Chapter Two: Introductions
27 Haventide, Anima 80, Age of Light
“Come meet her,” Rasul beckoned. Saul followed his host out of the cool passage into the dusty sunshine of the training courtyard.
A lone figure stood in the centre surrounded by five targets. The heat made the short silk kurti cling to the sweat of her back. Wisps of black hair that had escaped from her ribbon were plastered to her forehead and neck. Sand coated her boots and leggings.
She crouched and he caught the rise of her chest on inhale. Her body surged into a complex dance of movements, seen, and unseen. Knives flew through the air, hitting their marks in a vicious display of accuracy.
She rolled to her feet and surveyed her work. The woman scowled at the two that were slightly off centre and collected the blades from the still vibrating targets.
“Bravo!”
Her head jerked in their direction and she flickered her gaze between the two men before giving the older one a deep bow. “Rasul.”
“Petra Amyntas, this is Saul Lavi, Red Hand of the Red, and a former student of mine.”
She didn’t miss a beat in her stride. Most people, knowing what he was, either greeted him with fear or hostility. She, on the other hand, looked at him like a dwarf scrutinizing a nugget of gold.
Petra offered her hand. “Greetings shey Lavi, Red Hand of the Red.”
Saul shook her hand. She certainly had the Atharian complexion, brown and bronzed by birth, but her eyes were golden, like those from Sidon.
He wondered why Rasul wanted to meet at this hour when he clearly had a student. “Rasul tells me you are the finest student he has ever had. The last person he has said that about is me.”
“A blow to the ego, for sure.”
It had been a long time since he had been so blatantly teased. He was too tired for this. Hoping to give himself an out, he bowed to her, “I apologize for interrupting your training. Rasul, I will return later in the day.”
“Nonsense. Petra would be honoured to have you stay and observe.” Saul was very familiar with that tone of voice.
She looked at Rasul, who gave her a nod. “You are welcome shey Lavi.” Her words were polite, but the smudge of dirt on her jawbone betrayed how it clenched.
The men took their seats at a small table under the shaded overhang of the courtyard. Saul was thankful for the respite. Even at this early hour the heat was becoming unbearable. Being from Gebal, a land of mountain clouds and cool sea winds, his pale skin could turn as red as his gloves in a day’s exposure to Athar’s sun and sand.
Rasul pushed Petra through a punishing array of offensive and defensive forms; each of his calls punctuated by a poke of his cane or lurch in his seat. Her kicks and swings were deliberate, but seemingly effortless, with an efficiency of movement as she transitioned between them.
Saul drank his tea, trying to wash down the dry annoyance that coated his mouth. When Rasul had summoned him he had assumed there was something of urgent importance to discuss. He had not walked into the courtyard prepared to spend the next hour watching the man do what was essentially his hobby.
“She is good,” he offered as she repeatedly kicked a leather padded board.
“She’s excellent,” Rasul countered. “Shame she always has to practice against wood. I can’t convince any of my other students to spar with her anymore.”
After the exercise she joined them at the table. “I hope my display was worth the time of a Red Hand.” Her tone was humble, but a defiant undercurrent rippled in the spaces between words.
“I cannot think of a better way to spend a morning.”
Her laughter disarmed him as it erupted without restraint or refinement. Rasul tapped her shin with his cane and she had the decency to pretend to be admonished. “Forgive me shey Lavi, it isn’t often I need to remember my manners.”
“No harm. Rasul told me you have a dire shortage of sparring partners; something about people not having death wishes?”
This brought a genuine smile to her face. “I occasionally find one, however, they aren’t always willing. Are you volunteering?” She turned and walked towards a table, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “No weapons.”
He looked at Rasul who did not even bother to hide his amusement. “Is she serious?”
“Completely. Don’t go too easy on her. She has a few tricks up her sleeve.”
Saul was too bewildered by the turn this morning had taken to argue. “How could I turn down such an interesting offer?”
He watched as she removed the various daggers, knives, and what could only be described as sharp pointy things from her person. Not to be outdone, he started the process of disarming himself. Petra made a few approving sounds as she witnessed the variety and imagination of his collection. She inspected a few of his weapons, stopping specifically to look at one. In appearance, it was a long wooden box, and she let out a soft whistle when she found out it was actually a handle of a thick dagger nestled into a wooden sheath.
“What is this?”
