Record of Ashes War

Chapter 31 - Family

Several days had passed since Sar'tara first arrived at the garrison. She stood tall in an open training field, back straight and flexing as she drew back the string of a longbow. She turned her head to look away from her target. Twang! The surprised gasps of other soldiers was all she needed to confirm a perfect shot. Hundreds of different faces had come and gone to catch a glimpse of the last battle's hero. They began calling her 'The Huntress', stating that every worthy warrior had an epithet attached to them. Kalin's was the 'Shining General'.

Sar'tara emptied her quiver, hitting every target dead in the center. The soldiers tried mimicking her form, some having a bit of success whilst others failed miserably. The young man named Faren had improved the most. He was talented. He claimed to have never used a bow but was barely missing three shots out of every ten since starting a few days prior.

Sar'tara hummed the rhyme Faren had taught her while retrieving her arrows. "A, b, c, d, e, f, g…" Kalin had assigned him to be her mentor. During mornings, he taught her the basics of reading. After that, she learned the plains dweller methods of swordsmanship and field strategy with the young captain's unit. He seemed content with allowing her to take command of the five hundred soldiers he was charged with, only stepping in to correct errors.

Sar'tara wasn't certain about what to feel. Plains dwellers lived so differently. They distanced themselves from their clear superiors, admiring them from afar. Words of praise were nice to hear, but she wanted more. Sar'tara desired a family. Everyone was kind to her, but that was limited to when they even bothered to speak to her. Faren was much the same. Though her tutor, he talked with an overwhelming amount of respect and more distanced himself at times.

Arrows retrieved, Sar'tara returned to her starting position. During evenings, it was her turn to teach Faren's unit archery. The unit was comprised of young men around or below her age. Much to Kalin's dismay, most of the unit had supposedly never used bows and arrows. The rest were inexperienced. Sar'tara saw a young soldier pester his captain for instruction. She made her way over.

"How do you do it so effortlessly, Far-er, Captain Faren?"

"Effortless? My back feels as if it's been trampled upon. Besides, I'm not the teacher here. Go and ask Lady Sar'tara."

"But—"

"Can I help with anything, Benj?" she asked. She had been trying her hardest to learn everyone's names.

Benj's eyes glowed. He seemed delighted to have his name remembered. His gaze instantly dropped down right after, color appearing on his cheeks. "I-I mean, how does… I mean how do you shoot so perfectly?"

Sar'tara wore a smile, melancholy hidden behind it. He sounded just like a seven year old Vashiri with his stutters. Asked questions like them too. Though, unlike Vashiri girls, the soldiers seemed to refuse meeting her eye. She was told it was something to do with her attire. Kalin had gotten her a pair of breeches and boots to use. He'd also gotten her a shirt as well, though she refused to wear it and opted for her deerskin top instead. Covering her arms and belly felt too restricting.

Sar'tara nocked an arrow and drew back. "Follow my movements. Breathe in when drawing back. Look at your target." Benj did as he was told, though his fingers twitched with nervousness every once in a while. "Breathe. Relax. Feel the air upon your face. Feel yourself within the arrow. Become one with it and…" how many times had she repeated those exact words when helping with the younger Selharr's training? "And only then will it fly true."

Twang!

She released and watched the arrow pierce a red circle painted upon a wooden board in the distance. Her eyes clenched shut at the moment of impact, imagining the sound of an arrowhead sinking into flesh, the red target like a blood splatter stuck in her mind. Everyone was gone. Even little Tavi. Had they killed her too? Had they killed a child, or had Tavi been claimed by the flames?

Twang! Benj loosed as well. His arrow fell short a few feet.

Sar'tara swallowed her pain. She couldn't doubt herself. Not now. She needed to become a soldier. Needed a higher standing to attain vengeance. To ensure the Lord Sun could never again harm others. But still, a family… Surrounded by so many people that admired her, and yet she still felt alone. Abandoned.

"Lady Sar'tara," Faren began, "with all due respect, those instructions are a bit unclear…"

Sar'tara quickly blinked back her tears. "Hmm? But this is how my sisters taught me. I've been saying the same things since a few days back. No one's said it was unclear then."

"It is a bit vague," Benj mumbled.

"Too vague," Faren corrected. "I picked up on it rather quickly. But as you can see, most others are struggling. They didn't understand your words and simply opted to observing you instead. None of them complained because they were too shy."

"Too shy? When this matter concerns their life in a battle?" Sar'tara frowned. "I really can't understand the customs of plains dwellers. Archery isn’t something learned so quickly. You're talented and thus learn faster. It will take time for them."

"Then let me ask you this, my lady. Your younger sisters that you've spoken to me about. Did they pick up archery quickly?"

"Of course! The Selharr Vashiri is a tribe of archers. Everyone learns from the age of eight. We are all gifted. Most Selharr can hit a stationary target nine times out of ten within a few days of being taught."

