[Flashback/Training] The Legacy

[Siiri]

39th Day of Summer, 493 AV

“...And you swing the blade like so, shifting your grip as you feint to create a visual block with its flat side. If your opponent bites, only then do you execute with your real attack.”

Shara demonstrated the move to young Siiri in slow motion, moving her left dagger at eye level in a slow arc as she pantomimed a slash with the weapon. Halfway through the movement, she rolled the hilt between her fingers so that the flat of the blade was presented to her imaginary foe. As she cleared the move, she stabbed forward with the dagger on her right hand.

“If your weapon is made of polished metal, and if you can angle the blade just right, you can use it to reflect the light into your enemy’s eyes. The distraction can end the fight right there and then.”

Expertly, she twirled the daggers between her fingers so that she held them by the blades and presented the hilts to Siiri.

“Now you try it.”

The youth reached for the weapons tentatively, reverently. Unlike the daggers found in other parts of Mizahar, the Myrian version had a blade as long as a man's forearm and, at its broadest point, had a width almost as wide as an arm was thick. It was perfect for skinning the tough hides from local game, not to mention that a stab from one was sure to be lethal.

Siiri took her time feeling the weapons’ weight in her hands, testing their balance. The blades were made from tskanna tusks and thus slightly curved. She noted the small circles carved on the flat sides of the blade, inside of each was an intricate drawing of the six-tusked beasts of burden.

The girl’s regard for them was almost reverent. It was the first time she held a blooded weapon – a weapon not only used in the hunting and killing of beasts but also to slay another sentient being. Her aunt was a veteran scout of the army and has led many a raiding party against the trespassers of their land. No doubt she had seen her fair share of action outside the walls of the city.

Closing her eyes as she did so, Siiri assumed the traditional fighting stance: left foot forward with the knee slightly bent, the right foot bearing most of her weight at the back. As her eyes opened, she exploded into motion, mimicking her aunt's attack except with a slight variation: as her left weapon reached the apex of her swing, Siiri took as step forward and finished with a diagonal slash with her right, the dagger held in an underhanded grip. She retained her stance but turned to Shala, a smug grin on her lips.

“Interesting choice of attack.” Shara tapped her lips as she circled her niece. Siiri’s skill in the martial arts was improving dramatically and Shara was rightly proud of her pupil’s progress. Already, the girl had perfected all the basic attack and defense combinations and can follow her through some of the more common of the complex ones. And now she’s displayed that she can modify attack routines on the fly to suit her needs.

Shala stopped behind Siiri and kicked lightly on the girl’s leading leg, just below the knee. It quivered slightly but did not give as Siiri tensed her muscles to bring them under control. Shala suppressed a smile of approval. As she suspected, the girl had most of her weight on the front leg. In a real attack, she could easily pivot around it as a follow through of her initial attack to land behind her enemy for a devastating backstab, or spring backwards easily to avoid a counter. It showed that Siiri was thinking on her feet rather than learning by rote. Shala was impressed.

Still, she thought it would not do to compliment the girl, lest she grow overconfident in her skills or, worse, complacent.

“Why the underhand cross?” she asked instead, referring to the girl’s choice of attack.

“I think stabbing takes too long, and I’ll be overextending myself. If my enemy was expecting it, she could chop my arm off,” Siiri replied without hesitation. “I figured she’d react by ducking or moving away from the first dagger. I move closer; she can’t bring up a heavy weapon if she’s using one. The underhand also lets me keep one of my daggers close to block any attack. I could also knee her at this range.”

She did not mention that her stance gave her the potential to roll away. Not that it was ever in her mind. Headstrong and stubborn, Siiri had a habit of not retreating from a fight. It was a dangerous habit, one learned from facing conflict every day of her young life and refusing to back away from it.

[Siiri]

“Mm-hmm. I noticed your arms are now both on your left side.”

Siiri shrugged, maintaining her pose. “My enemy will be on my left,” she said simply.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” the girl returned pertly. “If she dodged on my right, she'd just be meeting the blade all the faster.”

Shara laughed, not at all offended by her niece's forthrightness. She encouraged confidence in the girl but always tempered it, through examples or lectures, so that she did not grow arrogant and underestimated her foes. One simply did not live long doing that.

“Very well, let us try it.”

