BRENHYA part 6
By HECK

I seem to have gone off at something of a tangent in the last two chapters. 
However, we’re back on track, now. In this chapter, we see Brenhya’s arrival 
and induction with the Sisters of Themyra. We learn about the Order, and 
Brenhya makes some new friends.
Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER SIX.

  She stood at the foot of the tall mountain. It was actually a volcanic plug, 
solidified lava left bare by millennia of erosion by wind and rain, it’s craggy 
flanks rising all but vertically like a tall, broad chimney. A short path led from 
what passed for a main road to a cleared area at the foot of the monolith, and 
from the scuffed earth and absence of grasses it was clear to Brenhya that it had 
been subjected to much traffic.
  She craned her neck to look up, and almost fell back with shock. The mountain 
was toppling down on top of her! With a little cry she turned her back and 
covered her head, waiting to be crushed to death by tons of falling rock.
  Nothing happened.
  After a tense minute, Brenhya lifted her head and looked again. And again, it 
seemed to the ten-year-old that the whole mountain was falling, it’s vertiginous 
peak apparently sailing out above her in a state of perpetual collapse. It took her 
several minutes to realise that the illusion was the result of numerous white 
clouds scudding through the sky across the edge of the peak, and when it 
dawned on her she smiled wryly.
  ‘Stupid girl’, she scolded herself.
  As she stared up at the high walls she noticed a long copper tube, attached to 
the rock face by a series of metal eyelets driven into the igneous stone, it’s distal 
end lost in the dizzying heights above her. At the bottom end, a length of rope 
with a brass handle protruded, inviting her to pull it. Brenhya did so, and 
imagined she could hear a faint, distant jangling far above. She waited.
  No result. She pulled the handle again, and again was unrewarded. Realising 
that her efforts were not going to get her anywhere, she settled her pack more 
comfortably on her back and pulled her hide tunic down over the waistband of 
her leather pants.
  ‘Nothing else for it’, she muttered, as she began to walk around the base, 
looking for a place where she might climb. A stunted willow, roots spread wide, 
clung for life to a depression in the impervious rock about seven and a half feet 
off the ground. Above it, the girl could see shallow hand and toeholds that 
seemed to be her only means of ascent. With a single leap, she grabbed the 
willow in order to pull herself up.
  The willow was not up to the task. With a creak it bent earthwards and 
splintered along it’s length, before snapping completely to deposit Brenhya in a 
heap. She jumped to her feet, spitting dust and cursing all willows in her 
childlike way.
  ‘Stupid tree’, she spat.
  Closer examination revealed that the willow had left about nine inches of it’s 
gnarled, slender trunk still attached to the rock face. With a determined look on 
her face, Brenhya backed away for several steps, and ran straight at the cliff. Her 
long legs propelled her forward and up the wall for two steps, and she got her 
strong right hand around the stump. She hung there a moment, waiting for it to 
give way, searching for another handhold above the willow.
  Under her tunic, the powerful young muscles of her arm and shoulder rippled 
and bunched as she heaved herself up until her head was above the level of the 
stump. She found a small ledge, no more than three inches wide, and transferred 
her weight to it quickly, lest the remains of the willow lost it’s tenuous grip on 
the rock. Pulling herself up, her feet scrabbling for a hold, she began her ascent.
  It was a long, hard climb, and would have been far beyond the capabilities of 
any other child of her age. Fortunately for Brenhya, the blood of her parents 
flowed in her veins, and her natural strength and stamina had been reinforced by 
the hardships she had faced and the training she had received at the hands of the 
strongwoman, Deavon. The flexibility she had gained under her mentor’s 
tutelage stood her in good stead, too, as she twisted and contorted her body into 
seemingly impossible positions in order to reach the next hand or toe hold. Her 
tough leather clothing protected her knees and elbows from scrapes.
  About halfway up the sheer face, she found her way blocked by an overhang 
that jutted out eighteen inches. For a moment she was confounded. Then, getting 
as close to the underside as she could, she reached out an arm and felt along the 
edge. At first it appeared that she was at a dead end, but eventually she found a 
crack into which she was able to insert her fingertips. She pulled to make sure it 
would bear her weight.
