1 - The Dream

He was surrounded again, this time by even more elite guards. Hikaru did not show the slightest bit of concern, but instead laughed darkly and narrowed his silver eyes. "You're in for a treat before you die, since you will now see first-hand why they call me the Silent Wind of Doom!" He once more whirled and slashed, his swordplay quick and graceful as an intricate dance. A dance of death. At the sound of a female voice, however, the  remaining guards stopped and drew back to allow their mistress through.

"Hm. For a so-called Silent Wind, you sure do talk a lot."

The head pirate-- the High Admiral! She was truly as fearsome and horrible a creature as the most gruesome nighttime tales had made her out to be. But he was no longer a child, and this nightmare-made-flesh was not even enough to give him pause.

Their swords met, and just as quickly separated and met again. She was too fast for him to actually land a blow, blocking his every strike. But that didn't matter. He knew his chance would come. Then, he saw it: in a split second, an opening, a vulnerability. He lunged, knowing that with this, he would finally vanquish this evil blight upon the land of Eme.

At the last moment, however, she twisted away and brought her sword back up behind her with a flick, disarming Hikaru and sending his blade skidding off across the grass. The finish of her turn brought her a step behind him, and with a quick blow to his shoulder he was sent off-balance over her leg. Finding himself on the ground, he sighed as a black-shoed foot came to rest on his chest.

"You really shouldn't narrate. It gives away a bit of your advantage. Though I'd still be able to read you like an open book; you're too obvious with what attack you're about to make." His older sister, Amaya, removed her foot and stepped back to survey his prone form, shaking a lock of hair out of her eyes. "At least you fell properly, this time."

He peered up at her. "You said you wouldn't practice with me."

"I did. But you weren't."

Hikaru flushed slightly. "All right, so maybe it wasn't exactly the way I was supposed to. But the forms are just so boring!"

"I admit, you do have a flair for the creative. I've never been referred to as a 'nightmare made flesh' before." Amaya assessed the damage; several bushes and a sapling had bravely suffered casualties for the sake of her brother's ultimate duel.  

"Probably 'cause you've never listened close enough," he muttered, smoothing mussed hair back into his ponytail.

She rolled turquoise eyes but ignored him. "You've still a ways to go to beat your big sister, you know. I suggest you just give up now, pursue something else. Ever think of the scholars' priesthood?"

He stuck his tongue out. "What, scared of the competition, Mai?"

She gently tapped him on the top of his head with the flat of her practice sword. "Yes. Anyone who manages to lose to me in two minutes is definitely worth careful watch." She bowed deeply, feigning utmost respect, but still offering a hand to help him up. "You are clearly a formidable opponent, my most honored little brother."

He took the proffered hand and got to his feet again. Brushing off his slacks, he said lightly, "If I could read people, I'd probably pick up on that sarcasm."

"That you would. Now, be a good little elite-assassin-to-be, and clean up out here before coming in for breakfast, all right?"

"And after breakfast, promise to teach me how to kill someone with a glare? Unless that's a girl thing. Then I just don't want to know."

"I'll teach you, but only if you behave at lessons today."

"Er. . . huh. Know if the scholars' temple has any openings?"

She laughed, shaking her head as she went inside, and the door swung closed and gently clicked behind her.

§

Amaya sighed, absently brushing an errant strand of lavender hair behind her ear as she tried to remember the obscure point of history that her teacher was asking her. She wished it wasn't spring; she always had difficulty concentrating when the weather was so nice. Focus, she told herself. "Um.. none?"

"No," her teacher reprimanded. "Yaweya had four brothers, who all formed their own kingdoms. You should know this, Amaya."

"But the myths and histories all contradict each other!" Amaya exclaimed, knowing she wouldn't win this discussion, but still unable to refrain from starting it regardless. "Yaweya supposedly was a normal mortal woman who had four brothers with, coincidentally, the very same ambition that she did. While at the same time, she's supposed to have come from blood spilled by the Warrior. . ."

High Priest Isamu smiled. "The point isn't understanding. It's enough that She understands."

"Then it shouldn't matter if I remember my history or not," she countered.

"No," the elderly man who served as her private instructor replied firmly. "You didn't answer a single question properly. You still get extra polishing duties."