"That's it exactly. I spoke to some of my colleagues from House Serene's artillery divisions. Picking up archery is not something they found to be particularly difficult. Mastering it to a level my lady is at is a different matter. But these young men can't even do what most beginners can."

Sar'tara scowled. "Then were my sisters not talented?"

"Perhaps some were. Perhaps some weren't. You said it yourself. Your tribe was one of archery. Even if some of your sisters weren't talented, years of effort made up for it. I'm not saying your teaching methods are incorrect, Lady Sar'tara, but more so your words don't reach most of these soldiers. When you tell us to be one with the arrow, what you truly mean is to account for wind direction and resistance."

Sar'tara cocked her head. Everyone in Faren's unit addressed her as 'my lady' or 'Lady Sar'tara'. She'd come to learn that it was some manner of an honorific title. "Is accounting for resistance not obvious?"

Benj shifted his feet, blushing hard. "It is now," he mumbled.

"Then show us if it has had an impact, soldier," Faren commanded. Benj nodded. He nocked and drew back. He held his breath as he loosed. The arrow struck the corner of the target board. "Much better than before," the captain praised. "Keep practicing."

Benj nodded, running off towards a group of other trainees. Sar'tara looked to the ground. She felt embarrassed. "Thank you, captain. This has been insightful. This is my time to be teaching and yet I'm the one taking instruction still."

"It has been my pleasure to serve, my lady. You are still leagues above everyone when it comes to your instinct and skill. We have much to learn from you. It's getting late. I think we should call it a day."

Sar'tara nodded. She called for everyone to clean up and then followed the captain to the mess hall. Faren had also been tasked with guiding her throughout the fortress. They arrived at the mess hall, soldiers of Faren's unit trickling in one by one soon after. There was never a moment during the day that the hall was empty. Each soldier had their own times for eating. The hall was a massive enclosed space filled with wooden benches and tables. Things called chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one carrying a half dozen bright luminite stones —stones that glowed with a pale light akin to the moon.

Faren brought over two bowls of steaming stew along with fresh bread and cheese. "I've been meaning to ask," Sar'tara began, "how are those glowing stones made?"

"Luminite? They come from the mines at the Vega Crater. Folklore says a piece of Vega fell from the sky. Faulty reasoning if you ask me. Luminite comes in shades of orange and blue as well. White ones are the most expensive, going for a gold half per palm sized piece."

Sar'tara nodded thoughtfully. Her knowledge of currency and trade had increased within the past few days. Faren had taught her much. Gold crowns had the most value whilst gold halves came in second.

"My lady, I still don't think it appropriate for you to be eating in the mess hall."

"Why not?" Sar'tara asked, ignoring her spoon and sipping from her bowl. Almost everything the Xenarians ate contained salt.

"Well, you and Lord Serene…" he paused as if waiting for her to say something. "As per our customs, those above us do not dine with those beneath. It may reduce the respect and admiration soldiers feel for their leader if they saw them in the same light as their fellow soldiers."

"But Kalin eats here sometimes."

"Sometimes. The Lord Commander chooses to eat here when he is extremely busy. It is more convenient for him to come down for a bite rather than take the time to call a servant up to his quarters. If it were up to him, he would not be eating here at all."

A truly strange people. "A meal tastes better when shared with others," she countered. When shared with family.

"I suppose," he shrugged. "I'll go get some ale."

***

The sun had already set by the time they left the mess hall. Faren bid her a good night, leaving to go to the soldier's sleeping quarters. Sar'tara made her way through the fortress, too embarrassed to ask for direction. She'd thought she had somewhat memorized the path to Kalin's quarters, though it was difficult to tell at night with light coming through windows being scarce. Even with burning braziers, the change in lighting was too great. Not every hall had windows either. There was nothing of note she could use as a landmark. Every guard dressed the same. They rotated shifts so memorizing their faces didn't work. Each brazier was fashioned similarly, and windows, rare as they were, were all the same size.

Sar'tara looked to the stone floor as her boots clacked with each step. Her eyes felt heavy. She rubbed her arms, though not particularly cold. She did it to ward off the dark, wishing she were back at the forest. Wishing she could once again look to the glowing lights of everflowers. Once again see her smiling sisters.

She did feel cold.

A feeling rooted inside her chest. Her feet edged closer to the walls as she continued along an unknown corridor. Her heart wished for warmth. It was drawn to a brazier. She looked up again, down the remaining length of the passage, at the dancing flames on the wall. Flames eating through limbs of wood just as branches…

Sar'tara's feet moved faster. Her breath began to quicken. Everything around her became a blur. Orange lights passed her by. A burning forest materialized. She tripped and fell in an empty passage, face hitting cold stone. Sar'tara lay there for a moment, hugging herself, feeling the dull ache on her cheekbone. She slowly picked herself back up, a tear drop falling out of her eye. She pulled herself to a window, pausing to breathe, feeling suffocated by the walls. The strange clothing she wore was of little help. The breeches were tight against her skin and the boots felt apprehensive, as if imprisoning her feet.

