"If they believe you are able. It is rare to be denied one's preference."
"Then I'll be ready."
"Very well, I'll fetch you when it is time."
Fiora fluttered off toward her home, leaving the little fairy to watching rapt fascination as the swords and shields clashed below her.
#
Several days passed, Ayna spending most of them observing archery, swordsmanship, spear-throwing, and a dozen other acts of martial prowess. Finally, each of the adventurers had recovered enough to have their meeting the elder. Fiora found the little fairy and ushered her to a large hut in the center of the village. Even without understanding more than a few words exchanged by those in attendance, the air of quiet awe and reverence was clear to Ayna. Gomder, the four surviving humans, and Ayna stood or drifted respectfully in the center of the hut, which had vaulted ceilings and was filled with both warriors and wizards who seemed to radiate wisdom and skill.
The elder herself sat in a simple chair elevated slightly. Her garb was no more ornate or aggrandizing than that of the others, but her poise and presence made it clear that she was the one to whom all others looked for insight and experience. She was a human--or perhaps an elf, they looked much the same to Ayna--who reminded the little fairy more than a little of Fiora with her age and grace. The elder fairy had accompanied Ayna at her request to serve as an interpreter, and if not for her presence, Ayna felt certain she would have fled. After her time in the cave even being cooped up in a huge hut seemed positively stifling, and something about the pomp and honor that was evident in their host made her feel as though she was scarcely worthy of sharing a room.
The Elder gave a simple nod. She would now hear their tales, test their skills, and give blessing to their chosen field of study. Ayna listened as Fiora described each of the adventurers who had shared her peril through the cave speak of their precision with a bow, their strength with a hammer. They spoke of the foes they'd killed and the wrongs they'd righted. One by one, each of the humans demonstrated to the satisfaction of the elder that they had much to teach and much eagerness to learn. They were sent on their way with her blessing.
The last to speak before Ayna was Gomder, who quickly proclaimed himself an expert with the ax. He was more boastful than all of the others combined. The interview with him took much longer than it had with the others as he rattled off an endless stream of great victories. As a final showing of strength, he swung his ax, burying it deep into the floorboards of the hut, and the elder gave another simple nod, blessing his request to seek still greater skill with his weapon of choice.
"It's your turn, Ayna," Fiora said, ushering the little fairy forward. "Just introduce yourself. She will understand you."
Ayna drifted to the center of the hut as Gomder turned to leave.
"I am The Child of the Cold Wind from the Mountain that Blows Across the Stream and Through the Reeds."
"She welcomes you and asks if you have any accomplishments to share." Fiora translated.
"N-no," Ayna said, her head drooping slightly.
"Do you have any skills to share?"
"No."
"Do you seek any knowledge? Seek to pursue any field of study?"
"Y-yes, elder," Ayna said.
"Then choose."
Ayna looked to Fiora, who offered only a smile of encouragement. She then looked to the rest of the crowd in attendance, each who looked upon her with little more than expectation. Her nerves as steady as she could make them, Ayna took a breath and spoke.
"I wish to become a warrior," she said.
There was no overt reaction from those in attendance, no burst of laugher or grumble of doubt, but there was certainly a sense that this was not the reply they had expected. An eyebrow raised here, and more fascinated gaze there.
"A warrior. This is a curious choice for a creature such as yourself," the Elder said through Fiora.
"I know, Elder. That is why I choose it," Ayna said. "I'm weak. I know that. My kind are weak. We do not come to places like this on our own. We do not seek victory or honor. We do not fight dragons or lead armies. We are stolen. Traded. Bought and sold. We hide until we are tricked, dragged to places like this against our will. And then we huddle together and learn our own tricks. I don't want to hide behind magic. I don't want to be afraid. I want to be feared. I want to be a warrior. I want to carry a blade, and to make my enemies taste my steel. I want to be the stuff of legend."
"If that is what you seek, then we shall do what we can to help you to find it," the Elder said. "It will be a difficult road. We ask only that you give it all you have, and that you do not turn a blind eye to other paths should they arise."