“It is a dachah, made for piercing armour. Notice how thick the blade is at the guard, before it tapers into the tang.” He moved to show her what he was talking about, but she swatted his hand away.
“It is amazing. What a simple, yet graceful idea.” she paused and ran her finger over the edge, “it is chipped, here, see?”
“Jamming it into mail will do that to a weapon.”
Saul couldn’t help but feel he was missing the point when she pinched the crooked bridge of her nose and sighed.
“You shouldn’t carry around broken weapons. I can fix it for you.”
He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the offer or the conviction of her tone. “A kind offer, I would not want to impose on you though.”
She put the dachah down and checked her shins, pulling a dart she missed the first time out of her boot. “It wouldn’t take me long and the smith isn’t very busy lately. Think about it.”
They faced off in the centre of the courtyard. Rasul's boy had cleared her training gear and raked the rocky sand. Petra’s slow movements gave Saul the distinct impression of being stalked as they circled each other. The air rippled and Saul saw the gossamer spirits gather around him, no, them. The old man wasn’t joking about the tricks up her sleeves. Her eyes widened and her shoulders went rigid.
repentance. longing. desolation.
The sweet-song pull of their power and need slithered into his mind. Their singular essences prodded and plead to be heard, conjuring memories and feelings that were not his own. Saul knew that while his soul would only reply with silence, they would find her’s soft and yielding under the weight of their wanton demands.
Saul lunged and grabbed her arm with the intention of swinging her to the ground. She rolled her body towards and into his, using his energy to graze past his chest, turn, and kick him in the stomach in one fluid motion. Winded by the force of her blow, he staggered backwards, giving her enough time to steady her balance.
He quickly regained his composure and searched his opponent’s face. Her pupils were dilated, her body flexed, and her movements impossibly smooth. She had an eerie look of calmness, but her eyes kept flickering to the periphery as she watched their incorporeal audience flit around them like sinister butterflies.
memory. silence. deceit.
Saul projected his will into the growing host, pushing them back and holding them at bay. He knew they didn’t have much time before they would regroup; she was a spire and they a storm.
Petra pawed the earth with her boot and launched herself with the ferocity of a cornered animal. He deflected her initial swing, but was caught by surprise when her follow-up landed squarely on his jaw. She twisted a leg around his and spun, trying to use the momentum to flip him to the ground. Saul caught one of her arms and pinned her back to his chest. He squeezed his forearm around her throat and felt her go still in his grip.
“Do you yield?”
Petra used the leg she still had twisted around his to reply. She flung her body to the ground, bringing them both down in a rolling crash. The moment of impact was all she needed to escape his grip, roll into a crouch, and pin him with a knee on his throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulder with an intensity that made that side of his body begin to go numb.
She lowered her face to his, “No. Do you?”
glory. agony. hunger.
The spirits swirled around her, resplendent and crystalline; bending the light around her into a kaleidoscope of shattered desire that longed to be made whole. Saul had a brief glimpse into what sparked in those strange eyes and tapped his assent. She was too close to the edge. Petra balanced the perilous weight on her knee as she leaned in closer, her breath hot and wet on his ear. She slowly inhaled through her nose like a predator remembering the scent of its prey.
Two shaky breaths broke the intensity, and Saul could see the slight shift of her regaining control. She stood and theatrically brushed herself off before she offered her hand. He could feel her pulse drumming under his fingers when he grasped her wrist.
Rasul clapped twice, “It is always gratifying when my current student is equally skilled as a past protégé.”
Petra shook her hair loose from her bun and avoided his eyes. “shey Lavi was a lovely partner.”
Saul tried to roll his shoulder and was met by a searing spike of pain. “Your guidance continues to inspire. shay Amyntas is impressive.”
“Now Petra, I know you have other duties to attend to, so we will not keep you any longer.” Rasul said as he helped her gather her clothes and collection of sharp things.
Petra turned her back to the men and slipped off the now filthy kurti. She used it to wipe down her torso and nape of her neck.
Saul couldn’t help but allow himself a look before he took great interest in the toes of his boots. It was a landscape of bruises and muscle. Rasul groaned and covered his eyes. “Petra, please, remember what we talked about.”
She slipped on a long pale blue kurti from her bag and tidied her hair back in a new ribbon. Turning around she gave a shrug. “I turned my back. Besides, I smelled like a snail-shipper’s hold.”
“In front of an old man like me it is inappropriate; in front of a young man like him it is scandalous.”
