Read Online The Warrior Who Carried Life by Geoff Ryman - Free Book Online Page B

Lady,” Cara said, and Stefile quickly walked away, shoulders hunched, back towards Cara. Tears, Stefile had been taught, were part of your naked soul escaping; it was bad to let anyone see them. Cara understood that, and did not call after her. She walked back into the kerig. The Angels sat straight-legged, hands resting on their knees, backs arched.
    “They will break you if they can,” said a voice, and Cara turned.
    Behind her stood a middle-aged man with a broken nose and a pot belly. He did not wear clean white robes, but a brown loincloth. He did not carry a parasol; his skin was dark from the sun. “And if they break you,” he continued, “they will send you home, for you are not strong enough. And if they do not break you, they may simply dislike you.”
    “Who are you?” Cara asked.
    “I am Galad. I am the trainer. Am I not wrong in thinking you are a new candidate?”
    “No, you are not,” Cara replied, and asked with a nod at the Angel Warriors, “Do they call that fighting?”
    The Angels had begun what looked to Cara merely like a very spectacular dance, with high leaps and spins in mid-air, and dives towards the ground that turned into somersaults. They grabbed each other by the arms and threw each other in circles.
    “It is fighting of the most deadly kind,” replied Galad. “You will see later.”
    “Are there so few of them?” Cara asked having counted roughly sixty of them.
    “Most of them are in the great house. They guard there three days, and spend one in training.”
    “And how long, Master, does it take to become a fighter of this School?”
    “Three years,” replied Galad, “before you know the basic positions.”
    “And how likely is it that new candidates are accepted?”
    “Of every fifty, one.”
    Cara nodded. “Then we’d best begin.” She unbuckled her armour and leant it against the tub of the mulberry, feeling a certain sense of relief: she need not worry about being accepted by the School; she need not accept its customs or its manners; she did not have time to learn its techniques. She would have her month in the Most Important House, and that would have to be enough.
    “The first thing you must master,” said Galad, “is the positions. Without accomplishing the positions, you will not be able to perform the movements. This is the first.” Galad sat on the white stone, cross-legged, and bent down, and despite his paunch, put his chin on his lap and his forehead on his feet. “And the second,” he said without strain in his voice, and arched backwards until his forehead touched the pavement behind him.
    “Try,” said Galad, and Cara did, and of course failed.
    “Don’t move in sharp jabs,” said the trainer. “Move slowly, as far as you can, and then hold it.”
    The Angel Warriors began to gather around her.
    “He has a back like an iron rod. He is a cripple!”
    “These country men do too much coarse labour. It ruins them for anything precise. He’d be of more use as a pack horse.”
    “Or a Carrier for the Family.”
    “Would you like that, country man? To be a Carrier?” Haliki teased Cara.
    “He does not even know what it is!” chuckled one of them.
    “Harado, my friend,” said Haliki, sounding pained. “For appearance’s sake, get rid of this boy’s armour, will you. It offends me.”
    “I should not touch it if I were you,” said Cara, and succeeded in putting her head on her knees.
    “A threat?” said Haliki, amused. He squatted behind Cara and placed the edge of his hand along her back. “A blow. Right there. You would open up.”
    Cara sat upright, and looked around at him. “I merely made a statement of fact. That armour has a mind of its own. I should not touch it.”
    “Get rid of it,” said Haliki, wearily.
    One of the Angels tried to pick up the sword. It leapt away from him.
    “Ah,” said Haliki. “Magic. We have someone from a travelling show. What other tricks do you have to amuse the peasants?”
    “Are you a