Her body collapsed onto the mat, knees and palms first. Sweat trickled down on it like gentle rain. She was barely able to breathe, so out of breath she was. She wanted just to lie there for a while.
“Your performance today has been adequate”, a woman’s voice droned without emotion behind her.
The comment was surprisingly positive, but Naraya was too tired to say anything in response. All her effort was aimed at getting air in and out of her lungs and stopping her pounding heart from bursting out of her chest. She pushed me hard today, a rational part of her mind, not interfered by the ache of her limbs, observed. Thinking straight while half-dead by fatigue, that’s something she had taught me, she replied to herself.
She rolled over, fought up to a sitting position despite the pain in her abdomen. The effort made her almost vomit. She must have been a sight, pale as a ghost, covered in a sheen of sweat, she thought as she brushed her face, trying to clear her eyes. Her appearance was of no concern to her teacher however. Mylesh Kardova, known as the Daughter of Sixth Rebirth, a monk of Irori, looked upon her with her impassionate eyes. They were not cold, but they were not warm either. They were assessing her movement, analysing her decisions, judging her performance.
“Thank you”, Naraya wheezed, and it made her mentor’s head tip to the side. She had thanked her after every practice for the past six years, and this time was no different. Sometimes it was a heartfelt expression of gratitude for the honor of being her only pupil. Sometimes it was laced with venom, an angry defiance for the physical pain and mental humiliation she made her endure. Today she thanked her for her approval, for it was seldom given.
The Great Circus of Restov with its rows and rows of seats stood empty around them. Naraya gazed up, and traced the straight lines of cream and red that crossed the pavilion’s canvased ceiling. She felt her heart’s pace decrease. Was it the last time she’d cast her eyes up there? The realization of the possibility stung her.
“The decision is made tomorrow. This might be my last day here”, she said, finally able to mouth words clearly.
There was the slightest frown on the face of the Daughter of Sixth Rebirth. “Why do you think we trained so hard today then? Get up,” she commanded, and wearily Naraya got to her feet. When she did, she lowered her head to a slight bow. A single droplet of sweat rolled down her nose and onto the mat.
Her mentor, a small woman in her fourties, wearing simple white robes, crossed her arms across her chest. “You still lack discipline. Your mind wanders.”
Here we go again, Naraya groaned inwardly. She remembered all too well what she had said the first time she had practiced with her. You can never become a monk of Irori, she had deemed. When you put yourself to it, you can be disciplined, but your soul can never be so at ease to achieve the level of control required by my Order. She was expecting another lecture, another earful of how unprepared she was, how young, how inexperienced.
“I’ve travelled Golarion widely, and witnessed people as they walked their own roads. The world is a dangerous place, full of distractions, pettiness, slaughter. Some lose their step and stumble, while others persevere and reach whatever destination they’ve chosen.” Kardova sighed, and went on. “The road you’ve chosen is not for a monk. A monk’s destination is somewhere within herself, in her soul, but you’re a woman of world. Your destination is on the outside.” Naraya dared to raise her chin as she was spoken to, and for the first time, she saw something resembling warmth and true caring in her mentor’s expression. “What you have learned from me will help you keep safe. But to keep yourself on your path, you must learn focus.”
Naraya stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the older, shorter woman, embracing her tightly. “Thank you, for every day, for every lesson”, she whispered, holding back tears. Her mentor was taken aback, but after a while, her hands found their way around her pupil in an awkward hug.
**
The brass plaque on the door said Midwinter. Naraya knocked on the door gently and waited. She heard hurried, shuffling steps within, and after a moment, the door croaked open.
“Hello, Anne”, Naraya greeted the old maid, whose lined face widened to a warm smile. “Nyra, baby girl”, she said in happy surprise, “come in.”
She helped herself inside and went to follow the maid. “Your mother is upstairs, in the library”, she told the her, guessing her reason for the visit. “I’ll find my way”, Naraya replied and turned towards a straight staircase leading up. “I’d imagine, this was once your home after all”, the old maid said and laughed. “And you better not leave without saying goodbye to old Anne!” She called to her back but Naraya had already ascended the stairs.
Naraya found her mother in the library, sitting in a comfortable leather chair, reading an old book, facing the spring sun that shot its cold rays through the windows.
“Hello, Mother”, Naraya offered the greeting as she stepped in to the spacious room, two opposite walls covered in books, and third sporting a great painted portrait and nothing else. In it was a handsome, stately man with a proud face and a mapcase and a book in the nook of his arm. Hi Dad, Naraya greeted the man in her mind. Her mother, the famous artist and sculptor, had painted the picture, and she had captured him perfectly.
“Naraya darling”, her mother replied and lowered the book unto her lap. She flashed a smile, but it was dry, like a field that had not seen water in ages. Her husband’s death had taken the rains with it.
“I wanted to come and say my farewells, in case I’m chosen tomorrow and can’t come back to say it afterwards”, Naraya began, feeling tired already. Her mother had not taken it well when she had informed her of her decision to apply into the expedition to the Stolen Lands. I’ve lost Edwin already, I can’t lose you too, she had begged her. But Naraya had made her father a promise at his death-bed.
If they finally decide to retake the Stolen Lands, be there when it happens. His last words to her. He had been such a patriot, dutiful till the end. He had talked about the Stolen Lands for years, but the Swordlords had not listened. It was ironic how their heads had turned after their advisor’s death. The great Edwin Midwinter was not there to witness his plans unfold.
Her mother looked gloomy and her shoulders sagged. “I’ve dreaded the day”, she said. “Is there any way you could still reconsider? You’re not a warrior. The wilderness is not for you”, she pleaded. Naraya felt an inkling of irritation, nearly boiling over into anger, but just shook her head. “I made a promise to Dad to help make his dream come true, and I intend to keep my word.” Her mother wasn’t letting up. “How about Kardova?” The name was bitter in her mouth – perhaps she was still envious of her influence over her little daughter. Naraya just laughed emptily. “She’s not concerned about my desires.” Some of the emptiness was filled by the warm recent memory. “But she has given me her support any way.”
Her mother had one more straw to cling to. “How about that brute, are you still seeing him?” Naraya regretted she had ever told her anything about Ranok. “What about him?” She spat, visibly irritated now. It was dubious how she was now using him as a means to keep her in Restov, even though she had vocally criticized Naraya ever since she had heard of him. There are so many nicer men of nobility in Restov, she had told her daughter. What, pompous and obnoxious Aldori swordsmen who’s only interests were dueling, drinking and whoring? Naraya had replied. At least Ranok is respectful, and he has an honest soul. He’s twice the man than any of fools Mother had in mind.
“Doesn’t he have any say? Is he just letting you go?” Her mother demanded. Naraya sighed heavily. Ranok was a good man, but he had no place in her future. Not especially since the dice of the fates had landed the way they had. “Mother, he too is among the few competing for the place in the expedition. He does not have a say. It’s either him or me who is going, and the other one is staying.”
Her mother just snorted. “Well for Abadar’s sake I hope it is him who is going.” So you could have two problems solved at the same time, Naraya thought angrily and bit her lip to keep from exploding. The talks with her mother had recently always come to this.
She pivoted on the balls of her feet and went to the door. “I came to say goodbye, so goodbye it is, Mother”, she hissed over her shoulder. Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead she reached with her hand, a tear in her eye. But Naraya did not see it. Her gaze was in the portrait as she walked out.
You’d be proud of me, Dad, Naraya whispered to herself, her fingers brushing gently along the wooden, gold-covered frame as she passed and left.
themakingofkings 