  ‘In for a farthing, in for a groat’, she thought and swung out, dangling by the 
fingers of one hand over the dizzying drop. She got her other hand to the crack 
and began to traverse the overhang, her sinewy fingers like steel hooks. After 
what seemed a long time, she found a place where she could swing a leg up and 
hook her heel over the ledge. She was then able to pull herself over the 
overhang, and found herself on a narrow ledge where she could take a short 
respite from her labours. 
  The rest of the climb was hard but uneventful, and consumed the remainder of 
the day. So it was early evening and the sun was throwing it’s last rosy fingers of 
light on the crag as she pulled herself over the final obstacle and stood up at last.
  A flat plateau, on which had been built a huge, dark stone fortress, topped the 
plug. An unfenced ledge about twelve feet wide surrounded the edifice, so any 
unwelcome intruders had nowhere to retreat. High, glassless slot windows dotted 
the exterior and it’s lofty crenellated walls were topped by vicious, tooth-like 
metal barbs. 
  Brenhya had never heard the word “Gothic”, but would have thought it apt if 
she had.. She walked around the building looking for a way in, until she came 
upon a high arched door of heavy, dark teak. A small hatch was inset at about 
eye level, and below it a cast iron knocker, in the shape of an eagle with a heavy 
brass ring held in it’s wickedly curved beak. She raised the ring and brought it 
down on the door with a hollow thud ...
 ...with no result. She knocked again, and then again, but received no answer to 
her summons. In frustration, she took the ring in both hands and slammed it into 
the door with all her strength. The brass hit the door so hard that it left a deep 
indentation in the hard teak, and the cast iron eagle’s beak shattered with the 
force of the blow. The ring fell to the ground at her feet, the clang underscoring 
the futility of her situation.
  Brenhya did not know what to do next. The girl pounded on the door with her 
fists, raining blows that would have felled a grown man, but the door was so 
heavy and thick that it absorbed the impacts with little noise. She leaned against 
the door and sank to the ground, holding her head in her hands.
  For twenty minutes she sat there, cursing her stupidity in ever thinking she 
could gain entry.
  The sound of the hatch being slid back roused her from her reverie. Weary 
from her long climb and her efforts to gain entry, she hauled herself to her feet. 
The hatch was so small that all she could see were the knitted brows, eyes, nose, 
and stern mouth of a wizened old face.
  ‘Yes?’, the face asked. Brenhya was momentarily flustered.
  ‘Oh!’, she exclaimed. ‘Er. I’m Brenhya. I’ve travelled a long way to get here. I 
need to see the Sisters of Themyra. May I come in?’
  ‘No’, said the face abruptly, and slammed the hatch shut. For a moment, 
Brenhya was taken aback, but then her natural determination took over. She 
rapped sharply on the hatch.
  ‘Hello? Hello?’
  The hatch opened again and the same face peered out.
  ‘Yes?’
  ‘Look. I’ve come leagues and leagues to get here. I’ve climbed the mountain. 
Please let me in’.
  ‘No’. And the hatch closed again.
  Getting desperate now, exhausted from her climb and ravenously hungry, 
Brenhya beat her fists against the hatch until it opened again.
  ‘Look’, she told the lined old face. ‘I’ve been on the road for months. I’m tired 
and hungry, and I must see the Sisters. Now, let me in’.
  ‘No’. Hatch closed.
  Brenhya stared unbelieving at the door. She could not fathom why she was 
being refused admission. She was about to retreat, when her deep inner core of 
resolve asserted itself. She would not be turned away. She pounded on the hatch 
so hard that the tough wood began to split and, when it was finally opened, did 
not wait for the face to speak.
  ‘Now listen to me. I’ve journeyed the best part of a year and climbed your 
stupid mountain to get here. I’m tired, hungry, and it’s getting cold out here. I 
will not be denied, even if I have to sit out here forever. Now, let me in!’
