not depend upon us in order to be.”

  This Ash understood, intuitively, without really having to be taught. Living with the badgers, she had seen that humans could make fire, but so could lightning. Streams could overrun their beds, the earth could heave and move when wet enough.

  “Fire and smoke can be used to create a protective screen,” Neela said. “Water is harder, but it can be manipulated to allow you to cross a stream to safety or to create a flood to keep your enemies on the other side. Earth is very difficult and takes a tremendous amount of energy. You must be careful. Once you start a spell, you may not be able to stop, and the energy it demands can kill you.”

  Each of them sat with a candle. Ash stared at hers, feeling the power build inside. With a flick of her hand, the wick sparked and lit. She made the flame grow and then shrink, and then made smoke rise densely from the flame, twisting and coiling sinuously.

  She felt the energy draining from her the longer and the more intricately she tried to control it, but it left her with a feeling of exhilaration that here was something she was good at. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself one with the fire, asking it to assume the shape she desired.

  “How do you do that?” Diarmit asked in frustration as Ash made the flames rise in the shape of a crow.

  “You cannot force anything to do your bidding,” Ash told him. “You must ask; you must become the fire or the smoke.”

  Diarmit frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant.

  “No,” said Gai. “You must exert yourself. If you are strong enough, you can force it to do your will. Like this.” His brows knitted in concentration as his flame twirled, spinning faster and faster.

  Ash laid a hand on Diarmit’s arm. “Close your eyes,” she said patiently. “Put yourself in the fire. Feel it move, feel it sway with the breeze. Now, ask it to move with you.”

  Diarmit screwed his face up in concentration, swaying where he sat.

  “Look,” Ash whispered.

  Diarmit opened his eyes to see the flame writhing and dancing. “I did it!”

  Immediately, as he lost his focus, the flame returned to its natural size and shape, but Diarmit did not care. “That was the first time I could do it!”

  “None of us could do it as quickly as you,” Daina said to Ash. She whispered loudly, “It took Gai ages and ages before he could force it to do his will.”

  Gai, who had been watching them closely, frowned, but Ash glowed with Daina’s praise.

  As much as she excelled in controlling fire, able to do so almost without thinking, it was the exact opposite when it came to learning to read and write. Ash struggled, trying to figure out how the symbols scratched into the dirt translated to spoken words. She was fascinated, looking at the scrolls and pages of writing kept by the elders in the meetinghouse, shelves and shelves of them. Some of them had pictures, beautiful drawings with inks in vibrant colors, intricately knotted creatures and lines. Enat sat and read to her for ages, letting Ash trace along with the words. Slowly, she was learning.

  “Be patient,” urged Enat when Ash grew frustrated. “This is not magic. No power can help you, and in this you are not behind the others. Most of our apprentices come from humble beginnings and have never seen writing in their lives. Diarmit has not. Neither did Daina or Cíana before they came here.”

  “Gai has,” Ash said resentfully. “He said his father’s house had many books and scrolls. He had a teacher when he was young.”

  Enat looked at her with some amusement. “Gai had many things growing up that most of us have never had. I certainly had never seen a book or writing before I came here to learn.”

  Ash swallowed her retort. “I forgot. You said you grew up in a family that did not have much.”

  “We’ve few wealthy people in our land.” Enat carefully rolled up the scroll she had been reading from. “You watched the people in the village near your sett. They were farmers and hunters. They did not have wealth. They most certainly did not have books. That is why we tell stories and sing songs. Neela studied for a long time to learn our stories. When most do not know how to read or write, and books are scarce, ’tis the only way we can pass our knowledge and traditions along.”

  Ash was silent as she thought about this.

  “Do not envy Gai the things he had,” Enat said. “He would be the first to say they don’t make up for the things he did not have.”

  Ash snorted. “I do not believe Gai would admit any such thing. Not to me.”

  “Why is there this feeling of ill will between you?”

  Ash opened her mouth to answer but then shut it again. “I do not know.”

  “Could it be that you are jealous?”

  Ash frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “Envious,” Enat explained. “Wishing to have what the other has.”

  Ash flushed. “Perhaps. Gai comes from wealth I cannot imagine.”

  “I did not mean only you,” Enat said. “I meant jealous of each other. Do you think Gai could be jealous of you?”

  Ash’s mouth fell open, and Enat smiled.

  “Why would Gai be jealous of me?”

  “Can you not see why?” Enat tucked the rolled-up scroll securely on its shelf and gathered up her bag. Ash followed her as they made their way back to the cottage.

  “No,” Ash said. “I cannot see any reason why Gai would be jealous of me.”

  Enat walked on in silence for a bit before saying, “You are learning quickly, and this after you started with so much less.”

  “But… but I cannot fight,” Ash sputtered.

  Enat gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Fighting. Bah. ’Tis necessary to know how to fight, yes, but it’s the least i
mportant thing we teach you. I don’t care if you never defeat an enemy with a sword or staff.”

  Ash laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth at the unexpected sound. Enat smiled.

  “That is good,” Ash said, lowering her hand. “Because I probably never will.”

  “All the better. Those who can, tend to rely on physical force to get their way. I would be very happy if you never do that.”

  They reached their cottage. Ash squatted to light the fire – “without magic,” Enat reminded her. Ash grinned and struck the steel to the flint. The spark ignited the tinder, and flames began to lick at the little branches and fibers she had piled up. As the flames grew, she added a few blocks of peat. When the fire was burning well, she took the pail to the stream to fetch water for their dinner.

  When she got back to the cottage, Enat poured some of the water into a kettle on the fire to heat. She ladled more of the water onto some ground flour to make some loaves while Ash chopped carrots and turnips, dropping them into the kettle.

  “It would be a worthwhile thing,” Enat said as she kneaded the flour mix, “if you could find a way to be friendly with Gai.”

  “That is easier to say than to do.”

  “Many things are.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Provocation and Promise

  Weeks passed, and still Ash could not overcome any of the others when they sparred. Time and again, whether it was Diarmit or Cíana or Gai or Daina, Ash was forced off-balance, unable to raise her weapon quickly enough to counter their blows.

  Ivar fumed as he watched. “She is hopeless.”

  “She is not,” Enat said sharply. “You have simply not learned how to get the best from her.”

  Enat rarely came to the sparring ground, but she began to appear more regularly. While Ivar coached the apprentices in the use of sword and staff, Enat taught them how to use a bow. There were bows of varying thicknesses and weights with the other weapons, but Enat’s bow was beautiful, made of smooth black wood, carved with intricate designs.

  “This is a woman’s weapon,” Gai said, dropping his bow and picking up a sword, hefting it with both hands.