Red Sister (Book of the Ancestor 1)

‘Learn something.’ Sister Tallow set Nona moving towards the ring.

‘Not, “don’t break them”?’ Nona glanced back.

Sister Tallow gave one of her rare smiles. ‘Try.’

Nona vaulted over the ropes into her corner. A moment later Regol climbed unhurriedly into his. The Caltess children began to chant Regol’s name, quietly at first, but rising in volume, and on every side the crowd edged closer. Where the trainees had fought in their Caltess shifts, still dusty from the attic, the apprentices fought only in thick white loincloths, the women binding a heavy linen wrap around their chests.

Tarkax, the ice-triber, had moved closer to the ring, dwarfed by the gerant ring-fighters behind him. He watched Nona with mild interest as if waiting to be impressed. Yisht stood by his side, both of them muttering to each other with just a twitching of lips. Nona wondered what they would have to talk about. Perhaps just ice warriors sharing their contempt of Corridor battle skills? But Ara had said Sherzal had attended Thuran Tacsis’s ball, and Partnis lay under the Tacsis thumb. If Tarkax was his creature and Yisht was Sherzal’s …

Regol raised a hand in salute, turning a full circle before letting his eyes come to rest on Nona. His habitual mocking smile broadened into something more sincere. ‘Little Nona. You’ve grown.’

‘You remembered me. I’m touched.’ Nona couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I won’t go easy on you though.’

Regol nodded, grave for a moment. He stepped to the centre of the ring, muttering through a fixed smile his voice so low it barely reached her. ‘You’re remembered. Don’t ever think otherwise. Children have short memories, adults long ones.’ His eyes flicked to the left and following his gaze Nona saw, out at the back of the crowd, behind Partnis, behind the rich in their furs and jewels, Raymel Tacsis, his nine-foot frame wrapped in a mole-dark cape that couldn’t hide the broadness of him. A silver circlet held his golden hair back from his brow, and the face beneath had changed. The veins on the right side of his neck stood black against his flesh, like tendrils of night rising from his cape, and something was amiss with his left eye, though at such a distance Nona couldn’t tell what exactly. Perhaps it was just full of blood.

Nona moved to face Regol at the centre. ‘He came to see me fight?’ Something in that two-tone stare had caught at Nona’s guts like a cold hand, waking an old emotion, one she had never had much use for. Fear.

‘He came to see you hurt,’ Regol said, shaking out his arms and rolling his head.

‘You’re going to hurt me?’ A snarl twisted at Nona’s lip, fire rising in her belly to drive out the unease.

‘No. I’m going to beat you. Make sure you submit clearly and quickly so I’ve a good excuse for stopping. Next—’

‘Fight!’ The fight-master’s bark cut through the chanting.

‘Next up is Denam. Do not let him get hold of you.’

Regol struck as his lips closed on his last word. A swivelling kick aimed directly at Nona’s chest. She slowed the world, stretching each second into an age, but however deep she dug Regol’s foot refused to slow. Nona both blocked and deflected but against a grown man neither made much difference, her blocking arm was simply driven against her chest, transmitting the force of the kick. Nona felt her feet lift from the ground, watched the frozen faces of the crowd as she flew, and bent as the ropes caught her in a rough embrace. The rebound took her to the floor where she pushed herself quickly to her feet, fighting for breath, her body a mass of hurt.

Regol didn’t press his attack. He stood relaxed, wearing his old smile as the cheers rose around him.

‘You’re quicker than me …’ The words came out in a pained wheeze. The fact hurt Nona more than her lungs did.

‘I am.’ Regol nodded. ‘But you’ll likely grow faster, and I’m as good as I’ll get.’

Nona adopted the blade stance. Few hunska reached their full potential before fourteen, but even so it shocked her to find someone so obviously swifter than herself. ‘Fight!’

Nona advanced, snapping jump-kicks at Regol, testing his defence with jabs, but hitting only air. His longer reach kept her at bay and combined with his speed left her at a loss for how to proceed. Regol made the decision for her with a lightning-fast leg sweep. Nona leapt above it by the narrowest of margins, throwing herself not just up but forward towards Regol’s shoulder as the rotation turned him from her.

It was a trap. Regol had lured her in and his elbow rose to meet her. In mid-air Nona was a slave to events already set in motion. She twisted and raised her arms to block. Regol’s elbow knocked her arms aside and hit the side of her head.

Nona found herself on the boards, the roaring of the crowd faint against a ringing in her ears as if Bitel were being hammered in warning. She lifted her head and the world spun around her, the looming shape of her opponent revolving with it.

‘… surrender.’ A harsh whisper as Regol approached.

Nona lifted her hand, fingers splayed. The blood-roar of the crowd missed a beat then fractured into both cheers and jeers. Nona rolled to her back, panting, fighting nausea, watching Regol’s back as he returned to his corner.

Nona didn’t see Clera or Zole’s fights. She heard the crowd howling, she heard laughter, hooting, gasps, but all that time she lay on a table in what looked to be the apprentice hall, her head ringing, exhaustion running through her though her fight had lasted only moments. Sister Flint gave her sugar in water and told her to rest. Sister Rock leaned over her, a frown on her brutal face, hands surprisingly tender as she pulled Nona’s eyes wide and waved a finger before them.

‘You’ll be all right, child. No more fighting today, though.’

Perhaps an hour later, though it seemed both far longer and far less, Clera came limping to sit on the table. ‘We’re both done.’

‘You look awful.’ Nona sat up. She felt much better. Certainly better than Clera looked, her eye blackening, lip split.

‘You should see the other girl.’ Clera grinned, teeth red.

‘You beat an apprentice?’

‘What? No. Are you mad? She pounded me. I meant Zole.’

Nona looked around. She was in the apprentice hall, on the dining table to which she had delivered dozens of meals from the Caltess kitchens during her time there. ‘Where is she?’

‘Sister Flint’s taking her back to the convent.’ Clera grinned again. ‘On a mule!’ She touched her lip, wincing. ‘That girl doesn’t know when to quit! She did manage to hurt one of them though. Talitha, the tall hunska with the braids, remember?’

Nona didn’t but she nodded.

‘She had Zole in a lock. No way she could escape. But Zole kicked her in the face anyway.’ Clera mimed the impact. ‘Brilliant.’

‘And then?’ Nona asked.

‘I think she broke Zole’s arm.’ Clera shrugged.

Sister Tallow appeared at the doorway, glimpses of the throng behind her, the rumble of them filling the hall. Someone caught her attention before she could turn into the room.

‘No. We’re returning to the convent.’

Nona couldn’t hear the other party above the noise outside.

‘That’s really not my concern, Reeve.’