Interlude: [dice]2[/dice] - Victory
***
Ashlyn stared down at the shield she held in her hand, picked up from a small hoard Soledad had collected. There was no way he had wanted it for himself. He never would have been able to use it. This was a trophy, proof he had vanquished a powerful Magdalena. Ashlyn ran her fingers through the blood that stained the silver cross and blended with the red fleur-des-lis on the white field. It was said this shield was born by the first Magdalena, Saint Jeanne d’Arc, when she broke the siege of Orleans, imbued with the power of the Almighty by the Lady of Domremy. It had been passed down their ranks through the centuries as their order combated evil in the shadows of both Church and State.
“It is yours now,” Sister Penelope said quietly, putting a hand on Ashlyn’s shoulder.
Ashlyn looked up, startled.
“But...surely there is someone more worthy than me!” she said.
“There are many ahead of me in the Order that would surely covet this relic.”
Sister Penelope smiled.
“Covet, yes,” she said.
“And covetousness is a sin.”
Ashlyn blushed at the reminder.
“I do not wish to cause problems in the Order, Sister Penelope.”
“Who else has defeated such an ancient and powerful vampire?” Penelope asked.
“I would say you are more than worthy to follow in Sister Amelie’s footsteps. may she rest in peace.”
They both crossed themselves.
“I am sorry for your loss, Penny,” Ashlyn murmured, hugging Sister Penelope.
As Ashlyn gathered with the others for the trip back to El Paso, she contemplated the first time she had seen the shield, and the last bearer of it.
***
The air was cold as Ashlyn got out of bed and lined up with the other girls from the Magdalene House. The boys from the Petrine House across the yard lined up opposite them. She was thirteen. Her year of penance for murdering Tomas had passed, though the other kids still gave her side glances, wondering when she would lose it again, and if they would be the ones lying beneath her, their blood soaking her.
It was also a year since the power of her mind had awakened and she had been sent to the Magdalenas for training.
Ashlyn shivered in the cold. She stared at the strange, wet, white stuff covering the ground. Snow, the other kids called it. New Alamo only got snow occasionally. Ashlyn had never seen the stuff. It made her bare feet numb, though it wasn’t deep.
Ashlyn fought the urge to wrap her arms around her slender young body. Like the others, she wore only the white shorts and white sleeveless t-shirt she had worn to bed, her small, developing breasts hardening beneath the thin fabric. Some of the boys were worse. Some of them didn’t have t-shirts.
Ashlyn glanced down the lines. Everyone else was about two years older than her, fifteen summers, at least, some older. All were hoping to get accepted into training to become a real Magdalena or Cyber-Knight, which were the better odds, as the Magdalenas only took girls.
Ashlyn clenched her small fists against the cold. She focused on clenching and unclenching the muscles in her body, generating tension and heat to keep warm. The door to the chapel opened and three figures walked out, two tall women in robes and warm cloaks of the Magdalenas, and a short old man in...a bathrobe?
“Too fuckin’ early. And too fuckin’ cold!” Sir Pedro bitched as he walked between the two Magdalenas. He pulled out a flask of tequila and took a long drink. Then Ashlyn stared as silver metal started to flow over his body.
“That’s better.”
The two sisters looked over Pedro’s head at each other, one rolling her eyes, the other grinning. Each grabbed one of Sir Pedro’s arms as they stopped at the head of the lines of children, stopping the old cyber-knight from continuing on down the field -- and probably propping him up. Ashlyn could smell the tequila on the cold breeze that rippled up her t-shirt.
Ashlyn’s gaze went to the two Magdalenas. Sister Penelope had been with the New Alamo patrol that had rescued her from Soldad, brought her to New Alamo, and given her a home. She was Novice Mistress now, and if Ashlyn passed today’s test, she would be put under Penelope’s care.
The other woman seemed Sister Penelope’s opposite, blonde where she was dark, though both had blue eyes. Sister Amelie was Penelope’s actual sister, though a few years older. She was the Mistress Militant, in charge of coordinating patrols and defense of New Alamo with the cyber-knights, and making sure the Magdalenas were combat ready when they eventually went on patrol. She was supposedly the best fighter in the Magdalenas, and that was why she got to carry the shield she did, a silver cross on a red fleur-des-lis on a white background, a holy relic, the Shield of St. Jean d’Arc.
Ashlyn’s attention was pulled back to Sir Pedro as he pulled out from his robe a willow switch. He started to pace up and down the lines as the sun was beginning to crest in the east, eying each boy and girl in turn.
“This is the garbage you’re giving me to work with?” Pedro asked Sister Penelope.
