Becoming a Warrior Read online

  2018 Jagged Ridge Edition

  Copyright © 2018 by Moose Tyler

  All rights reserved under Mooseville Copyright Commission.

  www.moosetyler.com

  Place orders at www.moosevilleusa.com/baw

  Cover art by Ashlee Trotter

  www.ashleetrotter.com

  ISBN: 978-1-54394-317-7

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  1. The First Lesson

  2. Great Mother

  3. The Common Area

  4. Home Is Where the Hearth Is

  5. Choose Your Weapon

  6. First Light Breaks

  7. Fetching Scrolls

  8. Who's the Suckling Now

  9. A Double Dose

  10. The Healers

  11. Ursula's Tree

  12. A Little Something

  13. The Good, the Bad, & Zora

  14. The Council Meeting

  15. A Debriefing

  16. Fire Talks

  17. Family Meeting

  18. A Cartload of Nothing

  19. Solitude

  20. Punishment Served

  21. All in Her Name

  22. On the Good Foot

  23. The Forbidden Path

  24. In the Stalks

  25. Timber

  26. Low Marks

  27. The Queen's Speech

  28. Someone Else's Sandals

  29. Sacred Meadow

  30. Four Crowns

  31. The Spoils of the Hunt

  32. A Sneak Peek

  33. Genesis Morning

  34. The Games

  35. A Real Assignment

  36. This Is a Quest

  37. Becoming a Warrior

  38. The Last Lesson

  The Great Mother had blessed the day with a brilliant blue sky and a light, southerly breeze. Keeping the clouds at bay, She had allowed the sun to reign overhead unobstructed since first light, which was why so many had taken refuge at Terra’s Tea House, the oldest, most peaceful and prestigious place one could dine at in Themiscia. Nestled in the heart of the island, protected on one side by a small waterfall trickling from the top of a curved rock wall and, on the other, by a thick curtain of moss hanging from the trees, Terra’s was a delightful escape on a hot afternoon, if you could find a seat.

  Wanje sat at a table away from the waterfall with the sun behind her. Her silver hair was knotted in a low ponytail. Some said Wanje had the same hair color as the Great Mother, but Wanje said it was a result of age. She was, after all, Themiscia’s oldest resident. Though, seeing her olive skin and youthful face haloed in sunlight, one would never guess.

  Across from Wanje sat Amaria, an awkward girl with long, unkempt hair, braided and brown as the earth. She wore a tan tunic with a simple belt. The smudges of dust on her face and arms made her skin look darker than it was. She tugged at the neckline of the cloth wrapped around her body. The fabric felt itchy. She adjusted the material around her waist and placed her hands in her lap. The dirt under her nails was thick, so she sat on her hands.

  Wanje smiled. “Is this your first time wearing a tunic?”

  Amaria stopped fidgeting. “No, I wear them a lot. Mother makes me, but I’d be more comfortable in a fighting kilt.”

  Amaria adjusted the garb again and looked down. Sweat streaks stained the cloth. Whenever she was nervous, her palms would sweat. In competitions, she carried a small satchel of dirt in case she needed a better grip on her weapons, but this wasn’t competition. This was Quest Training, the last stage a warrior went through before taking her shield and joining the ranks of the queen’s army. This was what she had been training for all her life.

  Wanje picked up a canter of water and topped off Amaria’s glass. “If you’ve worn many tunics, why does one make you uncomfortable now?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t move as freely, and my feet get tangled if I walk too fast.”

  Wanje filled her own glass and set the canter down. “Yet, you’re sitting. Mobility isn’t a factor.” She took a sip.

  Amaria gulped until her glass was empty. The tunic and starting Quest Training weren’t the only things that made her palms sweat. Although Amaria and Wanje shared Zeus’s blood, Amaria had never thought of her, or any other sage for that matter, as a sister. They were teachers, elder priestesses who spoke the divine tongue. They were interpreters for the Great Mother, and Wanje was the most respected of them all.

