Chapter Text
What did Agriya have going for her? Her height, sure, which meant a longer reach – always useful in a fight. Not that it was enough to stop her sailing through the air and crashing down onto her back.
‘Had enough yet?’ Junara stood over her, wooden sword pointed at her throat, the curls of her long hair falling past her face.
‘Yes,’ Agriya groaned. ‘Very much so.’
‘Come on, that’s not how it’s supposed to go.’ Junara crouched beside her. ‘You’re meant to say “hardly!” then spring to your feet and keep sparring.’
‘You have slammed me on my back five times today. I’m done.’
‘Six.’
‘Then one must have been on my head.’ Agriya flopped back, letting her sword fall from her grasp as she stared up at the high ceiling of the training hall. The glare of the sunlight falling past the great columns overwhelmed her ringing head, and she screwed her eyes shut.
Junara’s skirt rustled as she stood. ‘Suit yourself. I’m only trying to help, and…’ She crouched again and whispered, ‘You do kind of need it.’
Agriya opened one eye. Junara idly spun her sword while rocking on her heels. With a sigh, she grabbed her own weapon and held up a hand, Junara easily hoisting her gangly form to her feet.
‘All right. Just a – wait, wait!’
Junara had dropped into a ready stance with practised ease, already preparing a fresh overhead strike.
‘I need a moment!’
‘A wyvern won’t give you a chance to breathe. Neither will I!’
‘I won’t ever have a chance to find out if you crack my skull open!’ Agriya lowered her sword, presenting herself as defenceless. Even if Junara could fight with the viciousness of any wyrm-creature, she was still a sister and a friend, and held back, though her disappointment was plain to see.
‘I want you to earn your cloak as much as anyone, but perhaps it’s better if you go back to basic training.’
With other sisters ten years Agriya’s junior who could still outperform her. She limped after Junara back to the weapon racks, keeping her head down, but the other sisters training in the hall were too engrossed in their own sparring matches to notice, all swirling through fluid motions closer to dance than combat.
Returning her sword, Agriya leaned against the wall and slid down. When every part of her ached like this, the floor was always more inviting. She closed her eyes, expecting to hear Junara’s footsteps retreating, but she sat beside her instead.
Junara fidgeted with her sword. ‘You are getting better for what it’s worth.’
But not good enough. Agriya pushed the thought down far enough to mutter, ‘Thanks.’
The sun hid behind one of the great pillars on the far side of the hall. One for each of Cleolind’s handmaidens and the great lineages of heroes they had mothered. Melim, uq-Nāra, uq-Bardant, Yadenya, Tamuten and Janudin – the one her name would be added to. If she ever managed to become an initiate and eat the fruit of the tree, that was.
She was already seventeen. A year older than when most sisters were deemed ready.
Junara sighed. ‘You’re going to be like this all day aren’t you?’
‘That’s what happens when you get your legs swept out from under you five—’
‘Six.’
‘—six times in half an hour.’
‘It’s a good move to learn! But you really need to drill more of the basics. Your parries are… not excellent.’
‘Any tips?’
‘Keep your elbow in. Tilt your sword up more. Look, Agriya.’ Junara turned to face her, eyes practically pleading. ‘You learn this by doing it over and over until it becomes second nature. Go back to those drills. Trust me, please.’
Agriya stared ahead at the Janudin column. It was too far away to make out the writing, but she knew the leaf on the carved vines where her birthmother’s name sat. All there was to remember her by now, six years after she had died when the Priory defended Nzene from the great wyrm Dedalugun. Yes, they were all children of the Mother and there was supposed to be no special relationship between parent and child, but Agriya was proud of the woman who had brought her into the world, and knew she had been proud of her too.
What stung was that she had only ever known her as her birthson.
A shadow cast over her pulled Agriya from her musings. Hidat, the Munguna, stood in front of them. The initial, irrational panic Agriya felt at the presence of a titled sister rose, then subsided when it became clear she was here for Junara.
‘Hidat,’ Junara said, picking herself to her feet. Agriya followed, keeping herself from groaning too loudly as she stood.
‘Junara. Could you come with me?’ Hidat had an easy smile on her face, but excitement – or perhaps pride – shone through her eyes.
‘Of course. Just one moment.’ Junara walked back to the weapon rack.
‘Well done,’ Agriya whispered to her.
‘You really think this is it?’
