The Grey Tower

Ara walked a half-step behind her elder sister. Not really on purpose or out of some understanding of respect, but because she didn't know where they were going, and her sister – she hoped! - did. It was a bright, sunny day, just a week before Sunday, and Ara was looking forward to her 14th birthday. Not because of tangible presents – there almost certainly would be none - but because for once, Merian had said she wouldn't have to go thieving. That meant Ara would, for once, have a whole day, evening and night with her sister rather than the meager hours they could usually spend together.

Today, however, meager hours it would have to be. Merian was going to a ball thrown by one of the relatively few truly well-to-do in Karan, and meanwhile she had arranged for one of her friends to give Ara an introduction to using a knife as a weapon rather than merely for preparing food,

«Stop.» Merian's voice was shrill.

«What?» Ara nearly stumbled, but she was held up by her sister's arm. Merian dragged her back behind the grubby corner.

«Shhhh. Can't be seen here. Stole that man's purse a week ago. He saw me – barely got away.» They looked as the man with the rich blue coat sauntered like a king down the main street of Karan. «Now, remember – Kat is dangerous. I've told her to play nice, but...she's a wild one. 'Tis why they threw her out of the Grey Tower. Don't...well, just behave, and it will be fine. She lives in that house there, with the red door? Knock, and say 'cream' to whoever opens the door. See you tonight.»

And with that, Merian was gone. For a minute, Ara stood staring after her. Dangerous? Thrown out??? Grey Tower? She didn't know what confused her more. Nervously, Ara bit her tongue, seriously pondering if she should just go home. After all, she'd survived nearly 14 years without knowing much more about knives than which part to hold. But then again...the memory of seeing her sister being assaulted when Ara was only eight flittered in her mind's eye. The man had been big, nearly twice as tall as Merian at 13, but his knees had buckled just the same once Merian stuck her knife in him. Ara was nearly 14, now – it was time she learned how to defend herself.

Before she knew it, Ara had knocked on the red door, a young man had come out and Ara had given the password. She was directed to go up the rickety stairs and knock on the third door to the left. The place smelled almost like home – alcohol, burned bread, boiled cabbage, nearly rancid meat and the tang of sexual intercourse mingled until a person could hardly seperate the smells.

The third door was half-open, and upon Ara's knock a bored-sounding voice muttered «enter». Nervously, Ara stepped inside, closed the door when directed, and felt her jaw drop as she looked at the tall, lanky girl sitting on the room's one bed fondling her knife.

«You're Ara, then? Come close, lemme look at you.» Kat rose, quickly covered the short distance over to where Ara stood, and looked down at her. Light, she must be as tall as most men! And that scar...Ara closed her mouth, and clasped her hands behind her back to remove all possibility of running her finger down the scar marring Kat's features from just above and to the left of her left eye and down to her smile-less mouth.

«Ah, you like my scar? Yeah, I got that what, three years ago?» Firmly, Kat gripped Ara's right arm, and drew her over to where the grubby, unwashed window let in the most light. «Merian told me you don't like men much. That's fine, we'll just stay inside to practice. Nothing here you can seriously hurt anyway, except me and yourself.» She eyed Ara up and down and snickered. «I can understand why you want to learn how to use a knife. Scrawny as you are, I think it's the only weapon you'd be able to wield.» Without waiting for a reply – not that Ara intended to give any! - Kat whipped her left arm up towards Ara's face, quick enough Ara would never have been able to step away. In her hand – and more importantly, a mere hand's breadth away from Ara's right eye! - was the knife she'd been playing with as Ara entered.

Ara froze, her brown eyes glued to the wicked-looking knife. The edge looked razor-sharp, and the only thing that kept Ara from backing quickly away and running for the door was the fact that Kat's hand was absolutely still. It was clear as day that the taller girl was in complete control of her weapon, and equally clear that if she had meant Ara any harm it would already be done.

“Well done. You're afraid, I can see that, but you didn't flinch. I like you.” In a voice that sounded almost friendly, Kat handed Ara the knife and continued. “Take it. Feel it. What do you notice?”

“It's heavier than I thought it would be,” Ara mumbled. “And it feels really big. The knife Merian used to use before...you know...it was smaller? Right?” The older girl nodded. “Is it really necessary for the knife to be so big?”

“No. I just like it because it scares people.” Kat grinned mischievously. “Lots of men back down real quick if I brandish that knife when they try something. But really, this one would prolly be a bit big for you. How does it feel in your hand?”

“It feels...balanced. And even if it's big, it feels like it belongs in my hand.”

“Good. That means your hand is big enough that we can go for a knife that's meant for an adult woman, not a child. Was unsure about that. Now, give me back my knife.”

Ara complied. Even though Merian's warning still lingered in the back of her head, she was beginning to feel...not safe, but safer together with this strange, older girl who held a knife as if it was a part of her hand rather than an object.

“I'm going to teach you some very basic things,” Kat continued. “Just remember that it's impossible to teach you everything there is to know in an afternoon. To become good with a knife, you have to practice, and honestly – if I were you, I would never go into a fight if I could avoid it.” She cupped Ara's chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Chances are, you will lose – and even if you win, you'd likely be mortally injured. Your best chance of winning a fight where knives are involved is if you are the only person holding a knife, and the other person doesn't know it. Kinda like that situation with your sister and that would-be-rapist she gutted when you were a little kid. Remember?” Brown eyes peered intently at Ara, open and honest and calm and frankly more terrifying for it.

