The old worn down stone house was the result of war, long abandoned and unloved. The woman looked up through the roofless home into the night, stars being another source of light. Loud crunching surrounded her, the others in the group looked around. They were here for something, she wasnt told what, not that it mattered. She was here to do a job and get her gold, plan and simple. The young girl stood next to her, barely above the tall woman’s hip, hand tightly gripping at her tunic. Children were often scared of the dark but she knew this child loved it making her question the small quivering child. She watches her slowly let go and meet the others she begins to move debris, small pieces almost the size of her.
“How the hell are we supposed to find anything,” a young archer complains, lucas. He was always impatient, shooting before thinking. Craved the split second choice making.
“Just keep looking around” the gruff voice came from the other side. Marco, the “leader,” or so she called him despite the complaints. He kept everyone in check and got most Of their jobs, thus he’d be the leader.
Lucas begins to rip panels off of the walls. Aggravation among others things driving him. The rest just watch, they had given up minutes ago. Then a particularly panel reveals a hole in the thick concrete, child size. They all look towards the young girl.
“Absolutely not,” the woman steps in, grabbing the child by the back of the shirt. “We have no idea what’s behind there”
The young girl shrugs her off.
“I’ll do it.” She acts faster than the woman, squeezing herself into the hole. There’s a lot of shuffling, the other room probably just as run down as the current one. Until minutes pass, the woman starts towards the hole, great sword in hand until the young girl’s head pokes out, smile bright yet she’s covered in crimson.
“I’m fine, the blood isn’t mine”
“Fuck” the sting of the wound makes her backpedal. The long slash begins to bleed on her forearm, tunic soaking crimson where it’s ripped. Her forehead was sweating, hair sticking to it. They had been fighting like this for quite some time. Though a smile etches onto her face, small but large enough for the man to see. He snarls, the one eye that isn’t covered glares at her. Laughing, she readjusts her hands on the great sword and swings at the taller man, ignored the pull and strain of her arms.
The sound of metal clashing repeats over and over as she swings the great sword, the last bit of light in the day shines off it. Looking like a shooting star as she swings it with seeming ease. She had realized this mission had gone to shit the second they stepped on the port of her old homeland. The familiar faces shooting daggers into her back but never into her chest. She had know that this would be where she’d part ways with her new found group. The second he ripped the little girl from her grasp to hand her over to the king. The adrenaline gave her a rush of endorphins but the anger was stronger.
She suddenly stops her assault on the taller man, sees the way he swallows air like he hasn’t breathed in days. She’s broken a sweat but her breathing was leveled, she knew she had one from the beginning. This was getting too long, he was getting on her nerves. She looks down at her hands, knuckles white against her hilt. She brings the great sword up, swinging it counter clockwise, stopping once she hits noon.
“You fool,” his voice is low, barely there. She almost didn’t hear him. Words spoken between haste breaths.
“You’re a traitor, you betrayed me. You took her from me.” He looks at her, then around them. Their, his, friends lay around them. Nothing is left. His hands drop his own sword. It thuds on the ground, his knees follow. Then he looks up at her.
“A traitor? I was never on your side to begin with”
She lets her great sword drop.
She reads the text, fingers slowly making their way to the keyboard, trying to come up with the right reply. She sighs, eyes closing, she drops the phone back onto her desk. Her desk chair is uncomfortable, old and wooden, worn at it’s legs. She stretches arms reaching the sky, she looks up, fingertips press together. The man had been growing distant, she had assumed it was friends growing apart but her assumption was far worse than that. Losing a friend by fading away is a easier pill to swallow than realizing you never had a friend at all.
The phone chimes again, this time she picks it up quickly. She knows without reading, skimming the large paragraph sent. The last line simply saying ‘I don’t know if you feel the same but I would like to try.’ She doesn’t reply, doesn’t want to. Her gut filled with disgust, and dread. Almost disappointment. So instead she turns off her phone and leaves her desk.
Her throat burned as she pushed the peas on her plate, back and forth. The silver platters were laid out in celebration, the group getting more gold then they had in months and splurging. It was a feast, in the small inn, tables from each of their four rooms brought into her own and pushed together. Silver plates, the prized possession of one of them. A large roast, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and lots of ale.