The woman took two practice daggers for herself, foregoing the use of the larger Slayer, the greatsword strapped at her back. She stood before Siiri, bending her knees enough so that the girl would not need to crane her neck to look up at her. Mirroring each other's stance, they engaged, exchanging a few passes, their movements slow and deliberate as they practiced the routine. Eventually, they got to the position where Siiri could execute the move.

The girl did, left dagger leading. She had timed it perfectly, just when Shara's right dagger was out wide after a missed outward slash. Not wanting to block the feint with her left blade and leave herself open for the true attack, Shara took a step back. Siiri was immediately right at her face, taking the step her aunt had just sacrificed, her right dagger coming in unerringly. Shara immediately blocked it with her left arm, her bone bracer intercepting the blade.

But Siiri surprised her again, dropped her blade and grabbing her by the wrist and trapping her thumb between Shara's fingers and the crossguard of the older Myrian's dagger to control the blade somewhat. Using her aunt's arm as leverage, Siiri pulled back on it and threw her left knee forward towards Shara's abdomen. The woman checked the attack by throwing her left hip in however. Siiri punished her for it though. As soon as her left foot touched the ground once more, her right leg came up for a vicious kick on the back of her aunt's supporting leg. But she was still a child and not much damage was done. Had she been someone of equal size, Shara would have been swept off her feet, leaving her prone and vulnerable on her back. The woman realized this and she burst out laughing once more.

“Well done, Siiri, well done!”

The practice ended, Shara drew the girl close and hugged her. It was becoming more and more of a joy to teach the young Myrian as her skill grew exponentially every passing day. Shara was truly proud of her niece. But it was a shame their time together had to be cut short because of her duties. She held the girl at arm's length and gazed at her. Siiri looked more and more like her mother Ehra – Shara's identical twin. She supposed that served as a compliment for her as well. Siiri could have been her own daughter, had she been blessed enough to be able to bear children.

“Listen child, I have to return to the barracks now, but I want you to keep practicing everything I taught you, you understand? Do well in your lessons and make me and your mother proud.”

She could sense the disappointment and sadness from the girl, elicited by her words. The ends of the child's full lips were starting to point downwards now, her lower lip showing the beginnings of a pout. Shara tapped her playfully on the chin with a fist. It was always hard to part with the girl.

“I will be back soon, I promise. After Syna and Leth graces the sky ten times, I will return. And we will continue this. In the meantime, I want you to think of a way to defeat your own attack because I will be using it the next time! Then it will be your turn to get your rump kicked!”

The teasing remark netted her a faint smile. It was something at least. Siiri offered the twin daggers back to her, hilts first, but did not immediately release her hold on the blades.

“Da'Shara... why do you have drawings on your daggers? Do you get bored in the wilds? I've never seen something like that before. The knives they let us use in practice don't have anything like that.”

Shara smiled at the girl's innocence. She took one of the daggers and traced a finger on one of the small carvings on the blade.

“These are Maledicted weapons, Siiri,” she explained. “Both daggers were made from the bones of a tskanna. These carvings, they imbue the weapons with strength and toughness of that beast. They're supposed to give me the same benefits but I can never tell if they work. Are you interested in them?”

Siiri nodded, her gaze transfixed on the twin daggers, eyes twinkling with amazement. Catching the expression on her niece's face, Shara debated with herself briefly before coming to a decision.

“Tell you what. You keep these -” She handed back the daggers to Siiri, who held the items with reverence. She unstrapped the individual sheaths from her biceps as well and gave them to the girl. “- and show them to the one who made them. They're a gift from a friend, but I have many more weapons so you can keep them. If you want to learn more about how such items are made, go to Old Baba and tell him I sent you.”

She gave Siiri directions to her contact's residence, a shack in the part of the city where damage from the Valterrian still showed. The girl fairly glowed with excitement; there was something to occupy her now during her aunt's absence! Shara tousled her niece's hair.

“Don't give Baba too much trouble all right? See you what I get back!”

[Siiri]

“Helloooooooo!” Siiri called out, her voice echoing in the empty stones of abandoned structures that fell into ruin since the Valterrian. She stood before what seemed to be a hastily constructed hut, its base uneven and one side of it unfinished as if the builders suddenly upped and left as they were nearing its completion. Made from wood, bone and animal skins, it seemed to have been constructed after the rest of its surroundings was destroyed. Several domesticated animals grazed about, though there was no sign of their owner. Siiri took a deep breath and was about to yell out another call when a peep hole opened from the middle of the hut's door and an eye peeked out.

“Yeah? What do y'want?” the eye's owner asked. His voice was rough and gruff, his tone dour.

