Killing Words
Many were faint yellow, a few were black, some were green, but the dark blue
ones were the freshest. After shedding her nightclothes, Riva always inspected her
bruises in the dawning light. This morning there was even a scrape where her
breasts were beginning to form. Soon her second winter in the Order of Jared
would begin and the cold would hurt when she opened the shutters to see.
A fist pounded on the door to her small room and Lehr said, “Riva, bring steel
today. You’re battling another apprentice.”
She felt a blade of fear run up though her stomach and chest, giving her a shudder.
“I’m near ready,” she said as she pulled on the soft garment she always wore
beneath the mail. She was nowhere near ready.
She dressed quickly, barely remembering to loop the thick necklace over her head
and center the iron key on her chainmail tunic. When she opened the door Lehr
must have sensed something wrong, because he said in a reassuring tone,
“Guardian Zan told me you’ve used steel all week.”
She considered acting like nothing was wrong, but Lehr would know. She said,
“Just against him, and he won’t cut me.”
“Don’t worry.” That was what Lehr always said. Fourteen year-olds thought they
knew everything.
She tried not to sound too afraid. “Wooden swords only bruise--steel will cut.”
Lehr covered his face with his mail gloves, and then opened them, presenting the
leather palms and his grinning, unmarked face to her. Adepts never had bruises or
cuts.
She whispered, “Please, you have to tell how not to get hurt.”
“You know I can’t tell you. Guardian Zan and the other priests won’t let me.
There is a reason.”
“Lehr, please. If I don’t know how to keep from getting cut then I will get cut.”
There were apprentices in the hallway, so Lehr lowered his voice. “Little sister, it’s
just like I’ve told you with wood. You won’t take as many blows if you can land
more. Think about cutting. Don’t think about being cut.”
When he called her “little sister” it always made her heart ache--in a good way
because she really wished he was her brother, but in a bad way because he was not
really her brother. But Lehr did not have a family anywhere, so she would never
tell him to stop calling her “sister.”
She trudged along with Lehr, heading for breakfast and morning prayers.
***
Riva could feel her knees shaking inside her chain mail leggings as she looked
across the killing floor at the grinning apprentice that she was going to fight. She
was going to look so stupid, shaking as she crept across the floor like a doddering
old beggar with a sword instead of a walking stick. She felt tears forming in her
eyes as she told Lehr, “I can’t do it. I can’t.” She had not meant to sound so
whiney.
Lehr looked at Riva just like Ma used to when Ma said stuff like, “I’m so proud of
ya’ girl.” Wanting Ma made Riva feel more even more like a baby. Lehr was calm,
just like he always was when Riva was about to get hurt. “You will do it. You’re
twelve now. You’re ready for steel. You have trained against the priests with
steel.”
Riva whispered, “But the priests wouldn’t hurt me. It was just practice. This is
real. It’s going to hurt worse than wood. I’m not going to bruise; I’m going to
bleed.”
“Not if you cut him first. Training, Riva. Cut! You have more of the God’s
strength than any adept with steel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! Focus.”
“Oh, my prayers,” she said, ashamed that she had forgot them. She was no good.
She would never be a priest. When she breathed deeply, gripped her key, and said
the prayer to call the god’s strength, she felt the warmth flow through her, though
her knees kept shaking. Her arm was shaking too as she blessed her sword. She
fumbled the sword as she put it back in the scabbard--she was glad that Lehr didn’t
try to help her with it. Last of all, she prayed for focus, but focus did not come.
She would have to be calm--neither angry, nor heartbroken, nor laughing--for the
god to give her the focus, which would make her sword as quick as her thoughts.
She was going to die here and it was going to hurt.
Her opponent, Bartol, and his adept mentor stood at Guardian Zan’s feet now,
listening to the tall priest and giving him short answers.
Girls should not be trained as priests of Jared. She was the only girl in the Temple
of Jared and she was always afraid. The boys were almost never afraid. They
were confident--too confident--like Lehr was now. Riva knew that the other
adepts taunted Lehr because his trainee was a fearful girl instead of a valiant boy.
Lehr bumped his fist against her shoulder and said, “Finish him quickly, little sister,
so we can go hear the minstrel. He got here after morning prayers.”
Guardian Zan nodded to the two boys he had been speaking to and then stepped
over to Riva and Lehr. This room was much too bright. She tried to slow down
her breathing. She did not want sob like a baby in front of the priest; she wanted
him to like her. He had brought her from her home to the temple two years ago
and was the closest thing she had to a father here. Guardian Zan cared about her,
but he wasn’t like her father. He was her father’s friend and it was not the same at
all.
