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Seasons in Setessa

Part 1

"Better to kiss a snake than fight a Setessan."

--Akroan saying

A Summer

Throughout the forest, the children came. Some came in large clumps--raucous groups that shrieked and ran, ignoring their adult shepherds. Others came in small groups of two or three, quieter, watchful, with no one to shepherd them but each other, and so they did. Still others came alone, with no one to watch out for them at all.

So many children. More than Cilissa had ever seen in one place. There had been one time, a few months before the attack, when she had played all day with the other village children during the planting festival. There had been seventeen children, a number Cilissa remembered with pride because she had been able to count them herself. The first thing she told her parents that night was not about the races she had won but how she had counted to seventeen.

She realized she was crying again, and she was very angry at herself. She was determined she would not cry again, that she was going to dry up all the tears in her body. It wasn't fair for her body to cry even though she wasn't thinking about crying. She forced the tears to go away, and she told herself, No more tears. I mean it, body. No more crying.

They were in a part of the forest Cilissa had never seen before. The normally dense forest was giving way to sparser olive trees, their thick and gnarled trunks showing how old they were. These olive trees were very, very old. Despite the thinning canopy, the forest was no lighter. A wispy mist floated among the trees, and when Cilissa looked up she could still not see the sun or the sky. Cilissa did not feel afraid, though. She had not felt afraid at any time since coming to Setessa a few days before. She thought perhaps she had used up all her fear during the attack and her wanderings afterward. Maybe everyone can only feel afraid a certain amount of time in their life, and I used mine up already. It made her happy to think she wouldn't feel afraid again.

The mist above thickened and spread. Overhead was all fog, although she could still see plenty of children around her. Ahead was a large circular clearing, enclosed by the thickest and largest olive trees Cilissa had ever seen. Hundreds of children already sat in the clearing, and yet they still only took up a fraction of the space. Many more children were streaming into the clearing, although as they entered they stopped and looked up at the forest ceiling.

As Cilissa walked through the ring of olive trees she immediately knew something was different even before she looked up. Her body and scalp tingled, like a pail of cold water being splashed over her. She looked up, expecting to see the same dense fog, but was instead confronted by a dense night sky with thousands of dots of tiny lights. It was beautiful. Nyx. The home of the gods.

Cilissa took a step back out of the clearing. And she was again in the fog-shrouded daytime, nary a star or dark sky in sight. And a certain presence was gone as well. She stepped forward into the clearing, and there was the same tingle, and it was now the dark of night, although illuminated quite well by the starry field above. She realized the children around her were sitting, and so she sat as well.

Up ahead, a tall woman strode to the center of the clearing. She carried a bow slung over her back, with a small axe and long knife sheathed at her sides. And she held a long spear upright in one hand. Loosely armored in dark leather and cloth, she moved with a strength and precision Cilissa had never seen in anyone, warrior or no. Cilissa decided she wanted to move like that more than anything, more than anything else in the world, with only one exception. She slapped at her eyes before the tears could begin again. I'm on to you, body. I know your tricks.

The tall woman, her auburn hair tied up in a topknot, reached the center of the circle and waited. Although she spoke no words, somehow every laugh, every cry, every shout or whisper, all quieted to stillness. The children sat silently and waited.

The woman's voice carried loudly throughout the clearing, her voice amplified through some unknown means.

"Welcome, little ones. You are safe here."

Although she was sitting in a dark forest under a magical night sky surrounded by strangers, Cilissa believed her. Ever since arriving in Setessa, she had been treated with kindness. She had been fed, been washed, been touched by gentle hands. While no adult had taken charge of her, there was always one around, always a woman. There had been no orders, no chores, just food and sleeping and not-thinking. Cilissa had worked really hard on the not-thinking. That had been her life for the previous few days until that morning, when she saw the adults preparing to go somewhere, and she saw everyone else following, so she followed, too.

The woman's voice continued, "You are here from across the land. From cities and villages, from plains and hills, from battles and from slums and from worse."

Worse than a battle? Cilissa did not understand how that could be true. No, body, no, I'm stronger than you.

"But that is now behind you. You are here because your parents are gone. It does not matter why they are gone, but they are gone and they are not coming back."

The silence in the crowd broke. Sobs and cries and screams erupted in the night air. Cilissa was proud of herself that she did not join them. I am done with tears. I am. I really am. I am six years old and I am too old for crying.

The woman in the center of the circle did not speak. She did not shush nor point a finger. She didn't even look annoyed, the way some adults do when children are making noise. She just stood there. The stars above her head twinkled and some of them moved in various patterns and shapes, although the shapes quickly broke apart. No arrangement lasted for long, but the stars kept moving, and Cilissa felt strangely calm as she watched the stars dance.

