Becoming a Warrior Page 2

  Savage Huntress was the first store Amaria and Wanje came to on the path. Amaria slowed her pace and eyed the pieces displayed out front. The owner, Sylvia, had finished two new shields, three bows, and a sheath, since last Amaria was there. The round shield with talons circling the rim caught her eye.

  Wanje admired the pieces from a distance. “See anything you like?”

  Amaria nodded. “I can always find something beastly at Savage Huntress.”

  Savage Huntress was her favorite shop. Sometimes, when she wasn’t training, she would loiter outside and pester Sylvia to give her a sneak peek at her latest creations. There were other weapon makers on the island, but if Amaria had a choice, hers was Savage Huntress. Never once did a Savage Huntress bow break while taking aim. The blades rarely needed sharpening and felt lighter during combat. She had never used one of Sylvia’s shields, but Amaria suspected there would be no complaints about those either.

  “But, I’ll have to save my arrowheads if I’m to afford any of these,” she said, “or ask the Sacred Peacock to leave one by the hearth because Mother goes to Bows and Blades.”

  “Bows and Blades makes fine weapons.”

  “Yes, they’re fine, but the ones from Savage Huntress look better.” Amaria thought about her statement. Vanity was a sin. “Everyone thinks so, even Mother. She just doesn’t say so. She only goes to Bows and Blades because it’s cheaper.”

  “Pathenia is a practical woman. I suspect she’s been that way all her life, even before she was banished.” Wanje moved away from the storefront and continued along the path.

  Wanje waited at the top of a steep incline, and Amaria dropped the blade she was fiddling with and scurried after her. She stumbled to gain footing.

  “Pick up one end and lift to the knees,” Wanje instructed.

  Amaria looked up to see Wanje displaying the proper way to lift a tunic when scaling a treacherous slope. She imitated the technique and found it slightly easier to move. She thought climbing would be even easier if she could hike up both sides of the cloth and tie it off above the knee, but that would be uncivilized, so she used Wanje’s example instead and made it up the hill.

  Wanje started walking again. “Do you remember the journey here?”

  Amaria paused to steady her breath. “No, but Sakina does. I was too young, but she was strong enough to walk part of the way.”

  “So, you remember nothing?”

  Wanje’s stride was long, and Amaria fell behind again. “Well sometimes, when I dream, I think I’m remembering, but I’m not sure.”

  The sage fondled the dangling leaves on the branches that hung low across the path. She plucked one and put it in her mouth. “Tell me about the dreams.”

  “It’s not much. I’m just rocking, like I’m in a boat in shallow water. There are fingers twisting weeds from the sea.” Amaria considered whether or not she was accurately describing the dream but decided there was no better way. “And, it’s always hot, but it gets hottest right before I wake up.”

  She felt foolish. It was common knowledge that a sage’s vision came in dream form, and afterwards, it’s said that their bodies are so hot a bird’s egg can be cooked on their skin. Her dreams weren’t like that. They woke up speaking the divine tongue, but she just woke up with a sweaty backside.

  Amaria scratched her head. “I’m not sure if that’s a memory, or if it’s just part of the story. Mother said she carried me in a pouch on her back.”

  Wanje ate another leaf and continued walking. “What else happened in your story?”

  “Athena touched my head and Mother’s stomach.” She thought some more. “The boat ride was long, but I don’t remember all that. I’ve just heard Sakina and Mother say so.”

  They approached a small clearing with two benches, and Wanje took a seat. Amaria said a prayer thanking the Great Mother for the reprieve. She hurried over and plopped down.

  “The journey is long,” said Wanje. “I was just a child myself when I took it.”

  Amaria was curious about the trip to the island. She knew how it happened and why, but only from stories. She knew there were other worlds and, for a short while, she had lived in one, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember a single detail of her life before Themiscia.

  She scooted back on the bench. “Do you remember it?”

  “Yes, I do. It is my most vivid memory.”

  Amaria thought about the first time she rode a horse and a sliver, and about her quests through the Valley of Sand and the Great Ravine, and the taste of lasting berries, and the feel of her mother’s touch, and the smell of their home during Genesis and the Great Harvest. As memories filled her mind, she wondered if she would ever be able to pick just one as her most vivid.

  “Amaria, do you know why you must take the shield?”

  “To protect the tribe,” she recited quickly.

  “Yes, but do you know why you must protect the tribe?”

  “In Combat Training, Desh told us there will be another war, potentially the biggest we’ve ever seen.”

  Amaria had memorized everything she was taught in Combat Training. There had been three wars and a lot of women were killed, including queens. There hadn’t been a war in many moons, and the talk was that peace was creating complacency among the warriors.

  “Another war is coming,” said Wanje. “It is as certain as the tide, but you must understand why there will be war to understand your role in it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “As you know, your bloodline makes you special. You are here because Zeus took your mother for his collection, and Hera was jealous. Plain and simple.” Wanje shifted her position on the bench. “Your sole purpose is to protect the queen and citizens because citizens are not strong enough to fight men, and it will be men, has always been men, who will try to conquer this tribe. Some say Hera guides them here, gives them aid and that our suffering is for her entertainment, like a play.”