  The face relaxed. The hatch closed. Brenhya was about to start pounding again 
when, creaking and ponderous, the massive door began to open. She pushed to 
help it, and as soon as the gap was wide enough, stumbled over the threshold. 
She felt a gentle hand on her arm, and looked into the face that had kept her 
waiting; the face of a venerable old woman with a halo of thin, pure white hair, 
dressed in a flowing white robe and leaning heavily on a staff.
  ‘Welcome, dear’, the old woman said. Brenhya stared at her, 
uncomprehending. She shook her head.
  ‘Why...?’, she began.
  ‘Didn’t I let you in the first time? Tradition, dear. Only the strong and 
persistent are admitted here. Supplicants are denied admission three times, and 
only if they are determined enough to keep on are they allowed entry. Brenhya, 
was it?’
  ‘Yes. My father made me promise ...’
  ‘Shh. Later. I’m Sister Doorkeeper, by the way. Now you must eat, and get 
some rest. Come along’.
  Sister Doorkeeper led Brenhya from the vestibule, along a corridor, and 
through a tall door. Brenhya found herself in a large, high ceilinged, well lit 
room. The walls were hung with pale coloured drapes and the place had a light, 
airy feel in total contrast to the imposing exterior. Long tables stood about, laid 
with fruit, vegetables, meat and wine, and a number of women were sitting 
eating or talking quietly. Some were dressed in similar robes to Sister 
Doorkeeper, others in leather body armour. Other women dressed in green robes 
were waiting on the others, but Brenhya noticed that some of the green robes 
were sitting at table with the others.
  At one table, several younger women and girls dressed in grey, long sleeved 
shifts sat on benches. It was here that Brenhya was led. Sister Doorkeeper 
clapped her hands, and all their heads turned.
  ‘Everybody, this is Brenhya. She’s come to visit us. Say “Hello”.’
  They all said a perfunctory hello, and returned to their food. One of the girls, a 
blue eyed, freckled, shaggy-haired blonde who looked to be about Brenhya’s age 
gave a friendly smile and a cheery, ‘Hi!’. Sister Doorkeeper motioned Brenhya 
to sit, and called one of the green-clad women over.
  ‘See that she’s well fed, dear, and then show her a place to sleep’. She turned to 
Brenhya. ‘After you’ve rested, you’ll be taken to see Sister Serenity’, she said, 
and hobbled away.
  Brenhya sat at the table opposite the blonde girl, who smiled again. Brenhya 
returned it. A small hand was thrust out, and Brenhya shook it.
  ‘Hi, again’, the blonde said. ‘It’s Brenhya, right? I’m Jaliza. Jal for short’.
  ‘Hello, Jal’.
  ‘So, where’re you from?’
  ‘Oh, a tiny place you’ve probably never heard of. Place called Gyre’s End’. A 
look of pain flashed across Brenhya’s face, but Jaliza appeared not to notice.
  ‘You’re right’, she said. ‘I’ve never heard of it. Is it far?’
  ‘A long way. It’s taken months to get here’.
  ‘What brings you here?’
  ‘Oh’, Brenhya sighed. ‘It’s a long story’.
  ‘Yeah. Mine too. There’ll be plenty of time. You are staying, I suppose?’
  ‘If they’ll have me’. The green robed woman placed a plate of meat in gravy in 
front of Brenhya and invited her to help herself to vegetables. She spooned a few 
roots onto her plate.
  ‘Of course they’ll have you’, Jaliza said. ‘That’s what they do’. Brenhya cut a 
piece of meat.
  ‘How long have you been here?’
  ‘Forever. I was left at the foot of the mountain when I was a baby’.
  ‘So you never knew your parents?’
  ‘No. But that’s OK’, Jaliza added quickly, seeing a look of pity on Brenhya’s 
face. ‘The Sisters are all the family I need”. The two ate in companionable 
silence for a while.
  ‘So’, Brenhya asked at length. ‘What’s the set up here?’