Eventually, the cries and sobs subsided. When silence had resumed, the woman spoke again. "In Setessa, we call you arkulli, little bears. Like little bear cubs, now you are small. You need food, and shelter, and protection, and teaching. This we will give you. But one day, arkulli, one day you will be big. One day you will be mighty. One day you will not need Setessa's protection, but Setessa will need yours."

As the woman's voice resonated throughout the clearing, Cilissa looked up at the portal to Nyx, and the stars there took the shape of a large bear, tall and majestic and strong. Cilissa felt so strong, looking at the bear. If she was as mighty as that bear, she could have saved her village. She could have saved her parents. Cilissa was sure that bear had never felt afraid, had never cried.

"Welcome, arkulli. From now on, you are Setessan. Setessa welcomes you home. Karametra welcomes you home."

With the mention of the god's name, the stars shimmered, and the bear form above dissolved. In its place the stars moved into the shape of a face, a woman's face, the most wonderful face Cilissa had ever seen, the face of the god Karametra. Cilissa could not describe that face except she knew it was a face of warmth and love. The face was looking at her, and only her, and the god's eyes held Cilissa's eyes as the face seemed to grow out from the starfield above, grow out and down until that face enveloped the whole of the clearing, surrounding each and every child, but Cilissa most of all. You are loved, Child, a voice whispered to her, as the face dissolved in a shimmering display of warm sparks that kissed her face and body like soft dandelions brushing against the skin.

Where the sparks fell to the ground and vanished, a small seedling sprouted from the earth and grew quickly. Within seconds, fibrous pods, thick-shelled husks about the size of Cilissa's fist, dotted the clearing. Each pod pulsed with a soft green glow. Cilissa picked up one of the pods and she felt the same warmth she had from the sparks. Memories rose, unbidden and unwanted. Her father falling to the first wave of Akroan attackers. His last shout becoming a scream. Her mother whispering at her,Run, Cilissa, run, your fastest running. Go now my love, now. And then her mother turned to rush at the soldiers, screaming. But Cilissa didn't see what happened to her mother, because she ran. She ran and ran, out of the village. She had always been so fast, and never faster than that day. She had run and left everything behind. Her village, her friends, her parents, everything but the crying. She couldn't leave the crying behind.

She was crying then, hugging the pod with its gentle green glow fiercely to her chest, hugging and rocking back and forth and sobbing. The pod felt so good, so gentle. Cilissa did not stop crying, thinking about her mother and her father and how much she loved them. But for the first time since the attack, she smiled. She smiled and cried all at the same time. She hugged the pod and was grateful to finally be home.

A Fall

Thwack, thwack, thwack bounced off the stone bricks of the tall limestone tower and rebounded through the courtyard below. The steady stream of thwacks created enough background noise to make conversation difficult, but no one in the courtyard was interested in conversation. They faced off against one another, their faces beaded with sweat and concentrating on their opponents, the wooden staves in their hands whirling and lashing and thwacking against each other.

No one was interested in conversation, that is, except for the person across from Cilissa. Thora was tall, strong, and fast. She was one of the girls in their group who had recently turned ten, and immediately sprouted several inches. And she liked to talk. "You're too slow." Thwack, thwack. "Are you sure you even belong here?" Thwack, thwack. "You know we are here to fight, right?" Thwack, thwack, thwack.

Cilissa stayed silent. The problem wasn't that Thora was almost a full year older; everyone in their group was within a year of each other and they had been taught age was irrelevant in the respect accorded your peers. Thwack, thwack. And the problem wasn't that Thora was right with her insults. Despite Thora's height and strength, Cilissa was better and faster, and she, and Thora, and everyone else knew it. Thwack, thwack. Thora was no closer to landing a blow or tripping Cilissa's legs then than when they had started their sparring.

The problem was Cilissa was no closer to landing a blow, either. She met every swing from Thora, the staff feeling light and alive in her hands. But she took no opportunity to counter. And combatants were supposed to keep sparring until one landed a decisive blow. And if Thora couldn't land a blow, and Cilissa wouldn't, then they could be there a very long time.

"Are you afraid? Are you a coward?" Thwack, thwack. Cilissa's lips thinned, but she still said nothing. Cilissa noticed Thora wasn't even angry; she was breathing regularly, and her calm face and eyes belied her cruel words. She was being insulting as a strategy. This upset Cilissa in a way even Thora's words had not, but she focused on meeting each swing and thrust. As focused on Thora's staff as she was, she was unprepared when Thora rushed her, body to body, her larger body bulling Cilissa backwards. Cilissa tensed her legs, preparing a backwards flip, but Thora swung her staff low, clipping Cilissa between the knees and sending her sprawling to the ground.

"Hah, I win." Thora's smile hurt most of all. It was drilled into the children that practice and learning were more important than winning, but they were also trained to be competitive. Thora lingered for a moment, body slightly leaning on her staff, looking down at Cilissa before picking up her staff to find another opponent. The other children stopped their sparring to look at Cilissa. She hadn't lost a match in a long time.

