he was better than she was?
She’d known Behran practiced the ancient art of kaavl—the process of highly sharpening the senses, coupled with intense concentration of the mind. Anger had pushed her to take the first step toward learning kaavl. She was not stupid, and meant to prove it to him. Better yet, she wanted to beat him squarely, one on one, at his own kaavl level.
Although only talented people could progress beyond the beginning kaavl level, also known as the Quint-level, or fifth level, Methusal soon discovered she was gifted in the art, and had caught up to her peers within a few short years.
Now she was an adult—eighteen—and her childish hurt at being rejected had of course healed. But she still burned to beat him in the annual Kaavl Games. Especially since Behran still held such a patronizing attitude toward her, and her kaavl abilities.
Changing into her thick, warm pajamas, Methusal blew out the lamp and slipped beneath the coverings. Tomorrow she’d ask Kitran to allow her to play in the Kaavl Games. Surely he wouldn’t disqualify her, like Petr had threatened.
* * * * *
Low, arguing voices roused Methusal from deep sleep a few hours later. Her parents rarely disagreed, so the intensity of their voices made her sit up on one elbow.
“I don’t like it!” Her father sounded vehement.
“We have to give him a chance. This might be a wonderful opportunity,” her mother murmured.
Were they still arguing about the Alliance? Methusal stifled a yawn.
“Petr’s going too fast. Why didn’t he bring this issue up earlier?” A firestick cracked against the wall. “He wants to make every decision by himself!”
“Erl, you’re going to wake Thusa.”
His voice lowered, but was still intense. “Something has to be done, don’t you see? Petr’s selling us out! Mark my words, Hanuh, this will be the end of Rolban’s freedom.”
“It might be a good thing. Rolban’s been independent for two hundred years. Maybe it’s time we developed a closer Alliance with Dehre and Tarst. It could benefit us.”
“It’ll benefit them ,” he growled. “The Dehriens are decades behind us, always scavenging for their food, and preyed upon by the beasts! If they weren’t so lazy and shiftless, they wouldn’t need an Alliance with us.”
“We’ve heard reports that they’re starving. Shouldn’t we help them?”
“I’m not against helping them, if we had extra food, which we don’t. I’m against trusting them. This is just how the Great War started. Dehriens were starving, and a drought had gone on for three years, just like it has now. Their Chief decided to attack us, with Tarst’s help, so they could steal our water and croplands for themselves.”
“We’re friends with the Tarst now,” Hanuh pointed out. “You’re good friends with Pan Patn, their Chief, for goodness sake. And we trade with them, because they’re so close—only a day’s run from here. What difference would an Alliance make?”
“I trust Pan,” Erl said grimly, “but not the Dehriens.”
“Because you know Pan. You messengered together for years. Maybe if you got to know Dehre’s Chief, you would come to trust him, too.”
“The Dehriens haven’t changed. I tell you, Hanuh, I don’t trust them. We’re safe now. Let’s keep it that way.”
“What are you afraid they’ll do?”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Soon as that treaty is signed they’ll send more Dehriens to Rolban. Security is an issue. And what about thefts? If I didn’t know better, I’d think it had already started—skins missing from your garment room, and plates and utensils missing from the kitchen. Too many strange things are happening, and I don’t like it.” Agitated pacing reached Methusal’s ears. “I don’t like it one bit. Sounds just like Dehrien tricks!”
“Erl. You’re being judgmental. Look at the Amils, for goodness sakes. They’re from Dehre, but they’re not dishonest or…”
“That is exactly my
She’d known Behran practiced the ancient art of kaavl—the process of highly sharpening the senses, coupled with intense concentration of the mind. Anger had pushed her to take the first step toward learning kaavl. She was not stupid, and meant to prove it to him. Better yet, she wanted to beat him squarely, one on one, at his own kaavl level.
Although only talented people could progress beyond the beginning kaavl level, also known as the Quint-level, or fifth level, Methusal soon discovered she was gifted in the art, and had caught up to her peers within a few short years.
Now she was an adult—eighteen—and her childish hurt at being rejected had of course healed. But she still burned to beat him in the annual Kaavl Games. Especially since Behran still held such a patronizing attitude toward her, and her kaavl abilities.
Changing into her thick, warm pajamas, Methusal blew out the lamp and slipped beneath the coverings. Tomorrow she’d ask Kitran to allow her to play in the Kaavl Games. Surely he wouldn’t disqualify her, like Petr had threatened.
* * * * *
Low, arguing voices roused Methusal from deep sleep a few hours later. Her parents rarely disagreed, so the intensity of their voices made her sit up on one elbow.
“I don’t like it!” Her father sounded vehement.
“We have to give him a chance. This might be a wonderful opportunity,” her mother murmured.
Were they still arguing about the Alliance? Methusal stifled a yawn.
“Petr’s going too fast. Why didn’t he bring this issue up earlier?” A firestick cracked against the wall. “He wants to make every decision by himself!”
“Erl, you’re going to wake Thusa.”
His voice lowered, but was still intense. “Something has to be done, don’t you see? Petr’s selling us out! Mark my words, Hanuh, this will be the end of Rolban’s freedom.”
“It might be a good thing. Rolban’s been independent for two hundred years. Maybe it’s time we developed a closer Alliance with Dehre and Tarst. It could benefit us.”
“It’ll benefit them ,” he growled. “The Dehriens are decades behind us, always scavenging for their food, and preyed upon by the beasts! If they weren’t so lazy and shiftless, they wouldn’t need an Alliance with us.”
“We’ve heard reports that they’re starving. Shouldn’t we help them?”
“I’m not against helping them, if we had extra food, which we don’t. I’m against trusting them. This is just how the Great War started. Dehriens were starving, and a drought had gone on for three years, just like it has now. Their Chief decided to attack us, with Tarst’s help, so they could steal our water and croplands for themselves.”
“We’re friends with the Tarst now,” Hanuh pointed out. “You’re good friends with Pan Patn, their Chief, for goodness sake. And we trade with them, because they’re so close—only a day’s run from here. What difference would an Alliance make?”
“I trust Pan,” Erl said grimly, “but not the Dehriens.”
“Because you know Pan. You messengered together for years. Maybe if you got to know Dehre’s Chief, you would come to trust him, too.”
“The Dehriens haven’t changed. I tell you, Hanuh, I don’t trust them. We’re safe now. Let’s keep it that way.”
“What are you afraid they’ll do?”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Soon as that treaty is signed they’ll send more Dehriens to Rolban. Security is an issue. And what about thefts? If I didn’t know better, I’d think it had already started—skins missing from your garment room, and plates and utensils missing from the kitchen. Too many strange things are happening, and I don’t like it.” Agitated pacing reached Methusal’s ears. “I don’t like it one bit. Sounds just like Dehrien tricks!”
“Erl. You’re being judgmental. Look at the Amils, for goodness sakes. They’re from Dehre, but they’re not dishonest or…”
“That is exactly my
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