I will not be outdone by their ridiculous games. And in games, I always win.
And that is exactly what transpires. The next morning, my path to the monastery’s terrace is intercepted when the students sprint toward me, dark blue and white tunics splattered in turmeric, armpits stained mortifyingly mustard as if with day-old sweat.
‘We concede!’ Yasaman breathes out heavily.
‘Oh?’
She glowers. ‘Fine, we agree to be your squadron. But it’s madness!’
‘A good kind of madness,’ I promise.
Without wasting time, I pursue training the pazktab students that day. They ask me many questions, some as a product of curiosity and others of their ineptness.
‘Meditation is a bore; when do we learn iron-bone?’ Sohrab asks.
‘Boredom is the failure to pay attention and meditation is the cure for boredom. Breathing is half the war. Controlling your breath determines who lasts longest in battle, and—’
‘Master, enough with the parables,’ he moans out.
Beside me, No-Name leans against a citrus tree and leaps up to grab a fruit that swings out of reach. She speaks with each jump, becoming increasingly impatient. ‘Training these. Foolish students. Cannot work.’
If I knew of a faster way to create my own squadron, I wouldn’t be helping them at all, I counter.
Her pale lips curve up bitterly. ‘There are many ways if you open yourmind. But you choose to block your mind, relying on children, rather than me—’
A growl rumbles from the citrus groves behind us. I still. ‘What was that?’
The students rouse from their meditation, glancing around for the source of the sound.
‘Help!’ a voice cries. From the orchards, I spot a karkadann sniffing near the trunk of a tree.
‘Get up,’ I hiss at my students, and they oblige. ‘Back away slowly to the pond and continue meditating.’
The beast’s conical horn shines above a bullish blue torso, jaw hung with a sagging, scaly dewlap. It’s both majestic and terrifying and my head pounds at seeing its red eyes. Even the birds from the Paradise fountains warble excitedly at the commotion.
‘O, Divine!’ the voice cries again as the karkadann grunts toward the tree. I follow its direction. It’s Arezu.
She hangs from the top branch of the citrus tree, her fingertips clinging for purchase, blood streaming down her hand where she must have scraped it. Attracted by her voice, the karkadann charges the trunk, shaking the tree, and Arezu slips to a lower branch, her feet now only a handspan away from its head.
‘Arezu?’ Sohrab asks, but I cover his gaze.
‘Do not stop meditating, no matter the distraction,’ I snap, as an idea comes over me. Teaching pazktab students is a difficult challenge – unless I have a primed student to inspire them, to lead with ambition and to make them complete.
What are you doing?No-Name follows me as I face Arezu.
I have found it. I point.My solution. I want it. I want the angry one.
As if she’s... athing.
Yes. She is rude. I like her rebellion. It means she craves a fight.
But it will break your order. Worry sweeps through No-Name’s gaze. You needme.Not these foolish allies. Besides, the girl is almost sixteen, wiser and more stubborn than the rest.
Then I will bring her into my order. All people can be subdued with time, all wills crushed.
‘Her what?’ Sohrab asks from behind me. ‘What are you muttering?’
‘Nothing.’ I walk cautiously toward Arezu’s tree, avoiding the karkadann.
