FORMS, AND A RED HOT POKER
Megan sat with her eyes closed tight, lines of concentration forming across her forehead.
“Anything?” she asked.
“No,” Karigan replied. “Relax.”
They had decided to test the parameters of Megan’s new ability to levitate. They’d wanted to find out if she could use her mind to lift objects other than herself. The jar of Renn’s liniment remained frustratingly unmoved in the center of their circle.
“So, it’s different than the sort of ability Ereal had,” Mel said.
The late Ereal M’Farthon, gone three years now, had been able to lift and move many different kinds of objects with her mind. Her final act had been to use her special ability to reunite Karigan with her saber during battle.
“It was worth a try,” Karigan said. They had also wanted to see if Megan could lift the weight of another person when she floated, but when she tried to do so with Mel, Mel just proved to be an anchor. All of this, of course, was to see what might be helpful in an escape attempt. Plus, it kept everyone busy when they had nothing else to do all day. If they just sat around, dark thoughts would haunt them, maybe even hopelessness would set in. Karigan knew rescue was unlikely, so she kept them busy to keep them from dwelling on their uncertain future.
“Let’s take a break,” she said. She didn’t like to push Megan, whose ability tended to render her unconscious if she used it for any length of time.
She stood and dusted off her breeches, and paced around a bit before working on the stretches Renn had showed her. She thought they were helping, and the liniment he slathered on her back was like a gift from the gods for the relief it gave her. As she worked, she slipped without thinking into swordfighting forms. Even without a sword the practice helped muscle memory and strength. She was pleased by how it all came back to her so easily. Perhaps her execution of the forms was not as precise or as smooth as it had once been, but she had not forgotten, and the movements did not leave her in excruciating pain.
Mel clapped. “Crayman’s Circle!”
Karigan paused in surprise. “You know Crayman’s Circle?”
“Master Rendle taught me, and others besides.”
“That’s an advanced form.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
Karigan noted Mel’s defensive tone and chose not to respond to it. Instead she said, “Show me.”
Mel looked surprised, but then lightly rose to her feet and demonstrated Crayman’s Circle. “Feels weird without the sword.”
“That was good,” Karigan said, “but you need to widen your stance a little more.”
Mel adjusted her feet and tried again.
“Better. Master Rendle has really worked with you, hasn’t he.”
“Yes. When school is done, he is going to recommend me for swordmaster initiate training.”
“I’m impressed.” And Karigan was. Arms Master Rendle did not support just anyone in that manner. “And then what?”
In a defiant voice, Mel said, “I’m going to train to be a Weapon.”
Karigan knew surprise must show on her face, but she restrained her initial impulse to respond negatively to Mel’s announcement. Instead, she asked, “What made you decide that?”
“I’m good at weapons.” Mel spoke not as one bragging, but as one stating fact. “And obviously, Mother will not let me be a Green Rider since I haven’t been called.”
Karigan nodded. There was so much she could say against this course. She could enumerate the dangers, but also the tediousness of the work. She could tell her there were so many other things a bright young woman could do. She just didn’t want to see her friend give up all of life’s possibilities to be a somber guard in black. However, she kept her misgivings to herself. It was Mel’s choice. Mel had grown up at the castle so she actually knew what it was the Weapons did, and had an idea of what their lives were like. She could tell Mel was judging her silence.
“Well, then,” she said before Mel could accuse her of one thing or another, “let us work on a series of forms. Yes, it will be different without a sword, but the practice will do us good. I’ll lead the first set and you follow along, and then you can lead the next.”
There was such gratitude in Mel’s eyes that Karigan guessed that all Mel ever heard in reaction to her aspiration was negative. Whether the negative reactions came from her mother, her teachers other than Rendle, or both, Karigan didn’t know. Karigan was neither. She was Mel’s friend. Mel had been the first friend she’d ever made at the castle, and so she would support her in whatever course in life she chose.
