Rayya was a smaller student than most of her peers. Years of hard living and inconstant diet had done her no favors in that regard. Where all the other girls of her age in the Hall had gone through puberty and come out on the other end as confident young women, she was still stuck in adolescence and flat as a board.
In tasks of physical strength, she lagged far behind. But not a single soul could best her in terms of endurance and sheer tenacity.
Jealousy ran rampant among her classmates whenever she summoned her shehai, but thankfully, once she'd gotten more comfortable with living away from her family, that only lasted for a short time. Soon enough, she made friends and cohorts in mischief. It was as though she had never been an outsider.
But sometimes, in the dead of night, as she lay in her bunk, aware of how alone she was and the struggles her family faced that those of her classmates did not, she wept silently into her pillow. In the morning, she'd say a prayer to both the Old Gods and the New at breakfast. As she ate, she'd savor each spoonful, remembering every last time when she had no such luxury. And every time she saw a classmate flicked a dollop of porridge across the table at the face of another unsuspecting classmate, it felt like blackest sacrilege.
Sundas was the day that the students were free to do as they wished. The older ones, almost without variation, spent it getting drunk and seeing shows. The younger ones (and those more prone to filial piety) went home.
In the months after Rayya had left, her parents, unable to pay for its upkeep any longer, had sold the house and moved into a cramped apartment on the other side of town. Baba had taken a part-time job as a clerk to another man's luxury goods shop and Mama had begun taking in laundry. It was always a strange feeling, every Sundas, walking back into this life that had moved on without her and trying to act as though all was perfectly well in her world. As though she was not the least bit discouraged or hurt by what a teacher had said the prior day. As though it wasn't hard, being too embarrassed to invite noble friends home with her. As though their sacrifices could not help but be worth it.
But they were always overjoyed to see her and fussing over every word that fell from her mouth. And though she knew they had so little to spare, they would give her a heaping helping of food at dinner and smile graciously as she ate it. She cleaned her plate every time, an uncomfortable blend of guilt and love mixing in her stomach.
It was with both longing and relief that she said goodbye to her parents and made the long, winding journey back to the Hall through the crooked backstreets of Taneth.
The next morning, she would throw herself into training harder than any other day of the week.
*.*.*
Her twentieth birthday came like a weight lifted off her shoulders.
She opened her eyes and felt the difference in the air, in the tingle of her skin. She threw off the cover and leaped out of her bunk, hitting the floor with just enough sound to elicit a groan from her half-asleep roommate in the lower bunk. Moving a bit quieter from then on, she gathered up her things and headed to the bathhouse.
She spent much longer than usual in the shower today. It was partially because she was intent on scrubbing down every crevice of herself extra thoroughly for the special occasion and partially because standing under the cool water did something for her nerves. The stall was a comforting barrier against the outside world, excited as she was for what was to happen next. As long as she was in it, things would stay the same for as long as she chose.
Outside, they would change.
When her nerves were sufficiently steadied, she turned the knob and stepped out.
After she was dry, she dressed in her best - a fine linen shirt and pants, with a leather jerkin and boots to match. It was the outfit in which she would be stepping out into the world - in which she would be slaying monsters. The thought gave her nervous goosebumps and excited shivers.
On her way out, she stopped to look at herself in the tall bronze mirror on the bathhouse wall.
She'd grown so much taller since settling into a routine of decent diet and exercise. She towered over her parents now. They felt like dolls when she hugged them, small and delicate enough to break. She imagined their faces when she came to give them the news.
She tucked a stray braid behind her ear and smiled into the mirror, her teeth like pearls set in mahogany. Then she walked to the mess hall with as dignified a gait as she could manage without skipping for joy.
Breakfast proceeded as normal, though she could barely bring herself to eat. The children chattered on as they usually did, heedless that anything would be different today. The adults that she had grown up with these past five years nudged her affectionately and offered their congratulations. One of them caught her in a headlock and gave her a noogie as laughing, she struggled to break free without hurting him too badly.
And then, the Grandmaster appeared, in his dour black robes of office. He clapped his hands, solemnly bade everyone be in the entrance hall in ten minutes, and retreated to the shadows once again. Rayya sucked in her breath, realizing how close it all was now. She downed the rest of her meal without even tasting it and left her dirty dishes for the servants to clean up.
When she arrived, the Grandmaster was nudging the children into place with the tip of his wooden sword. Every student in the hall was formed into two aisles, ranked from youngest to oldest down the line. The youngest fidgeted nervously, looking on in confusion and wonder. The ones old enough to know what was going on shot her knowing nods and beaming smiles. When the Grandmaster was satisfied with their placement, he tucked the sword back into his belt and took his spot at the far end of the line - before the great desk where she had first shown him her shehai, all those years ago.
