‘Reasonable men can usually find reasons to get along with each other.’
‘Elenes set great store in reason, do they not?’
‘It’s one of our quirks, I suppose.’
‘I’ll explain something about one of our customs to you, Sparhawk-Knight. I may not say it too clearly, because I am clumsy in your language. I’ll rely on you to explain it to the others.’
‘I’ll do my very best, Atan Engessa.’
‘Atana Mirtai will go through the Rite of Passage while she is in Atan.’
‘I was fairly sure she would.’
‘It is the custom of our people for the child to relive the memories of childhood before the rite, and it is important for her family to be present while that is done. I have spoken with Atana Mirtai, and her childhood was not happy. Many of her memories will be painful, and she will need those who love her near while she sets them aside. Will you tell Ehlana-Queen and the others what is happening?’
‘I will, Engessa-Atan.’
‘The Atana will come to you when she is ready. It is her right to choose those who will support her. Some of her choices may surprise you, but among my people, it is considered an honour to be chosen.’
‘We will look upon it so, Engessa-Atan.’
Sparhawk briefly advised the others that Mirtai would be calling a meeting at a time of her own choosing, but he did not go into too much detail, since he himself did not know exactly what to expect.
That evening the Atan giantess moved quietly through the camp, her manner uncharacteristically diffident. She did not, as they might have expected, peremptorily command them to attend, but rather she asked, one might almost say pleaded, and her eyes were very vulnerable. Most of her choices were the ones Sparhawk would have expected. They were the people who had been closest to Mirtai during her most recent enslavement. There were some surprises, however. She invited a couple of Pandions Sparhawk had not even known she was acquainted with as well as a couple of Kring’s Peloi and two Atan girls from Engessa’s legions. She also asked Emban and Oscagne to hear her story.
They gathered around a large fire that evening, and Engessa spoke briefly to them before Mirtai began. ‘It is customary among our people for one to put childhood away before entering adulthood,’ he told them gravely. ‘Atana Mirtai will participate in the Rite of Passage soon, and she has asked us to be with her as she sets the past aside.’ He paused, and his tone became reflective. ‘This child is not like other Atan children,’ he told them. ‘For most, the childhood that is put away is simple and much like that of all others of our race. Atana Mirtai, however, returns from slavery. She has survived that and has returned to us. Her childhood has been longer than most and has contained things not usual – painful things. We will listen with love – even though we do not always understand.’ He turned to Mirtai. ‘It might be well to begin with the place where you were born, my daughter,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, Father-Atan,’ she replied politely. Since Engessa had assumed the role of parent when they had first met, Mirtai’s response was traditionally respectful. She spoke in a subdued voice that reflected none of her customary assertiveness. Sparhawk had the distinct impression that they were suddenly seeing a different Mirtai – a gentle, rather sensitive girl who had been hiding behind a brusque exterior.
‘I was born in a village lying to the west of Dirgis,’ she began, ‘near the headwaters of the River Sarna.’ She spoke in Elenic, since, with the exception of Oscagne, Engessa and the two Atan girls, none of her loved ones spoke Tamul. ‘We lived deep in the mountains. My mother and father made much of that.’ She smiled faintly. ‘All Atans believe that they’re special, but we mountain Atans believe that we’re especially special. We’re obliged to be the very best at everything we do, since we’re so obviously superior to everybody else.’ She gave them all a rather sly glance. Mirtai was very observant, and her offhand remark tweaked the collective noses of Styric and Elene alike. ‘I spent my earliest years in the forests and mountains. I walked earlier than most and ran almost as soon as I could walk. My father was very proud of me, and he often said that I was born running. As is proper, I tested myself often. By the time I was five, I could run for half a day, and at six, from dawn until sunset.
‘The children of our village customarily entered training very late – usually when we were nearly eight – because the training-camp in our district was very far away, and our parents did not want to be completely separated from us while we were still babies. Mountain Atans are very emotional. It’s our one failing.’
‘Were you happy, Atana?’ Engessa asked her gently.
‘Very happy, Father-Atan,’ she replied. ‘My parents loved me, and they were very proud of me. Ours was a small village with only a few children. I was the best, and my parents’ friends all made much of me.’
She paused, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘And then the Arjuni slavers came. They were armed with bows. They were only interested in the children, so they killed all of the adults. My mother was killed with the first arrow.’
Her voice broke at that point, and she lowered her head for a moment. When she raised her face, the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Gravely, the Princess Danae went to her and held out her arms. Without apparently even thinking about it, Mirtai lifted the little girl up into her lap. Danae touched her tear-wet cheek and then softly kissed her.
‘I didn’t see my father die,’ Mirtai continued. Her voice was choked, but then it rang out, and her tear-filled eyes hardened. ‘I killed the first Arjuni who tried to capture me. They’re ignorant people who can’t seem to realise that children can be armed too. The Arjuni was holding a sword in his right hand, and he took my arm with his left. My dagger was very sharp, and it went in smoothly when I stabbed him under the arm with it. The blood came out of his mouth like a fountain. He fell back, and I stabbed him again, up under his breast-bone this time. I could feel his heart quivering on the point of my knife. I twisted the blade, and he died.’
‘Yes!’ Kring half-shouted. The Domi had been weeping openly, and his voice was hoarse and savage.
‘I tried to run,’ Mirtai went on, ‘but another Arjuni kicked my feet out from under me and tried to grab my dagger. I cut the fingers off his right hand and stabbed him low in the belly. It took him two days to die, and he screamed the whole time. His screams comforted me.’