Book 2: Epilogue

Book 2: Epilogue

"There is a time for practice, and a time for tea," her father often remarked. She peered into her cup, remembering the girl that had searched for answers within the warm brown liquid. Answers that had remained elusive until this day. She idly traced the rim of the small vessel, releasing a sigh that had worn thin from years of repetition.

In moments like these, she could not help but liken her past self to the delicate porcelain cup. How was it that something so inherently beautiful could also be so fragile? Each tiny vessel was a testament to an artisan's painstaking effort over many years, an eternal snapshot of snow captured in white clay.

Did she regret the path she had chosen? If she was to be honest, she did. At least, a very small part of her did. The part that harbored the ghost of her guilt. She witnessed her childhood friends, born into prestigious Shareholder families, as they strolled gracefully up and down the boulevards of the city, and felt envious of them. Like the teacups, they were attractive, part of a set. And like the teacups, they were property, their life paths decided by their elder brothers or fathers. Exchanged as tokens of power or to cement new or existing alliances. Their futures were drafted, signed, and sealed in their marriage contracts. The certainty of their happiness remained dubious, but they would enjoy a life of carefree ease. Unlike her, they were spared the severity and rigor of harsh training. But then again, that had been her choice.

Then there was, of course, the horror that was childbirth. Beautiful words describing the joys of motherhood; but even with the best of healers, that joy could not be measured against the pain, the terror, and the risk. She had killed her own mother as she was forcibly spat out to take her first breath in this world. This, she knew, was what fueled the tension between herself and her brothers. She would not wish the fate of a broodmare on anyone.

Her eyes drifted to a portrait of one of her ancestors, their true name lost now, but their title and deeds preserved forevermore within the collective memory of her House. Her glorious ancestor, the Shield of Hope, had been the reason that she had chosen her path. The tales of her valor were countless and were an inspiration, but it was the Shield’s deeply-held beliefs that resonated within her.

The tales often spoke that the Shield hailed from a land far, far away, a place beyond the stars and the rising sun. And, if the legends were true, a different world altogether. According to some of the popular accounts, the Shield had claimed that in her homeland, women were considered lesser than men, but in Gesthe, she demonstrated that they could be equal, even superior. Her legendary deeds testified to this truth, did they not?

A woman could be a man’s superior. The words had ignited a spark within Kanaia of House Alim that her youthful imagination had fanned into a blazing fire. It was what pushed her to train, even when the others had long retired. At first, it was simply a parent’s indulgence that allowed her to practice with the males of the House. The disparity in strength and endurance seemed overwhelming at first. The boys were faster, could train for longer, and could withstand more physical punishment.

Then there was the allure of the surrender, the call of the easier path. Giving up. Oh, how simple that would have been. There would be no honor lost, her brothers told her, jokingly at first, if she just signed a marriage contract that would benefit House Alim. That was, after all, how girls upheld the honor of their House. Their jests turned more serious as time went on, and as Kanaia narrowed the gap between them.

She had grown strong enough to rival her brothers, for she had read the more esoteric parts of the Shield’s legend. Exchanging unwanted jewels and trinkets for scraps of knowledge, she found out that the source of the Shield’s power was more than just the blessings of Mana, or the gifts that she had been born with. The Shield would offer up the lives of her foes as sacrifices to the Gods and, in turn, would be granted power. Her ancestor answered the pleas of the masses. Whether it was to clear out an old cellar teeming with mouse-like Wise Ones, or to stop a rampaging Ogre, no task was deemed too grand or too humble for the Shield to accept. In turn, she would be rewarded by the Gods with greater insight. Surely, if Kanaia followed in the Shield’s example, she would reap the same rewards? So that was what she did.

She helped the servants with their tasks. From cleaning plates in the kitchens, to scrubbing the floors alongside the menials, and giving water to the messengers that delivered her father’s letters - she did it all. These same letters, she would occasionally open, swiftly perusing their contents before resealing them. All to learn more about the business of her House and to support her father, of course.

