FIRST LESSON WITH KNIVES

Knives were small and easy to hide within my belt or boot. They fit in my runty ten-year-old hand. They could split open a pig. Chop the head off a chicken. Or sink into a man’s gut. They were easy to sneak into any hall or merchant’s booth where no one would want to be caught without a weapon. Knives could save a life in a rough and tumble town like Foll Crossing. That’s why I liked them.

“You must never do anything to call his attention. Keep out of sight. Keep your head lowered,” Mother told me as I squatted in the corner of Vadik’s inner courtyard. He’d assembled his warriors for his daily training, some of which were my age. Just boys. Not men. Today was knife fighting, and my chest quivered with excitement. All of Vadik’s women had been called to attend. They’d fetch mead or tend wounds, and when practice was over, they’d serve the young warriors supper. I was expected to serve. I had served as long as I could remember. The thrall’s collar around my neck said, except for piss or shite, I had no freedom.

“Toka, are you listening?”

I glanced up at my mother. She stared at me with glossy green eyes lined with sweeping black lashes. I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in all the world. I nodded my head.

“Never talk back. Never look him straight in the eye. Never show any emotion.”

I’d heard it all before. For the most part, I obeyed. Vadik frightened me. His towering, tanned and freckled mass made me squirm. “Inga’s father wants to see her, and he is a warrior, too. Why is Vadik never pleased to see me?”

Mother’s gaze dashed downward, that conquered look that always made my belly hurt. She sighed and rearranged her skirts. “I will be busy today, my girl. I cannot keep eyes on you at all times. Do as the older women say, and be quick about your business.”

“Ja, Mother.” I had other plans, and Mother’s gentle smile caused me to pause. Rethink. But the slim,  straight line of the knife hidden beneath my tunic, cold against my skin, begged my attention. I could only learn so much on my own. The metal against my flesh sang to me. Pick me up. Jab. Slice. I will protect you.

Mother kissed the top of my shaved head, gathered her skirts in her hands and headed toward the other bed slaves gathering outside the bakehouse. The hint of honey cakes road on the trail of smoke from the stoves and my belly grumbled. I had not eaten since the tin of boiled stew the day before. Maybe I’d sneak some crumbs when the men weren’t looking.

Male thralls attended as well, erecting poles and covers, bringing cots and chairs for the boys who would be injured. Needles, threads, ripped linens, buckets of water spiked with yarrow, and honeypots were carried from the infirmary, and Vadik’s young warriors began to train. The clank of metal, the grunts and squeaks of boys in combat, chanted in my ears.

Instead of joining the others, I snuck behind a wagon wheel and slipped the knife out from underneath my dress. I’d learned to strap a belt beneath my shift so that I could hide my prize after I had snatched it from Vadik’s great hall over two moons past. It was a fine knife, with a strong whalebone handle that didn’t twist or wobble. But the blade was what had caught my fancy. It curved and shone in the firelight like a jewel. It had been dropped by a traveler convicted of cheating one of the town’s merchants, and I slipped out of the shadow and snatched it before anyone noticed. I could barely believe my good luck. Since then, I’d learned to jab and slice. I’d sharpened it with a rock until it was deadly. I’d gutted a chicken, and the blade had sliced clean through bone. But now, I was ready for more.

I peered through the weathered spokes of the wagon wheel, knees planted in dirt, the musk from sweaty, fighting boys on the wind, and laid my eyes on my Father. His blade, much longer than mine and with a wicked bend in it caught the sunlight as he held it high for his trainees to see. I wound my hand around the hilt, mimicking his grip on his knife.

“Attack the neck. Or push here, through the soft part, down to the heart,” Vadik’s voice boomed as he demonstrated. “Aim to release life’s blood through a vital organ. Don’t waste your jabs through armor. Always go for the killing blow. This close, you won’t have a second chance.”

The warrior boys paired themselves and jabbed as Vadik instructed.

I memorized each movement. I scooted back and stood up behind the cover of the cart, making sure to keep myself low so as not to be spotted. I spread my legs and bent at the knees as I’d seen Vadik do. For quickness and balance. My fingers wound tightly around the whalebone hilt, and I jabbed for an imaginary neck. My first attempt erratic, I tried again, and again, until I lost myself in the moment.

Finally, I stopped, panting for breath and smiled. The blade felt good in my palm. Solid. Strong. Level. I’d done well.

But something grabbed the back of my dress. I gasped. The rip of tattered linen sounded in my ears, and someone jerked me backward. I lost my footing, stumbling. Big hands pushed me around, and I faced Vadik. An angry red vein bulged at his forehead. His eyes hardened.

“What do we have here?” his big voice boomed in my ears.

And just then, every caution my mother ever spoke escaped my head. I stood, facing Vadik, staring at him straight in his cold, hard eyes exactly as I had been told, time and again, not to do. I gripped the knife hilt with both of my hands, trying to control the tremor worming throughout every finger.

