Every Witchspear is a blade, so the saying goes; but blades have uses other than war.
The last half of the final year at the Academy is spent in every Path other than War available to a Witchspear, save some (such as Delving) that are so overwhelmingly male that virtually no Witchspear will ever feel an affinity for them (and those that do are so utterly uninterested in anything else as to allow them to simply specialize more). War having had its turn for three and a half years, Medica, Weaving, Memory, Reaping, Guidance, and more -- all of the other Major Paths and even the Minor ones such as Chant would receive more concentrated time; because though more or less every young Witchspear knew her Path by then, a surprising-to-them number would change their minds on immersion in another.
(This also had the salutary effect of offsetting any influence from overeager parents keen to have their daughters take on one Path or another, for tradition, for prestige, for marriage prospects, or most importantly, House concerns.)
Kamiéra dal'Falein had known he would take the Path of War for as long as he could remember, and so respectfully and politely asked to be excused; was less-politely refused this option; and so obediently and with very little internal grumbling began Weaving and Reaping and Guiding.
That had been the first two Marks, and so the First of First Company, this day, found himself learning the use of Wind in mapping internal wounds and unnatural growths, trying to find some way this might be useful for his own Path. His emotions were as mixed as those of his instructors.
As with Weaving, the supervising Medicae treated him with a combination of stern instruction, warm respect for his dedication to something about which he clearly did not overly care, and barely contained amusement at his surprise as he mastered and even vaguely enjoyed the Path diametrically opposite to his chosen one.
It did not help that not one of these women had fewer than ten children of her own, most with daughters Kamiéra's age or older. Gifted are prone to high fertility and their Gifts and ready access to Medicae reduce the rate of maternal and infant mortality to trivial numbers, but those on the Path of Medicae are prolific even by that standard. More than one schola had tried to decipher whether the Path was an effect, a cause, or both of this phenomenon, but none had yet come to a definitive answer.
Whatever the cause, having a dozen mothers of very many children acting as surrogate mothers at him -- with everything that entailed -- while showing not merely aptitude for, but satisfaction with and even enjoyment in, the only Path he should find unbearable was giving him a headache of the sort he used to experience in his first year at the Academy.
He'd been a natural at battlefield triage for years, but had assumed this followed from being naturally inclined to War; after all, if one knew where to stab, one should know where to knit. He still remembered how red his cheeks had become at the Medicae's laughter in response to this statement.
"If this was true, every Smith would be a Delver," Anessa sa'Kelsra had laughed, reassuring him that he wouldn't be the first young woman to make this mistake or the last. Magistra Anessa was a particular burden because she had been one of his mother's closest friends at the Academy and remained so even today, so he was reasonably sure his mother would be receiving regular and embarrassing updates on his progress.
Kamiéra nodded respectfully and internally just wished this to end so he could stop itching to be in the sparring yards and wanting to oversee Magistra Hirana's childbirth in equal measure.
Wishes are the stepping stone to the Chasm, the Mother teaches (Annunciation 17:12), so Kamiéra knew he should be grateful to Magistra Anessa denying him even this, and said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Mother as Anessa decided to continue the younger woman's torment.
"I always knew your mother would find some excuse not to take the Veil," she said, casually, causing Kamiéra to miss a step and spill some of the boiling water he'd been carrying. Thank you, Mother, for teaching me humility and calm through the pain that comes with forgetting them.
The combination of the complete want of context for this statement and the complete revelation of its substance, however, was a bit more than the young Witchspear could bear in silence. "Pardon? Mother planned to join a Cloister?"
The older woman's small smile showed she knew the bait had been consumed, but she continued placidly, as if sharing idle gossip with an old friend. "Oh, quite. You are her certain image and not just in looks, Kamiéra," and that one line prompted a mirroring smile. "'Forward, sisters!' she would always cry, each battle merely preparation for the next, whether she was leading us fresh or after hours of blood and sweat and heat. Or heading to supper," she added with a rueful chuckle. "She thrilled to War, she seemed to feed on it, and sometimes it seemed she cared for almost nothing else. Boys were a pleasant diversion, but she only came alive for battle.
"'Oh, Ani,'" she Chanted in a remarkable impression of Alleisa sa'Amdresa dil'Falein , if somehow livelier. "'How can you waste your time on anything else? Don't you feel it? The way everything falls away except for the blade and your enemy and the moment? The calm of being so very alive? Be honest with yourself!'
"I'm sure you could tell me all about it," Anessa added, dropping into her own voice, and smirking a bit as Kamiéra's face grew duskier. Kamiéra had, indeed, been thinking that the description really was perfect: The warm stillness in the mind when blades flashed and Wind poured forth and there was only ally and enemy and the battlefield and somehow the sky didn't even exist anymore.
He turned to a safer topic. "What was it like, following her?"
"Keeping up with her, you mean," the older woman snorted. "Your mother was always in a hurry, always in a race against time and death and boredom and herself, for all we could see. Something about her made people want to follow her, as I'm told is true for you -- though often just to see why she was hurrying so." Another smile.
"But the day she decided not to Veil? Oh, she practically wore blisters in her feet for the suddenness of her stop."
Maddeningly, Anessa then turned to using the Wind to clean and warm some towels to bring into Hirana's birthing room. Seconds passed, then minutes.
"Magistra?" Kamiéra ventured. He knew he was being baited, he was neither an idiot nor a child, but this was a side of his mother he had never seen, and -- he was only dimly aware of it -- he had a child's desire to learn more of how he was like her.
Anessa chuckled. "Your mother believes that she only overcame her rage at her parents' giving her bond to Falein when she met your father, but we, her Company, actually saw what happened. When Odrem came to her with open hands, one Mark before Choosing, she advanced on him in such a cold fury that we all gave thanks she didn't have her starmetal with her. Mother forgive me, we couldn't decide if we should laugh or restrain her.
"Your father didn't even notice because one of our Magistra's toddlers had climbed one of the elera trees in the courtyard, and fell. Odrem moved, fast as we'd only seen Blademagi move in the Trials, pushing your mother out of the way to catch the little one no one else saw tumbling. He didn't make a noise, he simply blurred past us, and left Alleisa on her rear.
"He was gently placing the boy on the ground by the time everyone processed what had happened. The families were applauding him, the Magistra was crying and scolding her son, a few were remarking that they wished they'd seen so they could use the Wind to stop the fall -- exactly what you'd expect. We were sure your mother would kill the man who had not only taken her from a Cloister, not only barely seen her, but had knocked her flat and hadn't even murmured an apology yet."
Anessa paused. Her mouth twisted into an even more wry smile as her eyes looked back on that day that seemed impossibly long ago to the Witchspear before her. "But do you know what she did? She just sat there, looking at him. Really looking at him, watching as he played with the boy he'd just saved to spare the tears, watching a young man who had already spilled blood but was absolutely consumed by the little boy before him.
"Alleisa never took her eyes off of him. She got up, hesitantly, walked over to your father, tapped him on the shoulder, and bowed, holding out her left hand in Pledge. He placed his right hand to Seal the Pledge, leaned in, whispered something -- she's never told us what -- and smiled at the blushing laugh he got from her.
"A blush! From the great Alleisa dal'Amdresa!"
Kamiéra waited a beat, and then another. "Did she ever explain what happened? Why she changed Paths?"
"Oh, child," Anessa replied, taking the younger Witchspear by the arm and leading him to the birthing room. "Why would she? She leads your House in War and has ten children of her own, she carries her starmetal with her everywhere and oversees your House's Medicae. What do you think happened?"
Kamiéra thought about this for the next three days, moving without thought but flawlessly the whole time.
