by Moose Tyler
“I wish. Wanje’s making me give half away.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t return a scroll.”
Gypsus looked confused again.
“Exactly,” said Amaria, “I also have to carry berries for the healers.”
“I heard that talk. I was at the healers’ camp for Fi. You’re saving them a lot of heartbeats and resources.”
“Praise be,” Amaria said, flatly.
“So, why is this decision hard for you?”
Amaria pointed to the cabinet. “Look at those beauties.”
Gypsus shrugged. “It seems like you only use one or two.”
“That’s not true. I use all of them. Like this one,” she said, pulling out the brown staff, “you never know how long your opponent’s arms will be.”
“Yes, but other than Genesis morning, have you ever used it?”
Amaria hadn’t used the brown staff in training. It was too long for her liking, but she had tested it in the yard for a few heartbeats. “I’ve practiced with it.”
“Staffs are easy come, easy go. They’re five for an arrowhead at Second Hands.”
“Those are for fishing. This is high-quality wood.”
Gypsus nodded. “True. Fishers would pay two arrowheads for that staff.”
Amaria set the stick on the bench. She went to the cabinet and gathered all the staffs, even the green one with the bone and leather grip, and tossed them into a pile. “Okay, staffs gone. I don’t need them.” She took Silver Wing from the hook. “Should blades be next?” She pitched it on top of the pile and felt her lip tremble.
“As second maid to this house, I can’t let you do that. That’s the one you actually use.”
Amaria plopped down in the chair. Gypsus returned Silver Wing to its hook and sat on the bench.
“It’s not just the weapons, Gypsus.”
“Yes, you don’t seem yourself. It’s not like you to be home so early in the day.”
“I’m waiting for a bird.”
“Maybe you should exercise to keep occupied.”
Amaria shook her head. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like training. She felt like holing up in her room and crying. “I have to make this decision and be done with it. I’m tired of mother’s reminders, and there’s no sense delaying any longer. I want to deliver them to Regina tomorrow.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Gypsus stood and picked up the plate. “You know, Grandmother always says the best weapon is in the heart of the warrior. Those purest in faith and dedication can defend the Great Mother with nothing more than their will and the gifts She provides.”
Amaria looked at Gypsus.
Gypsus shrugged. “That’s just what Grandmother says.” She walked to the door. “I can bring you a plate tonight, if want to avoid group dine. I also came into possession of some lasting berries. They’re in a bowl on the prep table, just washed.”
“Thanks, Gypsus.”
She nodded. “I’ll bring a plate then. You probably should crouch low. I don’t want to add to your stress, but the talk is buzzing loud.”
Amaria motioned for her to sit down. “What’s being said?”
Gypsus remained standing. “Most is about Sakina and Telsa and the mission. Around the healers though, you’re the rage. I also heard you stampeded a few citizens outside the common area.”
Amaria’s head throbbed. She rubbed her temples. “What’s being said of the mission?”
Not only was Gypsus an efficient, practical, and thorough maid, but she had a web of connections that spread through every camp and into the sages’ temple and Queen’s Cliff.
“They’re meeting as we speak. The queen decided they will sail on Day of Praise, but that’s not the talk. I overheard Sephora telling Mother in private.”
It was only three moons until the next Day of Praise. “That soon?”
Gypsus nodded. “They depart from the western dock just after first light, or so I heard. Again, that’s not the talk, so, you know—”
Amaria nodded. “They won’t hear it from me.”
Gypsus bowed. “I’ll be in the garden, if you need help.” She left the room.
Amaria looked at the cabinet for a few heartbeats before emptying it, all except Silver Wing. She spread the loot out on the ground. She pulled the black and yellow bow from the heap, stowed them in the cabinet on the hook next to Silver Wing, and examined the pile again. She hesitated before picking up the red spear. She hadn’t taken it out of the cabinet in over three cycles, but when she had used it to learn spear fighting, it felt as light as a grain of sand. Now, she practiced with the green one. It was longer, thicker, and twice as heavy. She put the red spear in the pile and moved on.
