The Warrior Who Carried Life Read Online Free Page A

for us.” The smile turned to Cara’s father. “We will give you a daughter that no one will wed, and sons who cannot work.”
    “We cannot live, you take so much!” her father roared. “Do you want us all to die?”
    “Eventually, yes,” replied the Son. Then he said, “Start with the daughter. He must see his whole life demolished, step by step.”
    Cara’s arms were gripped and she was pulled down. She felt fury that her human soul should be overcome by animal strength. She could not move. She could not fight. She would not scream, she promised herself. She would not cry. Death in any form had to be faced in the end. The soldiers held her on her own bed.
    Tikki’s arms were smooth and thick, with beautiful workings under the sheen of his skin. The arm with the sickle broke free and slashed the neck of a Man who is Baked. A warrior with a horse’s tail hanging from his helmet turned and with a casual swipe of the sword, cut through Tikki’s arm at the shoulder. It hung, held by a few ligaments and skin. Tikki gaped, unbelieving. With a brisk wrench the arm was removed and white powder was thrown over the wound. A warrior bound it with white strips, as Tikki watched, held up on his feet.
    Cara’s mind went dull. The Men who are Baked creaked when they walked. They creaked when they came towards her, creaked when they lifted up thonged skirts. Their genitals too had been burned away. Cara heard the unbuckling of armour behind her.
    “No,” said the Son of the Galu, a rise of warning in his voice. The warriors paused and relented. “Yes,” he said in approval. “I do not like that,” he said. “I only like the knife.” Then the knives had come. So skilfully wielded were they, that Cara would never have children.
    A grinning face, like Death itself.
    His first name, Cara had learned, in a tongue more ancient than that of the Other Country, meant Slug or Worm. Gro meant simply “inside.” His last name, Galu, the Family name, had made her breath catch when she understood it. It was the final, deepest reason for her being here among the Wensenara. The name Galu meant The Secret Rose.
    “Cara? Cara?” Someone was calling her name. She felt herself helped to her feet, and the hood was tugged away from her head. Her ruined face felt naked, as if the nerves were still exposed. She blinked and looked about her.
    She saw the Sanctum of the Wensenara. It was an old, disused feed bin hollowed out of the rock, with a few daubs of paint depicting the sign “Ama” for Mother. The ceremonial hood looked like something used to keep pots warm. It was being turned over and over in Aunt Liri’s hands. It was Liri, her mother’s sister, who had first suggested she join the cult. She beamed at Cara now, swollen it seemed with pride and excitement. And there, to Cara’s surprise, was Latch, her own bondwoman who hated her, and her maiden sister, Hara. They watched her, tight-lipped and pinched in the face.
    Mother Danlupu told her the Spell for Fire, and Cara repeated it. It was childishly onomatopoeic, a sound like crackling wood. “Do not say it too much. The very stone will burn with it if you are not careful,” Danlupu warned. The Spell for Sitting in the Air, a humming noise, and the hissing Spell of Rain came next.
    “Now here is the last. Here is the most important. Without success in this, it is written that the Bud will never blossom into the Flower. This is the Spell of the Butterfly, who changes. You must spend a year in the wilderness as another kind of beast, to learn another way of living.”
    Cara listened and tried to remember. This was the one she had wanted. The spell was very long and repetitive, like a lilting song in a strange language. Cara stumbled over it, trying to remember. “Yes, dear daughter,” Mother Danlupu said, “it is difficult. So very difficult, these lessons, but try again.” Cara’s face was no longer able to express emotions as subtle as irritation. She repeated the spell