“I am sorry Rasul, I hate to scandalize you so,” she said as she picked up her satchel and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
She turned to Saul. Her smile was brilliant and convincing, but her arms were stiff when she bowed before walking out the passage from the courtyard. “Don’t forget to let me repair that dagger!” she called; her voice echoing down the stone hall behind her.
Rasul tapped Saul’s leg with his cane as they watched her exit. “Why did you yield so quickly?”
He cleared his throat and couldn’t help but think Rasul was disappointed that neither of them was seriously injured by the exercise. “I saw enough. She has been touched.”
“Come and break fast with me, we have much to discuss.”
The two men resumed their seats and the houseboy brought a modest platter of flatbread, olives, dried fish, yoghurt, and tea.
“Her father brought her to me a few months after you left for the Mogden. She was an imp of girl; agile, with a fiery streak. He figured that if he couldn’t stop her from fighting he should at least put her somewhere safe. Although, I believe he was more concerned for the safety of others than his darling daughter’s.”
“Assad Amyntas, right?”
“Correct. She soon started coming damn near every day, watching other’s lessons or practising with the equipment. It often got her in trouble. She would borrow the weapons Assad was working on in his smith and bring them here. There was one time she got a crossbow ….” Rasul pointed at the column to the left of the table, along the steps leading from the courtyard. There was a large chunk of the scroll work missing. A very large chunk.
“I pretty much had no choice to take her on as a project of sorts. She made it clear she wasn’t leaving.” The old man sighed and fidgeted with his cup of tea. “So I trained her and she excelled. I had no idea how well I prepared her.”
Saul’s eyes scanned the courtyard and he tapped his ear three times. Rasul waved a dismissing hand, “We may speak as we will. The only ears and eyes here are our own.”
The Hand nodded and relaxed. While there were easily twenty places for a spy to hide in Rasul's courtyard, he suspected the man could discern their presence like a troll in a field.
“Does she know the truth of things?” Saul asked.
“No, she is still a wildling.”
“How long?”
“Three years now; she is extraordinary,” Rasul replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Impossible. I damn near lost my mind after one year. One needs The Red to control it.”
“You’ve seen it for yourself. She’s figured out a way to manage it, granted, I have been able to silently guide her as much as I can, but Red Seers and Hands do not negotiate our powers in the same way.” Taking a bite of bread and cheese, he closed his eyes and chewed. “She hears and feels the ruach flowing through this world and she’s not letting them dominate her. What did you see?”
What he saw would be incomprehensible to the man seated across from him. There was an untamed wildness, a bloodlust, a haunted fear tempered with hunger. He had seen himself years ago when he walked the same overgrown path, but unlike him, she seemed to have a pole star. “It is as if she can find a rhythm within their random natures and make them slip past her instead of succumbing to their will. I also think she had a brief debate with herself on whether or not to kill me.”
Rasul nodded. “She’s found ways to keep the ruach at bay, but now she needs to learn how to use them. She is becoming violent and reckless, well, more so.”
Saul frowned. Rasul had taught him to be the warrior he was and brought him into the Red three years ago. He had nothing but the utmost respect for the man, but what he was doing was highly suspect.
“It is an unusual amount of time to keep her a wilding. The guild asks that naturals are joined as soon as they are discovered. You wasted no time with me.”
It was Rasul's turn to frown. “It wasn’t the right time for her. I was shown to wait. Which is why you didn’t meet her last year. Do you question my perception?”
Saul knew the question was not made in inquiry, but to remind him of his place. A petty move. “No Seer, I trust your understanding.” He paused and sipped his tea, taking a moment to expunge the bitterness in his mouth. “I just have not heard of this happening before.”
“It hasn’t in a long time. However, it is now time to have her complete the joining. I can do no more for her and she can do no more for herself without the guidance of the Red.”
Saul considered his statement. He did trust his judgement, even if the man routinely infuriated him. Rasul had been a Red Seer for almost twenty years now, a considerable feat for someone who interpreted the forces of order and chaos that warred through the fabric of their world. He could see how to maintain the perilous balance of power, and guided the Red in their duty to prevent another Torment from rising up and plunging the world into darkness. Rasul had once described it as playing a dreadful game of chess against broken gods, using man as the pieces.
It had only been a year since they last sat here in his courtyard, but he appeared to age ten in that time. His cane was new, as was his hobbled gait. The patchy tufts of white hair made his skin look even darker in contrast. The deep creases in his skin and hollowness to his cheeks betrayed a tiredness about the man that had calcified in his bones.