‘You’re the best fighter of the postulants. You’ll be kindled by tomorrow.’
A grin broke across Junara’s face as she returned her sword. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘What else could it be?’ Agriya briefly clasped her hands around Junara’s. ‘I’m happy for you.’
And that was the honest truth. Yet as Junara followed Hidat out of the training hall, Agriya could not help as her guts twisted at what she may never have.
Maqa twitched her ears as flecks of wood scattered over her head.
‘Sorry.’ Agriya scratched her head and brushed the shavings off before returning to the arrow. The haft was in good shape. Now to attach the fletching.
With a flick of her bushy tail, Maqa settled down again, letting Agriya lie against her side. ‘Just make sure you actually shoot those arrows,’ she said. ‘That is their purpose to you now.’
Agriya silently nodded. In some ways, having an ichneumon view her as her and insist she follow her new duties meant more than hearing it from her fellow humans. If Junara offered another sparring match, Agriya would have to be dragged to the training hall, but if Maqa said she needed to improve her archery, Agriya would fetch her bow in a heartbeat.
Yet here she was, hiding in the kitchens, back to her old haunts and crafts. But she was glad Maqa had sniffed her out.
Footsteps and a hummed tune echoed from outside, but as Agriya moved to stand, Maqa placed a paw on her leg. If she thought it was all right…
The door opened, and an old ichneumon padded in, followed by his partner, Balag, who looked down at Agriya. ‘Young lady, what are you doing here?’
‘Something I’m good at.’ Agriya ran a knife along the feather stem to create a groove.
‘You know – and this might just be a foolish old man talking – but perhaps you shouldn’t compare the skills you’ve been practising for a decade to the ones you’ve barely had a year to hone.’
‘I know.’ Agriya let her hands fall into her lap. ‘You’re not the only one to tell me.’
‘But am I the only one you’ll listen to?’
Agriya put down the arrow. Balag was one of the few others in the Priory who had changed paths, and was as confident and competent a man as any born a brother. He would happily wonder around bare chested as proud of the two scars on his chest as any of the handful he had earned in his warrior days.
But Agriya had not slunk off in the small hours for pity and motivation. Well, self-pity perhaps.
Balag shrugged as she kept her eyes down and wondered into the pantry. ‘Snuck in here to find some feathers?’ he asked as he returned with a bundle of fruits.
Agriya nodded. Prime feathers were set aside for arrowsmithing, but she did not need these arrows to fly that straight. Whatever she could pluck off a quail hanging in the pantry was enough to help her focus on this task. And the kitchens should have been quiet and empty.
Lirisin, the old ichenuemon, lay down out of the way of the counters Balag walked around. He and Maqa waved their tails at each other before he settled, allowing Agriya to rub his side.
The bond between ichneumon and the human who first fed them was unbreakable. When Balag had announced who he really was and began learning the men’s crafts, there had been no doubt Lirisin would stay by his side.
Agriya and Maqa’s bond was different, but no less secure. She had expected to feed a newborn pup and put up with the size difference for a few years, but another postulant had recently passed from an illness. That bond meant most ichneumon lay down to die, but when at the brink, Maqa had let Agriya feed her. Her new stretch of life was one with her.
Lirisin pulled her paws in as Balag came back from one last trip to the pantry and laid the ingredients for making dough on the counter.
‘So what are you doing here at this hour?’ Agriya asked.
‘Getting a head start.’ Balag picked up a small knife and whetstone and started sharpening. ‘Got to make sure everything’s ready for an initiation. And these pastries will need time to sit in the cold room.’
Junara’s big day. Agriya looked down at the half-finished arrow.
The sound of metal against stone stopped. ‘That’s what’s got you hiding here?’
Agriya shrugged. ‘I’m happy for Junara. Really.’
‘I don’t doubt you, you’ve always been friends. But…?’
‘But it’s different now. We’re peers and I don’t just get to admire her, I have to compare myself to her too. She’s wonderful, nothing but supportive; she even spars with me when I asked her, but she knocked me off my feet six times today, and I couldn’t even touch her.’
‘All right, two things.’ Balag cut a pomegranate in half and scooped out the seeds. ‘First, you don’t need to compare yourself to anyone except the old you.’
‘I can’t help it. I’m not good at all this woman-ing yet.’ Agriya gestured down at her lanky, flat body.