“Hi! I'm Siiri. Da'Shara sent me -” Siiri began.

“Never heard the name.” The peep hole closed.

“Wait! She said you made these!”

The peep hole opened again and the eye inspected the twin daggers Siiri had pulled out before returning to look at the girl. “Don't be ridiculous. I never made anything so ugly lookin' in me life!” The peep hole closed again.

“Wait! Da'Shara said you can teach me how to make these small circle things on the blade!”

The peep hole opened once more and the eye pierced her with a stern gaze. “No. I don't teach runts.” The peep hole slammed shut.

Miffed, Siiri puffed out her cheeks and stomped up the door. If this was the Baba person her aunt told her about, he wasn't going to get rid of her that easily. She banged at the door loudly. “You don't understand! I came here to learn!”

The peep hole didn't open this time but the voice spoke from the other side of the door. “What's it take to get rid of ye, kiddie?”

“Open the door and I'll tell you.”

“No.”

“Can you at least open your stupid hole? I don't want to talk to a door.”

Silence met her question. The peep hole opened slowly and the eye peeked out once more. Siiri could see bushy eyebrows just above it. “Well?” Baba grumbled, impatient.

Siiri stuck her fingers in the peep hole to stop the man from closing it again and pointed one of the daggers at his eye. “If you close this one more time, I'll poke your eye out. Now open the stupid door, I don't want to talk to an eyeball.”

The eye stared threateningly at Siiri but the girl stared back with equal intensity. She wasn't really intending to poke the man's eye out (unless he closed the peep hole), she was just trying to show him she was serious about learning from him. It felt as if they were going to stare at each other the whole day, but eventually the man relented.

“Bah!” the voice spat. “Get ye out the stupid door so I can open the damned thing.”

“How do I know you won't just close the -”

“'Cause I said so!” Baba thundered.

Siiri relented, not wanting to argue any further. She drew back and waited for the man to show himself. Shara had told her that Baba was old and the girl expected a crotchety old man who was all skin and bones and weathered by the years. When the door opened however, she was greeted by the sight of the shortest adult Myrian she had ever seen. Baba was barely taller than her. He was burly and hairy, a stocky man, and had a rotund middle, obvious through the unkempt tunic he wore. One side of his face had been badly burned and was hairless but the other side had a mess of black hair that sprouted out to every direction, making it look like the mane of a lion. Bushy eyebrows, pig-like eyes, a bulbous nose, and a mouth that seemed perpetually set in a grimace completed the look.

“What ye starin' at?” he growled.

“Aren't you too short to be Myrian?” Siiri asked cheekily.

“So what?!”

“Well, you said you don't teach runts... who taught you?”

A rumble like that of rocks falling from a hillside escaped Baba's throat. He took a swipe at Siiri's head but the girl dodged him nimbly. Frustrated, the short man crossed his arms across his chest and settled at glaring at her.

“Ye want to learn or not?”

Siiri nodded eagerly. She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled from her lips. This was going easier than she thought!

“Good!” Baba pointed at a tree stump with a hatchet atop it. A pile of wood sat beside it. “Go chop me wood, an' when yer done, go catch me one of 'em chicken's flappin' about, kill it an' roast it. Bring it inside when it's cooked.”

With that Baba turned around, went inside his hut and slammed door.

“I don't know how to cook!” Siiri called at him.

“Learn!”

[Siiri]

Siiri approached the tree stump, muttering about the laziness of men and the crankiness of old people. Hands on her hips like an imperious matriarch, she stared down at the task Baba had given her. The wood stacked to the side were from different trees, but they were not birch or fir, the usual type used as firewood. The girl recognized mahogany among the pile but could not identify the rest. There were at least three other more types in it. Siiri wasn't sure what Baba had in mind for these. But they were cut in short but thick logs and she thought she'd had have to chop them lengthwise into four pieces for them to be more manageable.

Grabbing the handle of the hatchet, a fine carved piece of work, Siiri tugged forcefully but the blade was buried quite deep into the chopping block and would not budge. She peered at the axehead, taking note that it was made from iron, heavy but quite rusty. It's obviously seen many seasons of use and had been left exposed to the elements. Why anyone would let such a precious material as metal deteriorate to such a point, she had no idea.

