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Aric’s bow, boots, and sword were already gone. The Hellene was gone, too. They’d left a bowl of clean water for washing and some porridge above the hearth. I lowered the cauldron chain to warm some breakfast while washing myself and my wounds from the previous day’s ride. Every part of me ached. But I could finally remove my new trousers. They fit too loosely and had rubbed my legs as I rode, causing oozing sores inside my calves and knees. The cloth lining had fused with the flesh in the night and scabbed there. Pulling it free and cutting away the new skin left me in no shape to ride. The sores on my hands were also deep and raw. Gripping reins or weapons today was inconceivable.
Still, I hurried into the rest of my clothes, tied up what was left of my hair, and choked down what I could of the slop in my bowl. Then I strapped on my weapons, retrieved the dagger from under my pillow, and set out into the morning.
Outside, all was quiet. The sun was barely up, and no one was around. Not knowing anyone, I decided to search for my horses to see how they fared after a night in their new home. As I headed out to the pastures, I heard the stirrings of a small rabble behind me.
“No wonder Aric looked exhausted this morning. He’s been riding all day and all night.”
The mob laughed heartily at that one. I kept my head down and kept walking.
“Hamazon, eh? Are we supposed to fight her or fuck her?”
More laughter. Riffraff was the same everywhere, and it didn’t take long for the crassness to take over. And the vulgarity only increased as they grew more enthusiastic.
I tried to outpace them and reach the pasture before them, but my legs were aching from the previous day’s ride, and they gained on me. I refused to turn and look, so I had no sense of how many were following. There would be only one way to deal with them. Clearing my throat, I gathered myself to stand my ground and get the unavoidable confrontation over with. I turned to face them. Nearly two dozen warriors hounded me.
The mob all froze in their tracks and went silent. Could I have shocked them into submission? But no, they weren’t looking at me, but past me. I turned and, coming over the knoll by the pasture, Aric rode his black gelding and led my horse Aruna by a rope halter. He kicked his horse up into a canter, rode down before the crowd, and ordered one of the young men at the back to run and summon all the kara. Soon, nearly three hundred men were gathered to hear their karadar.
Lifting the spear in his hand like a scepter, Aric spoke over the pack in a deep, calm, and commanding voice. “Hear me,” he called so all could hear. “I will say this once only: This woman before you is Anaiti, daughter of King Arianta of the Bastarnai. She is betrothed to our most noble sovereign. As you see, she wears the ring and girdle of our Lord, having sworn her oath in blood before the gods. Indeed, she is one of us until she makes her tally. She is also my guest—and has the protection of my hearth.” He paused and let his eye rest on the warrior throng. “Offense to her offends hospitality, the Bastarnai, your king, your karadar, and your oaths to this kara. I trust I need say no more?”
Like scolded dogs, heads dropped. But the crowd issued not a word.
“Speak if any of you object.”
There was only transfixed silence, no dubious looks, no murmurs, no whispers. Their eyes were trained upon Aric when he spoke, like loyal dogs upon the words of their master. If any objected, none dared voice it here.
Good enough. I didn’t expect the Warband to like me. For now, I just needed them not to hurt me.
The men dispersed. Aric had gathered five men around him and called to me as well. Like him, they wore no armor but for the shields slung over their backs. I recognized Olgas, Bornon, and Stormai from the night before. Another warrior, Gohar, joined the party. The fifth was the same young man who had spoken to Aric beside the hearth when we arrived. He introduced himself as Skopas.
“Ready for your first raid?” Aric asked.
My stomach dropped. He couldn’t be serious. “What enemy do we ride against today?” I asked, trying not to sound scared.
The other men looked at one another, then at me, incredulous.
“It comes to us to settle a grazing dispute,” Aric said. “We have cattle and other belongings to confiscate, and those we go to rebuke will not give them up easily. Saddle your horse.”
“I—I will make myself ready.”
“Good. Try not to get yourself killed on your first day.” He smirked, and the others chuckled, then turned to gather their horses.
I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t ready to go out on a raid. But “grazing dispute” didn’t sound too ominous. I tacked Aruna, and we set off north with the band upriver at a brisk canter. Aric asked me to ride at the party’s head beside him, though he spoke little and not at all to me. The day was warmer than the last, and the ground had dried like a stone underfoot, making the going quicker than on the floodplains. The howling wind had calmed itself to a soft whimper.
