True Warriors Sing by Rowan Erlking (classic book list .TXT) 📕

All the land is music. Everyone was singing. A walk through the village is enough for one to witness the majesty of KiTai.

Daily LjuBa walked through the music from her home to shops in town surrounding majestic castle of King ZanDer; passing children leading geese who sang the songs for them to follow; nodding to the young girls singing the water drawing song at the well; ducking sheepishly past the young squires training to be warriors who were singing as they fastened their armor; and listening to the ringing of the hammer as the smithies formed shining new breastplates and shields for the next generation, their song bright and strong. Song made the world lucky. It chased away disease. It also kept LjuBa’s heart steady for another day of living.

For the dark red haired race of Kitai, music was life itself.

So was being a warrior.

LjuBa was the fourth child in a family full of daughters, gifts from the god Jodis their father MiKial, the strong warrior captain for the king’s regiment said. All of them were of age to marry, but LjuBa considered herself the least of his daughters while the eldest, lovely K’sjuSha, was the most beautiful and cunning of them all. K’sjuSha was a warriess—something LjuBa aspired to be. Her other two sisters were also lovely, but they lacked the ambition that K’sjuSha had. Currently the eldest daughter was off dealing with demons in the North Corner of the KiTai Empire, sent on errand by the king. LjuBa wished one day to go on an errand for the king, but right now it just had to remain a dream.

She returned home from her errands well before dusk, the sun barely coloring in the sky as the songs turned to that of baking bread, hushing children, and feeding the livestock. The warriors were returning from training while their young squires were tagging along with dreams like hers, to one day serve the empire with glory. Opening the front gate, she ignored the scattering doves that cooed in the yard, pecking at the leftover seed the chickens had missed. Trotting over the stone, shifting the deep reed basket to her other hip to rest her sore hands, LjuBa pushed the door open.

“S’vjieTa, SoFija, I’m home!”

LjuBa looked around the large wooden divide that separated the front of the home from the back, taking off her shoes and leaving them on the low stoop. In her sock feet, she walked over the washed wood into the kitchen area, immediately slipping on the wood clogs there. Her two sisters looked up, smiling, one stirring the pot she had swung on the iron arm out of the fireplace, the other looking up from her darning next to the other cook stove, clearly waiting out bread.

“Ah! LjuBa! It is about time you arrived,” S’vjieTa, her green-eyed sister with plumper features said, setting down her darning.

Her other sister, SoFija, rushed over to LjuBa and felt her forehead. “Are you wearing yourself out again? I told you to take it easy.”

“I’m fine.” LjuBa brushed SoFija’s hand from her face, trying not to look flushed or winded. “I took my time walking home is all. Nothing more.”

LjuBa set her basket on the table, unfolding the cloth from around it. She lifted out the smaller basket full of goose eggs first, handing them to SoFija who gently heaved them over to the cool box, singing the song to preserve the eggs while they were kept inside. The rest of the contents, LjuBa emptied, taking the pears and the ripe peaches, singing the song to keep them fresh, setting them both in the high basket.

“Sister, you are winded.” S’vjieTa rose, removing the rest of the contents, which were pork cutlets and ham, and taking them to the cellar. “You went out to practice sword play again, haven’t you?”

“You should quit that and marry a merchant,” SoFija added, peering into LjuBa’s gray eyes, stroking her straight hair that LjuBa felt made her so plain in comparison to her sisters’ lovely curls. She was the only one whose hair flattened so easily.

“I’m not lovely enough for marriage,” LjuBa replied, pulling away. She kept back all tears. A warriess did not show emotion. “Not like you two.”

SoFija glanced at S’vjieTa who sighed.

“Sister,” S’vjieTa said, “You are the kind of girl warriors marry. Men keep their distance from women like K’sjuSha. Play on your strengths.”

“Warriors only marry girls like me because they know a plain woman would never leave them,” LjuBa murmured, walking back from the table with a sigh. “I don’t want to be a woman that waits pathetically at home while her warrior goes out. I think my heart would break more from that.”

Both her sisters converged on her, hugging her close. “Oh, don’t talk about your heart breaking!”

“I would die in tears if you did!” SoFija said, wiping her eyes.

“We both would!” S’vjieTa chimed in. “LjuBa, dear—”

The kitchen door swung open, the wind stirring up as their father stomped in, his boots still caked with road dirt. Trailing behind him was a stooped young man, one the sisters had seen a number of times before—a pathetic squire too old to even be called that though unworthy to be considered a warrior. Their father did not bother to take off his boots this time and crossed immediately to the table though the squire skulked to the stool next to the fire to warm up his hands.

“We need soup!” MiKial said, reaching out for someone to give him a bowlful.

S’vjieTa released her embraced on LjuBa and hurried immediately to the cupboard, urging the squire to get out of the way. He hopped to the side of the fire just staring at the ground though he glanced once at the beauty. She swished up onto the stool with a hop, taking down the five bowls. S’vjieTa then cast a glance at the squire and dug out the broken bowl with a slight huff. She hopped down, handing the bowl to SoFija who had been checking the baking bread.