  ‘It’s mostly great. Everybody’s equal. Nobody takes precedence. Except for 
Sister Serenity, of course. We’ve got three castes; the Priesthood, they’re the 
white robes. Then there’s the Servitors. They’re in green, and they take care of 
all the cooking, cleaning, and stuff. Then there’s the Warrior caste. I reckon you 
can guess who they are’. Brenhya looked round at the tall, muscular, leather clad 
women in long dark red cloaks.
  ‘Yeah’, she said. “I can guess’.
  ‘But nobody’s more important than anyone else. Even the Servitors. Nobody 
can tell them what to do; you have to ask. The Warriors have their ranks, of 
course. I guess they need to have discipline. But no one person is any more 
important than anyone else. Even you’, Jaliza smiled.        ‘Except Sister 
Serenity?’ Brenhya smiled back.
  ‘Oh, yes. Except Sister Serenity’.
  ‘Why is she more important?’
  ‘’Why? Because she’s ... Sister Serenity, I suppose. She’s of the Priest caste, 
and she’s meant to be directly in touch with Themyra Herself’.
  ‘Themyra’s a real person, then?’
  ‘Depends on how you look at it’, Jaliza said around a mouthful of fruit. ‘Don’t 
say you never heard of Her?’
  ‘Kinda. I thought She was some kind of legend’.
  ‘No. Well, that, too. But Themyra is ...well, She’s the Earth Mother. The 
Goddess. She’s the one who made the world. So they say’.
  ‘You don’t believe that?’
  ‘I didn’t say that’, Jaliza whispered, looking guilty. ‘You shouldn’t, either’.
  A tall, coarse featured, black haired girl in her mid-teens slid onto the bench 
beside Jaliza. Jaliza curled a lip and rolled her eyes
  ‘Shift up, shrimp’, the newcomer said. ‘Who’s the sprog?’
  ‘Dru, this is Brenhya. Bren, this is Drucia. She thinks she owns the place’. 
Drucia gave her a surly look.
  ‘Watch your mouth, shrimp’.
  Brenhya held out her hand.
  ‘Hello, Dru’. Her hand was ignored.
  ‘Hello, yourself’, the tall girl grunted, and began stuffing her face with food. 
Brenhya thought she was very rude, even ruder than Brannagh Ironheart. She 
felt a pang of loss as she thought of the dwarf.
  ‘So, what happens next’, she asked Jaliza.
  Sister DK said you needed some rest’. Her nose wrinkled. ‘If you don’t mind 
me saying it, you could use a bath, too’.
  Brenhya nodded agreement. Drucia snorted derisively. Brenhya ignored her.
  ‘Then’, Jaliza went on, ‘I suppose you’ll be sent to Sister Serenity. She gets the 
say of who stays and who goes’.
  ‘Hope she lets me stay. I’ve got nowhere else to go’.
  ‘She’ll let you stay. She’d have to have a very good reason not to. Like you had 
the plague, or something’.
  ‘I don’t have the plague’.
  ‘Good to hear it’, muttered Drucia as she wiped her greasy hands on her grey 
robe. She stood and left the table. ‘Keep your nose clean, sprog’, she warned as 
she walked away.
  ‘What’s her problem?’ Brenhya asked her new friend.
  ‘Oh, take no notice of her’, Jaliza said. ‘She’s just a bully. She’s inducted in the 
Warrior caste, and thinks she’s better than the rest of us’.
  ‘What about you?’
  ‘I’m inducted into the Priesthood. Don’t think much of it, though. Too much 
sitting around meditating for me. I’d rather be a Servitor. At least they keep 
busy’.
  ‘Will I get inducted?’
  ‘Oh, yeah. Everybody does. Big, strapping girl like you, you’ll probably be put 
with the Warriors’.
  Brenhya secretly hoped so. She had unfinished business.
  ‘If you don’t like the Priesthood’, she asked, ‘why don’t you ask for a change?’
  ‘Can’t be done. The only one who can make a change is Sister Serenity herself, 
and she’ll only do it if it’s for the good of the Order. You can’t ask’.
  The Servitor returned, and told Brenhya to go with her.
   ‘Later, Bren’, said Jaliza. ‘In the common room’.
  ‘OK, Jal. See you in the morning,’ Brenhya replied, and let herself be led away.
