A/N: Another chapter, way behind schedule, which was on purpose to heighten your curiosity. OK, that last part's not true. I do hope ya'll like it anyway.
The next several weeks were some of the longest of Kafka's life. Guinevere and Merlin kept her confined to Merlin's hut, though she did not have the strength to leave no matter how much she may have wanted to do so. Kafka was utterly unwilling to admit her weakness and spent a good deal of time begging to be allowed out.
The only thing that kept Kafka sane was Guinevere's kind offer to teach her the language of the Woads. In return, Kafka helped Guinevere further her grasp of Latin. By the time Kafka was at last allowed out of Merlin's hut, she could communicate effectively if not fluently in the Woad's language. By the same time, Guinevere's Latin was nearly flawless, though her accent persisted.
Merlin's medicines had worked wonders in Kafka's opinion. The gashes on her side and arm had healed well. She had kept most of the movement in her arm; she would still be able to fight with her right arm. She still walked with a limp. Her left leg was healing well, but it still gave her trouble on occasion.
As her leg healed, Kafka was allowed to make short ventures out of Merlin's hut. She became more familiar with the structure of life with the Woads. No laws governed a person's place in their society, and the only honors given a person were earned.
Kafka was most impressed by the authority Merlin clearly exercised over the rest of the Woads. He was clearly in charge without dominating his people. She asked Guinevere about the governing structure of the Woads one day as they strolled through the forest on the outskirts of the village.
"Your father seems to have a great deal of sway over your people, Guin. Is he your king?" Kafka asked.
She spoke in the Woad language, giving herself a chance to exercise and expand her rapidly growing vocabulary.
Guinevere frowned in thought. "We have no king. Merlin is our elder; that is what we call him. He is the wisest; our people trust him most. He leads us."
She glanced at Kafka, hoping her explanation had been clear enough.
"No law demands your people obey Merlin, but they find he knows what's best to do," Kafka said.
"Exactly," Guinevere said with a grin.
They paused to rest as they wandered deeper into the forest. Kafka's wounds were healing well, but she still tired easily. She had begged to be allowed out as soon as possible to begin building up her stamina again.
She continued her questioning, as she and Guinevere sat at the base of a great oak.
"Does your father's position give you authority?"
"No," Guinevere said quickly. "I command warriors, but I earned that privilege on my own merit."
"You're young to command warriors. What did you do to earn such a privilege?" Kafka asked.
Guinevere looked off into the forest as she began to relate the story. "We had ambushed a caravan of new legionnaires. The man in charge of our group had been killed almost as soon as the attack started. No one would give orders; we were being slaughtered. I called for a retreat; the others just followed my lead.
"I had only done what I thought was best. Father had taught me much about battles and fighting, and I could tell we needed to flee before we were all killed. When it came time to replace our leader, the rest of the warriors suggested me for the post. I could hardly refuse it."
Kafka nodded and rose to continue their walk.
"If you are a leader of warriors and the daughter of your people's elder, how did you find yourself in Marius's arena—with your little cousin, no less?"
It was only when Kafka had voiced her thought, that she realized how rude it sounded. She risked a sheepish look at Guinevere who was looking off into the forest. Taking Guinevere's turned away face as a sign that her question had not been well received, Kafka stuttered out an apology.
"Please forget I said that, Guin."
Guinevere turned back toward her, and Kafka could see she was chuckling. "I'm sorry, Kafka. That is almost exactly what my father said after we got back to the village. I'm not offended."
Kafka breathed a sigh of relief.
"The Roman likes his blood sport," Guinevere continued. "He's had his soldiers capture my people to fight in his arena. They had not hunted us in a very long time, though. I can only assume he was satisfied with breaking Sean."
Guinevere paused at the thought of her fellow Woad, whom Kafka had slain in Marius's arena. She shook her head and continued her story.
"It was foolish of me to take Lucan out into the forest alone, but I did. I was teaching him to track animals, and I wasn't paying attention to the forest. The Romans had laid an ambush, waiting for any Woad who came along. When they revealed themselves, there were far too many of them for me to fight while protecting Lucan. We were forced to surrender."
"Marius must have been planning for Demetrius' visit," Kafka observed.
"And you," Guinevere said, shaking off the melancholy that had descended with the utterance of Sean's name. "What is your story? How did you end up in Marius's arena?"
Kafka grinned sheepishly. "It's a fair question." She paused a moment to consider her answer. "My father was a warrior of the Gauls. I was a passable fighter when the Romans came, but the elders said I was too young to fight. Their decision is the only reason I am still alive. The Romans killed all the warriors who fought them that day. Those who didn't fight were taken as slaves." Kafka laughed. It was a harsh sound, conveying no joy. "Because Rome is merciful to her people, they said.
