Shallan

After her brother Wikim finally fell asleep, Shallan Davar crept into his room, stole the army summons scroll, and left a hair comb in its place. She hoped that her brothers would have the sense not to follow her. The roads would be full of witnesses - army draftees and government officials, and the penalty for what she was about to do was, well actually she wasn't sure. As far as she knew, there was no legal precedent for a woman trying to join the army. Maybe she'd be excommunicated. Maybe they'd kill her. Best not to find out.

If the draft notice had come a few years ago, it would not have come to this. Not long ago, the Davar house had been overflowing with eligible men - four sons and their able-bodied father. But now her father was dead and Helaran was missing. Balat's leg disqualified him from army service. Jushu had gone west on a trading expedition to try and turn around the finances of their estate, since they'd had to give back her father's soulcaster, and the last of the quarries were running out. That left WIkim. War could be the making of some men, but Shallan knew there was a good chance it would destroy her sensitive brother.

She lopped off her hair and stole the provisions that had been set out in preparation for Wikim's departure.

She made it an hour before she had to admit to herself that she could not wear her father's old armor for the entire trip. Eventually she would have to learn to ride a horse while wearing it, but for now, she was already beginning to develop blisters, and it was a three day's ride to the nearest army camp. She removed the armor by spherelight and adjusted the bindings on her chest, hoping they would conceal her identity well enough for the trip.

"I find it fascinating -" said a disembodied voice behind her. She started, then remembered it was only Pattern. He had started talking to her a few months ago, gradually growing in intelligence and awareness of the world around him. Pattern continued, "-that you are choosing to alter your appearance in order to join the army. Are all new recruits required to bind their chests and cut the fur on their heads?"

"No. Joining the army requires one to be a man. And it's hair, not fur."

"But you are female."

"Well I don't want anyone else to know that."

"Mmmm... lies." hummed Pattern, "You know, there are a number of anatomical differences you have yet to address, most markedly the-"

"I know, I know."

"So what do you intend to do about-"

"Ahh I don't know. This is crazy. I can't - I mean I don't -"

"I believe if we work together, your lie will be much more successful. All I need is a truth, and we can begin."

Shallan closed her eyes and pulled Stormlight from one of her spheres to create the illusion: visualizing the image she wanted to create, which still made her blush, even after three days of practice. She hadn't altered anything that was visible outside her clothes. She had considered changing her face and hands - a more defined jawline, less delicate fingers, a bit of stubble. Ultimately though, she realized the danger of constantly spending Stormlight to maintain such an illusion. Better to appear a little feminine all the time than to have a face she couldn't maintain during the Weeping. That would give her away for sure. She would save this strange ability for the occasions when someone else would see her without clothes on: shared barracks, communal bath houses, latrines. Even exercising without a shirt on, which men seemed so fond of doing, would have been impossible. Now, she just had to hope that the doctor didn't do a very thorough exam, since her illusions were intangible.

She snuck a quick peek under her clothing and confirmed that everything looked correct. This was the first time she had done the illusion correctly without sketching it again first. She was incredibly grateful for her artistic studies, otherwise, she would not have known what male anatomy looked like in the first place.

As she strapped on her armor, Shallan glanced at her hands: covered in dirt and blisters, but paler and better manicured than any soldier's should be. Her safehand was several shades lighter than her freehand, and she had made Pattern promise to buzz every time she tried to hide it in her sleeve. Hopefully she could break the habit soon. She used Stormlight to make her hands appear tan and calloused- not forever, she told herself; just until they looked this way naturally. But for now, she could imagine the illusion was a glove, and that soothed her nerves a bit, which was good because she was only about a mile from the encampment and she needed her wits about her.

Shallan stood at attention on the parade ground with nineteen lighteyed cadets in the officers training program, drafted into the army just like her. Well, not exactly like her. They were all men.

She'd been nervous to check in yesterday, but the bored clerk just asked for the scroll and her name, and wrote down Jushu Davar in the ledger. She sent sent Shallan to the medical examiner without a second glance. This was the part she was most dreading. Fortunately, over a hundred darkeyed soldiers had also arrived that day, so the overworked healer did the bare minimum. He checked her vision, reflexes, and hearing and asked a few cursory questions about her family medical history. Shallan breathed a sigh of relief and went about the rest of check-in: bunk assignments, instructions on stabling her horse, getting issued a uniform. She was dismayed to be told that they would muster at dawn the next morning. And that was where she found herself now.

"Stand up straight, cremlings!" shouted the red-faced, potbellied, peg-legged training officer, Captain Thakal.

