According to the Sisterhood, we must break free from our family and friends because they cause too many troublesome emotions and reflect divided loyalties. Nevertheless, I've always found myself strengthened by them and never wished to serve any other than the Order.
Embry Call, personal journals
POV Helen
On a cold, snowy morning, Embry, Reverend Mother Nyree McCarthy and I start our lesson in a clearing in the forest. A carpet of glistening snow covers the entire area. The clearing's only two miles away from our home, but far away enough so no one can see what we're doing. Today Embry will have to combine reciting the Missionaria Protectiva and sparring with Nyree.
Nyree McCarthy is her martial arts Proctor and is teaching her the Weirding Way, our fighting technique that combines several martial arts and Prana Bindu nervation, the Sisterhood's outstanding muscle and nerve control. She's about my age and has beautifully scarlet hair and smooth, pale skin. Her eyes glow in the distinct fuchsia color of a Reverend Mother.
She has devoted her life to become the fiercest fighter the Bene Gesserit has ever seen. Since she lives in Seattle, the Order sent her our way to teach my daughter. For the duration of her training, Reverend Mother McCarthy is staying in a hotel in Port Angeles, a city an hour away from Forks.
She and Embry stand across from each other barefoot (to grow a callus and to strengthen against the cold) while I sit cross-legged at a save distance. As soon as Nyree launches herself at Embry, I recite the Missionaria Protectiva, our main religious doctrine. I made Embry learn it by heart and she must now complete my sentences whilst fighting.
"Don't battle fanatics..." I call to her, giving her the first sentence.
She jumps out of Nyree's way and as she propels her fist to her, she shouts back: "...unless you can render them harmless."
The Reverend Mother deflects her punch and shoves her backwards with her other hand. Embry falls on the ground as she slips on a patch of ice. I ignore my protective maternal instincts, that briefly flared as she fell, and continue the Missionaria Protectiva:
"Never combat a religion with another religion..."
Nyree wants to bring down her heel on Embry's stomach, but she rolls over and in a crouching position, she sweeps her left leg against the back of the Reverend Mother's legs and knocks her over.
"...unless you have absolute proof – miracles – or unless you can fit in in such a way that the fanatics will consider you inspired by God," she recites while she moves.
"For a long time, ..."
"...this has been the barrier that withheld science from covering itself with the cloak of divine revelation," she twirls around the kicks and punches of the older woman. However, she's overlooking that Nyree is driving her closer to a tree.
"Science..."
"...is so obviously created by man," she dodges another punch, but hits the tree behind her, "Auw!"
"Fanatics, ..."
From the corner of my eye I can see the Reverend Mother knee my daughter in the gut. She sags down against the tree and presses her arms over her stomach.
"Always keep an eye on your surroundings, so opponents don't use obstacles against you," Reverend Mother McCarthy lectures her. She offers her her hand and pulls her up.
"I'll try to remember it," she wheezes, still clenching her stomach.
"Embry," I remind her, "Fanatics, ..."
"...and many are fanatic in one way or the other, need to know where you stand, but more importantly, they need to recognize who's whispering into your ear," she recites as her pain fades away.
I stand up and walk over to her and Reverend Mother Nyree. A proud smile plays on her lips and her fuchsia eyes twinkle with delight.
"She certainly knows her Missioniaria Protectiva," she snickers.
"Yes, but unfortunately, she'll need work on the Weirding Way," I say when I reach them both.
"For the amount of training she has received, she did well enough," she turns to Embry, "You should practice more, though."
"Yes, Reverend Mother," she bows her head. Knowing her, she'll probably stay in her room until she has perfected her technique, aside from that one hour she gets every day to meet her friends. I still wonder if I was right by letting her be friends with the one boy she'll have to mate with.
After another few hours of training, we work our way back home through the frozen forest. By the time we reach our house, I'm starving for lunch. However, instead of a hearty meal, something more unsettling awaits me. A tall, buff man with half-long black hair is leaning against our house. I would recognize him anywhere: Sam Uley.
POV Embry
I can't believe it. After yearning to speak with my half-brother for weeks, all of the sudden Sam is on our front porch. I want to run up to him, but Mother grabs me by my arm before I can move. I turn to her and see a concerned look in her eyes as well as in Reverend Mother McCarthy's.
I turn back to Sam and examine him. He looks even more muscular than yesterday when I saw him at the beach with Quil and Jacob. Also, he seems to be really warm, despite his T-shirt. Too warm actually, as if he's in a sauna. His gaze is distant and confused and he's trembling all over. The shift!
Mother releases her grip and carefully advances on Sam. He doesn't seem to have noticed us, so she addresses him softly. She knows damn well how dangerous he is at the moment.
