The woman set down the letter. “Well, Master Inger seems to think a great deal of you, young lady. Why would you want to leave a job where you got along so well?”
Beata hadn’t been expecting to have anyone ask her why she wanted to do this. She thought briefly, and quickly decided to be honest, but not too honest.
“This has always been my dream, ma’am. I guess that a person has to try out their dream sometime. No use in living your life and never trying your dream.”
“And why is it your dream?”
“Because I want to do good. And because the Mi… the Minister made it so women would be respected here. So they’d be equal.”
“The Minister is a great man.”
Beata swallowed her pride. Pride did a person no good; it only held them back.
“Yes, ma’am. He is. Everyone respects the Minister. He passed the law allowing Haken women to serve along with the Ander men and women. That law also says all must show respect to those Haken women who serve our land. Haken women owe him a great debt. Minister Chanboor is a hero to all Haken women.”
The woman regarded her without emotion. “And you had man trouble. Am I right? Some man wouldn’t keep his hands off you, and you finally had enough and finally got up the courage to leave.”
Beata cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am. That’s true. But what I told you about this always being my dream is true, too. The man just decided it for me sooner, that’s all. It’s still my dream, if you’ll have me.”
The woman smiled. “Very good. What’s your name, then?”
“Beata, ma’am.”
“Very good, Beata. We try to follow Minister Chanboor’s example here, and do good.”
“That’s why I came, ma’am; so I could do good.”
“I’m Lieutenant Yarrow. You call me lieutenant.”
“Yes, ma—Lieutenant. So… may I join?”
Lieutenant Yarrow pointed with her pen. “Pick up that sack over there.”
Beata hoisted the burlap sack. It felt like it was loosely filled with firewood. She curled a wrist under it and held it against a hip with one arm.
“Yes, Lieutenant? What would you like done with it?”
“Put it up on your shoulder.”
Beata hoisted it up and curved her arm around and forward over the sack so it would bulge up the muscle and the wood wouldn’t rest on her shoulder bone. She stood waiting.
“All right,” Lieutenant Yarrow said. “You can put it down.”
Beata set it back where it had been.
“You pass,” the lieutenant said. “Congratulations. Your dream just came true. You’re in the Anderith army. Hakens can never be completely cleansed of their nature, but here you will be valued and be able to do good.”
Beata felt a sudden swell of pride. She couldn’t help it.
“Thank you Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant waggled her pen, pointing it back over her shoulder. “Out back, down the alleyway to the end, just below the rampart, you will find a midden heap. Take your bag out there and throw it on with the rest of the offal.”
Beata stood in mute shock. Her mother’s shoes were in there. They were expensive. Her mother and father had saved for years to buy those shoes. There were keepsakes in her bag, given by her friends. Beata held back tears.
“Am I to throw out the food Inger sent, too, Lieutenant?”
“The food, too.”
Beata knew that if an Ander woman told her to do it, then it was right and she had to do it.
“Yes, Lieutenant. May I be excused, then, to see to it?”
The woman appraised her for a moment. Her tone softened a little. “It’s for your own good, Beata. Those things are from your old life. It won’t do you any good to be reminded of your old life. The sooner you forget it, food included, the better.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I understand.” Beata forced herself to be bold. “The letter, ma’am? May I keep the letter Inger sent with me?”
Lieutenant Yarrow looked down at the letter on her desk. She finally folded it twice and handed it back.
“Since it’s a letter of recommendation and not a memento of your old life, you may keep it. You earned it with your years of service to the man.”
Beata touched the pin that held closed her collar at her throat—the one with the spiral end, the one Fitch had returned to her. Her father had given it to her when she was young, before he had died from a fever. She had lost it when the Minister and that beast, Stein, pulled it out and tossed it away into the hall so they could open her dress and have a look at her.
“The pin, Lieutenant Yarrow? Should I throw it away, too?”
As she had watched her father making the simple pin, he had told her it represented how everything was all connected, even if you couldn’t see it from where you stood, and how if you could follow everything round and round, someday it would all come to a point. He told her to always keep her dreams, and if she did good, the dreams would come round to her, even if it was in the afterlife and it was the good spirits themselves answered the wishes. She knew it was a silly children’s story, but she liked it.
The lieutenant squinted as she peered at the pin. “Yes. From now on, the people of Anderith will provide everything you require.”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I look forward to serving them well to repay them for the opportunity only they could provide.”
A smile softened the woman’s face. “You’re smarter than most who come in here, Beata. Men and women, both. You catch on quick, and you accept what’s required of you. That’s a good quality.”
The lieutenant stood up behind her desk. “I think, with training, you could be a good leader—maybe a sergeant. It’s tougher than plain soldier training, but if you can measure up, in a week or two you’ll be in charge of your own squad.”
“In charge of a squad? In only a week or two?”
The lieutenant shrugged. “It’s not difficult, being in the army. I’m sure it’s a lot less difficult than learning to butcher.”
“Won’t we have to learn to fight?”
“Yes, but while important at a basic level, fighting is for the most part a trivial and outmoded function of the army. The army was once a refuge for extremists. The fanaticism of warriors suffocates the society they are charged with protecting.”
