For Skye
When I leaned down to wash my face, I saw
her reflection above mine in the pond a moment before I felt her
staff strike my ribs. I rolled away from her attack, reaching for
my own staff, but it was gone. She struck again. I held up an arm
to ward off the blow.
“Never underestimate a fallen opponent,”
Makena said through clenched teeth, bringing the staff down hard on
my forearm. The crack of wood on flesh resounded loudly in the
quiet afternoon.
I let my arm fall limp and bit my lower lip,
the pain bringing tears to my eyes. Instantly Makena’s harsh
expression softened—she bent down, reaching for my arm. “Oh,
Jhyssa!” she cried. I let her inspect my arm, gingerly feeling for
broken bones. “Are you all right?”
I grinned. Twisting her staff, I flipped her
onto the ground. A hurt look replaced the surprise in her eyes. I
stood over her and rapped the staff on her forehead once, twice.
Smiling, I repeated, “Never underestimate a fallen opponent.”
She smiled back. I offered my hand, helping
her to her feet. I brushed the wisps of her fiery hair from her
face. “Well done,” I commended. “You truly are a Warrior, even if
the Order of the Soul is disbanded.”
Shyly, she ducked her head. “I don’t
know.”
“You know the Tenets, you know the moves.” I
gathered up our weapons and we headed back toward my cabin. “You
came to me two years ago wanting to become a Warrior, and you have
completed the training. There is nothing more I can teach you.”
“Maybe the rebellion will reach us here.”
She motioned to the surrounding forest with a sweep of her arm. It
was hard to imagine the trees alive with the cries of war, but I
smiled to hear the excitement in her voice. “Maybe I’ll get a
chance to fight alongside you, instead of against you.”
“Sparring isn’t fighting,” I corrected.
“It’s practice. Besides, we have no need to join in the rebellion.
A Warrior’s first obligation is to—”
“Her sisters,” Makena finished. “‘A Warrior
protects her sword sisters before any other cause.’ See? I know the
Tenets.”
I laughed. “So you do. You only need the
chance to put them into practice.”
As we approached the cabin, Makena ran ahead
to start her chores. In the distance, a rider appeared, bearing
toward me. I wasn’t surprised—since the rebellion against the king
had begun, I had been expected this visit.
“Ceryane!” I called out as the rider
dismounted. She hadn’t changed since I last saw her—the same blonde
braid tossed over one shoulder, the same icy blue eyes. Only a few
lines around her face showed any age. I hugged her close. “How goes
it, mentor?”
She laughed. “Jhyssa,” she sighed, hugging
me back. “You graduated from my care long ago. And you should know
that it does not go well, if I am here.”
I nodded. From around the cabin came the
sound of tumbling logs—Makena gathering wood for our hearth.
Ceryane raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t alone?”
Before I could answer, Makena came into
view. “Oh!” Startled, she stopped, looking at me for guidance.
With an arm on Ceryane’s shoulder, I said,
“Makena, this is Ceryane. Remember I mentioned her?”
Makena nodded and, without prompting, fell
on one knee before Ceryane, exposing her neck and back to the elder
Warrior in greeting. A small smile flickered around Ceryane’s lips.
“Jhyssa,” she chided. “I should’ve known you’d still be
training.”
“She came to me,” I said, touching Makena’s
shoulder lightly. She rose before us. “And she’s good—maybe you two
can spar later?”
Ceryane dismissed my suggestion with a wave
of her hand. “She’s been well taught, I’m sure. But I am here on
other matters.” Her pointed look said she wanted to talk.
“Of course.” I motioned towards the cabin.
She opened the door and went inside. “Will you care for her horse?”
I asked Makena.
She nodded. “What does she want?”
I shrugged. “I’ll find out.” I followed
Ceryane inside.
* * * *
“What’s she like?” Ceryane asked, with a nod
at the door of the cabin. She sat at my table with her feet propped
up on the chair beside her. She meant Makena.
I shrugged. Since I first met Makena, there
was something between us that couldn’t be put into words. She was
more than my neophyte—her thoughts and actions were so like mine,
it scared me at times. It was as if our souls were the same, two
halves in separate bodies. When we sparred, we each knew the
other’s moves before we made them. And we could sit in silence for
long hours that rushed by like a rapid brook, each comfortable with
the other. Our relationship was nothing like Ceryane’s and mine had
been—underneath her tough exterior, Ceryane had a quick wit, and
when we were together in the old days, we had always laughed.