"I will do all that I can," Ayna said.
"Then do it with my blessing," the Elder said.
Ayna nodded and flitted gratefully from the hut. Once in the outdoors again she took a steadying breath. Fiora drifted out after her.
"A warrior." Fiora said. "From what I've seen of you, your fascination with them, I cannot say that I am surprised."
"Why would I choose anything else? You saw them, the people who brought me here. They are so strong, so fearless. Who wouldn't want to be like that? Who wouldn't want to become more than a simple fairy?"
"If you wish to be a warrior, we'll all do our best to help you become one, but fairies have strengths of their own," Fiora said.
"Do not try to change my mind. Just show me what I need to do," Ayna proclaimed, her mind set.
Fiora sighed and smiled. "Well, the first thing you'll need to do is learn to understand a few more languages. Most everyone here will understand the words you say, but to learn properly you'll need to learn to do the same for them. I'll soon have students of my own again. I can't be your interpreter forever. This way. The best way to learn is to listen."
#
For the next few weeks, Ayna nestled in the trees around various clearings and groves in Warrior's Side. She listened to the fighters as they spoke, practicing their words over to herself and trying to put meaning to them. It was a difficult task, but Ayna threw herself into it. As she observed their language, she observed their behavior as well. Many, if not most, of these warriors were bold and brash. They asserted themselves, spoke loudly. They puffed up their chests and demanded respect. If she was to be one of them, she would have to do the same. She would change herself, leave her uncertainty and timidness behind. She would become a warrior, even if it meant pretending until it was so.
When she had absorbed enough of a few languages to understand the answers to her questions, she watched until she spotted the woman who seemed most skilled with a sword and flitted down to her.
"You are a warrior. I mean to be one. Teach me," Ayna said.
The woman--a raven-haired human with a stout and sturdy build--jumped a bit at Ayna's sudden arrival, and grinned. She holstered her sword and shook some hair from her eyes, adjusting her training armor as she did.
"So you are the little fighter," the woman said, her voice low and her language one of the more exotic ones Ayna had developed an ear for. "I thought I saw you buzzing about."
"Teach me! The elder said the people here would help me be a warrior!" Ayna said defiantly.
"Easy, easy little one. No one will deny you that right, but there is a right and a wrong way to do it. I am one of the swordmasters. My students have had to earn their way to me. You shall have to do the same. And if you mean to be a swordswoman, you shall need a sword," remarked the trainer.
There was something playful and amused in the woman's voice. It stung Ayna. The woman thought it was funny.
"Where do I find these others, and where do I find this sword?" Ayna snapped.
"You see there, the elf lad with the dagger? He just finished his lowest apprenticeship, and thus will be taking on his first group of his own to train. You'll have to prove your way past him." She grinned. "And some of your fellow adventurers will be with you until they can prove they deserve to rise further in our ranks. As for t
he sword?" She laughed, not even attempting to stifle it. "Our blacksmiths are there. Talk to one of them. I'm sure you'll be an enjoyable challenge."
Ayna looked in the direction indicated and flitted off to a section of the village heavy with the smell of burning coal. The huts here were stone rather than wood, their walls much thicker than elsewhere in the village. She fluttered at the door of the first one, hesitating. It was dark inside, lit only by the ominous glow of a furnace. The smell of smoke and the lack of light brought Ayna's mind back to the cave. She shuddered at the remembrance, but shook away the fear. She would be a warrior. Warriors did not fear such things. She gritted her teeth and drifted inside.
The air was choking, dense with smoke and broiling hot. Three shadowy figures moved about in the low light. Her eyes were still adjusting, and she couldn't quite see the details, but they were dripping with sweat and seemed not to notice their visitor. The air clattered with the blows of hammers on anvils, each clash setting her teeth on edge and tempting her to fly for the door. Again she struggled to put her fear behind her. Near the glowing furnace she saw that the tallest of the workers, an older human, had set his hammer down and was taking a break to mop his brow with a rag and drain a tall mug of water. He was as good a person as any with whom to speak.