‘Denag’s concoctions are potent, but they take some time. No one goes from child to adult overnight, even with their second adolescence. Now as I was saying, second, “admire” is an interesting word.’
‘Admire her skills,’ Agriya said too quickly.
‘All right, all right.’ Balag returned to preparing the desserts.
At least he did not follow up on that, although Maqa managed a remarkably human raised eyebrow.
Balag sighed as he placed the seeds in a bowl. ‘Look, this kind of transition takes time. I can’t offer you anything but my own experience, but if my words mean anything to you, know I mean everything I say.’
‘I know. It’s just tough right now, though.’
‘It is. But you think I started out as the cook I am today?' Balag chuckled. 'You couldn’t stop me from burning anything back then. Probably didn’t help that I kept using my siden flame.’
That was what most excited Agriya about her current path; the chance to eat of the tree and experience the magic of fire and earth. If she ever could. ‘I’ll be a postulant until I’m thirty at this rate.’
‘Hardly. You’re not starting from scratch. What I knew about blades certainly helped me carve a bird, and you probably know more about what makes a good arrow than any of the other girls. Hey Maqa, how’s Agriya’s archery?’
Maqa perked up and gave Agriya an appraising stare. ‘She is acceptable.’
‘I’m more than acceptable!’
‘Oh, so you are good at some at your woman-ing.’ Balag leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.
‘I mean—’
‘She is rather adept, in fact,’ Maqa said.
Balag raised an eyebrow. The trap had been expertly set.
‘I’m fine at archery. But for every bullseye I score, someone like Junara can get ten.’
‘But you can hit a bullseye?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then you’re carrying your weight. Out there, your sisters aren’t your competition. You’ll be fighting alongside them, and I know I’d be happy to share a battlefield with someone who can send even one arrow into a wyvern’s eye.’ Balag pushed himself off the counter, and crouched down beside Agriya. ‘There’s fruit on the tree for everyone. And it has never refused an initiate an orange.’
Part of Agriya wanted to say first time for everything, but she held her tongue. She looked up as Balag stood again. ‘Thanks.’
Balag smiled warmly. ‘Let me show you a secret.’ He waved his hand towards the stove and an orb of flame leapt from his palm.
Agriya sat up at the sight. Most mages had to replenish their magic with a fresh orange yearly at least. Even if he just used his fire for cooking, Balag would have run out decades ago.
He offered a wry smile. ‘Maybe, just maybe, all these rules and roles are a little bit of bullshit. The tree certainly hasn’t stopped me. Neither has the Prioress nor did her predecessor.’
‘She knows?’
‘Course. You may feel like you trapped in the middle, like something’s still wrong, but you have nothing to fear from anyone. Everyone’s worst enemy is up here.’ Balag tapped the side of his head. ‘Now go get some sleep, young lady!’
Everyone who could attend gathered for the first time a sister ate of the tree. A procession guided by both lamplight and floating flames formed behind Junara, descending the great steps carved into the cliff face, down into the Vale of Blood before winding between the great roots of the Orange Tree.
In spite of everything, Agriya could not hide away on this, the biggest night of her dearest friend’s life. She walked with the other postulants, able to see over the heads of most around her as Junara approached the base of the tree with the Prioress and the Munguna.
As the congregation settled, Junara knelt beneath the reaching branches and glistening fruit. She adjusted her skirt and glanced back at the sisters whose rank she was leaving. For a brief moment, she caught Agriya’s eye and smiled.
‘Tonight,’ the Prioress, Esbar, said, ‘we welcome a new sister to the initiated. To the kindled among us.’
A breeze drifted through the vale. Even as the branches swayed, the shining oranges remained as steady as stars.
‘Tonight, Junara du Yarra Yadenya has earned the right to eat the sacred fruit of our great Orange Tree. Through her skill, perception and patience, she has proven herself ready to follow in the footsteps of the Mother and carry out her duty to protect the world from all the forces of the Nameless One.’
Esbar took a pristine, white cloak from Hidat and unfolded it. She knelt in front of Junara, placed it on her shoulders and fixed it with a clasp. Then she whispered something and gave a nod of reassurance as she stood and stepped back.
Silence settled. Junara bowed her head and held out her hands, palms up and open.
It has never refused an initiate an orange. Even knowing that, even if it was Junara, the tension grew. Agriya watched, wondering if—
And a glistening orange fell into her outstretched hands.