"Sam?", he looks up and recognition flashes across his face, "What are you doing here, Sam?"
"I...I was looking for my home, but..." he seems to have trouble focusing on his train of thought, "but then I ended up here. Where am I?"
"You're at our place, Sam. The Calls. You do know who we are, right?"
When he hears our name, he looks even more confused, then angry and I fear he'll lash out at us, but then he becomes remorseful. He pushes off slowly against the wall and lifts his hands up apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Miss Call," he turns to me, "Embry," and the Reverend Mother, "ma'am. I'll go home now. Sorry to disturb you."
He takes one step and nearly stumbles over his own feet. I jump around my mother and catch him before he drops. Yet I underestimated his weight and have trouble keeping him up. Luckily, Reverend Mother Nyree comes to my aid and supports Sam's other shoulder. Mother remains where she is, standing as a statue, locked in place.
I feel the heat radiating from Sam's body as he leans heavily on my shoulder. The poor guy's burning up a fever. If I remember Mother's explanation correctly, fever means his initial turn could happen any moment now.
"Thank you," he mumbles and he stands up straight, or at least tries to.
"You really should go home now, Sam. Your mother must be worried," Mother says in a tone I've only ever heard her use when I was a child. She's extremely cautious not to upset him.
"You're right," he nods. "I won't bother you any longer."
He lifts his arms over our heads, stumbles past us and heads into the village. I can't stand to look at his predicament anymore and run after him.
"Sam, wait! I'll walk you to your home," I shout.
"Embry!" Mother yells. I clearly hear anger in her voice, but Sam needs my help.
"Mother, if I don't help him, he might hurt himself or someone else, or get lost. I'll come back as soon as I can," I turn back to Sam and take him by his arm to guide him back to his home. He accepts my help without any fuss and practically relies on me to know the way.
We walk quietly together for a few minutes, him trusting me blindly, although we hardly know each other personally. Since his mental state's shaky now, I don't barrage him with questions about our father, which is what I really want to do, but respect his silence.
"Why are you helping me?" he asks all of a sudden.
"You know, just being friendly," I evade his question.
He scoffs. "As if you ever do anything just to be 'friendly'. You and your mom are such freaks with your cult and all, judging our tribe..."
If only you knew you were the biggest freak of us all, I thought, but I let it go. In his state, the smallest thing could set him off and I'd rather not have him turn into a giant wolf for the first time right next to me.
A few houses away from Sam's place, we run into Quil and his grandfather, Old Quil Ateara. Quil's holding his grandfather's groceries, which the old man probably can't carry himself anymore. When he notices us, he waves his hand.
"Hey Ems! Why are you with Sam?" he asks, clearly confused. I can't blame him; we do make for an odd couple.
"Sam's feeling unwell and wants to go home, but is too sick to find it himself. So, I'm helping him."
Quil frowns, but when he sees Sam, he quickly realizes he's in no state to do anything on his own. Old Quil Ateara realizes that too, but he makes another connection entirely. As soon as he sees Sam's burning fever, he gasps, reaches for his chest and faints.
Quil calls out to him with the Quileute word for 'pop-pop' and tries to lift him back up. I want to help, but there isn't much I can do when a heavy, feverish 20-year-old's relying on me. I let Sam lean against a house, so I can help Quil.
"Wait here for me, Sam. Don't go anywhere on your own. I'll be right back."
I considered using the Voice on him, but didn't because that mental blow may be too much for him to handle. He already looks like he could puke or pass out any minute.
Together with Quil, I help his grandfather up and quickly examine him. He's just fine, just shaken up by Sam's noticeable change.
"Take it slow, Mr. Ateara. You certainly shouldn't do anything crazy," I stress the last word. He shouldn't overwhelm Sam with his concerns for the moment. He seems reluctant to let him go by unaware of his Shapeshifter heritage, but also realizes the time for stories has passed for Sam.
I take my half-brother by his massive biceps and drag him along before Old Quil Ateara decides to inform him anyway. Soon after, we've reached Sam's house and I knock on the door. His mother opens.
"Sam, where were you?", she looks at me next, "What are you doing here? What did you do to my son?"
Before I can answer, Sam vouches for me: "Mom, calm down! She helped me. Without her, I probably would have wondered into the forests...or something. You should thank her."
Her gaze lingers on me for another second, but then she sighs and lets Sam in without falsely accusing me. Then again, she also shuts the door in my face without a simple 'thank you'. I guess bluntness runs in the family.
A.N.: The first course of the Missionaria Protectiva was not my thinking, but was taken from Dune: Chapterhouse (HERBERT, F., Duin: Kapittel (Missionaria Protectiva, First Course). 7de druk, J. M. Meulenhoff, Amsterdam, 1986, 484 blz.)