Markswoman (Asiana #1)(22)
The tongues of flames reached out, caressed Kyra’s damp body, and vanished. The Markswomen let out a collective breath of relief and gave a ragged cheer. Kyra stood, looking around as if she could hardly believe that she was still alive. The child was gone, back to where it belonged: in Kyra’s deepest childhood dreams.
Shirin Mam smiled and bowed low to Kyra, welcoming her as an equal into the Order of Kali. She presented her with a new blade, bidding her use it well, for it was made by Urhul Mirranthir, one of the last great katari masters of Asiana. Kyra knelt before the Mahimata and accepted the katari with both hands. She laid her forehead on the kalishium blade for katari-mu-dai, the moment of bonding, and shuddered as awareness exploded within her soul.
I applied healing salves to the burns on Kyra’s face and arms, and there followed the usual feasting and singing in the central cavern. But Kyra did not rejoice overmuch. She understood the symbolism behind the trial of the ring of fire. The child was gone, safe from the flames, but consigned forever to the deeps of memory. The journey to adulthood had begun, and Kyra had only her wits and the blessings of the Goddess to carry her safely through.
Chapter 8
The Festival of Chorzu
Summer had arrived in the Ferghana Valley, bringing long days of sunshine and pleasant nights. Everyone in the Order of Kali was looking forward to the festival of Chorzu. It meant two days away from the daily drudgery, days to mix with the ordinary folk of the valley and enjoy the show put on by traveling musicians, jugglers, and storytellers.
The elders were more relaxed than usual and there were fewer classes. Felda decided not to give them any derivations at all, and Mumuksu regaled them with stories of her girlhood spent in a caravan of performers. Even Tamsyn was subdued, as if she was directing her energies to something other than torturing students for a change.
Shirin Mam did not single Kyra out again, apart from praising her and Tonar’s quick action at Kalam in front of the entire Order. “Exemplary discharge of duties and display of courage,” she pronounced with a warm smile, making both Kyra and Tonar blush. “But don’t get bigheaded about it,” she added, which brought them back down to earth.
Nor did the Mahimata summon Kyra for any more lessons, but still Kyra sometimes dreamed of Anant-kal. It was almost as bad as the dreams of doors; the idea that she could enter the realms of the past—or at least, the past as perceived by her blade—was both fascinating and repellent. Besides, she was embarrassed whenever she remembered how she had embraced Shirin Mam and wept like a child. One simply did not show such familiarity with the Mahimata.
Shirin Mam did send her one enigmatic note, a couple of days before the festival started:
“When in doubt, ask my katari where to go.”
Kyra puzzled over this for several minutes. Surely Shirin Mam meant that she should ask her own katari where to go? Maybe she made a mistake while writing the note. But even if she did, whatever did she mean? Kyra went to her cell to ask her for an explanation, but the Mahimata was too busy to see her and waved her away. Perhaps it was a test of some kind? Kyra put the note in her pocket and resolved to figure it out after the festival.
The novices had to be accompanied to Chorzu by an elder, but the apprentices could be accompanied by any one of the Markswomen. This meant that Kyra and her friends could, for the first time ever, be completely on their own. Last year Tonar Kalam had accompanied them with rather bad grace, scolded them when they tried to sneak off to see a puppet show, and made them return early before the fun started.
Nineth was the most excited of the three. She kept counting the few bronze coins she had, and speculating what she could buy with them.
“We could pool our money and buy a palm-reading for you,” suggested Kyra. “You never know, there might be a fortune hidden away in your future.”
None of them had much money, and for most of the year this did not matter. Only during the festival did their penury pinch. There was a lot to buy, and little to buy it with. The elders sometimes paid them in coin for special tasks, or they would have had nothing at all. Elena was by far the richest of the trio, with several silver coins she had earned for her healing work.
“I’d like to buy a snakeskin if I can,” she told the other two. “They are said to have a lot of healing power, especially for broken bones and torn muscles. I hope I find a good one.”
Nineth and Kyra exchanged a quick, worried glance. Kyra hoped fervently that Elena would find no such thing; they were counting on her silver coins to purchase several little treats.
It was difficult to concentrate during the last class on the day of the festival—a combined Meditation class for the apprentices and younger Markswomen. They sat cross-legged on the grass, enjoying the scented evening air and half-listening to Mumuksu talk about the opening of the third eye.
Mumuksu ended the class by reminding them of the rules for attending the Chorzu festival. “No spirits, no fortune-telling, and no fighting. Wear your traveling cloaks over your robes, and keep your kataris and identities hidden. Of course, many of the Chorzu folk will still recognize us, but the outsiders won’t, and the villagers know to keep their silence. You must be in groups of at least three, and apprentices must be accompanied by a Markswoman. You need to return by midnight. Remember, the penalty for being late is that you spend the whole of tomorrow sweeping the caverns instead of enjoying yourself back at the fair.”