Today, she had no name. Yesterday, she was Vanna, but not today. Today, she was just a lrina of the mighty Keer lrin, just a lritrae jeesib on the day of her testing. She knelt, naked, by the central fire pit in their fall village. Her dark skin prickled against the cold air, and the hands of her master, Onlan Deluc, were rough on its smooth surface as he drew the ancient symbols on her skin. With eyes closed, she focused on each symbol as his fingers smudged the mix of ash and mashed berries on her flesh. The sign of the lrin was drawn over her heart; [the Goddess] over her left breast and [the God] over her right; strength, honor, patience, and mercy down both of her arms; speed, loyalty, and courage on her thighs. After he drew the emblem of the Keer on her forehead, he began to work a bone comb through the tangled waves of her black hair. She winced but made no sound, though it felt as if he might pull her hair out by the root. Standing over her now, he began to taunt and deride her.
“Your mother and father no longer want you—the lrin no longer wants you!”
It was all part of the ritual. All the same, her heart ached at the words. “It does not matter,” she said in her loud, clear voice. “They need me.” She opened her brown-black eyes then and grabbed the knife laying before her. A small crowd had gathered by this time, and her dark eyes found Sirn among them. He was smiling gently at her, and she could only stare back at him with impassive eyes despite the fluttering in her gut and the spark of desire in her breast.
“Who could ever need one so worthless and helpless?”
She lifted the knife and began to saw off the thick waves of her hair. Biting hard at her tongue, she continued to stare into Sirn’s blue eyes. Concern flickered over his features, but his smile did not fade. “Only [the Goddess] can judge my worth. It is Her lifeblood that sustains me, and with that gift, I am made strong. With that gift, I shall protect my brothers and sisters.” Her hair fell to the ground in clumps.
“Fear is in your heart. You cannot protect us.”
Cutting the last of her waves, she shouted, “Fear has no lodging in any part of my being. I welcome Death, should she come for me. My life is not my own. It belongs to the lrin.” She slid the blade over her scalp. It painfully scrapped away what remained of her hair. And my heart belongs to him, she thought as the briefest of smiles blossomed on her young face.
“Words are meaningless without action.”
She stood then and turned to face Onlan. His honey brown eyes were cold and hard as he stared down at her. Gripping the knife, she flared her nostrils and let deep, even breaths take the tension from her muscles. She could feel the weight of her lrin’s eyes on her, but the feeling only steeled her courage. With a roar, she slashed at him. He caught her wrist, but she pressed against him with all her strength. As the blood brought a trickle of blood from his throat, she punched at his stomach. Grunting, he threw his fist at the side of her head. Her vision exploded into a dizzying twirl. In a flurry of limbs, of punches, of kicks, of bites, the two fell to the ground and rolled and grappled. As they fought, the cries of the lrin enveloped them. She found herself swept up in their voices, in their excitement, and she lost her head. She ended up on her belly under Onlan. His knee ground between her shoulder blades, and his fists lit the back of her skull with painful bursts of red and white. Where was the knife? Her fingers sought its leather-wrapped handle but found only soft earth. Where—? And then its cold edge was at her throat.
“Do it,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Spill my blood.”
Shame burned in her veins. All those years of training, but she was still not strong enough! Even then, no fear was in her. If this was her end, then she would face it. To die at her master’s hand would be a good death. To die here among her lrin was even better.
“Enough.” The word was faint, barely audible above the shouts of the lrin.
“Lrin idas Cosal speaks!” yelled Onlan. His voice was a rumbling boom that seemed to reverberate in her bones. “Take heed!”
The crowd fell silent. Her dark eyes lifted from the dirt to stare into the wrinkled face of the lrin idas. “I accept this death,” she said simply. Her voice was soft but even; her dark eyes shone with determination. There was no fear in her.
“No!”
For a moment, she glanced over to Sirn who struggled against the men holding him back. Her expression did not falter. As she looked back to Cosal, he nodded. “That is not necessary. Stand.”
Onlan stood. Rolling over, she stared up at him with the high arches of her brows drawn down over her eyes. He offered her his hand, and she took it to stand beside him. Sirn shouted the name that was no longer hers, and she bowed her head. Again, shame was hot within her. She could not bear the weight of the lrin’s eyes now. She had failed, she had been denied death, and now her intended—! She could not even bring herself to think the words they shamed her so.
“You have proven your words today,” the lrin idas announced as he rested a hand on her bare, bloody head. “You are now and forever lritrae Lylei Keerlin dec Keer lrin.”
A faint blush touched her cheeks at the sound of her new name. She did not have long to consider its meaning, however, as the whole of her lrin was shouting in jubilation and Onlan throwing the heavy cloak of a lritrae over her bare shoulders. A faint frown darkened her face.
“I failed,” she mumbled as Onlan fastened the cloak.
He rubbed at her head. “You lost,” he said and then leaned his forehead against hers, “but you did not fail.” Her frown lingered, but he grinned broadly at her with eyes full of pride.
“I should have won.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Got careless,” she grumbled. “Lost my head…”
Tapping the handle of the knife against her chest, he said, “You’ve never been good at close combat. You’re strong, but not stronger than I. Give you a bow, a sword, or spear, and you would best me every time.”
“Maybe,” she grinned softly.
“That’s my girl.”
“No—she’s mine.”
