A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (15 page)

As I practiced, I began to feel that my opponent was real. I remembered a time, long ago, when I had split body from mind and sent my mind into a tree, to direct my lost and wandering feet. Two, so they say, is better than one. If I could re-create myself, then there would be two of us. Could I do this again?

What do you think?
I thought to the beads.
Can you help?

I felt a jolt against my skin, as if I’d woken them.

I placed my hands together, fists clenched, as if I was gripping a wooden stave with two hands. Practiced blocking; right elbow up, stave tipped to the left. If I was sparring, I would feel an impact from my opponent’s weapon. The force would travel down my body, through my feet into the ground. I braced myself, ready for a blow, and tried to imagine that it was really happening, that I was really fighting someone, and that they had hit me.

Block to the right.

Just like me, my opponent would be judging angles and openings. Step back, don’t get too close, watch for the moment. One-two as the staves came forward, attacking. In the filtered light I could almost see the weapons. Weapons would be held by hands; hands would be attached to wrists and elbows. Feet, too, that kicked and moved, so I ducked and turned and parried, moving through the lines of light. I could almost see this enemy, could hear the breathing.

Sense the space in which he moves. There, now! I could see dirty feet, scrambling on the straw. Strong legs, strong thighs. A torso, clad in rags. It twists, presenting a narrower target. Crouches into a lunge position. There’ll be a kick soon.

I turn, step back, the kick misses. Stepping forward and move up, under the enemy’s guard, into his chin. He steps backwards. No: into
her
chin.
She
steps backwards. She blocks, one-two, moves into attack. It’s like dancing, but like dancing with a flame. With my reflection.

The light seemed to shimmer. A third figure stood beside me, watching. Adianna. Was she in the world of everyday? Or was I dreaming?

The Guardian watched silently as I fought with myself. I felt as though I was splitting myself in two, each half of me fighting the other. I had to concentrate; it was challenging to let my double work independently. I kept hitting myself in the head.

‘Enough,’ I said, panting.

I held out my hand. She did the same and we turned to face each other. It was like watching a mirror, but now my image was not bounded by a frame. We lifted our right hands to Adianna, palms out. As if startled, she stepped backwards. My double paused for a moment, then smiled and disappeared, leaving a faint trace where she had been.

Adianna closed her mouth. ‘What was that?’

‘I’m creating allies,’ I said. ‘Two fighters stand a better chance than one.’

I spent the next few days sparring with myself. It must have appeared peculiar; a girl twisting, grunting, giving and receiving blows from empty air. Placing four sets of limbs instead of the regular two required considerable attention. The least distraction, like a roll of the ship, could result in injury, and for a time I was easily unbalanced, falling over my own feet. But over time I learnt to separate, to create another one of me.

I think the beads helped. They seemed to find it entertaining, at any rate. Several times I caught glimpses of the Guardians watching from the sidelines like an audience. But I never caught a hint of the magicians. They’d promised to watch me, but either they’d become bored long ago and given up, or the beads had done what they’d promised; deflected their attention.

For the first time since my arrival on this ship, I felt as though I had the means to survive. And possibly, just possibly, a means to win. For my kidnappers would not be looking for two of us.

Suddenly, I woke. Was that thunder? I was just about to fall back to dozing, when I realized: something’s different! That deep rumble hadn’t been the noise of a storm; rather, it was chains, rattling down the side of the ship. They had let the anchor let go. The ship was berthing!

Outside on the deck, the sailors stood immobile. The wooden deck slats quivered and I heard a distant thudding; the tread of heavy footsteps. Men in black cloaks moved purposefully across the deck. They stepped around the still and silent sailors, paying no more attention to them than the barrels of cargo.

The feet were right above me now. The hatch scraped, the bolts clattered free. I imagined myself, standing beside me. Red hair, the color of autumn leaves. Dirty legs and arms, freckled skin. Wrapped in rags; enough to be decent, but not enough to keep one warm.

Come
, I thought,
come to me
.

