Gegenes

The sun burned in the early morning, warming the sands of the Theatre’s stage. Kanna tilted her head back, her eyes shut against the light. It was heat, and warmth, and something dangerous. It almost reminded her of something.

Almost.

She lowered her face and opened her eyes to take in the expanse of the stage. When the plays were done, the sands transformed into a makeshift training center. Even in these off hours, it was cluttered with bodies.

At least all of these breathed. 

At one end, the city’s Keepers drilled in groups. They were accompanied by earth loas in another area who shaped and reshaped the land around them. 

The Theatre’s temporary fighters were relegated to a barren corner, though few bothered to work their techniques. Instead they lounged, eyeing each other, as if they would somehow better their chances with a show of bravado.

Yassen arrived, his emerald eyes bleary with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head, the gesture casting a long shadow over the orange sand. He was tall, even for a Gegenii man, though he was just out of boyhood. He rubbed the sandy-blonde hair at the back of his head and it stuck in place.

His attention caught on the earth loas that were practicing and stayed there.

Kanna turned on her heel and stalked toward him. 

He turned to her, his eyes brightening as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey, Ka--”

His greeting was cut short when Kanna’s fist collided with his jaw, his teeth clacking together. His head tilted back and he stumbled.

Kanna bent her knees and fell to a crouch to keep her balance as a rough pillar jutted from the ground beneath her. She held onto the sides of it as it rose several feet in the moments it took Yassen to recover. 

“Gods’ graves, woman,” he grumbled, rubbing his jaw. “I was just saying mornin’.”

After waiting long enough to be sure that the ground had finished heaving beneath her, Kanna stood and crossed her arms at her chest and glared down from her perch.

“You’re late,” she said. This time, she pulled her foot back.

He stepped away, his hands up in surrender, and she put her foot down.

Kanna had met Yassen on her first day in the Theatre. She had been paired with him for a team match, the duo meant to serve as someone’s idea of comic relief considering their difference in stature. 

The crowd had distracted her that day, so many people and so many lives, and Yassen had taken a knife wound that was meant for her. Since then, Kanna would take his fights when she could. She slipped whatever coins didn’t go to her keep under his door at the barracks.

 Kanna sat on the pillar. She pulled up one knee to her chest, her other leg hanging in the air over the side of it.

Yassen squinted, eye level with her for once. “What’s this about?”

Kanna shrugged, swinging her dangling leg through the air. “You won’t learn anything from them,” she said, nodding to the practicing loas. 

“How else am I supposed to learn?”

Kanna shifted her weight and dropped from the rock she had been resting on. She scratched her fingertip against it, and nothing came away beneath her nail. It was about her height, rough hewn but solid, and formed by Yassen in an instant, without even a thought.

“You need a proper weapon,” she said as she circled the pillar.

“I can use lots of weapons,” Yassen grumbled.

Kanna drew her the blade at her left and tightened the wrap around the handle, watching the sun as it danced over the clean steel. When she drew the second, it didn’t gleam like the other, its spine mottled by an artist’s hand. 

Yassen back peddled across the sand when Kanna began her approach. He found the cache of weapons set aside for the Theatre’s players and reached for the first thing his hands could grab, coming out with a spear.

As Kanna continued her advance, he thrust it towards her.

She knocked it to the ground with the black knife and jumped onto the end, snapping the wood shaft.

“Try again,” she said, stopping her approach. She spun the wrapped blade, pointing it out. “I’ll give you a moment.”

Yassen turned, fumbling with the hilts of the scattered weapons. He pulled out a heavy, two handed sword, grinning with self-satisfaction.

Kanna lifted her brow and spread her arms, bowing slightly to her opponent.

He charged, swinging the broadsword wide and down. Kanna danced out of the way, leaving the sword to slice through air. She stepped into his reach, under his outstretched arm, and slammed the pommel of her knife into his side.

When he turned his body to the attack, the sword swung with him. With both knives, Kanna slowed the blunt attack and slid beneath it. She pulled back the wrapped knife, once again striking with the pommel. This time, it was into his elbow. He yelped and lost his grip on the broadsword.

Kanna stepped back, sheathing her blades in a single motion. She crossed her arms, studying Yassen as he rubbed his bruised elbow.

“What's wrong?” he asked, not moving for the weapons pile. "You seem different today."

Kanna walked past him to the assortment of practice weaponry. The ones in the pile were chipped, some of the blades rusted from lack of care. She kicked away a few of the simple, mid-length blades at the top of the pile and then crouched next to it. 

“I will not always be around,” she said. 

“You going somewhere?” he asked, a bit of hurt in his tone. 

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, his expression genuine and rueful.

“Maybe,” she said, then turned her attention back to her task. There was something happening, something coming that had nothing to do with the change of seasons. “I don’t know. Either way, you need to learn.”

“You didn’t have to punch me,” he said.

“It is one way to learn.”

Kanna found the end of a halberd and pulled it from the pile, the other weapons scraping and clanking against each other as they slid away. She walked over to Yassen and held it next to him. She shook her head and dropped it.

“What are you doing now?” he asked, finally coming out of his sulk.

She ignored him and continued rummaging through the pile.

“What do I need a weapon for if I have my ability? Those guys don’t have them.” He gestured to the loas at practice.

Kanna paused in her scavenging and rocked back on her heels. She turned to the group he was referring to, watched as they struggled to get the earth to listen. 

“Controlling the earth is tedious and slow,” she said. “Usually. The Keepers will throw the foot soldiers before their loas as sacrifices. You would be safe behind those falling bodies,” she said, then turned to him. “Is that where you want to stand?”

“No.” Yassen rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at the ground. “I don’t think I’d want that.”

She turned back to the pile. “You aren’t like them, anyway.”

Kanna spotted what she was looking for and realized it was what she wanted in the same moment.

“Why am I not like them?” Yassen asked, a hint of a pout in his voice.

Kanna rose with her prize, dusting the sand off her knees. The khopesh was battered, but it would do for practice. It was wide and curved with a hooked nose, heavy enough to ground and focus Yassen’s strength without heeding his movement. 

“They beg.” she said, waving the nicked blade in the direction of the loas before gesturing to the pillar he had formed. “The earth comes for you. Allow it only enough, or it will swallow you.”

Kanna turned the khopesh in her hand, pointing the blade to the ground and holding it out for Yassen. He took it from her and jumped back on guard. When she didn’t move to strike, he relaxed, moving the khopesh from one hand to the other.

It looked right.

“A blade helps to focus,” she said. “It can also be grounding Something to remind you who you are.”

The words were an echo, faint, but not right. It twisted in her mind with other sounds, the ones that others didn't speak.

Kanna furrowed her brow. “Where you are,” she corrected, then continued. “You are connected to the earth. It wants to help. But you tell it how, and when.”

Yassen turned his attention from the blade to her. “How do you know all this?”

Kanna shrugged. “I just do.” 

“You still haven't told me what kind of loa you are,” Yassen said. “Still haven’t seen you moving any rocks. Fire?” he asked. 

She didn’t answer.

“Nah, too obvious. And you’re way too pale to be from Atarrabi.”

She stared at him, unblinking.

“Water? No. Air, right?” he grinned, nodding. “It’s gotta be air. You could be from Panotii.”

He said the last bit with excitement, an offering to help her solve the mystery of her self. 

“That’s not important,” she said.

His brow furrowed, and he lowered the khopesh. “Well,” he said, his guileless grin returning. “I’ll find out eventually.”

“Sure,” she said. “Maybe.”