Alana Continues On

Alana stood with grace, as she did with all things. Years of meticulous training had bestowed upon her that gift. From the foundation of stillness to the house of movement, she had practiced the art of flow. For grace is a skill that can be taught and learned. And she had learned it well. The July sun blazed hot; an opal planted in the sky. Tired, dusty earth lay hard-packed outside the roadside bar that Alana had found herself in. An empty glass of something sour and clearly alcoholic stood stock still on the countertop in front of the stool she’d just vacated. The bar, imaginatively named Kanoa’s Bar, stood a little off the road itself. Quiet and unassuming. It was really not much more than a simple, sloping roof held up by regularly spaced wooden columns and a wooden donut of a counter within which Mr Kanoa himself prepared his concoctions. Large, orange, square bunting lined the roof of the bar which partially obscured the patrons inside.

Alana reached a hand into deep lined pockets hidden on the inside of a brightly patterned top with an open front, tied close around her athletic frame. The shirt was all yellows and soft, sea-like hues of blue that reminded her of a life by the ocean. She pulled out a handful of paper and placed it smoothly on the table. The movement was precise. Like all of her movements. Mr Kanoa didn’t reach for the pile of money. It was his custom to wait until his patrons had turned their backs before reaching a hand out to attempt to collect his due payment. Many of his customers lacked the sensible social graces that he had been accustomed to when he left his home in the city of Moleneau.

Alana wasted no effort in caring for the man’s actions. She’d paid, as was right, and began to move on. The competition raged on while she stood still and she could not afford to fall behind. She was ranked fairly highly in the last round of polls and it was a feat that brought her pride along with the realisation that it wasn’t enough. Highly wasn’t enough. She exhaled slowly at the thought. On anyone else it would have been a sigh, but Alana did not sigh. A sigh would have had less dignity than what she had done and she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Embracing calmness over the ripple of anxiety, Alana stilled herself and then began down the tired road.

She was in what appeared to pass for countryside in this hot place. Steep mounds of earth, covered in long yellow grasses and wiry shrubs took the place of rolling green hills she’d seen in the past. Trees appeared to be rare, probably too large to be supported by the meagre rains of the region. She noted all this, filing the facts away for possible future use with practiced meticulousness. Cut into the hills were paths, made flat by heavy tread and long use. They spiralled and climbed around the landscape crossing at small, sign posted intersections. Aside from the odd traveller, the signs and Mr Kanoa’s modest establishment, human contact was sparse. This pleased Alana. It made other beings easy to spot and she always preferred to have that advantage on her travels.

She knew that there were others following her path. Doing as she was doing. Just as she sought the next stage of the competition, someone else sought their own next stage. And she would factor in it. Long light curls washed across her back; waves in the breeze, in time with her steps. Alana heard the crunch of pebbles on the road below her leather walking boots and the miles fell away behind her. A rapier on each hip knocked lightly against the soft, simple linens of her trousers; the tools of her trade. Today was a slow day. It had begun in a small town, only a little larger than a village really, where she’d spent the preceding night. The mountains had loomed up at her, barren and imposing. They had been the target for the day. Mr Kanoa’s shack had been a pleasent surprise after the hard slog up the trodden, rocky path. It was situated just a mile or so after the highest part of the journey and could be seen as you hit the first moments of the downhill part of the journey. Clever advertising. It was almost impossible not to stop at the little oasis in a sea of earth. Now, her thirst quenched, Alana was headed out to a small village at the base of the hills that lead away from the mountains. There she hoped to find some more knowledgable than her, who might provide guidance.

The next round began in 4 days, and she wasn’t content with her performance in the last period. She felt she’d done enough to stay level with her previous ranking, but that wasn’t going to be enough. She needed a high seed in the next phase of the competition to make her path more comfortable. And so that she could finally begin her return trip home. Resolve hardened inside the tall woman, though she disciplined her muscles not to show it. A curly strand fell across her face and a scarred hand pulled it back behind her ear. Jewels glinted in the sunlight from where they sat in gold cuffs, lining her right ear. They signified her accomplishments as a young girl, studying in the house of flow. The scars did too.