And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, there she was: my mirror image. Me, but separate.

‘Are you ready?’ I whispered to her, to me.

She nodded. ‘Are you?’ she replied.

She had never spoken before.

The hatch opened, and I slipped into the shadow, leaving her, or I, standing in the light. She/I lifted our hands to shield our eyes from the sun. A rope tumbled from the deck above. There were knots on the rope, to make a ladder. My image grasped the rope with both hands. It passed right through her.

I thought of solid things: tree trunks and castles, iron and stone. Standing in the light from the open hatchway, she seemed to harden, to solidify. She looked at me and smiled. Then the boat heaved and I staggered, feeling unexpectedly tired, as though something vital had been leeched away.

My double grabbed the rope, pressed her feet against the knots and began clambering up. The rope lifted out of the hold, drawing her towards the light.

I risked a view from my reflection’s mind. It was a shock to see the world through two sets of eyes and for a moment I felt dizzy. She/I stepped onto the deck. The planks were smooth under my feet. I stared down at my toes, not daring to look up, scared of the press of power from the magicians on the deck. There were four of them, cloaked and hooded. They wore black boots and their hoods were drawn forwards so I could not see their faces.

‘Come,’ said one roughly, and grabbed my arm. His nails, long and tipped with bronze, cut into my skin.

Blank-faced, the sailors said nothing as the magicians pulled me/her towards the edge of the ship. My double staggered. At the quayside a coach with four horses and a bandy-legged coachman were waiting. Soon, they would put her in that coach and drive away with her. And I? I would be left, with half my heart gone. I felt her panic as if it was my own. I needed to escape.

Fortunately they’d left the rope. It swayed gently with the ship’s movement.

‘Come on,’ I whispered to her, to myself. ‘You can do this.’

I put a foot on the rope and pulled myself upwards, clambering up the knots one at a time. Slowly, slowly. My palms were soft; the rope burnt my skin. Eventually, I reached the edge of the trapdoor.

The crew didn’t seem to notice my head appearing from the hold. I scuttled behind a barrel. Its sides were oozing; the planks of the deck beside it were slippery. The crew paid me no attention. They seemed like puppets, kept for the purpose of sailing and little else.

Trying to get closer to my double, I scurried to another barrel, sliding on the deck. This one was leaking also, making the deck greasy and leaving a strong smell of fish.

My ghost-double struggled against the magicians, trying to break free. She shook her head wildly, pleading with them to let me/her go. The magicians laughed and pushed her arms behind her, pinned them there. She glared at them from angry eyes — my eyes. One of them set a bronze-tipped fingernail against her neck and said something to the others. They laughed again. One of them signaled to the coachman.

Like an echo of their masters, the sailors laughed too. Something seemed to pass among them and they ceased their staring. One of them pulled my rope ladder from the hold and kicked the trapdoor shut. My double cried to them for help, but they paid her no attention.

I felt a sudden burst of anger. How could they just stand by and watch? How dare these magicians assume that because I was young and female, I was powerless? Soon, they would be away, off the ship. I had to stop them.

I nearly slipped again on the greasy deck, and the smell of fish was so strong it seemed to burn my nostrils. The barrels contained oil, probably lamp oil. Not as though they’d granted the favor of a lamp to me, their prisoner.

I remembered my brother Owein talking with the Fire Master. What had the Fire Master said?
“Rockets, falling into oil — a most flammable combination.”

‘
Oil burns,
’ I whispered to myself, to my double.

The beads warmed about my wrist; my double nodded in recognition. Truly, I was a multitude tonight.

I relaxed my mind, relaxed my vision. Here was the world as it truly was. Gold light, arcing from person to person, to the sea, to the land. Through us and of us; all interconnected. Energy passed, energy flowed.

Feel the flow.

I stretched out a hand, pulled at the golden strand of light. It swayed and danced above the sea, within the sea. I tugged at the light, stretched it like a man spins cotton candy. Laid it across the oil and felt it warm at my touch.

