Soul of the Fire

"Very good, Beata. We try to follow Minister Chanboor's example here, and do good."

"That's why I came, ma'am; so I could do good."

"I'm Lieutenant Yarrow. You call me Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma-Lieutenant. So… may I join?"

Lieutenant Yarrow pointed with her pen. "Pick up that sack over there."

Beata hoisted the burlap sack. It felt like it was loosely filled with firewood. She curled a wrist under it and held it against a hip with one arm.

"Yes, Lieutenant? What would you like done with it?"

"Put it up on your shoulder."

Beata hoisted it up and curved her arm around and forward over the sack so it would bulge up the muscle and the wood wouldn't rest on her shoulder bone. She stood waiting.

"All right," Lieutenant Yarrow said. "You can put it down."

Beata set it back where it had been.

"You pass," the lieutenant said. "Congratulations. Your dream just came true. You're in the Anderith army. Hakens can never be completely cleansed of their nature, but here you will be valued and be able to do good."

Beata felt a sudden swell of pride. She couldn't help it.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant waggled her pen, pointing it back over her shoulder. "Out back, down the alleyway to the end, just below the rampart, you will find a midden heap. Take your bag out there and throw it on with the rest of the offal."

Beata stood in mute shock. Her mother's shoes were in there. They were expensive. Her mother and father had saved for years to buy those shoes. There were keepsakes in her bag, given by her friends. Beata held back tears.

"Am I to throw out the food Inger sent, too, Lieutenant?"

"The food, too."

Beata knew that if an Ander woman told her to do it, then it was right and she had to do it.

"Yes, Lieutenant. May I be excused, then, to see to it?"

The woman appraised her for a moment. Her tone softened a little. "It's for your own good, Beata. Those things are from your old life. It won't do you any good to be reminded of your old life. The sooner you forget it, food included, the better."

"Yes, Lieutenant, I understand." Beata forced herself to be bold. "The letter, ma'am? May I keep the letter Inger sent with me?"

Lieutenant Yarrow looked down at the letter on her desk. She finally folded it twice and handed it back.

"Since it's a letter of recommendation and not a memento of your old life, you may keep it. You earned it with your years of service to the man."

Beata touched the pin that held closed her collar at her throat-the one with the spiral end, the one Pitch had returned to her. Her father had given it to her when she was young, before he had died from a fever. She had lost it when the Minister and that beast, Stein, pulled it out and tossed it away into the hall so they could open her dress and have a look at her.

'The pin, Lieutenant Yarrow? Should I throw it away, too?"

As she had watched her father making the simple pin, he had told — her it represented how everything was all connected, even if you couldn't see it from where you stood, and how if you could follow everything round and round, someday it would all come to a point. He told her to always keep her dreams, and if she did good, the dreams would come round to her, even if it was in the afterlife and it was the good spirits themselves answered the wishes. She knew it was a silly children's story, but she liked it.

The lieutenant squinted as she peered at the pin. "Yes. From now on, the people of Anderith will provide everything you require."

"Yes, Lieutenant. I look forward to serving them well to repay them for the opportunity only they could provide."

A smile softened the woman's face. "You're smarter than most who come in here, Beata. Men and women, both. You catch on quick, and you accept what's required of you. That's a good quality."

The lieutenant stood up behind her desk. "I think, with training, you could be a good leader-maybe a sergeant. It's tougher than plain soldier training, but if you can measure up, in a week or two you'll be in charge of your own squad."

"In charge of a squad? In only a week or two?"

The lieutenant shrugged. "It's not difficult, being in the army. I'm sure it's a lot less difficult than learning to butcher."

"Won't we have to learn to fight?"

"Yes, but while important at a basic level, fighting is for the most part a trivial and outmoded function of the army. The army was once a refuge for extremists. The fanaticism of warriors suffocates the society they are charged with protecting."

She smiled again. "Brains are the major requirement and women are more than equal there. With the Dominie Dirtch, brawn is unnecessary. The weapon itself is the brawn and, as such, invincible.

"Women have the natural compassion required to be officers-for instance the way I explained why you must discard your old things; men don't bother with explaining to their troops why something is necessary. Leadership is a nurturing of those under your command. Women bring wholesomeness to what used to be nothing but a savage fellowship of destruction.