"How will that help me with my history?" Amaya asked, sullenly. Her brother wouldn't let her live it down, especially after she had just been made to beat the tapestries only a few days ago. Hikaru, slightly withdrawn and quiet to those who didn't know him well, simply had a head for the myths and genealogies that Amaya could never hope to match. It wasn't her fault that a blade felt more at home in her hand than a history scroll.

Isamu chuckled. "You are a warrior clearly touched by the hand of the Goddess. Unfortunately, you are also clearly touched by her temper. Polishing will help you remember that one of these traits is to be developed more than the other." He stood slowly, brushing a hand over his long green robes as he did so; though he was very old, the grace of the Warrior was still with him and was evident in his every stately motion. "That is why you study history, and that is why you polish."

Amaya sighed and stood as well. "Tell me the truth. The histories all don't make sense because they're an exercise in forming patience, aren't they? That's really what I'm supposed to be learning."

The High Priest simply smiled and said, "You might want to get started on that polishing," before he walked away.

§

How can one temple have so much cursed metal in it? Amaya thought, frowning as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge on a censer. It was common practice in most temples to assign punishments for lack of effort or accuracy in lessons, partially to cut down on the cost of temple upkeep, and partially to teach the value of hard work and study to dedicates. She always despised the idea, mostly because it was a rare occasion that she was not found wanting in her responses and assigned tending one of the weapons sheds, scrubbing the marble floors, organizing one of the scroll closets, or one of a hundred other menial tasks that kept a large temple running. After festivals or extended breaks, before students had gotten back into the habit of proper study, there were often quite a few who were assigned polishing duty. Their numbers usually dwindled, especially as rank testing neared, and Amaya was the only one to remain that late afternoon.

She surveyed the numerous lamps and decorations adorning the temple walls and sighed. This would take a while.

Amaya heard a groan from the door of the temple and looked up to see Hikaru leaning against a column. "Seriously, is it so much to ask that you not be made to stay after for once?" he asked, walking towards her.

"You know," Amaya said, returning to the smudge with a renewed scowl, "you could use the extra practice time to work on your forms. Unless there aren't enough imaginary opponents out there."

"Oh, there are," he said seriously. "I just didn't want to deprive you of my company. Besides, Priestess Mayumi would be really disappointed if I actually improved at sparring. Yelling at me makes her so happy. I can tell."

"Maybe I should try it sometime," she grumbled.

Her brother waved a polishing cloth as he leaned against the wall next to her. "Well, fine then, I won't help polish."

Amaya was pleasantly surprised, but still said, "Fair enough. You'd probably end up mistaking High Priest Isamu for a dragon, or something."

"Come on. Dragons don't exist," he scoffed. "Giant blue owls, though, those are a different story. They're a very real threat."

"Are you sure you want to help?" Amaya asked, more seriously. "You don't have to."

"Yeah, I know," Hikaru replied. "But if I do help you out with this, then you'll owe me one." He grinned.

She sighed and said, "Well, in that case, I think I'd rather do it myself." Amaya playfully flicked at his head with her polishing cloth, and he dodged with a laugh.

"Besides," he added, his attention on another brass censer. "Tonight's your night to make dinner. I'd prefer not to die of hunger before you're done."

The polishing went much more quickly with someone else to share the work, and conversation-- even if it was teasing-- kept the tedium of the chore from getting too overwhelming. It was early evening by the time they finished and had one of the priests check that their work was done properly. The priest raised a brow at seeing Hikaru-- while he might be assigned extra sparring practice, he never was given cleaning duty-- but still deemed the polishing acceptable, and sent the siblings on their way.

Amaya and Hikaru lived in a small house some distance away. It was far enough from the main village of Okome's Hollow that they rarely had visitors or saw their neighbors, but close enough to the temple that it was within walking distance each day. The two had lived on their own ever since Hikaru's second year-- when the entire Matsuo residence burned to the ground in an intense blaze. The siblings had miraculously survived, but lost everything in the fire. . . including their parents. That was when the rumors started: superstitious claims that the conflagration was unnatural, and that it had been set to cover up the murder of the elder Matsuos. If that was the case, the more rational of the village argued, how was it that the children were unharmed? Suspicion was cast on the children, particularly quiet Hikaru with his disconcerting silver eyes. No one openly said it, of course, but even children couldn't fail to pick up on such a pervasive feeling of mistrust.

