The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce

Alanna, and she fought to sit up. Bone-deep weariness tugged at her like chains, trying to drag her down. "Ishak? Bless him, what's he doing now?" Her alarm was even greater when she realized that the ember at her neck was warm—no, hot.
    He has the sword, Faithful cried. While the tribe met with the Voice, he came here and took the sword!
    Her heart thudding sickly, Alanna lurched to her feet. Her head spun. She held it, forcing her eyes to remain open. She was in no shape for a showdown. Gripping the ember-stone, she sent a plea to the Goddess, for Ishak's sake. Strength washed into her, steadying her shaking limbs.
    Closing her eyes, she reached out, searching for a sign—any sign—of her wayward apprentice. Her mind touched the web of magic that was the crystal sword as it vibrated with new heights of fury. The weapon had come to accept her commands, just barely, but it would never accept Ishak. Opening her eyes, she raced toward the hill where they had faced the raiders that morning.
    He was shining in his own red fire, the sheathed sword in his hand. An orange glow surrounded the weapon, battling with the young man's magic.
    For a second Alanna's mind flickered, and Ishak was replaced by a vision:
    An azure sky rapidly clouded over with thunderheads. A pole thrust against it like a pointing finger. At its base a fire burned, and the woman tied to the pole screamed in agony.
    The vision was gone, and she could see her apprentice clearly once more. "Ishak! No!" Alanna yelled hoarsely. She reached out, but the bolt of power she threw at him was thin, and it vanished far short of the mark. She would never reach him in time. "Don't! The sword—it'll turn on you!"
    "Why should you have it, Woman Who Rides Like a Man?" he yelled back, triumphant. "You won't even use it! You don't use your own Gift as much as you could. You don't deserve to have more! I deserve the sword! I want the power!"
    "Then why didn't the sword come to you, instead of me?" Alanna cried, hoping to keep him talking. She was at the hill's base now. "You can't use this power, Ishak—the sword's been warped! No !"
    Ishak drew the sword, holding it aloft. Orange fire shimmered around the shining gray of the blade, pulsing fiercely. He laughed and pointed the sword at Alanna, speaking a word she couldn't hear.
    Instinctively she threw all the strength the Goddess had just given her into a shield. She had wanted only to defend herself, but the sword's magic reflected back from her protection, enveloping Ishak in a ball of flame. He screamed, once. Then he was gone.
    Tears streaming down her cheeks, Alanna trudged up the hill. There was nothing left of Ishak or of the scabbard he had carelessly thrown on the ground. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she wished he could have listened to her just one more time.
    The tribespeople were waiting for her when she descended, with the crystal blade shimmering in her hand. "What will you do now?" Halef Seif inquired softly.
    "I'm going to finish training your two shamans, that's what I'm going to do," she replied grimly. "What else is there?"
    *
    6—Ceremonies
    The first of the Bazhir shamans arrived a week after Ishak's fatal mistake with the crystal blade. They came sometime during the night; when Alanna rose in the morning, they were seated cross-legged before the altar. Faithful sat facing them, blinking solemnly as he returned their stares.
    They told Alanna they had come to teach and to learn, that every wise shaman tried to study new things. They meant what they said, and they were not alone. Within days more arrived with their apprentices until—with Alanna, Kara, and Kourrem—fourteen shamans and six apprentices were trading spells in the tents of the Bloody Hawk.
    "You should be pleased," Ali Mukhtab remarked one night as he and Alanna sat up late. "You have done more than most Bazhir have accomplished in a lifetime. You have made girls shamans. You have begun a school for magic that will live and grow to