Jacks

The sun was barely up when Taliette wandered up towards the woods behind Gintas’ mansion. Hal met her on the lawn. He chucked her a small meat pie. She snatched it out of the air and chewed without breaking stride.

The world was tinged with orange and grey. A ghost-mist swirled above the grass. The trees were dry black hands against the skyline. In her old life, she would have been asleep at this time. She remembered soft sheets, servants, apples for breakfast, and realised she didn’t miss any of it. Gintas had been right.

"Are we riding today, Hal?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Shooting?"

"Something else."

"Sneaking around the back of things?"

"Not today."

Under the trees, the air was still and cool. Little sparks of light twinkled between the branches. They got in her eyes and lit her fringe up golden. The ground was a soft carpet of bracken and crispy leaf litter.

"Padding," said Hal, gesturing to the leaves. "In case you fall."

"In case you fall," she repeated back to him. "I’m going to take you out."

He smiled, and she scowled in return.

"Put these on." He tossed her a pair of padded gloves. "You’re going to learn how to hit someone."

"What are these for?"

"So you don't hurt your hand, that's what. Now show me your fist."

She held up one slender hand; fingers half-curled, eyes half-closed in amusement. He engulfed her hand in his own and began folding her fingers into place.

"This isn’t a slap like you use to frighten children," he said. "Punch someone with a weak fist like that, and you'll break a finger."

His insistence was amusing. She laughed at him from behind her eyes.

"Roll your fist together, little finger first, like this. Lock it together with the thumb on the outside."

"You want me to hit you now?" she said.

She slid into a fighting pose, hands raised. He was two heads taller than her. It was ridiculous.

"Remember, you're not slapping; you're punching. Knuckles first. Here's your strike point. Roll with your shoulder."

"Now?"

"Now."

She drew back her fist, reached high, and punched him in the jaw.

It was like hitting wood. The shock travelled up her arm, through her shoulder, into her chest. "Ow!"

Hal stood impassive as a wall. She shook out her fist.

"Didn't I hurt you at all?"

"Of course, you hurt me, but I ignored it. I'm teaching you a lesson here. This ain’t a fairy book, where a skinny little girl can beat a big man just because she wants to. Try again. Lead with your shoulder."

She hesitated for a second, then hit him once more, throwing all her strength into the blow. Again, she was left shaking her hand in pain. Hal barely even blinked.

"Why did you want me to do that?"

"Did you ever fight someone stronger than yourself? I want you to see what it's like in a real fight against someone much bigger. Give me your hand."

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"No, of course not. Why would I want to hurt you?" He frowned at her.

He grabbed her wrist. "Imagine I'm a bandit. I've caught you. Try to escape."

She tried to jerk her arm away, but his hand was hard. She tried to kick at his shins, but he was too big and she couldn't reach. She raked her fingernails down his arm, but made no mark on his leather sleeves. She pounded at his forearm.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, frowning. "You're hurting me, Hal. Ow. Ow! You're hurting me."

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to."

She smirked at him.

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"You tricked me," he said, grinning. "That was actually pretty good. Don't get cocky, though."

"So how do I beat you for real?"

"Well first, see what happened when I came in close. If someone grabs you you're done for, do you understand? You keep your distance. You're a ranger, got it? Clues in the name."

"Mother always said my smile was a weapon."

"Your mother was a clever woman."

He reached into his pack and chucked her a velvet bag. She reached inside and touched two slim cylinders, each with a studded strap.

"They're called Jacks. Little bits of lead bound in leather. Put them on. They go on your fists."

"I know they go on my fists."

"Put them on then."

She slipped the leather straps over her knuckles, holding his gaze as she did so. She gripped the leaden core. Her hands felt full and heavy.

"They give your fists extra weight so you can punch through. The leather straps keep your knuckles from splitting. You see? Holding your hands like that, no one can even see you’re wearing them, they just look like gloves. You can even shoot with them on. Hit me again. My hand this time. Don’t pull back your swing, punch right through to the air behind. Use your whole body, not just your arm. Lean into it with your shoulder. Pretend you’re charging me with your shoulder, but lead in with your fist instead, it’s a rolling action."

She swung at him. The slim piece of lead gave her something to push against. The blow felt strong. Rather than bouncing off, her fist pushed through, knocking his hand back. There was no jarring sensation in her shoulder. The feeling of power was intoxicating.

"Good." He shook his hand out. "That was better. That actually hurt."

"So this is how I beat you?"

He frowned at her and spoke more softly. "What I’m showing you here is just the very beginnings of a beginning. What do you think would happen if you went up to Hewitt and punched him with your little jacks? You know Hewitt? Big guy, hairy knuckles?"

"He’d throw me down the stairs?"