  Telsa was a sage, but that was different. She and Amaria were sisters by mother and by Zeus, and she was younger. She hadn’t predicted the birth of two queens, survived three wars, or witnessed the deaths of thousands of citizens and warriors like Wanje had. Telsa hadn’t even had her first vision yet.

  To Amaria, Wanje had been training warriors since Hera was a child. She had trained the queen, Olivia, and Janus, the three Amaria respected most. Olivia always placed at the Genesis Games, and Janus was the most graceful sliver rider Amaria had ever seen.

  Wanje had also taught Amaria’s older sister, Sakina, and was training her best friend, Penelope. There was no one on the island she wanted to impress more than Wanje, not even the queen.

  Amaria tugged at the tunic’s neckline. “I want to do well in my lessons and make you proud, but the tightness of the cloth makes it difficult to breathe.”

  Wanje set her water glass down and studied Amaria for a few heartbeats before speaking. “You’re giving me too much power, I’m afraid.”

  A girl approached carrying a bowl of fruit, plates, teacups, a ceramic pot, and a kettle of water on a tray. She set the fruit bowl and plates on the table.

  Wanje smiled at her before looking at Amaria. “So, you think a tunic will make me proud?”

  The girl took herbs from the pot, tossed a pinch into each cup, and tipped the kettle. She moved like tree sap. She glanced at Amaria.

  “Do you think I would have thought less of you had you worn a kilt or even came without cloth?” asked Wanje. “After all, it is a warm day.”

  The girl giggled as she set the cups and kettle on the table. The steam swirled around Amaria’s face. She felt sweat beads take post on her brow.

  The girl bowed to Wanje. “Will that be all, ma’am?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The girl hurried off to tend to another table. Amaria watched her approach Lethivia and Roslyn, two middle-ranked warriors sitting closer to the waterfall. A heartbeat passed before they looked at Amaria and laughed. Amaria refocused on Wanje.

  “I would say you are more concerned with the opinion of others. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Amaria was confused. She didn’t know if Wanje was asking a question or stating an opinion. “I suppose,” she muttered. She glanced at Lethivia and Roslyn. They had resumed their drinking game.

  She sat up straighter. Her mind wasn’t working fast enough. She hadn’t eaten much at morning dine. She looked at the fruit on the table, and her stomach whined.

  Wanje motioned to the bowl. “Please, keep your energy.”

  Amaria made an effort not to rush. She picked up a few pieces as delicately as her fingers would allow and put them on the plate in front of her.

  Wanje smiled. “Enjoy the day, Amaria. Not all of our lessons will be this relaxing.”

  The sage stretched back in her chair, and the sun washed across Amaria’s face. The juices from the fruit were sweet on her tongue, and she chewed slowly. The tunic seemed to fit more loosely now.

  “Pathenia tells me you’ve been training hard this cycle. She says most days a pillaged pantry is her only indication you’ve been home.”

  Wanje frequently invited Amaria’s mother to
the sacred pools for talks and tea.

  Amaria finished chewing before answering. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve doubled my runs and climbs.”

  “I hope the extra effort hasn’t interfered with your lessons.”

  “No, ma’am. It’s actually helped.”

  “Desh tells me you were the top student in Combat and one of the top in Riding.”

  A grin spread across Amaria’s face. She knew she was better in Combat Training than any other warrior taking the shield and had been since she had started training the first full moon after her third birthday. In the beginning, her lessons were basic. Sticks and bows were the first weapons she learned, but by her fourth cycle, Amaria was training with sheathed blades. Most warriors started Blade Training at five, some at six. Now that Amaria was fourteen and had started Quest Training, there wasn’t a weapon she hadn’t mastered. Being one of the top students in Riding, however, was unexpected. Though she had been handling horses since before General Studies, it wasn’t until her eighth cycle that she blossomed in the saddle.

  She forgot her manners, and her hand darted to the fruit bowl. She grabbed another piece and chucked it into her mouth. “In Riding, really?”