She considered keeping three pairs of short sticks and a set of throwing discs, before settling on Slicks, a hand sickle with a white leather grip. She stowed it in the cabinet and reorganized the pile, reconsidering each choice in the process. When she was done, there wasn’t another weapon she couldn’t bear to part with, if she were being honest. She looked at the donation one last time. She stashed the red cane fighting sticks and Fang, a curved dagger with a hoof handle, in the cabinet drawer before leaving the room.
Gypsus helped her bundle the donation and clean out the garden cart. “Just leave it at the healers when you’re done,” she said. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“No, I can bring it back.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve got deliveries to make, and yours rolls much smoother than the one Grandmother has me use.”
“I didn’t know our cart was such quality.”
Gypsus nodded. “You could get at least thirty arrowheads for it from the farmers, but I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’d trade it for a cartload of red dirt. Dry that and mold it, and you can sell it to the artists for three arrowheads a brick. You could get twenty bricks easy out of your cart’s load.”
Amaria laughed. “Doesn’t get much smarter than that.”
“Actually, trade the cart, those staffs, this sickle, and that axe for a hive. Honey can go for up to ten arrowheads a jar.”
“If I don’t pass my quest, you and I are going into business.” Amara surprised herself with the statement. She said it so naturally, yet she had never in her life considered becoming anything else. She didn’t think it was even possible. No daughter of Zeus became anything except a warrior or a sage.
“I won’t hold my breath,” said Gypsus. “I need to check on Fi. I’ll bring you a plate closer to last light.”
“Thanks, Gypsus.”
Gypsus bowed. “It’s my pleasure. I live to serve this house.” She walked out of the barn. “Until last light,” she said, before disappearing down the path.
Amaria went to her room, unraveled the blue band from her hair, folded it, and sat it on the table next to the bed. She pulled Little Blade from the crook of her back and put it on the blue band. She got undressed and went to the bathing pool, keeping a close eye on the bird pen as she washed.
When she was clean, she dressed in the most comfortable thing she owned – her water suit. She had no intention of riding the sliver that day, but she wore it like her mother wore sleeping gowns. She stepped into her hide slippers and checked the bird pen again. No news from Wanje.
She spent the rest of the evening drawing pictures in the bound parchment and reading a few of her favorite scrolls. She reread part one of She-Wolf: Edge of Jagged Cliff, the third scroll from her favorite storyteller, Kol. She checked the bird pen multiple times, but there was still no word.
Gypsus brought a plate shortly after last light. “I told Sheila it was for you.”
Sheila had prepared a whole bird, mushed berries, and honeyed stalks. There wasn’t any sauce, but the meal looked divine.
Gypsus handed Amaria a cup. “And extra sauce.” She gave her a satchel. “That’s for morning dine. You’ve got fruit, bread and the latest issue of Silly Parchment, just released this morning.”
As much as Amaria loved Silly Parchment, she wasn’t in the mood for laughs. “Thanks, Gypsus.”
She bid her a goodnight, and Amaria ate alone in her room before blowing out the wick and going to bed.
The next day, she started out earlier than she had the day before. She grabbed a spare rope from the barn and pushed the garden cart filled with her weapons to the base of Mesha Cliff. She tied one end of the rope to the bundle and the other around her waist and hoisted the load up. Once on top, she set it on the edge of the clearing, repelled down, and took the cart to the healers.
She had to wait for Marlee and the girls to get organized enough to get the horse and mount the squeezed berries on Amaria’s back. She dashed off the heartbeat Marlee said the load was secure and hurried to the base of Mesha Cliff.
After she scaled the wall on the southern side, she ran to the weapon bundle and dragged it across the clearing to Regina standing under the torch, just as she had the day before.
Regina whistled when Amaria approached. “You’re early,” she said. “Drop them anywhere.”
Amaria untied the knot, and the berries hit the ground. She kicked the bundle of weapons closer to Regina.
“What’s this?”
Amaria coiled the rope and tied it across her chest. “My donation for Wanje.”
