A Meeting at the Pavilion (Kamalia & Satu)

[Satu]

Day 25, winter of 509 A.V.

Satu entered the Weapons Pavilion; its noisy atmosphere surrounded her immediately, and while voluble, the sounds had an ordered and harmonious quality, reflective of tranquil Konti influence. She felt at home. The Pavilion was crowded this day with the training of beginners and novices. A few regulars inquired if she wanted to join their groups and spar with them, but she declined, smiling with a shake of her head. After waiting patiently a small amount of time, she had use of an individual practice ring. Today, Satu wanted a chance to work on her forms without the crowding of another’s emotions to distract her.

All about her, other Konti were at work with their own weapons, practicing and sparring. She waved to a few friends as she removed her slippers. Silently taking her place in the ring, Satu stood alone at the midpoint of soft flooring. The small suvai in their opposing sheaths were tied snugly to her hips, their gentle pressure a constant reminder to stay centered. Standing motionless with her eyes closed, she could sense the anticipation of the novices around her, eager to begin their own training. Bringing her awareness away from her HeartSense and the many emotions it registered to an inward, soundless focus was always difficult.

Her pale head bowed, its single pony tail tied back tightly with pink ribbons interwoven with tiny, cascading flowers. She was quiet and still, and then the movement began, slowly at first like the birth of spring. The suvai, an extension of her hands now moved as if part of her and slowly, her right arm lifted before her, with the left behind her. The small spiral weapons gleamed as they moved in deadly form through the air.

Long legs continued her momentum across the floor as she leaped and twisted, folding the weapons inward. She landed, softly rolling, only to explode in a series of feints and dodges. To onlookers it took the appearance of a passionate dance. Blonde hair whipped around her neck as she soared through the positions. Her garments alternated between tightly hugging her limbs as she moved, to flowing, lovingly behind her as she abruptly changed directions in her dance with the twin suvai.

She was learning to use the two blades as one; thus far, it was difficult, first the left hand moved and then the right. But her focus rested on turning the two separate attempts into one continuous stream of movement. “Too slow,” her inner critic demanded, “Move like the waters, flowing gracefully, one into the other…” and the two small weapons began to simultaneously move in separate directions. Satu, relieved, let a slight satisfaction rise in her heart at this small progress.

Once her attention fleetingly touched her heart, the vessel opened itself unbidden to the emotions in the crowded pavilion around her. Satu felt a flicker of anger there near the mats, but determined not to be drawn in yet again; she ignored it and once more spun into a flurry of motion. But it was more than emotion that called her awareness this day, it was also raised voices, strikingly loud in the typically, respectful pavilion. She couldn’t see who it was, but if she turned, she just might make it out… there...! Matalla was there leaning in towards another woman, and by the looks upon the nearby Konti faces, it was apparent that she was the origin of the unrest. Matalla, Satu understood, got carried away from time to time, and did not always behave properly. There would be no further concentration today with Matalla’s bad behaviour in the Pavilion. Satu detested any kind of altercation, it upset her HeartSense; a curious gift from Avalis, since her skills lay in the warrior arts and she was always engaged in endless physical exchanges.

Satu slowed her forward movement and came to a stop on the mat, breathing heavy. She could hear Matalla from where she stood, “…You do not know what you are doing. Why do you even bother to attend weapons training, Timandre Wizard?” she spat in disgust. And as she uttered the last words, her face wrinkled and Satu thought that Matalla’s beautiful face had become decidedly less so, clouded over with negativity.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Time in Mura travelled at its own pace. At times, a day seemed to pass a konti by like a breeze, but Kamalia swore at least two or three days dragged by during the morning suvai training session. She silently blessed the countless, frenzied night-long studies she’d done over the years. Without such training, she would never have developed the stamina needed to stay awake now. Even so, the girl could feel her eyes glazing over as their suvai instructor, Val’mara Nitvin, ranted on and on about the proper stances of suvai fighting. Kamalia hoped the mistress would mistake her dazed expression for rapt attention.

The afternoon did not promise much of an improvement either, for once again Kamalia had to face the consequences of her unconventional childhood. Suvai training was required of all Timandre, regardless of their chosen profession. With hard work, good training, and piles of money lavished on books on reimancy and glyphing, she’d made herself into a credible mage. Unfortunately, magic was not in the classic repertoire of a konti. Kamalia had never much interest in the art of suvai and rather hated weapons training. As she was to learn this day, interest was optional; proficiency was mandatory.

“You do not know what you are doing! Why do you even bother to attend weapons training, Timandre wizard?” Matalla spat in disgust. It was not entirely uncommon for suvai practitioners to develop among themselves rivalries and personal vendetta even as the konti were a very close-knit community, but this was becoming a problem.

