A Little Longer

Shanka arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’d call it magical.”

“Perhaps.” Malia tested the edge of an arrowhead against her thumb, unconcerned when it cut. “What’s the big battle strategy?”

“He’ll be expecting us to mobilize and form up in regular lines out on the steppes, just the way his father taught him. He’ll move fast so he can get what high ground he can, stake out a water supply, and establish a line of scouts.”

“Men are so predictable.”

“He’s a good general,” Shanka said. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“And?”

“And we make them wait. Just a little longer.”

Magically

Malia was laughing. “Did you see his face? I don’t think a woman has ever said no to him.”

Shanka sharpened her sword with broad, even strokes. “He thinks he knows war, but he’s just a child playing a game.”

Malia nudged a bowl of arrowheads closer and picked one up, began to sharpen them. “What was all that about his mother?”

“I doubt you remember her. She was one of the first, when the army was small and still hidden among the men,” Shanka said quietly.

Malia hissed in a breath. “I keep forgetting your face is magically youthful.”

Son of War Itself

Rastaban’s blood went cold.

“What do you know about my mother?” he hissed.

Shanka stepped back; her golden eyes were half-lidded, hypnotizing. “More than you ever could.” Louder, she said, “One week.”

She and Malia vanished into the shadows.

“...General?” Khouri asked.

Rastaban’s hands curled into fists. “If it’s war she wants, it’s war she’ll get.” His head was spinning. He was Rami’s son, and he hadn’t lost a single battle yet. He would show this upstart woman and her band of harridans what war really meant.

And he had no mother - he was the son of war itself.

Sporting Chances

“I do, however, believe in sporting chances,” Shanka continued. “I will give you one week to prepare your army to meet me on the Steppes, far away from both of our nations to spare both sides undue casualties.” She stepped forward, steps slow, hips swaying, and for one moment she was Kana again. She reached up and wound an arm around Rastaban’s neck, leaned in, and for one moment he was frozen, sure she was about to kiss him.

Kana had never kissed him.

“Sweet Rastaban,” she whispered. “Your mother was one of our finest warriors. What would she think?”

Let Yourself

“Surprise is such a delightful thing, isn’t it?”

Rastaban started.

Kana and Aliana stood at the entrance of the tent. Both wore their brightly-colored dancing skirts - and both carried swords.

Shanka and Malia. Impossible.

Khouri reached for his sword, but Rastaban shook his head.

“So, you knew all along.”

“Our accord was that you kept your army out of my nation,” Shanka said. “But you decided not to stand by your word. I, on the other hand, always stand by my word. And we will kill all of you.”

“You tricked me,” Rastaban said.

“You let yourself be tricked.”

Element of Surprise

“Then we’ll muster our forces and draw them out,” Rastaban said. “Attend to your weapons. Khouri, with me.” He stepped away from the fire, headed into the darkness beyond the others’ earshot.

“So you’re going to do this?” Khouri asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You were in that village for almost a month before you summoned us,” Khouri said. “I saw you with her - you were never like that with any of the women back home --”

“We’re doing this for the good of the people back home, understood? We have to strike while we have the element of surprise.” Rastaban sighed.

A Little Troublesome

“What have you learned?” Rastaban stoked the fire with an absent poke of his staff.

“Glad to see you managed to drag yourself out of your enemy’s bed,” Khouri said dryly.

“I’m not in her bed,” Rastaban began, and several of his men looked surprised. He sighed and shook his head. “Look, that’s not the point - what have you found?”

“Given how most of our men were in something akin to abject terror when they saw the women, recognition has been a little troublesome,” Khouri said, “but we think at least some of the women are hiding in plain sight.”

Each Other's Family

“So...your parents died in the wars?” Rastaban was holding one of the smallest children to prevent him from squirming while Kana did her best to feed him.

“No, they died long before.” Kana shrugged. “Most of these children are orphaned as well, so Aliana and I take care of them.”

“I’m sorry.” Rastaban smiled down at the little boy, who scowled and attempted to spit lentils at him. Rastaban laughed and dodged, which only earned him more scowling. “So...who takes care of you?”

“Everyone in the village takes care of each other,” Kana said. “We’re each other’s family.”