Zan put his hand on her shoulder, his mailed glove duller than her mailed tunic. His
voice was as sweet as always. “Are you prepared, Apprentice Riva?”
Should she lie? “I’m not ready,” she whispered, hoping that her opponent could
not hear her.
Lehr murmured, “She’s ready, Guardian.”
Riva shook her head and said, “No, I’m not. I’m scared. I don’t have the focus.”
Zan knelt in front of her. She really wanted a hug. The priest said, “What would
help you prepare?”
“I don’t know. Nothing would. I’m not ready for steel. I could die.”
Zan said, “If nothing would help you prepare, then you are as prepared as you will
ever be. This is a lesson in combat. This is a lesson in pain. This is a lesson in
death.”
She could feel the drying tears on her face, but she wasn’t crying now. She kept
whispering so that her voice wouldn’t squeak, “If I die now, then how can I serve
the God?”
Zan smiled. “That lesson will come later.”
She could feel her face trying to contort into hopeless crying, but she fought to
hold it rigid. “You don’t care. The God doesn’t care.” Her opponent had probably
heard her that time. She was twisted in knots. She locked her hand on her sword,
squeezing hard to stop the shaking, but that just made it shake more.
Zan stood and said, “Jared guard you.”
“And you,” she squeaked back automatically.
Zan walked to a corner of the room and stood there against the stone wall. The
lamp above him seemed much too bright. He chided, “Adepts. We will stand
here.”
Lehr and the other adept walked over to him. She barely heard Lehr say, “Sorry.”
She swallowed and looked over at Bartol, the boy she would battle. He was in
ready stance, with his glove resting on the pommel of his sword. She could do that
much. Her knees were shaking less than before. It was going to happen. She
closed her eyes and repeated the prayer of focus, feeling a little of the God’s
influence trying to meld her mind to her body; but she did not feel the certainty that
came from perfect focus. When she opened her eyes she realized that Bartol was
grinning at her. He was laughing inside at her. A tickle of anger started in the back
of her skull. But no. She must not give in to anger and lose whatever focus the
God had given her.
She had thought that Guardian Zan would take the time to teach them something
before the battle, but he just said, “Begin."
End of excerpt of short story
Killing Words, (c) John Arkwright, 2007
Many were faint yellow, a few were black, some were green, but the dark blue
ones were the freshest. After shedding her nightclothes, Riva always inspected her
bruises in the dawning light. This morning there was even a scrape where her
breasts were beginning to form. Soon her second winter in the Order of Jared
would begin and the cold would hurt when she opened the shutters to see.
A fist pounded on the door to her small room and Lehr said, “Riva, bring steel
today. You’re battling another apprentice.”
She felt a blade of fear run up though her stomach and chest, giving her a shudder.
“I’m near ready,” she said as she pulled on the soft garment she always wore
beneath the mail. She was nowhere near ready.
She dressed quickly, barely remembering to loop the thick necklace over her head
and center the iron key on her chainmail tunic. When she opened the door Lehr
must have sensed something wrong, because he said in a reassuring tone,
“Guardian Zan told me you’ve used steel all week.”
She considered acting like nothing was wrong, but Lehr would know. She said,
“Just against him, and he won’t cut me.”
“Don’t worry.” That was what Lehr always said. Fourteen year-olds thought they
knew everything.
She tried not to sound too afraid. “Wooden swords only bruise--steel will cut.”
Lehr covered his face with his mail gloves, and then opened them, presenting the
leather palms and his grinning, unmarked face to her. Adepts never had bruises or
cuts.
She whispered, “Please, you have to tell how not to get hurt.”
“You know I can’t tell you. Guardian Zan and the other priests won’t let me.
There is a reason.”
“Lehr, please. If I don’t know how to keep from getting cut then I will get cut.”
There were apprentices in the hallway, so Lehr lowered his voice. “Little sister, it’s
just like I’ve told you with wood. You won’t take as many blows if you can land
more. Think about cutting. Don’t think about being cut.”
When he called her “little sister” it always made her heart ache--in a good way
because she really wished he was her brother, but in a bad way because he was not
really her brother. But Lehr did not have a family anywhere, so she would never
tell him to stop calling her “sister.”
She trudged along with Lehr, heading for breakfast and morning prayers.
***
Riva could feel her knees shaking inside her chain mail leggings as she looked
across the killing floor at the grinning apprentice that she was going to fight. She
was going to look so stupid, shaking as she crept across the floor like a doddering
old beggar with a sword instead of a walking stick. She felt tears forming in her
eyes as she told Lehr, “I can’t do it. I can’t.” She had not meant to sound so
whiney.