There were more flashes of light on the horizon, this time from the north. Aric took the polished bronze mirror from the case on his belt, angled it northward to where the flash was last seen, and, catching a ray of sun, flashed a beam of light back. I marveled at this small triumph of ingenuity while we stopped to briefly rest and water the horses. We resumed just as the day began to warm, and the morning dew was burning out of the grass.
I’d watched Aric ride all morning, and I’d come to the grudging conclusion that he was a good horseman. That was a rare thing for anyone, let alone a man whose occupation was slaughter and who made his home in a merciless wilderness. A man can feign a good character, but it’s a far more difficult task faking the trust of a horse. That was why both kings and commoners often went to such pains to learn the horseman’s art. A rider’s station mattered nothing to the horse; he would make a fool of all men equally.
Aric’s hands on the reins were firm but forgiving. His seat was natural, neither posing affectedly nor jostling carelessly. He pushed his horses hard, but he was fair with them, giving them ample rest, water and grazing, and care for their grooming. He saw to their needs before his own, as a good horseman should, and didn’t employ a groom though he had many to command. They were settled and calm in his presence and worked hard for him despite how much he demanded of them.
I never knew my mother well, but she lived by a simple rule: Know a man by his hands, for a mouth may say anything, but hands seldom lie. Watch them long enough, and their actions and deeds will reveal the truth of the character that guides them. Perhaps no more so than when people handled beasts, where there was no law to govern them.
“The winds favor us this morning,” I said as I led my horse down to the river to drink. The cold dawn had given way to a day gentle and warm—good for hunting. We’d spotted the Tokhari’s makeshift campsite, recently abandoned, near the banks of the river. The men had deemed this the final moment to wash their faces and make their invocations before the hunt began in earnest. I should wash as well if the men believed I was here to take quarry.
Gohar squinted his deep-set green eyes up at me, his wet face and ruddy beard glistening in the early morning light. “Why, then, do you cover your face with your scarf?” he asked.
His first words to me since my initiation, they caught me by surprise, filled as they were with genuine curiosity. He wasn’t a big man, shorter than the others, but there was something in the measured ease with which he moved that told me he could handle himself—and he knew it. And though his beard and long, dark hair were neatly kept, his hands were scarred and coarse, witness to countless clashes. Yet, searching me intently now, his smooth, shining face bore scarcely a mark.
“Well, I’m the only one here without a beard,” I said, glancing around before withdrawing the scarf to reveal my own face. “I thought it best to hide the fact.”
The raiding party—Gohar, Olgas, Bornon, Skopas, and even the shy one, Stormai—all shared a hearty laugh. All except for Aric, who scowled and, fixing his single, shrewd eye on me, crossed his thick arms over his chest.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. “Is that foolish?”
“Beard or no,” said Olgas with a crooked grin, “any man can tell you’re a woman from miles away.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, louder than I intended.
“Ha, what do you think it means?” Olgas said. They all snickered again.
I failed to see the humor, and it unnerved me to even think of it. Did it mean the men saw me as weak and feeble—or saw something else entirely? The last thing I wanted in this place was to stand out—not like that. I had no armor to speak of, and convincing myself of the invisibility the scarf afforded had allowed me to venture this far into the steppe with little thought for my welfare. Only, instead of rendering me inconspicuous, it had done just the opposite.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” I asked, changing the subject.
“The night before we arrived,” Bornon said, swiping the water from his bearlike cheeks, “there was a raid a few hour’s ride upstream in Skopas’s spring camp.” He nodded at the restless, quietly smoldering young man who had joined our party this morning. “They didn’t just lift cattle and horses. They came into the camp and took a girl—his sister. Men were killed in the skirmish. Their elder brother among them. Their father, Chief Kasagos, was gravely injured.”
“Why would they do this?”
“We had a bad summer,” Skopas spoke slowly, restraint in his voice, “then a bad winter. The pastures were bare, and much of the hay that was made molded in the fall.”
Silent since we rode from camp, Aric finally roused himself from his brooding and spoke. His tone was solemn, his words deliberate, as if passing sentence. “These many acres of grazing are given into the stewardship of two clans. When the land was granted, both were small households and humble, but they have grown fat over the years through breeding and raids. Too fat. Last summer, I ordered the chiefs to cull some of their stock before winter, so neither would overgraze the pastures. It is the delusion of plowmen to believe the earth’s abundance is boundless, but we hunters and herdsmen should know better: only by death is life sustained. The chief of the Tokhari refused. Kasagos, foreseeing the misery to come, enacted my decree and slaughtered the needless stock.”