“What have you seen for her?”
“She has potential to achieve power and greatness we have not seen in ages. With you to guide her she will become a fearsome ally.”
The words came fast and unseen. While the Seer was too frail to take him by surprise with a blow, his words were still sharp and agile. “Me? I have only been a Red Hand for three years, five is required to take an apprentice. What about Qadisha Valley? How would I take her to train at Adom Keep when you know what I am about to do?”
“Exceptions can always be made, especially for the exceptional. Besides, she will not require the training and coddling the newly joined usually do. She will join you in Qadisha Valley immediately.” Rasul pointed at Saul with a piece of bread, “You are the one who will guide her to her true potential. I trust no one else.”
Saul knew this should be an honour, a message from the Red that they were pleased with his service, but the tightness in his chest quickly strangled the glow of pride. He desperately wanted to say no, but was well aware that he wasn’t being asked. “This is all highly unusual.”
“And so is she. Ask her to join, she will pass the test, this much I am certain of. It is only fitting a past student of mine is the one who continues her education.”
Saul knew there was much more to this than Rasul was ready to reveal. He also knew it was foolish to ask any of the questions buzzing like a swarm of hostile wasps in his head. He rolled his shoulders, straightened up in his chair, and assumed the expected posture of someone who felt the honour he didn’t.
“How will she face the trial? Will you do it?”
Rasul shook his head, “Lamia is on her way with a candidate of her own and is prepared. She should be returning from Sinai in the next few days.”
“I am glad to hear she is making good time, but surely you are joking about her having a candidate.”
“No, the bugger begged capio, so Lamia had to accept. If he passes I will collect him and take him to Adom Keep.”
So that explained it. He offered himself in service to the Red in exchange of escaping his sentencing, or in the case of Sinai, a lion pit.
“Just like old times.”
“Your next step is to obtain Thom Darius’ leave to recruit her when you meet with him today.”
“His leave? Since when did the Red require permission?”
“Since he has practically adopted her since Assad died. We need to ensure we remain trusted allies, especially now, so we will offer this courtesy to him.”
Saul sighed. “Very well, I address it. One question, how did they find her?”
27 Haventide, Anima 80, Age of Light
“Come meet her,” Rasul beckoned. Saul followed his host out of the cool passage into the dusty sunshine of the training courtyard.
A lone figure stood in the centre surrounded by five targets. The heat made the short silk kurti cling to the sweat of her back. Wisps of black hair that had escaped from her ribbon were plastered to her forehead and neck. Sand coated her boots and leggings.
She crouched and he caught the rise of her chest on inhale. Her body surged into a complex dance of movements, seen, and unseen. Knives flew through the air, hitting their marks in a vicious display of accuracy.
She rolled to her feet and surveyed her work. The woman scowled at the two that were slightly off centre and collected the blades from the still vibrating targets.
“Bravo!”
Her head jerked in their direction and she flickered her gaze between the two men before giving the older one a deep bow. “Rasul.”
“Petra Amyntas, this is Saul Lavi, Red Hand of the Red, and a former student of mine.”
She didn’t miss a beat in her stride. Most people, knowing what he was, either greeted him with fear or hostility. She, on the other hand, looked at him like a dwarf scrutinizing a nugget of gold.
Petra offered her hand. “Greetings shey Lavi, Red Hand of the Red.”
Saul shook her hand. She certainly had the Atharian complexion, brown and bronzed by birth, but her eyes were golden, like those from Sidon.
He wondered why Rasul wanted to meet at this hour when he clearly had a student. “Rasul tells me you are the finest student he has ever had. The last person he has said that about is me.”
“A blow to the ego, for sure.”
It had been a long time since he had been so blatantly teased. He was too tired for this. Hoping to give himself an out, he bowed to her, “I apologize for interrupting your training. Rasul, I will return later in the day.”
“Nonsense. Petra would be honoured to have you stay and observe.” Saul was very familiar with that tone of voice.
She looked at Rasul, who gave her a nod. “You are welcome shey Lavi.” Her words were polite, but the smudge of dirt on her jawbone betrayed how it clenched.
The men took their seats at a small table under the shaded overhang of the courtyard. Saul was thankful for the respite. Even at this early hour the heat was becoming unbearable. Being from Gebal, a land of mountain clouds and cool sea winds, his pale skin could turn as red as his gloves in a day’s exposure to Athar’s sun and sand.
