Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

for retribution that may have never happened. Though I suppose you would consider that an acceptable loss? Our aunt’s entire tribe for a few Northmen?”

They glared at each other for a long moment, both breathing hard.

Lothor proceeded, his words quieter, but no less angry. “Ever since the plains tribe returned with Father and word of the attack, I have wanted nothing more than to take our warriors and fly from this mountain in a wave of death never seen before. But since Father clung to life, and I was not yet chief, the council would not allow it. So you are correct, Sister, I sat here safe and helpless, unable to do anything until Father awoke. When he opened his eyes, I was overjoyed—not only that he still lived, but that my time had finally come. Then he, too, forbade me to pursue them, as he has continued to do every day when I petition him. It is almost as if he is afraid,” he said, his voice filled with bitterness.

“But know this. When I am chief, it will be my mission in life to rid the world of Northmen. I pray the ones responsible will return so they, too, can fall to my blade. But even if they do not, I will bring my wrath down upon every single one of them who ever dares to come here again. Spilling their blood is all I think about from the time my eyes open in the morning until they close at night.” He paused and stared at her. “These are the words I should be hearing from you, and Father, and it sickens me that I do not.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

NENA RETURNED TO Jalla’s tent, still shaken by the confrontation with Lothor. She found Exanthia sitting alone outside.

“Why are you not practicing with the other girls?” Nena asked

Exanthia chewed an edge of one of her fingernails. “They are in-between lessons,” she mumbled.

“But surely the next will start soon.” Nena remembered her own classes as a youth.

“I do not wish to return,” Exanthia murmured with her head down.

“Why not?” Nena could not believe it. Exanthia had been so excited to begin her warrior training.

“The trainer said I will not make a warrior because I have weak blood. He said it is a waste of his time to try to train me.”

Nena smoldered with barely controllable fury. After they had endured so much to return here, she and Exanthia had both been met with disparagement and doubt. She fought to not let it show. She did not want Exanthia to see how serious she felt the words were, or to give them any credence.

“That’s nonsense. And who would you believe—me or someone who just met you? Your trainer does not yet know you, like I do. I have known many great warriors, and you possess the inner strength and bravery that set them apart from others. You lack only the skills that anyone can learn. Strength and bravery, on the other hand, cannot be taught. You must be patient.”

Exanthia nodded.

“And I will help you, so you can catch up to the other girls your age more quickly. Perhaps I will even go to watch your next lesson so I can gauge where you need the most work,” Nena lied. She knew Exanthia needed work in every aspect of combat. She wanted only to see this instructor. “Then tonight, you and I will start working on those areas together. How does that sound?”

Exanthia smiled and nodded, her spirit bolstered.

“Now run along, so you are not late. I’ll be there shortly.”

Exanthia rose and trotted back toward the practice area. After a few minutes Nena followed. She had not accompanied Exanthia intentionally. She wanted to observe the practice unnoticed, to witness the cause of Exanthia’s sudden change in attitude. Nena knew if they arrived together it would cause a stir, and the true actions of the culprit might not be revealed.

As she stood watching the young man, it was all she could do to keep her anger in check. He was demonstrating the use of poles—Nena’s favorite and one she excelled in. He was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen summers, but it was customary for young warriors to be trainers. It allowed them to continue to work on their own skills while they educated others. But this young warrior was not educating at all. He was humiliating them and reveling in his own expertise. She watched as the second young girl was tripped and thrown to the ground. No explanation was given as to what she had done wrong or how she could improve.

Still rankling from her brother’s words, Nena made her way to the young man at the front of the group. “It appears you have no equal with which to give proper demonstration,” she said as she approached. She recognized him as being from a lower ranking family, but could not recall his name.

He smiled and nodded, thinking she was complimenting him.

“Perhaps you will allow me to join you as your aide, to better show these girls proper form and technique?” Nena knew she could not join the class without his invitation. It would cause him insult, and she did not have the right. She also knew with the way she had worded it, he would not refuse.

“Yes, that would be most welcome,” he said. “These girls are poor students.” Nena could not believe how cocky he was and again had to bite her tongue. She thought back on how her own instructors had always said the students were a reflection of the teacher—how they needed every student to do their best, to do them proud.

Nena picked up the sticks he had allowed the girls to use against him. They were knobby and poorly balanced. She noted his were smooth and perfect.

“The first thing I will add to this lesson, is to know your weapon,” she said to the girls. “Your instructor