Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (9 page)

Ash’s mouth gaped as she stared at the map Ivar had laid out on the table. It was drawn on a large animal skin and depicted a land completely surrounded by water.

“You are saying if I walk far enough in any direction, I will reach the endless water?” Ash found this impossible to comprehend. She and Enat had walked for many days but, looking at where their forest was drawn on the map, were still nowhere near the edges of the land. How far would she have to walk to get there?

“Éire is an island,” Ivar said. “So, yes. If you walk far enough, you will meet the sea. That is how invaders come to our island from other lands. But they are not the only threat.” He pointed again to the map. “A hundred winters and more ago, we had only four main kingdoms: Uladh in the north, Laigin in the east, Munster in the south and Connacht in the west. But over those hundred winters, clans have been fighting for land, and the four kingdoms are now broken into many smaller ones. Our forest sits on a boundary between kingdoms. This is why you must all know how to fight.”

“Only to defend,” said Neela. “Defend our forest, and those who are weak and cannot defend themselves.”

“If we know magic, why do we have to fight?” Ash asked.

“Are you afraid to fight?” Gai challenged her.

He had bragged many times of being taught fighting skills by his father’s warriors when he was young. Ash knew that Cíana and some of the others already had been taught some of these skills.

“I do not know,” Ash replied. “I have never fought. Do humans know how to do anything but fight?”

Cíana hid a smile. Ivar stepped forward and said, “You’re right, Ash. We should avoid fighting whenever we can. But our island has been invaded by many tribes from other lands – from the north, from the east.” He pointed on the map. “When they come, they come to kill. This forest is protected with enchantments to keep non-magic folk from finding it. Most would encounter fog and mist and wander about lost on the boundaries until they gave up. But some of the invaders have their own magicians, and they sense the power of this forest. They might lead the invaders in and allow them to do harm. We must be prepared to protect our home. The forest cares for us, and we must care for it.”

Though Ivar’s reasons were sound, that did not make Ash feel better. Smaller than all of the others and hampered by her scarred leg and arm, she knew she would be at a disadvantage and was not looking forward to learning to fight.

Fortunately, there were other things to learn first. She spent days listening to Neela tell them tales of the gods and goddesses who protected their land – the Dagda and Danu, Morrigan, Aonghus, Brighid, Arawn – the list went on and on until Ash’s head swam with the names and deeds.

“Do you believe in the gods?” she asked Enat one evening as they sat outside their cottage. It was a gentle night. The new warmth of the spring lay heavy on everything, and the scent of flowering bushes and trees perfumed the night air. Ash lay on her back, watching the stars wheel slowly through the dark sky, listening to the activity in the forest around them.

Enat smiled as her fingers deftly wove a basket from reeds, working by feel without the need for light. “I believe people need something to believe in. They need a way to explain what they cannot understand, and they need to feel that there is something bigger than themselves.”

Ash thought about this. “Animals do not do this.”

“No, I would guess that they don’t.”

Ash sighed impatiently. “Life with the badgers was much simpler.”

Enat smiled. “I’m sure it was. Would you go back?”

Ash was quiet for a long time. “I have learned much, yet I miss them.”

Enat set her basket down and came over to sit beside Ash and pointed to the sky. “You are like the evening star, one with all the others and yet apart, brighter than the rest.”

Ash shook her head. “I am not brighter. The others – Cíana and Gai – they all know more than I. Even Diarmit does.”

“Not more. At least, not more important,” Enat said. “You know things that cannot be taught. One day, you will understand how rare that is.”

At last, the day Ash had been dreading arrived.

“Today, we will go to the sparring ground.” Ivar led them to a clearing not far from the village. There, a three-sided lean-to sheltered a forge. A fire was already lit. Ivar had Diarmit pump the bellows, each gust of air shooting flames and sparks high as Ivar moved a bar of metal sitting in the fire, glowing red. When it was soft enough to mold, his thick arm wielded a hammer, hitting the bar with blows that rang in Ash’s ears.

“Are we going to make our own weapons?” Daina asked, raising her voice over the clanging of the hammer.

“No,” said Ivar, his face glistening. “But you should know where they come from.”

Nearby was a small stone building that held weapons of all types: long and short sparring sticks, round discs of wood nearly as large as Ash, and an array of actual weapons, their metal edges gleaming in the half-light coming into the storehouse. Ash’s nose wrinkled at the sharp odor of the metal. Ivar appraised her for a moment and handed her a short stick. He handed fake weapons out to the others as well.

“These are your swords,” he said.

Gai protested. “I can handle a real sword.”

Ivar looked at him. “Until I’m sure you can handle real weapons, these are what you’ll use. You’ll watch and learn.”

He took them all through slow-motion moves with their sticks: blocking, slashing, stabbing. He left them to practice while he went to supervise some of the older apprentices who were fighting with long sticks on the other side of the yard.