  Amaria felt her stomach churn and saliva filled her mouth. She spat the excess into the trees, which she instantly regretted. She looked at Wanje. Her face seemed less than pleased. Amaria looked at the ground. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Wanje waited four heartbeats before continuing. “Hera does have great power over us. We’re not purely divine. The mortal blood in our veins makes us weaker, and we can all die.” Her voice was calm, almost serene as she spoke. “But, Hera is not without weakness. Hers is vanity and jealousy of the Great Mother. She is a predictable opponent.”

  “How can we defeat Hera, Wanje? She’s stronger than us.”

  “All women are equal in the Great Mother’s eyes.”

  Amaria had always been taught that all women were equal in the Great Mother’s eyes, but if that were really true, citizens wouldn’t need protection from men and warriors would be as strong as Hera.

  Wanje put her hands in her lap. “The Great Mother has blessed us all so that life can flourish. Hera has simply kept some of us from receiving Her gift. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Amaria didn’t think of the ability to give life as a gift. Gifts were things like fighting blades or beaded bands or even a new tunic. She knew she was supposed to thank the Great Mother for giving her a womb, but she often forgot to include that in her prayers. Giving life was something she couldn’t comprehend. Amaria’s mother had told her that she wouldn’t fully understand the Great Mother’s gift until after her womb had opened.

  Wanje reached down and picked up a lizard scurrying under the leaves. She rubbed her thumb down its back. “Hera is a wicked one, though, I will say.” The lizard squirmed for a few heartbeats before gripping Wanje’s finger and relaxing under her touch. “She has surrounded us with creatures who use the Great Mother’s gift. It’s cruel really.” Wanje set it on the ground.

  Amaria watched it dart into the thick before looking at Wanje. “Why doesn�
�t the Great Mother protect us from Hera?”

  “She does. She is wise and knows of Her daughter’s sins. That’s why She gave us another gift.”

  Maybe it was a weapon, an indestructible blade, or impenetrable cloth, or incurable poison to dip arrowheads in.

  “Knowledge,” said Wanje.

  Disappointment washed over Amaria. She wondered why all the Great Mother’s gifts were things she couldn’t hold in her hands.

  Wanje smiled. “What were you expecting, a divine fighting blade?”

  “No. Maybe.”

  Wanje laughed. “Knowledge is more powerful than a blade, Amaria.”

  Amaria shrugged. Her blade could be pretty powerful.

  “A blade is only effective because you know how to use it. You know how to strike, where to strike, and most of all, when to strike. Without knowledge, your blade is more hazardous to you than your opponent.”

  Amaria thought about the first time she used a sword without its sheath. She was klutzy, and when the exercise was over, she had cuts on her legs and arms and had severed several braids of her hair. “I see your point.”

  “The Great Mother has shown us things, divine things, through visions and the life around us. Do you know how She creates life?”

  Amaria knew how creation happened, but her understanding was based solely on observations she had while watching animals. To her, the act happened fast and often seemed violent, forced.

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  “The Great Mother gives part of Herself to Her antithesis.”

  “Oh.”

  The explanation hadn’t alleviated her confusion. Her forehead crinkled as she tried to conjure a mental picture. She knew the opposite of life was death, and she had seen death happen naturally all around her. She thought about the bear cub she had found with its belly ripped out but shook the image from her mind.

  “From the heartbeat the Great Mother carves us from Her womb, we’re dying. That’s why She gave us Her gift. To receive it, all women must sacrifice.”

  “That’s why we bleed.”

  “Yes. Until we bleed, females are as big as males physically, if not bigger, but after the womb opens, our growth slows because our bodies are preparing for the sacrifice. This is the way it has been since the beginning, and that is how it will be until the Great Mother dies.”

  Amaria was taken off guard. “What? What do you mean dies?”

  “Does die have a meaning I’m unaware of? A popular phrase among the youth, perhaps? It’s so hard for me to keep track at my age.”

  “I mean, how? No one’s powerful enough to kill the Great Mother.”

  “Some believe men are.”

  “Men can’t kill the Great Mother. She’s their creator. Even if they could, why would they?”

  Wanje shifted her position on the bench again. “There are things I will never understand about the Great Mother no matter how many blessings She bestows on me, but I’ll try to explain what I know the best I can in a way that’s easiest for you to understand.”

  Amaria leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, bracing herself for a sermon. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “How many wheels does it take to chisel stone arrow tips?”

  The question surprised Amaria. She looked at Wanje and shrugged. “Depends on how many you’re making.”

  “A barrel’s worth.”

  “Black stone or red?”

  “Good question.”

  Amaria smiled. “Thank you.”

  Wanje nodded.

  She waited a few heartbeats, but Wanje didn’t speak. Amaria shrugged. “At least two for red and four, maybe five, for black stone.”

  “Yes. Nicely done.”

  Amaria smiled again. It wasn’t a hard a question, and she had no idea what it had to do with why men wanted to kill the Great Mother, but the praise was like healing cream for her pride.