Kamalia’s rival, Matalla, was one of the more proficient students at the Suvai Pavilion, a tall and beautiful slender woman from a prominent konti family. She seemed annoyed that she had to face an incompetent novice, but also delighted to lord it over a Timandre female.

“To train, of course. I am not accustomed to the ways of the suvai,” Kamalia replied softly and calmly, but within her was a roiling, churning cloud of anger, quickly amassing as the session went on and on. Kamalia lifted her suvai and pointed it, shaking, towards Matalla.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Matalla sniffed derisively. “Four bells, just four bells of practice and you look as if you’re about to pass out like a flimsy, little damselfly!”

“Still your tongues,” Val’mara, the suvaimistress, interrupted, arms crossed. “Kamalia, defence stance! You’re still exposing much of your body to Matalla. Keep the target small. Remember, left foot back and left shoulder back.”

Tired and shaking, Kamalia did as she was told but before could face her squarely, Matalla lunged at her with her twin suvai, slashing open her training tunic slantwise that ran from her small shoulders to her waist, leaving her slender arms bare and her breasts exposed, if not for the violet chemise that snugly covered them. Outraged, Kamalia looked down at the scant clothing that showed through. Her eyes gleamed dangerously as she raised them towards her rival and held her taunting stare for seconds.

“See? “ Matalla snickered. “I’ve seen little girls that could fight better. You would do well to squander less time on idle pleasantries and fortune-telling. Such a waste.”

“Such blasphemy,” Kamalia softly retorted, pushing back a damp lock of silver-white hair. The young wizard lifted a corner of her lips in a menacing smile, one slender eyebrow raised. “Might I inquire again as to what your family name was? Shivkani, right?” Kamalia mused, staring the konti from head to toe, pretending to stifle a chuckle. “Ah, must be a family tradition.”

This barbed response brought a quiet chorus of giggles from the assembled konti. Matalla glowered, blazing with wrath, her face turning a ruby red. The Shivkani were famed for possessing great beauty, but notorious for having a short fuse and lacking expertise in divination that was konti ideal. It seemed that Matalla was a little more sensitive about the fact.

Kamalia took this opportunity to leap at her opponent, suvai gleaming as it dived in forward towards her rival's heart, but Matalla effortlessly batted aside the novice’s thrusts and danced back with the grace and speed of a panther.

“Defense stance!” Suvaimistress Val’mara repeated, shouting.

[Satu]

Chest rising and falling after her exertions, Satu, now stationary, observed the sparring in the next practice ring. Matalla and her opponent not only exchanged physical strikes at one another, but verbal as well. The novice, more effective at the verbal barbs, made an occasional ineffective attempt to strike Matalla with her suvai.

Satu waited to hear the girl’s response to Matalla’s newest insult, but failed to listen to it, instead Satu felt the girl’s emotions simmer to the surface. Her distant eyes watched them, but she saw only anger, hot and magnetic swirl around the novice. There was also a thing she had not felt before, distant but calling for attention. Curious as to what was veiled; she took an inward breath, much like the smelling of alcohol for someone who can not get enough drink. She was almost confused by it as it bubbled under the surface. It was building and her awareness was drawn to it.

“Still your tongues… Kamalia, defensive stance!” Val’mara’s voice carried to Satu’s ears. It broke through Satu’s concentration and brought her back into her body. The woman’s voice had a way of removing the veils of sight from Satu’s eyes. Val’mara was Satu’s mentor and trainer, she brooked no nonsense and Satu held her in very high esteem.

Slowly it dawned on her who this little fighter was, Kamalia Timandre. One of the Timandre clan and bonded to Gromhir, the Ivaski she had met late one night. Gromhir had been pleasant and good company, and it was not right for his mistress to be harassed so. As she reminisced, Satu watched Matalla as she slashed again at Kamaila, laying her tunic open. Her eyes widened in surprise at the woman’s actions. She was an advanced student using her skills dramatically against a novice, it was not proper!

And there it was again… thin tendrils of the unnamed emotion, tied to the the girls anger as it blossomed and beckoned her closer. She needed to do something. The suvai she noted, were still in her hands. First she sheathed the left carefully and then the right as she walked on the springy surface toward where Matalla and Kamalia argued. As she got closer the emotions intensified.

How often had she promised her family she would find a way to focus more thoroughly through others emotions? Many times. And though she tried to hide and down play their effect on her, they saw too well how the heavier emotions took a toll on Satu.

The two still quarrelled as she neared and there was no lack of observers for their feud, as the other novices listened in with interest, a glorious break in an otherwise exhausting day. There were more jabs and taunts and Mistress Val’mara shouted “Defense stance!” But Kamalia was no match for the much better trained and more experienced Konti.