Ara nodded. She remembered it very well. It was the first time she had seen her sister thus assaulted, and the memory had stuck with her. Her sister had not even been half the size of the grown, swarthy man who attacked her, and his eyes when he realized that what he had thought was a fist beating ineffectually against his left kidney was in fact a short, sharp blade Merian had hidden in her sleeve...those eyes could still haunt Ara, even if she was adamant that the man had gotten only what he deserved.

“Good. For now, we're going to pretend that this is a knife with a steel edge, okay?” Kat gave Ara something that looked like a real knife, but made of wood. It was heavy as if it were made of steel, too, and Ara nearly dropped it. “First lesson – always hold the knife firmly. The knife should be like an extension of your hand, and we don't lose a hand unless it's chopped off.” Ara blanched, and Kat snorted. “Oh, come on. It was a joke! Don't be so uptight.”

“Lesson two. When you draw your knife, draw it so that the blade points away from your body at all times.” Kat demonstrated, and waved on Ara to copy her. “The last thing you want is to give your opponent a chance to main you simply by pushing your knife blade-first into your flesh.” The older girl patted her sheath; a simple and worn leather thing hanging off her belt on the left side. “To make drawing correctly easier, it's better to have the sheath on the opposite side of your dominant hand. I prefer to have mine on the waist, but if you want to keep your hidden – and you should! - you could have yours elsewhere. Around the upper half of your calf so that it's hidden by your left boot could work.” She looked at Ara, head tilted somewhat to one side. “Questions so far?”

Ara looked down at her toes, thinking hard. She didn't really have a question, but she hated to admit it. Shouldn't she at least have one or two? It was clear that Kat was open to questions and that she actually enjoyed teaching. Still, she didn't strike Ara as the type who wanted chatter for chatter's sake, so she quietly replied “no, no questions”. Kat nodded, put the sheath on Ara on her left hip and directed her to practice drawing the wooden knife again and again until her right arm felt ready to fall off and she was as sweaty to boot.

“Mkay. The third and last thing we're going to do today will hopefully demonstrate why fighting with a knife is a bloody business, even if you should be fighting with someone even smaller than you.” Kat leaned over the rickety tiny table by the window and picked up a bucket that stank to high heaven once she removed the lid. Was it blood? Ara was quite certain it was. She forced down her urge to vomit by biting her lip so hard it nearly bled. The sound of Kat shouting at the top of her lungs made her jump. “Lillan. Get your lazy ass in here, NOW!”

A matter of seconds later, a small girl who Ara guessed had to be Lillan stood in the doorway, looking defiantly at Kat with tiny hands on childish hips. The child couldn't be more than what, ten? Maybe even eight. Ara looked at Kat askance.

“She is here to be your practice partner.” As Ara was about to protest, Kat continued. “Look, I know she's much smaller than you, and that in a fistfight you'd win unless Lillan had the Dark One's own bloody luck.” Calmly, she poured some of the red, clotted blood in a smaller bowl. “The point of this exercise is to show you, in a way you'll hopefully never forget, how much damage even a much weaker opponent can cause you if that opponent has a knife.”

Kat directed Ara and Lillan to face each other, and to strip down to their not-quite-clean shifts. Next to Lillan stood the small, rickety table covered with some cheap linen (to avoid spatter, Kat said), and on the table the bowl of clotted blood.

“Now, Lillan, you know what to do,” the scarred girl said. “Ara, your goal is to avoid being striped with blood when this is over. You do anything you would in a normal fight – I've trained Lillan in how to defend herself since she was what, three?” Lillan smirked, nodding. As Ara watched, she dipped one finger in the clotted, brownish-red blood – and before Ara knew it, she had a broad, brown-red stripe with the metallic stink of blood across her kidneys.

“Congratulations, Ara, you are dead,” Kat said mockingly as her little sister shouted with triumphant glee. “No matter, keep going. It's good exercise for the both of you.”

For the next half hour, Lillan and Ara danced around. Both sweaty, Ara bloody, and - as Ara's anger at her own lack of ability in protecting herself from Lillan's blood-covered fnger grew – Lillan bruised where Ara had used her hands, knees, elbows to swat and push and kick her body away. When it was over they were both completely winded, and Lillan, despite her bruises, smiled triumphantly. Ara was very nearly covered in dried blood from the neck down to her knees, and when Kat finally allowed them to stop fighting she sank down in a corner, breathing hard and gulping down the weak beer Kat handed them both to drink.

As her heartbeat slowed and sweat dried, she listened to Kat summarizing what she'd already learned from the last exercise – that avoiding someone who wielded a knife was exceptionally difficult, even if the someone in question was tiny, and that successfully fighting with knives was as much about being able to dodge and twist and swat and kick the other person's arm as it was about actually hitting someone with your own knife. And, yes, that days-old blood stank. How she longed to get to the river – or any sort of running water she could find! - and wash.