  The Servitor led her to a long dormitory. Ranks of cots lined either side, and a 
small covered and curtained area held a rail on which clean shifts were hanging. 
At one end was a common room, with a table and comfortable chairs, and at the 
other a bathroom contained four hip baths.
  Brenhya enjoyed a luxurious bathe and scrubbed the dried sweat and grime 
from her toned and tanned body. The Servitor helped out by scrubbing her back, 
secretly admiring such muscular development in a girl so young, then showed 
her to a cot.
  She was asleep almost instantly.

  Next morning, the same Servitor shook her gently awake and handed her the 
grey shift of an acolyte. As she rose and slipped the shift over her head, Brenhya 
saw the sleeping heads in the other cots and the hesitant light through the 
window slits and realised it was still early morning. The Servitor held a finger to 
her lips and beckoned Brenhya to follow.
  She was led through a veritable labyrinth of passageways, lit by torches in 
wrought iron sconces high on the stone walls. The flickering light caused her 
shadow to dance across the stone flagged floor as she trotted behind her guide.
  At the end of one of the seemingly endless maze of corridors, they stopped 
before a plain, very ordinary looking door. The Servitor rapped sharply on the 
door, smiled at Brenhya, and left. The girl was left staring at the wood and 
feeling apprehensive for a long minute, and was about to knock herself when a 
voice within called out.
  “Enter’.
  Brenhya pushed the door, which swung open at her touch, and entered.
  She was in a very plain, dimly lit room, sparsely furnished and hardly 
decorated at all. On a stone bench against one wall sat a very old woman in the 
white robes of a Priest. If Brenhya had thought Sister Doorkeeper was old, this 
woman was positively ancient, so old that the wrinkles of age had smoothed out 
as her almost transparent papery skin, dotted with innumerable liver spots, 
cleaved to her skull. She beckoned Brenhya with a claw-like hand, and she 
nervously approached what had to be the oldest person she had ever seen.
 When she came close, Brenhya could recognise the authority in the old 
woman’s eyes, the almost regal expression on the ancient face, and realised she 
was in the presence of a very important person indeed. She bowed politely. The 
crone took her chin in a surprisingly firm grip and turned her face up too look 
deep into her eyes. The pair that looked back at her held no signs of senility, and 
glittered with bright intelligence.
  ‘Get up, child’, the woman said, her voice strong and only slightly piping. ‘No-
one bows to anyone here’. She patted the stone bench by her side. ‘Sit, sit’. 
Brenhya sat.
  ‘You no doubt know that I am Sister Serenity. What is your name, girl?’
  ‘Brenhya, ma’am’. The old woman’s thin lips stretched in a smile.
  ‘Not ma’am. Sister will suffice. That is how we address the members of the 
Priesthood caste. Or by name. Everyone else uses their given name, or a name 
they have chosen. All right?’
  ‘Yes. Sister’. Brenhya began to relax.
  ‘Now, Brenhya. Tell me your story. How do you come to be here?’
  After some initial hesitation, Brenhya began to narrate in a flat, emotionless 
voice. She told of the attack of the raiders. She described her concealment in the 
loft space, and how she watched her parents’ battle in the cottage, and the 
horrible rape of her dear mother, which caused the Sister to gasp sharply. She 
spoke of the entrance of the man, Boulic, and how his presence had made her 
blood run cold; of the fire that had forced her out of the loft to take refuge under 
the hedge, and of finding, next morning, her father nailed to the tree. She told 
how she had tried to help him, and how , with almost his last breath, he had 
made her promise to find this place. She briefly described her journey, and 
linking up with the Show.
  ‘...and after the winter, when the weather started to clear, I came up here’, 
Brenhya finished.
  With concern etched on her venerable features, Sister Serenity looked at 
Brenhya for a long time. She took the young hand in both of her old, gnarled 
ones, and sighed.
  ‘You did the right thing. This is the right place for you to be. Come with me’.
  Standing, the old Priest was stooped a little but walked with a firm step as she 
led Brenhya to another unimportant-looking door, stopping only to pick up a 
simple vestment which she looped around her neck. At her invitation, Brenhya 
opened the door and stepped through.