They went through several sequences, one mirroring the other. There were some that Mel did not know, so Karigan showed her. It felt good to go through exercises, even when the movement aggravated scar tissue.
“Now if only you two swordmasters had swords,” Megan said in a scornful voice, “we could get out of this miserable hut.”
“Karigan is a swordmaster,” Fergal said, “and a Black Shield.”
“Honorary,” Karigan said. “Honorary Black Shield.”
Megan gave Fergal a roll of her eyes. “I know. It’s all they talk about back in the Rider wing. Karigan this, Karigan that. But look at her now—she’s a swordlessmaster.”
Megan’s words dug unexpectedly deep. Yes, she was swordless, but even if she had one, she hadn’t the strength, still, to properly wield it.
Even these others see how feeble you are, Nyssa told her. How feeble I made you.
The torturer’s words weighed on her. A sense of hopelessness crept into her mind and she felt Nyssa’s pleasure at it.
Mel strode over to where Megan sat and fisted her hand. “Green Rider or no, I ought to punch you in the face.”
“Mel,” Karigan said, feeling suddenly very tired, “there will be no punching. The last thing we need is to fight among ourselves. We have enough problems. Those are the Darrow Raiders holding us. They are treating us well for now, but you’ve heard some of the stories.”
“My mother won’t talk about it at all,” Mel said, “but I know she fought them.”
Megan just reclined on her blanket. “Let me know when you finally come up with a useful plan for getting out of here.”
You will only fail them, Nyssa whispered.
Karigan had to agree. She could hardly take care of herself much less anyone else. How was she to help them survive the Raiders and escape? As Chief Rider, they were her responsibility. Her hands began to shake again and she clenched them into fists.
“Get up,” she told Megan and Fergal.
They exchanged glances.
“What for?” Fergal asked.
“We’re going to work on sword forms.”
“Bit of a complication,” he said with a nod at his shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll use your other arm.”
“But—”
“No buts. I had to train with my left side back when my sword arm was injured. Now get up.”
He pushed himself to his feet, but Megan stayed where she was.
“Megan?”
“I hate the sword stuff,” the Rider said. “And it’s silly without the swords.”
“I am not asking,” Karigan replied.
“Are you going to make me, Chief Rider?”
Karigan quelled her anger best as she could. Whoever had trained Megan had fallen short in some areas. “No, I am not going to make you. If a time does come when we have to fight our way out of here, we should be limber and in shape enough to do so.” Then she turned her back on Megan. “Fergal, Mel and I are going to teach you some advanced swordfighting techniques.”
They were only on the second form when Megan decided to join them.
Nyssa infiltrated Karigan’s dreams. Instead of wielding her usual whip, she held a red hot poker. In the dream, Karigan sat up and found she was not in the hut by the mountains, but back in Nyssa’s workshop in the Lone Forest. The brazier glowed a garish orange against the wall. It was hot and she felt sweat pouring down her face.
“You think you can lead them to safety?” Nyssa demanded. “You are being held by the Darrow Raiders.”
“You are dead,” Karigan said.
“Am I? Then why are you here?”
Karigan wanted to wake up. She tried, but she felt stuck in the dream, unable to move. “This is just a dream.”
“Is it?” The glow of orange flame flickered against Nyssa’s face.
This is a dream, this is a dream, Karigan thought, but it did not go away.
“Where are your precious ghost Riders, eh? They won’t protect you, nor will your god of death. Even your king won’t come for you. It is just you and me, Greenie, and you are mine.”
“No—”
“Look at yourself. All alone and terrified.”
Karigan was no longer sitting, but hanging by her wrists which were chained to a beam overhead. “No,” she whispered. Blood stained her side where Nyssa had plunged the knife.
“Remember this?” Nyssa waved the hot poker before Karigan’s face.
“Please . . .”
Nyssa brightened. “You said please!” She laughed and plunged the poker into the wound.
Amid the scent and sizzle of Karigan’s own flesh burning, she screamed.