Insignia by Kelly Matsuura Read Free Book Online Page A

will
have to intervene. The abbot will wait for my judgment on the
conflict before he gives permission for us to join. I must be calm.
Eagle's Wing fights in the rearguard of the retreat, which is
becoming a rout. He is mounted upon a brown horse that bucks.
    I turn to tell her that she was in no danger
and is safe now. But I do not. I stare as she is staring at me, for
I know her, though I have not seen her since she ran into the
forest many years ago. Sun Rising asks if it is really me. I say it
is. I see in her face the many questions about what has become of
me, and I feel I am looking into a mirror. We say nothing, the
answers are in our eyes. I have always loved her, but I allowed
myself to forget, after I drove her from the valley.
    The people are almost at the gates now. I
may open them, but the raiders, spurring their mounts up the slopes
to the monastery, are enraged that the farmers have fought back,
and pulled them down. Is the man right to defy his oppressor, if he
wishes to become the oppressor himself? The conundrum this poses is
artificial. He must not resist, he must fall back. With the
villagers who seek not a stronghold but a refuge already behind the
monastery gates, is it necessary to let the others in? A question
to be asked. What to do about the reappearance of Sun Rising, at an
unexpected time? A question to be answered.
    I am five. Black smoke and dusty earth.
    I am twelve. Water lilies and bread
baking.
    I am fifteen. Dry leaves and fir
needles.
    I am thirty. Wet fur and steaming blood.
    I am forty-three. Black smoke and water
lilies.
    I signal that the doors be opened. The
farmers are admitted, but Wing still engages the leader of the
raiders, horse to horse. Shall I permit them to kill each other?
Shall I trust my heart? I look at Sun and nothing is clear. The
people huddled behind our walls smell of sweat and fear, while
before me I smell the memory of baked bread and water lilies and
feel as though no years have passed. Yet where my emotions yield my
intellect will not.
    I turn and leave my post, signal to the
interior warden, and we take up our staves; mine is but a club,
one-handed. Five of us hurry out to separate Eagle's Wing from the
horsemen, who are all around us now. They too are young men, but
for the leader; they have heard his stories, and look on us with a
mixture of fear and contempt. The horses’ breath steams in the
winter air; splattered blood and thrashing hooves turn the snow
pink.
    My brothers and I move quickly, striking the
nearest from their horses, driving them away from Wing. He laughs
and charges past us to press what thin advantage we have. I call
for him to retreat, but instead he rides down the nearest raider,
killing him. He is too far away from us.
    Those still mounted wheel to encircle us. We
separate and move through their midst, like mist through the trees.
We are among the forest now, and every branch is our ally, every
root their foe. Horses stumble; riders are swept from their backs;
but still there are too many of them. Wing is making things
difficult, plunging into them, confusing our strikes. I cry for him
to dismount, but he will not.
    In a momentary tremor through the trees I
feel the approach of my old friend. Wing charges to engage the
enemy, who hack now at the branches of our trees, and some who aim
deadly fire on their arrows. Wing’s horse rears before me; I will
not let him pass. I should not let him die. But in the clarity of
this moment I see things I had not before; I must change or be
swept away by the fire. The majestic white and orange tiger sweeps
Wing from his brown horse. I know now that I have always been ill
at peace, no matter how I hide it. Now the horse is upon me. I slip
aside, but it is too late for Eagle's Wing; the tiger has torn his
throat out. He moves on, driving terror into the steeds of the
flame-wielding archers, sending the shots wild and letting the
panicked horses scatter the riders. He has removed the direst
threat.
    The