  Wanje reached into the bowl. Her movement was graceful, fluid. “This surprises you?”

  Amaria stopped mid-chew and swallowed, remembering her manners again. “Sort of. In Riding, not Combat.” She reached for more fruit.

  “Explain.”

  “Well, I feel a horse is letting me sit on her back. It’s her decision, not mine.” Amaria chewed fast and swallowed hard. “You know?”

  Wanje shrugged.

  Amaria refilled her glass and put the canter down. “With blades and the bow, I make the decisions. No one else.” She took a drink.

  “Surely your opponent has a say in the matter.”

  “Only if they’re faster or stronger.”

  “And is there no one faster or stronger than you?”

  Amaria put the glass down. “Not many.”

  “Some might disagree with you.”

  Amaria tossed another piece of fruit in her mouth. “Not many.”

  “Just those who profited last Genesis from your loss. I heard a lot of arrowheads changed hands that day.”

  Amaria felt the tunic tighten around her body, and a knot crashed into the pit of her stomach. The sensation felt much like how it felt leaping off Mesha Cliff, after her feet had left the ground and her body hung suspended in air, high above the sea, weightless for one whole heartbeat before the earth yanked her down. Only that was for fun, on purpose. This was a drop Amaria hadn’t planned for. She had lost the final match in Hand-to-Hand Combat last Genesis Games to Zora, a snake in the belly show-off whom Amaria despised. It was Amaria’s first loss in Hand-to-Hand since she started competing in the event. She had won ten crowns in a row, and though it had been nearly a cycle since the defeat, the reminder of it tasted as bitter on her tongue as the day Zora had been crowned victor. Amaria felt the match had been judged unfairly. Zora had delivered the winning strike while her foot was outside the circle, something that should have been caught by the judges. Regardless, Amaria knew better than to let her guard down. Zora was a cheater, and now Amaria had a mark on an otherwise untarnished record and one less crown for her wall.

  “I am sure you will fare better this Genesis,” said Wanje.

  Amaria choked down the fruit. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wanje ate another piece as Amaria fiddled with a loose thread on her tunic. The chatter from the other guests filled her ears, and the hum went uninterrupted for several heartbeats. She felt confused again. This wasn’t how she had imagined her first lesson in Quest Training to be. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t eating fruit in a tunic at Terra’s Tea House.

  “What about your other lessons?” asked Wanje.

  Besides Combat and Riding, Sea Training and Religion were the only other studies Amaria was required to take. Sea Training wasn’t bad when it was in the water. The workouts were tedious, but she was a good swimmer and excelled. On the sliver, she was average at best, but she loved the challenge of staying on the wood, especially during the rain season. Sea Training was more torturous when on land because it usually involved making various watercraft and learning numbers and reading signs from the tide. Despite her distaste for numbers and lack of patience for the tide, any lesson in Sea Training was better than Religion.

  Religion had been interesting when Amaria was in General Studies. There were a lot of stories and songs about the Great Mother, and there wasn’t much reading. When reading was required, the parchment had big pictures on it and hardly any writing. Since Amaria had started Warrior Training, Religion had become all scroll reading, but not the big picture kind. These were long and almost all writing. They made her eyes cross, and she frequently lost her place which was why she rarely read them when they were assigned.

  “I liked Sea Training,” said Amaria. “I got better on the sliver, but I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand the sea.”

  “That’s an unobtainable goal. No one fully understands the sea, except the Great Mother.”

  Amaria nodded and nibbled on a piece of fruit.

  “What did Sakina tell you about Quest Training?”

  Amaria looked around for something to wipe her hands. Wanje offered her a cloth.

  “Thank you.” She dried her fingers and put it next to her plate. “She said it’s difficult and told me to be honest because you already know the truth.”

  Amaria felt confident that she hadn’t lied. Her sister had said those things, but if she was right, and Wanje did know the truth, she would know that Sakina had said more.