“They are the ones who volunteered for the test, Sir Pedro,” Penelope said.
Pedro stopped in front of Ashlyn. She stood up straighter, meeting the old cyber-knight’s intense gaze.
“The runt is a little young, ain’t she?” Pedro asked, looking her up and down, though he didn’t look at her like Tomas had.
Ashlyn’s cheeks flared.
“I’m not a runt!” she protested.
THWACK!
Ashlyn yelped as the willow switch smacked her backside.
“Did I say you could talk back, runt?” he asked with a furious intensity in his voice, though strangely there was no meanness or viciousness in his eyes.
Ashlyn rubbed the rising welt on her butt and cringed.
“No, Señor Pedro,” she murmured.
“Bueno,” Pedro said, moving on down the line.
“This test will push you to your limits,” Pedro spoke loudly to the field.
“Only the best will be allowed to join the Magdalenas and the Cyber-Knights. If you ever want to stop, just get to Sister Amelie’s shield and tap out.”
Pedro paced along the lines again.
“There are only three kinds of people in this world. The sheep,” he pointed his switch out over the town of New Alamo,
“the wolves that prey on the sheep, and the sheepdogs that protect the sheep from the wolves. Today we find out if you can be a sheepdog.”
Sir Pedro whacked one of the boys with his switch.
“Pay attention and stop starin’ at the ladies in their undies!” he scolded.
“Bloody teenagers. Should make you all eunuchs before we do this.”
Ashlyn flushed, but she’d noticed more than one boy staring across the field at the half dressed girls. They were all older and more developed than she was, so most attention wasn’t on her, but she still felt...exposed, vulnerable. Weak.
She stood up straighter. No. She wouldn’t be weak. She had survived Soldad. Weakness wouldn’t pass this test. She
would be a Magdalena!
Sir Pedro stopped at the end of the field.
“Fall in!” he barked.
There was a mad scramble to form a single line in the center of the field, boys and girls mixing. Gender wouldn’t matter this day. All that mattered was you pushed yourself to your limit, and then beyond. She knew Sir Pedro would beat a girl with that switch as readily as he would the boys. She had the welt on her ass to prove it.
Once they were lined up, Sister Penelope and Sister Amelie came to the front of the lines with Sir Pedro. They had removed their robes and now stood in just tight black second skin body armor that hugged and accentuated their curves. It would protect them from the cold. Sister Amelie had strapped the holy shield to her arm. She had a silver vibrosword on her back.
Sister Penelope pulled the bathrobe off of Sir Pedro. He cursed at her for being so hasty and grabbed his silver flask from the pocket, tying the belt of the robe around his waist so he could clip the flask to it. Ashlyn couldn’t help but giggle a little, which sent a twitter up the line until Sir Pedro’s icy gaze froze it colder than the ground beneath their bare feet. His normal cyber-knight armor hid it usually, but the old knight was lean and scrawny of build in just his cyber-armor. His muscles were tight and sinewy, his build belying the strength the old man still maintained. Ashlyn figured Pedro had been born old and just kept getting older, too ornery to leat Death have him.
Ashlyn felt the person behind her press up against her and glanced over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes and stepped forward a bit, though there wasn’t much room in the line.
“Miguel,” Ashlyn warned. He was older than her at fifteen, and had been one of Tomas’ friends.
“Nice rack there, runt,” Miguel said, looking down Ashlyn’s white tank, her mother’s silver cross glinting between her small, pert breasts, pointed from the cold.
“You sure you’ll be able to keep up?”
Ashlyn turned away.
“I’ll show you nice rack,” she said, swinging her fist back and catching Miguel in the groin. He grunted and doubled over, pressing his face into Ashlyn’s back. His tears were warm.
“I’ll get you, you puta!” he snarled.
The line was moving now as everyone started off at a jog following the Magdalenas. Pedro fell back, eying the line of teens as they ran through town toward the gates of New Alamo. They crossed the moat on the bridge. Ashlyn noted the ice rimming the water. She imagined the techno-wizard engineers that kept the water in the moat flowing would be hard at work today. A frozen over moat was no protection from wild vampires.
They turned right out of the gate. The frozen grass felt sharp against her bare feet as Ashlyn ran, her breath puffing in front of her face. She stared at the back of the boy’s head in front of her.
Focus, she told herself.
Work through the cold.