  “And for metal tips?”

  Amaria hesitated. Some teachers asked trick questions, and she wondered if Wanje was one of those teachers. There was only one way to find out. “You don’t use stone to make metal tips.”

  “Why not?”

  “You use fire.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because metal is stronger than stone.”

  “Let’s say you had no choice but to use stone.”

  “It would chip apart, depending on the strength of the metal and how delicate the hand.”

  “Exactly.”

  Amaria normally felt smart after she had answered teachers’ questions correctly, but with Wanje, the more questions she got right, the more confused she became.

  “Wanje, what does making metal and stone tips have to do with why men want to kill the Great Mother?”

  “When the Great Mother carves life from Her womb, parts of the blade – parts of Her antithesis – chip off and are absorbed by Her creation.”

  “So, I have pieces of Her antithesis in me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, I don’t want to kill the Great Mother.”

  “No, but you have killed things and are trained to do so.”

  “That’s different.”

  “The ability to kill whether for nourishment, protection, hate, fear, or training is a gift from Her antithesis.”

  “Trees have the antithesis’s gift?”

  Wanje smiled. “Yes, though I’ll admit their threat is minimal.”

  “And the little yellow flowers in Rolling Hills, watch out for those.” Amaria giggled at her joke.

  Wanje didn’t laugh. “Some creations come from a softer part of the Great Mother’s womb. Men come from the hardest. More of the dagger breaks off in the reaping. Of all Her creations, they are most like Her antithesis.”

  Amaria thought about the drawings she had seen of men. Many of them were painted with jagged teeth, and she imagined them snarling and snapping at the Great Mother like wolves. In Amaria’s vision, the Great Mother was calm with glowing blonde hair and green eyes, green as the leaves of the forest during the rain season.

  “What happens if the Great Mother dies?”

  “It will be long and slow, but everything She created will die as well. Life cannot exist without Her.”

  Amaria wondered how Wanje could be so calm. “Well, well, that’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard. Why would you want to destroy life?”

  “It’s not in the antithesis’s nature to create it.”

  Amaria’s mind was like the steam cave she went to after a difficult training session. She tried to think of something to say but couldn’t find any words. All she found was anger snapping and snarling inside her. She was the wolf protecting the Great Mother. She tightened her fists.

  Wanje put her hand on Amaria’s back. “You can sense danger. Not many warriors are mature enough to grasp the true threat men pose this early in their training.”

  Amaria’s fists were clenched, but the idea that Wanje thought she was mature caused some tension to subside.

  “Now,” said Wanje, “how you act on those instincts, well, that will define your character as a warrior.”

  “I feel mad.” She couldn’t think of a better word. “I want to fire my bow.” She tugged the neckline of her tunic to loosen the fabric’s grip.

  “You can channel your anger when that day comes, but first you will have to make a decision that will affect the entire tribe.”

  For a few heartbeats Amaria felt like the tunic was going to choke her out. What did she have to decide? She wasn’t a warrior. She was only training to become one. She couldn’t imagine having any decision to make that would have an impact on the entire tribe. She yanked at the cloth again until she heard a rip. Her mother wouldn’t be happy. Amaria sat on her hands. “What decision?”

  “You must decide what you believe
about men.”

  She had never been asked her opinion of men before. In General Studies, she had been taught about their anatomy during a quick lesson that also included the anatomy of mountain cats, bottom skimmers, and sea snakes. In Themiscian History, she had been told about the cruel acts they had committed during the wars of the ancestors, and in Combat Training, she was told that if she ever saw a man, she had one of two courses of action. She could alert reinforcements and track for other men, or she could kill, alert reinforcements, and track for other men.

  “I suppose I would alert reinforcements and track the area.”

  Wanje laughed. “Not what you would do if you saw a man, what you believe about men.”

  Amaria had always received high praise from her teachers, but so far, in her first lesson with Wanje, she was struggling to answer what felt more and more like test questions.

  “What am I supposed to believe, Wanje?”

  “This isn’t a test, Amaria.”

  “Feels like it.”

  Wanje smiled but said nothing.

  Amaria twisted her braids with her fingers and thought for a few heartbeats. “I’d probably kill and then alert reinforcements.”

  Wanje laughed again, and Amaria’s cheeks burned.

  “Only you can make the choice, Amaria, but like some, you can believe that men will overpower the Great Mother and She will die. Others think that, with education, they will fall into balance with Her as they were before. Many believe that they want to make the Great Mother a slave and that the intention is to control creation, not destroy it, and few think men are too feeble-minded to cause any real harm.”

  “I will kill any man who tries to hurt the Great Mother.”

  “You don’t have to decide today, but you must remember that we can’t destroy men entirely, despite the frequent suggestion at council meetings. If we do, we risk killing the Great Mother ourselves.”

  “What are we supposed to do, make men slaves?”

  “Some have suggested that, but the queen is against it.”

  For the first time in her life, Amaria was thankful she was not yet a warrior and wouldn’t be asked her opinion on tribal matters until she was.