Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  And she set her eyes on the eastern sky and ran.

  It took her two full days to find the legion.

  Halcyon spotted them midafternoon, marching harmoniously in the distance, the bronze of their armor reflecting sun like a river. She trailed at a safe distance, anxious and exhausted and coated in dust. Whenever she thought she was prepared to approach, she decided to delay.

  She watched as tents were erected in the early evening—Straton’s sat at the heart of the camp—and as small fires bloomed among the sea of warriors. They would be resting, breaking bread together. Sharing ale from their flasks. Preparing to bed for the night. She also knew there would be a guard patrolling the camp. And she found them swiftly, figures who walked the perimeter. Mount Euthymius was in view, so torches burned at the edges of camp.

  There were no shadows that Halcyon could use to slip her way into camp undetected. Too many guards, too many eyes, too much light.

  She was looking for a glimpse of her sister when Halcyon recognized one of the hoplites on guard. A scorpion etched on her helm and shield. Her former captain, Narcissa. And Halcyon knew she had delayed long enough.

  She began to walk down the hill, the grass long and thick with wildflowers, brushing her knees. She set her eyes on Narcissa, waiting for the captain to see her. Narcissa did, before Halcyon was truly ready.

  “Halt!” Narcissa ordered, spear poised in her hand. “State your name and purpose.”

  Halcyon stopped, held up her hands. Narcissa still did not know it was her. Halcyon was not sure if that relieved her or pained her. Gently, she said, “It is me, Captain. Halcyon of Isaura. And I have come to speak with Lord Straton.”

  Narcissa did not move. She continued to aim her spear at Halcyon’s heart, but her eyes widened. She took a step closer. Another. Her armor clinked with her graceful movements. And then she saw Halcyon’s face, and she lowered her spear.

  “Halcyon? How can this be?”

  Halcyon swallowed. She was trembling as she lowered her hands. “It is a long story.”

  Narcissa stared at her a moment. Stricken. “You are not one of Ivina’s phantoms, are you?”

  Oh, the irony. Halcyon almost laughed. “No. But if you doubt me, then hand me a torch.”

  The captain continued to study her. At last, she smiled. “I almost did not recognize you, Hal.”

  “Yes, I have changed.” And she read the trail of Narcissa’s thoughts. It had been a full moon since they had last seen each other. A handful of weeks, and Halcyon’s appearance was drastically altered. Not even the relic on her hand could resurrect the Halcyon of old. She was no longer that girl. In body or in spirit.

  “How is your back?” Narcissa whispered.

  “Fully healed.”

  The captain nodded, but there was a sheen in her eyes, as if she doubted Halcyon. “Lord Straton informed us all that he was not to be disturbed after sundown. But I sense he will make an exception for you.”

  Halcyon waited for Narcissa to shackle her wrists, to parade her into camp as a criminal. But her former captain did none of that. She motioned for Halcyon to wrap her shawl tighter about her face, to conceal it.

  Halcyon was grateful that Narcissa brought her into the camp quietly. She breathed in the dust of her shawl and followed the captain into the camp, winding around fire rings and tents, keeping her eyes on the ground as she passed other hoplites.

  All too soon, they arrived at Straton’s tent.

  “Wait here,” Narcissa murmured.

  Halcyon nodded, lingering outside, heart beating in her throat. But she watched as Narcissa ducked within the tent flaps. Halcyon could hear her say, “Lord Commander, I am sorry to interrupt you.”

  “Yes, what is it, Narcissa?”

  “A visitor you will want to see.”

  “Can they not wait until morning?”

  “No.”

  A weary sigh. “Very well. Send them in.”

  Halcyon took a step back. Gods, what was she doing? Why had she come here? But then Narcissa returned, standing in the mouth of the tent, beckoning her to come forward into the commander’s light.

  This is your moment, Halcyon told herself.

  She stepped past Narcissa, into the tent. The commander sat at a table, staring at a map unrolled before him. He seemed bowed down, heavily preoccupied by his thoughts. And then he heard her footsteps, he felt her presence, and he looked up.