Halfway around the city, Sir Pedro yelled,
“Pick it up!” Penelope and Amelie sped up, and the running line of teens followed. This was nearly a sprint. Ashlyn’s skinny legs pumped. Her bare feet were numb by now, barely acknowledging hitting the ground. Her lungs burned from the cold. She clenched her fists, fingers numb, as she pushed herself. She felt Miguel, with his longer stride, pressuring her from behind. Sir Pedro ran down the line, whipping his willow switch around, cursing and swearing at them to
“Run, damn it!” More than one teen caught a switch on the backside, including Ashlyn.
They turned the corner of the palisade onto the flood embankment running along the river beside New Alamo. The path atop the embankment was narrow and icy. Going at a full run made footing treacherous, threatening a turned ankle or a tumble down the ten foot slope into the cold water of the river. Ahead, someone did just that, giving a shout of surprise as a girl took a spill and a splash into the water. Another fell, and the line just kept going, jumping over him. Sir Pedro rushed along the bank, alternately swatting at their calves to keep them moving, or beating those in the river, cursing at them to get back in line and run, though Ashlyn noted they came out with significantly fewer welts from the switch than they should have. Perhaps Sir Pedro was hitting the water more than them.
Ashlyn felt Miguel breathing down her neck. He started purposefully stepping on her heels.
“Pendejo!” Ashlyn snarled, stumbling, but managing to keep her footing. Miguel pulled alongside her and hip bumped her, sending her careening to the edge of the path. She stepped off and lost her balance, tumbling down the slope and into the river with a splash.
Ashlyn gave a shout of shock as the cold hit her. She came up gasping and flailing. She had learned to swim in this river years ago, as most New Alamo kids did, but that was in the summer! It wasn’t deep here, but she struggled to find her footing and keep her brain from shutting down
“Get out of the water and back in line, runt!” Pedro yelled. She felt the hot sting of his switch on her shoulder. She focused on the heated pain, driving back the cold and panic momentarily enough to get her footing.
“Let’s go, runt! You think because you’re the youngest you can slack off? That you get special treatment! Get your ass back in line!”
Another twack caught Ashlyn on the backside as she scrambled up the bank, back into the line. She saw Miguel up ahead turn and grin at her. Her white tank top and boxers were soaked, sticking to lithe young body, the tank nearly transparent now. She could feel her boxers already stiffening with ice as she ran, and her teeth started to chatter.
Ashlyn pushed herself harder. Her black hair hung stiff and icy in her face. They reached the bridge over the moat. Ashlyn noted a knot of teens around Sister Amelie, fallen to the ground. Magdalenas were waiting with blankets and hot cocoa. They had obviously tapped out. Ashlyn looked at them with envy, her body starting to shiver, but she remained steadfastly in line as they were ordered to pull up.
“Alright, everybody in!” Pedro yelled.
They all stared at him, wide eyed.
“I said everybody in the moat!” Pedro barked.
“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself!” His switch started up again, and the teens started tumbling down the embankment into the cold water of the moat.
“Fuck you, old man!” someone said, and another knot of teens went to Sister Amelie to tap out.
Ashlyn steeled herself. She was already wet and cold. She glared at Sir Pedro and, before he could switch her, jumped into the water.
The moat wasn’t very deep. It’s primary purpose was to surround the city with running water. Ashlyn huddled in a line with the other candidates, their arms linked together as they sat there, shivering. They glared up out of the moat as Sir Pedro and the Sisters sat down for breakfast, including hot coffee -- liberally mixed with tequila for Sir Pedro.
Ashlyn lost track of how long they sat there. Hours, maybe. The sun moved high in the sky, starting to warm things, the snow melting, the ice on the edges of the moat disappearing. Occasionally someone would give in, breaking the line and scrambling up the bank to tap out on Sister Amelie’s shield, and then be given a blanket, a change of warm clothes, and a hot drink. Ashlyn cursed them for their weakness. It threatened to infect her. She could feel it. It would be so easy. She was thirteen. She wasn’t expected to endure these trials. She had two years.
And she had to pee. Ashlyn sighed as she let go, feeling the water warm around her. Oh, that felt good.
Lord, I want to be one of your chosen! Please! Help me. Give me strength! Ashlyn prayed, looking up at the sun as it rose toward noon, fingering her silver cross. The light seemed to glitter off the silver, and Ashlyn felt another warmth flow through her. It pushed away the cold, stopped her shivering, and she sighed. It was like a comfortable summer day floating on the river.
Atop the bridge, Pedro, Penelope, and Amelie all paused and looked at each other.
“How long has she been channeling miracles?” Amelie whispered to Penelope.
Sister Penelope shrugged.
“She came into her psionics last year, after…” She didn’t mention Ashlyn’s murder of Tomas.
“She has been in seclusion and training her abilities since. But this is the first divine manifestation I have felt from her.”
