Cinda Chima - The Demon King

Han was thinking he was just as likely to shoot flames from his rear end. “They look clan-made to me, but Willo doesn’t know what the symbols mean,” Han said. “And if she doesn’t know, nobody does.”

Bird finally dropped the subject. She rinsed off his hands and wrists and used the hem of her skirt to dry them. Pulling a small jar from her pocket, she uncorked it and smeared something onto the silver with her fingers.

He tried to pull away, but she had a tight grip on his wrist. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Polish,” she said, rubbing the silver with a dry rag until it shone. She rubbed polish onto the other cuff. Han submitted, though he didn’t really want to call attention to them these days.

“Are you coming to my renaming feast?” Bird asked abruptly, her eyes still focused on her work.

He was surprised by the question. “Well, I’d planned to. If I’m asked.” It had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t be. Bird’s family was prominent among the clans, since she was niece to the Marisa Pines matriarch. Bird’s coming-of-age would be celebrated with a huge party, and Han had been looking forward to it.

She nodded once, briskly. “Good.”

“It’s still a month away, right?” For Han, a month was an eternity. Anything could happen in a month. He never planned more than a day or two ahead.

She nodded again. “For my sixteenth name day.”

Finally letting go of his hands, Bird dropped her own into her lap. She extended her bare toes out from under her skirts, studying them. She wore a silver ring on her right small toe.

“Have you decided on your vocation?” Han asked.

Among the clans, boys and girls to the age of sixteen were expected to train in all skills, from hunting and tracking and herding and use of weapons to weaving and metalworking and healing and singing.

At sixteen they were reborn into their vocations and began apprenticeships. Everyone was required to have a trade, though clan notions of a trade were more flexible than in the city.

For instance, storytelling was a trade.

When Han realized Bird hadn’t answered, he repeated, “Have you decided on a trade?”

Bird looked up at him. “I’m going to be a warrior,” she said, giving him a steely eye as if daring him to object.

“A warrior!” He blinked at her, then blurted, “What does Willo say?”

“She doesn’t know,” Bird said, digging her toes into the rug. “Don’t tell her.”

Willo might be disappointed, Han thought. Having no daughter of her own, she probably hoped Bird would follow her as matriarch and healer. Even though Bird wasn’t exactly the nurturing type.

“How many warriors does Marisa Pines need?” he asked.

“I want to go to Demonai,” Bird said, hunching her shoulders.

“Really?” Bird was aiming high. The Demonai warriors were legendary fighters and hunters. It was said they could survive in the woods for weeks on wind and rain and sunlight. That one Demonai warrior was a match for a hundred soldiers.

Personally, Han thought they were an arrogant lot who kept to themselves and never cracked a smile and tried to make you think they were privy to secrets that you would never know.

“Who are you supposed to fight?” Han asked. “I mean, it’s been years since we’ve had a war in the uplands.”

Bird looked annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm. “They’re spilling enough blood down south,” she said. “Refugees have been flooding into the mountains. There’s always a chance the fighting will spread up here.” She sounded almost like she hoped it would.

In the chaos following the Breaking, Arden, Tamron, and Bruinswallow had broken away from the Fells. Now the flatlands to the south were embroiled in an incessant civil war. Han’s father had signed on as a mercenary soldier, gone south and died there. But there had been peace in the north for a millennium.

“Willo’s worried,” Bird went on when Han didn’t respond. “Some wizards are saying that they let go of power too easily, that it’s time to return to having wizard kings. They think wizard kings could help protect us against armies from the south.” She shook her head, looking disgusted. “People have such short memories.”

“It’s been a thousand years,” Han pointed out, and received a scowl in return. “Anyway, Queen Marianna wouldn’t let that happen,” he added. “Nor would the High Wizard.”

“Some people say she’s not a strong queen,” Bird said. “Not like the queens in the past. Some say the wizards are gaining too much power.”

Han wondered who “some people” were, who had all these opinions. “Anyway, aren’t you afraid of getting killed? Being a warrior, I mean?” He couldn’t help thinking of his father. How different his life would be if he were still alive.

Bird snorted in disgust. “Don’t tell me there’s not going to be any war, and then warn me I might get killed.”

The thing was, Han knew Bird would make a great warrior. Though she hadn’t Han’s muscle, she was better with a bow than he was. Better at woodcraft. Better at tracking. She could look over a broken landscape and know where the deer lay hidden. She was better at anticipating the moves of a possible enemy. She’d outfoxed him all his life.

And there was nothing she liked better than stalking things.

He looked up to find her watching him, as if eager for a response.

“You’ll make a great warrior, Digging Bird,” he told her, grinning. “It’s perfect. Good choice.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

She beamed at him, blinking back tears, and he was amazed that his approval meant so much to her. He was even more amazed when she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

She stood, picked up the basin, and ducked out between the hides.

“Bird!” he called after her, thinking that if she was in a kissing mood, he was happy to oblige. But by the time he got the word out, she was gone.

When Han returned to the common room, Bird was gone, and Willo and Dancer were sitting knee to knee on the floor, talking. If they weren’t arguing, they were close to it. Han faded back into the doorway, embarrassed, not wanting to interrupt. But he could hear everything they said.

“Did you expect me to just stand by while they burned up the mountain?” Dancer was saying, his voice trembling with anger. “I’m not a coward.”

Han was shocked. No one ever spoke that way to Willo.

“I expect you to remember that you are only sixteen years old,” Willo replied calmly. “I expect you to use common sense. There was no point in confronting them. What did it accomplish? Did your bravery put the fire out?”

Dancer said nothing, only looked furious.

She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Let it go, Dancer, as I have,” she said softly. “This isn’t like you. A grudge against wizards will only get you into trouble.”

“They weren’t much older than me and Han,” Dancer countered stubbornly. “Haven’t you said that wizards have to be sixteen to go to Oden’s Ford? And didn’t you say they aren’t allowed to use magic until they get some training?”

“What wizards are allowed to do and what they actually do are two different things,” Willo said. She stood and moved to the loom, fussing with the warp. “Who were they? Do you know?”

“The one was called Micah,” Dancer said. “Micah Bayar.”

Willo was looking away from Dancer and toward Han, so he saw the blood drain from her face when Dancer said the name. “Are you sure?” she asked, without turning around.

“Well, pretty sure.” Dancer sounded confused, as if he’d caught something in her voice. “Why?”

“He’s in Aerie House. That’s a powerful wizard family,” Willo said. “And not one to cross. Did they ask your name?”