  The contrast between the space she had just left and that in which she now 
found herself could not have been greater. 
  She was in a vast chamber, the vaulted ceiling soaring high above, thousands of 
candles providing more than sufficient illumination to penetrate the heights. 
Plush red velvet hassocks sat between rows of stone pews that faced a huge, 
ornately carved altar draped with acres of exquisitely embroidered velvet. Three 
golden candelabra, each holding nine tall candles, stood on it. Mosaic tiles 
depicting the creation of the world completed the air of religious opulence.
  Expertly carved from a single, immense block of onyx, a graven image of 
Themyra herself stood on a slightly raised platform behind the altar. Almost ten 
feet tall, the sculpture depicted a beautifully serene, smiling naked woman. The 
shoulders, arms and legs were sturdy and strong-looking, and the artist had 
shown the belly of the Goddess hugely distended and enormously pregnant. The 
figure stood in a squatting stance, and representations of all the creatures on 
earth spilled from the open, carved vagina.
  It was to this statue that the Sister led the impressed Brenhya, and stood before 
it with stick-like arms upraised.
  ‘Hail, Themyra’, she intoned in a singsong voice. ‘Mother of the Earth, 
Goddess of us all, Hear me!’ She lowered her voice to speak to Brenhya. ‘Have 
to speak to Her like that to begin with’, she said confidentially. ‘Gets Her 
attention’. She the turned back to the tall image and, to Brenhya’s surprise, 
spoke to it in an everyday, conversational manner.
  ‘This is Brenhya’, she said. ‘She’s come to us for protection. She’s seen much, 
been through too much in her young life, and needs a home. May she stay?’ To 
Brenhya, the old woman seemed to be listening. ‘Thank you’. She looked at 
Brenhya briefly. ‘She says you can stay. And what’, she addressed the Goddess 
again, ‘is her destiny? ... Really? ... Are you sure? ... No, but we’ve got enough 
of those already ... All right ... Yes, I’m sure you know best. Talk to you later’.
  Watching this one-way conversation, Brenhya was struggling to suppress a 
laugh.
  ‘What’s the matter, girl?’
  ‘Nothing’.
  ‘Hmph. Nothing, indeed. Come along’. The two returned to the sparse 
anteroom.
  ‘You look confused, girl. What’s wrong?’
  ‘Nothing m... Sister. It’s just the way you were speaking. I thought you’d have 
to be all respectful when you talk to a Goddess’.
  ‘Well, you do, you do. When it’s a special occasion. Ceremonies and the like. 
Or when you need to get Her attention, like just now. But, well, Themyra and I, 
we know each other pretty well, by now. I’ve been Her, what shall I call it, 
assistant is a pretty good way of putting it, Her assistant for , oh, more than sixty 
years, now. Of course, that’s just a blink of an eye, in Her terms, but we get 
along well. So, when it’s just Her and me, well, we just chat’.
  Brenhya thought this was a strange way of going about religion, but refrained 
from saying so.
  ‘Anyway’, Sister Serenity went on, ‘She says you’re to be a Warrior. Can’t 
think why. Placed is stuffed with them. No doubt She has Her reasons’.
  Brenhya was delighted, but kept a straight face.
  ‘So. One day a week, we have a rest day, and this just happens to be it. So the 
rest of the day’s your own. Tomorrow morning, report to Captain Vara. She’ll 
assign you for training’. 
  Sister Serenity sank down on her bench with a sigh, and looked ready to fall 
asleep. Brenhya, unsure, just stood there. The old woman waved a dismissive 
hand.
  ‘Don’t let me keep you’.

  After a several wrong turns and circular detours, Brenhya found her way back 
to the dormitory and the common room. On the far side of the room, Drucia and 
a group of acolytes were enjoying a laugh. Jaliza was sitting at the table, leafing 
through a yellowed parchment. Brenhya joined her.
  ‘Hi’, she said. Jaliza looked up and greeted her with a smile on her elfin face.