His face was unreadable and grim, but slowly, as he watched her from across the room, a smile twitched into life under his hoary beard. He gave one firm nod in her direction.
She began to walk, her head held high, though the trickle of sweat down the back of her neck betrayed her nerves.
All the eyes of the Hall bored into her as she passed between them. The joking tone of the morning had been thoroughly replaced by the solemnity of the ceremony.
How many times had she participated in this ritual from the outside? How many friends had she bade farewell to, after bearing witness to their final walk as students? It seemed so impossible, that she was here, now, finishing that walk herself. For a moment, her feet felt as heavy as lead and there was a distant buzzing in her ears. She stopped, feeling as though she might faint. The Grandmaster, as he smiled at her from the other end of the room, all of a sudden seemed as far away as the other end of Tamriel.
She took a deep breath, set her jaw and trekked across the miles until she stood before him.
"Today, we recognize the achievements of Rayya." he boomed, spreading his arms dramatically. "Third Shehai Master of the Fourth Era and Expert of the Four Hundred Cuts. Kneel and present your offering."
She knelt before him, her head bowed. From her belt, she drew the stick that had been her birthday present so long ago. She had not using it for training in years, but upon it, her ongoing progress had been recorded - nine notches, for nine years of training. She offered it to him, her palms open in supplication.
"With the authority of my rank as Grandmaster of Taneth Hall…" he said, taking it from her palms and raising it above his head. "I hereby declare your training fulfilled."
With one fluid movement, he brought the stick down and broke it over his knee. The pieces, he placed reverently on his desk.
"I bestow upon you the freedom of Walkabout..." he went on as he turned to face her again. "...and invite you to claim the title of Ansei when your journey is complete. Stars guide you."
"And Tu'whacca keep you." she intoned, her eyes flooding with happy tears.
As she stood, the two oldest students stepped forward. In the hands of one of them was a sword-belt. The other bore a pair of scimitars. Without a word, they fitted the belt around her waist and fastened the weapons in place.
The youngest student waited nervously behind her, a tin of green warpaint clutched nervously in his hand. She bent down so he could reach her face. He applied the paint with a sure hand, nary a tremble in his small fingers. The designs were unique to each hall and each had their secret meanings, but the paint was always green - for growth and change and youth.
When it was done, she clicked her heels together, stood up, turned around to face the Grandmaster one last time and gave him a deep bow.
The room burst into wild applause as she strode towards the door, her closest classmates whooping and cheering loudly enough to call down a Divine. She resisted looking back with all her might; that was considered to be the worst luck there was and she was damned if she'd take any more bad luck.
The light was blinding when she opened the door and exited into the wide world.
*.*.*
Mama was sitting outside when she arrived, sewing buttons onto some gentleman's overcoat. Rayya gestured to her scimitars from across the street and she nearly ran into a speeding cart to get to her. When she had finally managed to get close enough to do so, she flung her arms around her daughter and squealed in her ears.
They spent the rest of the day seeing the sights of the city for one last time together - the public gardens on the palace grounds, its newly restored fountain. They took a walk along the harbor wall and dipped their feet off one of the piers. And finally, they went to the market to pick out food for dinner. Rayya insisted that she carry the groceries home, though Mama was adamant about doing all the cooking.
As the smell of cooking food began drifting from the tiny excuse for a kitchen, Baba limped through the door. Rayya pulled out a chair for him and he half-fell on it, a look of pain on his face. Without asking, she pulled the tub of blue mountain flower salve from the chest at the foot of her parent's bed and began easing off his shoe.
The offending foot on her lap, she spent the time before dinner was ready wordlessly massaging her father's pain away. Her ministrations were nowhere as good as Iya's, but he sighed with relief and thanked her anyway.
One by one, Mama brought out the dishes - spicy pork with lemongrass, steamed rice, fennel salad. At the place of honor was set a plate of honey shortcakes for dessert. Rayya reached for one of them first, but Mama slapped her hand away, giving her a dirty look before smiling widely and shaking her head.
The three of them gorged themselves on the meal, eating until there was nothing left but a handful of rice and everyone was far closer to being uncomfortably full than otherwise.
Rayya was nibbling lazily on the last bit of shortcake when Baba asked the question, his eyes glittering with pride.
"So! Where are you planning to go on your Walkabout?"
She swallowed the last lump of cake and licked the crumbs from her lips.
"I'm not entirely sure." she answered, wrinkling her forehead as she thought about it. "I've been thinking that I'll start by going down the coast to Rihad. There are villages down that way that were abandoned during the war and are just being reclaimed now. I'd like to help them if I can. Drive off the wild animals that have taken up residence in their lands, the bandits in their homes."
Baba nodded knowingly.