“Then, the Tokhari not only defied the law, they sought revenge?” I asked.
“It is so. They tried to seize their rivals’ lands—and failed. Now there will be justice.”
“But I thought raiding was permitted?”
“The Skythai raid enemies,” Olgas said, “not our own. There is no new territory to be gained from our own tribesmen. What good would it do us if the king must feed the bereaved from his own herds and stores come winter?”
“But… all this over a few head of cattle?” I asked. I knew it was a brutal country, but it seemed an undue amount of blood to shed over a handful of beasts—a dispute which could likely be settled for silver. These men seemed quick to anger and slow to forgive.
“Cattle are wealth,” Aric said, “they are life. But how a man gains and keeps his cattle decides his honor. Whether traded for honestly, won honorably by conquest, or bred with the blessings of Thagimasad, one too many can still break a pasture. Soon, all who graze it starve. One be richer today, all be damned tomorrow. It could take years for the land to heal—if it ever does. Even now, the grazing is thin and choked with weeds. To make matters worse, we are cursed with drought. The fields will not support the stock they once did.”
“So, the Tokhari broke their covenant. Surely men do not invite anger from the gods and dishonor among their people unless there is something far greater to be gained?”
“What is greater than the favor of the gods and honor among men?” Aric asked incredulously. “No, greed is the father of improvidence. And some men are simply soft,” he said bitterly, and though his face contorted in a kind of grimace, he sounded more disappointed than disgusted. “Neither the weak nor the self-serving man will fight to expand these borders nor cull his herds so all may thrive. If this land holds pasture enough for just one, who should it be: the upstanding man... or the outlaw?”
I studied Aric as he stooped to divine some meaning from the faded tracks left in the dry grass. Furrowing his brow, Aric squinted into the west. I was a decent tracker, but as I scanned the expanse from the camp into the vast sweep of steppe, I saw nothing on this unyielding ground to betray their route. It’s also true that we can scarcely move through this world without leaving some mark, try though we might. What did he see that I did not? I followed the line of his gaze until I spotted it: the faintest hint of a trail, or rather many trails, fanning out across the plain, weaving and winding their way through the soft blades of the field. Watching the wind slowly erase the last traces with each gentle breath. The trail was just a whisper, but it betrayed its makers nonetheless as they moved deeper into the western steppe, away from their home range.
Aric pointed behind the distant hill on the horizon and said he expected that they took the high ground. They knew we were coming.
I separated from the men to find a secluded place where I could relieve myself one last time before heading into the empty steppe. Skirting the tangle of brambles, I made my way toward the shore and tied Aruna’s reins to a branch. As I unfastened my trousers, a shriek shot up from within the brush, nearly stopping my heart. The men came running, their swords drawn, as a disheveled young girl of about twelve or thirteen winters broke cover and ran. She didn’t get far. Olgas and Gohar rode her down until she threw herself to the ground and cowered with her face in her hands. We gathered around her, and the girl, frozen in shock or terror, gaped at me like a ghost. Whatever the men said, I should have kept the scarf over my face.
Skopas jumped down from his horse and ran to embrace the girl who, it took me a moment to realize, must be his missing sister. Either she had escaped or had become more of a burden to their flight than any ransom could warrant, and they cast her off. But when Skopas drew near, his joy turned to rage at the sight of her scratched skin, bruised face, and bloody dress. His anger seemed more potent than his relief at finding her alive. She flinched at the sound of her name and scurried back under her shrub. Skopas looked genuinely bewildered, but Aric scowled with irritation. He waved his hand at the shrub and signaled Skopas to mount up, reminding us that the Tokhari were gaining valuable ground while we were wasting time.
“You.” Aric jutted his bearded chin toward me. “See to her.”
Me? “Is this why you brought me?” I demanded. How dare he? And what did that even mean, see to her? Did he think I was some kind of nursemaid?
His arm stretched ominously as he pointed upstream toward Skopas’s distant encampment. “Be inside before dark. There are wolves about.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Aric and his men had already pulled at their reins, put their heels to their horses, and galloped away west, abandoning me by the river with the pillaged girl.