They leaned back, munching on their sweet rolls and sipping coffee as they watched. Ashlyn just had her eyes closed, even as more and more teens broke ranks to tap out.
Finally Pedro stood up.
“Everybody out!” he yelled, swinging his switch at the unfortunate boy who happened to be closest to the bridge. As they all scrambled, shivering, out of the moat, the Sisters sent those who tapped out back into the city with hanging heads. They would not be chosen this year.
Ashlyn lined up again and they were marched out at a run again to the training field that had been set up outside the city.
“Pair up!” Pedro yelled.
Ashlyn felt her arm grabbed, and looked up into Miguel’s sneering face.
“Come on, puta. You and me.”
Ashlyn blinked, and then scowled, yanking her arm free.
“Fine!” she agreed as they lined up again. When Sir Pedro swung his switch at them to go, they raced off down the field. Miguel’s longer legs pulled him ahead a bit, but Ashlyn hit the first obstacle right behind him, dancing nimbly through the tires that had been laid out on the grass. She did it a bit quicker than him, so had the lead as they raced toward the next challenge.
Ashlyn dove into the cold, wet mud beneath the razor wire staked out above it. Water and mud soaked her tank again, and she felt the sharp slice of the wire as it caught her shirt and bit into her skin, leaving a bloody line, but she scrambled through. She had the advantage of being smaller for this challenge, and was pleased to note that Miguel’s back was a lot bloodier, his shirt more torn, than hers as they raced on.
Miguel hit the wall first, jumping and grabbing the rope. Ashlyn followed, grunting as she started to pull herself up. Here her youth and small size failed her. Ashlyn just wasn’t that strong. She struggled to climb the wall. Miguel reached the top and sneered down at her.
“You’ll never beat me,” he said, then kicked her in the face.
Ashlyn felt her nose explode in blood and she fell, her head hitting the ground hard. Luckily the ground was still soft after the thaw, and she only saw a few stars as she watched Miguel disappear down the other side of the wall.
“Shit fucker!” Ashlyn cursed, scrambling up.
Lord! she begged. She felt a surge of strength in her arms. It seemed easier to mount the wall this time. She dropped down the other side, landing and rolling to her feet, already running after Miguel as he was hitting the monkey bars. Sharp caltrops littered the ground beneath them, ready to slice her feet if she fell.
With determination, Ashlyn leapt. The bars were high, and Miguel had several inches of height on her. Her fingers wrapped around the bar and started to slip, but she gave a cry of prayer and...they stuck! Ashlyn pulled herself up, watching Miguel swing along the obstacle. There was no way she could match his speed. Unless…
Ashlyn pulled herself up, on top of the bars. Her bare feet skipped from rung to rung as she raced along, her tank stained with water, mud, and blood. She grinned as she caught up with Miguel and then leapt across, landing on his bars. She stomped his fingers with a vengeance, and he cried out in pain, falling onto the sharp caltrops.
“You fucking bitch!” Miguel yelled as she raced along the bars. Feet cut and bleeding, he leapt up and grabbed the bars again to race after her.
Ashlyn jumped down, rolling in the grass again to keep momentum. Miguel hit the ground behind her, limping along after her, leaving bloody footprints. But she had the advantage now!
Ashlyn jumped onto the balance beam. She learned the hard way just why this was a challenge. Slick oil covered the beam, and her feet went sliding out from under her. She hit the beam hard on her back and rolled off with a groan of pain.
“Merde!” she cursed, forcing herself to crawl to back to the beginning of the challenge.
Miguel laughed as he passed, giving Ashlyn a kick in the ribs as he did so. He’d seen her fall, so he mounted the beam more carefully, arms out, moving along it.
Ashlyn glared as she pulled herself up. She eyed her slippery beam, and then grinned. Backing up to get a running start, she charged at it as fast as she could. With a leap, she landed on her butt, her momentum carrying her along as she slid along the beam. Miguel cursed as Ashlyn passed her, tumbling into the grass on the other side, and was up and running again.
Ashlyn hit the river before Miguel. She dove in. The water was still cold, though it had warmed up since the sun had gotten high. This leg of the challenge required swimming a mile upstream against the current. It was tough going. Ashlyn wasn’t a very good swimmer. But then neither, it seemed, was Miguel. The current was fairly strong, and both struggled against it. Ashlyn could see the exit for the last part of the course.
Behind her, Ashlyn heard a cry. Looking back, she saw Miguel struggling, his head slipping under the water. Ashlyn looked ahead again. She was so close!