Maybes

If Khouri or Rhajj or any of the others had been present, Rastaban would have been horrified at what he was doing, but there was something oddly soothing about standing beside Kana, helping her feed the chickens. Maybe it was the rhythmic mindlessness of casting seeds in a circle about him.

Or maybe it was the way Kana smiled up at him.

“It’s so kind of you to help,” she said. “It’s not easy, with so many of our men...gone.”

“Gone?”

“Killed. In the wars.” Kana’s smile faltered. “But you don’t want to hear about that. Ever done laundry?”

A Lovely Story

“That was a lovely story,” Rastaban said.

Kana jumped and turned, one hand going to her throat. “Rastaban! You startled me. Is there something I can do for you?”

He shrugged insouciantly, flashed a smile at the children. Several waved at him.


“Actually,” he said, “I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you. My traveling companions have moved on, and I thought I’d stay here and make friends with the locals, make myself useful.”

Kana’s smile was as bright as the noonday sun and made Rastaban feel just as warm.

“We’d love to have you stay.”

Happened Next

Rastaban waited until the earliest risers of the village stirred before he crossed the green and headed for Kana’s place. He pushed aside the cloth that hung in the doorway of her hut - and paused.

Kana stood over the fire, stirring a massive pot of stew, while the children sat on the ground in a circle, watching her avidly.

She was telling a story, her voice low and lulling. Rastaban could barely catch the details, but it was about a songmistress who fell in love with a shadow demon.

“What happened next?” a little girl asked.

“He died for her.”

Too Many Pieces

Shanka stared into the dying embers of the fire.

“It’s not much of a plan at all, is it?” Malia asked.

“Rastaban’s a chauvinist pig. It won’t occur to him that I’m three steps ahead of him,” Shanka said. “Send runners out and tell the women to be ready.”

“Of course. The dancing was a nice touch, by the way.” And Malia faded into the shadows.

Shanka waited until Malia was out of earshot before she spoke again. “Are you amused, Old Master?”

“Immensely.” He slurped his soup loudly. “Have fun. Just don’t break his heart into too many pieces.”

Know So

“I know you’re just doing this so you have an excuse to woo Kana.” Khouri stood beside Rastaban and watched the men depart in ragged little search parties.

“If she really is General Shanka - and we have every reason to believe she might be - having conquered her off the battlefield will only make conquest in the heat of battle more sweet.” Rastaban’s smile was sun-bright and heartbreaking, and more than one foolish woman in their clan had succumbed to it.

Khouri sighed. “If you say so.”

Rastaban’s laughter was soft, dangerous. “I don’t just say so - I know so.”

In Plain Sight

“And the plan is?” Khouri asked.

“You saw them - lieutenant and general, look-alikes. Two too many for coincidence, if I say so myself.” Rastaban knelt and drew in the dirt, brow furrowed in concentration. “Have the men check the other villages as we did, as traveling strangers, see if they recognize any of the women. Have them ask for rumours and legends about the army of women. An entire army doesn’t just disappear.”

“Her army did,” Rhajj said.

Rastaban grinned. “Maybe it did. Or maybe it’s just hiding in plain sight. Now go - we have an army to find.”

A Plan

“What is he thinking?” Rhajj asked, poking his head into the tent. Khouri glared at him, and he snapped off a belated salute.

“He’s thinking of wooing Kana,” Khouri said sourly.

“It would be an excellent tactic,” Rastaban said. “Woo her, get her to trust me, and use her as...bait. For Kana’s army. They’ll come running when they discover we’ve taken their general.”

“Except we won’t actually have their general,” Khouri pointed out.

“We won’t need to,” Rastaban said. He beckoned to Rhajj. “Tell the men to divide into small groups and recon the villages. I have a plan.”

What I Know You're Thinking

“I don’t think I like the look on his face,” Khouri said to Rhajj. They’d thanked Aliana and Kana and before heading out of the village to rendezvous with the rest of the men.

Rastaban was glad to note that his men had quickly and quietly set up camp and spent the day preparing their weapons and gathering food.

“Any news of the army, sir?” the scout asked.

“None,” Rastaban said, and swept toward his tent.