The only small mercy was that I wouldn’t have to take part in the bloody hunt that was about to ensue. Taking Aruna’s reins in hand, I dragged the squirming, squealing girl out from the brush where she had scurried, took her firmly by the sleeve, and marched her down to the banks of the river. There, I pulled what was left of her tunic over her head. I lay my warbelt with my bowcase and weapons on the shore, took off my boots, and waded into the icy water with her, washing her face, arms, legs, and hair with cupfuls of water in my hands.
She had stopped fighting me and slouched, staring into the clear, bright water. When I had cleaned away the blood and filth of her ordeal as best I could, I stripped to my linen tunic and gave her my belted caftan of soft doeskin to wear. Then I sat her on the bank in the sun, and we both stared into the distance in silence. I couldn’t imagine what thoughts, if any, went through her mind.
It seemed as if hours had passed, though I knew they had not, and I watched anxiously for a sign of the men returning over the rise, but there was none.
I tried speaking to her to pass the time. “Those brutes will be punished for what they did. They’ll never be able to hurt you again,” I said.
Silence.
“I’m sure your mother told you this when your courses began, but if you can find some seeds of wild carrot to eat, you should do so before you sleep tonight. Even better, drink a tea of rue or pennyroyal in the next few weeks. It’s no guarantee, but it should keep anything from taking root. A midwife or healer in your clan should help you.”
The girl just stared as the river flowed by. This was useless. What was I even doing? I didn’t belong here, and there was nothing I could do for this girl. I’d done my part, and I imagined just leaving her there. She could find her own way home. Behind me, Aruna cropped the sparse grass. It would be easy to just mount up and go. Find my way back to camp or pick up the men’s trail.
I stood up and brushed the grass from my backside.
“Is it hard to kill a man?” the girl broke her silence. She turned her expressionless face up to me and waited, unblinking, for a response.
Not ever having killed, I didn’t have an honest answer. “It’s easier than dying.” That was what my mother had told me when I asked her the same question. “You can do it if you truly want to live.”
“If I were able to fight like the men do—like you—I would.”
“I know you would. You’re tough. I can see it.”
“But how? They are so strong,” her voice quavered as she spoke. “Don’t we need them to protect us?”
“Men only guard us against other men.” That was the simple truth, wasn’t it? “There are many good men—most, I think. But not all can be trusted, as you know too well. The same is true when you see a snake: it may be harmless or venomous. It takes practice spotting the difference. But if you aren’t sure, it’s wise to be on your guard rather than be bitten—it’s even better if you know how to cut off its head if it tries to strike.”
The girl nodded.
“Men may offer us protection. But it’s good if we can protect ourselves, too. It’s never wise to rely on others for the things you need to survive. Here, take this.” I handed the girl one of my daggers.
“I don’t know how.”
“Let me show you.” We stood on the bank, face to face, my other dagger in my hand, as I kept the habit of wearing one in my belt and one concealed in my vest. “Hold it like this, with a firm grip, but not too tight. Keep it close until you’re ready to strike. It must be a surprise. And do it quickly. Here,” I touched the dagger’s tip to my body, “under the ribs, into the lungs or heart—but any organs will do. Then you run. Don’t wait for them to die. Just run. Do you understand?”
“I do,” the girl nodded vigorously.
“You can do the same in the back, under the ribs, or into a kidney. You have butchered a deer or a goat? A man is much the same inside. A quick, hard thrust, here or here,” I pointed to my flanks. The girl was eager and caught on quickly, so I showed her where to strike an armored attacker and what to do if she had no weapon handy. Things my aunt among the Rokhalani taught me when I was near her age, training to be hamazon. “It’s trickier, but if you can, slash the neck here.” I drew the blade across my own throat. “Inside the collarbones. The underarms, or the thighs here, where the arteries are shallow. Hamstrings are good as well. Men who are untrained always forget to defend their legs. You see?”
The girl nodded again.
“Come, show me how you’ll do it.”
We practiced under the heat of the noon sun. I knew none of these things would have saved her from the horror she’d already faced. But there is no worse feeling than being powerless—surrendering before the fight even begins.
“Good. You’ve got it now.”
We cupped our hands and drank mouthfuls of cold water, then sat down once more on the riverbank in the tall grass.
“You’re a woman today,” I said after a silence.
“Because I’m not a maiden anymore?” She frowned.
“No,” I shook my head. “No, not that. No one else can make you what you are. You can be a woman with twelve winters or a girl with sixty. You’re a woman today because now you know how much you can endure; because you can look after yourself. No one else can give that to you or take it from you.”