  ‘Hi! You’re looking smug. So?’
  ‘So?’ Brenhya echoed. Jaliza tutted and swatted her lightly on the knee.
  ‘So, tell me about it!’
  ‘I’m to be a Warrior’. Brenhya had a hard time keeping a smirk from her face.
  ‘Ha! Told you, told you’ Jaliza carolled. ‘Lucky thing. At least you’ll get to do 
stuff’. Brenhya pointed to the parchment she was reading.
  ‘What’s that?’
  ‘It’s  a parchment “On The Theosophy of Godhead”. I’ve got to read it before 
tomorrow’. Jaliza pantomimed a huge yawn.
  ‘I never learned to read much. Not much use for it, if you’re going to be a 
blacksmith’.
  ‘You were going to be a blacksmith? Wow! No wonder you’re so big and 
strong looking’. She regarded Brenhya with a raised eyebrow. ‘How old are 
you?’
  ‘Ten. Nearly eleven’.
  ‘Goddess, I’d’ve thought you were at least fifteen. I’m older than you, then. 
I’m fourteen. Dru’s sixteen. Geana over there’s fifteen. In fact, you’re the baby 
of the group. All the girls are older than you. But, don’t worry. I’ll watch out for 
you. Would you like to learn to read?’
  ‘I’d like to. I don’t know if a Warrior has much call for it, though’.
  ‘Sure, she does. Reading maps. Writing secret messages. Stuff like that’.
  ‘I see your point’. Brenhya thought she and Jaliza were getting along well. 
From the corner of her eye she noticed Drucia standing with hands on hips, 
watching.
  ‘So, would you like me to teach you?’
  ‘Yes, please’.
  Drucia came to stand over them.
  ‘OK. Starting tomorrow ...’, Jaliza started.
  ‘Teach the sprog to read?’ Drucia butted in. ‘Why do you want to do a thing 
like that, shrimp?’
  ‘Oh, hi, Dru. I just thought ...’ The older girl leant forward and placed a hand 
on Jaliza’s chest.
  ‘That’s the trouble with you Priests’, she said. ‘You just think, and that’s all 
you do’.
  She gave a push, and Jaliza toppled backward off her chair. Brenhya leapt to 
her feet.
  ‘Hey! Leave her alone!’
  ‘Yeah? What’re you going to do about it, sprog?’ She was a little taller, and her 
aggression took Brenhya aback a little.
  ‘Just ...leave her alone’. She met the young Warrior’s gaze.
  ‘It’s OK, Bren’, said Jaliza, picking herself up. Drucia continued to stare 
Brenhya down.
  ‘Shut it, shrimp. Me and the sprog are having a private conversation. Aren’t 
we, sprog?’
  A group was beginning to gather around them with growing excitement.
  ‘Look, Dru’, Brenhya said. ‘I don’t want any trouble, OK?’
  ‘You may not want any trouble, sprog, but trouble is what you’re going to get’, 
and she made to push Brenhya as she had Jaliza. A fleeting expression of 
surprise crossed her face when Brenhya did not fall over.
  ‘Just leave us alone, Dru’.
  ‘Ah, poor baby’, Dru sneered. ‘Diddums. OK. I’ll leave you alone’. She made 
to turn away, but then spun back, aiming a hard fist at Brenhya’s face.
  It never connected.
  There was a loud “smack!”, as Brenhya caught the fist in her palm, stopping it 
dead inches from her face. The look of amazement in Drucia’s eyes turned to 
one of pain as Brenhya closed her steely fingers around the fist and began to 
squeeze. The corded muscles of her forearm stood out like mountain ranges on a 
relief map as she applied the pressure and forced the older girl to her knees. The 
flesh of Drucia’s hand turned red, and then white as the crushing force steadily 
increased, and her face twisted in shock and agony as she heard the gristle of her 
knuckles actually grinding together. Brenhya was dead calm.
  ‘I asked you to leave us alone. Are you going to?’
  ‘Yes! Yes! OK. Let me up’.
  ‘Say please’.
  ‘Please!’