With a little wave to Val’mara and a hand motion, Satu conveyed her wish to the suvaimistress to change positions with Matalla. Receiving a curt nodded approval, Satu stepped into the ring. Her voice melodic, if perhaps a touch out of breath from her previous exertions, spoke the simplistic words of a serene Konti, “Matalla, do you not remember? We were once new as well… It is really not appropriate to taunt the novices.”

Kamalia’s opponent looked at Satu like a giant squid had taken her brain. Matalla, knowing Satu well, just shook her head that someone could be so naïve when faced with a magic using Timandre. Satu continued pleasantly, “Take my mat Shivkani, I do not believe I will continue alone today.” In actuality she had wanted to work alone for many hours to practice duel wielding, but it seemed the better option to extract Kamalia from her opponent.

“Have it your way, Satu,” Matalla sneered, “She is beneath me; my talents are wasted on one such as that!” And with a shake of her beautiful head, she departed to Satu’s abandoned mat. Satu, sweat beginning to cool on her chest and white hair falling from her pony tail at odd angles, watched her depart, before finally turning to officially meet the one called Kamalia Timandre.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Maintaining her dignity under the circumstances was no easy matter, but Kamalia was equal to the task. She raised her small chin imperiously, rebellious spirit burned brightly in her eyes while Matalla belittled her harshly. Anger flamed in the wizard’s heart, as bright and hot as the inferno that razed and changed the face of Mizahar ages ago. She held Matalla’s taunting stare for moments, not intimidated at the slightest, before the Shivkani girl turned and walked away. Oh, no, she won’t let her go away satisfied just like that. She was in a terrible mood. She had endured four hours, four damning hours of abuse and maltreatment and that was enough to make Kamalia do something. She welled in a selfish urge for revenge.

Kamalia’s eyes darted around the Suvai Pavilion, carefully, methodically searching the training area for objects that she could use for a creative revenge, until they stopped at the two buckets of cattle manure stacked near Matalla Shivkani’s mat. From time to time, Ma’alvi Nitvin dropped by to chat with her sister, the Suvaimistress Val’mara, carrying around two ubiquitous buckets of cattle dung. Unlike Val’mara whose expertise leaned towards the way of the suvai, Ma’alvi’s passion lay in agriculture, with her endless, droning monologues about farming and the proper fertilizer she worked into every kind of soil.

The wizard’s eyes widened as she considered the possibilities. There was a temptation hidden in that thought, and the young konti seized it immediately. Thank Avalis, it seemed that the Seer Goddess enjoyed a bit of dark humor now and again. A low, dark chuckle escaped her as an idea took hold. By the time the mistress left the practice ring to speak with her sister and Satu faced the suvai novice, Kamalia had concocted a plan that gave Matalla’s exit that added piquant touch of creative revenge.

Closing her eyes, Kamalia took a deep breath and gathered djed in her lungs. There it was again, the sweet, inexplicable euphoria that chilled her soul and smoldered fiercely within her being. The feeling was ecstatic, and the seductive whispers of magic enslaved the young wizard. Satu would feel this too, being a Heartseer, the unnatural addiction pouring forth, and thin tendrils of emotion that gushed from her chest and coiled around her slender body.

Holding her breath, the reimancer watched Matalla move her long, taut legs as she practiced suvai movements with a dancer’s grace and rhythm. She waited for the right moment—the exact moment when Matalla would lift a leg in a crane-like stance. She waited calmly as she counted the seconds. One, two, three . . . There!

Quickly, she blew res from her mouth and nostrils that rapidly turned into a jet of turbulent air. The compressed air jetted towards the supporting leg, making Matalla lose her foothold and wobble awkwardly. The wizard sent more brief bursts of compressed wind—just a few puffs, just enough to send the confused suvai fighter reeling back as she tried to balance herself. Then came a second burst of wind, then a third. Bit by bit, the mage forced Matalla towards the buckets of cattle droppings. Arms windmilling, Matalla toppled and dove headfirst into a pail filled with cattle manure.

Matalla rose to her feet, brown reeking paste now dribbled from her beautiful face and sugar-white hair, and smeared her thistle tunic. The Shivkani girl shrieked in rage. Not that anyone cared, Matalla was utterly humorless, vindictive to her peers, and ruthlessly vicious in her dealings with novices and younger students. The humiliating prank played against her evened a dozen scores and earned Kamalia Timandre a great deal of quiet applause.