She smiled to herself and nodded. “Here is your knife.”
“It’s a dagger. It belonged to my mother, who was a great warrior. And now it belongs to you. Keep it close, and use it wisely.”
“Mine?” She beamed at the weapon in her hands and appraised her reflection in its mirror face as she slowly turned the flat of the blade to and fro.
I suppressed a smile of my own. “You’ve earned it. Keep it sharp and practice every day,” I added in my best schoolmaster’s tone. “Now, let’s get you home.”
I led Aruna by his reins as I followed the girl down the valley to the small farmstead of her father, Kasagos, where a camp of six covered wagons and a felt-house clustered beside the shallow, pebbly river. Sheep and goats grazed a lush patch of pasture, but a wide black swath slashed across the damp soil where the earth had been churned up. A freshly made grave mound stood watch on the low hill above the camp’s edge.
The family invited me inside the felt-house, giving me the seat of honor beside the altar, a nearly shapeless hunk of stone upon which sat a three-footed wooden bowl with fixed handles carved in the shape of the bronze cauldrons found on most altars. They offered me kumis, and, after some pleasantries, we sat about in pained stillness. The girl’s mother sat sobbing quietly to herself as an older woman dressed the girl in her own clothes and gave me back my caftan. Behind them on his bed lay the wounded clan chief, Kasagos, who did not rise or speak.
“Your accent is strange,” the girl’s mother commented, rousing herself from her sobbing and wiping her eyes.
“Is it?” I pretended ignorance, but I knew I didn’t speak Skythian as well as I should.
“Where do your people come from?”
I wasn’t sure how much I should tell strangers. My instinct was to be guarded. Since I was a child, my parents had drilled into me to trust no one: speak little and say less. “I was born in the west but fostered in the east.” Gripping my cup like an amulet, I dared not look up from its contents. I hoped they would take the hint.
A soft, steady voice broke the silence. It belonged to an elderly woman who sat opposite me and studied me since I arrived. “So, you are Aric’s wife?”
“Me? I’m—uh, no.” That was a staggering thought; I could only begin to imagine the sort of women who populated that man’s bed, but I hoped I bore them no resemblance. “I’m here to make my tally.” That was what they had called it.
“Hmm, that’s too bad. Can’t be many fighting women left in these parts.”
Left? “Do any remain?”
“A few here and there, though they must be on in years by now. The custom has died out.”
“That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to find others like me here.”
“Unfortunate for us all.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice between us to a whisper. “Children forsake their elders and call themselves wise. Heh! Years ago, we all fought. Maybe not all proper like you, but it makes no matter to the wolves who draws the bow. And when the reavers came, I daresay I got a few!” She smiled a broad, toothless grin, and her whole leathery face crinkled like the palm of an old, worn glove.
“Those must have been harsh times.”
“What times aren’t? These fields were always filled with stock, and every hand was needed. My brother taught me to shoot and hunt after father got killed. All the girls rode. None of this sitting inside the wagons like children. No wonder we are prey.”
No wonder, indeed.
“If I wasn’t so old, I’d still… But we should be thankful for the help we have, such as it is.”
I didn’t know if she intended an insult as she referred glancingly to Aric and the Warband—to me. After all, it seemed it was only after stock was lifted, homes destroyed, victims kidnapped or killed that we were called upon to intervene. By then, the damage had already been done. The band did its best but could not be everywhere.
I don’t know how long I sat there with them, waiting. The girl now slept soundly. Dark had fallen, and the men of the Warband still hadn’t returned. I grew restless sitting in this modest tent with strangers, listening to the moaning, to the sad stories. The old grandmother placed her hand over mine. “Don’t worry for them, my child. Aric and his band have seen worse.” She rubbed a little wooden figure of twined serpents tied around her neck between her thumb and forefinger. “Apia, give them strength.”
I hadn’t let myself think it until she spoke it aloud. They’d been gone too long. They were only six against the kind of brigands who would rape, rob, and murder their neighbors. What if something had happened to them? Not to mention the bleak prospect of finding my way back alone in the dark. I’d wait till morning. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find the route to camp along the river if they didn’t come by daybreak. But what then? Suddenly, I was so cold and tired I began to shiver all over. I rested my weary eyes against my palms and tried to think of other things.