“That’s early, too.” Regina bent down, opened the parcel, and whistled. “That’s quite a collection,” she said, fiddling with a few of the daggers. She plucked out the grey one. “Very nice.” She looked at Amaria. “You don’t mind, do you?”
It wasn’t a good dagger. The metal never got sharper than a cutting stone no matter how many times it was ground. “Be my guest, but I’d ask Wanje. It’s hers now.”
Regina tucked the blade into the crook of her back and gave Amaria a scroll. “Wanje said you could have this after your weapons had been collected.”
Amaria forced a smile. “Will I be able to thank her personally, or should I send a bird?”
Regina shrugged. She was practically salivating as she eyed the weapons, but the horse and cart entered the clearing and redirected her attention.
The citizens tightened the load, and Amaria tucked the scroll under the ropes, securing it against her chest.
“See you tomorrow,” said Regina, her focal point pivoting back to the loot on the ground.
Amaria cursed in her head as she rushed off.
Delivering the berries to the healers was uneventful compared to the day before. No warriors or Zora stood outside the common area when Amaria hustled by. She thanked the Great Mother repeatedly as she made her way to Gilda’s farm. Marlee was asleep in the cart but woke up when the berry load hit the earth. She had no news, so Amaria took the hidden paths home to face another day of nothing.
When she walked into the yard, her spirits sprang to life. A new bird was in the pen. She raced over and untied the parchment tied to its leg. It was from Wanje.
“Thank the Great Mother.” She tore through the seal and unrolled the note.
Amaria – I am impressed with your generosity. Your donation will be appreciated. The early delivery was also unexpected. Your maturity warrants a reduction in your punishment.
She smiled. “Praise be.” She read on.
You will only deliver the berries for two more days.
Her smile disappeared.
Your sister leaves at first light this Day of Praise. Unfortunately, I will not be able to meet for a lesson until after. Make use of the leave. Get in extra training for the Games. Don’t forget to apologize to Zora, and I’ll see you on Day of Praise. Great Mother be with you. – Wanje
Amaria cursed at the top of her lungs three times, crumpled the note into a ball, and hurled it across the yard with all her might. The parchment caught wind and flittered in the air for less than a heartbeat before wafting to the ground and landing at her feet. Amaria cursed again, only this time with less passion.
Now that she wasn’t waiting for Wanje’s bird and had been sent on leave, barring berry duty for two more days, Amaria could do anything she wanted. The problem was, if she couldn’t be doing detail work for the army, the only thing she wanted was to be alone.
She packed her survival satchel with the basics. The mess kit, wash cloth, cleaning bar, clicking stones, twine, and a tin of metal spikes went on the bottom. Her dirty laundry, water suit, the leather Polly had given her, and a rolled blanket were layered on top of that. A sack stuffed with the perishables Gypsus had stocked the day before came next. She stashed some target and bound parchments, a burnt stick, and the new issue of Silly Parchment in one pocket. In the other, she stowed soothing cream, a tin with two lasting berries, and a full water pouch. She latched Slicks and a quiver of metal arrows across the pack with rope and clasped the yellow bow on top. She set the scroll from Wanje on her side table and tied her braids back with Pandora’s blue band. She double-checked the contents before slinging the rucksack onto her back and adjusting Little Blade on her calf. She walked out of the house and set out for solitude.
She didn’t go into solitude as much as Ursula. Mostly, Amaria went with others. When they were on break from training, she, Penelope, Ophea, and Jax often spent a few moon’s stay in the more remote parts of Themiscia. Elle and Camille were usually invited, and once Ursula brought a few of her citizen friends. Jax could play the reed, and Penelope had a lovely singing voice. Ophea was a staunch Four Crowns player. Sometimes she and Amaria spent the whole solitude hunkered over the game board, their pieces locked in battle. When Elle and Camille came, most of the heartbeats were spent eating and talking about training. Too much training talk, however, made Ursula excuse herself and take solitude from the solitude.
