“I might know who you mean.” I fought to keep my voice calm. “There’s a girl in Nandel who wasn’t betrothed when she turned eighteen. Some people whispered about it.” That much was true, though I’d never told Willow.
It was too dark to see Forest’s expression. “I’m not supposed to know anything about her until we meet, but…” He sighed. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “Only an idiot wouldn’t think so.”
“There’s more to life than beauty.”
His answer surprised me. “I guess that’s true.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Forest asked. “The way our wives are chosen for us?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’d rather not get married.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I’d just rather not get married now.”
“Well, who knows if we’ll even make it home.” I clamped my mouth shut, realizing how negative I sounded.
If it bothered Forest, I couldn’t tell. “It’s better that we never met. If we ended up liking each other, it would’ve been harder.”
I wanted to tell him how hard it already was for Willow. I wanted to tell him he had to come home, that my sister’s dreams hinged on it, and that she would be unbearable if he didn’t. But I’d already said too much.
“At least you don’t have to worry about it for a while.”
“Plenty of other things to worry about instead.” He shifted on his blanket. “Good night, Storm.”
I wished him good night and breathed a prayer to the Great God that Forest would live to be my brother-in-law. For as much as Willow loved me, I was certain she would be happier knowing that her future with Forest was secure.
Words, dovetailing one another, rising and falling, but making no sense. And in the middle of them, my name, clear as the first trill of the lark.
Rain.
Swirls of light and color without form, and a sweet-scented wind stealing my breath and nudging at me from every corner. And still the words came, whispers and statements and singsong phrases, but I couldn’t understand any of them, except one.
My name.
Over and over, near, then far away. Gentle, coaxing, sometimes admonishing.
Rain. Rain. Rain.
I sat up in the dark, my breaths coming sharp and short. Forest lay sleeping beside me, unbothered. I pressed my hand against my bound chest and willed my heart to calm itself.
It was only a dream—a jumbled confusion of thought that could have meant something but probably didn’t. I lay down again, telling myself that the latter was true—that the dream meant nothing. That it was merely the nightmare of a girl-turned-soldier during her first night in training camp.
But my words rang false. Because the voice that had spoken my name in the dream was the same voice I’d heard in the lake.
The final swell of new recruits arrived throughout the next day, so that by sundown our ranks had topped four hundred. We were all measured for boots and helmets—which was easy, except for the fact that my feet were apparently “small for a man’s”—and for leather breastplates, which was terrifying.
Fortunately, the recruiter in charge of chest measurements seemed only half engaged with his work, as though he had measured the girth of so many chests that he’d long since stopped actually looking at anyone. He did pause to double-check my measurement before writing it, but other than that one moment, there was no difficulty.
We’d have to wait for the breastplates, but the boots were already available, piled by size into baskets. I took mine thankfully; the rags inside Papa’s boots didn’t keep my feet from sliding, and I was certain I couldn’t train in them without tripping. My new pair was strong and supple and fit me so much better than Papa’s, though it was still a size too big.
Once I was wearing my armor, I would blend in better with the rest of the soldiers. Perhaps I wouldn’t even have to bind my breasts so tightly, which made me ache and restricted my motion. I would have to experiment with that until I got it right.
We stood at attention after dinner, rows of untrained soldiers from all over Ylanda. Commander Dane stood in full armor, the purple braid of his rank stitched onto the left side of a fine, canary-yellow military cloak. He placed his hands behind his back and scanned the ranks once from left to right before tilting his head back and addressing us in the same confident voice he’d used the night before.
“Soldiers of Ylanda!” Once again, his tone didn’t match his boyish face. “Tomorrow your training begins. The horn will sound at sunup, and you will have ten minutes to report to the eastern field.”
Ten minutes? I would have to be sure to get up before the horn so that I could take care of my morning business. The latrine would be quickly overrun with men who would question why I wasn’t standing with everyone else.
“You honor your families by being here,” he went on. “You honor your towns, your underkings, your kingdom, and your high king. And you honor yourselves. Always, we will expect ten times more from you than you think you can give. In this way, we will train you into the kind of soldiers that are worthy of representing His Majesty in battle.”
Uneasiness crept up and down my spine like a shifty rodent. The reality of training for battle was foreign from everyday life, something to talk idly about in the comfort of home. But now, standing with my fellow recruits in tense lines, the reality settled on me like sudden rain.
We would fight. We would die. Not for ourselves, but for our high king. For our families at home.
More than anything, I was thankful to have saved Storm from this fate. The crowd and the yelling commanders would have terrified him. Even digging latrines would have been too much. I stuffed the rising terror deeply inside myself. For Storm, I would face death. I wouldn’t let anyone see that I was afraid.
“You may have heard that the nomads have breached the wall,” Commander Dane said. “You may not have believed it, because for generations Stonewall has kept us safe from the nomads of the north. But at long last, our greatest defense has given way.”
A low murmur went through the crowd. I bit my bottom lip and kept my eyes pasted on the commander.