Matalla raised murderous eyes towards Kamalia. There was no doubt in her mind who was responsible for this latest indignity. She snatched her suvai from the floor and began to twirl them menacingly overhead. "You witch!" With lightning-fast brilliance that marked the best suvai fighters, the enraged Matalla charged towards Kamalia. There was no way the young wizard could deflect this attack.

[Satu]

Anger, hot and violent enveloped Satu’s heart and the sensitive vessel burned from within. Only moments before, the underlying irritation had been smouldering quietly, now it leapt to life, into a thing unruly and threatening. Satu watched spellbound as it wrapped Kamalia Timandre in its heady red, whispering embrace, and transformed the novice’s eyes into a vengeful gaze as she stared at Matalla.

Ugly, black finger-like tendrils scratched their way into the magic user’s aura, and the need for revenge flared suddenly. Satu swam in the blackness with it; any compassion she herself held for Matalla, forgotten in this cruel instant. Matalla caused pain and grief among her peers. Matalla hurt people callously. Satu felt the pain the victims carried, as she held the heavy burden of their emotions in her HeartSense. Matalla was to blame.

Satu wanted to say something to extinguish the twin fires of anger and revenge that blazed in Kamalia and was beginning to burn in her also, but it was too late. A dark chuckle barely reached her ears. Satu felt a subtle sweetness within the anger caress her very marrow. Euphoria grew and blanketed her in its stickiness; Satu had never felt anything so tempting, and her chest lifted as she breathed in intoxication. Magic!

The young wizard was enslaved; Satu saw it clearly as Kamalia worked her magic. It was addiction, a powerful and compelling pleasure. The strength of it made Satu’s eyes blur from the colours that danced in the magic user’s aura, and she needed retreat from the new and dangerous feelings. The suvai fighter turned away searching for solace, only to see Matalla in a very unlikely scenario that unsettled her even further.

The shriek of rage could be heard throughout the pavilion and Matalla stood, covered from the head down in manure. “You witch!” the furious Matalla yelled at her magical opponent, then suvai in hand, rapidly charged upon the ill prepared wizard.

Some people are drawn inexorably to another person, others to magic, food or drink. For Satu, the dance of the suvai was her world. It gave her life meaning, within and without. Suvai practice was not about study and rote memorization, it was about movement infused with passion, and her eyes gleamed with it. Suvaimistress Val’mara termed it, “Instinctive movement,” and Satu experienced the phenomenon as Matalla made her mad dash towards the young Timandre.

Satu did not recall unsheathing the small, bone suvai at her hips or raising them calmly into the Fighters Engagement Stance. At no time did she consciously decide to defend the wizard, but Satu had sensed the need for movement, and true to Val’ Mara, the feeling was instinctive and not to be argued with.

Frozen on the mat, she waited, weapons lifted as her opponent ran at her. Satu was not afraid. They had sparred with one another for years, each knew the others strengths and a variety of weaknesses. On any other day, Satu would have relished combat with an advanced partner, but this day however, was too heavy with emotion. Kamalia, Matalla, and the other young novices all had some form of emotional stake in the outcome of this quarrel. And the strong emotions hammered at her HeartSense, already sensitive from the tangled web of Kamalia Timandre’s spellcasting.

But she forced those feelings down and down, and away, until she could focus on the room and on Matalla clearly. The woman’s rage, trailed behind her like a well-trained hound. Satu waited, ready for the glorious moment when the weapons rang and the body danced in battle.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Shrieking with wrath, Matalla Shivkani charged towards Kamalia, suvai twirling and gleaming menacingly in each hand. Kamalia’s heart jumped. There was no way the novice could deflect this attack now. Only then, Kamalia had realized how badly she had overstepped and how wild her obsession with magic was that spurred such rash, spontaneous actions. Regret will grip her later, but for now, her entire body felt drained and frozen. The young novice immediately acknowledged her fate and awaited the oncoming strike—when suddenly, Satu stepped forward to meet Matalla’s blades.

Satu, tall, beautiful, and gracile with the dancer’s lithe, shifted her stance wider to absorb the impact and lifted her matched suvai in a gleaming X. The blades of Matalla’s suvai hurled themselves against the crux of glinting silver whalebone with a loud musical clang. Their eyes met for a moment in a leveled stare. Incredulous, Matalla’s eyes broadened, gritting her teeth as she realized Satu’s betrayal. The treachery from her equal fueled the rage of the Shivkani girl so much more that Satu’s heartsight would suddenly be assaulted by a myriad of seething, smoldering emotions. Matalla screeched and began to lunge at her new contender with lightning-fast thrusts and slashes, while Satu swept away her attacks with twirling, sinuous swings.