She smiled again. “Brains are the major requirement and women are more than equal there. With the Dominie Dirtch, brawn is unnecessary. The weapon itself is the brawn and as such, invincible.
“Women have the natural compassion required to be officers—for instance the way I explained why you must discard your old things; men don’t bother with explaining to their troops why something is necessary. Leadership is a nurturing of those under your command. Women bring wholesomeness to what used to be nothing but a savage fellowship of destruction.
“Women who defend Anderith are given the recognition to which they are entitled, the recognition they earn. We help the army contribute to our culture, instead of simply menace it, as before.”
Beata glanced down at the sword at Lieutenant Yarrow’s hip. “Will I get to carry a sword and everything?”
“And everything, Beata. Swords are made to wound in order to discourage an opponent, and you will be taught how. You will be a valued member of the Twenty-third Regiment. We are all proud to serve under Bertrand Chanboor, the Minister of Culture.”
The Twenty-third Regiment. That was where Inger told her he thought she should go to join: the twenty-third regiment. That was what the sign over the gate had said.
The Twenty-third Regiment was the one that tended the Dominie Dirtch. Inger said soldiers who tend the Dominie Dirtch had the best job in the army, and were the most respected. He called them “the elite.”
Beata thought back to Inger. It already seemed another life.
As she had been leaving his place, Inger gently took ahold of her arm and turned her back. He said he believed some man at the estate had hurt her and asked her to tell him if that
was true. She nodded. He asked her to tell him who it was.
Beata told him the truth.
He had cleared his throat and told her he finally understood why she had to leave. Inger was probably the only Ander who would have believed her. Or cared.
Inger had wished her a good life.
“Again,” the captain ordered.
Beata, being first in line, lifted the sword and ran forward. She stabbed with her weapon at the straw man swinging by a rope. This time, she ran her sword right through his leg.
“Beautiful, Beata!” Captain Tolbert said. He always praised them when he approved of what they did. Being Haken, Beata found such praise an odd experience.
She almost fell trying to pull the sword back out of the straw man’s leg as she ran past. she at least managed it, if not with grace. Sometimes the others didn’t.
Fortunately for Beata, she had years of experience with blades. Although the blades had been smaller, she knew something about wielding blades and stabbing them where you intended.
Despite being Haken and supposedly not allowed to use knives because they were weapons, Beata had worked for a butcher and so it was overlooked, since butchers were Ander and they kept a tight rein on their Haken workers. Butchers only let the Haken girls and women cut up meat, along with the Anders. The Haken boys and men working for them did the lifting and lugging, mostly—the things not requiring them to handle blades.
Three of the other girls, Carine, Emmeline, and Annette, were Haken, too, and had never held anything more than a dull bread knife before. The four Ander boys, Turner, Norris, Karl, and Bryce, were not from wealthy families and had never handled a sword before, either, but as boys they had played with sticks as swords.
Beata knew that Anders were better than Hakens in every way, but she was having a difficult time making sure she didn’t wrongly show up Turner, Norris, Karl, and Bryce. They were best suited to grinning moronically. That was about it, as far as she could tell. Most of the time they pranced around bragging about themselves to each other.
The two Ander girl recruits, Estelle Ruffin and Marie Fauvel, didn’t have any experience with swords, either. They did like swinging their new swords about, though, as did the rest of them. They were better at it, too, than the four Ander boys. For that matter, even the Haken girls, Carine, Emmeline, and Annette, were better than the three boys at soldiering.
The boys could swing harder, but the girls were better at hitting the target. Captain Tolbert pointed that out so the boys would understand they weren’t any better than the girls. He said to the boys that it didn’t matter how hard you could swing a sword, if you couldn’t hit anything.
Karl had gashed his leg the first day, and it had to be sewn closed. He hobbled around, still grinning, a soldier with a scar in the works.
Emmeline poked at the straw man’s leg as she ran by. She missed the swinging leg and her sword’s tip caught in the rope around the straw waist. She fell flat on her Haken face.
The four Ander boys erupted in laughter. The girls, Ander and Haken both, didn’t. The boys called Emmeline a clumsy ox and a few other rude things under their breath.
Captain Tolbert growled in anger as he snatched the collar of the nearest: Bryce. “I’ve told you before, you may have laughed at others in your old life, but not here! You don’t laugh at your fellow soldiers, even if that soldier is a Haken. Here you are all equal!”
He shoved Bryce away. “Such a violation of respect to fellow soldiers requires punishment. I want each of you to name for me what you think a fair punishment.”
Captain Tolbert pointed at Annette and asked her to name a fair punishment. She thought a moment and then said she thought the boys should apologize. Carine and Emmeline, the other two Haken girls, spoke up that they agreed. He asked Estelle. She pushed back her dark Ander hair and said the boys should be kicked out of the army. Marie Fauvel agreed, but added they could be let back in the next year. The four boys, when asked their idea of fair punishment, said just to be told not to do it again.
Captain Tolbert turned to Beata. “You hope to be a sergeant. What would you say was a good punishment, if you were a sergeant?”