Amaria could count on her hand the number of times she had gone into solitude alone. The last was her quest through the Valley of Sand. This time, she chose the backside of Fertile Grounds for her destination. She would be closer to the healers, with little congestion in between.
The spot she settled on was adequately secluded. She unpacked the survival satchel and rolled out the blanket on the bank of a small water source surrounded by trees. She grabbed Slicks and the spike tin and walked around, tacking target parchments to trees and collecting firewood. After that, she spent most of the day sketching pictures. Her drawings were more like the ones in Silly Parchment. Her blades were often too thick, or the handles were too skinny. Forget about wolf fangs and fur. Ursula once gave Amaria drawing lessons, but she knew her talent was limited when, after only two sessions, Ursula told her that not all artists were meant to be realists.
When the sky started to dim, she built up a fire. She ate some food and tucked the rest in her satchel. She pulled the tin from the side pocket and opened it. Her jaw clenched at the sight of the lasting berries. She had been given three to take with her on the quest through the Great Ravine. That didn’t last long on a journey that spanned the course of three full moons, but if she could choke one down now, it would sustain her energy until after the next Day of Praise. She closed the tin and put it in the satchel. Not that hungry yet.
She listened to the wood burning in the fire and wind blowing through the trees. The sounds of civilization to the south were overpowered by the commotion the Great Mother’s creations caused. Fish jumped in the water, and the wolves, night birds, and insects sang their songs as last light came and darkness fell over Themiscia.
Amaria thought about Sakina volunteering for the mission. If advancement was what she was after, there were far less dangerous ways to get it. She could take on extra patrols and duties, but instead she had put herself and the tribe in danger. Amaria heard Sakina’s voice in her head. What do you know about advancement? You got sent on leave two lessons i
n, Suckling. Amaria dumped water on the fire and stamped it out before lying back down. The ground was lumpy, but she managed to sleep.
She had made her delivery the next morning to the healers with ease. Afterwards, she ate a few figs and fruit and washed her laundry. She draped the cloth on the twine and spent the rest of the day practicing for the Games. She started with basic exercises. She fired a few arrows, but they hit left of center on the targets. She cursed and walked around the source to fetch the arrows. She thought about Penelope as she walked and wondered if she had moved her mother and taken camp with the patrol in the north. Ophea and Jax were with the warriors in the Beltline. Amaria doubted that they had swam to the Eastern Rim five times like they were supposed to for their punishment, but maybe she would get assigned somewhere after she had completed hers in full, which, as much as Amaria cringed at the thought, included apologizing to Zora.
She yanked the arrows from the trees, stuffed them in the quiver, and readied the bow for a rapid-fire drill. She pulled the first arrow taut and aimed for the parchment tacked to the tree just to the right of camp. She closed her eyes and focused on her heartbeats. She opened her eyes, blew the braids out of her face, and emptied the quiver in thirteen heartbeats. About a heartbeat an arrow. Not bad. She walked around the pool to see how accurate her aim.
Upon closer inspection, all twelve arrows hit the parchment. Three hit the forehead, four pierced the heart, two skewered the left shoulder, and three had sank into the gut. In war, targets would not be holding still like parchment, but at that distance, with that accuracy, in those heartbeats, Amaria would have been a fierce competitor for the crown in Rapid Release at the Games.
She took a break from training and caught a snake. She built a fire and read Silly Parchment while it roasted. She had a few chuckles but no out-right laughs. She thought of Telsa. Amaria had read Silly Parchment to her when they had shared a room when Sakina was on her quest in the Great Ravine. Now, Telsa was living at the sages’ temple and had already had her first vision. Her prophecies would be written in the historical scrolls. Although Amaria didn’t know the details, the queen’s reaction at the council meeting made her worry that Telsa was on the verge of falling out of favor before she had barely become a sage. She didn’t know what happened to sages who angered the queen, but Sakina said that warriors who had fallen out of favor got demoted or experienced other belittlements. Amaria used Little Blade and severed the snake into pieces. There was nothing she could do to help Telsa except wait for word. She ate the bites after they’d cooled and wondered about her mother and if she had sent a bird.