"A noble goal. Ah, but go down far enough and it'll be elves you're killing."
"Elves?"
An image flashed into her mind of her scimitars covered in blood, of the body of what looked near enough to a man at her feet. She felt a pang of nausea thinking about it and wished she had not eaten that last cake.
Baba was still talking.
"...Aldmeri dogs rule Cyrodiil now. Oh, there's an emperor, but he's a puppet monarch, through and through. The Thalmor - now, they're the real power behind the throne. Outside of Hammerfell, it's them who decide what people believe and how much tribute is to be paid for the privilege. Now what I would do, were I young and hale enough to finish my own Walkabout, is take out those blasted elves one by one."
His face darkened and his eyebrows wrinkled in long-suppressed anger.
"Their inquisitors travel lightly guarded, to distant places where they might root out pockets of hidden belief. Taken by surprise, they are easily subdued and their bodies buried where no one might find them."
"Baba." Rayya said softly, her heart pounding louder in her chest at every word that came out of his mouth. "I did not come this far to be a murderer."
"Oh?" Baba said coolly, turning to look at her directly in the eyes. "And what of your brother? Would you not revenge him?"
He seized his cane and thumped the floor.
"And what of the grief that killed your Iya? Did you not care for her?"
"Haroun!" Mama whispered, snatching his hand from the table and holding it tight. He shook her off and rose to his feet.
"And the livelihood they took from your family? Would you not have them pay every coin back in blood?"
Rayya clenched her fists under the table. Her hands were trembling.
"No." she said firmly, though her voice cracked.
Baba closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils. When he opened them, his eyes were not gleaming with anger, but with disappointment.
"Then what have I been training you for, msichana?"
Rayya shook her head slowly, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Get out."
The statement was uttered quietly and utterly without emotion. He pointed his cane at the door. Rayya stayed where she was, dumbstruck, the feeling of a wave crashing in her head, again and again.
"Return to me when you have learned of the ways of this world or do not return at all."
Saying nothing, she stood, took her swords from the hook beside the door, and left. It slammed behind her in the wind that howled down the tunnel of cramped streets. She could hear Mama sobbing through it.
Wrapping her headscarf around her head against the chill, she carried on into the night.
*.*.*
Rayya jolted awake at the touch of Carolinne's hand, the feeling of some bewildering half-remembered dream still racing in her veins.
"Ooh!" she gasped, flinching away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
It took her a moment to register where she was and how she'd gotten there. She'd fallen asleep in a stiff-backed chair at the Sleeping Giant, she soon discovered. Her spine ached from the awful position she'd slumped into.
The details slowly fell back into place. Carolinne had been consulting with Delphine in the secret room. She really ought to have been there with her, but after another day of running from hiding place to hiding place under the shadow of a dragon, exhaustion had gotten the better of her.
Carolinne was wearing one of Delphine's old dresses, she noticed. The bodice pushed her cleavage into appealing positions and a pair of long slits ran up the sides of the skirt to allow for ease of movement. The weathered blue fabric made her eyes brighter, somehow.
She smile wearily at her, sat up straight and stretched, yawning.
"I'll be fine. What did Delphine have planned?"
"Well…"
Carolinne rubbed the back of her head and shifted nervously on her feet, something important, but not easily discussed plainly on her mind.
Rayya stood up and offered her an arm.
"Shall we take a walk to talk about it then?"
Carolinne smiled gently and took it.
She prattled on as they strolled through the darkened streets of Riverwood - about a wild plan to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy, how they were going to get there, secret identities, precautions. Rayya listened, nodding along to everything she said. It was a fanciful plan, but doable.
And then, as they reached the bridge at the edge of town and ran out of road to stroll on, her demeanor changed. In the low light of the moons, her expression took on a deathly serious cast.
"There is one more thing." she said, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, though there was no one around to hear. "Delphine's spy at the embassy has sent word of a new guest of the Ambassador. It's…a Redguard woman. With a scarred face. Three scars, in positions I'm sure you can guess."
Rayya's heart skipped a beat. A chill spread down her spine and she could feel the little hairs of her body standing up. A dizzying swirl of long-suppressed images and sounds took up residence inside her brain.
Would you not revenge him?
Did you not care for her?
Would you not have them pay back every coin in blood?
She glanced down and saw that her hand had moved over her sword, as though an enemy lurked on the other side of the bridge at this very moment. With a shiver, she tore her hand away. Carolinne was looking at her beseechingly, her forehead wrinkled in worry.
"So…" she said softly, her hand sliding into Rayya's and squeezing reassuringly. "What happens next is up to you. What do you want to do?"
Notes:
"Anger is a crack in the hull that sinks the ship." - Book of Circles, Sundas Maxims