She darted up to his ear--these creatures never seemed to notice her if she wasn't practically on top of them--and opened her mouth to announce herself. Before she could make a sound, the human scowled irritably and swatted his hand. It struck her like a charging bull, sending her tumbling against the wall and to the ground. Her tiny voice squealed in pain as she landed, badly bruised and very nearly broken.
"Was that a... Oh! Oh I'm sorry, little thing," the human said, pacing over to the fallen fairy and squatting down. "Are you hurt? I thought you were a fly. You shouldn't come places like this. What if you'd landed in the furnace?"
Ayna held her head, trying to focus her blurred vision. Tears were in her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to fly bawling into the arms of someone who would hold her until the throbbing stopped. But no. That was what a child would do. This was a place for adults. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.
"I'm f-fine," she said shakily. "And I came here because I am to be a warrior, and to be a warrior I need a sword."
"A sword?" he said. At least he did her the courtesy of stifling the resulting laugh, releasing it as a snort. "Certainly, a sword." He reached a hand down to her. "Here, let me help you to the table, we'll measure you up."
"I d-don't need your..." she began, wiping away some grit from her eye and what she hoped he didn't notice was a tear.
She tried to flutter up, but a shot of pain from her wing kept her grounded. She glanced aside and saw that the collision had creased her left wing somewhat. She buzzed it a bit, painfully flipping it back to shape. It would be sore for days, and she wouldn't be able to fly again for at least a few minutes.
"...very well," she said.
Reluctantly she stepped onto the coarse skin of the offered hand and was whisked over to a table in the corner of the workshop.
Once there, he allowed her to step from his hand to the table. He crouched down and held his hand against the edge of the table beside her, aligning his wrist to her feet. Her head came to midway between the first and second knuckle of his middle finger. This seemed to satisfy him, and she watched as he looked to the rack of metal and wood beside the furnace. There were rods and bars of metal of various lengths and thicknesses, but even the smallest was three times her height. He scratched his chin and instead rummaged through a drawer, pulling out rivets and links of chain. Eventually he found a chain link made from wire that was about as thick as her forearm. He snipped the link and pried it open with a pair of tongs, rendering it roughly straight.
"Here. Hold on to that. Try to hold it out," he said, offering the twisted bit of metal to her.
Ayna took the wire, but she could barely get her fingers around it, and despite her best effort she could scarcely raise its blunt edge from the surface of the table.
"A bit too thick. Maybe it'd be a good blank for a proper sword. Delicate work to get it done. Give me a few days, eh little thing?" he said.
"A few days?" she said, trying again to lift it. "But I want to start my training today!"
"A good sword takes time, little... what's your name?" he said.
She made ready to answer, but hesitated. For some reason, surrounded by smoke and flame, speaking to a giant about the specifics of her future weapon, the simple form of her name seemed far too small and weak. She decided to render it as much in its full form in his language as she could. "I am The Child of the Cold Wind from the Mountain that Blows Across the Stream and Through the Reeds."
"That's rather long. Perhaps something shorter," he said.
Ayna narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if he was poking fun with his choice of words. "Ayna Reedwind," she said.
"Well, Ayna," he said, "if you want a proper sword, you'll have to wait."
"Can you give me anything until then? Anything that could help me begin quickly?" she said.
He furrowed his brow. "Half a moment. I could use a breath of air anyway," he said.
The man paced quickly outside, leaving Ayna waiting on the table. She looked about. The two other workers were both dwarves, and neither even seemed to notice she was there. Each heaved heavy hammers, piercing the air with each blow as the massive heads of the sledges were wielded with ease. Once more she tried to raise the twist of wire, but she'd no sooner lifted its tip from the table than her fingers slipped and it clattered first across the table and then to the floor.