“Dios!” Ashlyn sighed, turning around and swimming back. She grabbed Miguel, pulling him against her chest as she went onto her back, kicking against the current. Miguel sputtered and hacked, drawing in deep breaths.
Ashlyn looked upstream. They were nearly to the marked exit. She felt Miguel moving again. He turned around and grabbed her. Ashlyn gave a surprised cry before his greater weight and strength shoved her under the water. He held her there as she thrashed, clawing at his arms, trying to kick him, anything to get free. Her vision contracted, her mind panicking.
No! Focus! Keep it together! Ashlyn yelled at herself. She remembered her training. A clear, calm mind was needed to use her powers.
Well, a panicked mind would have to do. Ashlyn shoved her hand against Miguel’s chest and
pushed. Mental energy slammed into the boy and he went flying into the air, out of the water, landing hard on the grassy bank.
Ashlyn surged from the water, gasping for air as she struggled for the bank.
Merde! She had just given him a big lead!
Waterlogged, Ashlyn raced up the bank. Miguel managed to recover from his fall and lashed out, snatching her ankle, sending her face planting into the grass. He pushed himself up, stepped on her back, and ran on.
Ashlyn got up and raced after him.
They both hit the bed of hot coals and pulled up.
“You have to be fucking kidding me?” Miguel groaned.
“Qué?” Ashlyn taunted.
“You scared?” With that, she stepped out onto the coals. She hissed as she heard the sizzle, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected.
“Puta,” Miguel growled, stepping out after her, dancing across the coals.
“Tu madre,” Ashlyn shot back.
As they reached the end of the coals, Ashlyn saw the final challenge ahead. Sister Amelie stood supervising a Grand Melee. The students who had already completed the course were locked in combat with training staves. Some were already on the ground unconscious, being dragged off the field by waiting Magdalenas for healing. Some were locked in one on one combat. Others had chosen to band together, fighting in larger groups. One group had focused on Tank, the largest boy in the challenge, seeking to take him down. Tank was strong as an ox and could take a lot of punishment, but he was slow and not that bright. He was holding his own, but it was only a matter of time.
Ashlyn’s eyes narrowed and she looked at Miguel. He glared right back at her. Then they both raced into the field. The training weapons were on the far side. They were going to have to make it through the fighters to get a weapon.
Unless...one did what Miguel did. He blindsided one of the girls, tackling her from behind as she was defending herself from another girl. He grabbed her ponytail and slammed her face into the ground several times before grabbing her staff. He swung it at Ashlyn, but she ducked, and then Miguel had to defend himself from the other girl.
Ashlyn raced across the field. She saw Pike up ahead. He was the tallest boy in the competition, and a competent fighter with long reach. He had just bested an opponent and, seeing Ashlyn charging for the weapons, took a stance to oppose her, thinking her an easy opponent without a weapon, the smallest contestant.
He was right. Ashlyn was going too fast to change direction, so she dropped. The field was mostly mud and wet grass by now. She hit her knees just as Pike swung his staff at her head, her momentum sending her sliding. She leaned way back as the staff missed her by a mile and she slid right between Pike’s legs.
Straightening quickly, Ashlyn braked with her hands in front of her and kicked at the back of Pike’s knee, sending him staggering away. She got up quickly and grabbed a staff just in time to parry a blow from one of the other girls. She ducked under the next swing and slammed the butt of the staff into the girl’s gut, driving her back as Ashlyn spun away.
Her eyes locked with Miguel’s across the field.
“Son of a whore,” Ashlyn growled, both their intents clear on their faces as they stalked across the battlefield toward each other. Part of Ashlyn’s brain was screaming at her. This was stupid! She was small and weak. She had been sequestered away for the last year, training with her mental powers, not getting the informal preliminary fight training the others had.
Lord, grant me righteous vengeance!
Ashlyn felt a surge of heat through her body. She shifted the grip on her staff, unconsciously making it more professional, more competent.
Miguel grinned. He charged at her, raising his staff high in a powerful blow that surely would have broken bones. Ashlyn pirouetted and spun, leaning back as the staff swept an inch from her nose. She came up in a stance, ready, as Miguel recentered also, more wary now.
“Pick on someone your own size, Miguel!” came a deep voice. Tank yanked Miguel off his feet by the back of his neck, spinning the boy around to face him. The problem was, no one was Tank’s size. Apparently he’d bested the group that had been focusing on him. His nose was broken, blood covering his bare, muscled chest, one eye swollen shut, and some definite bruises along his ribs that might be broken.
“You like picking on little girls?”
Miguel barely got his staff up in time to block Tank’s massive swing.
“Merde!” he cursed, eyes wide.