The surrounding flames reflected off its skin perfectly, casting Junara’s face in an amber glow. Fire flickered in her hazel eyes and her full lips were cast into gold.
The hush continued until she bit into the rind. Her gasp as the juices passed her lips was audible even where Agriya stood, and she devoured the mouthful of the flesh.
One bite was all anyone needed. Junara wrapped the orange in a cloth to be used later for medicine or poison (depending on how long it was left for) and turned, a shaky smile on her face as she stood. She glanced at Esbar, who gave her another nod before walking into the waiting arms of her brothers and sisters.
The vale itself was a sacred place, so the more informal parts of the evening moved back into the halls carved into the rock face of the valley wall. The tree still stood proud and visible from the stone balcony, but attention soon turned to the more mundane fruit and other meals laid out in the buffet.
Agriya stood on the edge of the core gathering of the other postulants their age, nursing a cup of palm wine. Everyone wanted to talk to Junara, - who wouldn’t? – who delightedly swirled her cloak about as she talked and sampled the food. She looked like she savoured every bite, chewing the honeyed fruits slowly and stopping at every layer of the pastries she bit into. It was clear from how she ran her hands over the lacy edges of tablecloths, the rough stone pillars and her own smooth cloak, that she was already experiencing the enhanced senses siden provided.
Tomorrow she would experience an intense fever as the fire grew in her. Tonight could be fun though.
And Agriya could enjoy herself too, especially as she no longer had to help prepare meals like this and could simply savour them instead. She placed a cut of venison on her plate alongside a spiced flat bread, and turned around to find Junara right behind her.
‘Oh, uh – hi. Congratulations!’
‘Thanks!’ Junara fidgeted, running the fingers of one hand over the knuckles of the other. ‘You were right.’
‘Told you. How are you now?’
Junara paused for a moment, splaying her fingers, but not stopping smiling. Her radiant smile had been constant all night. ‘Tingly.’
‘Tingly?’
‘I gather that will stop when my siden settles. But for now… Yes, tingly.’
It certainly matched the way she bounced around the gathering, indulging in every sensation she could. It was not a total surprise when she pulled Agriya into a hug.
‘Woah.’ Agriya suddenly found herself balancing her plate with one hand while using the other to return the embrace.
‘Sorry. I just… hmm.’
‘What?’
Junara ran a hand over Agriya’s shoulder, bared by her sleeveless dress. ‘Your skin’s smoother.’
‘Than?’
‘Before. When you started to become one of us girls. And you smell different.’
‘I do? I’ve not really noticed anything.’
Junara sniffed. ‘Maybe it’s just because most times we’ve met recently have been for sparring, so we both smell of sweat, but… No, now that I think of it, you smell different from before even when sweaty.’
‘Different how?’
‘Not sure how to put it. More… feminine, I guess. Better, perhaps?’
‘Huh.’ Agriya put down her plate as Junara stepped back. She clasped her hands, rubbing her thumb over the base of her palm. She could not say with any confidence that her skin was smoother than back then, but asides from the calluses growing from her weapons training, it was, she supposed, somewhat soft.
One of many things that changed gradually, day by day. Hard to notice in the moment, but every so often a glance in the mirror revealed fuller cheeks, broader thighs and actual breasts.
A smile tugged at the corners of Agriya’s mouth. Nice to know others saw the changes too.
Junara plucked a wine soaked date from a bowl. ‘I might not be able to help you with as much sparring soon. I’ll be having lessons about magecraft soon.’
‘It’s fine.’ Agriya picked up her plate again. ‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re right. I do need to master the basics first.’
‘Great!’ Junara pulled her into a fresh hug. ‘You’ll be an initiate before you know it. This…’ She waved about with the date still in her hand. ‘I want you to experience it too. Really.’
‘Might be a fair while before then.’
‘I don’t know about that. I reckon you’ll be an initiate before you’re twenty.’
Less than three years. ‘That’s optimistic.’
‘Maybe. I believe it though.’ She flicked the date into the air and caught it between her teeth, grinning as she whirled back into the party.
Agriya watched her go, her parting words echoing in her head.
The next day, as dawn broke and the dorm stirred to life, Agriya was sure. After breakfast, she followed the younger postulants, picked up a wooden sword and fell into line.
Before she was twenty. Junara believed it. So would she.