Ayna crossed her arms, angry at herself for being such an insignificant wisp of a thing and at the world for making her so. She was still sulking at the unfairness of it all when the blacksmith returned. He was holding a sliver of metal and some assorted other scraps.
"A needle," he explained. "A good strong one, for leatherwork. And short, because our leather-worker has small hands. Perhaps a bit thick for a proper rapier at this size, but passable. Give that a try."
He handed it to her. The polished and smooth piece of metal was much gentler on her hand. She was just able to slip her fingers through the eye of the needle, and while the metal was still quite heavy to her, she found she could raise it with a bit of effort and even swipe it through the air.
"Fine, fine. Just a moment and you'll have your practice sword."
He pulled the needle from her grasp and widened the eye a bit. He then melted a dab of wax onto the base above the "grip" and skewered a tiny scrap of leather, affixing it with the wax until it formed a primitive cross-guard. Satisfied, he handed it back to her.
Ayna took the weapon and held it up before her. The work he had done on the eye made it easier to hold, and the guard truly made it look and feel like a proper sword. Holding it made her feel different. She felt more dangerous, more significant. She could see herself slicing the air with lightning blows, fending off foul beasts and earning the sort of reputations the others in warrior's side prided themselves on. It made her feel powerful, or at the very least it made her feel less weak.
"Thank you, blacksmith," she said, struggling to raise the weapon and gesture with it in a pale imitation of a salute she'd seen the trainees exchange after matches. "This will do nicely for now. When can I expect my real sword to be made for me?"
"Go have some training. Get a feel for that thing. Once you decide what sort of sword you'd like, I'll make it for you."
She nodded. Yes, that much she'd noticed. There were different sorts of swords. She'd seen students fence and duel with things very much like the weapon she held now. That wasn't for her. The greatest tales she'd heard as she watched the warriors and learned their language always told of the same sort of blade.
"I want a broadsword. A mighty one. Two-handed, with a jeweled pommel," she declared.
Again he snorted. She narrowed her eyes.
"A broad sword it shall be
," he said, spotting the twisted metal on the ground and stowing it. "I'll even make a scabbard."
"That would be most agreeable," Ayna said, doing her best to speak in the dignified and self-respecting manner a swordswoman ought to speak. "Thank you again, blacksmith. I shall fetch it when it is ready."
She painfully fluttered her wings. A few more minutes of rest would have been ideal, but the last thing she wanted was for the blacksmith to know that. So she gritted her teeth, winced at the pain, and fluttered out the door, laboring to keep herself and her weapon aloft.
#
The next day, Ayna began her training. She was part of a group of seven, the first students to be entrusted to the young elf they called Blin. Three of them were humans who had been part of the party that had brought Ayna to this place. They looked upon her with unashamed amusement, whispering to one another about the absurdity of a fairy handling a blade. She weathered their scorn quietly, willing herself not to cry. Warriors didn't cry.
Blin was quick to quiet them, reminding all that this was Entwell and that disrespect would not be tolerated. Most fell quickly into line. Two of the three adventurers didn't seem terribly impressed with Blin himself, but reluctantly quieted for the sake of getting through the process. The students were then arranged in a line, with Ayna standing atop a fencepost to avoid ending up underfoot, as her training had to be done with her feet on the ground.
First were drills, students standing in designated locations and moving their swords this way and that, tracing out patters and choreographed motions. Ayna did her best to imitate the motions, but she tired quickly. Fairies had legs and arms like so many other creatures, but they seldom had cause to put them to any vigorous use. Flying was so much faster than running, and gathering nectar was anything but grueling work. After two sequences, her face was red and her hands were shaking. After ten she was near collapse. Perhaps sensing this, Blin set his weapon down and called for the students to gather.
"I'm well satisfied," he said, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow. "You, the newcomers. You're far beyond my level. You'll be taking training under my own master beginning tomorrow, and you may seek out sparring opponents from any resident of Warrior's Side who will have you. The rest of you, you're doing well enough. I'll keep you on until I'm satisfied you can join the others."
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 201