"I fought the Romans every step in every way I could. They sold me at the first town of any size that we came across. They practically gave me away. I was sold as a gladiator to a retired centurion, and he sold me to the governor of the province. Demetrius bought me from him only a few months ago."
Guinevere's voice was soft and her eyes sympathetic as she inquired about Kafka's tribe. "Your family? The rest of your people?"
"I had no family left. My mother was already dead when the Romans came, and they killed my father and brother," Kafka said quietly. "The others from my village could be anywhere—those who are still alive."
"The Romans are brutal with the people they conquer," Guinevere observed. "That's why we will fight to the death to run them from our isle."
Guinevere's mention of death reminded Kafka of her own brush with death and brought to mind something she had been meaning to speak to Guinevere about. She stopped walking and waited until Guinevere turned to look at her.
"I wish to practice an ancient tradition of my people, Guin. Will you let me?" she asked solemnly.
A perplexed frown wrinkled Guinevere's brow. "Why do you ask my permission? Merlin is the one you should ask, though I do not doubt he will grant you the favor if he can."
Kafka was not sure how to phrase her question and hesitated a moment to think. "It would involve you, and you have to agree to it before I can talk to Merlin," she explained.
"Would you care to explain this tradition?"
"I am free now, Guin. I know I am not a slave. I'm not a Roman; I'd rather kill myself than be Roman. But I don't know what I am any more," Kafka said vehemently.
"I cannot go back to my people; they no longer exist. Those who are even still alive are slaves scattered throughout the empire. Where do I go? What do I do?
"You have to understand that these are question for which I must find an answer."
"You've avoiding the question," Guinevere stated flatly.
"No!" Kafka barked. "I'm coming at it from a different way. You have to follow me, or I know you'll refuse my request."
"You're being vague, and it's making me suspicious," Guinevere warned.
"Guin, I have no place in the world any more; or, if I do, I don't know what it is. Do you have any idea how disconcerting that is?"
"No, I don't." Guinevere had always been secure in who she was. She was the daughter of Merlin, warrior of the Woads. She had never been anything else, and she never wanted to be anything else. She could not imagine having that knowledge and certainty taken from her. She truly pitied Kafka's position in life.
"You have to tell me what this ritual is, though, Kafka. Why is it so important to you?"
"Considering you've already been captured by the Romans once, I think this my ritual is amazingly appropriate. According to our ancient law, because you saved my life, I am honor-bound to swear my life to protecting you."
"No," Guinevere said shortly. "I will not allow it."
"I do not know where to go or what to do, but the one thing I do know is that I must fight the Romans. They cannot be allowed to conquer and enslave unhindered. It may be the way of the world, but I do not have to accept it. What better way to fight them than to protect one of the leaders of their great enemy on this island?" Kafka argued.
"Kafka, you don't have to make yourself my protector to fight the Romans. My people will welcome you without demanding such a sacrifice."
"Please, Guinevere, understand what I am asking you. I'm asking you for another favor. I need a place among your people as much as I need to repay my debt to you."
"I understand that you need to belong, Kafka; but there must be some other way," Guinevere reasoned.
Kafka flashed a glare at Guinevere. "I will accept no other way. This is good for everyone. You obviously need someone to keep an eye on you. I need someone to keep an eye on. Honor is satisfied all around. Please allow me this."
Guinevere glanced at Kafka's pleading face. "You won't let me say no?"
"No. Don't make me beg either. It would be embarrassing for both of us," Kafka warned.
"You have to promise not to take yourself too seriously,"
Kafka gazed impassively at Guinevere. "Guin," was all she said.
"We can glare at each other for a very long time," Guinevere warned.
"Alright," Kafka relented.
"You know, we have rituals, too," Guinevere told Kafka after a pause.
"What kind of rituals?"
"For the adopting of protectors. You would have to abide by those rituals or my people would not recognize your position," Guinevere warned.
Guinevere continued. "We should be head back. You're tiring; I can tell."
Kafka was surprised by the sudden change of subject. Her surprise quickly turned to muted outrage. Guinevere was right; she was reaching the end of her returning strength. Kafka was outraged that Guinevere was able to tell.
"If I promise not to argue, will you tell me about these rituals?" she bargained.
Guinevere agreed with a grin.
"Well?" Kafka prodded after a few minutes of walking in silence.
"An omen is required to connect the protector and the one to be protected," Guinevere began.
