“You mean they’re forced to cut themselves?” I asked in horror, finally distracted from my own problems. “You make children hurt themselves just for being children?”
“When one begins the lessons of manhood, one must also begin to put away the doings of childhood,” he explained, looking as though he’d expected my comment. “Those young l’lendaa will grow quickly to be men, and as the child is taught, so does the man do. To allow the child to wave his child’s sword about as he wills, is to have a man who does the same with a man’s weapon. Is it not worth a few drops of blood and a wound which quickly heals, to save a life which might be accidently taken by the thoughtless sweep of an unguarded blade?”
It sounded so logical when he put it that way, but it also sounded terribly cold-blooded. I couldn’t quite bring myself to agree with him, but he didn’t wait for agreement.
“Once the l’lenda-to-be has been taught prudence, skill, and patience, he must then be taught the reality of what he does,” I was told. “The contests and trials of skill are engaged in with blunted weapons, and even when one downs one’s opponent, that opponent rises again after, at most, a matter of moments. From such things a boy might come to believe that his opponents will ever rise again after being downed, or that he, himself, will do so after being bested. He must be taught instead that the sword of life is never blunted, that if he should best another that other will never again rise, that if he himself is bested, he will be slain. I will not tell you now what method is used to impress this truth upon them, yet are they taught to know it beyond all possible doubt.”
I shuddered at the grimness in his voice, not about to ask any questions concerning the part he’d left out. I didn’t want to know what method they used to teach boys their own mortality and the mortality of others; it had to be terribly painful, and not necessarily in a physical sense.
“Even with all this preparation,” he went on, “one does not truly become a l’lenda till one has stood in answer to a challenge and has shown one’s strength and understanding. I do not now refer to skill, hama, for to stand victorious after challenge is a self-evident indication of skill. The strength I speak of is the strength to defend one’s self and property, knowing full well that a life will be taken by that action. The understanding necessary is upon the point that one is justified in that defense, that wrong lies with the one who attempts to take what belongs to another, whether that thing is property or life itself. One is wrong to take or attack without provocation, never to defend or protect. A true l’lenda does not joy in bringing others hurt, hama, yet is he able to give that hurt when necessary. It is not only his right, it is his duty.”
He was looking at me now with an expectation of sorts, as if waiting to hear that I understood what he’d said and agreed with it. Everything was always so clear-cut and easily answered to him, so simple and understood with ease. I really did wish I could be that way, but I didn’t seem to have it in me.
“Even if doing it makes him feel like an ugly, horrible creature?” I asked, looking up into those blue eyes that never tried to turn away from unpleasant things. “Even if defending himself makes him feel worse than anything another person could do, including killing him? Isn’t it better to let other people be the monsters, even if you have to die for it? I know you don’t agree with me, but I’d rather be a dead human being than a live monster.”
“You are mistaken, Terril,” he said, and his continuing calm patience surprised me. “I do indeed agree with a part of what you have said. It is far easier to allow others to do as they will, far less damaging to one’s self-image of nobility to merely accept harm and never to give it. One may then smugly say that he has never brought pain or harm to another, and happily accept the end of his life secure in the knowledge of his goodness. If he were not to find an end, however, he might soon discover that his goodness is not quite as extensive as he believes. He, who had the ability and skill to halt one who had no honor, chose instead to accept and allow wrongdoing for the sake of his own comfort. His great sacrifice in the name of good allows a sadarayse, one who is far below the level of a man, to continue on and harm others, perhaps many others before one is attempted who considers the well-being of others above his own. This one will accept the pain of bringing harm to another, so that those innocents beyond him will not suffer needlessly. It is indeed far more pleasant to accept harm to oneself, hama, yet at what cost? A l’lenda has been taught to accept his duty and not shirk it; one who shirks finds more pleasure, yet spurns the necessary. Who, then, I wonder, is truly the monster, the creature? The one who stands and fights, or the one who merely accepts what is given?”
The question, which should have been rhetorical, hung in the air between us like a palpable presence, refusing to let itself be ignored. He was waiting for an answer, demanding that I give one, refusing to let me avoid it. The only problem was that all I had was more confusion, nothing remotely like an answer.
“But you said using my abilities was wrong,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself again to keep from shivering. “You said it more than once and so did others. And you don’t know what it’s like when they’re afraid of you, when they move back to make sure you don’t notice them and do something . . .”
“You believe one who is l’lenda has never been shown fear?” he asked, and this time there was impatient ridicule in his tone and expression. “You have been too much among l’lendaa yourself, Terril, where the fear is not so easily seen. When Cinnan and I spoke to the shopkeepers of this place, many of them trembled to find themselves faced with our presence without the matching presence of l’lendaa of their own. Had they known he and I are dendayy, leaders in our own cities, their fear would have been much greater. We bear weapons which are able to do great harm, you see, and also possess the skill to wield them.”
“But you and Cinnan would never hurt anyone without reason,” I protested, upset even more that he brought up the same point Dallan had. “They have no cause to be afraid of you.”
“And yet they are,” he said, for some reason looking pleased. “When there is fear in a man and he fails to control it, it soon begins to control him instead. A man in control of his fear is aware of all danger around him; a man whose fear is in control sees danger everywhere. The two outlooks are not the same, wenda, and you were not told that the use of your abilities is wrong. You were told that to use them against others without adequate reason was wrong, a distinction you were then unable to make. Now you must strive diligently to make the distinction, for I no longer forbid you the use of your powers.”
I know my jaw hit the ground, then, and from all the way up in his lap, at that. A few days earlier I would have been absolutely delighted to hear him say that, but right then all I felt was panic.
“How can you say that?” I demanded, my voice suddenly as shrill as my eyes were wide. “I’m supposed to be your memabra, subject to you and obedient to you in all things. You can’t just cut me loose that way!”
“I have not-‘cut you loose,’” he denied, and I swear I could see a grin lurking in his eyes. “You remain my memabra and shall continue to be obedient, yet must you see to the matter of your power yourself. I had not understood that to forbid you its use was the same as forbidding a l’lenda grown the use of his sword. A boy child may be made to wound himself and a girl child may be switched, yet a l’lenda grown must be allowed the choice of when to bare his weapon, and a woman of power must be allowed the directing of that power. I attempted to bear the burden for you, hama sadendra, yet this may not be. The burden of power may not be borne by any save its possessor, and that one must be strong. All I may do is aid you in gaining the necessary strength. ”