Her worried brothers had assigned her ‘guards,’ who followed her on these little excursions. She knew what their true reasons were for giving her this escort. They were envious of her and sought out the source of her sudden rise in strength and power. But Kanaia had grown cunning and fleet of foot. With the help of the servants and her own physical prowess, escaping her new minders was child’s play.
She recalled one moonlit night. She would have a revelation as she ran through a narrow alleyway in search of prey. From the detritus and rubbish of the streets, a hand reached out, a frail pathetic thing that latched onto her ankle, causing her to stumble and almost fall. Grimacing, she looked down to see a gaunt face, desperation and longing in its eyes. Clad in filthy rags, it was a Dust addict. One of the invisibles of Al-Lazar society.
A shudder had gone through, as she felt utter revulsion. How dare this thing even touch her! She was Kanaia of House Alim, was she not? Angrily, she had mouthed a curse to the Withered Tree as she lashed out with a kick, caving in its disgusting skull, and freeing herself from the Dust addict’s clutches.
Almost immediately, shock filled her at what she had done. What had she done? Had anyone seen it? Panic ran through her mind, and a thousand and one possible scenarios unfolded before her. This was followed by the most unexpected of sensations. A feeling, similar to how she felt when she secretly touched herself, coursed through her. A feeling of euphoria, causing her to shiver in delight, and causing her muscles to grow taut and strong.
Once the last wave of bliss and power had left her, she fell to her knees panting. Tears of pure joy tracked down her face. This was what she was looking for. This would be the key to unlocking the true power within her. With this, she would be the next Shield of Hope. No one would miss a few Dust Addicts, would they? They were broken things, so lost in their own dreams of desire that they could not even work the Dust Fields. Useless. Like the Rockcrabs and the Wise Ones, she would be doing the city a favor by removing their ilk.
Ever since that night, when she had found the key to her power, she had only grown further in strength and power, as the gods themselves blessed her actions. At first, she had felt soiled as she cleaned the streets of the dregs of society, but slowly she had learned to put aside such childish feelings.
Draining the last of the tea, she realized that sacrifice was ever the burden to be born by those gifted with talent and power. A sacrifice that she had resigned herself to make.
Sighing to herself, she got up to her feet and stretched. It was time for practice with the head of the House, her father. Out of all of her siblings, she had shown the most promise, and thus had received special attention and training. She would crown herself in glory at the next Saint’s, the competition that would decide the city’s strongest. It would be her, and not one of her pathetic brothers, who would represent House Alim for Arbitration.
She nodded to one of the servants as she entered the Haql Tajriba, the training ground of her house. The servant anointed her with sacred oils, running a finger across her forehead before she bowed and took her leave, and closed the sliding door.
Her father was still deep in meditation on the hard-packed clay floor of the Haql Tajriba. As was his habit, he used no mat, saying that it made him closer to the element of the earth. His face looked still and untroubled to the average onlooker, but she knew well the tautness about his eyes that made his serenity a lie. Even now, she knew she was being observed as she went through the basic Raks Qowa, the body conditioning forms that she had mastered long ago, when her peers had been learning how to sew. Her body took over, allowing her mind to formulate a strategy to defeat her father this day.
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“Good. Your form is passable and your Ma’at is strong. That is good. I only wish that you had been born with a dangle and not a cleft, then I would not be so worried for the future of our House. Come, it is time,” her father pronounced as she finished the last segment of her form.
There was no time for her usual bitter response, for without warning, her father’s swift blow came. She had seen the attack coming, but seeing and being able to move her body in time were almost two different things, and she was barely able to put up a defense. However, she would offer no excuse. No claim of unfairness. Such things had already been beaten out of her.
What came next was an adrenaline-fueled exchange as blows were traded. Attacks, blocks, counters, and feints melded together, as she was forced to adapt to the storm that came upon her.
She lashed out with a low kick, making it look like she wanted to buy herself some time or to create some space between them, setting herself up for an orthodox attack. Her father easily saw through her ruse, stepping into her inner circle and launching an attack that, from this distance, she could not divert.
The young girl took it full on, absorbing the blow with a hard block, stopping the hammer blow in its tracks using her raw strength. For a moment she imagined that she saw a flicker of surprise in her father’s eyes before the two resumed their deadly dance.
She would surprise him more as she launched a counter-offensive. Using the Willow Weeps followed by Iron Anvil, she blended the soft and hard forms of her House’s ancient art into something unique. Against an opponent such as her father, simple mimicry of the techniques that he had taught her would not be enough. She adapted the forms to her body, creating something new that did not simply bludgeon, but something that also cut.
Old and new came together, blended by a strong will.
She did more than match her father’s strength, she exceeded it. What she lacked in reach, she more than made up for in youth, and raw lightning speed. Kanaia launched herself into an almost-perfect combination of blows that would have made her ancestor proud.
Almost perfect, save for one opening, an opening she knew her father would never take. If he placed any importance on her House’s future or had even the smallest scrap of affection for her. It was a gamble that she was more than willing to take.
For a split second, she sensed a dark moment come. An ugly thing that emanated from the soon-to-be defeated man. Thankfully, her father did not give into his baser emotions, and moments later the killing intent left his eyes. Glad that the threat had passed, the rest was relatively simple as she went through the preordained sequence that would spell his defeat. She ended the competition with a knife-hand at his throat.
“I yield,” her father stated flatly, a mixture of emotions playing about his face. Anger, surprise, and injured male pride. He had expected this day to come, if not so soon. As he had learned from his own father, eventually youth would always catch up to, then outrun, the lead that age and hard-won experience gave. Still, It was a bitter pill to swallow. And to be beaten by a mere slip of a girl, his own daughter, doubly so.
“You had given me the perfect position. Had I used the Blow that Shatters, you would be dead,” he added, looking to save face.
“Perhaps. But I knew you would not. I will use whatever it takes to win. Even a father’s affection. That is what is important, is it not? Besides, I doubt your Blow that Shatters would have been enough. I am not made of the river’s reeds,” she countered, looking down at her defeated foe. Had he always been this small? He had seen so much bigger before.
“Duty and sacrifice are the words of House Alim.” The man before her blurted out the ritual words, with none of the solemnity they deserved. She almost felt pity for him.
“And I will sacrifice anything in the name of honoring those words. For House Alim is the Shield of Lazar. I will hold you to your honor, father. It will be I that will compete at the Saint’s. And it will be me, and only me, that will represent our House,” she replied coldly, her voice hollow, yet at the same time filled with the echo of divine purpose.
The man could only nod and stare dumbly at the monster he had raised.