Cilissa couldn't meet the stares of the other children, so she looked down instead. Leaves covered the ground outside of the sparring area. The Nessian Wood often offered a full panoply of autumnal coloring, and that fall was no exception. Brilliant orange and rich brown leaves cloaked the trees and ground alike. Fall was one of her favorite times in Setessa, a combination of beautiful color and emerging stillness. Looking at the leaves was easier than looking anywhere else, so she continued to study them amid the steady background sounds of thwack, thwack, thwack until a pair of shoes blocked her sight.

Cilissa followed the green shoes up to a pair of leather leggings, following up and up a body leading to a face. The face neither smiled nor frowned, but merely looked back at Cilissa. And although the woman's hair was succumbing to gray and her face held more wrinkles each time Cilissa saw her, it was normally a kind face, although at that moment it was hard to tell. It was the face of Niketa, weaponsmaster and archer, and the head trainer of their lessons at the time.

"Is it a game to you, Child?" Niketa's voice was clipped, although not harsh in the way she was when she thought a student was being particularly dense or obstinate.

Cilissa looked around and saw the other children resuming their sparring, although they gave wide clearance to Niketa and Cilissa. Thora was off in the distance, bruising a poor boy who did not have a chance.

"No," she said softly, looking at Niketa.

"Are you sure? You seemed content to play at the game of staves. Your turn, no, your turn, no, your turn."

Cilissa didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. She kept her eyes on Niketa.

"I have seen many warriors over the years, Cilissa. Many have been stronger than you. Few faster, but some. You do not bear special gifts from the gods. And warriors stronger than you, and faster than you, they have died. Died to mistakes, or died to opponents who were slower and weaker. Do you know why?"

Cilissa shook her head.

"Stand up with your staff."

Cilissa readied herself, as Niketa picked up a training staff. "Begin."

Cilissa waited for Niketa to make the first move. Thwack, thwack. "Thora is an aggressive combatant, one of the most aggressive in your group. It serves her well, mostly." As Niketa talked, the speed of her thrusts and swings increased, faster than Cilissa had yet fought against. Cilissa focused on meeting Niketa's staff, determined to be fast enough to ward off harm.

Thwack, thwack, thwack. Niketa's staff had slipped through Cilissa's defense and only at the last possible moment had slowed to deliver no more than a stinging blow against Cilissa's shoulder.

"You will never be fast enough, Child, to stop all blows. Fighting well is not a function of speed. Do you ever attack, Child?"

All of the embarrassment and hurt of the day came rushing up in Cilissa, unbidden. For so much of her sparring she held herself back, unwilling to hurt another child, another human being. With a cry, she lashed out at Niketa, her staff a blur. She pictured Thora, those lips curled up in a sneer, as she unleashed one furious blow after another at Niketa. Niketa met Cilissa's onslaught, but took a step back. And then another. And then a third. All the other children stopped their sparring and turned to watch.

Cilissa had never felt this much anger before, and it felt wonderful. It felt like freedom. The world seemed remarkably clear without care or consideration for the harm she could cause. She wanted to attack even faster. Thwack, thwack, thwack. It was only when Niketa's staff easily slipped past and knocked into her ribs that she realized how sloppy her defenses had become. She yelled out again and sought to regain her press.

Niketa continued to speak, calmly, conversationally. "What do you fight with, Child?" Cilissa could barely think, much less speak, but there was another blow from Niketa, and with it the same question. "What do you fight with, Child?"

"My staff! I fight with my staff!" Cilissa was breathing heavily now, and was no longer able to advance. There was another blow from Niketa. Each blow was light, but even a light blow from the staff hurt considerably. And the same awful question. "What do you fight with, Child?"

"My bow. I fight with my bow." Niketa was the head archer, perhaps that was the answer she was looking for. Thwack, thwack, thwack. The question again. "My body, I fight with my body." Thwack, thwack, thwack. The question again. What more could she say? Cilissa could barely stand, and the next time Niketa's staff hit her, she dropped to the ground.

"Your mind, Child. You do not fight with your staff or your bow or your body. You fight with your mind. Some philosophers think the purpose of battle training is so you don't have to think while fighting. They are wrong. We train so that in combat you are able to think about the right things. Such as recognizing when your opponent is goading you into losing your composure.

"Aggression serves Thora well, but not you, I think. That is fine. I know how to train smart warriors to be more aggressive. I do not know how to train aggressive warriors to be smart." Niketa leaned down and offered her hand to Cilissa. "You will learn, Child. But still, attack more, yes?" The two of them walked back to the tower amid orange and brown leaves, the crisp air, and the continued thwack, thwack, thwack of children fighting with their minds.