“NO!” Ashlyn screamed.
“He mine!” Ashlyn charged at Tank and Miguel. She planted her staff and vaulted, her body coming straight, her bare feet slamming into Tank’s face. She felt bone crunch and the large boy toppled back and didn’t move.
Ashlyn landed and rolled, her eyes meeting Miguel’s. His eyes were wide, and some of the fighting around them had suddenly stopped to stare at the little girl standing over Tank’s massive body.
But Ashlyn only had eyes for Miguel.
He shook himself out of his shock and grinned ferally, readying his staff. Ashlyn made a few probing attacks, which he batted away. Then he countered. She ducked, swinging and cracking his thigh. He grunted and sidestepped, absorbing the blow. His staff slammed her arm, making it numb for a moment.
They probed, parried, and struck. Occasionally the nonverbally called a truce to deal with some other opportunistic challenger who tried to sneak in a blow, both pummeling one girl mercilessly until she lay bleeding and unconscious. The other challengers got the message, leaving them to their duel as they became the last on the field.
Ashlyn noticed Miguel was favoring a stationary position, shifting but not really moving much. It made sense. His feet had been cut up at the monkey bars. Her own feet smarted from the running they had done all day and the hot coals, but his were worse. So she pressed him, forcing him to have to shift stance, to move his feet. She gave him a blow to the gut that winded him, but not long enough. She paid for it as he cracked one of her ribs.
“Tomas was my friend, you murdering bitch,” Miguel growled.
“If you hadn’t been in seclusion, I would have done this months ago.”
Ashlyn glared.
“Tomas, he touch me. He sit on me and choke me and tear my bedclothes. He pull out his…try to put in me...” Her vision blurred as tears accompanied the memory. She shook them away. No! She was not weak! She remembered Sir Pedro’s words, all those years ago.
All that pain, that hatred, that fear. Don’t waste it. Use it to make you strong.
Ashlyn and Miguel came together with mighty blows. Their staves cracked, splintering in their hands, and then his weight barreled over her, taking her to the ground. They rolled, pummeling each other. Ashlyn bit his ear, tearing it, tasting blood in her mouth, blood like that night with Tomas, the warmth of it. His punch cut her forehead, sending blood spilling into her eyes. She kneed him in the groin. Other kids were cheering, chanting their names. Someone was shouting for the Sisters to stop it. Sister Penelope tried to push through the crowd, but Sir Pedro grabbed her with an iron grip and gave Sister Amelie a look.
Ashlyn headbutted Miguel, breaking his nose. More blood splashed her. She remembered that sensation, the spray of Tomas’ blood as she stabbed him with her silver letter opener, stabbing him again and again in a shower of arterial spray. Her vision turned red.
MIguel’s weight and strength gained the advantage and he rolled atop her. She flashed back to that night, staring up in fear at Tomas. Miguel reached to the side and grabbed one of the splintered ends of a fighting staff. He raised it high and stabbed down at her heart.
Ashlyn managed to twist just enough. The wood speared through her shoulder and she threw Miguel. He staggered to his feet as Ashlyn whimpered, struggling onto all fours. He kicked her in her cracked ribs, sending her rolling with searing pain. She barely heard him cursing her. His next kick caught her in the temple. Her vision exploded in light. She kept trying to get away, get to her feet. She had to if she wanted to survive. She had survived Soldad!
When her vision cleared, Ashlyn saw sunlight glinting off silver, red, and white. Sister Amelie stood at the edge of the crowd, her holy shield planted in front of her. Ashlyn felt her confidence waver. If she could get to the shield, touch it, tap out, they would have to help her...
verdad?
Miguel kicked her in the side again. She heard the rib finally crack, searing pain in her side. She coughed up blood in the mud and grass. It was hard to breathe, each breath a searing hot poker. She crawled toward the shield, reaching.
“Maybe you asked Tomas for it, bitch,” Miguel sneered.
“Maybe when I’m done here, I’ll give you what you want.”
Fury and bloodlust seared through Ashlyn’s pain and weakness. She surged up to her feet. She barely saw the look of shock on Sister Amelie’s face as she grabbed the Mistress Martial’s holy shield. It flared with silver light in Ashlyn’s blood-soaked hands as she swung it with all her might.
The shield caught Miguel across the face. Blood and teeth went flying into the grass as he staggered. Lung burning, still coughing up blood, Ashlyn staggered after him. She swung the heavy shield again the other way. Miguel fell to the grass, his jaw hanging at an odd angle. Ashlyn slammed the shield down atop his head, driving him into the ground. She leapt on him, straddling him, raising the shield point first for the finishing blow.