  He frowned, seeking to know who she was.

  Slowly, Halcyon let go of her shawl and revealed her face.

  For a moment, Straton merely stared at her, as if that was all he could do. And then he rose, so abruptly he shook everything on his table.

  And Halcyon knew she needed to be the one to speak first.

  She held out her gloved hand and said, “Lord Commander, I have not followed your legion expecting to be welcomed back into the fold, or to be forgiven. I know I still bear a sentence I must fulfill. All I ask is that you allow me to fight at your side with my former squad, with your legion, for the battle that lies ahead of you. That you permit me to fight in memory and honor of your son Xander of Mithra, whom I loved as my own brother. And when this battle is over, I shall willingly return to the common quarry, to continue my penance.”

  Halcyon met his gaze, attempted to read the lines in his brow.

  “I thought you were dead, Halcyon,” he said.

  She saw a flicker of pain and remorse in his face. But it was as fleeting as a star falling in the cosmos. Quietly, she said, “I live, Commander. Because of your mercy.”

  He glanced away, overcome. “Was it mercy, Kingfisher, that I gave you?”

  Halcyon was silent. But her heart was thrumming in her chest. Did he regret it now? His choice to sustain her life?

  “You must forgive me, Halcyon.” Straton returned his gaze to her. His eyes were bright and keen, the blazing shade of the summer sky. “In anger, I wounded you. In anger, I struck your spirit when you were broken. I have wronged you. I do not deserve to have you in my legion. And I must ask you to forgive me.”

  She held his stare. And she knew his wounds—she saw them as if he had lowered his shield, at last. She beheld them just as he beheld hers. Wounds they had inflicted upon the other—in fear, in anger, in vengeance, in pride. As if they carried these marks on their bodies, visible to the eye. This moment was raw and painful and glorious. A fiery lance to close the final wound.

  She could not give him complete forgiveness. But nor could she lie.

  “Every morning, I wake and I inevitably dwell on what I have come through, what I have endured,” she whispered to him. “It is still so fresh in my mind. How I long to forget, to have the power to be joyful again, to rise as the old Halcyon.” She paused, a tremor in her voice. The commander hated tears and quivering, she reminded herself. And yet there were tears in his eyes as he listened to her. “But you have trained me to be stronger than that, Lord Straton. I am no longer that old Halcyon, nor will I ever be her again. I am something new, and it will take me time to fully heal. It will take me time to fully come to forgive you.”

  He was quiet, but her words had been meekly accepted by him. And she realized that he was not the old commander, either.

  He nodded, seemingly at a loss, which she had never witnessed. Straton always knew what to say, which order to give.

  “Then I will wait, Halcyon,” he finally said.

  And how those words refreshed and comforted her. To know that he did not expect it of her yet. That he would not drill her or hover over her. He would step back and patiently wait for her forgiveness, and she could suddenly breathe.

  She nodded, glanced down to the ground as she blinked back her tears.

  “Your sister said you were recovering,” Straton said after a moment, “but I never imagined to see you this restored so soon.”

  “I am capable and eager to fight, Commander,” she replied. She would not reveal that she wore Magda’s ring, even though it was evident the commander sensed the ench
antment about her. “If my captain and my squad will have me.”

  “Let us speak to Narcissa, then,” Straton said, moving to the front of the tent, where Narcissa waited outside.

  The captain stepped back into the tent, trailing the commander. She glanced from Halcyon to Straton.

  “Halcyon of Isaura would like to rejoin your squad,” the commander said. “Does she have a place among you?”

  Narcissa studied Halcyon. Studied her thinness, the lingering hollowness of her face, which no amount of food would fill. The golden, hungry gleam in Halcyon’s eye.

  “What of her sentence, Commander?” the captain asked.

  “Her sentence has been absolved,” he answered, and Halcyon had to swallow the shock that rose in her. “She has paid for her mistakes and has full restitution from me. She is a free woman, and so is her sister.”

