Beneath one's dignity

Irene walks aimlessly among the sea of people, the vendors’ shouting bouncing off her ears. Brother Orion has allowed her a small break and here she is, wandering around. Losing herself in the crowd. 

She needs to get it together. She would reconvene with Brother Orion at the forge in ten minutes and then they would finish the rest of today’s training. Irene can only pray that it will all go smoothly. 

It doesn’t seem like it’ll happen though, considering this morning’s blunder at the infirmary. She had accidentally knocked over the tray holding herbal concoctions and needless to say, she received a lengthy lecture from Brother Orion. 

Irene winces as the memories surface; that was not her best moment. She picks up the pace, hurrying. Only to stop, seeing a group of people murmuring, pointing. 

“Papa!” screams a shrill voice. At the centre of the bazaar, a staggering old man grips a little boy, holding him in a chokehold, lifting him into the air. Higher and higher. Crazed eyes shift here and there, beneath wild unkempt hair. 

“Lucas!” A man who seems to be in his thirties stands a few feet away, clearly anxious. Panicked. He takes a step forward, but halts, stopping when the other man’s thick arms cover more of the child’s neck. Squeezing tighter. Everyone else is frozen, unsure of what to do. 

There are no guards in sight. She runs to the middle, positioning herself between the two men. 

“Let the child go,” she says. Her words come out without thinking. 

“Oh, but what if I don’t want to?” the old man replies in a whiny high pitch. He cackles, laughing shrilly, hollering. Throwing an arm out as if he is bracing, welcoming the world. 

“Let today be the day we witness our nation’s depravity! How cruelty flows in our blood, in the very pillars of society!” 

“Ask no more, today is the day. Our martyr is here.” Irene breathes faster, body stiffening. 

“Rejoice, rejoice!” The old man’s voice rings through the bazaar. She steps even closer, activating her avatar. His eyes widen and he his lips, muscles flexing. Hold tightening. 

“Please, don’t. Please, miss,” the man behind her begs. He’s the father. Irene hesitates. This feels all too familiar. She sees fear stamped on the child’s face.  

“Ah, do observe, my fellow countrymen and women. We are humbled in the—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. An ox charges out of nowhere and Irene rushes forward. 

It’s Brother Orion. 

Powered by his avatar, the Shaman knocks the mentally ill man to the ground, causing him to lose his hold on the boy. Irene makes it in time. Catching the child.  

Brother Orion pins the man, restraining him. 

The father rushes to his child. He profusely thanks Brother Orion, taking the boy back into his own arms from Irene. Guards rush into the area, surrounding the clearly mentally ill man, apprehending him quickly. Dusting his hands, Brother Orion exits the circle, squinting at her. 

Irene isn’t sure if she has the right to feel ashamed. If she is allowed to hang her head low. 

“We are done here,” he says curtly.

Brother Orion leads her to the back of the High Temple, out into an open field. She doesn’t question it. She only follows, steps behind him, stops when he does. He turns around slowly, facing her. Eyes set, presenting a stern demeanor. 

“We will spar immediately. Prepare yourself,” he says. Irene backs away a few steps, raising her arms, adopting a defensive stance. He squints, eyes flickering to her arms, then up, meeting her gaze. 

Without a word, a fist comes her way. She parries it, her rear hand following. Swinging, preparing to counter.

His leg knocks into her side and her breath is cut short. She feels herself falling, her avatar springing to life.

Hitting the ground, her coyote flickers out, cushioning most of the fall. She lies on the grass, unmoving. Should she even laugh in this situation? The feeling churns within and she pushes it away. 

How pathetic.

She hears his voice, closer than before. Irene is met with a blank stare, unchanging eyes. His expression is neutral, revealing nothing. 

“What did the Earth Mother tell you?” says Brother Orion quietly. 

Irene coughs, propping herself up on her elbows. Brother Orion is still. Watching her. 

She doesn’t want to spill anything, doesn’t want to tell him. The Earth Mother had made it clear that their conversation should not be shared to others.

“Irene. An entire day of training has passed and your performance is mediocre at best,” he says. He takes a step, crouching in front of her on the grass. 

“In the morning, you were preoccupied, knocking over medicinal brews. At noon, you demonstrated a lack of critical thinking.” His words go in and out of her ears.

“Your actions almost cost the child his life.” Washing over her. Drowning her. “And now, your fighting technique is worse than in the arena.” Her earlier disappointment sags, disappearing altogether. She only feels empty. 

Blank. 

“There must have been a particular reason why the Earth Mother sought you.” It’s not even a question. It is a comment born from genuine curiosity and frustration. 

He shakes his head, letting out his remaining breath. 

“Tomorrow, I expect you to be at the docks by sunrise. You are dismissed.”

When Irene arrives, Brother Orion is sitting at the dock’s edge, legs crossed, meditating. 

The sun is peeking over the water, separating from the sea. Its soft radiant hues, shades of orange, dress the sky. She walks, settling down as quietly as possible. 

His ears twitch, acknowledging her presence. Irene closes her eyes and allows her mind to rest, steadying her breathing.  

Time passes, slipping by like sand. It’s a welcome change of pace considering her usual busy training schedule. Her day would begin at dawn and training would not end until nine at night. More