“Enough, niña,” came a stern voice, and firm hands grasped her wrists.
Ashlyn stared up through blood and tears at Sir Pedro’s scowling visage. Sister Amelie came and pulled the holy shield from her hands. Ashlyn stared down at Miguel’s broken face. She spat blood in it and then staggered up into Sir Pedro’s arms, fading into unconsciousness.
***
“Can she stand?”
Sir Pedro’s gruff voice broke through the blackness. Ashlyn stirred, groaning. She hurt all over.
“Well, look who’s awake,” Pedro said.
Ashlyn’s eyes blinked open, and Pedro reached down and grabbed the front of Ashlyn’s shirt, hauling her out of bed. She gave a cry of pain and protest, lashing out with a fist. She yelped as she cracked a knuckle on Sir Pedro’s armor.
Pedro stood holding her by the front of her shirt, glaring down at Ashlyn. He was dressed in full cyber-knight armor, though the helmet was off, his long, flowing grey hair and moustache exposed, as were his intense blue eyes.
Ashlyn blinked, finding her legs able to support her. She had been healed, but only just, enough to get her on her feet, but with enough pain and tenderness left to remind her. She had also been washed and changed. One of the sisters was folding up her torn, muddy, bloody clothes and she had been dressed again in fresh white tank top and boxers.
“Time for the ceremony.”
Ashlyn shook her head.
“Do I have to go?” she asked. She had lost. She wouldn’t be accepted.
“Every challenger does.” Pedro pushed her toward the door.
“Walk.” He gave her a swap with his willow switch on her ass.
Ashlyn yelped.
“Dios, I hate you, old man!”
Pedro just chuckled.
All of the challenger participants were lined up on the green, those who had tapped out in one long line, those who had not in the other. The sun was setting over New Alamo. She could smell the delicious feast prepared for after the ceremony coming from the refectory. Sisters Penelope and Amelie stood at the head of the lines of the resident sisters, all in full regalia, armor or robes as befit their station in the order. Cyber-knights formed another line in full armor.
Pedro gave Ashlyn a shove, and she hurried to a place in line. She spotted Miguel as well, and glowered. He met her glare. They had obviously healed him, as well. Ashlyn averted her gaze, staring down at the grass. She was a horrible person, wishing he was dead instead of healed. Why did she find it so easy to give in to that...bloodthirstiness inside of her? Why did she so enjoy the feel of hot blood on her skin?
Ashlyn felt a nudge from beside her and looked up...and up at Tank. The large boy gave her a shy smile, and she couldn’t help return it. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked away as Sister Penelope started to speak.
“The Challenge of Acceptance is no easy task,” the Magdalena said.
“It measures strength, endurance, and will. It is no shame to fail the challenge. It is an honor to be accepted as a challenger. There are always other opportunities to prove oneself.”
Penelope looked around at those gathered.
“But most of all, the Challenge is a challenge of the heart. Do you have the strength of character it takes to be a Magdalena, or a Cyber-Knight? Was this challenge just a means to show how exceptional you are? Or did you show compassion on a fallen opponent, did you show teamwork in facing a challenge? It is not enough to be the strongest on the field, or the fastest. A single strand is easily broken, but a threefold cord is not quickly broken.”
Ashlyn hung her head, feeling horrible, as Sister Amelie read off the names of those chosen. None of that was anything she had done. She and Miguel had been at each other's’ throats from the start of the challenge. She had tried to kill him. She had nearly succeeded. She looked down the line. As the names were read, Sister Penelope presented the robes of the novitiate to the girls who had indicated they were testing for the Magdalenas. Sir Pedro presented tabards to those who had been accepted by the cyber-knights, both boys and girls. She saw Miguel standing there, tall and smug, and she felt that burning cold hate inside of her again. She quickly squashed it. That was not what a Magdalena was about!
Sir Pedro stopped at Miguel and stared at the boy. And then he moved on. Miguel blinked in shock at not being accepted. He stared after Penelope and Pedro as they moved down the line.
“Tiberius Williams,” Sister Amelie said, and next to her, Tank stepped forward.
“For bravery in the face of superior odds, restraint in defeating enemies, and standing up for those weaker than he.”
Sir Pedro grunted, handing the large boy a New Alamo cyber-knight tabard.
“Just remember not to hold back so much when it’s vamps, kid.”
“Yes, sir. No, sir,” Tank stammered. He glanced over at Ashlyn, blushing a bit.
“Congratulations,” Ashlyn murmured, returning a sad smile. That was the last Chosen.
“Ashlyn Alvarez.”