They turned to Sirn, her intended, as he strode over to them. A crooked grin tugged at his lips, but his eyes were etched with worry and anger. Onlan stepped back as he approached. Keerlin appeared small and lean next to tall, broad-muscled Onlan, but next to Sirn, she was the large one. He was a full head shorter than her with the lithe frame of a dancer. His eyes were a blue like the morning sky, and his light brown hair was fine and straight, both uncommon among the lrin. He held a pair of gloves in his thin hands, and she extended her hands to him. As he tugged them onto her her hands, he stared deep into her eyes. Her eyes danced over the familiar lines of his face—the high curve of his brows, the lines of his cheeks, the thin crook of his nose, and the inviting bow of his lips. Her thin lips ached for them. Sirn glanced over to Onlan and then back to her as his hands slipped up her arms to squeeze at them before brushing against the swell of her breasts. Biting at her tongue, she leaned into his touch.
“Tonight?” he whispered.
She nodded slightly. Dropping his arms, he stepped back from her and then lifted his hand. His thumb brushed against her lips, and she kissed it eagerly. With a slight bow to Onlan, he walked off. Her eyes, full of longing, watched him disappear into his tent. Onlan chuckled and draped an arm over her shoulders.
“Shall we find your horses?”
At once, her desire for Sirn was forgotten, and her heart leaped into her throat. She tried to swallow it down, but it remained, hammering there. Words could not slip past it, so she only nodded. Onlan threaded his fingers between hers and lead her out of the village toward the herd. Many of the lrin followed them at a polite distance.
“Lylei Keerlin,” he said, and the blush returned to her cheeks. “It suits you well.”
“Father would not be pleased.”
“Fathers are hard to please.” His hand squeezed at hers. “Will you marry soon?”
Her blush deepened. “In the spring—I hope.”
“He is a good man. Your mother choose well.”
She smiled. “Very well,” she murmured. “He will be a great husband and father.”
At the edge of the herd, the lrin stopped, and he released her hand. The horses lifted their heads and flared their nostrils as she walked out among them. Her eyes trailed over the stallions and mares. None approached her. She paused in the center of the herd and waited. Moments passed, and with every moment, the pound of her heart seemed to grow louder. It became a deafening roar in her ears, and she was sure that the whole herd and perhaps even her master and the lrin could hear it. Still, none approached her. Kneeling in the tall grass, she shut her dark eyes and focused on her breathing. In—out—in—out… Soon, the only sounds in her ears were that of the horses stirring around her and the wind sweeping across the plain. At the edge of her consciousness, a presence stirred. She knotted her hands into fists and tried calling out to the presence. Slowly, it drew closer, and as it did, another joined it. Still focusing on her breathing, she waited. The soft touch of a nose brushed against her head, and she opened her eyes to stare up at the black eyes of a stallion. Stamping at the ground, he bowed his head. She stood and scratched at his ears. Walking down his side, she let her hand trail down his strong neck and side. His broad shoulders were level with her eyes. Dense fur, a deep chestnut in color, covered his rippling muscles and darkened black at his massive hooves and nose. His mane and tail, both thick and long, were also black.
“Are you mine?” she asked softly.
A mare whinnied and came galloping up to them.
“He is yours, then?” she said with a grin to the mare.
She was similar to the stallion in coloration, but a blaze of white covered her face. Her hooves were dainty and left little clouds of dust as she stamped at the ground. Where the stallion was broad, thick muscle, she was thin, lean muscle. She threw her head up and shook her dark mane. Keerlin walked toward the mare with cautious feet and pulled the gloves from her hands. The mare flared her nostrils and pranced a bit back and forth. Keerlin stopped, holding her hands out to the mare. Flicking her ears back and forth, the mare’s brown eyes seemed to consider the bald youth standing before her. With a snort, the stallion walked over to her and began to nuzzle and nibble at her. Still, Keerlin stood with her hands extended. After a long moment, the mare slowly approached Keerlin and sniffed at her hand before rubbing her nose against it. Keerlin lifted her hand to pet up the mare’s nose and work her fingers through the coarse hair of the mare’s fetlock. Again, the stallion approached and nudged his nose against Keerlin’s cheek. Smiling, she turned to blow lightly his nose. He neighed and dropped his nose to push against her hip. Keerlin took this as an invitation to ride and let her hands slip over the dense fur of his body to tangle in his mane. Pulling herself up, she mounted him and settled into the curve of his back. His coat was rough under her bare skin. She tugged her gloves back on and then leaned forward to pet his neck with a sigh.
“I felt your presence,” she mumbled, “but I thought a lritrae could hear her horses’ thoughts.”
The stallion flicked his ears back as if considering her words and then whinnied at the mare. Well, perhaps it was not as simple as that. After all, the thoughts of the horse must be quite different from a Zingaro. She began to work her fingers through the tangles in the stallion’s mane and frowned slightly.
“What are your names?”
No sooner had she asked the question than her mind was filled with two images—the symbols of strength and beauty. The vision left her dizzy, and she clutched at the stallion’s mane as her spinning head threatened to send her falling off. When the horizon was again level, she laughed softly. Yes, quite different from the thoughts of a Zingaro.
“Gir,” she said softly, and the stallion again flicked his ears back. She turned to the mare. “And Rena.” The mare neighed softly and walked over to rub her nose against Keerlin’s thigh. She reached down to scratch at Rena’s ear with a smile. “And I am Lylei Keerlin.” As she said her name, she still felt that slight twist of embarrassment, but it did not reach her cheeks. Onlan was right; it did suit her.
Word count: 2322
Words to date: 2322