‘
Light!’

And there was light.

I ran for the side of the ship, leaped towards the jetty. My double pushed at her captors. Distracted by the flare of fire, their grip weakened and they let her go. She leapt too, throwing herself at me, so we met in empty space, embraced. And became one. Suddenly heavy, I fell towards the jetty, towards the land.

I felt a swift, crazy joy, then rolled, falling onto hard, heavy timbers. Lay there, breathless. And on the ship, the magicians turned, groping with knife-tipped nails, but meeting only empty air. The boat seemed to blossom like a flower.

Too slow. Too late.

The ship exploded.

Firelight towered, flaring bright embers against the sky, and caught the magicians. For an instant, they glowed like sparks. Then they crackled; shredding into flecks of black soot, just like a chimney when it is swept.

Spars of wood twisted. Sails flared into winding sheets of fire. Men screamed. Some leapt from the ship into the water. Some did not and doubtless perished in the flames.

I did not feel any guilt. I felt only relief. Now I was free.

––––––––

N
’tombe let Ma’s men go. ‘They are of no use to us. What would we want with a parcel of angry cutthroats? Easier just to take the woman hostage.’

The brigands rode sullenly back to Evans Point. Ma Evans watched them go with barely a word. But she spoke plenty enough on the way back to the inn. For an old woman, she had a wide and wild vocabulary. Will couldn’t help but grin and once he thought he even saw TeSin smiling.

‘That’s Ma Evans!’ The innkeeper turned pale when he saw them, and crossed himself, like a man putting on a rarely used coat of arms. ‘Bless me! Ma Evans herself! What have you folk gone and done? Taken Ma Evans! Oh my Lord! Sweet Virgin protect us! No one else is likely to. No, no, good sirs, you can’t bring her in here.’

‘Man,’ Jed was still a-horseback. ‘Calm yourself.’ Will, N’tombe and TeSin clustered quietly behind him while Ma Evans, with clenched fist, railed at the sky and her captors in equal measure.

‘Pipe down will you, woman?’ roared Jed. She blinked, stared at him and for a moment, at any rate, was silent. The innkeeper blanched and staggered backwards.

‘Good man,’ said Jed, ‘never met a barkeep yet who refused custom. We need beds for one more night, and food. After that, we’ll be gone, and we’ll trouble you no more.’

‘Aye,’ said the innkeeper, ‘and then what, eh? She and her men will be on us like a storm out of the sea.’

Jed sighed. ‘Does she look like to trouble you? It’s us as she has a quarrel with.’

‘Sir,’ said the innkeeper, ‘she and her lads — they have a quarrel with anyone who stands in their way.’

‘Let us in, Barney Mole,’ said Ma Evans, resorting to normal speech. Her voice was hoarse. ‘Or I’m like to think of you as the man who refused me hospitality.’

The innkeeper swallowed. ‘Now, now, Ma. You are right welcome. You know that. It’s just, well. It’s just that I thought these gentlemen were holding you against your will.’

‘Maybe they are, Barney Mole. Maybe they are. But that don’t change the needfulness of drink and bed and food, now, does it?’

The innkeeper sighed. ‘Let me take you round to the stableyard, then. I suppose you’ll be needing extra chambers?’

‘One more. TeSin here can sleep with us.’ Jed jerked a thumb at the Noyan, who blinked and said nothing.

‘You ladies are happy to share a room?’ said Barney Mole nervously, looking from N’tombe’s inscrutable face to Ma Evan’s angry, reddened one.

‘You only have the two chambers,’ said N’tombe. It was not a question.

‘Aye, missus,’ said Master Mole. ‘Just the two. Not much call for more rooms, not here.’

‘Well, then, yes. We can share a room.’

The women went into the hotel, ‘to wash’ said N’tombe, but Will saw the way she set her hand on Ma Evans’ angry back and wondered if there was a plan for an enchantment. Jed wandered off in search of hay while TeSin and Will remained in the stable to groom the horses.