LjuBa took it up instead and immediately went to fill it, heaping spoonfuls of meat and vegetables. She then scooped deep inside the hot pot for broth. The steaming amber liquid poured into the bowl as she sang a small song to avoid drips. She carried it to her father who had already claimed a fork. He would drink the broth straight from the bowl.

“Thank you,” MiKial smiled at her, receiving the bowl with gladness. Lifting it up, he expressed thanks to the northern god, Jodis, then promptly began to eat.

S’vjieTa ladled soup for her and her sisters, setting those bowls onto the table one by one, leaving the last bowl for LjuBa to fill for the squire. It was dishonorable for an older sister to feed a failure like him, so the job always fell to LjuBa. Yet LjuBa gave him extra broth, hoping with a singular song that it would grant him strength, and most of all, bravery. All warriors needed bravery.

Admittedly, LjuBa had a soft spot for him. Pathetic Ljev.

Her father had taken him under his wing around a month ago, swearing to make him to a man. But after a month, the pathetic Ljev proved to be worth nothing but a miserable squire for the rest of his life. Her father MiKial said he was hopeless. In fact, he was about to give up.

LjuBa hated giving up. She handed Ljev the bowl.

“LjuBa!” MiKial called to her, his face contorted with knowing as he beckoned her over to him.

Turning with a cringe, hardly looking at the mournful expression on the squire’s face, as it was not proper for a warriess to make eye contact with such a man, LjuBa lifted her head and trotted over to her father. “Yes?”

“LjuBa,” MiKial reached out for her hand, pulling her to his knee where he made sure she looked him in the eye. “You must not attach yourself to that…squire.” He clearly could not bear to call Ljev a man. Her father never could, his face contorting every time with disgust. “Pitying him will not make him stronger.”

“Yes, Father,” LjuBa replied, trying to rise.

He held her there by his strong grip on her hand. “As a warriess in training, you ought to remember that.”

Her sisters gasped, looking to their father with grief that he was still entertaining LjuBa’s notions. However, the sisters bit their tongues, seeing his fleeting stern glances at their faces.

However, LjuBa glowed. “Yes, Father.”

As a warrior for the king, her father knew how much becoming a warriess meant to her. Despite her weak heart, something of a defect she had been born with that often left her breathless and light headed, her ambition was as strong as the winter wind, as was her skill. When she was young, her father trained her himself. Now he was bent on reforming the degenerates of society.

“So, ladies,” her father then turned to her elder sisters, “Do you have news yet of suitors? You did say that this year you both intended to attract beaus.”

Both S’vjeTa and SoFija shared glances then looked to LjuBa.

“And don’t tell me,” he warned with a sly grin at the pair of them, “That you are postponing until you are sure I will not live off of beans and meat from here on. I can hire a cook.”

“A cook?” SoFija slouched a little, very unladylike but expressive of her dismay that no other look would deliver more properly. “Father, we aren’t just thinking about you and eating. There are many other concerns we have…”

“Cleaning,” S’vjeTa murmured.

“Washing,” LjuBa chimed in.

“…And your safety. What if you get sick?” SoFija asked, frowning at him. “Without us you would be alone.”

MiKial lifted his chin with finality, the light of the cook fire flickering on his face as now the sun was gone and it was the only light in the room. They had forgotten to light the lamps, something LjuBa jumped up to do immediately.

Looking to the older sisters first, MiKial said, “A warrior must be able to fare all weather. And daughters must marry or carry a sword.”

S’vjeTa and SoFija together peered at LjuBa who had taken a stick from the tin above the hearth and lit it in the fire, now going to each of the oil lamps.

“She has made her decision,” he murmured low. “And you two need to make yours.”

SoFija winced, hissing back, “But Father…I worry about her. Any day now…”

“She has exceeded the doctor’s expectations by months,” S’vjeTa added, just as quiet then said in a louder voice to LjuBa, “Please check the bread. Take it out if it is ready.”

LjuBa nodded, pretending that she could not hear the whispering. She knew her life expectancy was over. That was why they were checking her heath every day. Her father was the only one not coddling her.

He said, “Doctors have been wrong before.”

“She is often faint,” SoFija said.

“We need to convince her of a quiet life, Father. Or she’ll die.” S’vjeTa leaned close to him, earnest in her gaze.

But LjuBa set the pan of bread hard on the table in front of her, the oven mitts on her hands steaming. “I will be a warriess, and I will die fighting.”

“I’d rather you didn’t die at all!” S’vjeTa snapped, rising.

“Everyone dies!” LjuBa retorted back.

SoFija jumped up to separate them. “Let’s not talk about this!”

“Oh!” Shouted S’vjeTa though not very loud in case it shook up LjuBa’s heart. “So…so you want to die like the king’s brother? Prince AlEkSei?”

“He died an honorable death!” LjuBa shouted hard back. Then she started coughing.

SoFija grabbed LjuBa to hold her up. LjuBa shook her off, glaring at them both though it was not out of hatred, but frustration.

“He was a child!” S’vjeTa shouted at her, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why else do you think