The other suvai trainees in the pavilion gasped and pleaded the two fighters to stop, though none had dared to step in. From behind the throng of spectators, Mistress Val’mara demanded the two fighters to drop their weapons at once but her protests drowned in the thrill of the duel and the deafening clangs of suvai reverberating throughout the practice area.

For a while, Kamalia was content to watch as the two adepts whirled and leaped and thrust in a gossamer dance of death. Their movements were fluid like the currents and eddy of the sea; an elaborate tango of feints and double-feints. Matalla thrust, and then swept her twin suvai slantwise with an audible swish, but Satu batted aside her advances with the classic parry, ignoring the surge of bone-numbing pain that leaped up her arm then into her shoulders from the force of the impact. The two konti were evenly matched in the ways of the suvai. The winner must soon be decided before the situation got out of hand. Kamalia felt she needed to do something, but what?

Think, wizard. Think!

A quirky plan popped into Kamalia’s mind and she seized it at once. Marshalling all the discipline of her magical training, she closed her eyes and shut the sounds of the battle, softly whispering a spell in Nader-Canoch. The mage could afford to be subtle, for everyone’s eyes were upon the dueling fighters. From afar, one would think Kamalia was only muttering words to herself.

But Satu would know what was happening.

Once again, the wizard felt the sweet bliss and intoxication that magic stoked in her soul. She could feel the res surging in her blood and veins, gushing from her mouth and nostrils and spurting from the tips of her fingers. Oh, she felt so alive! With the last ounces of her willpower, the young mage directed her arcane energies and draped an invisible fleece of res around Matalla’s torso, concentrating the djed on her back. For a long moment, Kamalia waited, until she heard a yelp of surprise. Her spell was successful!

Snapping her eyes open, she sighed in relief and her rose-colored lips pursed into a crafty smile. It was a simple cantrip she loved using on her sisters when she was younger: a simple trick involving freezing the droplets of sweat that formed on the body. This simple spell never failed to elicit startled cries from her victims so far with the chilling sensation. As for Matalla’s case, Kamalia froze the sweat down her spine eliciting involuntary shivers.

With her heartsight, Satu would feel Matalla’s confusion and distraction. This was an opening— the right moment to disarm, or strike Matalla, whichever Satu preferred. This was the right moment!

[Satu]

Matalla’s rage was incredible and Satu had brought the angry madness directly upon herself by shielding Kamalia. “How dare you, Satu,” the angered Konti demanded at one point through gritted teeth when their whale horn weapons locked together, immobile. “You should not have chosen her over me!”

The two fighters braced themselves, muscles tensed and strained as each woman waited for the right moment to break free. Satu could feel Matalla’s hot breath on her face, they were so close. Her ocean blue eyes peered into Matalla’s deeper, violet blues, and saw only red, red rage, inches from her. Satu wished mightily to be away from the emotion’s repulsive grip. Breathing deeply, she waited until the subtlest of changes occurred. Their bodies, slick from exertion naturally shifted as sweaty skin slid against sweaty skin, effectively breaking the stalemate. No longer stationary, each woman leapt free, blades slicing the air in attack and defence.

Anger and rage hit her full force, furious colours exploding outward. Satu danced lightly away, wary of the powerful nonphysical assault. Working to establish her emotional balance, she began to use Matalla’s volatile emotions to invisibly track the direction her opponent would move. Satu managed to stay one step ahead of the woman’s fury.

Satu did not think of herself as disloyal towards Matalla, but actually more than faithful to her peer. After all, she had not allowed the other suvai fighter to embarrass herself further by fighting with a novice. The writhing colours revealed in Shivkani’s Heart made it very apparent the woman would never agree and never relent after the humiliations she had suffered.

Dodging a feint, Satu rolled, coming up with a double thrust to Matalla’s abdomen, but Matalla back peddled away, breathing heavily. So focused was Satu, that she did not immediately register the sweet, heady pleasure enveloping her HeartSense. Only once had she felt such a tantalizing thing. Kamalia’s magic! Moving her head, Satu tried unsuccessfully to find the wizard in the crowd of onlookers. It was a costly mistake and Matalla took a swipe at Satu’s chest, only missing by a breath, bringing the Konti’s awareness back to the battle at hand.

Matalla’s wrath weighed on Satu and she found a matching anger rise to the surface within her own Heart. It built and gathered energy of its own with each twist and attempted strike of the horn blade. Twirling one three pronged suvai, Satu advanced with deadly purpose, the other blade held behind her at ready. She leapt and trapped one of Matalla’s suvai in the prongs, then twisted mightily. The captive piece, wrenched from Matalla’s hand, fell to the floor a meter away. With her second suvai, she sliced aggressively at Matalla, before the woman could recover her equilibrium.