The road had opened up wider now; less steep and with foliage returning to view. Other roads had joined, like tributaries to a river, and it was clear that carts used these routes to carry goods between the villages this side of the mountain. Bushes had been planted to either side to separate the path from lands that could be used to grow crops or keep livestock. Though clearly well used, there appeared to be almost no one around this afternoon. It was near enough noon time and Alana suspected at first that people were taking the chance to eat. But as the path fell down into a light hillock, and an imposing, 7ft tall figure in a dark cloak came into view, she decided there was another reason. People had seen the two travellers on the road and suddenly remembered they had other things to do. Alana stopped. The hulking figure had not moved. They stood still, but exuded presence. They were a wall. Alana waited, as was her right, for the other to speak. A deep feminine voice boomed from her opposite.
“Mi’lan, 4th in Ruby.” was alll that was said, an inquisitive note at the end of the sentence. 4th was high, which is why the silence had stretched. This woman was not used to having to talk first. But the silence had confirmed what they both had suspected.
“Alana. 2nd in Ruby.” Alana replied, without embellishment. Mi’lan raised her arms from beneath her cloak, large and knotted with muscle, pulling back her hood to reveal a mostly bald head, with a tuft of sandy hair at the the front. Her face was symmetrical, with high cheek bones, bronze skin and a surprisingly genuine smile.
“2nd, huh? It’s nice for two Umili to hold such high ranks.” she chuckled. There was mirth in her voice and the rhythmn gave it a musical tone, like a woodbox.
Mi’lan undid the clasp on her cloak and it slid down wide shoulders to fall heavily on the floor. Alana said nothing, but began to take pins from the inside of her top, meticulously pinning her hair up. Beneath Mi’lan’s cloak, she had simple cloth that bound her chest neatly and a large belt, patterned similarly to Alana’s own shirt, though significantly thicker and more supportive. Linen trousers and leather boots completed her equipment, though the trousers clung to her considerably large thighs and calves, in a way that Alana’s never would. Alana took all this in. Mi’lan had devoted her life to power and strength. Discipline in it’s own right, though different to hers.

“The sun is out in force today, Alana, Ami-Third-Niece. It’s a glorious day.” Mi’lan smiled, slight reverence in her voice. That had been deliberate and was more than Alan felt she deserved, given the circumstance. She broke her silence.
“That it is, Mi’lan, Mina’a-First-Born.”
Mi’lan’s smile grew into a grin and she took a huge breath into mighty lungs. Alana was glad that she was pleased. But it would’ve been hard not to recognise the hero of the floating city of the Sea Kingdom. She had earned her name by turning away a family of Deep Sharks from the Sea Kingdom’s fishing nets. Alana was not pleased. Of the many participants in the competition, one of the few she did not want to face was the great Umil hero Mi’lan Sharkspeaker. Alana had heard of her opponent’s kindness and wisdom in concert with her dedication to the temple of strength that was her very body and could see it was all true with only a few moments of conversation. The two women had the utmost respect for each other, and neither wanted to fight. But they were professionals. It did not show in their movements, nor in their expressions. But the exact-ness to which they enacted their preparation spoke volumes.

Alana had noticed some of the missing road goers begin to find secluded vantage points to watch from now. Hidden in bushes and up trees. A distance between themselves and the soon to be combatants; out of respect or fear. Either was fine as long as they weren’t in the way. A cool breeze swept past and the two warriors faced each other. Mi’lan took the war hammer from her back. Alana took her rapiers and felt the leather of the grips bite back against her tightening hands. Both women took a moment to pray to their creator, Ta’al aspect of the sea and the wind. It was quaint. There were no rules for engagement in the competition, so it was rare to have a chance to prepare as totally as they were now. But neither would disrespect themselves by fighting a hero of the Umili when they weren’t given the full chance to prepare. Mi’lan gave one last, bright smile and announced, “I, 4th in Ruby, challenge you, 2nd in Ruby, to official combat in the tournament of Our Lady before the aspects of the highest. Do you accept?”
“I accept your challenge before the aspects of the highest.” Alana replied, stoic.
A man that no one had noticed until that very moment, stood to the side of the road and let out a mirthless laugh. Loud and cold. Members of the congregation jumped and gasped. One fell out of their perch on a branch. The warriors had become used to the sudden introduction of a Spectator as part of the competition. It was one of the only places in history where you could be certain you were meeting one. The man’s clothes were simple, traveler's garb and his face was covered in bushy, grey hair, such that you couldn’t see his eyes or mouth.
“Well this is not what they would have chosen, that is certain. I find the whole thing poetic though. Just. Wouldn’t you agree?” the man jeered.

Neither woman spoke. Neither moved. But fire rose in both their hearts.
“Mmm. Yes. They will say that you were like this.” he conceded, clasping his hands behind his back. “Very well. By the book it is. The Spectator acknowledges your contributions to Our Lady’s competition. This combat has been paid for and sanctioned. All normal rules apply.”

The man lifted a hand. Muscles tensed. Grips tightened. When he brought it down, all eyes had turned to the women and the man was gone. There was only the task at hand. Mi’lan charged, a bronze colossus, raw power and focus. Alana stood, one blade behind her back and the other held forward, tracing the path of her opponents eye. Up the hill came her opponent, hammer already swinging, her considerable wingspan already in play. The woman stopped with grace unusual for her size. Perfectly at range of her massive weapon, but far out of range of the sharp sting of Alana’s rapiers. Of course. This would be a battle of mistakes. Superiority was not an option.