  The group cheered Brenhya and slapped her on the back, and jeered Drucia as 
the strong girl let her up, humiliated. She slunk away nursing her bruised hand, 
but even then could not resist a parting shot.
  ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, sprog’.
  Jaliza was beside herself, almost jumping up and down in her excitement.
  ‘Wow!’, she shouted. ‘Wow! You’re really strong, Bren. Dru was always the 
strongest of all of us, but you! Wow!’ Brenhya gave an embarrassed little smile.
  ‘Yes, OK. Don’t make a fuss’.
  ‘Yeah, but ...wow!’ .
  ‘Is “wow” all you can say?’ Brenhya laughed.
  ‘No, but ...wow!’ They both laughed.
  ‘And I said I’d watch out for you! How’d you get to be so strong?’ Jaliza 
wanted to know.
  Brenhya told her about her parents, omitting the harrowing parts, and of her 
experiences with the Travelling Show. Jaliza listened, and smiled cheekily.
  ‘So, have you got the muscle to go with that?’
  ‘Don’t know. I suppose so’.
  ‘Go on, then. Make a muscle’.
  ‘I don’t know ...’ Brenhya began modestly.
  ‘Go on. Make a muscle! Make a muscle!’ With Jaliza’s encouragement, the 
other girls took up the chant. ‘Make a muscle! Make a muscle!’ At length, 
Brenhya capitulated.
  ‘All right!’ She grinned, making calming motions. ‘OK, OK!’
  She rolled the loose sleeve of her shift up past her shoulder and held up an arm. 
She made a fist, and the young but well developed muscles of her arm sprang 
into prominence. Then slowly, teasingly, she bent her elbow. A hard-looking, 
round bicep, very impressive in one so young, rose under the golden skin her 
arm. 
  Jaliza stretched out a finger and prodded the muscle experimentally. It felt as 
hard as it looked. Her finger made no impression. The other girls murmured 
approvingly. Only Drucia, glowering alone in a corner still nursing her hand, 
refused to be impressed.
  Brenhya was playing to her audience, now. By rapidly flexing and relaxing, she 
made the bicep dance, to the delight of her peers. Then she relaxed her arm, 
placed her thumb in her mouth, and by blowing round the end of it, pretended to 
inflate the bicep. This was met by laughter and applause. Jaliza slipped and arm 
around the younger girl’s shoulder.
  ‘Y’know, Bren, I think you ‘n’ I are going to be friends’.
  ‘Yes’, agreed Brenhya. ‘I think so too’.
  The friends talked nonstop for the rest of the day and well into the evening. 
Jaliza explained the rules of the Order. There were not many. Disparaging the 
Goddess or bringing Her name into disrepute was, of course, strictly forbidden, 
and punishable by banishment. Any unresolved disputes were finally settled by 
Sister Serenity, and she had the final say; the antagonists must abide by her 
decision. There were younger girls than Brenhya at the Hall, as the fortress was 
known, but they slept in a separate dorm. Acolytes were free to leave at any 
time, but if they chose to do so before the end of their induction period, they left 
with what they came with. Once every two weeks, a provisioning trip to 
Brandwick was arranged, and two acolytes, chosen in strict rotation, were 
allowed to join it.
  Jaliza told Brenhya her story, how she had been left at the foot of the mountain, 
wrapped in a dirty old blanket, thin and malnourished, when only a few weeks 
old. The Sisters had found her, took her in, and raised her as their own. She 
owed them a debt of her life.
  Brenhya gave Jaliza an expurgated version of her own tale.
  It was late evening  when a Sister came in to usher them all off to bed. They all 
trooped off to the dormitory, where Brenhya found that Jaliza had cajoled 
another girl into giving up the bunk next to hers, so Brenhya and she could sleep 
next to each other. They climbed into their cots.
  ‘Lights out’, the Sister called, and the girls extinguished the candles held in 
small brackets above each bed.
  ‘G’night, Bren’.
  ‘G’night, Jal’. The girls settled down for the night.
  Brenhya lay on her back, hands clasped behind her head, staring into the dark. 
She lay awake far into the night, contemplating her new life.