The ringing kiss of steel on steel provided a rhythm to the drill calls of Instructor Valeris.

She walked between the pairs of girls, her hands clasped behind her back as her high clear voice rang out across the grounds. "One, two, forward, call!"

"Hyah!" Half the girls screamed. A roar from the gut to accompany the downward swing of their weapon. Their partners defended with an answering grunt, boots sliding in the fresh mud of yesterday's rainfall.

Ramona watched them from the sidelines in silence. Her hands remained curled in her lap throughout the lesson, the lie of a calm exterior that matched her impassive expression. When the girls were at last released to their next weapons lesson, Instructor Valeris leaned on the wall beside her, saying nothing. Ramona glanced at the older woman out of the corner of her eye. Valeris wore a modified habit, the same as the other nuns, her raven wing hair tucked into a tight cowl, a short formless tunic and breeches in black wool. Her angular face was brown from the sun, giving her gray green eyes a luminous cast. They watched Ramona now, waiting for the girl to break the stalemate silence.

The girl sighed, staring at her hands. "I won't be an effective weapon for the Mother Superior if I never learn to use a sword."

They looked up in unison, staring across the training yard to the charred ruin of a training dummy.

They hadn't let her pick up a blade in nearly five months, not since her first day on the field. The incident still played in her mind over and over.

All the girls were required to swing at a practice dummy. Ramona thought the exercise silly at first. How could their instructors gauge the level of their skills without another human being moving against them? Yet they watched the girls with an intensity bordering on predatory, swooping in to correct stance, grip, and swing. When it came Ramona's turn, they thrust a dull blade in her hands. The rod of metal dragged in her grip, causing her arm muscles to wobble beneath its weight. She'd never held a sword before, the closest she came to wielding a blade were the kitchen knives. The practice sword was awkward and unbalanced. The second she lifted it to take a swing, the instructors fell on her, tisking and muttering about her amateur form as they kicked her feet into a proper stance. She endured their cool severity, the Mother Superior's words keeping her grounded. She was here to learn the art of vengeance. One day she would hunt down the Cult and mount their heads on pikes.

The thought burned through her veins as the instructors stepped back.

"Now swing," said Valeris.

Ramona looked at the yard dummy, a shoddy construction of scrap metal and wood. Before her eyes it shimmered to the metal dragon, gemstone eyes taunting her. She swung with a scream.

Divine fire flared from her, heating her palms. It burned stronger, hotter, than the first time. The target dummy exploded, shrapnel splintering outward, raining on the others, embedding in plaster and skin. The crude practice sword couldn't take the holy fire, melting in her grip. Molten iron ran off her fingertips as she stared at the smoking ruin...

Valeris pulled a sliver of metal from her upper arm, sucking on her teeth as she stared down at Ramona. "Not fit for the practice yards."

"Have you learned control?"

Valeris's cool voice ripped her from the memory. Ramona cringed, her fists tightening. If being unable to summon the fire again counted, she could have joined practice months ago. As it was, not even a whisper of power rose no matter if she held a proper weapon or not. She spent hours attacking the practice targets with a simple wooden shaft, striking until her arms grew numb from the repeated impact. For nothing.

"Same results then," said the instructor, unruffled by Ramona's frustration. The other girls avoided her like a leper. It was not an intentional slight, but they feared her lashing out. Ramona sat at meal times, gritting her teeth, fighting the pain in her heart. She missed her sister and brother with a fierceness that gripped her tight, afraid to close her eyes for fear of seeing Esther's severed head at her feet.

What nightmares she did have...of men with gemstone eyes whispering sinister words in her ear as they ran their long nails down her naked skin, like claws. Those dreams were the worst.

Wrapped in the thorny shield nightmare and memory, Ramona had made herself unapproachable.

"The Mother Superior may have a solution for you," said Valeris, straightening. "Come."

Ramona stared after the woman, momentarily thrown off balance. For months, they left her reeling, surrounded by unfriendly, timid females, and finally they meant to help her. She gritted her teeth, swallowing down the belligerent thought as she hurried about the instructor.

"How do you tame a bolt of lightning?" Valeris strode down the hall with the same posture she walked the training yard. Ramona was receiving a lesson. The men of her village used to attach grounding poles to the roofs of their homes, trying to direct the forked tongues that dipped from the sky. The lightning struck the nearby trees as often as they did the poles.

"Can it be tamed?" She asked.

"Lightning is a force of nature. A touch of the divine. It is about as tamable as your gift and just as predictable," said Valeris, halting outside a thick oak door bearing an intricate lock. She pulled a key from her pocket, slipping it in with an audible clink. It turned with the sound of internal clock work.

"But you can harness it, focus it, and wield it." The door opened with an ominous groan, ancient wood sliding along its hinges. Valeris waltzed in, expecting Ramona to follow her.

"Your problem, girl, is you have no focus. No guiding force to direct the Divine Blade."