With a fluidity born of years of focussed study, Alana ducked the hammer and curved her body away as Mi’lan changed the path mid strike. The hammer struck the ground and continued on, gouging scars into the earth. Alana picked up a foot to dash forward, expecting a moment between resetting swings, but was forced to throw her leg up into a low jump as Mi’lan managed to reverse the hammer back along it’s path. Alana kept her chest low, moving only what she needed to. As her feet hit the ground she darted forward, a rapier aimed for her opponent's chest, but Mi’lan’s distancing was ideal. As the hammer came back, she used the force to swing it back overhead and brought it down with crushing force aimed at Alana’s head. Alana was forced to throw her weight over her left foot, falling away onto her left shoulder. No sooner had it hit the ground than her right foot pushed off and rolled out onto her feet, already running. Alana was expecting Mi’lan to use her huge strength to reset the distance between them in the time it took for Alana to execute her manoeuvre, but two huge steps had brought the juggernaut to her foe and Alana was greeted with a crack on the ribs from the long handle of the hammer. One must’ve broken immediately as she felt the tell tale sharp pain and was knocked onto her back by the force of the blow. One mistake for Alana.

A moment’s respite would be too much to ask for. The next blow would be the last if it fell. She threw her feet up to her head, the broken rib forming explosions of pain in her side, and backwards rolled to a crouch. Seconds later the hammer crashed into the earth, clumps of dirt flying into the air. A push off the right foot saw Alana clear of the next strike but the movement was exhausting. This couldn’t last much longer. The onslaught stopped for a moment. Mi’lan gulped in air, exhausted from the weight of the hammer. Alana took the moment to reset. A deep breath. A set jaw. She loosened her grip a fraction on the hilts of her swords. The women’s eyes met. The moment passed.

Alana moved on the offensive, time was neither of their allies in this combat. Mi’lan wasn’t expecting the change in tactic and was forced onto the back foot, guarding a strike to the stomach with the hilt of hammer. The second rapier rose to strike, narrowly missing Mi’lan’s eye socket thanks to her quick reactions, drawing blood across the bronzed cheeks. With the short range, the hammer was no use. The behemoth woman aimed a punch at Alana’s side but she slid away, flowing like water around the fist. She felt the rush of air ripple the fabric of her shirt. Quick and careful steps slid her back around, leading with the front rapier. This hit its mark, puncturing Mi’lan’s side deeply. Somehow, the hero of the Sea Kingdom did not slow. The hammer returned having not slowed in the least. But Alana was ready for it, she had read it in the ripples of Mi’lan’s muscles. And she was still close enough for her rapiers to reach. Clearing the swing with a leap, she drove her second rapier into the chest of the colossus. Combat was done.

Mi’lan didn’t smile. She did not cry. She stared deeply into Alana’s eyes; the light in her own fading away. Alana looked back, unflinching. She wanted to look away. She wanted desperately to not have to have this moment. To have avoided the fight entirely. But it wasn’t possible and Mi’lan would never have forgiven her.
“Thank you. Mi’lan Sharkspeaker, Mina’a-First-Born. I will sing your exploits to the Sea Kingdom when I arrive.” she whispered softly. Mi’lan nodded, recognition in her eyes as the life left her. Alana hoped that Our Lady would find a place for her fallen foe on the wall, as she slid her blade free. Blood had already begun to pool around the belt Mi’lan wore. Alana untied it and slung it over her shoulder. Breathing caused agony in her side. But she had work to do.

“Is there a river nearby?” Alana asked the silent masses, acknowledging their presence for the first time. A group of closer by onlookers pointed down the road. “About one mile. There is a bridge.”, one called down. Alana nodded. “Can somebody lend me a rope?” she continued. Her voice was firm, but she did not yell. A rope was thrown from somewhere in the crowd and landed a little ways away. No one else stirred. She inclined her head in thanks once more, and tied the rope around the shoulders of her fallen opponent. It was not elegant, but it would get Mi’lan where she needed to go. Alana laid the hammer upon the chest of the colossus, picked up the end of the rope and began to pull. It was hard work. But she didn’t wish to ask anything more of the people around them and she couldn’t leave an Umil body to rest on the earth. It took over an hour to trudge the road to the river side, but it was there where the people had said it would be. Two grassy banks with a wide wooden bridge between them and a strong flowing current beneath. Trees had begun to appear sporadically among the bushes so Alana left the body of Mi’lan by the riverside, leaving the belt to soak in the running water, and went to fetch sticks and branches together. This took another hour or so, and the labour and the pain were causing her to weaken. But she continued, lashing the wood together into a small raft with the rope. Finally she rolled Mi’lan onto the raft and slid it into the water, where it would be carried out towards the sea. Alana hoped she’d make it.

The hammer she kept, cumbersome though it was. She would need to return it to the Sea Kingdom so they could display it in their halls, along with the belt. It would make life harder for her. Alana preferred to travel with only what she needed. But this had to be done. Finally, she scrubbed the blood away from her rapiers and inspected them. They would need care from a blacksmith. The strike to the hammer had blunted her right hand rapier. Alana exhaled slowly at the thought. On anyone else it would’ve been a sigh. But Alana did not sigh. And she refused to wince at the pain in her side.

Instead she picked herself up from the ground and rearranged her new gear to as comfortable a position as she could. She could see the tops of roofs from the town she’d seen from the mountain path, a little ways in the distance. The cool stillness of evening was beginning to roll in, but the sky remained clear and she thought she could smell the ocean, just a touch, in the breeze.