"I should think our encounter in Marius's arena would serve as omen enough," Kafka observed dryly.
"You could be right," Guinevere agreed. "Usually, you would then be required to prove your ability as a warrior to protect me; but you've already saved my live once. After proving yourself, you would give your oath to protect me. Once you give your oath, you will be required to take the tattoos of a Woad protector."
"Is that all? I don't mind," Kafka assured her. "Warriors who are of age among my people are tattooed. I will consider this my warrior's mark."
"I still say this is completely unnecessary," Guinevere objected.
"And I say it is the least I can do. You've already agreed to it; I won't let you refuse me now."
"Very well," Guinevere sighed.
Merlin was pleased to grant Kafka's request. It really did serve to please many. Guinevere would adopt a protector. Kafka would gain a place among the Woads. Merlin's advisors agreed that Kafka had proven herself a worthy protector and a worthy addition to their ranks.
Everything had been prepared and the ceremony would take place as soon as full dark fell. Until then, Kafka remained in seclusion in Guinevere's hut. When the sun had set and the moon had risen, the Woads gathered at a great bonfire in the center of the village. At a signal from Merlin, Lugh fetched Kafka. She was led to the fire where the ritual would take place.
Merlin, wearing fresh woad dye and carrying a gnarled staff, presided over the ceremony. He stood forth, close to the fire, and raised his hands and staff.
"My people," he called. "You have met Kafka. She saved Guinevere and Lucan. She has proven her worth as a warrior. Now, she wishes to be adopted as Guinevere's protector. What say you?"
The gathered Woads showed their approval. Over the weeks Kafka had spent with the Woads, her story had spread. All the Woads knew where she had come from and how she had come to be in their village. Most of them had no quarrel with her once they found out she was not Roman and had no love for the Romans.
"Come here, Kafka," Merlin said.
Kafka advanced to stand before Merlin. She wore her leather breastplate, which had been repaired, along with the rest of her armor. Considering she was not officially a Woad yet, none of the sacred dye had been applied to her skin.
Merlin motioned to Guinevere, who stood beside him.
"Guinevere," he intoned. "You wish to adopt Kafka as your protector?"
"Yes, Merlin."
"Kafka," he intoned. "You wish to be adopted as Guinevere's protector?"
"Yes, I do," she answered.
"Make your oath," Merlin instructed.
"I, Kafka of Gaul, warrior, gladiator, swear to protect Guinevere of the Woads with my life if necessary," Kafka said shortly.
Guinevere spoke as she was expected to do. "I, Guinevere of the Woads, daughter of Merlin, accept the oath of Kafka of Gaul and adopt her as my protector."
Merlin nodded and stepped forward once more. He now carried a bowl containing woad, which he handed to Kafka. As she held the bowl, Merlin dipped his fingers in the dye. He drew curves and spirals in twining patterns on Kafka's face.
"You are now a Woad," Merlin announced when he was finished.
Merlin turned and led the way away from the fire. Kafka and Guinevere followed. They would be the only ones present at this last part of the ritual.
"Sit here," Merlin instructed Kafka, pointing to a stool placed close to his personal fire. Kafka obeyed as Merlin gathered his tools to tattoo the agreed upon symbols. Guinevere seated herself comfortably near the door. She would witness this part of the ritual, but what would happen was really between Merlin and Kafka.
Merlin silently approached Kafka with his tools. She sat stoically. She had been told that she was not to speak during this part of the ritual.
Kafka bit her lip and tightened her grip on the bowl of woad she still held as Merlin began work on her sword arm. Protector's tattoos were always put on the sword arm, Merlin had told her. He started by tattooing Guinevere's personal mark on the outside of Kafka's shoulder. This was followed by flowing curves and spiked circles that closely mirrored the design painted on Kafka's face. When Merlin was finished, swirls and circles twined over Kafka's shoulder and upper arm.
"Shall I continue?" Merlin asked when he had finished Kafka's arm.
Merlin had shown Kafka the design he said was her personal mark. She could let him stop with the protector's tattoos on her arm, or she could receive her personal mark between her shoulder blades as other Woads did when they came of age.
Not sure whether or not she could speak, Kafka nodded. Though her arm blazed with pain from Merlin's ministrations, she would take her personal mark. She had not received her warrior's mark when she was with her own people. This mark of belonging would serve to link her with her old people and her new people.
False dawn was lighting the sky when Merlin finished Kafka's personal mark. Kafka was exhausted and in pain, but she was greatly pleased. Not only had she been granted the honor of protecting Guinevere, she had been adopted into the tribe. After five years, she was again a part of a community, a member of a family.