Sar'tara looked outside the window. Evernight clouds shrouded the stars. She'd unconsciously come to the highest part of the fortress. The mess hall was on the first floor. She eventually came upon the familiar short hallway with two doors. She thought to knock on the right most door where Kalin holed himself for most of the day. He only ever spent early mornings out of it. Those were spent refining his already graceful swordsmanship skills. Sar'tara could hear him grumbling behind the door. Even without worrying about proposals from others, he still had much more work to do. He never did tell her what the proposals were for.

Sar'tara entered the room to the left and closed the door behind her. The room was as large as the huts she and her sisters would sleep in. It held a single bed, an unlit hearth, a large wooden box called a wardrobe, and a smaller shelf with thinner books. These held works of fiction meant to be read for entertainment. Stories inspired by the ancient past.

A window to the far side of the room was blocked off by a clear object known as glass. One of the only glass windows in the castle. There was a handle at the bottom with which the window could be opened. Sar'tara twisted the handle and pulled, letting chilly air in. She looked outside. Below she could see multiple training fields as well as the stables where horses were kept. Everyone looked like ants from so far up. Everyone save for Jengard Rask, who she recognized instantly. His size was greater than that of anyone else she'd seen in the garrison. He was sparring with a few others even though the sun had set. "The Wolf of Metsiphon…" she muttered, "I wonder what Kiali would have thought of you."

Kiali. Her poor sister, slain by her own Mother. Perhaps if Ny'Danis had treated her daughters more like a close knit family, the forest would still be standing. Her sisters would still be alive. Ny'Danis had made mistakes. Unforgiveable mistakes. And yet, somehow, Sar'tara couldn't fully bring herself to hate her Mother. Part of her still wanted to curl up in Ny'Danis' lap and listen to her melodic voice tell stories.

"Ny'Danis, Ny'Danis, the beautiful forest goddess…"

Sar'tara sat down on the bed, taking a blue covered book with her. She flipped through its fragile pages, running her fingers along the text as if it would help her understand them. She waited, still cold and alone. Kalin was bound to come at some point. She looked up at the open window. A hollow wind brushed along her skin, threatening to freeze her already chilled heart. She shut the window, staring up at the sky for a while and counting stars as a hole formed in the dark grey ceiling. Time continued to pass. A heavy ache settled in her chest. She recalled Kalin's earlier words, wondering if he would truly leave her alone. A part of her felt abandoned, not having seen him for a whole day. Adapting in a foreign environment was difficult.

Forgetting memories of the burning forest, even more so.

She would never forget that night even if she completed her vengeance. A part of her would always remain attached to the memories of her fallen family and home. Attached to the memory of teaching the young Selharr, of dancing around a bonfire when a sister returned from a successful hunt, of the smiling nymphs that she once disliked. Regret filled her for not having loved the nymphs more. She'd played with them as a child but had grown to dislike them as an adult.

She sighed, tears welling at the edges of her eyes. She wondered if she would ever feel at home within the plains. While Kalin's soldiers seemed happy with her, she didn't feel at ease with them. She didn't know them well, and a part of her feared them. They weren't people she could open up to. Speak her worries to. She'd felt a bond with Meredith, but she hadn't seen the physic since arriving at the fortress. Kalin was the only other person she felt comfortable around. He treated her as an equal. Held her every night. Kept her back warm. Caressed her head when she asked of it.

Sar'tara stood up and opened the wardrobe. Her leather skirt had been folded and left to one side. She stripped herself of her boots and breeches and put on the familiar garment. It made her feel more relaxed. She sat back down on the bed. It was colder than before. As cold as the floor against the soles of her feet. She sat with her knees tucked in, wondering when Kalin would return. Her eyes passed over the hearth. She'd seen him light it with flint and iron. She tried a similar method and flames came to life, enveloping the room in an orange glow, causing unwanted memories to surface once more.

The door to the room finally opened and a tired Kalin walked in. Sar'tara jumped up and ran to hug him before he'd gotten the door fully closed, surprising even herself. A single tear made its way down the length of her face. The lingering fear within her retreated to its dark corner. "Hold me," she breathed.

Kalin was either too surprised himself, or too tired. "What?" he asked lazily, not returning her embrace.

"Spoil me with your affection. Please? It's so cold."

The duke finally put his arms around her. Sar'tara pressed harder against his body, finding shelter in his warmth. She clutched fistfuls of his shirt and closed her eyes as he showered her with kisses.