  Narcissa walked around Halcyon, still intently studying her former warrior. “She is fully healed, then, Commander?”

  “She says that she is.”

  Narcissa came to a stop again, directly before Halcyon. “She will have to earn back her place among us.”

  Halcyon held the captain’s gaze. She expected no less from Narcissa; this was how it was done in the legion. Honor was always earned.

  “Set a challenge upon me, Captain,” Halcyon said. “I will prove that I am worthy.”

  “Very well, then.” A smile curved the corner of Narcissa’s mouth. “If you can disarm me in a spar, I will welcome you back into my squad.”

  “I agree to it,” Halcyon answered, confident. She had disarmed Narcissa plenty of times before. But as she followed the captain out of the tent to be dressed in armor and weapon, her breath caught.

  It had only been a little over a moon, but how much she had changed since then.

  Because the last time Halcyon had wielded a sword and sparred had been with Xander. The day she had killed him.

  “Damon . . . I swear, if you make me cross out another word . . . I will kill you.”

  Damon leaned on the makeshift desk Evadne was scribing at. They were in one of the camp tents. Oil lamps hung above them, filling the tent with light, and a rug was spread on the grass beneath them. Evadne sat on a pile of grain sacks, a new charena scroll spread before her, line after line marked through. She and Damon planned to work late into the night, but they would not get very far like this. Three words spoken, two words revoked.

  A wily grin spread across his face. “Scratch that, Evadne.”

  “But . . . why? These words are . . .”

  “Are what?”

  Evadne set down her quill. She met his gaze and breathed, “They are beautiful.”

  “That they may be. But they are not perfect. And this spell must not lack anything.”

  “You have yet to tell me what, exactly, this spell is,” she said.

  “That is because it has no name yet.” He continued to stare at her, almost as if he was memorizing her face and her hair. Even the way she was glaring up at him, ink smeared on her chin.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “As if you are worried you might forget what I look like.”

  To her surprise, he stepped away. He did not answer her but posed a question in return. “What does this spell evoke in your mind, Evadne?”

  She glanced down at the remaining words that had survived the cut. “The words evoke an imagery of earth: ancient olive trees, the scent of the wind just after a storm, the color of the sky at sunset.” She paused, then said, “It sounds like beauty, like harmony.”

  Damon turned to regard her. “Beauty and harmony?”

  Evadne kept her gaze on the scroll. Indeed, his spell made her think of home. Of Isaura. “Yes. Am I wrong?”

  He started to pace around the tent. It was close quarters. Several times he narrowly missed hitting his head on one of the dangling oil lamps.

  She had grown accustomed to his patterns. He liked to pace while he thought, and then he liked to look out a window when he spoke his magic for her to record. Only there were no windows, and Damon eventually came to stand before her again, staring at her handwriting.

  He was just about to say something when they heard a commotion beyond the tent. The sound of shouts and the ring of swords.

  “What is that?” Evadne asked, standing. She closed the charena scroll and carried it in her arms like a child, for it never left her or Damon’s sight, and she followed him into the night. They wove through a crowd of warriors and campfires, growing closer to the sound of conflict. At first Evadne believed one of Ivina’s phantoms had wormed its way into the camp, wreaking havoc. But as Evadne and Damon came to the front of the crowd, she saw it was no ghost that had inspired an audience.

  It was Halcyon.

  Evadne watched, unable to breathe, as her sister sparred with the captain.

  Halcyon wore a cuirass and leg greaves, a helm with a plume of black horsehair. She bore a round shield on her left arm and wielded a sword in her right hand. She jerked and moved in a stiff manner, as if her muscles were cold, fatigued.

  The captain easily deflected Halcyon’s cuts, seeming to wait for Halcyon to remember herself, to come to life.

  Evadne was not surprised her sister had pursued the legion. She had anticipated Halcyon would upon discovering Evadne had left. But despite that prediction, Evadne felt a pang of alarm. She had never seen Halcyon spar before. It was as beautiful as it was daunting. It took everything within Evadne to remain where she was, to not utter a sound. She held the scroll to her chest and felt Damon’s warmth at her side as he, too, watched the spar unfold.