“Stupid...lazy...loris!” the girl muttered, glancing at the dilapidated hut as she aimed her words at its occupant. Spitting on both her palms, she braced one foot on the chopping block and grabbed at the hatchet's handle once more, tugging mightily. For several seconds, nothing happened. Siiri tugged even harder. The axehead then popped up so suddenly that its momentum upended the girl, toppling her backwards and causing her to land on her rear. She thought she heard laughter coming from the hut. Or maybe it was the wind. Whatever it was, she ignored it.

With the hatchet now free, Siiri went about the task efficiently so familiar was she with it, having done it hundreds of times at home as a chore and, sometimes, as punishment set by her mother when she failed to top her class in weapons or unarmed fighting. Taking one of each type of wood, she chopped each into four pieces, judging which wood was lightest and chopped easiest. Those, she tackled first, working hard and fast.

By midmorning, she had finished all of the first type of wood and had been working halfway through the second. She paused for a break, taking a long pull from her waterskin. As if on cue, a hen popped into sight, fluttering down from Baba's hut, reminding her of the second part of the task the man had set on her. The chicken eyed her. It looked as if it was almost taunting her. "What are you waiting for?” its beady eyes seemed to say.

“Bum,” Siiri spat at the direction of the hut once more. Carefully corking the waterskin, the girl set it to the ground as she pulled out both her daggers. The chicken had not moved from its spot, its eye still on her. It looked fat and ready for the slaughter.

“I'm giving you one chance to run, meat,” she declared at it as she cocked one arm back to hurl the dagger.

Cluck, cluck cluck. The chicken did not move, it just continued staring at her.

“You asked for it.”

Siiri flung the dagger at it, the projectile spinning end over end unerringly at the creature. It would be a clean shot, and with minimal effort at catching the thing. She'd be back to chopping wood once it's been set on a spit and roasting over a fire. Easy as pie. The creature stepped to the side at the last possible moment however, the dagger missing it by a hair's breadth. It flapped its wings for a bit at the disturbance before resuming its stare at the girl.

Siiri's jaw dropped. “What the..?”

The chicken just stared at her.

[Siiri]

Suddenly, more than anything, Siiri wanted to rip the chicken apart with her bare hands. Its continuous stare was like a challenge, as if goading her to attack. It was just like the stares some of the older boys would give her when they were teasing her sister, as if saying, “Try and fight us, we’re bigger than you.” And indeed she would fight them, to uphold her sister’s honor if nothing else. But mostly she just wanted to beat their faces in. More often than not she would lose, considering that those boys would gang up on her. Siiri was a scrapper - none of them would come out unscathed – but being at least four years older than her, and thus bigger, meant she would not prevail.

This time, however, her antagonist was the smaller of them. She grinned wickedly, brandishing her remaining knife.

“I’m going to enjoy roasting you,” she promised malevolently.

Siiri stalked forward, dagger held in an underhand grip just as she had been taught, ready to stab downwards. The chicken did not move from its spot until she was about two feet away. The girl lunged at it to cover the remaining steps, thrusting her dagger at it, but the chicken wheeled about and ran a short distance away, its wings flapping wildly. Frustrated, Siiri gave chase, murder in her eyes. Even if no one's watching (she hoped), she couldn't let this creature embarrass her like this! She took off after it, each step bringing her nearer the antagonist.

But chicken was a resilient little creature, managing to scramble just out of Siiri's reach whenever she tried to make a swipe at it. It led her to a wild chase all around the open area. They ran in circles, around the hut, back to the tree stump and the piles of wood, and then back around the hut. But Siiri's endurance and her long strides won out eventually, and she was able to grab it and trap its legs between her fingers. The chicken struggled to escape, flapping its wings once more and trilled loud enough for the girl to wince. She held on tight to it however, and socked it on the side of the head for all the trouble it gave her. The creature flopped, stunned.

Before it could recover, Siiri whispered a short prayer to Myri for her “victory” and then immediately chopped off the creature’s head. As blood sprayed all over her, she belatedly realized that she had brought no container of any sort to drain the blood in. The girl swore, a fierce oath that associated someone’s mother to a serpent, one she had overheard from one of the warriors of her tribe after the man lost in a game of bones. Her own mother would have given her a good drubbing if she heard her say such a thing.

Left with no choice, lest she put the precious liquid to waste, Siiri guzzled down the bird’s blood. The headless creature still struggled in its death throes and the girl was forced to hold its open neck like a hose to direct the spurting liquid in her mouth. Her entire front was a dark red mess once the blood flow had petered to a slow drip. She hoped Old Man Baba had a well nearby or she would start hating on the stupid tasks he had set upon her.