A few advocated separating the siblings and sending them to foster with a farm or another village family, but seven-year-old Amaya was fiercely protective of her little brother. The siblings had already proven themselves precocious, walking and talking long before other village children mastered crawling, and no one questioned the children's ability to take care of each other-- especially if questioning meant that the strange siblings would be close by in the village. A small house and furnishings were donated by villagers, as well as meals and supplies. As Amaya knew that the villagers' generosity would peter out, she apprenticed herself and Hikaru to the nearby Temple of the Mother's Blade. The siblings did well enough for themselves, Amaya mused as they finished eating; the temple provided whatever they could not, and they were comfortable enough.

"All right," she said, as the last plates were cleaned and put away. "Off to bed with you."

Hikaru smiled. "As long as you don't stay up too late worrying." Amaya flapped a hand at him.

§

She was surrounded by flames and curling smoke, all tinted a deep crimson. Amaya squinted through the red gloom, and noticed a tiny, pale cerise glow, gradually getting brighter, growing until it was almost twice as big as she was. It had no shape, but it suggested a woman, or a dragon, or maybe a demon-- no, not the last. Never the last.

Amaya felt a voice rise up from inside her. It reverberated throughout her body, and echoed in her mind. It was terrible, and soothing, and frightening-- it contained the howling of wolves and the hush of a mother's lullaby. It was fire and rage and love, and thoroughly feminine.

:Amaya,: said the voice. :My daughter.:

Amaya dropped to her knees, driven by reverence and the sheer overwhelming quality of the voice.

:Fear me not; but go,: the voice said. :Go and fight.:

"Fight what?" Amaya asked. "I don't understand. . ."

:Your enemy is right before you,: the voice replied. The woman-light gestured: red mist coalesced and began to form a figure, a face. Before Amaya could discern any details, or even the gender of what she assumed was a person, the crimson smoke wavered and dispersed, and the light flickered. The light seemed to gather itself for a final admonition, even as the voice and the light started to fade. o not disappoint me.:

Amaya suddenly awoke, and sat straight up in her bed, shivering. She passed a slightly trembling hand over her brow to find it beaded with cold sweat. Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at the red amulet that was laying on the nightstand next to her, the moonlight glinting off its polished face. The flames from her dream were as blood-red as the stone in its golden setting.

§

The next morning, Amaya headed to the Temple of the Mother's Blade with Hikaru for their lessons, as usual. Hikaru, normally outgoing with her, dragged his feet on the road and was quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" Amaya asked. "You seem a little out-of-sorts."

Her younger brother sighed. "I'm fine, I guess. I just had a weird dream last night."

Amaya was suddenly reminded of her own dream. . . what if her brother had been told something similar? "Well," she said at last, "the High Priest is good at interpreting dreams. Maybe you could ask him, once we get to the temple." Hikaru nodded.

While Okome's Hollow was a middling-sized village, the Temple of the Mother's Blade was well-respected throughout the Jade Kingdom and even the rest of Eme. There was always a steady stream of those training to dedicate themselves to the Goddess. High Priest Isamu was in charge of one of the few temples that not only offered lessons in both combat and education to anyone, but also did it well; the temple's doors remained open for practice or continual instruction. Thus, not only the village farmers' children and young adults studied here, but so did the children of men and women of ranking estates from as far away as the Shining Sea.

Once at the temple, the two split up for their lessons. Amaya headed to the small outdoor altar to the Warrior and paid her respects to the tiny statue, lighting a stick of incense and murmuring a short prayer. She then joined the rest of the young adults wearing white tops and loose-fitting pants, stretching and chatting on the grass of the practice green. Any devotees, or those studying to become warriors of the Goddess, of the temple were marked by the gold trim on their top and the greater variety in their outfits. The younger children, Hikaru included, wore blue; child devotees were easily recognized due to their tunics' silver trim. Dedicates, or those training to become warrior-priests and priestesses, had wider bands of dark green trim on both their tops and the hems of their pants.

For some reason, Amaya couldn't concentrate on anything that day. The others teased her for actually being able to land blows when paired with her for sparring; normally, her form was near-perfect. Besides her dream, though, other thoughts occupied her attention. If she passed her rank tests this year, she would be forced to decide whether to continue as just a devotee, or begin to train as a dedicate, and then as an initiate-- the first real, irrevocable step towards becoming a priestess. She was, frankly, uncertain as to which she would choose. She had no natural inclination to using prayer magic, but she wasn't sure what she would or even could do if she didn't become a priestess. Amaya supposed that she could become a sword tutor or even a bodyguard, but that would require moving around; she didn't want to force Hikaru to fend for himself while she was absent for months.