A second before the blade landed, Matalla called out, only a small sound of surprise, but loud enough to startle Satu into awareness. Within the HeartSense time moved slowly, too late did Matalla’s confusion and distraction register with Satu. Kamalia’s spell had landed. She could not pull back for she had already committed to the attack.

The tip of the bone ripped through the skin along Matalla’s upper rib cage as she turned in astonishment. Dark blood pooled on the light shift as the two women’s eyes met. Venom shone in Matalla’s look. Equally surprised, Satu stepped back and lowered her weapons. Shame filled her Heart, for she knew the strike was neither honourable nor fair with the magical distraction Kamalia had provided. “Matalla… I can…” she began, trying to explain.

Matalla Shivikani, eyes cold and merciless, wasted no time and leapt at Satu with the remaining suvai. It was an uncivilized move, as it was apparent that Satu had already withdrawn from the fight. That the Konti had lost control, no one could deny. Matalla brought her blade in line with Satu’s pale throat, its point pressing on Satu’s jaw line which raised her chin upwards in response.

The Pavilion became a silent and shocking place as SuvaiMaster Nitvin then appeared from nowhere and tackled Matalla to the floor, knocking the weapon out of her grip in the process. Satu stood numbly, sweaty strands of hair sticking to her face. Her mentor came to her feet slowly, a controlled anger building in the short and stout body. “This madness will now CEASE!” The Mistress fumed, hard muscles tensing from the disrespect her students had shown this day. “Look at you two! And in front of the novices no less!” one bony finger pointed first to Matalla, then to Satu.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you either, young Timandre!” she said turning to where Kamalia stood with the others. Nitvin’s voice was now controlled, and so the more intimidating in its restraint. “The floor is ruined with your little display. It will need to be cleaned…”

Her eyes moved over the three of them, and Satu felt a sadness welling in her heart as Nitvin’s eyes rested on hers. To have so disappointed her mentor in such a way, it was unthinkable. “You may each return to your apartments, until I decide what to do with you. This is certainly not ended by any means,” She finished simply and ominously.

Dismissed by Mistress Val’mara, Matalla pulled herself up, head held high and looked at the spectators in the Pavilion with contempt. Holding her wounded and bleeding side, she composed herself with royal dignity and stepped lightly towards the exit. Anger, now controlled pressed inward as it was transformed into something much more threatening. Shivikani slid past Satu murmuring pointedly, "You have crossed the line Satu, with your little wizard friend. Do not think this is ended, HeartSeer. I will not forget either of your actions."

[Kamalia Timandre]

Val’mara Nitvin, the Suvaimistress herself, was not an imposing sight, standing only few inches above five feet, and with a figure stout and straight as a child’s. Nor did she possess the fair, ethereal beauty that was typical and ideal of the konti women. Her hair was wispy and white, braided tightly and wrapped around her small head like an elaborate crown. She was clad simply: a long chain shirt of konti-make draped over the simple white tunic of a suvai fighter. Yet Val’mara did not require the conventional trappings of power. Everyone in the pavilion knew that Val’mara was one of the deadliest suvai masters in Mura, and in the full favor of the Seer Mother Avalis.

All eyes were upon Val’mara when she leapt at Matalla, the small woman tackling the taller female to the ground with a thud. The force of their fall shocked Matalla, causing her to lose her grip on the suvai blades that now clanged musically about on the floor. There was a moment—just a moment of blank, utter shock—before the entire pavilion exploded into chaos.

Finally, the Suvaimistress rose to her feet. Despite her lack of physical stature, all eyes turned upon her as she stood before the throng of apprentices, her small form quivering and her face blazing with wrath.

“Silence!” Val’mara thundered.

Silence fell, complete and immediate. “This madness will now CEASE!” she fumed, muscles tensing at the insolence of her students. This was a tad too much. She had been denied the respect and reverence she had earned through decades of hard labor in her profession. Just another example, the mistress thought bitterly, how ill-raised the younger generations of Mura were!

The mistress spun to face the two suvai elites. “Look at you two, and in front of the novices, no less!” pointing a bony finger to Matalla, and then to Satu. This was the first in ages that such indignity happened in her years of teaching. This was the first in ages that two elite suvai fighters breached the code and the protocol practitioners of the art followed.

And then the mistress whirled to where Kamalia stood with the other novices, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you either, young Timandre,” Nitvin’s voice was now cold, and perfectly even, but the look she gave Kamalia was one of pure malice, eyes glinting dangerously. “The floor is ruined with your little display. It will need to be cleaned.”