Lehr looked at Riva just like Ma used to when Ma said stuff like, “I’m so proud of
ya’ girl.” Wanting Ma made Riva feel more even more like a baby. Lehr was calm,
just like he always was when Riva was about to get hurt. “You will do it. You’re
twelve now. You’re ready for steel. You have trained against the priests with
steel.”
Riva whispered, “But the priests wouldn’t hurt me. It was just practice. This is
real. It’s going to hurt worse than wood. I’m not going to bruise; I’m going to
bleed.”
“Not if you cut him first. Training, Riva. Cut! You have more of the God’s
strength than any adept with steel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! Focus.”
“Oh, my prayers,” she said, ashamed that she had forgot them. She was no good.
She would never be a priest. When she breathed deeply, gripped her key, and said
the prayer to call the god’s strength, she felt the warmth flow through her, though
her knees kept shaking. Her arm was shaking too as she blessed her sword. She
fumbled the sword as she put it back in the scabbard--she was glad that Lehr didn’t
try to help her with it. Last of all, she prayed for focus, but focus did not come.
She would have to be calm--neither angry, nor heartbroken, nor laughing--for the
god to give her the focus, which would make her sword as quick as her thoughts.
She was going to die here and it was going to hurt.
Her opponent, Bartol, and his adept mentor stood at Guardian Zan’s feet now,
listening to the tall priest and giving him short answers.
Girls should not be trained as priests of Jared. She was the only girl in the Temple
of Jared and she was always afraid. The boys were almost never afraid. They
were confident--too confident--like Lehr was now. Riva knew that the other
adepts taunted Lehr because his trainee was a fearful girl instead of a valiant boy.
Lehr bumped his fist against her shoulder and said, “Finish him quickly, little sister,
so we can go hear the minstrel. He got here after morning prayers.”
Guardian Zan nodded to the two boys he had been speaking to and then stepped
over to Riva and Lehr. This room was much too bright. She tried to slow down
her breathing. She did not want sob like a baby in front of the priest; she wanted
him to like her. He had brought her from her home to the temple two years ago
and was the closest thing she had to a father here. Guardian Zan cared about her,
but he wasn’t like her father. He was her father’s friend and it was not the same at
all.
Zan put his hand on her shoulder, his mailed glove duller than her mailed tunic. His
voice was as sweet as always. “Are you prepared, Apprentice Riva?”
Should she lie? “I’m not ready,” she whispered, hoping that her opponent could
not hear her.
Lehr murmured, “She’s ready, Guardian.”
Riva shook her head and said, “No, I’m not. I’m scared. I don’t have the focus.”
Zan knelt in front of her. She really wanted a hug. The priest said, “What would
help you prepare?”
“I don’t know. Nothing would. I’m not ready for steel. I could die.”
Zan said, “If nothing would help you prepare, then you are as prepared as you will
ever be. This is a lesson in combat. This is a lesson in pain. This is a lesson in
death.”
She could feel the drying tears on her face, but she wasn’t crying now. She kept
whispering so that her voice wouldn’t squeak, “If I die now, then how can I serve
the God?”
Zan smiled. “That lesson will come later.”
She could feel her face trying to contort into hopeless crying, but she fought to
hold it rigid. “You don’t care. The God doesn’t care.” Her opponent had probably
heard her that time. She was twisted in knots. She locked her hand on her sword,
squeezing hard to stop the shaking, but that just made it shake more.
Zan stood and said, “Jared guard you.”
“And you,” she squeaked back automatically.
Zan walked to a corner of the room and stood there against the stone wall. The
lamp above him seemed much too bright. He chided, “Adepts. We will stand
here.”
Lehr and the other adept walked over to him. She barely heard Lehr say, “Sorry.”
She swallowed and looked over at Bartol, the boy she would battle. He was in
ready stance, with his glove resting on the pommel of his sword. She could do that
much. Her knees were shaking less than before. It was going to happen. She
closed her eyes and repeated the prayer of focus, feeling a little of the God’s
influence trying to meld her mind to her body; but she did not feel the certainty that
came from perfect focus. When she opened her eyes she realized that Bartol was
grinning at her. He was laughing inside at her. A tickle of anger started in the back
of her skull. But no. She must not give in to anger and lose whatever focus the
God had given her.
She had thought that Guardian Zan would take the time to teach them something
before the battle, but he just said, “Begin."
End of excerpt of short story
Killing Words, (c) John Arkwright, 2007
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