Rhajj blinked, confused, and Khouri waved him aside to go organize the men.

“You can’t be thinking what I know you’re thinking,” Khouri said.

Parody of a Man

“You really think she’s a general?” Rhajj asked.

Khouri elbowed him.

“She’s a real woman,” Rhajj said. “That Shanka is a female-shaped parody of a man.”

Rastaban wasn’t listening. He was watching. Kana moved like a snake, slow and sinuous, twining her limbs as if she had no bones, and then she would shimmy her hips, drum-fast and hypnotizing. After the first dance, more women stepped up to join her, and Rastaban had to swallow some wine to cool himself down.

“Well,” he said to his men, two hours later. “That was fun. But we should...go. Now.”

Already Lost One

Dancing? Rastaban paused, the goblet halfway to his lips. He knew the dancing of Shruti the other clan matrons and sisters, the jingle of bangles at wrists and ankles as they flirted with their eyes, stomped and spun, poised mid-air on one foot and arced their wrists to form lotus flowers. He knew, somehow, that this dancing would be different, slower and more potent, sensual and bewitching.

And when Kana emerged from the shadows, clad in silk scarves with gold coins glittering at her hips and chest, throat and hair, Rastaban knew that he had already lost one battle.

Not Coincidences At All

She blinked at him, confused, and then she threw her head back, laughed, the sound musical and deliriously sweet. “Oh, aren’t you sly? My name is Aliana, but you were close. Been listening to the children, have you?”

“The children?” Rastaban asked. She thought he was flirting with her? He’d been about to try that, granted, but -- this was uncanny. Two such coincidences were not coincidences at all, he was sure.

“They call me Mama Aliana - perhaps the little ones who cannot quite speak call me Malia.” She refilled his goblet with deft hands. “Eat! There will be dancing next.”

Veritable Twin

Khouri and Rhajj looked suspicious of the food, but it wasn’t as if Kana could poison the food without harming all of the children who were eating it as well.

“Is it to your liking?” another woman asked.


Rastaban turned on his brightest smile, and his expression froze. The woman was a veritable twin of Shanka’s lieutenant, but she was dressed in lovely bright skirts and had a baby in a sling sleeping against her back.

Rhajj’s hand went to his belt, but Kana had asked them to stow their weapons out of the children’s reach.

“It’s delicious. Thanks, Malia.”

Shanka's Nation

Supper was a loud and friendly affair. Kana’s home swarmed with children - orphans, she said, of the wars and raids that had plagued her village over the years, the same wars that had taken her parents. The children were bright-eyed and cheerful, climbing over everyone and everything, quick to squabble over their food, and just as quick to share it. Kana was mother and sister to them all, helping the little ones eat their food, mopping mess and wiping tears.

Rastaban was surprised at how delicious the food was, and he dug in heartily. So this was Shanka’s nation.

None Familiar Yet

She turned and led him toward a squat, smoky hut on the edge of the village green. Rastaban turned to look at his lieutenants, who were pale-faced, as if they had seen a ghost.

“That’s her!” Rhajj hissed.

Khouri elbowed him. “We have been invited to dine with a friendly local. Shut up!”

“She’s going to poison our food,” Rhajj said.

“If that’s her, we’ll find out soon enough,” Rastaban said. He followed the woman who called herself Kana and studied her carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other women. None were familiar - yet.

Call Me Kana

A little child darted out of the crowd and tugged on the woman’s skirt. “Sister, hungry!” he whined.

The woman smiled and ruffled his hair, and Rastaban swallowed hard. Behind him, Khouri and Rhajj shifted uneasily.

“All right, I shall cook soon. These travelers will dine with us tonight, so you be on your best behavior, hm?”

The boy peered up at Rastaban with wide, dark eyes. “Brother?” he asked.

“No, not my brother,” the woman said. “We call everyone brother and sister here, but if that is not your tradition, you may call me Kana. Please, eat with us.”

Kind Stranger

Rastaban spun around - and stared. The woman who stood before him might have been General Shanka but for the simple linen shift she wore and the baby she bore in her arms.

The little child peered up at him and gurgled happily.