“For several years, the M’loh tribe has been conquering the other nomadic tribes one by one and bringing them all under the leadership of Tan Vey, the M’loh chieftain who now sets those combined forces against our wall and our kingdom. Separately, the nomadic tribes posed little threat. United, they are a formidable foe.”
I side-eyed the soldiers in my row, and a small, sinking feeling grew in my heart. We did not look very formidable.
“Ylanda’s avila fields, abundant resources, and natural defenses to the south and west have been coveted by our nomadic neighbors for generations. By joining together they clearly believe that the time has come for them to claim what they’ve always wanted.” Commander Dane raised a fist in the air, punctuating his words with it. “We. Will. Destroy. Them.”
Perhaps we were supposed to cheer, but silence met the commander instead, an uneasy, awkward silence so thick that sounds wafting from the other camp—the one with the experienced soldiers—seemed suddenly intrusive. I tried to swallow the dryness in my mouth.
Commander Dane stood a while longer, his arm slowly lowering to his side. Then, without another word, he turned and stepped off the platform, joining two older soldiers off to the side. One of them said something to him, and he nodded, his hand rubbing his jaw. The second soldier patted him on the back.
Their faces showed affection—and respect. Whoever this boy-man was, his elders thought highly of him. I couldn’t help but wonder why.
The dreams came again that night—words I couldn’t understand, except for my own name. I woke several times, heart pounding, the last vestiges of the dreams dancing in my ears as though I could still hear the shapeless words. In the pale light of dawn, I woke again, the sound of my name still ringing in that same, unfathomable voice.
Rain.
As though the speaker knew me. As though the weight of my name carried the weight of the world.
Rain.
I sat up, my breath catching as I remembered Madam S’dora’s words: It might awaken things. You could have dreams.
Was it the powder? I wrapped my arms tightly around my bent knees. Forest’s breathing was soft and even in contrast to my own, and I focused on the sound of it to help center myself. What had Madam S’dora called it? The magic of T’Gonnen. It was a name from childhood, a mighty dragon from tales I barely remembered. Our ancestors believed the dragons were real, worshipping and revering them like gods. But the dragons were fierce, wreaking destruction and death, and when the powerful dragon T’Gonnen fell, it was the end of an era.
Something like that. It was all a fairy tale, anyway, regardless of whether or not Madam S’dora thought it was true. How could a few pinches of powder beneath my tongue produce dreams?
My heart squeezed tighter. The first time I’d heard my name, I was alone in the lake. Not dreaming. I’d thought someone along the shoreline had called me.
But, no. The voice was inside my head.
I lowered my face onto my knees. It was too soon to know if the powder was actually working—my monthly bleed was due to arrive in a few days. If it didn’t, I would have to decide if the results of taking the powder were worth the risks of being driven slowly mad.
And if my monthly bleed came on schedule, I would curse myself for wasting Papa’s precious coin and throw the remaining powder away.
I crawled quietly from the tent and made my way through the still-sleeping camp. By the time the horn blew, I’d finished my personal business and was making my way to the eastern field.
Off to the side, someone stood alone, his body perfectly aligned in the second stance of Neshu. I slowed, then stopped altogether as he moved fluidly through a drill I knew well. His knife arm was swift and sure, his kicks fluid and precise. Aside from Papa, I had never seen such grace and perfection. I stood with my mouth hanging open, my heart hammering in admiration, and watched him finish. He turned swiftly and met my gaze.
It was Commander Dane.
I shut my mouth and pressed my lips together, heat crawling across my face. He gave me a sharp nod and walked across the field, his stride wide and smooth. If he was out of breath, it didn’t show. Masterful control, Papa would have said.
This was a Neshu grandmaster if ever I had seen one.
As Rain, I would never have had the opportunity to train with someone like this—highly skilled in Neshu and in a position of command with the high king’s army. As Storm, I now had six weeks to learn everything I could from someone whose skill surpassed my own.
I reached the field as a different commander—taller, broader—stepped forward and called for our attention. Silence fell, and when he spoke, his voice was like a thousand spikes, shredding my ears.
“I am Commander Beldan,” he thundered. “Every morning will begin with warm-ups. No resting, no stopping. On my mark.”
Commander Dane stood nearby, his arms folded behind his back. I was in the middle of wondering why he wasn’t leading us when Commander Beldan thundered his first order.
I spent the next hour gasping for air. “Warm-ups,” the commander had called them. It was more running and jumping than I’d ever crammed into sixty minutes. Even with my intense Neshu training, I was pushed to my limits. When the drills had ended, I looked around and saw that many of my fellow soldiers had dropped out. Some had hobbled off to the side to catch their breath, while others simply lay in the grass where they’d dropped.
I was one of only about thirty left standing—including Sedge, who was close enough for me to see the satisfied expression on his face. He was also panting, though, and sweat dripped down his temples. He’d seemed like one of those boys who was all bluster without much physical substance. Apparently he had more substance than I’d given him credit for.
“Those of you who are still standing may go first for breakfast,” Commander Beldan called. “The rest of you will stay here until you’re dismissed.”
That was probably a good thing, since at least two of them were retching into the grass. I did a quick scan for Forest and was relieved to see him walking across the field, chest heaving. Reluctantly, I moved toward the meal tent with the others. My body wasn’t ready for food yet.
