“But why?” the youngster whined.
“Because that is the way the Liskash want things to be. They are as gods to us Mrem and so we must do as they say or they will destroy us and we will not live at all.”
He stroked Fesa’s head. “Better to be sad and sore than dead, don’t you agree?”
Fesa and the other kits nodded, their eyes big.
“It is something we all must learn,” Ranowr said patiently. “Just as we all must lose our mothers and sisters. You must be strong and learn to find friendships with these your agemates. Do you understand?”
They nodded again, obviously dissatisfied, but knowing they weren’t going to get a better answer.
Ranowr smiled and nodded to them, moving back to his place among the older Mrem.
Such is the path to adulthood, he thought. Full of half explained realities, revealed one layer at a time.
Four weeks later Hisshah snapped:
“Like this!”
She drew the battle sword at her side; it moved like a living thing compared to the clumsy padded practice weapons, glittering as if scaled. Then she demonstrated the complicated move she was trying to teach the idiot Mrem. Its tongue dangled out, and it dripped.
They were so disgustingly damp.
“The spearhead is coming at you. There is force behind it, enough to split your breastbone. But that means the attacker is committed to the line of his attack. His weight is moving forward and he cannot alter that quickly. Strike so and it will go over your shoulder, and the force will carry him forward so that he cannot withdraw the point and strike again at once. Then turn your wrists and body and cut down the shaft at the hands. So and so. Two movements like one. Do it right this time or I’ll flog the skin off you!”
The Mrem slowly imitated the move and got it right.
“If you took that long to do it to the enemy you’d be dead!” Hisshah shouted. “Unless he stops to laugh and hisses the tongue out of his jaws! Do it faster, you fool!”
The Mrem tried and failed. Before he was halfway through the maneuver Hisshah kicked, her taloned foot thudding in the Mrem’s leather-clad middle. The cheap armor took most of the impact, but he wavered breathless, then fell to the ground as she sheathed her sword and reached for the whip slung at her belt.
“Young goddess,” Ranowr said, greatly daring, “I do not think we can do it the way a Liskash could. We are made differently. Our arms and shoulders do not bend in the same ways.”
Hisshah halted with her whip raised and stared at him. Instantly she saw that he was right. They did move differently. Instead of the short, sharp, efficient motions of her people, the Mrem seemed to…to ooze from place to place. They had speed, but it was of a different quality.
We are wind. They are water, she thought with satisfaction. Perhaps I am concentrating too much on form, and not enough simply on what works. Still, I can’t afford to lose face.
She gave the unfortunate Mrem before her one hard stroke with the lash.
“Interesting,” she said smoothly, coiling her whip.
She poked her victim with the whip handle. “Go and practice that maneuver.”
Then she gestured Ranowr over to her. “What is your name again?”
“Ranowr, young goddess.”
He kept his eyes carefully down, but his heart thundered. Who knew what she might do to him for his boldness?
Hisshah stared at him. “Ah, yes,” she said at last. “You are making a habit of asking me for mercy.” She sniggered. “If you are trying to teach it to me you’re wasting your time. I will not learn it, I do not wish to learn it. Look at me.”
Cautiously he raised his eyes and stared into her golden ones. She did not blink, but he did, twice before she spoke again, with the disconcerting up-and-down motion of the eyelids that made the Mrem gaze so alien.
“But it is possible that you may have something to teach,” she said at last. “You are the best of your fellows at following my instructions. Even so, I’ve noticed that you do not imitate me perfectly. Perhaps you are right, perhaps your kind cannot faithfully follow our movements. But I think you can be taught to fight. I shall concentrate on training you. And you and I will amend any moves that you feel are too…sophisticated for your rough form. Then it shall be your task to train your fellows.”
She nodded. This could work. “Now,” she stepped back, “show me how you would perform the move I’ve been trying to teach.”
They worked together for the rest of the afternoon, while the other Mrem practiced their maneuvers unwatched. But Ranowr could feel his people watching him and the young goddess. There would be questions asked this night.
He still found it hard to be around her, but he also felt they were making progress; finding ways to wield the practice sword that matched his limbs and allowed him to gain the speed she wanted.
Hisshah was pleased. Finally they were getting somewhere. And dealing with just one of the creatures was at least a little easier. This one, it seemed, had a brain that he could comprehend.
Ranowr, using the altered overhand cut on the practice post, struck it so hard that the sword broke. He held the hilt awkwardly and glanced at Hisshah in apology.
She stood stiffly, but only said, “Get another.”
Inside she was horrified. The sheer strength of the creature! She’d never seen anyone break a practice sword like that and for a moment she felt cold with fear.
It is good that a slave is strong when you want him to break rocks or haul timbers or lift water, she thought. If the slave can hit you, that is another matter.
If this hairy crew decided to, they could tear her to pieces before anyone could react. She only had two guards with her. Tomorrow she’d bring more.
No one said a word to Ranowr during dinner, at all. He could sense them looking at him, even though he kept his eyes on his food and he wondered when they would have it out.
He was not surprised when it was Krar who spoke first.
“I thought you would get a beating for breaking that sword, Ranowr. The young goddess seems to like you though.”
The others murmured agreement, sounding amused, rather than angry.
“I think what she liked was that we were getting some results,” Ranowr said calmly. “If it keeps her from beating us to death for failing to do what she wants I’m prepared to work closely with her.”
He snorted. “Not that I have a choice.”
The others chuckled at that. But Krar pressed on.
“It’s unnatural, a Mrem working one to one with a Liskash,” he said.
“Well, Krar, if you don’t like it then you can always refuse to cooperate. I’m sure the young goddess will understand and applaud your delicate sense of propriety. You will be groomed by her own paws and given succulent fish to eat from a golden bowl.”
There was outright screeching laughter at that and Krar settled into silence, glaring at Ranowr.
Are you jealous of me? Ranowr wondered. I’d let you have my place beside her if I could. Aren’t you old enough to know that a Mrem has no say in what happens to him?
He finished his food and took the bowl to be washed. Then went in and lay on his pallet, curling up with a paw over his nose. He was in no mood to socialize tonight. He was just drifting off to sleep when Tral came in and touched his shoulder.
“I would speak with you,” he said formally.
Ranowr rose with a grunt and followed the older Mrem out.
Tral led him away from the circle and the dormitories until they stood in an empty space between outbuildings.
Ranowr glanced around. They wouldn’t be overheard here if they were careful. He looked at Tral expectantly.
“I have seen something amazing,” the older Mrem said, his voice trembling. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it.”