Rasul pushed Petra through a punishing array of offensive and defensive forms; each of his calls punctuated by a poke of his cane or lurch in his seat. Her kicks and swings were deliberate, but seemingly effortless, with an efficiency of movement as she transitioned between them.
Saul drank his tea, trying to wash down the dry annoyance that coated his mouth. When Rasul had summoned him he had assumed there was something of urgent importance to discuss. He had not walked into the courtyard prepared to spend the next hour watching the man do what was essentially his hobby.
“She is good,” he offered as she repeatedly kicked a leather padded board.
“She’s excellent,” Rasul countered. “Shame she always has to practice against wood. I can’t convince any of my other students to spar with her anymore.”
After the exercise she joined them at the table. “I hope my display was worth the time of a Red Hand.” Her tone was humble, but a defiant undercurrent rippled in the spaces between words.
“I cannot think of a better way to spend a morning.”
Her laughter disarmed him as it erupted without restraint or refinement. Rasul tapped her shin with his cane and she had the decency to pretend to be admonished. “Forgive me shey Lavi, it isn’t often I need to remember my manners.”
“No harm. Rasul told me you have a dire shortage of sparring partners; something about people not having death wishes?”
This brought a genuine smile to her face. “I occasionally find one, however, they aren’t always willing. Are you volunteering?” She turned and walked towards a table, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “No weapons.”
He looked at Rasul who did not even bother to hide his amusement. “Is she serious?”
“Completely. Don’t go too easy on her. She has a few tricks up her sleeve.”
Saul was too bewildered by the turn this morning had taken to argue. “How could I turn down such an interesting offer?”
He watched as she removed the various daggers, knives, and what could only be described as sharp pointy things from her person. Not to be outdone, he started the process of disarming himself. Petra made a few approving sounds as she witnessed the variety and imagination of his collection. She inspected a few of his weapons, stopping specifically to look at one. In appearance, it was a long wooden box, and she let out a soft whistle when she found out it was actually a handle of a thick dagger nestled into a wooden sheath.
“What is this?”
“It is a dachah, made for piercing armour. Notice how thick the blade is at the guard, before it tapers into the tang.” He moved to show her what he was talking about, but she swatted his hand away.
“It is amazing. What a simple, yet graceful idea.” she paused and ran her finger over the edge, “it is chipped, here, see?”
“Jamming it into mail will do that to a weapon.”
Saul couldn’t help but feel he was missing the point when she pinched the crooked bridge of her nose and sighed.
“You shouldn’t carry around broken weapons. I can fix it for you.”
He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the offer or the conviction of her tone. “A kind offer, I would not want to impose on you though.”
She put the dachah down and checked her shins, pulling a dart she missed the first time out of her boot. “It wouldn’t take me long and the smith isn’t very busy lately. Think about it.”
They faced off in the centre of the courtyard. Rasul's boy had cleared her training gear and raked the rocky sand. Petra’s slow movements gave Saul the distinct impression of being stalked as they circled each other. The air rippled and Saul saw the gossamer spirits gather around him, no, them. The old man wasn’t joking about the tricks up her sleeves. Her eyes widened and her shoulders went rigid.
repentance. longing. desolation.
The sweet-song pull of their power and need slithered into his mind. Their singular essences prodded and plead to be heard, conjuring memories and feelings that were not his own. Saul knew that while his soul would only reply with silence, they would find her’s soft and yielding under the weight of their wanton demands.
Saul lunged and grabbed her arm with the intention of swinging her to the ground. She rolled her body towards and into his, using his energy to graze past his chest, turn, and kick him in the stomach in one fluid motion. Winded by the force of her blow, he staggered backwards, giving her enough time to steady her balance.
He quickly regained his composure and searched his opponent’s face. Her pupils were dilated, her body flexed, and her movements impossibly smooth. She had an eerie look of calmness, but her eyes kept flickering to the periphery as she watched their incorporeal audience flit around them like sinister butterflies.
memory. silence. deceit.
Saul projected his will into the growing host, pushing them back and holding them at bay. He knew they didn’t have much time before they would regroup; she was a spire and they a storm.
Petra pawed the earth with her boot and launched herself with the ferocity of a cornered animal. He deflected her initial swing, but was caught by surprise when her follow-up landed squarely on his jaw. She twisted a leg around his and spun, trying to use the momentum to flip him to the ground. Saul caught one of her arms and pinned her back to his chest. He squeezed his forearm around her throat and felt her go still in his grip.
