Perfection (Anat)

Then

“Like this,” he said demonstrating the placement of the feet and the width of the legs apart with his own.

Anat sighed and shifted her weight doing her best to imitate the stance. It was unfamiliar, and she felt silly wearing the garments of a man. She didn’t yet understand how the movement was meant to ground her, creating a strong sense of balance while facing her opponent. Finally she nodded, satisfied with her mimic.

“Alright. Now attack.”

“What?” unconsciously she loses her stance her body reacting to the surprise that he could hear in her voice.

“Attack me,” he repeated his face calm and patient. He had no reason to be hard on her because she was harder on herself than he could ever be. Her advancement came from a stubborn determination more than it did from raw talent.

Suddenly Anat launched herself towards her mentor hoping the movement would catch him by as much surprise as his prompt did her. She should have known better and she would learn to know better. He easily stepped from the path of her onslaught and used the momentum she had gained to throw her to the ground. She landed hard enough to have knocked the wind from her lungs had she had any. He could see the mental torture already beginning as her face became sullen.

“Now how did I do that?” he asked standing over her.

Anat carefully pushed herself up from the ground looking wholly defeated.

“By being patient and using my own carelessness against me.” It was one thing he could say about her. She caught on to lessons quickly.

“Yes,” he agreed and helped her to her feet. He moves to kick her feet out from under her but she grounds herself, her feet moving into the position he’d just shown her.

“Good. Very good,” he tapped her leg. “Always remember your stance.”

She didn’t feel a rush of pride at his praise instead she was mulled over his movements in her mind so that she could practice them later.

Set demanded perfection but all she had to give him was her best.

Now

Anat knelt in front of the altar, her head bowed and resting on her hands. She had been in this position for an hour already and her knees were beginning to hurt from the rough stone floor. A sharp pain in the muscles between her shoulder blades raced through her body. Still, she didn’t flinch or count down the minutes till the agony would be over. There was in fact no sign that she was anything but a statue except for the quiet repetition of a mantra.

“Guide us, teach us, protect us. In your darkness we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”

Every word was as strong and clear as the one before it and though she had been speaking them since she entered the temple she never faltered.

Finally the words stopped and she rose gracefully from her spot. She ignored the pleading of her body to stretch and stood all the grace a person could muster. There was no peacefulness about her, no meditative lull, only the grim determination of someone who knows they cannot fail.

Anat never wondered if the ritual were still necessary. She only remembered the promise she had made centuries ago.

“I shall kneel at your altar every day and serve you until the end of time, only free me from my bondage.”

Not once had she considered going back on her word. Not once in her years of service had she thought He might accept less than her absolute devotion. And so, every night she rose from her day-sleep, cleaned away the impurities and dirt of the previous evening and walked to the temple where she knelt for an hour.

There were nights when other duties stalled her but she always found time. If she didn’t then she would add a second hour of devotion the next night. A third hour the next if it happened again.


Set demanded perfection and all she has is give him is her best.