Read Online Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin by Caren J. Werlinger - Free Book Online Page A

were sound, that did not make Ash feel better. Smaller than all of the others and hampered by her scarred leg and arm, she knew she would be at a disadvantage and was not looking forward to learning to fight.
    Fortunately, there were other things to learn first. She spent days listening to Neela tell them tales of the gods and goddesses who protected their land – the Dagda and Danu, Morrigan, Aonghus, Brighid, Arawn – the list went on and on until Ash’s head swam with the names and deeds.
    “Do you believe in the gods?” she asked Enat one evening as they sat outside their cottage. It was a gentle night. The new warmth of the spring lay heavy on everything, and the scent of flowering bushes and trees perfumed the night air. Ash lay on her back, watching the stars wheel slowly through the dark sky, listening to the activity in the forest around them.
    Enat smiled as her fingers deftly wove a basket from reeds, working by feel without the need for light. “I believe people need something to believe in. They need a way to explain what they cannot understand, and they need to feel that there is something bigger than themselves.”
    Ash thought about this. “Animals do not do this.”
    “No, I would guess that they don’t.”
    Ash sighed impatiently. “Life with the badgers was much simpler.”
    Enat smiled. “I’m sure it was. Would you go back?”
    Ash was quiet for a long time. “I have learned much, yet I miss them.”
    Enat set her basket down and came over to sit beside Ash and pointed to the sky. “You are like the evening star, one with all the others and yet apart, brighter than the rest.”
    Ash shook her head. “I am not brighter. The others – Cíana and Gai – they all know more than I. Even Diarmit does.”
    “Not more. At least, not more important,” Enat said. “You know things that cannot be taught. One day, you will understand how rare that is.”

    At last, the day Ash had been dreading arrived.
    “Today, we will go to the sparring ground.” Ivar led them to a clearing not far from the village. There, a three-sided lean-to sheltered a forge. A fire was already lit. Ivar had Diarmit pump the bellows, each gust of air shooting flames and sparks high as Ivar moved a bar of metal sitting in the fire, glowing red. When it was soft enough to mold, his thick arm wielded a hammer, hitting the bar with blows that rang in Ash’s ears.
    “Are we going to make our own weapons?” Daina asked, raising her voice over the clanging of the hammer.
    “No,” said Ivar, his face glistening. “But you should know where they come from.”
    Nearby was a small stone building that held weapons of all types: long and short sparring sticks, round discs of wood nearly as large as Ash, and an array of actual weapons, their metal edges gleaming in the half-light coming into the storehouse. Ash’s nose wrinkled at the sharp odor of the metal. Ivar appraised her for a moment and handed her a short stick. He handed fake weapons out to the others as well.
    “These are your swords,” he said.
    Gai protested. “I can handle a real sword.”
    Ivar looked at him. “Until I’m sure you can handle real weapons, these are what you’ll use. You’ll watch and learn.”
    He took them all through slow-motion moves with their sticks: blocking, slashing, stabbing. He left them to practice while he went to supervise some of the older apprentices who were fighting with long sticks on the other side of the yard.
    Ash and Diarmit and Daina sat together watching Gai and Cíana spar with their wooden swords. Ash winced as she listened to the sharp clack of their sticks as they parried. For a long while, they seemed evenly matched, but gradually, Gai, being taller and heavier than Cíana, forced her off-balance with a thrusting push with his stick. Ash groaned as she watched Cíana fall backward, certain that Gai had won. Cíana quickly rolled to one side, using her legs to sweep Gai’s feet out from under him. He landed