  Wanje picked up her teacup and blew across the top. “What else did she say?”

  Amaria picked up her water glass and took a long drink. Sakina had hated Quest Training. Each night she cursed the arrival of her fifteenth birthday before falling asleep. Amaria tried to help her find the sun in her training, but whether it was how boring learning patrol routes was or how pointless and redundant lessons were, Sakina always found the clouds. Amaria eventually stopped trying to help and just listened and wondered if other warriors felt the same. Amaria had six full moons until her fifteenth birthday, and never once had she complained about becoming a warrior. There was no greater honor.

  Wanje set her cup down. “Surely she gave you more advice than that. You are, after all, sisters. Truer than any.”

  There were plenty of sisters by mother in Themiscia. It was common among citizens. Among warriors, several had them, but none were also sisters by Zeus. There had only been ten sisters by mother and Zeus in Themiscia’s history, all of which had died during the wars of the ancestors. Four generations passed before the boat brought Amaria’s mother to the island carrying Sakina on her hip, Amaria on her back, and Telsa in her womb. Amaria had been told how special she and her sisters were ever since she could remember, and she was constantly compared to the ones that came before. It made her feel like a new painting in the galleries at the artists’ camp.

  Amaria cleared her throat. “She said the climb to Mesha Cliff before first light was her favorite way to start lessons, but that she didn’t get to climb it much in training.”

  “Part of what separates Quest Training from Warrior Training is learning new terrain. How could you protect citizens and your queen otherwise?”

  Amaria nodded. “I don’t need Sakina’s help understanding that taking the shield will be difficult. I do wish she had warned me about the first lesson. I was expecting something more – physical.”

  Wanje smiled. “Sakina’s first lesson was at the archery range.”

  “What?” Amaria shouted. A few patrons at the surrounding tables looked at her. She looked at Wanje and lowered her voice. “I don’t understand. Why is my lesson here?”

  “Because, like your sis
ter, patience is your biggest challenge.”

  Amaria felt like she had been tricked, like the time she had paid an arrowhead during the Great Harvest to see the two-tailed bottom skimmer that was just a regular skimmer whose tail had been pierced by another skimmer’s barb. The archery range would have been a much better first lesson. No one there would have been wearing a tunic.

  Amaria picked up her teacup and took a sip. It tasted like rusted metal. She set it down. “Do you think Sakina and I share many of the same attributes?”

  “Very few. I would say you have more in common with me.”

  Amaria grew suspicious. “How so?”

  “For one, we both care for the Great Mother.”

  Amaria rolled her eyes. “Everyone cares about the Great Mother.”

  “Not everyone.”

  Amaria tried to think of one Themiscian who didn’t care about the Great Mother but couldn’t. “Like who?”

  “Some say that men don’t care for Her.”

  Amaria hadn’t considered men as an option. She had seen them in some of the paintings and murals in the galleries and had read about them in the war parchments she was tested on, but Amaria had never seen a man in the flesh, at least not that she could remember.

  Wanje took two arrowheads from a pouch fastened to her belt and tossed them on the table. “Let’s walk. The fruit has made us heavy.”

  Amaria felt the sweat slide off her elbows. She hadn’t noticed, but the sun had changed position. It was now the hottest part of the day.

  Wanje stood and walked towards the waterfall. Amaria tried to follow, but her chair was pulled in too tight. She had done that on purpose to avoid dropping anything on her tunic. She scooted it back, and the legs caught on the lip of the rocks. She stumbled but regained balance and eased herself out of the jam. She moved slow to keep her feet from tangling in the cloth and joined her teacher by the waterfall.

  “We won’t walk too far,” said Wanje. She took one side of her tunic and lifted it slightly as she crossed from the cobblestones to the rough terrain of the forest floor.

  Amaria tried to move too fast, and her legs got tangled. After she gained control of her stride, she caught up to Wanje and walked stumble-free for twenty-two heartbeats.