No mimicry required. No flashy tricks. Just strength, willpower, and commitment.
Still, no matter the result, my mother would never return to our house on the mountainside. She would never see her mother or sisters again unless they managed a way to get to her, past miles of rough terrain and behind palace walls.
ButIpassed the exam.I’mgoing to catch up to her.
My mother leads me to a supply shack I’m well acquainted with. Weapons line the walls. Maces with different heads on them, some all sharp edges and others smooth, are haphazardly propped. Bows and arrows, those I hardly work with anymore, hang on the back wall next to the door leading out to the range. There are slings and stones and axes, some on racks and some on the floor.
There are vibrant white strands in my mother’s braids, but I can’t fathom what she used her Feline mimicry for. The will to mimic the power of our Guardians is as foreign to me as she is. My mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother are all Felinemimics. Yet no matter how hard I try, no matter how divine my hair or pitch-black my eyes, I can’t even sense mimicry in the air.
Genetics play a strong role, but so does need,desperation, anything that leads to a prayer strong enough for the Guardians to grant a miracle.
I don’t need a miracle from anyone to succeed.
My mother eyes me up and down, her black, almond-shaped eyes a perfect reflection of mine. Her posture is impeccable as always. Her tunic, tan and fringed at the bottom with a vibrant red upside-down triangle on her chest, is the most casual dress someone of her stature ever wears, yet she wears it like royalty. Her large, solid gold earrings hang off her ears as if weightless.
She has three feathers attached to the gold band around her head, adding a few inches to her short height. After only seeing her in glimpses and from a distance for over a decade, I never noticed that I’ve grown taller than her until now.
It doesn’t feel that way.
Will I look like that when I’m her age, once I’ve reached Kama status and proven I’m worthy to wear the clothes she dons naturally? We have the same hair after all. Though mine is not as long as hers, it is still thick, coarse, and black. We have the same olive-toned skin color.
No one can deny that I am my mother’s daughter. That is, no one except my mother herself.
“You’re filthy,” my mother says.
This time, I’m ready to speak at the very least.
“I just finished training,” I reply, sounding steadier than I feel.
“But you haven’t had training yet. Your unit doesn’t start for another hour.”
As always, she knocks the breath out of me. I didn’t know she was aware of which unit I’m in, let alone our schedule. Before I can get carried away, though, I come to my senses. Sheis the Apukispay, the highest leadership position that’s not the Inka herself. She’s said to be sharper than any halberd’s blade and just as bright as its metal. Of course, it’s child’s play for her to know these details of the army, especially when it’s about someone climbing the ranks the way I am.
“I train outside of our normal schedule,” I say.
“And what training do you think you can program yourself that your Kama isn’t already covering?” The challenge in her voice is clear.
“I supplement our physical training with my own strength and stamina challenges,” I say slowly, every word tested for her reaction before the next.
She hums. I can’t read anything from her eyes other than the playful fire that is her signature. Do my eyes hold the same light?
“You were so young when I began to spar with you,” she says, not voicing the obvious question.Do you remember?But I answer it anyway.
“As soon as I could walk, you made sure I knew the most stable stances,” I say. My mother was better than any Kama before she ever set foot in this palace.
“Try to knock me down, like when you were younger. I’ll give you three minutes.”
All my carefully nurtured caution is thrown out the window. I’m not ready, but I want, from a place that growls from starvation, to prove that I am.
From her first block, I know I won’t ever knock her feet from under her. She isn’t sticking to defense. She’s fighting to win. She lunges at me, and it’s only the strength I’ve built up over the years that stops me from falling on my back. I contort my body out of her hold, even though it hurts my spine. Flexibility is my weakness, and this is a reminder that any weakness is dangerous.
I block the right hook she feigns for my stomach. Her fist hits the exact place on my arm that Suyai hit less than an hour prior, and I know I’ll be sporting a bruise tomorrow. Still, I block it. I read where her fist is going despite her trick, and I stop her from leaving me concussed.
I’m not a child anymore.
Feeling proud is another weakness of mine. My mother takes advantage of my moment of delight to punch my right side, and I’m only quick enough to partially block it with my elbow. The hit is so strong it knocks me off balance, but I’m not falling now. I’m not going to prematurely end the only time my mother allows me.
I don’t land a single hit on her. I believe it’s only been a minute, but my body feels like it’s gone through a year-long war. The last few hours are catching up with me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe I’m receiving help from the Guardians themselves. But it’s just the coca. It’s just the image of Suyai paralyzed on the ground and her trudge back to the barracks. It’s knowing that no matter what Suyai says, Suyai has to believe in me or she wouldn’t be here.