With great difficulty, the young konti wizard managed a weak nod. Kamalia, too, was equally shocked. She had not expected this to happen either. The anger that stoked her heart had led her to a chain of impulsive actions, and the inexplicable temptations of spellcasting tore through her self-control. Kamalia knew that her spells were a mistake the moment she casted them. Drained and magically spent, Kamalia paid little heed to Misterss Val’mara’s words of instruction and dismissal and was only vaguely aware of the gloom that poured from Satu’s heart.

Guilt gripped Kamalia’s heart. She perceived the gravity of their situation at once, and the stunning realization flooded the young konti reimancer. Satu had only stepped in to defend her—a novice— from Matalla’s advance, yet she, too, had to be drawn against this deliberate indignity she had originally wrought upon herself. Kamalia knew little of the customs and protocols of the suvai maidens, but it dawned on her that the Mistress Va’lmara’s pronouncement must have held some weight to have such an impact on Satu. For all the trouble Kamalia had brought her, she vowed to apologize.

And then there was Matalla Shivkani. It was not lost on Kamalia that the small bleeding gash on the Shivkani’s girl’s upper rib cage was not caused by Satu’s recklessness. It was the magical distraction she had provided. Had Matalla been human—or any other sentient race for that matter, the suvai’s venom would have quickly seeped through the delicate nerves in her body, breaking her arteries down, thus temporarily paralyzing her. Matalla closed in, holding her wound as she strode past Satu. "You have crossed the line, Satu, with your little wizard friend. Do not think this is ended, Heartseer. I will not forget either of your actions,” said Matalla cold-heartedly, icy malice glinting in her narrowed gaze.

An acolyte of the Opal Order scurried forward to dress the Shivkani girl’s gaping wound and seal it close with the healing light of Rak’keli. They were almost at the exit when Matalla stared over her shoulders, lifting murderous eyes to Kamalia. “Did you enjoy today’s session, Timandre? Don’t you fret, little witch. The best is yet to come. This doesn’t end here,” smirked Matalla, before striding out with a queenly hauteur.

Kamalia waved a hand in front of her nose as if waving away the stench of cattle excrement. “This doesn’t end here,” the young wizard mimicked bitterly in a mocking, lilting voice. “I must admit," she smiled slyly to Satu," that I have little interest in the social life of the cattle.” She knew her words were a mistake the moment she spoke them, her eyes almost apologetic as she marveled if Satu would get offended by that sarcastic comment against her equal.

[Satu]

Satu closed her eyes tightly in an effort to stop her frantically beating heart. How could a simple suvai practice have gotten so out of control? It was as if all of Konti Isle had suddenly gone insane. Throughout the Pavilion, the normal sounds of weapons instruction, shouts, grunts, and the clang of weapons had all but ceased. All eyes were held in rapt attention on the spectacle that had unfolded before them. Looks of surprise and bewilderment from the onlookers danced between Kamalia Timadre and Matalla Shivkani, Satu and Mistress Nitvin.

Feelings spun in Satu’s Heart around a wildly coloured vortex, cloudy with emotion. Matalla’s fury and malice intertwined with Kamalia’s guilt and became one. SuvaiMistress Nitvin’s anger and disappointment forced itself through and the squealing novices interjected a jumble of conflicting colours. And Satu, unhappy with the day turning so very wrong, added her own despondency into the mix. Unsure of where to turn in the maelstrom of feeling, Satu stood on the matting, also looking between the parties.

She had hoped with Matalla moving towards the door, this day would soon be finished. But, Matalla in her haughty manner had one more threat to fly at the young wizard and the young wizard, not to be outdone, had her own reply ready, but addressed it to Satu. The HeartSeer stared at Kamalia; she had just compared Shivikani to a cow!

“No…” Satu groaned, but the words were said and could not be taken back. Even Kamalia’s eyes looked apologetic, as if she knew a line had been crossed with her remark. Shaking her head silently, Satu said nothing but watched as Matalla regally walked out the door, one hand on her wounded side. There was no doubt that the other suvai fighter heard the careless insult.

Clearly her mentor had dismissed them all, why did these two refuse to stop and instead exchange even more insults? Hadn’t enough already been done and said, between the two of them. Satu was embarrassed for her part in the affair, but she could not in good conscious ignore the bullying of a novice. She would, sadly do it again, to the disappointment of her mentor.

“Let me be rid of this place,” she said to herself in distress and turned to take her leave. Her tear-rimmed eyes landed on Kamalia’s once more and she hesitated. Satu had been honourable and offered her protection, now it was time to go and face the consequences. Kamalia had been in the wrong, of that there was no doubt, but Matalla had also deserved what she got. Satu surprisingly, felt a sense of remorsefulness from the wizard and in Satu’s mind that was admirable, and enough to give her further pause before going. The girl looked so wearied from the magical draining that Satu easily felt it in her Heart and she could see it in Timandre’s demeanour and form. Satu felt the need to once again protect her self-appointed charge.