Just before midnight, Aruna whinnied loudly outside, and a distant horse answered his call. I flew to the door to see the raiding party coming down the valley in an easy trot. They drove a small herd of cattle and a few horses into the camp. Kasagos clutched his side as he stood. Peering through the eye that was not swollen shut, he gingerly limped out to meet the warriors, propped on a spear shaft.
Aric brandished a handful of sticky scalps by their long hair, a half-dozen by my count, which he thrust into the fist of the chief. I should have been sickened by the sight, but I was overcome with a perverse sense of satisfaction. Skopas, the son of Kasagos, raised the severed head of a man I could only assume was the Tokhari chief. Though young and clearly unseasoned as a warrior, Skopas appeared sound as he dismounted and embraced his weeping father.
I approached Aric as he dismounted his lathered horse. Filthy, he stank of fermenting sweat and blood.
“Are you all right?” I asked, my weary voice shaking as I surveyed the expanse of gory, torn clothing.
He reached for his side. I held my breath and cringed as he turned to face me. “The bastards, they broke my best whetstone,” he said as he plucked it by a leather thong from its holder on his belt, and raised a fractured piece on his palm toward my face, the gold-capped end catching the faint moonlight.
“Then you’re not hurt?”
“You sound disappointed. Or, were you concerned for me?” he said with a sarcastic grin stretched across his face.
I glared at him as hard as I could, but he only laughed. I longed to tell him to fuck himself, but I was afraid he might leave me here in this forsaken place—or worse. He had been charged only with keeping me alive and undefiled. It bore no explicit constraint on punitive measures, and that was a boundary I wasn’t eager to test just now.
The chief embraced him, then invited the men, all blood-stained and reeking, to the cramped tent for a drink before departing, hanging the scalps on a hitching post outside the door. Aric and Skopas followed as Kasagos brought the head of the slain chief inside. The other men of the Warband gathered around the open door like dogs at dinnertime.
I just wanted this awful day to end. My muscles were still raw from the long ride the day before. My saddle sores split open and wept. Every part of my body ached. I needed to wash away the stains of the day—of blood and filth and sweat—from my face and hands and sleep. It was after midnight, and the cold had set in deep. We’d still a few hours ride back in the dark, and camp seemed impossibly far away. I made an excuse of tending the horses.
When it was finally time to depart, Aric found me watering the horses at the river. “They told me what you did for the girl,” he said. “It was a great kindness.”
I shook my head furiously. “No,” I said, shoving past him to untie Aruna. My eyes filled with tears. “It would have been a greater kindness if they had killed her.”
He grabbed me hard by the arm and spun me around, nearly jerking me from my feet. “Why would you say such a thing?” His fingertips bit harder into the flesh of my arm as I tried to wrest myself free.
“Because…” I said, going limp in his grip, “she’ll be broken. Haunted by these demons for the rest of her life.” He drew a hissing breath and frowned as he released me from his grasp with a shove. Turning away, I mounted my horse and pulled my cloak around me to no avail. Shivering in the dark, tears streaming silently down my face, I waited, desperate to begin the long ride home.
Aric didn’t say another word all night. None of the men spoke. We rode the distance in eerie quiet, with only the horses’ weary snorts to break the silence. We cared for the horses and fell into our tents an hour or two before dawn. Pulling off my boots, I threw myself onto my bed without even undressing. My whole body ached as I sank into my pallet, waiting for the last hours of darkness to wash over me.
“You are wrong,” Aric’s low rumble summoned me back from the brink of merciful oblivion.
“Hmm?” I mumbled groggily.
“I think you’re wrong... about the girl. She may be broken, but in time she will mend. She may have demons. But, she knows now how to fight them. You gave her this.”
Chapter Eight: Lessons
Very cool chapter with the girls’ discussion of how to make mincemeat of men!
I just remembered an absolutely fantastic and well-written book that I read in 1995 by René Grousset called “Empires of the Steps”. I think the scholarship has progressed since he wrote that book, but it was a rip-roaring good read and Grousset was one of the revered figures at IU’s Central Asian Studies department when I was there.
Whoa. Great chapter. There are a lot of quotable lines within this one regarding the natures of men and women. I love the outward strength of Anaita (is that her name?), especially being privy to her internalized doubt and the physical pains she’s enduring while keeping up with these wild, seasoned warriors. I really liked how you introduced a raid and Ana’s knowledge of how to kill a man without actually showing either of those things just yet. It’s a peek behind the curtain, a tease of the brutality of what’s to come. I love this story so far!