As the scorching beams of the Scorian sun climbed high above the turrets, the cool patches of shade shortened, then disappeared altogether. Packed together with the rest of the jondis, all six rings together, Sci stood up straight. She didn't move as much as a muscle. Naqib Janah was holding a lengthy lecture on uniform etiquette, mandatory backpack supplies, and the ethical code of the soldiers. Here and there, feet shuffled and resounded a cough.
Esen breathed a yawn into the nape of her neck. "Five years at Orchid Hall, and still the army welcomes you as though you only came here for a free lunch," he whispered.
"Yeah, just give us our supplies already. I'm sweating like the seven hells," replied the girl next to him. His new arm candy; no doubt. If she didn't realise that army training meant a whole lot of sweating, then she had come here for the free lunch only.
After asking if there were any questions and waiting two whole breaths to conclude there were none, Naqib Janah brought the jondis to the large dome where they had met the nine Rajas.
The large table at which the Rajas had been seated laid filled with uniforms (including the long leather wristbands and short protective shawl), iron topped boots, and a backpack, neatly organised per ring and with the nametag already embroidered on the top lid of the pack. No arrows, bows, scimitars, spears, or halberds. Jondis didn't receive their weapons until the second week of training.
"Change into your uniform and boots. If anything doesn't fit, I'll get them exchanged," Naqib Janah barked.
Sci waited as her peers flocked to the table like a herd of goat finding a rare patch of grass in the desert. She had a question for the Naqib, something none of the books had mentioned, and she hadn't dared ask Indra. Too afraid it would remind him what she was, who she was.
"Can I keep in wearing my scarf?" she asked. Her head low in shame.
Naqib Janah looked at her. "The uniform is what it is. You can wear a necklace, ring, or bracelet—anything else is out of the question. Didn't you pay attention?"
"I did, Naqib. You also mentioned exceptions can be made for medical reasons." She pushed her scarf behind her ear, unveiling the scar on her cheek. "The shawl the army provides won't protect my face. The skin is sensitive, burns early."
"I see." Naqib Janah nodded. "For now, you wear the uniform as prescribed. I'll discuss this with the Ra'id."
"Understood."
Sci marched to her ring and grabbed the supplies that had been kicked to the floor. Surrounded by naked torsos pulling the leather shirt over their heads, she focussed on the backpack bearing her full name. She found a knife, a shovel, a box of sugared fruit, rice, a firestone, two types of tins, a blanket, and two skins filled with water.
"Is the water clean?" she asked around.
Nobody answered. Esen was tugging at the laces on his side, his thoughts and eyes on the two girls doing stretches to see if their shirts fit.
Sci opened the skin and smelled the water; it reeked of goat. "Where does this come from?"
"What do you worry about?" mocked the boy standing right at her heels.
When she looked at him, she couldn't help but stare at the excessive hair on his chest that made him seem thirty instead of fourteen years old. Realising what she was doing, she blinked a couple of times, then said, "It's important. Raja Mariam asked me yesterday what kills most soldiers—it's lack of clean water."
"They just gave it to us. It'll be fine." He shrugged.
"You try it then," Sci said.
He scratched the small freckle above his lip. "You should get dressed."
YOU ARE READING
The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