“Do you yield?”
Petra used the leg she still had twisted around his to reply. She flung her body to the ground, bringing them both down in a rolling crash. The moment of impact was all she needed to escape his grip, roll into a crouch, and pin him with a knee on his throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulder with an intensity that made that side of his body begin to go numb.
She lowered her face to his, “No. Do you?”
glory. agony. hunger.
The spirits swirled around her, resplendent and crystalline; bending the light around her into a kaleidoscope of shattered desire that longed to be made whole. Saul had a brief glimpse into what sparked in those strange eyes and tapped his assent. She was too close to the edge. Petra balanced the perilous weight on her knee as she leaned in closer, her breath hot and wet on his ear. She slowly inhaled through her nose like a predator remembering the scent of its prey.
Two shaky breaths broke the intensity, and Saul could see the slight shift of her regaining control. She stood and theatrically brushed herself off before she offered her hand. He could feel her pulse drumming under his fingers when he grasped her wrist.
Rasul clapped twice, “It is always gratifying when my current student is equally skilled as a past protégé.”
Petra shook her hair loose from her bun and avoided his eyes. “shey Lavi was a lovely partner.”
Saul tried to roll his shoulder and was met by a searing spike of pain. “Your guidance continues to inspire. shay Amyntas is impressive.”
“Now Petra, I know you have other duties to attend to, so we will not keep you any longer.” Rasul said as he helped her gather her clothes and collection of sharp things.
Petra turned her back to the men and slipped off the now filthy kurti. She used it to wipe down her torso and nape of her neck.
Saul couldn’t help but allow himself a look before he took great interest in the toes of his boots. It was a landscape of bruises and muscle. Rasul groaned and covered his eyes. “Petra, please, remember what we talked about.”
She slipped on a long pale blue kurti from her bag and tidied her hair back in a new ribbon. Turning around she gave a shrug. “I turned my back. Besides, I smelled like a snail-shipper’s hold.”
“In front of an old man like me it is inappropriate; in front of a young man like him it is scandalous.”
“I am sorry Rasul, I hate to scandalize you so,” she said as she picked up her satchel and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
She turned to Saul. Her smile was brilliant and convincing, but her arms were stiff when she bowed before walking out the passage from the courtyard. “Don’t forget to let me repair that dagger!” she called; her voice echoing down the stone hall behind her.
Rasul tapped Saul’s leg with his cane as they watched her exit. “Why did you yield so quickly?”
He cleared his throat and couldn’t help but think Rasul was disappointed that neither of them was seriously injured by the exercise. “I saw enough. She has been touched.”
“Come and break fast with me, we have much to discuss.”
The two men resumed their seats and the houseboy brought a modest platter of flatbread, olives, dried fish, yoghurt, and tea.
“Her father brought her to me a few months after you left for the Mogden. She was an imp of girl; agile, with a fiery streak. He figured that if he couldn’t stop her from fighting he should at least put her somewhere safe. Although, I believe he was more concerned for the safety of others than his darling daughter’s.”
“Assad Amyntas, right?”
“Correct. She soon started coming damn near every day, watching other’s lessons or practising with the equipment. It often got her in trouble. She would borrow the weapons Assad was working on in his smith and bring them here. There was one time she got a crossbow ….” Rasul pointed at the column to the left of the table, along the steps leading from the courtyard. There was a large chunk of the scroll work missing. A very large chunk.
“I pretty much had no choice to take her on as a project of sorts. She made it clear she wasn’t leaving.” The old man sighed and fidgeted with his cup of tea. “So I trained her and she excelled. I had no idea how well I prepared her.”
Saul’s eyes scanned the courtyard and he tapped his ear three times. Rasul waved a dismissing hand, “We may speak as we will. The only ears and eyes here are our own.”
The Hand nodded and relaxed. While there were easily twenty places for a spy to hide in Rasul's courtyard, he suspected the man could discern their presence like a troll in a field.
“Does she know the truth of things?” Saul asked.
“No, she is still a wildling.”
“How long?”
“Three years now; she is extraordinary,” Rasul replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Impossible. I damn near lost my mind after one year. One needs The Red to control it.”