Rastaban was quite sure that General Shanka couldn’t smile so sweetly.

“What brings you to our village? We have little food, but you are just in time for the festival of the new moon, if you would like to share our hearth fire.”

Rastaban summoned his most charming smile. “So generous of you, kind stranger. Your name is...?”

Hello, Stranger

Sometimes, in distant dreams, Rastaban remembered life in his old village, before there was fire and death and blood. Sometimes he remembered his mothers eyes.

Just now, standing on the edge of this tiny village, he remembered that, for all he was the head of this army, he wasn’t one of Rami’s people, not the same color or height or anything but battle tactics and weapon fierceness.

These people here - they looked like him.

Most of his men were encamped beyond sight-line of the village with weapons and horses. Rastaban, Khouri, and Rhajj were playing travelers tonight.

“Hello, stranger.”

Following the Leader

“Here,” the scout said. “We were camped here. And we established a perimeter - they were over there.” He pointed. “And when we woke up, they were gone.”

Rastaban knelt and placed a hand on the flattened grass. The ashes from the fires were almost gone from the wind, faded over the week, but a massive camp had been here. He wished there was some way to find out how big her army truly was.


“They were headed north.” He straightened up. “We know where they live. We can draw them out.”

“How?” Rhajj asked.

“Follow me.” Rastaban hefted his spear.

Into Open Battle

The ranks the second day of marching were even more ragged than they were on the first as the men strained forward like dogs eager on the scent of fresh prey. These women had murdered their comrades, mocked their scouts, and played enough games. Despite the men’s contentions that they weren’t women at all but demons in the guise of women, Rastaban knew the truth - Shanka’s army was women, because the games they were playing were the same games women played when trying to encourage men to woo and pursue them, but Shanka only sought one pursuit - into open battle.

Mobilize

Rastaban was on his feet to meet all seven scouts as they dashed into camp. The leader flung himself at Rastaban’s feet, gasping for breath.

“What news?” Rastaban demanded.

The scout’s eyes were wide. “They’ve vanished, sir.”

“What?”

“We tracked them as far as the Steppes, and made camp, so we surrounded them and waited, watching in shifts. The next thing we knew, we were waking up and they were gone. Somehow - somehow they drugged our canteens, sir.” The scout ducked his head, trembling.


Rastaban’s hand went to his sword, but he wouldn’t draw it. He turned to Khouri. “Mobilize.”

Maybe A Little Longer

“It’s been seven days.” Rastaban stared into the flames and spun his dagger idly on one fingertip. “Seven days since the scouts have gone out. Where are they?”

“There’s every possibility they were spotted and killed,” Khouri said, voice low.

Rastaban took a deep breath. “Shanka wouldn’t just kill them - she’d send one back to taunt me.”

Rhajj blinked, surprised, but Khouri hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he said. “What now?”

“We mobilize,” Rastaban said. “The men won’t be patient much longer.”

“Maybe a little longer,” Rhajj said.

Rastaban lifted his head. “What makes you say that?”

“The scouts. They’re back.”

Orders are Orders

“The men are impatient, sir,” Khouri said.

Rastaban swung his sword with vicious force, the blade singing through the air as he traced battle patterns against invisible enemies. “We wait for the scouts. We won’t mobilize until then, because we’d be walking into a trap.”

Rhajj looked confused. “A trap? But sir --”

“Orders are orders,” Rastaban said. “Get out there and get my men ready. This is going to be an ugly battle.”

Rhajj shook his head. “Sir, they’re just women --”

“Who killed over a hundred of our men without a thought.” Rastaban’s eyes flashed. “Get my men ready, lieutenant.”

Said It Before

"You did that on purpose." Shanka shook her head, amused at her master's antics.

"Maybe just a little."

"So this Voice...how did you meet him?"

"He found me after the first time I died." Old Master glanced over his shoulder. "Rastaban's scouts are swift. What's your plan?"

It was Shanka's turn to grin. "You taught me how to become invisible. We shall disappear on the wind."

"You're cruel. Did you know that?"

"You've said it before."

"You just need reminding every now and again."

Shanka's grin turned fierce. "It's not something I've ever endeavoured to forget. Lieutenants, to me!"