Book of Earth

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“Hit me here,” Manat said, pointing to her throat. “Where it’s soft.”

Bradamante made a fist and hit her teacher as hard as she could.

Manat accepted the blow and nodded. “Good. That would have killed me. You always want to hit the soft targets, down the center line of the body—eyes, nose, throat, groin.”

“All right. Yes.”

“Now strike at my eyes. See what it feels like.”

Bradamante winced. “Are you sure?” Seeing Manat’s frown, Bradamante instantly regretted the question.

“Do it.”

Manat stood passively while Bradamante jabbed her outstretched fingers into Manat’s eyes.

“Now the other hand. Good. Don’t rely on one hand all the time—you need to be strong in both.”

Bradamante nodded, distracted by the lingering sensation of pushing her fingers through firm flesh.

“Focus,” Manat ordered.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to defend myself this time. Get to my eyes.”

Bradamante grappled with her teacher, looking for any opening. At last she used her left hand to block Manat’s careening fist, then drove her right hand into Manat’s face.

“Good,” Manat said. “Now you.”

She attacked Bradamante at full force. Bradamante fought ferociously, deflecting blows, blocking kicks, keeping Manat’s fingers from piercing her own eyes.

Manat dropped to her side on the sand. She scissored her legs, sweeping Bradamante’s knees in one direction, her ankles in another. Bradamante heard her bones c***k.

“Aahh!” Bradamante shouted, from frustration rather than pain. The bones healed almost instantly. “What did I do wrong?”

“You were watching me too closely,” Manat answered. “Look at all of me in one glance, rather than focusing on one leg or one fist.”

Bradamante nodded, her forehead knit in concentration.

“Remember,” Manat said, “even if you think you’re doing everything right in a fight, at times you will be hurt. The body is weak. You can die very easily. If someone breaks your right arm, you need to be equally strong with your left. Your body must be perfectly balanced—strong top to bottom, one side to the next.”

Bradamante shifted back into her fighting stance. Manat attacked again. Once more Bradamante landed on the sand. She accepted Manat’s offered hand.

“Try again,” the teacher said. “Don’t be impatient. We have all night.”

Bradamante never knew what lesson awaited her when she fell asleep beside her own fire and awoke next to Manat’s. Some nights they fought on the beach until dawn. Bradamante learned to defend herself with bare hands and feet. Manat schooled her in weapons—knife, sword, spear. Other nights they sat before the fire while Manat tutored Bradamante in reading and writing.

“Most girls will never learn to read,” Manat told her one night. “Did you know that?”

“No. Why not?”

“Most of the teachers in this kingdom are monks. Very few of them believe girls have a place in their schools.”

“Then where did you learn?” Bradamante asked.

“I was taught by a monk who believed everyone should know how to read. He had to teach me in secret, though, or his master—the high priest—would have punished him.”

“Were the two of you ever caught?”

“No. My god wanted me to be able to read, so he protected us.”

Manat had mentioned her god before, without elaboration. This time Bradamante decided to probe further. “Does everyone have a god, Manat?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too?”

“Of course.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

Bradamante sighed. The answer was typical of Manat. She tortured Bradamante with her secrecy. “You will know when it’s time to know,” was a common response to Bradamante’s questions about the future. Manat was equally evasive about her own life. Bradamante knew nothing about her teacher beyond what she could observe during their time together at the white house.

She tried a different question. “Why did that monk think everyone should know how to read?”

“He believes those who have gone before us have much to say about how best to live our lives. I agree. The books of the Masters have so much to teach us. The more I read of their wisdom, the better I understand what work I’m called to do in this world.”

“What work is that?”

“The work I’m doing.”

“Teaching me?”

“Yes. And other things.”

“What other things, Manat?”

“So many questions. Let’s get back to your lesson.”

Bradamante groaned. “You never tell me anything.”

“I tell you everything.”

Bradamante laughed. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Shhh.” Manat pointed to the page on Bradamante’s lap. “Read here. Out loud.”

“What happened to the monk?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Please, Manat, tell me that at least.” Bradamante sensed her teacher softening. “Please, this is my last question. Just tell me and I promise I’ll read the rest of the night.”

Manat relented. “All right. Samual is a high priest now. He is master of his own temple. Now he has the power to teach whomever he wants. The girls who live at his temple are the best-educated in the kingdom. So are the boys. Now if you stop questioning your teacher and pay attention to your studies instead, one day you might know as much as those students do.”

Bradamante did her best to ensure that her brother was well-educated, too. Ever since Bradamante’s demonstration with the fish, Rinaldo had stopped insisting that Manat wasn’t real. Now every morning his first question was, “What did you learn?”