Ash and Diarmit and Daina sat together watching Gai and Cíana spar with their wooden swords. Ash winced as she listened to the sharp clack of their sticks as they parried. For a long while, they seemed evenly matched, but gradually, Gai, being taller and heavier than Cíana, forced her off-balance with a thrusting push with his stick. Ash groaned as she watched Cíana fall backward, certain that Gai had won. Cíana quickly rolled to one side, using her legs to sweep Gai’s feet out from under him. He landed heavily on his back and lay there, gasping for air as Cíana stood over him, her stick held to his throat.

“Well done!” Ivar came over to them.

“He’ll be angry as a wet wasp over that,” Daina whispered as Gai pushed to his feet.

“Why?” Ash saw no reason to be angry if an opponent bested her. When an animal lost a fight over a mate or territory, it was best to retreat and fight again another day. Staying only led to injury and death.

“He’s told us so many times how he was taught to fight by his father’s warriors, and he thinks he should never be beaten.”

Ash frowned. “Can anyone never be beaten?”

Ivar gestured to Ash and Diarmit. They took their places as Gai and Cíana sat to rest. Ivar showed them again how to hold their fake swords, and took them through slow-motion moves, some attacking, some defending. He then stepped back to allow them to practice what they had been taught. Diarmit advanced, and Ash stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

Gai laughed, and Cíana elbowed him to be quiet.

“Again,” Ivar said.

Ash scrambled to her feet.

A short time later, Diarmit knocked Ash to the ground for the twelfth time. She couldn’t seem to move fast enough to get her sword in position to block his blows, and his greater size overpowered her every time.

“Enough.” Ivar looked angry, his black brows furrowed over his fierce eyes. Ash stood, sweaty and panting, her fake sword hanging at her side. “Sit and rest.”

He dismissed them. Dejected, Ash got a long drink of water and sat with the others to watch two of the older ones spar. Méav’s long black braids whipped through the air as she spun, swinging her staff at Fergus. He moved just as fast, their staffs a blur of movement as they fought. Ash thought they looked like two of the gods in Neela’s tales. Farther away, the other three – Una, Ronan and Niall – all practiced throwing long, thin spears that impaled their targets like needles piercing cloth.

“I will never be able to do that,” Ash murmured.

“Not to worry,” Cíana said, laying a consoling hand on Ash’s shoulder. “It took me a long time as well.”

Ash suspected that was not true, but her heart lightened a little at Cíana’s words.

“Focus,” Neela said. “Try and pull the smoke toward you.”

What Ash lacked in fighting skills, she made up for in her other lessons.

“The elements existed long before us,” Neela had told them. “They will exist with or without us. They do not depend upon us in order to be.”

This Ash understood, intuitively, without really having to be taught. Living with the badgers, she had seen that humans could make fire, but so could lightning. Streams could overrun their beds, the earth could heave and move when wet enough.

“Fire and smoke can be used to create a protective screen,” Neela said. “Water is harder, but it can be manipulated to allow you to cross a stream to safety or to create a flood to keep your enemies on the other side. Earth is very difficult and takes a tremendous amount of energy. You must be careful. Once you start a spell, you may not be able to stop, and the energy it demands can kill you.”

Each of them sat with a candle. Ash stared at hers, feeling the power build inside. With a flick of her hand, the wick sparked and lit. She made the flame grow and then shrink, and then made smoke rise densely from the flame, twisting and coiling sinuously.

She felt the energy draining from her the longer and the more intricately she tried to control it, but it left her with a feeling of exhilaration that here was something she was good at. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself one with the fire, asking it to assume the shape she desired.

“How do you do that?” Diarmit asked in frustration as Ash made the flames rise in the shape of a crow.

“You cannot force anything to do your bidding,” Ash told him. “You must ask; you must become the fire or the smoke.”

Diarmit frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant.

“No,” said Gai. “You must exert yourself. If you are strong enough, you can force it to do your will. Like this.” His brows knitted in concentration as his flame twirled, spinning faster and faster.

Ash laid a hand on Diarmit’s arm. “Close your eyes,” she said patiently. “Put yourself in the fire. Feel it move, feel it sway with the breeze. Now, ask it to move with you.”

Diarmit screwed his face up in concentration, swaying where he sat.

“Look,” Ash whispered.

Diarmit opened his eyes to see the flame writhing and dancing. “I did it!”

Immediately, as he lost his focus, the flame returned to its natural size and shape, but Diarmit did not care. “That was the first time I could do it!”

“None of us could do it as quickly as you,” Daina said to Ash. She whispered loudly, “It took Gai ages and ages before he could force it to do his will.”

Gai, who had been watching them closely, frowned, but Ash glowed with Daina’s praise.

As much as she excelled in controlling fire, able to do so almost without thinking, it was the exact opposite when it came to learning to read and write. Ash struggled, trying to figure out how the symbols scratched into the dirt translated to spoken words. She was fascinated, looking at the scrolls and pages of writing kept by the elders in the meetinghouse, shelves and shelves of them. Some of them had pictures, beautiful drawings with inks in vibrant colors, intricately knotted creatures and lines. Enat sat and read to her for ages, letting Ash trace along with the words. Slowly, she was learning.