[Siiri]

Siiri stuck the chicken's severed head on a stick thrust it into the ground to serve as warning to all the other fowls clucking and pecking about. They did not seem to mind her or her grisly trophy but they did not wander near her either. That left her in peace to pluck the chicken clean of its feathers, stuffing them in her bag to give to her elder sister who liked to design clothes and headdresses with them. That task was easier than the next though, for the girl did not know what to do with the bare chicken. She cleaved it open with a dagger and pulled out its guts, giving the uncleaned organs to a lazying cat, and then just spitted it on a large stick and set it above a small fire to roast.

“If he's expecting any flavor from that, then he better get himself a cook,” she muttered darkly. She was a bloody mess after the slaughter and subsequent preparation of the chicken and the sticky feeling the dried blood left on her skin annoyed her. Standing up, the girl walked about, exploring the immediate area for a well, or a bucket of water – even just a muddy puddle to wet her kerchief with, if that would let her wash off the stickiness. She found a well at the back of Baba's house. Beside it was a coil of rope, frayed and moldy from being exposed to the elements, and a bucket half-filled with stagnant water. Bugs skimmed an swum above and below its surface. A winch, set atop the well, was fashioned from bone, finely carved yet looked as if it had not seen much use. Siiri rolled her eyes at the sight.

“Why are you such a bum, old man?” she shouted at the direction of the house.

“Quit ditherin' about an' get yer work done, lass!” came the gravelly retort.

The girl rolled her eyes once more, heaving an exasperated sigh. “How do you even live down here when you can't get water?”

“I make annoyin' kids like ye do the work fer me!” Baba returned from somewhere inside his hut. It was followed by a horrendous cackle, shortly interrupted by a phlegmy cough. “Bah! Get ye done with yer work or Ol' Baba ain't teachin' ye squat!”

“Bum,” Siiri muttered, sticking her tongue out. The taunt remained unanswered as Baba did not bother coming out the back door or peeking at her from one of his windows. Left with no choice, not if she wanted to get herself clean, Siiri dumped the water from the bucket over several pepper plants and tied its handle to one end of the rope. The other end she tied to the winch. As she was about to unwind the rope, a pair of bulbous eyes looked up at her from the space between its coils. Siiri stared back at the toad, the ends of her lips curling up into a twisted smile.

“Well, hello there, ugly,” she said as she stooped to pick up the slimy creature. It tried to wiggle free but like what she did with the chicken, Siiri held on to its legs tightly, not letting go even when the scared hopper relieved itself on her hand. “And just for that, you'll be sleeping in Habin's trousers tonight!”

The girl couldn't contain her giggles as she made a makeshift back from her kerchief and ditching the toad inside. She could already imagine the reaction of her older brother when she leaves the slimy thing in his bed later in the evening. That would serve him right for skipping his chores and making her do it!

Siiri was still giggling even after she had cleaned herself up and gone back to check on her roast.

[Siiri]

She found the stray cat she had fed earlier longingly staring up at the slowly roasting chicken. The small feline could not do anything else as the fire Siiri had lit kept it away from its intended target. The girl walked up beside it, speaking as if to another Myrian.

“Sorry kitty, Bummy Baba over there.” She jerked at thumb at the hut behind her, shaking her head in mock sadness. “Best to learn how to hunt food for yourself rather than depend on others, or you might grow fat and useless in your old age.” She said the last part loudly, aimed at the man she came to learn from. She thought she heard faint grumbling from the house but she could not make out any words. She rolled her eyes then moved to nudge the stray away from the fire with a slippered foot.

“Don’t touch that or you’ll end up just like it, Navre’s chosen or not. This is my ticket to learn Male…” Siiri paused, realizing she forgot the actual term of the art she came there to learn. What was it called again? Maledition? Malecation? The girl shrugged, not caring either way. The important part was learning whatever Baba would teach. But first she had to fulfill all of the old man’s tasks for him to agree to teach her. She turned the roast over so that what was previously the top part was now directly above the flame. Chicken fat dripped on the fire, giving out sizzling pops as it came into contact with the embers. The sound frightened the cat, causing it to draw back in alarm before slinking away to settle on gnawing on the chicken head Siiri had left on the ground.

