Father Sky

Yuya was acquiring new skills at a breakneck pace. By day five, he could actually consistently control both the direction and speed of his horse, though it still bounced him around uncomfortably at any gait quicker than a fast walk or slow trot. The ornery bay, whose Bekhite name was lost with its last rider, he had taken to calling Haiseiko after a famous Japanese racehorse. Haiseiko still didn't seem impressed with Yuya, but at least the beast wasn't openly contemptuous of its new owner anymore.

The Cainites seemed to be following the same path of gradually warming up to him. Grant had a huge headstart on Yuya in terms of horsemanship and archery– the two skills the Cainites valued most highly– not just from being among them a week or two longer, but also from his past life as a hunter, and the son of horse ranchers, on Earth. Though even he had a few odds and ends to learn. Conveniently, his meant while Gotai, trained in equestrianism among the Lugo aristocracy, could teach Grant how to lead his palomino Silver in complex wheeling maneuvers using only his legs, the more patient Piran could show Yuya how to kick Haiseiko up and down in gaits between a trot and a canter.

When they stopped to camp on their fifth night out from the manor, Piran drew and strung his bow, and held it out to Yuya. “Want to give it another try?”

Yuya took the bow and an arrow, faced the loose dirt on the other side of a dry creekbed, and drew. His arm reached the limit of its strength less than halfway to his face, and he let off gently. “I think I’ll need a kid’s bow. I thought I was getting strong on that farm, but…”

“Moving from particularly weak to unremarkable is one thing, but building real strength takes time. And archery requires strength in certain muscles you might not use in many other tasks. If you still need a lighter bow by the time we return to Cain’s camp, I think my oldest grandson is about ready for a full-power one. I’m certain he would lend you his current one, once his father and I make him a replacement.”

“Or,” Iona said as she came up behind the two of them, “ye could cheat.” She had an accent and vernacular distinctive of her homeland, Vetania, but her native dialect seem to belong to the same overall language as that of the Jalabartans and the steppe tribes. Yuya was beginning to suspect most or all casual speech on Nod was mutually intelligible, with little linguistic variation across the whole moon.

She came to a kneeling posture between them, supported her crossbow with her knee, and loosed a bolt into the dirt. “You’re hardly the first new-made Cainite to struggle with the steppe tribes’ tradition of horseback archery. Some cannae draw their bows, like ye an’ delicate auld me, while others wrestle something fierce with the horseback part. I think Grant o’er there is still havin’ a go at their thumb draw technique. He seems to be used to the three-finger draw, like the longbowmen of mainland Vetania, who don’t have to deal with a mount bouncin’ around. Islanders like me prefer to skip all that nonsense and just use a crossbow. If ye can find one, I’d recommend it to ye, Yuya.”

That made Yuya smile. Iona was not much taller and no broader across the shoulders than most of her sex, sure, but he had heard the exceedingly elaborate curses she routinely wove while beating her horse into compliance. Whether she could draw a Cainite warbow or not, she was certainly not delicate.

“You're right, Iona. I do plan to cheat. With magic. I need to talk to that shaman of yours. How should I approach trying to get him to teach me?”

The old Jalabartan and the young Vetana looked at each other, and frowned. “Now, Yuya, I dinnae ken much about the steppe tribes’ religion, I joined up for the booty, but their patron is a dangerous auld god.”

“They worship Death, right? That's what they said back at the outpost. Sounds like their magic would be powerful, at least.”

“The Lord of Death is not the same thing as Death itself, at least no more than your bows and horses are part of you.” The shaman appeared behind Yuya at his mention, though none of the three had noticed his approach. “It is not Him nor His creation; in fact, it is one of the few things in this universe He did not make. But you are right to fear Him, girl.” He tilted his head, the chains on his helmet hanging aside enough to reveal a single wine-colored eye. “Death is His by right of conquest.”

“Perhaps your god is worthy of my fear,” Yuya said, “but then, most things in this world seem to be. I do fear death, only slightly less than I did before I experienced it the first time; if fewer things were capable of easily inflicting it on me, I would sleep much easier. I was tortured and nearly killed after being captured by a djinn-invoker of the Great Temple of Jalabarta; if I ever see this man again, can your god help me defeat him?”

The shaman nodded. “If you can make of yourself a perfect vessel of His gifts, Penitent, this man, his djinn, perhaps even the god who lives in his temple will need to fear death, by way of you.”

“Then teach me.” Yuya dropped to his knees, driving his head into the dirt beneath the steppe grass. This got the attention of Grant and Gotai, who rode over to see the exchange.

“Show me your Mark, Penitent.”

Yuya rose to a kneel, and opened the front of the reinforced jacket Grant had given him, showing the symbol on his shoulder.

“Hm. You are doing well, but I will not teach you. At least, not yet. Rise. Practice your horse-handling for now, and refine your technique with a sword. Maybe forego learning archery to focus on that, for the moment. Help the other Penitent, while he helps you. He has the makings of a mighty warrior, strong and a good shot and a good rider, but his skill with a blade leaves much to be desired; you are outpacing him in that, at least. Be diligent, Penitent of Sloth, and I will show you the path to power when you are ready.”

“I don't see the point in waiting around.” There was a confrontational grumble to Grant’s voice. “Why don’t you give the kid something to work with? Clearly you have some idea where he came from, how hard all this is on him.”

“I know very little of your world, but be at ease. Your patience will be rewarded, if you can muster it, Penitent of Wrath. What he seeks to learn could easily destroy him and you, if done without due care.”

Yuya nodded. “I understand… what should I call you, shaman?”

“I am Sauhur, Grand Shaman of the Bayut, Master of the White Circle. Whether you prove to be worthy of my instruction or not, Penitent, it is good you approached me, out of all Cainite shamans, for tutelage. Others might not be so cautious, and the path of the White Circle, or of the Orange, or the Green, or the Black, is not to be treaded lightly.”