Gulp.
JOURNAL #21
(CONTINUED)
ZADAA
Fearcanbea good thing.
It’s the one emotion that always helps you make the right decision. Other emotions can lead you down the wrong path. Anger, jealousy, sadness, bliss-you name it. Good or bad, they take you out of the moment and cloud your thinking so you could easily make a dumb choice. Not so with fear. When you’re scared, you pretty much know what you have to do. Usually, it’s to get the heck away from whatever it is you’re scared of. But that isn’t always an option. Fear heightens your senses and makes your thinking so clear, you stand a better chance of beating whatever it is you’re afraid of. Whether it’s a quig, or a science test, or asking somebody out for a movie. When you’re afraid, you’re on. I guess you can be so messed up by fear that you freeze up, but short of that, fear can be your friend.
During the time I spent in that blast furnace of a training camp, fear was definitely my friend. It’s not that I was afraid of the training, or of getting hurt again, or of anything Loor or Alder would do to me. What I feared was Saint Dane. I knew that if I wasn’t able to defend myself, I could be in for another beating like I had gotten at the Ghee compound. If Pelle a Zinj hadn’t shown up, I would have died. I’m certain of that. The next time, I might not be so lucky. It was the fear of taking another beating that helped me to keep going. And I needed that help, because what Loor put me through was beyond anything I had expected. I wanted her to teach me a couple of moves, show me how to use one of those wooden weapons to ward off an attack and get in a couple of shots of my own.
What I got instead was a crash course in Warrior Hell, 101.
Loor, Alder, and I made ourselves at home in one of the sandstone bunkhouses that once had been used for young kids who came to Mooraj to be tested. Once inside the hut, it actually reminded me of my bunkhouse at the camp I went to as a kid. There were beds lined up along the walls to make use of every bit of space. But rather than being made from wood, with musty-smelling mattresses, these bunks were low, stone tables with grass mats. The place looked as if it had been abandoned quickly. There were still cups on tables and pieces of clothing scattered around. It was cooler inside too… by about a degree and a half. Still, it was a relief to get out of the sun.
We each picked a bed, and I lay down, happy to be horizontal. As I wrote before, I was pretty much healed, but I was totally out of shape from lying around for so long. I was going to have to get my strength back fast to go through Loor’s training, and whatever else lay ahead. We took the time to rest and bring Alder up to speed on all that was happening on Zadaa. The drought, the two tribes, the growing tension between the tribes, and the power struggle within the Ghee to either attack the Rokador or stay loyal to the family of Zinj and negotiate peace. Of course, we also told Alder about how Saint Dane went wild and beat me like a pinata, which was pretty much why we were at the camp to train.
Alder listened to everything, nodding in understanding, taking it all in. The only time he reacted with emotion was when I told him that Uncle Press was dead. The news made him wince. Uncle Press had played a huge role in saving Denduron.
“I am sorry” was all he could say.
I nodded. So was I. “So here we sit,” I finally said. “You and Loor have the impossible job of teaching me how to defend myself. But more important is figuring out what part Saint Dane is playing here on Zadaa.”
“If he has taken the form of a Ghee warrior,” Alder said, “he must be trying to convince the Batu to attack the Rokador. Starting wars is what ^ie does best.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But there’s got to be more to it than that. There always is.”
“Besides,” Loor added. “The rebel Ghee are powerful, but I do not believe they are strong enough to convince the people of Xhaxhu to go against the wishes of the royal family. Pelle a Zinj does not want war. The rebel Ghee may complain and threaten, but they will not go against generations of tradition. They know it would tear the Batu apart.”
Alder and I looked at Loor. She didn’t realize what she had just said.
“Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing Saint Dane would go for?” I asked. “Tearing a powerful tribe apart?”
“Yes,” Loor answered coldly. “But our traditions are strong. He may try, but he will fail.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Neither was Alder. “Hunger and thirst are powerful weapons,” he said quietly.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “That’s why I think Saint Dane is playing a bigger part in all this. I mean, what’s causing all the problems in the first place?”
“The drought?” Loor asked. “Saint Dane has no power over the weather.”
“No,” I said. “But the bottom line here is lack of water. No drought, no tension, no war.”
“Saint Dane must have seen the drought coming. That is why he is here,” Loor suggested.
“Maybe,” I said. “But Saint Dane doesn’t leave things to chance. I think there’s something else going on. I have no idea what it might be, but I’ll bet I know where to find out.”
“Where is that?” Alder asked.
“The underground,” I answered. “So far we’ve only seen the Batu side of this mess. We’ve got to find out what’s happening with the Rokador. They control the rivers of Zadaa. My guess is, if we want to find Saint Dane, we’ve got to go below and maybe go to that city where the Rokador leaders are. What’s it called?”
“Kidik,” Loor answered. “That would be dangerous,” she said.
“Yup,” I shot back. “That’s why we’re here right now, to make sure we’ve all got a chance of getting in and out alive.”
Loor nodded, thinking this over. She got up and stood in front of me.
“Stand up,” she ordered.
I got to my feet slowly. In the short time since we had been lying down, my muscles had already gone stiff. I think I was getting a taste of what it’s like to be eighty. I stood in front of Loor, looking into her eyes. She was an inch or two taller than me. I resisted the temptation to go up on my toes. She grabbed my arm, feeling my bicep. With a quick, dismissive “humph,” she checked my other arm. She turned me around and felt my lats, then down to my legs, where she clasped my quads, and then my calves. I felt like a horse being examined before being sent to auction. To be honest, I didn’t mind it…until Loor said, “You are weak.”
“Hey, I’ve been hurt, remember?” I said defensively. “My muscle tone is shot.”
“That is true,” Loor said dismissively. “But there was not much there to begin with.”
I bit my lip. She was the expert, but being told that I was a puny, pathetic specimen didn’t do much for my ego. Or confidence.
“Does that mean it’s hopeless?” I asked.
“No,” she answered with a sigh. “It means you must learn to be clever, because you will never win a fight with force.”
Oh.
Not that I really expected it, but once I made the decision, I have to admit that there were a few times I envisioned myself becoming a warrior who was all cut up and fierce looking. I guess that would be a little much to ask for, seeing as we didn’t have much time and I had been hurt and-Oh, who am I kidding? I had no chance of coming close to the kind of warrior Loor was. Never did. But I needed to know how to defend myself. So I put my ego aside and took the criticism as constructive.
“What do we do first?” I asked.
“We rest,” Loor answered. “Saangi will return soon with our provisions. We will eat, then sleep. Tomorrow morning we will begin.”
So far it sounded pretty cake. Saangi returned to Mooraj a few hours later, bringing with her more food than I could have imagined. She had a sack full of bread and fruit and some kind of nutty-tasting cheese that I couldn’t get enough of. She also brought a large, leather bag filled with water. Precious water. If we were going to be working out, we needed as much as possible. After we had eaten our fill, I said, “Thank you, Saangi. You’re amazing.”