For her part, Siiri returned to the woodcutter’s stump and continued chopping more wood. Occasionally, she would stop to turn an uncooked side of the roast to the fire before resuming her wood-chopping. She did her best to keep the split pieces relatively even, making it a challenge for herself to chop them that way. Despite her mutterings about it, the task was not a big deal for, for such were often assigned to her as chores at home, to build up her muscles. More often than not, her older brother would dump his share of the work on her, leaving her to do double the work with half the time needed to complete it. She never failed to finish on time however, for the alternative would be to get a scolding, or worse, a caning, if she arrived late for afternoon class.

Eventually, Siiri pulled the roast out of the fire, deeming it cooked (one side was slightly burnt when she was too slow in turning it away from the flame). She marched up Baba’s hut, the spitted roast held forward like a weapon as if she was about to have a fencing match, and rapped on the door loudly.

“Your lordship’s meal is ready!”

The door opened a few seconds later, a Baba’s frowning face greeting Siiri’s irreverently smiling one. “Shut yer mouth an’ get that over there,” the stumpy Myrian rumbled, jerking his thumb at the wicker table in the middle of the room. “Lordship, lordship… bah!” Baba stomped off and propped himself on a chair by the table and waited expectantly for his meal.

The inside of the house was a mess, wood chips and bone shavings littered the floor. In their midst could be found unfinished carvings of different creatures, some recognizable, others not so much. Siiri shrugged at the clutter and just followed the man, gingerly placing the roasted chicken on a waiting plate. Not waiting to be invited to join in, she dragged a chair forward and sat opposite Baba. Her eyes never left the roast, which was being devoured by the dour little man before her.

“No flavor... meat's still uncooked on the inside... overburned one o' the legs, an'...” Baba listed off, blowing air off his mouth at random intervals as he chomped the still-hot meat. He finally noticed the girl staring at the roast in his hands. “What in Myri's name are ye lookin' at?” he growled.

“Aren't you going to share that? It's big enough for the both of us.”

“THIS BE MY MEAL!” Baba thundered.

“Well, I cooked it!” Siiri retorted indignantly.

“'Cause I telled ye to! Price o' wanting to learn!” Baba cackled before taking another bite off the roasted chicken. He made a show of chewing, exaggerating his movement as if to taunt the girl.

Siiri crossed her armed and pouted, upset at what she thought was unfair treatment from the elder Myrian. She was determined to grouse the whole time but she was hungry from all the work she had done, despite guzzling down the chicken’s blood earlier. The need to eat eventually won out against her bad mood. Giving up on the roast, she pulled out a cornmeal flatbread from her pack. Wrapped in banana leaves, it gave off a sweet smell that pervaded the room and attracted the attention of the masticating Baba. Peeling off the wrapping at one corner, Siiri tore off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth. It was crunchy and sticky sweet on the outside, with nuts and cinnamon sprinkled on top, and soft and chewy on the inside – prepared to perfection by her sister, Tala.

“At least this one’s made by someone who knows how to cook,” she mumbled as if talking to herself. “Roast probably taste like my feet after I finish cleaning the tiger pens…” She tore off another piece.

Baba’s face crumpled at the comment. The roast was already bland in the first place, prepared as it was by someone who knew nothing about cooking, and its faint flavoring coming only from its fat and the blood in its veins. Needless to say, the grizzled Myrian imagined eating cat spoor at the girl’s words. The flatbread looked mighty fine to him now and he stared at it then at Siiri, who continued pinching off pieces of her food to toss in her mouth. It was obvious she was pointedly ignoring him.

“Fine!” Baba exploded “I’ll trade ye half me chicken if ye give me half yer bread!”

“You mean half of my chicken. I cooked that.”

“It’s me own chicken! From me own yard!”

“You’d be eating its feathers right now if I didn’t cook it…”

Baba turned a deep red and seemed about to throttle the girl. Instead, he said, through gritted teeth and in a voice laced with false politeness, “Yer chicken then, princess. Can Ol’ Baba have half o’ it now?”

“And you'll teach me without any more chores after we eat?”

“Aye, aye! Just gimme me share o' the bread!”

Siiri pumped both her fists in the air in elation, before pulling out one of her daggers to cut the flatbread in half, handing the untouched part to Baba. For his part, the elder Myrian tore the roasted chicken in the middle, trying his best to divide it evenly between them. His portion still came off bigger than Siiri's, though the girl didn't seem to mind as she attacked the still-warm meat with relish, not minding the lack of flavor. The two ate in silence, Siiri picking her share of the roast clean down to the bones, and Baba enjoying the taste of the flatbread more than he cared to admit. With her belly full, Siiri was in a good enough mood to take two bowls fashioned from coconut shells and fill them with water from the well outside. Both gave a satisfied belch at the end of it all, each one surprising the other before chuckling together.

