Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

“I believe okui must lead and hikui must follow,” Sonoe replied. “Our blood gives us that right.”

“And yet, you treat Jelena as okui.”

“That is different and you know it!”

“Oh, is it? Explain to me how this is so!” Sateyuka’s eyes flashed in challenge.

Sonoe shook her head. “This argument is pointless. Perhaps it would be wise for me to withdraw for a while. I’ll be in the sitting room if Jelena needs me.”

Outside the door, Sonoe came face to face with Amara. “I’ve left the weaver to watch Jelena,” Sonoe said. “She’s fed the baby already and is asleep again.”

Amara nodded, “Good.”

Sonoe glanced over her shoulder at the closed bedchamber door, then switched to mindspeech. I’m worried, Amara. Now that Jelena is a mother, I fear her concern for her child will interfere with our plans.

I, too, have considered this, but once Jelena knows the full truth, once she knows what’s at stake, I’m confident she’ll put aside all personal concerns and submit to her fate.

I wish I could be as sure as you are. The love she has for her daughter may be too strong. I fear she’ll be unable to willingly leave the baby behind.

We will assure my daughter-in-law that Hatora will be raised in the protective fold of strong families, both my own and the Onjaras… No. She will go bravely.

“I think I’ll return to the king’s quarters. Jelena won’t wake for awhile yet,” Sonoe said aloud. “The weaver watches over her like a she-wolf does her cub.” Sonoe’s expression made clear her distain.

“Something is happening,” Amara said softly. “Last night, I had a very disturbing dream.”

“Oh?” Sonoe responded carefully.

“I felt the presence of our enemy, as if he were very near. He is growing stronger each day, Sonoe. We must begin preparations for the Sundering. I had hoped to delay it a while longer, but circumstances are forcing our hand. War with the Soldarans will be upon us soon, and I think we must perform the Working before then.”

“I agree,” Sonoe answered. “Our entire attentions must remain focused on the defense of Alasiri once the Soldarans attack. But aren’t you forgetting one very important thing?”

“No, I’m well aware of our lack of a full complement. The only solution I can think of is to recruit practitioners from outside the Society to make up the difference.”

“Risky, but perhaps necessary,” Sonoe agreed. “I know of several who might serve.”

“I’ll leave it to you, then,” Amara said. She opened the bedroom door and disappeared inside, closing it softly behind her. Sonoe nodded in satisfaction.

Yes, leave everything to me, she thought.

Ashinji!

Jelena?

Ashinji looked around in confusion. He felt certain he had just heard Jelena call out to him .

How is that possible?

“You all right?” Seijon poked him in the ribs with the blunt tip of his practice sword.

Ashinji shook his head and refocused on the boy. “Yes, I thought…well, never mind. The combination I just taught you, show it to me again.”

He spent another hour with the boy, putting him through several more drills before he called an end to the session.

“You’re improving by leaps and bounds, Seijon. I think you’ll be ready to move on to live steel before long.”

The hikui boy beamed. “I think I’m ready now!” he exclaimed.

Ashinji shook his head. “Not yet! Don’t be so eager; it’s a big step. Once you start with a real sword, you’re going to get cut. That’s guaranteed. Think you’re ready for real pain?”

Seijon snorted. “I was knife fighting in the street long before I ended up here. I know what it’s like to get cut.”

Ashinji regarded the boy thoughtfully, remembering what Gran had told him of the young hikui’s brutal childhood.

“Go and get cleaned up. It’s almost dinnertime,” he directed. “Give me your sword.” Seijon nodded and handed him the practice blade, then scampered off toward the bath house.

Ashinji lifted his arm, sniffed, and grimaced. He gathered up the pile of assorted practice weapons and went to stow them away before heading for the bath house.

The Soldarans did not share the elves’ reverence for cleanliness, but they did wash sometimes, usually after strenuous exercise. The slaves’ bath house, a fairly simple affair, consisted of two water pumps set up on concrete pads at either end of a walled-off area of the yard, just behind the barracks. Stone-lined drains carried waste water away, and a canvas awning provided shade during the summer and protection from rain during the rest of the year.

Seijon had already stripped and hung his clothes on a peg driven into the wall. Ashinji noted with mild surprise how well-muscled the boy had become over the past few months.

No wonder his blows are so hard! Perhaps Gran is right, and I won’t need to worry over his safety when the time comes for us to try our escape.

Ashinji had yet to tell Seijon of his and Gran’s decision to leave. He didn’t want to get the boy’s hopes up in case they couldn’t figure a way out, and the less he knew, the better. It reduced the risk to all of them.

Ashinji pulled off his tunic, breeches and sandals, and hung them next to Seijon’s. A chilly breeze skirled around the interior of the bath house, lifting the awning and setting it to thrumming against the ropes holding it in place.

“I think it’s going to start raining again,” Ashinji commented. He glanced upward at the flapping canvas.

“Yeah,” Seijon responded. Water gurgled and splashed from the wide mouth of the pump.

Ashinji undid his braid and raked his fingers through his hair several times. It had grown so long, he had taken to looping his queue around his neck when he fought.

I’ll ask Gran to trim it when I see her this evening.

Seijon stepped back so Ashinji could douse himself. He leaned forward and let the cold water sluice over his head and shoulders. His mind skipped back, alighting on the memory of the first time he and Jelena had taken a bath together. The smell of her hair, wet and scented with herbs, the feel of her hot skin against his-he ached all over with longing and the grief of loss. The comforts of the bath house at Kerala Castle were a far cry from the cold water of the de Guera yard.

He stood up, gasping, and pushed his dripping hair away from his face.

“Hey, look who’s here! It’s the tink and his little doxie.”

Seijon reacted as if struck. Trembling, he shrank back and muttered, “Shut up, Leal.”

“What’s the matter, doxie? Truth hurts? The whole yard knows you let him give it to you in the ass.”

Leal strutted into the bath house, his tunic streaked with sweat. A fresh welt twisted like a petulant mouth across the top of his shaven head, testament to his last bout in the arena. He snorted and launched a gobbet of spit that just missed Seijon’s face.

“Leave him alone, Leal,” Ashinji said quietly, and moved to stand between the man and the boy.

“What are you going to do if I choose not to?”

The awning flapped and boomed overhead. The first patter of rain sprayed the canvas.

Leal closed in, stinking of sweat and violence.

Ashinji stood his ground, unflinching. Even naked, he had no fear of this man, for he knew all his weaknesses. He felt confident he could beat him in hand to hand combat, if it came down to that.

“I’ve no wish to fight you, Leal. Don’t we fight and risk our lives enough in the arena?” Ashinji kept his eyes locked onto the human’s, which glittered in the half-light like a feral dog’s.