"He’d knock you down and stomp on you until you stopped moving is what he’d do. Don’t think that you can win with your fists. That’s not what you are. Arrows are your thing. I don’t want you picking fights because you’ll lose. I'm showing you this because Gintas asked me to, not because I think it's a good idea."

She put on her chastened face, mocking him.

"Give me an arrow, he said."

She plucked one from her quiver, a battered old tawny bodkin with a chipped head.

"If you wanted to kill Hewett, you’d shoot him here," he said, holding the tip to his chest. "That’s the easiest target. Lungs are here, heart is here, either is a sure kill, but the heart is quicker. If you wanted to put the fear of god into the guy standing next to me, you’d hit me here. He held the tip to his neck. You get a big shower of blood, lots of splashing. Big show. Smaller target, though.

"If you wanted information, you might shoot here." He demonstrated with the arrow on his shoulder and his calf. "Not too high because there are arteries, and your target will bleed. Stomach is also good. Lots of fever, crying, infection, bleeding inside. Another sure kill, but it takes a lot longer, and your target might still be mobile after you hit them.

"Arrows first, remember? I'm being serious now. Do not ever go in cold with your jacks. Do you understand me? Stealth and a bow are your tools. I don’t want you getting hurt."

"Did Gintas tell you to tell me that?"

"Never you mind about what Gintas says. I'm telling you. You stay safely out of range."

"Aw, Hal, you sound almost like you care."

"I'm responsible for you, that's all. I take it seriously." He pressed his big fist to his forehead, rubbed his hand through his hair. "I wish we had more time. It worries me that we’re sending you into something you won’t be ready for. There's not enough time to make you good, all I can do is try to make you good enough."

"Good enough for what?" she asked, but he didn't reply.

They trained together for most of the morning, drilling strikes. Hal showed her how to use her breath to lock in a kick. He set up a target, and she kicked it over and over until she could hit it with some accuracy, though without any real power or control. She discovered there was a little piece of steel sewn into the heel of her boot that was meant for breaking noses.

Once they grew tired, they ate an early lunch together in the clearing. Hal had brought bread and cheese. There were even early apples from Gintas’ table and a half bottle of summer wine. The air was still and warm.

She caught him looking at her. She stared right back. She bore her mother’s name, not her father’s, and Mother wouldn’t have been intimidated by a lackey.

"Tell me about yourself," he said, not looking away.

Maybe it was the wine or the exercise, but she found she did want to talk to him.

"There’s nothing to tell," she replied. "I’m just a spoiled little rich girl whose daddy lost at cards. There’s nothing special about me at all."

He held her gaze a little too long. She glared right back, daring him to ask another question.

"Gintas says he knew your mother," he said. "That’s why he was willing to pay so much for your heart. He knew you’d be good."

She felt herself growing hot. "My mother’s dead," she snapped, losing her cool for a moment. "Who are you to ask these questions?"

He backed off, as though he were afraid of her.

She pinched her arm, hard with the nails, a dam against the pain, until she had herself back under control. It wasn’t him she was angry with, it was her father. Hal had been nice to her, and not because she was rich. Perhaps he was the only man who ever had been.

"My mother died because of me," she said.

Hal didn’t reply; just sat there waiting and listening.

"She was sick, and there was no doctor-cure, so she went to the weaver for an aguaration, but there was a price. Law of the weave. Mother wouldn’t pay it."

Suddenly, she found she couldn’t talk. There was a lump in her throat, and she didn’t trust her voice.

Hal watched her, almost as though he cared. "Magic always costs more than you want to pay," he said. "You think it's going to be worth it, but it never is. I can guess what the price was."

She nodded, staring at her knees. "I was eight years old. Mother didn’t let Father do it. Then she died. Father never forgave me."

After a moment, Hal leaned over and placed a big, rough hand on her shoulder, engulfing it. "It’s not your fault," he said. "Your mother chose to do that. Not you."

Something splintered inside her. The sharp edges of it dug into her heart. "You shouldn’t talk to me like this!" she yelled at Hal, at the woods, at no one in particular. "I’m House Chordae, do you know what that means? My mother was sixteenth in line for the dominion of Osterley. You’re just a..."

She tried to strike him but felt the tug in her soul. Gintas binding still held her. She strained against it, leaning into the world weave, every muscle taut, until the pain became unbearable. Something immovable was snagged inside her like hooks in her heart, and she was bound.

"I’m sorry," whispered Hal as she struggled to reach him, fists balled, teeth bared, spitting. "I’m sorry."

Taliette fell back into the leaf litter, closing her eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears. She carefully erased all traces of emotion from her face, just as Mother had shown her, once more ice cool, amused. Never let them see. When he leaned over her, she smiled up at him, serene.

She was better than him, after all.