“Ahh, cinnamon,” Baba sighed in contentment. “Ye be me favorite..”

From the state of his gut, Siiri thought everything edible was his favorite. But she did not give voice to this, feeling that she was already on the man's good side and didn't want to antagonize him anymore. “So what now?” she asked. “You promised you'd teach me.”

“Aye. Get ye one block o' the wood ye chopped first. Get pine, if ye can tell which one that is.”

Siiri did as she was told, almost running outside in her excitement. This was it! She was finally going to learn Malediction from the man. Carvings of power... maybe she ccould apply it on her other weapons. But why was she getting wood for him? Wasn't the art applied on bone? Siiri shrugged, not really knowing what Baba intended for the wood. Perhaps it was for some sort of ritual he needed to perform before teaching her. It didn't really matter as long as he taught her. Unsure which wood was pine, the girl took the topmost block from the wood pile. It was cream colored and rather light.

She returned inside moments later. Baba had cleared the leavings of their meal and had lain various tools on the open area. They were made of metal, a rare material in their part of the world. Great care had been given to their edges, and it was obvious to Siiri that these were the old man's personal tools. Some were so thin and flimsy they looked almost fragile. She hoped she wouldn't somehow break them. Handing Baba the block of wood, she took her seat on the stool once more and waited for his next instructions.

[Siiri]

Baba took the block of wood with a grunt. “Huh. Basswood. Prob’ly for the best.” He eyed the item critically, looking at it from every angle like a warrior would inspect a blade before purchasing it. The item found its way in front of Siiri as soon as he was done, as well as other piece of wood: a crude carving of some sort of canine creature sitting on it haunches, its snout straight up and howling in the air. Detailing was sparse but one could immediately tell what it was from its shape. The young girl looked at it quizzically.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“Carve. Ye have yer wood. I want it lookin' like th'ther one. Mess up an' ye can always get more outside.” Baba strode off to the direction of his room.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Siiri cut in before the man could take another step. She was confused. He was supposed to teach her about Malediction! What did carving have to do with it? She didn't know anything about it! “You said you would teach me!”

She expected another explosion from the rotund Myrian, perhaps another argument. She could have handled that. She was prepared for that. But she was met with a controlled and serious tone instead. Baba turned his head and looked at her once.

“That I am, lass. Real lesson starts now. Bring me it when yer done.”

And then he was in his room, the door closing behind him.

[Siiri]

Siiri stared at the closed door for a long while, a frown creasing her forehead. It was a single piece of wood, thick and sturdy, probably oak or some other high grade wood – she could never really tell which was which when it came down to it. There was a low relief on it depicting a battle scene where a party of Myrian warriors were taking down a gigantic lizard-like creature – a relative of the crocodile perhaps – one Siiri had never seen before. But the level of detail of the work was stunning: the girl could distinguish the features of individual Myrians even from where she sat. Most prominent and glaringly obvious among them, with her Dira-gifted weapon and great stature, was Myri herself. She was facing down the beast while the other warriors swarmed all around it. Was this a real life event in the past or artistic license on the part of Baba? She resolved to ask him when she was done with her new task.

Her new task.

Siiri shifted her attention from the door to the block of wood before her and the crude carving of the dog/wolf creature. She had no idea how to even begin carving, let alone turning her wood to a shape resembling the crude sculpture. At least the tools necessary to begin her task was all set before her. She just had to figure out which one to actually use. She looked over the items. There were various picks and gougers, files and rasps. A small wooden mallet sat to one side and a sharp metal chisel on the other. That seemed like a good tool to use. Didn't the sculptors use that to shape stone into life-sized statues in the temple?

The girl picked up the implement, testing its weight in her hands and gauging its edge against her thumb. It didn't split her skin but it seemed sharp enough to go through wood by itself. Though she thought to use the mallet for carving as well, just to make sure. Just like those sculptors in the temple!

Setting the chisel's wedge on top of the block of wood to begin carving the head of her wolf figurine, and angling it just so to chip off the part she didn't need, Siiri gave the butt end of the handle of the chisel a good whack with the mallet.

A large part of the wood was sheared clean off from the block, ruining it entirely for carving.