“You’ve seen it for yourself. She’s figured out a way to manage it, granted, I have been able to silently guide her as much as I can, but Red Seers and Hands do not negotiate our powers in the same way.” Taking a bite of bread and cheese, he closed his eyes and chewed. “She hears and feels the ruach flowing through this world and she’s not letting them dominate her. What did you see?”
What he saw would be incomprehensible to the man seated across from him. There was an untamed wildness, a bloodlust, a haunted fear tempered with hunger. He had seen himself years ago when he walked the same overgrown path, but unlike him, she seemed to have a pole star. “It is as if she can find a rhythm within their random natures and make them slip past her instead of succumbing to their will. I also think she had a brief debate with herself on whether or not to kill me.”
Rasul nodded. “She’s found ways to keep the ruach at bay, but now she needs to learn how to use them. She is becoming violent and reckless, well, more so.”
Saul frowned. Rasul had taught him to be the warrior he was and brought him into the Red three years ago. He had nothing but the utmost respect for the man, but what he was doing was highly suspect.
“It is an unusual amount of time to keep her a wilding. The guild asks that naturals are joined as soon as they are discovered. You wasted no time with me.”
It was Rasul's turn to frown. “It wasn’t the right time for her. I was shown to wait. Which is why you didn’t meet her last year. Do you question my perception?”
Saul knew the question was not made in inquiry, but to remind him of his place. A petty move. “No Seer, I trust your understanding.” He paused and sipped his tea, taking a moment to expunge the bitterness in his mouth. “I just have not heard of this happening before.”
“It hasn’t in a long time. However, it is now time to have her complete the joining. I can do no more for her and she can do no more for herself without the guidance of the Red.”
Saul considered his statement. He did trust his judgement, even if the man routinely infuriated him. Rasul had been a Red Seer for almost twenty years now, a considerable feat for someone who interpreted the forces of order and chaos that warred through the fabric of their world. He could see how to maintain the perilous balance of power, and guided the Red in their duty to prevent another Torment from rising up and plunging the world into darkness. Rasul had once described it as playing a dreadful game of chess against broken gods, using man as the pieces.
It had only been a year since they last sat here in his courtyard, but he appeared to age ten in that time. His cane was new, as was his hobbled gait. The patchy tufts of white hair made his skin look even darker in contrast. The deep creases in his skin and hollowness to his cheeks betrayed a tiredness about the man that had calcified in his bones.
“What have you seen for her?”
“She has potential to achieve power and greatness we have not seen in ages. With you to guide her she will become a fearsome ally.”
The words came fast and unseen. While the Seer was too frail to take him by surprise with a blow, his words were still sharp and agile. “Me? I have only been a Red Hand for three years, five is required to take an apprentice. What about Qadisha Valley? How would I take her to train at Adom Keep when you know what I am about to do?”
“Exceptions can always be made, especially for the exceptional. Besides, she will not require the training and coddling the newly joined usually do. She will join you in Qadisha Valley immediately.” Rasul pointed at Saul with a piece of bread, “You are the one who will guide her to her true potential. I trust no one else.”
Saul knew this should be an honour, a message from the Red that they were pleased with his service, but the tightness in his chest quickly strangled the glow of pride. He desperately wanted to say no, but was well aware that he wasn’t being asked. “This is all highly unusual.”
“And so is she. Ask her to join, she will pass the test, this much I am certain of. It is only fitting a past student of mine is the one who continues her education.”
Saul knew there was much more to this than Rasul was ready to reveal. He also knew it was foolish to ask any of the questions buzzing like a swarm of hostile wasps in his head. He rolled his shoulders, straightened up in his chair, and assumed the expected posture of someone who felt the honour he didn’t.
“How will she face the trial? Will you do it?”
Rasul shook his head, “Lamia is on her way with a candidate of her own and is prepared. She should be returning from Sinai in the next few days.”
“I am glad to hear she is making good time, but surely you are joking about her having a candidate.”
“No, the bugger begged capio, so Lamia had to accept. If he passes I will collect him and take him to Adom Keep.”
So that explained it. He offered himself in service to the Red in exchange of escaping his sentencing, or in the case of Sinai, a lion pit.
“Just like old times.”
“Your next step is to obtain Thom Darius’ leave to recruit her when you meet with him today.”
“His leave? Since when did the Red require permission?”
“Since he has practically adopted her since Assad died. We need to ensure we remain trusted allies, especially now, so we will offer this courtesy to him.”
Saul sighed. “Very well, I address it. One question, how did they find her?”