Ramona stared around her wide eyed. They'd entered an overgrown inner court yard, untended plants slowly swallowing the stone walls, spilling out onto the path. Patches of grass were scorched. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Valeris lead her further in, entering a dim hall, intermittently lit by sputtering torches that left a smoky tinge to the air. It was a far cry from the dormitory halls and practice yards, illuminated through great stained glass frescoes. There were no windows in this hall.

Valeris stopped at the last door, rapping her knuckles against the wood. They heard no answering call but the instructor shoved her way inside.

Ramona stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

The meager pile of her personal effects, neatly folded and set upon an empty cot.

"What's this?" She turned to find the instructor already halfway out the door.

"Your focus," said Valeris's clipped voice. "You will be let out for evening meal and mass. The rest you must provide yourself."

"Wait," said Ramona, feeling a note of panic threading through her. They were going to lock her up and leave her here? Alone? No matter how aloof they were toward her at least the presence of the other girls comforted her. She started after the instructor, stumbling over something on the floor. Ramona caught herself, looking down.

She tripped over the skull of a bird.

Not a simple skull, but one polished to a dull shine, etched with scrolling carvings over every inch of the fragile bone. She left out a breath, gingerly picking it off the floor, recognizing the scenes from one of the holy scriptures the nuns read to them at evening mass. It was a work of art, wrought with a level of skill that would have made the finest craftsmen in her village green with envy.

A flare of sadness forced her to sink on her cot, carefully turning the skull in her fingers. There was no envy from the dead.

She brushed the feeling away, another thorn in her armor. Instead she concentrated on the beautiful piece in her hands, wondering who would leave such a work of art out in the open, until she saw others strewn carelessly across the floor. Her lips parted as she took in the cot across from her, realizing Valeris had not left her here alone.

The opposite cot was crowded with blankets, tangled and balled around each other like a nest of coarse cloth. There were even more carvings scattered amid the sheets. At some point the artist also carved the plain poles of her cot, turning each into a unique pillar. Spirals danced up the walls above her bed.

Where was the other girl? Ramona walked back out into the hall, trying a few of the other closed doors, searching for her new roommate. There was an empty privy across the hall, a study with all the necessary lesson books and countless tomes of religious script and history, a modest pantry and cooking station, and a well stocked weapons room. All empty.

Ramona wandered out into the overgrown courtyard, tempted to call out. The sight of the scorched grass killed the words in her throat. An instinct rose, a primitive initiative to flee in the presence of predators. Her fingertips grew hot, a crackle of energy flaring between them. There was a sound, a subtle scritch scratch of claws. A movement in the corner of her eyes caused her to jerk around, nearly loosing her footing in the process. Ramona looked up amid the cluster of branches, staring at the girl perched there.

A braid of white blond hair fell over one shoulder, a match against the girl's pale skin. She was dressed in the same loose athletic gear as the other trainees, with the exception of a belt with pistol holsters strapped empty to her waist. Her attention was focused on the object she worked with her hands. Ramona followed suit. Her mouth went dry.

The girl carved another piece of scrimshaw, using the thick dark talons that tipped each finger. She was so centered on her task she didn't notice Ramona watching her, not at first. The girl stilled, her dark eyes going wide as awareness stole over her. The claws melted away as if they were never there. She looked up, meeting Ramona's stare with an expression of nervous fear.

"I can explain," she blurted, dropping the carving to the grass below. 

Ramona blinked at her. "I know you."

The girl dropped down, landing with practiced ease. She straightened, smoothing her hands down her breeches as the two girls studied one another. After a moment, the girl's eyes softened. "I know you too."

Ramona inhaled to steady herself. "Sister Agnes," she said. The strange girl who accompanied the Mother Superior the morning Ramona joined the sisterhood. She frowned at the girl. "You really did breathe smoke, didn't you?"

The girl stiffened. "That seems like an awfully benign detail to focus on," said Agnes.

"It was easier to focus on you than other things," said Ramona, toeing a scorch mark in the grass. "Can you breathe fire?"

Agnes's brow rose in surprise. "You seem remarkably unruffled by the prospect."

Ramona shrugged. A girl who breathed fire wasn't so remarkable when she was a walking divine weapon.

For a moment, Agnes turned shy, not meeting her eyes. "It doesn't bother you they exiled you to live with the dragon blooded?"

A jolt of awe ran through her. Ramona was standing in the presence of a living myth. "I thought they were all boys." Agnes cringed at the words and Ramona suddenly understood why her new dorm mate was here. She cleared her throat. "Obviously, they're not."

Agnes peered up through loose wisps of her white hair. The expression was so similar to Esther's shy glances Ramona felt her throat tighten.

"Are you really the Divine Blade?" Agnes looked her over from head to toe.

Ramona shrugged. "Supposedly, though don't ask to summon any flames for you."

A grin split the girl's face. "I might be able to help you with that."