Siiri's lips grew thin in annoyance as she studied the result of that one blow. She probably put in too much strength on it. Running outside, she took another piece of wood to try again, ditching the previous pieces onto the already littered floor.

[Siiri]

Two bells had passed and Siiri still worked on imitating the carving template Baba had given her. She had gone through several pieces of wood already, some of them different from the original material she worked with and thus had different levels of resistance against the tools she used on them. Baba’s snoring could be heard emanating from his room midway through her work but not once did she break her attention away from what she was doing, even though her progress now showed no marked difference from when she started. She could still not shape the wood anywhere near the figurine Baba left her to base her work with. In fact, she had already taken a bundle of wood from the outside as a supply source so that she wouldn’t have to leave her seat whenever she messed up. And she messed up a lot.

Still, she was learning bit by bit how to use each of the instruments set before her as she experimented with them to see what they could do. She took Baba’s words to heart, taking the carving lesson seriously as she felt it was a necessary step in mastering what he would be teaching her eventually. Like with all things she took an interest in, Siiri poured her whole self into learning the new skill. It was actually fun, she thought, to beat on a piece of wood in an attempt to give it a more attractive shape. There was something cathartic about it.

The door to Baba’s room opened after another bell, revealing a much more disheveled figure of the stumpy Myrian. Parts of his hair were plastered flat on his face and the sands of sleep gummed the corner of one of his eyes closed. Drool seemed to have dried on his beard as well. Stretching his burly arms out, the man let out a great big yawn. Siiri thought she heard his jawbone pop.

Refreshed, Baba eyed the mess the girl made, then, shrugging, turned to check her progress so far. “Let’s see us what ye made there, runt,” he growled.

“Of course, your highness,” the girl said in mock sweetness.

She still handed him the result of her latest efforts however. She had been able to produce the head part of the wolf figurine, or a close enough copy of it in the shape of a triangle, but the rest was still a block of wood. She had been testing with the file to shape off the ears and snout but not much else. Baba grunted as he took the object.

“Well, we’ve learned that ye’ve learned absolutely nothing so far.”

“Like you taught me anything,” Siiri mumbled defensively.

Baba apparently heard her but waved the comment away with a, “Bah!” He tossed the object aside (to the girl’s indignant protests) then took his own original figurine and dropped it in Siiri’s hands. “Pay attention, this be how ye carve,” he ordered her. “Close yer eyes an’ take that chunk o’ wood. Feel it in yer hands. Let yer fingertips be yer eyes. Build it in yer mind with yer touch rather than yer sight…”

Despite her hurt feelings for his dismissal of her hard work, Siiri still obliged. She took the object in her hands, running her fingers across its features, feeling every angle and curve its crafter had carved upon it. Slowly, little by little, part by part, Siiri was able to construct an image of the figurine in her mind.

“Touch gives ye a connection with the object much more than what ye can every see with yer eyes. Ye make it part o’ ye that way,” Baba continued to explain.

Siiri hated to admit it, but Baba knew what he was talking about. She felt that he’s taught the same thing – in the same say – to others before. The shape of the object was harder to forget now that two different senses had perceived them in their own different ways.

“Ye do the same way with the bones ye be carvin’ for Malediction. Ye feel it first, ye do, findin’ that one perfect spot where ye be putting yer circle. It takes time, but when ye find it, it makes the mark that more effective, that more powerful. Ye build a connection with the object. Make it part o’ ye, part o’ yer soul.

“As ye give part o’ yerself when ye make it.”

Siiri opened her eyes, questions in them from Baba’s words. “Why didn’t you teach that Maledictum thing to me in the first place then. Wouldn’t have had to waste three bells carving on wood!”

“’Cause ye don’t know squat about it yet, that’s why!” Baba bellowed, his face turning beet red. “There’s no shortcuts here, girl, no easy learnin’s. Ye want to learn this, ye give it yer all, not some half-assed attempt at makin’ it work for ye! How much ye give the piece ye Maledict, that’s as much as it gives ye, don’t ye forget that!”

Siiri held up her hands. “Alright, just asking!” The man sure was passionate about his art, that’s for sure, she thought. She gave back the figurine, feeling that she’s had enough a feel of it to be able to carve its shape better. “Now what?”

“Now ye go home. I don’t doubt ye got other things ye need to be doin’ as an annoying little girl ye are. And ye’ll come back here, everyday, doin’ the same things until I tell ye yer fit enough to carve on bone an’ make yer circles.”