Blood and Bone

The Stone City

Tora lead their horses out of the village, following closely to the curvature of the Asrani wall as they entered the wasteland of cracked, dry earth that separated the city from the edge of the forest. The horse swayed uncomfortably under her, jerking occasionally so that Mhera would have to tighten her grip on the reins, but she could only be glad that there was no need to steer. Tora's horse was harnessed to hers, so that all Mhera had to do was hold on and pray she didn't fall off.

The hot afternoon sun beat down with a ferocity, and more than once she had to wipe the precipitation from her forehead with the sleeve of her new shirt. She wondered at how Tora could be surviving under her heavy skirt- until she saw the chieftain in front of her absently fold back the slitted leather. Arranged in the lining was a row of pale bone knives, some no longer than a man's finger. Mhera could barely make out the lines of minuscule runes along the blades before they disappeared from view.

While the Wan of the witch clans were unique for their prowess as leaders and warriors, once each of them assumed their role as chieftain, they were given an advantage that would set them above any other witch in the world- the power of the kanesi, talismans of a thousand runes. For a witch to carve a talisman with more than one rune was a crime punishable by death, with the exception of the Wan: with the combined abilities of their Werowan, they could carve many hundreds of runes onto any one weapon or tool, rendering it more powerful than one any other witch could dream of wielding.

 Mhera had heard of chieftains in the Southern clans flaunting their power in large, flamboyant weapons. Ashuna of the Giant's Blade, a legendary Wan of the Shorepeople, had been especially famous for her whalebone sword, which was said to have been as tall as a man, and every inch of the blade inscribed with runes for strength and grace- an ivory that could cut through stone.

Tora was known for a different reason- her talismans were simple, small, in the form of carved knives. They were deadly, it was true, and never missed their targets, but plain in comparison to what she was capable of. The power to write limitless runes would have been best used with a large weapon, with plenty of surface on which to carve. The fact that she did not use that power was what made her admirable.

Mhera's eyes bore into her bone mother's back. What need did Tora have for weapons? Was it a simple precaution, or did she fear some sort of threat?

Yet as they reached the Great Gate of Asran, Mhera's thoughts were drawn away from Tora's knives. The Gate was huge, sealed by heavy doors of copper-plated wood. Two dragons of the same metal were perched snarling at the top, glinting in the light. As they approached, a sentry barely visible at the top of the wall blew a horn, and she heard the grinding of unseen machinery as the doors were, slowly, opened.

A line of guards were waiting for them when they passed through, dressed head to toe in royal blue. One of them stepped forward- Mhera noticed the golden dragon embroidered on his chest.

"Name and purpose," he barked at Tora.

"Wan Tora, escorting Mhera daughter of Nita to the First District." The guard squinted at Mhera.

"Daughter?" he echoed. "Since when have witches been welcome in the heart of Asran?" Mhera flinched, looking to Tora for her reaction, but the chieftain's expression remained passive.

"The academy has granted me passage. And Mhera is no witch. There is stone blood in her."

"We don't like a witch mongrel any more than we like the purebred," the guard sneered. Mhera winced again, not so much stung by the insult as worried about Tora's reaction. But Tora sat still and calm.