I hung back, taking the last place in the food line. By the time I sat beside Forest with my bowl of porridge and dried figs, the food had started to smell appetizing. I scooped the first spoonful into my mouth and grimaced. Tasteless. So I began pulling the figs into bits and tossing them into the porridge. Their sweetness would surely make the porridge more palatable.
“Figs too big for your mouth, midget?” Sedge called from one table over, where he sat with several other soldiers.
I smiled and lifted my spoon to him as though I found him amusing. Secretly, I imagined what it would be like to whip the contents of my bowl into his face.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “If I’d placed a bet, I wouldn’t have said you’d still be standing after that workout.”
That sounded too close to a compliment for Sedge. I couldn’t trust it. “I would have said the same about you,” I said.
He took several gulps of water, his eyes watching me over the rim of the cup. Then he placed the cup on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Bet you won’t last a day of field training.”
I decided to ignore him, though it would have been decidedly more satisfying to walk over and flip him onto his back.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of sweat and sharp words. After lunch, Commander Dane lined us up in several sets of rows facing one another. I stood across from a boy with a pockmarked face and a mouth that hung open like a tent flap.
“Some of you may know nothing about the art of Neshu,” Commander Dane began. “Many of you have had training from boyhood, and some of you have taken that training to a respectable level. Today, I’m looking for those among you who excel.”
My heart swelled within me—this was one skill I knew I had. In this, I would not embarrass myself. I raised my chin as Commander Dane walked by.
“Everyone will assume the first stance and face their opponent. As I walk through your ranks, I will dismiss those of you who are failing and will repartner those who remain. We will move swiftly through Neshu rounds until only the best remain for the final rounds.”
I sized up the boy across from me. The expression on his face told me he had no confidence in his skill.
“On my mark,” Commander Dane said.
My opponent didn’t stand a chance. He raised his arm in a defensive posture that had nothing to do with Neshu, and I flattened him with a cut and a swift kick.
I moved from partner to partner as incompetent fighters were weeded out and my opponents became worthier of attention. Without missing a step, I engaged each one with the poise and agility Papa had ingrained in me. I lost all sense of time; I only knew what my next move would be.
When Forest appeared in front of me, I stifled my moment of surprise and prepared to engage him. Within the first few exchanges, I could see how good he was. Move for move, he matched my skill and pacing, until finally I outmaneuvered him.
He bowed, his brow beaded with sweat. “As the sun rises.”
“So it sets.” I couldn’t help smiling.
Soon no more than three dozen of us were left standing. Commander Dane paired us and watched us spar, calling out when he’d seen enough or if he wanted to see us fight someone different. My stomach twisted as I caught sight of Sedge still standing among us, and I itched for a chance to outperform him. Moments later, Commander Dane ended the sparring round and dismissed all but about twenty of us.
Sedge remained. So did Forest. Scanning the rest of the boys, I saw that River and, to my surprise, Dalen were also standing.
“You’ve all shown great skill,” Commander Dane said. “Now I want to test that skill myself.”
Commander Dane engaged his first opponent, and a sense of awe settled over the field. As I had glimpsed that morning, his skill was immeasurable. He dismissed the first two boys after one round. Sedge stepped forward next and fought better than I had expected. Commander Dane bested him in the second round, but I could tell he was pleased with Sedge’s fighting. He did not dismiss him.
Several more fighters were dismissed, and then it was Forest’s turn. I watched, mesmerized, until suddenly I gasped as the commander’s knife arm arced into Forest’s shoulder. He lost the round, but Commander Dane praised his sense of balance and mindful control and allowed him to stay.
He gestured for me to step forward.
“What is your greatest weakness?” he asked.
“My father tells me it’s not taking advantage of my enemy’s hesitation.”
“You studied with your father?”
“Yes.”
He assumed the first stance. “Clearly none of your opponents here have drawn out your weakness. Let’s see if it exists.”
I knew the fire in his eyes—it was the same fire in Papa’s, and the same one Papa always pointed out in my own. I assumed the first stance, willing my heart to settle.
It was like dancing. Every cut, every feint, every twist and kick followed a flowing pattern that made me feel as though I were sparring with my own shadow. Neither of us had the upper hand; neither of us fell behind. Move for move, we were matched. Never had I felt so completely centered—and so utterly breathless.
Then a moment came where somehow, in the smallest way, he seemed to lag. An emotion crossed his face that I couldn’t read, and as he hesitated, I pulled back, slowing my dance.
With a swiftness beyond comprehension, he hooked my shoulder and flipped me onto my back, his Great Cry ringing across the field. I lay stunned, staring at the sky, breathing in jagged gulps of air.
He leaned over me, his nose inches from mine. “Your father’s right.”
I accepted the hand he offered, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Then I crossed my arms and bowed.
“As the sun rises,” I said.
“So it sets.” As I made my way back to the group, he said, “Well fought, soldier.”
His words filled me like a sunrise.
Well fought.
Soldier.
I gathered the honor in my heart and lifted it to Papa and Storm.
“For you,” I whispered.
