your bamboo sticks, Pip. Would you be willing to help my son?”
Duri sniffed, “Bamboo sticks? I’ve been studying the blade for–”
Balthion gestured to a servant, who had been waiting outside the second gate. He passed several shields and weapons through the metal bars. “Shields. Training swords–blunted, but they’ll still hurt.” Balthion passed one hilt-first to Pip. “You know how to use one of these?”
It was heavier than she had expected. Pip nodded.
“Shield?”
“No, thank you.” Pip swished the sword through the air. It felt very large for her. Did Pygmy warriors use blades this heavy? Or … no, she remembered them wearing a long dagger at either hip.
“Dad, you expect me to fight a girl to improve my skills?”
Pip had never met a more aggravating person. Five years of stares through the crysglass windows were not a shade on what she felt now. This big person boy thought he was too good to fight a Pygmy warrior? A little girl-savage? She’d savage him, alright.
Her feet slipped into a ready position. Copying what she had read in a story, she said, “Guard yourself, Sylakian rogue.”
A wicked chuckle issued from Balthion’s mouth.
Duri slipped a shield onto his arm and raised his sword in a mocking salute. “I’ll try to be gentle, little girl.”
“How noble of you,” she retorted.
Pip feinted to his right, to his sword hand. Gladness burned like fire in her throat. This felt so right. How could a person so love battle, the heft of a sword in their hand, the clash of wills across the space that separated her from a hated enemy? Well, not an enemy as such, but a spoiled Sylakian brat. Side-stepping his clumsy thrust, Pip struck his shield. She kicked out, making Duri stumble. Now she recalled her Pygmy warrior-instructor. His dry voice filled her mind. ‘Shift your weight like a cobra. Coil and strike. Always watch the eyes. The eyes mirror the soul. Read the signs.’ She read his overhand attack easily. The heavy sword slowed her return blow.
‘Use the warrior-passions. Flow with them like a river pouring over the Island’s edge into the Cloudlands.’ The forms were there, carved into her memory. She needed a second blade. But a warrior should know how to fight one-handed, or both. Pip defended herself, deflecting the boy’s cautious blows with an economy of movement. He was gaining in confidence after an awkward beginning. His eyes narrowed. He knew he was in a real battle.
Now she slithered into the attack, swaying past his flickering blade to jab her elbow into his side. Duri gasped. Pip sprang lithely upward, spinning on the axis of her body before letting her blade snap out suddenly. She pulled the blow, showing her control.
“You’re dead.”
The blunt blade rested against his neck.
“Good,” said Balthion, drily. “Pip, a better swordsman would only have killed you four times before then. Let’s discuss where you went wrong.”
* * * *
Pip missed Balthion in the cold season. He slipped on the icy cobbles on his way to the zoo and injured his back. She begged and begged the zookeeper to let her see him, with all the power of her new command of Island Standard. In the end, she was allowed to accompany Arosia in her litter, chained hand and foot, with a dozen sworn, life-and-death promises that Pip would be returned safely. The zoo owner was travelling in the warm Southern Islands for the cold season.
She had not set foot outside of her enclosure in six and a half years.
Rain sheeted across the dull grey, slate rooftops of Sylakia Town. The four male servants carrying their light, covered litter were already soaked. Pip knew her eyes were enormously round as they jogged the half-league into town. The buildings grew grander with every step. She perceived many things she had words for, but had never seen–bakeries and shops, tanneries and pony-carts, children floating boats in the puddles and dogs as tall as any Pygmy.
She fingered the cloth of the
Duri sniffed, “Bamboo sticks? I’ve been studying the blade for–”
Balthion gestured to a servant, who had been waiting outside the second gate. He passed several shields and weapons through the metal bars. “Shields. Training swords–blunted, but they’ll still hurt.” Balthion passed one hilt-first to Pip. “You know how to use one of these?”
It was heavier than she had expected. Pip nodded.
“Shield?”
“No, thank you.” Pip swished the sword through the air. It felt very large for her. Did Pygmy warriors use blades this heavy? Or … no, she remembered them wearing a long dagger at either hip.
“Dad, you expect me to fight a girl to improve my skills?”
Pip had never met a more aggravating person. Five years of stares through the crysglass windows were not a shade on what she felt now. This big person boy thought he was too good to fight a Pygmy warrior? A little girl-savage? She’d savage him, alright.
Her feet slipped into a ready position. Copying what she had read in a story, she said, “Guard yourself, Sylakian rogue.”
A wicked chuckle issued from Balthion’s mouth.
Duri slipped a shield onto his arm and raised his sword in a mocking salute. “I’ll try to be gentle, little girl.”
“How noble of you,” she retorted.
Pip feinted to his right, to his sword hand. Gladness burned like fire in her throat. This felt so right. How could a person so love battle, the heft of a sword in their hand, the clash of wills across the space that separated her from a hated enemy? Well, not an enemy as such, but a spoiled Sylakian brat. Side-stepping his clumsy thrust, Pip struck his shield. She kicked out, making Duri stumble. Now she recalled her Pygmy warrior-instructor. His dry voice filled her mind. ‘Shift your weight like a cobra. Coil and strike. Always watch the eyes. The eyes mirror the soul. Read the signs.’ She read his overhand attack easily. The heavy sword slowed her return blow.
‘Use the warrior-passions. Flow with them like a river pouring over the Island’s edge into the Cloudlands.’ The forms were there, carved into her memory. She needed a second blade. But a warrior should know how to fight one-handed, or both. Pip defended herself, deflecting the boy’s cautious blows with an economy of movement. He was gaining in confidence after an awkward beginning. His eyes narrowed. He knew he was in a real battle.
Now she slithered into the attack, swaying past his flickering blade to jab her elbow into his side. Duri gasped. Pip sprang lithely upward, spinning on the axis of her body before letting her blade snap out suddenly. She pulled the blow, showing her control.
“You’re dead.”
The blunt blade rested against his neck.
“Good,” said Balthion, drily. “Pip, a better swordsman would only have killed you four times before then. Let’s discuss where you went wrong.”
* * * *
Pip missed Balthion in the cold season. He slipped on the icy cobbles on his way to the zoo and injured his back. She begged and begged the zookeeper to let her see him, with all the power of her new command of Island Standard. In the end, she was allowed to accompany Arosia in her litter, chained hand and foot, with a dozen sworn, life-and-death promises that Pip would be returned safely. The zoo owner was travelling in the warm Southern Islands for the cold season.
She had not set foot outside of her enclosure in six and a half years.
Rain sheeted across the dull grey, slate rooftops of Sylakia Town. The four male servants carrying their light, covered litter were already soaked. Pip knew her eyes were enormously round as they jogged the half-league into town. The buildings grew grander with every step. She perceived many things she had words for, but had never seen–bakeries and shops, tanneries and pony-carts, children floating boats in the puddles and dogs as tall as any Pygmy.
She fingered the cloth of the
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