Beata had her answer ready. “If we’re all equal, then we should all be treated equal. Since the four of them think it’s so funny, the whole squad should have to dig a new latrine instead of having dinner.” She folded her arms. “If any of us gets hungry as we’re digging, well, we have these four boys to thank.”
Captain Tolbert smiled with satisfaction. “Beata has named a fair punishment. That will be it, then. If anyone objects, they can head home for their mothers’ skirts because they don’t have the courage it takes to be a soldier and stick up for their fellow soldiers.”
Estelle and Marie, Anders both, cast dark glares at the Ander boys. The boys hung their heads and stared at the ground. The Haken girls weren’t any happier about it, but the boys were more worried about the glares from the Ander girls.
“Now,” Captain Tolbert said, “let’s finish the drill so you can all get to digging when the dinner bell is rung.”
No one groaned. They had learned better than to complain.
Sweat ran down Beata’s neck as they marched two abreast along the narrow road. It was a path, really—just two ruts from the supply wagons. Captain Tolbert led them, Beata was at the head of the five soldiers in the left rut, and Marie Fauvel marched to her right, at the head of the five soldiers behind her.
Beata felt pride marching in front of her squad of soldiers. She had worked hard the two weeks of training, and had been named sergeant, just as Lieutenant Yarrow said she might. Beata had the stripes of the rank sewn on each shoulder. Marie, an Ander, was named corporal—second-in-command of the squad. The other eight had earned the rank of soldier.
Beata guessed the only real earning to it was that if you got kicked out before you finished the training, then you didn’t get to be a soldier. None of them that started got kicked out, though.
The uniform was uncomfortable in the afternoon heat, although she was getting used to it. They all wore green trousers. Over that they wore long padded and quilted tan tunics cinched at the waist with a light belt. Over the tunic they wore chain mail.
Because the mail was heavy, the women had to wear only vested chain mail, without sleeves. The men had to wear mail with arms of mail, too, and it was longer. They also had to wear a hood of mail that covered their head and necks. When they were marching, they swathed it down around their necks. When they had to wear it, they wore a leather helmet over top. They all had leather helmets.
Beata was thankful the women didn’t have to wear all the rest of it, though. Being the sergeant, she had to sometimes pick up the men’s mail to inspect it. She couldn’t imagine marching all day with that much weight. What she had was enough. The fun of marching with a heavy sword had worn off; now it was a chore.
They each had a long cloak, but with it being as warm as it was, the cloaks were only buttoned to their right shoulders, letting them hang to the side. Over the mail they wore their sword belts. Additionally, they each carried a pack and, of course, their two spears each and a knife worn opposite their sword on the same belt.
Beata thought they looked a smart squad. The pikemen she had seen back at the Twenty-third Regiment had been the best-looking soldiers. They were a sight. The men were handsome in the pikemen outfits. She had pleasant dreams about those men. The women somehow looked dull, by comparison, even though they had the same outfits.
Beata saw something dark ahead, standing up above the field of grass. As they got closer, she thought it looked to be ancient stone. Off behind it, closer to them, were three squat stone buildings. The roofs were shingled, maybe with slate.
Beata felt a twinge of dread at seeing the huge, silent, awful thing.
It was the Dominie Dirtch.
The Dominie Dirtch were the one thing of the Hakens the Anders kept to use. Beata recalled the lessons she learned about how the Hakens murdered countle
ss Anders with these weapons. They were terrible things. It looked as old as it was, its edges softened over time by the weather, the wind, and the hands that tended it.
At least now that the Anders governed them, they were only instruments of peace.
Captain Tolbert halted them among the buildings. Beata could see soldiers up on the stone base of the enormous, bell-shaped, stone Dominie Dirtch. There were soldiers in the buildings, too. The squad there had been at station for months, and was being relieved by Beata’s squad.
Captain Tolbert turned to them. “These are the barracks. One for the women and one for the men. See it stays that way, Sergeant Beata. The other buildings are used for kitchen and dining, meetings, repairs, and everything else.” He pointed to the farther building. “That over there is storage.”
He ordered them to follow as he marched on. They marched behind him in their two neat rows as he went past the Dominie Dirtch. It towered over them, a dark menace. The three women and one man up on the base around the bell-shaped part watched them pass.
Out in front of the Dominie Dirtch a ways, he stopped and told them to be at ease and to spread out. They formed a loose line, shoulder to shoulder.
“This is the frontier. The border of Anderith.” The captain pointed out at the seemingly endless grassland. “That, out there, is the wilds. Beyond this place are the lands of other peoples. We keep those others from coming and taking our land from us.”
Beata felt her chest swelling with pride. She was the one protecting the Anderith border. She was doing good.
“Over the next two days, I and the squad here will teach you what you need to know about guarding the border and about the Dominie Dirtch.”
He walked down the line and halted in front of Beata, looking her in the eye. He smiled with pride.
“Then, you will be under the capable charge of Sergeant Beata. You will follow her orders without fail, and if she is unavailable, the orders of Corporal Marie Fauvel.” He gestured behind them. “I will take a report from the squad I led back to the Twenty-third Regiment, and I will treat very harshly any soldier who failed to at all times follow the orders of their sergeant.”
Soul of the Fire Page 49