Ashlyn started, looking over at Sister Amelie, and then Sister Penelope approaching her with the novice robes of a Magdalena.
“For steadfast endurance, determination, and compassion on a struggling foe, and for the blessing of the divine.”
Whispers went through the gathered Sisters, and Ashlyn stared at Sister Penelope in astonishment as she accepted her robes.
“What the fuck!” Miguel exclaimed loudly, stepping out of line.
“She tapped out! She touched the shield! And she cheated! She used magic!”
“There is nothing in the rules about not using magic, Miguel,” Sister Penelope tried to explain calmly.
“It is expected that every Challenger will use all their resources in the test,” Sister Amelie added.
“In this case, the fact that Novice Alvarez is already exhibiting the ability to channel miracles at this age, with little training, is a strong mark in her favor.”
Ashlyn blinked. What? Channeling miracles? She had only used her psionics once, to throw Miguel off of her when he was trying to drown her. Granted, that was quite a feat, since her telekinesis had never been that strong, but she assumed it was fear and adrenaline that factored into it.
Sir Pedro growled.
“And there is no cheating when you are fighting for your life, boy.” He stared at Miguel.
“She’s a murderer and a psychopath!” Miguel shouted.
“Is that the kind of girl you want protecting your city?”
Ashlyn hung her head in shame.
Sir Pedro let out a roar. His willow switch lashed out, leaving a bloody streak across Miguel’s cheek. He grabbed Miguel’s shirtfront and lifted him high in the air before slamming him hard into the ground, knocking the wind out of Miguel and coming to a knee beside the boy.
“You remember what I said before the Challenge, boy?” Pedro growled.
“You deliberately chose the smallest and weakest challenger. And you couldn’t even beat her,” he sneered.
“If you can’t win such an unfair fight, why would we want you protecting us? You are a wolf, boy,” Pedro snarled, getting in Miguel’s face.
“And you will never be a cyber-knight as long as I draw breath!”
Sir Pedro raised his willow switch again, but Sister Amelie grabbed his wrist.
“I think the lesson is learned, Sir.”
“Is it?” Pedro asked, staring down Amelie, but he finally nodded and hauled Miguel to his feet.
“Get yer ass out of the compound, boy. You’re done here. You can fend for yourself in the town.” He shoved Miguel toward the gates of the monastery and gave him a swift kick in the ass for good measure.
Stunned silence greeted the scene as Miguel trudged out into New Alamo proper. No one was more astonished than Ashlyn.
“All right, you gawkers!” Sir Pedro yelled.
“There’s food to eat and tequila to drink! And someone get me a fucking whore! I’m done for the day!”
Sisters Penelope and Amelie winced, but the proclamation sent a ripple of chuckles through the assembled, and they all started to make their way to the refectory, the new Chosen slipping into their robes and tabards.
Ashlyn moved to the steps of her dormitory and sat down, her legs weak. She stared at her novitiate robes in surprise and reverence until three shadows loomed over her in the fading light.
Ashlyn looked up at Penelope, Amelie, and Pedro, blinking back tears.
“Gracias…” she whispered hoarsely.
Sister Penelope shook her head.
“No, you earned it, Novice Ashlyn,” she said.
“Congratulations on being the youngest to be chosen to the novitiate.”
“But...I am no worthy. Those things you say. They no me.” The tears came more freely as she looked at her mentors.
“No one is, child,” Sister Amelie said.
“You even I am worthy to carry this shield?” She laughed, and then grew more serious.
“But it was a close thing. Not all thought you ready.”
Ashlyn lowered her head.
Sir Pedro reached down, gripping her face and forcing her to look up again, much as he did when she was a child and they had found her beneath the floorboards, covered in her mother’s blood.
“There’s a wolf in you, girl,” Pedro said.
“You need to tame it.” He gave her a shove toward the refectory, and then, just to be sure, whacked her with his willow switch and a grin.
“Now get in there and get me some tequila. And Sister Amelie, find me that whore.”
Amelie sighed.
“She’s already inside waiting for you at your place, Sir Pedro.”
Pedro grinned.
“Ah, you treat me so well, Sister!” He grabbed Amelie’s ass and then walked off.
Amelie grabbed Pedro’s switch and whacked him with it.
***
As they stepped into El Paso, Ashlyn stared down at the shield she held, the hot sun glinting off the silver cross. She still felt the demonic taint in her gut, blocking her divine access. It was feeding on that wolf inside of her she had thought she’d tamed, the bloodlust she had pushed deep down inside of her.
“I am not worthy, Sister Amelie, but I am trying to be.”