Elated finally to share her experience with her brother, Bradamante worked tirelessly to fill his head with everything she knew. She taught him to read and write. She demonstrated every battle maneuver Manat had shown her. They tumbled in the dirt, fighting hand to hand. They practiced sword fighting and knife fighting with weapons made from sticks.

Still, Bradamante didn’t feel she was doing enough.

“Can I take this book with me?” Bradamante asked Manat one night. “Naldo would love it.”

“No. These things are only for you. They have to stay here.”

“Why won’t you let him come here with me? I’ve been teaching him as much as I can, but he could learn it so much better from you.”

“Your brother has his own destiny, Bradamante.”

“But if you’d only meet him—”

“No. Let him learn from you. That will be enough.”

Bradamante sighed. “It’s so unfair. Naldo’s done everything for me.”

“And you’re doing everything you can for him. His path is different from yours. What you’re giving him is enough. Now no more, Bradamante. Don’t be distracted from your own work. I have something new to show you today. Are you ready to learn more?”

Bradamante’s mood immediately lightened. “What is it?”

“Come outside.” When they were clear of the house, Manat motioned toward the meadow.

Bradamante caught her breath. “Is it ... mine?”

“She is, and you are hers. Her name is Egalite. Go see if she knows you.”

Bradamante raced up the hill to meadow. Manat followed a few paces behind.

“Call her,” Manat suggested.

Bradamante’s voice cracked with anticipation. “Egalite!”

The massive gray mare lifted her head from the tender meadow grass and saucered her ears toward Bradamante. Then the horse erupted into a furious gallop. Her long gray mane fluttered behind her. Her tail whipped behind her like a flag.

Bradamante held her breath. She stood her ground, despite the terrible pounding of Egalite’s hooves. At the last possible moment the horse dropped her weight into her hindquarters and halted just a head’s length away from Bradamante.

Bradamante released her captive breath. She reached forward and stroked the mare’s neck. Egalite dipped her forehead and pressed it into Bradamante’s chest.

“She’s beautiful,” Bradamante marveled.

“You’d better learn how to ride her,” Manat said. “You’ll want to be ready when you meet her in the flesh.”

Manat showed Bradamante how to lace her fingers through the horse’s mane and pull herself onto Egalite’s back. Bradamante felt a shock of familiarity. She knew this horse—or at least her body knew. She sat comfortably astride Egalite’s wide, smooth back, convinced she had sat just that way a thousand times before.

“Do I ride her bareback?”

“For now. It’s the best way to learn balance.” Manat stroked the mare’s side. “This is an excellent horse—you can trust her. Egalite knows more than you do about riding into a fight. But she can’t do everything for you. If you fall from her during battle, there’s little she can do to protect you.”

“Then I won’t fall off,” Bradamante vowed.

“You will. The question is what you will do to save yourself then.”

“What would you do?” Bradamante asked.

Manat c****d a half-smile. “I wouldn’t fall off.”

For two years Bradamante lived two separate lives. In daylight she hunted and fished and taught her brother everything she knew. At night she abandoned her childhood and raced to her adult life, where her limbs were long, her body strong, and her mind as quick as a fish darting through a stream. If she were honest—if it were not vain to admit it—she loved and admired the grown Bradamante, as though she were someone different from Bradamante herself. She loved Manat, too. Her teacher was everything her mother was not. Bradamante found she could bear anything, so long as she awoke each night in the clean, white cottage on the sea.

When the change came, Bradamante was completely unprepared. Manat had given her no warning. The announcement knocked Bradamante’s heart straight into her stomach.

“I’m going to visit my sister,” Aya said. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’m taking Rinaldo with me.”

Aymon and Rinaldo looked up from their suppers, stunned. Bradamante kept her eyes on her food.

Rinaldo said, “Tomorrow?”

“My dear,” said Lord Aymon, “it’s dangerous for a woman alone—”

“As I said, I will take Rinaldo with me. He can protect me, can’t you, Rinaldo?”

Rinaldo nodded. He cast his eyes toward where his sister sat in her customary corner at the other side of the room. Bradamante dared not look at him.

“I would be happy to take you myself, Aya, if you can wait a few more weeks for the harvest to be done—”

“No. I need to go now. I’ve waited too long as it is. My sister must wonder why I haven’t come before. Rinaldo and I will leave tomorrow.”

“Why so soon?” Rinaldo asked.

Aya barely turned her head. “Get ready tonight. We leave at first light.”