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Maman refused
to countenance my Choosing to be a warrior. Although in principle
I was an adult on Choosing day, free to make my own decision, in
practice most children would follow their parents' will, or risk
being cut off from home and hearth. I was no exception, and Chose
as my mother desired, to train as an acolyte in the temple.
"I
wanted to be a warrior, like you," I complained to
Maura.
She sat, cross-legged, slowly honing her sword. No
wooden toy, but plain steel, cruelly edged. No finery, this
weapon, but a cold and efficient instrument of killing. It had
been her father's sword, and his father's before him.
"Perhaps
you will be, one day," she replied. "Your path will be
guided by the spirits, not by your city's habits."
"We
Choose for life," I objected.
"Not always,"
insisted Maura. "You choose to follow tradition. Or you
choose to follow your heart. Sometimes the two are the same.
Sometimes you choose only that which is necessary to allow your
later choices to be free. Let the spirits guide your path, and do
what is needed."
"The priests tell us not to
trust spirits, but to deal with the gods directly."
"Through
them, of course," she chuckled. "The sprits do the will
of the gods, as do any honest priests. How could it be
otherwise?" After a moment, she added, "Perhaps the
spirits do not want you to become a warrior because they do not
want us to face one another on the battlefield."
"You
would war with humans?" I asked.
"Not by
preference," she said. "But if it is required of me, I
will."
She stared into the distance. "Dellerys,
soon must I travel North. I will present my sword to my clan, and
seek the guidance of our shaman. I will do what honor and the
spirits require."
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