Vadik grabbed my hand and threaded my fingers around the knife hilt and directed the tip of the blade at his face. “If you’re going to fight with a knife, hold your weapon so I can’t knock it from your grip.”

Was he helping me? His eyes remained colder than a snake’s.

I took in a short breath and held it. I squeezed the hilt.

“Tighter,” he commanded.

I gripped with all my might and waved the blade toward his hawk-like nose, though, at my short height and his massive one, I would fall a pace short of my target if I jabbed.

“Strike me.”

Strike him? Surely, he jested. Surely, he didn’t want me to slice him. I could, standing there with my death-sharpened blade held tightly in my hands… I shook my head, courage sinking to my knees. I lowered the blade a smidgen.

Vadik’s thin lips curled up on the edges. “Didn’t you listen? Hesitation is death!”

I swallowed, pausing for another tick of my heartbeat. Then I jabbed for Vadik’s thick neck, but my uncertainty was enough.

His iron-like hand wrapped around my scrawny wrist. He twisted, a slight flick for him, wincing pain for me. I squeaked but checked myself with a bite of my tongue. My fingers involuntarily unraveled. The knife fell into the dirt with a hollow thud.

Then Vadik twisted. My body twirled around as he pulled my arm behind my back. I wanted to scream. Cry out! I hissed. Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. Heat rushed off Vadik’s mass behind me as he pulled me tightly to him. He leaned down and whispered, “Stupid little pismire. You think you’re tough? I’ll show you tough.” He twisted harder, and I feared I’d hear my bone break, and I let out a squeal.

“Stop screaming. You sound like a little pig.” Vadik laughed, but not a merry, open-mouth laugh. A tight-lipped one. One that said he could care less if my arm snapped. If he hurt me. If I were his daughter. “Little pig, little pig,” he made a snorting noise. “Shall I gut you and skin you and have you for supper?”

I finally looked up through the blur of tears flooding my sight. All the young warriors had surrounded us at some point.

“A girl who wants to fight?” said one.

“That’s like a pig who wants to sit at the table,” said another.

Vadik snorted, and all the young warriors joined in with laughter.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I could barely feel their wetness through the heat growing in my cheeks and the sting of pain spreading up my arm.

“Still want to be a fighter, little piggy?” Vadik’s breath was hot against my neck. The scent of soured mead washed over me. My stomach churned as if a thousand little worms wiggled in my belly.  

“You’re hurting me.” My voice tremored.

“Indeed.” His tone was flat. Emotionless. Matter-of-fact.

“Please,” I begged. My arm burned.

And for good measure, Vadik gave one last twist, and I cried out again.

Mother came running. She held her skirts high, and they billowed as she crossed the courtyard. “Vadik!” she yelled. “Vadik, please, I beg you. Whatever she’s done, I’ll take care of it! Please!”

The brute they called my father released me, and I slumped to the ground, grasping my arm. I stared at the abandoned knife in the dirt but didn’t dare pick it up. If I scrambled fast enough, I could grab it and thrust it into his gut with all my might. My eyes flickered. Would I be quick enough? I wouldn’t be strong enough to break through all that chain mail and muscle. Vadik said to strike at the neck. But I was too short and too slow. And then he’d have me, and there wouldn’t be a single thing Mother could do to help me.

Vadik scooped up the knife with the end of his boot, flipped it into the air, caught it and stowed it in the back of his belt while I lay there, thinking, hesitating, letting my tears fall.

“Back to practice,” Vadik commanded, and all his young warriors jogged back to the courtyard with complete compliance. The grunts and yells of their hand-to-hand combat along with the clanks of metal on metal washed into my ears as if I sunk underneath the surface of a lake. All echo. All unreal. All background noise to the burn in my arm and the wetness on my cheeks.

Mother knelt. She lifted my arm. I winced. “Not broken. You’re lucky.”

Her green-eyed gaze switched between my eyes, but I merely stared into space. Mother didn’t scold me. She didn’t rant about my disobedience. She lifted me up with a gentle tug. Everything jumbled around me. The noise of the practice yard and sensations of pain sank away as Mother wrapped her mantle around me, steadied me, and guided me across the courtyard.

“You’re not excused from your work,” yelled Vadik at our backs as we approached the gates. “I’ll expect you back, but leave that little wench behind. If I catch her practicing men’s business again, I won’t be so lenient with her punishment.”

But no thoughts formed in my brain. No reaction to his crass voice. No response to his threat. Just the trembling. A quake started someplace deep down, and it seemed like it would never stop.

Later on, I’d realize that defeat was the start of me. It’s what made me, formed me. It was the burn in my belly and terror in my nights that drove me forward. Somehow, someday, somewhere I would best Vadik. No matter how many times he defeated me, there would come a day that I wouldn’t let him win, only then, I didn’t realize the full consequences of what winning against Vadik would mean.