Shallan had excellent posture, even half awake and garbed in the itchiest clothing she had ever worn. But she noticed that the men in the row in front of her stood with their legs further apart than she was used to. She adjusted her stance to mimic them and squared her shoulders. It was details like this that could reveal her secret if she wasn't careful.

"You are the worst looking batch of idiots I've ever seen. Your families were probably grateful for the chance to get rid of you," the captain continued. "I'll be glad to be rid of you myself, come two months time, when I get to send the ten worst of you to become Alethkar's problem."

Shallan heard surprised muttering from two men in the back row. But really, she didn't understand why they were surprised. Even in her out-of-the-way province, she'd heard about the new treaty with Alethkar that required her country to send some of their army to support the Alethi at the Shattered Plains every year. It was the reason the king had implemented a draft in the first place. In return, Alethkar had offered lucrative trade deals and agreed to a ceasefire in the contested border between the two countries, with the border redrawn in Vedenar's favor. The treaty was a great boon to all of Vedenar, with the exception of the men being sent to fight. But there had been no mass outrage about sending the soldiers. It was rumored that many of the darkeyed recruits had committed minor crimes and were given the choice between prison and the army. The draft was supposed to be random, but Shallan doubted it was a coincidence that her family, who had fallen in prestige and favor, had been sent a draft notice. Many of the other lighteyed conscripts were sixth dahn or lower. All in all, a shrewd way to fill the quota with few objections from the general populace.

Captain Thakal must have heard the muttering too, because told the two whisperers, "Looks like you two morons have your heads so far up your asses you can't see anything beyond your own intestines. Rule number one of warfare: you can be a damn prodigy with the sword, but it doesn't matter if you don't know who to point it at. Until you learn to pay attention, you'll be carrying double packs up that hill for our morning runs. Everyone, line up, single file and let's get geared up!"

The hill was a nightmare, and Shallan only made it halfway up it before she collapsed. She had lagged behind significantly, so only Captain Thakal, bringing up the rear, saw her fall.

"Kelek's raging halitosis! This is the army, not a vacation. Get up, soldier," he shouted.

Shallan groaned, but surreptitiously drew in enough Stormlight to heal her aching legs and give her the energy to finish the run.

She ended up using Stormlight frequently during those first few weeks to improve her endurance, strength, and recovery time. She was still the scrawniest person in her training group, but at least she could keep up on the frequent runs and lift the heavy weights Captain Thakal used for strength training.

She had worried about what to do when her monthly cycle came around, but it hadn't come once in the two months she spent in the training camp. She recalled a passing line in one of her books that said women who were forced to do difficult manual labor could experience trouble conceiving children, but didn't go into much detail. Now, based on her own experience, she surmised that the cessation of her cycle was connected to that. She was glad for it in the short run, and tried not to think about the long-term ramifications if it wasn't temporary.

So far, her deception had been a success. Sure, they thought her pampered and soft, but she wasn't the only one. She was physically incapable of a deep booming voice, but she was getting better at lowering the pitch. The rumor was that a few of the men in camp were impoverished tenners paid to impersonate the draftees. Shallan hoped that everyone thought her family had just paid a particularly young boy to impersonate Jushu. The army didn't really care as long as they got the numbers to send on to the Shattered Plains.

But most of her cohort had grown up playing with swords - running around outside while Shallan had learned to read and write and draw. She proved to be a quick learner, sneaking away to draw the proper stances so she could imitate them herself. She'd had to purchase a new sketchbook, having left hers at home. She kept it hidden, but as an extra precaution, she made sure to stick to rough sketches. If a man knew how to draw, that was unusual. If he could draw as well as Shallan at her best, well that was suspicious. And so Shallan let go of another piece of herself and let the role she had to play consume her.

Meanwhile, her small stature and relative lack of physical skills made her a target for other trainees who were trying to prove themselves. She came through the hazing mostly unscathed, but didn't make any friends in camp.

By the time training ended, Shallan had improved by leaps and bounds, but two months was not enough to catch up entirely. She was chosen to travel to the Shattered Plains and granted the rank of Ensign, a post reserved for young officers in training. She had originally hoped for a cavalry posting, but was deemed too uncoordinated, so she sent the horse back to the estate.

Shallan had always wanted to see the world, but she'd never imagined she'd do it as a soldier. An army march through the Frostlands wasn't exactly the natural history expedition she'd been hoping for. Still, Balat had eventually agreed, in the letters she'd had to pay a scribe to read to her (storms it felt so odd not to read or write), that it was better her than Wikim.