There was also the nagging feeling that she was devout only in actions and habits, and that for all the ceremony and ritual, she wasn't quite sure what she believed in. Even now, she wasn't sure whether her dream was an actual vision or if it was simply the product of an increasingly frustrated spirit continually begging for a divine sign, some sort of proof, anything. Since it was said that one could only learn and master prayer magic with a heart and spirit fully devoted to the god or goddess of that domain, Amaya wasn't certain that she would be able to form even the simplest shielding spell when plagued by doubt that her deity even existed, let alone was active and present in the hearts of Her people.

Finally, she saw High Priest Isamu during a break in lessons and cornered him. Enough obsessing about the future, she told herself sternly. Perhaps his interpretation of her dream would shed some light on her situation. Or perhaps she wouldn't manage to scrape past history this year, and the point would be moot.

Isamu listened patiently as she described the dream. A troubled frown creased his brow, and he stood in thought for almost a minute before he shook his head with a sigh. "So soon?" he murmured softly, finally breaking out of his reverie long enough to beckon Amaya to follow him. He brought her to his study, a small and austere but cozy room with a wide window casting light onto a writing desk; several shelves held his own scrolls of notes. The High Priest gestured to one of several chairs in the corner, though Amaya waited to sit until after Isamu did so.

He sighed again and passed his fingertips over his brow, holding his forehead for a moment before dropping his hand into his lap. "Amaya," he said, "I am going to tell you a story that very, very few know, even among the highest priests of our order, or that of the scholar twins, Donelia and Fenaneo. Some call it a myth, a legend, and simply dismiss it at that..." He met her eyes. "But I know better than that."

The High Priest told her a tale of the creation of Eme, the division of the gods; the discovery of the erstwhile Father's treachery, the reason why the Fallen God and the Mother slept; their elected individuals, their chosen who walked the earth. As he went on, Amaya listened with increasing unease. "These chosen, these avatars of the gods," Isamu continued, "are always people of great power. Each will touch the lives of many, most to their detriment. Wars spring in their wake, and when both avatars are present at the same time, the fate of all the lands of Eme hangs in the balance." He smiled sadly. "You have been born into quite a legacy, my child."

Amaya stared blankly at him for a moment before she realized what he was saying, finally sputtering, "You mean-- I--"

Isamu nodded. "You are the avatar of the Warrior. The figure in your dream was the Goddess herself; it was her way of showing herself to you." He frowned again and said almost to himself, "Though I am, frankly, surprised that the amulet... No matter."

Over the initial shock, questions whirled in Amaya's mind. "My amulet? What does that have to do with anything? And who am I supposed to fight?"

The High Priest started to say something, then shook his head, his mouth a grim line. He paused for a whole minute before starting again. "As you know, the Zoramerin and their windships have always been at odds with the temples of the Opal Kingdom. There has always existed a truce, of sorts; certain targets were never pursued, and the only attacks on land took place between the warrior-priests and pirate forces. While loosely affiliated, the pirate families have never acted as a single entity. However," Isamu said, "in recent years, the Zoramerin have grown more bold in their endeavors. Fewer places are safe from them, and there are whispered rumors of a united force."

He took a deep breath, then continued, "This is what your dream means: you are to lead a force of the Mother's warrior-priests against the Zoramerin, in a preemptive attack."

"What?" Amaya said, incredulous. "I'm no leader, no strategist-- I'm not even an initiate!"

The High Priest shook his head. "I know this, child. Yet the Warrior was clear in Her instruction to you."

"She wasn't clear at all!" she countered. "All She told me was 'go and fight'. She never said who." This isn't possible at all, she thought. I'm barely seventeen.

"Even those of us who have not known of your identity, all have remarked that you were clearly touched by the Goddess."

"I didn't think that actually meant anything," she persisted. "I thought it was just a compliment, or something." She added, almost to herself, "Don't I get a say in the matter?"

Isamu smiled wryly. "Most people, Amaya, do not; their destinies are fixed as stars in the firmament, as inexorable as the path of a fallen leaf swept away by a rushing stream. But you. . . ." He regarded her for a moment, then said, "You might be one of the few who do have a choice."