  Halcyon spun, arced her sword in a powerful swing. The captain met it with her shield, deflecting Halcyon with little effort. Halcyon tried again, grunting and swinging. Still too slowly, as if her arms were struggling to keep up with the lightning-swift orders of her mind.

  Narcissa took a cut at her. Halcyon blocked with her shield, but the impact made her stagger.

  To everyone watching, it seemed apparent that Halcyon was not ready to return to the legion.

  Evadne closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her sister’s grunts, of the hiss of clashing blades, the thunk of swords meeting shields, the pounding of sandaled feet.

  The spar continued like that for what felt like moons, dancing at the captain’s unrelenting command.

  But then Evadne felt the shift, and heard Halcyon’s feet become agile, her grunts no longer defensive but offensive.

  She opened her eyes and watched as her sister warmed to the spar, remembering herself. The stiffness was gone. Halcyon moved with smooth heat, her teeth bared, her sword catching the starlight.

  She completed a sequence that had Evadne’s heart in her throat, both awed and terrified. And then it happened, swift and unexpected.

  Halcyon disarmed the captain.

  The captain yielded on her knee, a slender smile on her lips.

  And the hoplites cheered for Halcyon as she continued to stand with her sword in her hand, victorious.

  Evadne watched it unfold like a bittersweet myth. And she knew that Halcyon had finally found her way home.

  XXXI

  Evadne and Halcyon

  The moon continued her arc across the sky and the stars continued to burn as Halcyon was welcomed back into the legion. There was no talk of the past, and Evadne sat beside one of the fires, eating a stale piece of bread, watching it all with contentment.

  Damon had retired to his tent, claiming they were done working for the night, and Evadne was inwardly relieved, for her mind was awhirl, and all she wanted was to remain near her sister. She abandoned her own tent and brought her bedroll out to the fire, laying it beside Halcyon’s, to sleep beneath the stars as most of the hoplites did. And while she was weary, she waited patiently for Halcyon to finish with her reunions.

  The amulet was gone from Evadne’s arm. It had been the first thing Straton had done when Evadne and Damon had arrived days ago. The legion blacksmith had cut away the sil
ver, and she had looked at the slight tan line left behind. Halcyon’s sentence had been overturned, and with it, Evadne’s. And while she could hardly describe the emotions this inspired in her, she also wondered what had brought this change in the commander.

  Eventually, Evadne rose, walking through the camp to warm herself. She began to pass Damon’s tent but stopped when the light within caught her eye, and she saw a glimpse of him sitting at the makeshift desk.

  She silently drew the tent door open a sliver so she could fully see him.

  He was writing in a scroll. One she had never seen before.

  He wrote laboriously with his right hand, and it trembled from exhaustion when he lifted the quill to dip it in the ink pot.

  She should go to him, offer to scribe. And yet she sensed he did not want her assistance. He was not working on enchantments; no, this was something else.

  He felt the draft and started to turn toward the door, and Evadne backed hastily out of sight, hurrying along her path.

  But her heart was pounding a doubtful chorus.

  What is he hiding from me?

  Deep in the night, Halcyon lay beside Evadne, listening to her sister sleep. Her stomach and heart were brimming, the fullest they had been in weeks. Even so, Halcyon was worried. There was too much to think about, too much uncertainty to come.

  She felt Evadne stir, yanking on the blankets they shared.

  “Evadne?” she said quietly.

  A pause. And then a groggy “Yes, Hal?”

  “Do not do that to me again.”

  “Do what?”

  Halcyon swallowed, staring up at the stars. “Leave me without saying goodbye.”

  She felt Evadne turn to face her, yanking more of the blankets away.

  “I am sorry for leaving you behind all those years ago,” Halcyon whispered. “And I do not know what the future holds for me or for you, what lies ahead of us. But I promise that I will come and see you often, wherever you are. I know that the legion is my home. But it is also with you.”