“Some day Matalla will learn to respect the differences of others… I am sorry, you had to see her in such bad form, and that she angered you so,” Satu explained. As she talked, she could not shake the kiss of magic that had fleetingly caressed her through Kamalia’s emotions. She could not sense that elusive feeling now, but perceived it was different somehow from other magic users.

“I am Satu,” the Konti said with a tentative smile, “I will walk with you until you regain your strength.” and a pale hand extended to offer to lead Kamalia away from the chaos in the Pavilion into the fresh ocean air outside.

[Kamalia Timandre]

If there was a time Kamalia longed for the embrace of dreamless slumber, it was now. In the course of her training, the konti-girl slowly redefined her concept of suvaicraft and came to realize how little she truly knew of the art. For a short while, the weary girl entertained herself with thoughts of plunging into slumber and the oblivion her silken cushions offered. Several bells of relentless suvai training left each bone, each muscle, and each sinew stinging and aching unbearably. The entire incident with Matalla Shivkani proved to be a disconcerting experience as well, and the girl swam in a sea of emotions, so foreign and alien to her heart.

Anger, enmity, hatred. These feelings were past bearing to any empathic konti woman’s delicate psyche. Kamalia resented Matalla Shivkani for her condescension and her delight to lord things over novice females, but the young wizard conceded that she herself had overreacted and made a big fuss out of it. In a corner of her mind, Kamalia acknowledged that she was privileged and indulged, and she’d led a much different life from that most suvai apprentices in the pavilion. But the pranks had been a last—and admittedly dangerous—attempt to deny this reality. Matalla’s attack signaled that she herself had pushed too far. Kamalia did not intend to start a war, and she resolved to act with more discretion henceforth.

Finally, too heartsick and exhausted to ponder the matter more, the konti wizard smiled weakly at Satu and took her offered hand. For a moment, the novice was not sure what to say, and silence stretched over them until it was almost unbearable to be quiet. “My name is Kamalia,” the wizard said weakly at last. “You have my thanks for protecting me, and my apologies for all the trouble I had done you today,” she murmured calmly, rubbing her thumb across Satu’s fingers as they walked.

And then suddenly, Kamalia froze. Satu would hear rumbling, grumbling noises from her companion’s stomach. “Might I, perhaps, ask you to partake in afternoon luncheon with me?”

----

Meanwhile, in the solitude of her room, Matalla Shivkani hurled her twin suvai against the wall. The impact of her weapons and their clattering descent were muffled by the suvai maiden’s shrieks of rage. The next article to take flight was her training tunic. Her garments were drenched with the scent of blood, sweat and cattle excrement, and the furious female tore them off and flung them aside. She poured some water into a basin and began to scrub her face and neck indignantly with a linen cloth.

Bitterly she cursed Mistress Val’mara for assigning her to instruct a novice in the basics of the suvai. She remembered the disbelief in Kamalia Timandre’s eyes, and the words she spat that pierced her heart like shards of glass. She remembered all too well how Satu, her treacherous equal, betrayed her trust and stepped forth to defend the little wench. Oh, and even worse, she remembered all too well the mocking laughter of the novices as they enjoyed the sight of their superior being humiliated— as if they had been waiting for such an event to occur this whole time, and saving every bit of disdain to launch at her at the most opportune moment. A Timandre could do no wrong it seemed.

The cool water and cleansing ointments which she worked harshly into a soapy lather around her face did little to ease the fuming tensions that quaked inside her, and while her body smelled fresh and alive after she was done, her resolve to avenge her disgrace remained blazing like fire.

Everything that was wrong in Mura finally had a name.

Matalla hated Kamalia Timandre. The strength of that emotion went beyond anything the Shivkani girl had ever experienced. She hated the entire Timandre family, and its four generations of female fools! She hated the girl for her beauty, her magic and the instant popularity she garnered in the Pavilion; whenever the bitch was about, Matalla sensed there was a joke being told that she herself could not perceive. Worse, Matalla felt sure she was the butt of that joke. But most of all, Matalla hated the fact that the little witch got away with it after Satu herself had interfered. For all these indignities, vowed the Shivkani girl, Satu and Kamalia Timandre—those two harlots— would pay dearly!

But all was not lost after all. In the dark circle of her scrying bowl, silvery waters swirled and rose and danced, finally forming into a shape of an ivaski. Matalla’s lips curved in a smile, as finally, she had a weapon to use against her new foe. She would have the last laugh.

-- End --