The Steward of her House thought it unbefitting of a lady of her stature to go about doing such crude and humble work, but he was like a second father to her, and could deny her nothing. Smiling, the menials of the house all doted on her, praising her at every turn. Like the Shield, she would form her strength from the bedrock of humility.

Over the course of the months, she felt herself grow stronger. Faster of mind and stronger of body. But was this just due to just natural growth and training, or was it due to her following the Shield’s example?

She started to hunt the animals about the estate, praying to the gods whenever she made a kill. The Desert Rockcrabs and the little Wise Ones were her prey. She barely spared a second thought when she killed the insectile Desert Rockcrabs, but she felt guilty slaughtering the little Wise Ones. Apart from their disgusting sinuous tails, they were cute in their own way. Fluffy brown things with beady eyes and soft fur, they would often find their way into the kitchen stores and were a general nuisance.

What came next was an adrenaline-fuelled exchange as blows were traded. Attacks, blocks, counters, and feints melded together, as she was forced to adapt to the storm that came upon her.

She lashed out with a low kick, making it look like she wanted to buy herself some time or to create some space between them, setting herself up for an orthodox attack. Her father easily saw through her ruse, stepping into her inner circle and launching an attack that, from this distance, she could not divert.

The young girl took it full on, absorbing the blow with a hard block, stopping the hammer blow in its tracks using her raw strength. For a moment she imagined that she saw a flicker of surprise in her father’s eyes before the two resumed their deadly dance.

She would surprise him more as she launched a counter-offensive. Using the Willow Weeps followed by Iron Anvil, she blended the soft and hard forms of her House’s ancient art into something unique. Against an opponent such as her father, simple mimicry of the techniques that he had taught her would not be enough. She adapted the forms to her body, creating something new that did not simply bludgeon, but something that also cut.

Old and new came together, blended by a strong will.

She did more than match her father’s strength, she exceeded it. What she lacked in reach, she more than made up for in youth, and raw lightning speed. Kanaia launched herself into an almost-perfect combination of blows that would have made her ancestor proud.

Almost perfect, save for one opening, an opening she knew her father would never take. If he placed any importance on her House’s future or had even the smallest scrap of affection for her. It was a gamble that she was more than willing to take.

For a split second, she sensed a dark moment come. An ugly thing that emanated from the soon-to-be defeated man. Thankfully, her father did not give into his baser emotions, and moments later the killing intent left his eyes. Glad that the threat had passed, the rest was relatively simple as she went through the preordained sequence that would spell his defeat. She ended the competition with a knife-hand at his throat.

“I yield,” her father stated flatly, a mixture of emotions playing about his face. Anger, surprise, and injured male pride. He had expected this day to come, if not so soon. As he had learned from his own father, eventually youth would always catch up to, then outrun, the lead that age and hard-won experience gave. Still, It was a bitter pill to swallow. And to be beaten by a mere slip of a girl, his own daughter, doubly so.

“You had given me the perfect position. Had I used the Blow that Shatters, you would be dead,” he added, looking to save face.

“Perhaps. But I knew you would not. I will use whatever it takes to win. Even a father’s affection. That is what is important, is it not? Besides, I doubt your Blow that Shatters would have been enough. I am not made of the river’s reeds” she countered, looking down at her defeated foe. Had he always been this small? He had seen so much bigger before.

“Duty and sacrifice are the words of House Alim.” The man before her blurted out the ritual words, with none of the solemnity they deserved. She almost felt pity for him.

“And I will sacrifice anything in the name of honoring those words. For House Alim is the Shield of Lazar. I will hold you to your honor, father. It will be I that will compete at the Saint’s. And it will be me, and only me, that will represent our House,” she replied coldly, her voice hollow, yet at the same time filled with the echo of divine purpose.

The man could only nod and stare dumbly at the monster he had raised.