The small room was full of laughter, ale being split, stories being retold. Yet she sat, her pea sticks to her mashed potatoes and she sighs. Fork dropping, she looks to her right. The small girl is eating hastily, short brown curls bouncing while doing so. The woman thinks to tell her to slow down but knows the feeling of hunger. The first real meal they’ve had in weeks yet her head hurts, throat tight and burning, stomach turning at the thought of being full.
The child beside her pauses, face covered in remnants of potato, looking towards her guardian. When their eyes meet the child’s face lights up, smile meeting her eyes. Teeth are on full display and the other smiles back grimacing at the half chewed food. She also thinks to teach her table manners. The woman picks up her own plate and begins to push the food onto the child’s who’s body shoots up, and begins to eat again.
She meets eyes with the man sitting across from her who is sipping his ale, large arms folding and eye pointed. She only shrugs, doesn’t say a word. She rarely says a word, only doing what she has to do. Though her mind wanders, to the morning, the begging and sobbing of a woman. Her body shudders involuntarily, nausea hits her and she rises. The room was small so she pushes through the others who are laughing and into the hallway. It’s cooler, no smell of ale, slowly her body slides down the wall. Looking down at herself, she’d come far from metal armor and battles. Arms covered in scars, the last years had been difficult, getting by barely. This was a supposed win, but won by the loss of another.
“You are far to kind to be doing what we are” it was the same man who sat across from her, large, dark skin, hair curled and long. Left eye covered by an eyepatch. She just hums.
“Where else would I go? What about the child?”
“The child would be fine in a church but you would not allow it. You became her mother the moment you picked her up from the rubble and here we are”
“It’s quick money”
“It’s bad money” she nods her head in agreement, there’s not much a large woman like her can do, not in this kingdom. She was not a lady, she was a soldier, lost to war. Now she was a wanderer, adventurer, bounty hunter, and apparently mother. “Though the kid is good, she will do well if you educate her”
“Well I once was a woman of high education, that will not be hard. She cannot know what we do, what we did today… I never want her to be exposed to that.”
“You speak as if we are murderers” he grunts, voice suddenly thin.
“We are, not of life but of hope.”
The soft cotton sheet protected her from the sharp blades of grass she laid on, the sun had set hours ago but she still sat. Eyes drifting to the city that sat across the river, their bright white lights reflecting on her deep blue eyes. She drifted from the highest of buildings where some offices still had their white lights on, then lower, apartments with varying colors. She had laughed at the thought of strings of LED lights surrounding each room making them purple, blue, red or even green. Lower she follows, the road was filled with headlights, pairs like couples walking down the road. Then the green, yellow and red colors of street lights. Staring as they each change slowly and continuously.
She follows the pairs of lights to the bridge that she used to get home just hours before. Long and tall it stands in the water, a dull silver color. She follows it high and sees the spotlights shining at each peak.
Then she suddenly flops backwards, back meeting the cold surface of the ground. The sight is far worth the cold, bright stars are clear as day despite the bright city. The dark sky contrasting perfectly with the bright dots, tracing them with her eyes she makes out various pictures. Not that she knows any constellations but they all clump together to make many images, a man, a crab or just a big circle.
Then suddenly a flash of color travels across her sight, bright white turning into a light red it continues until she can no longer see it. Quickly she closes her eyes, makes a wish and settles in the darkness she created
The room was a bright white, clean and free of any infection. Many tables line it from wall to wall, all white, never a stain of color. A man stands behind one of the many tables, staring at the array of different leaves. Some bright green, others browning and crinkling at their corners. Some have holes and tears, yet they were all leaves, the original shape all the same. They began the same but all ended up here, in front of him, on the bright white table so he can observe them.
He picks each up in his white gloved hand and turns it, keen eye looking for any wear and tear. Then he places it down and makes a note on his notepad and moves on top the next. Over and over this continues until no leaves were untouched or noted. When this is done he slowly removes the soft white pair of gloves and places them on the table.
Then he leaves, the soft patting of whit loafer shoes go to the door then opens it. The hallway is the same, bright white as he begins to walk, not a soul is present. Though when he reaches the elevator it dings as it opens and he is met with another man, dressed in white much like himself. He just nods and enters the elevator, waiting to get to the ground floor.
“Leaves aye? I’m from the 6th floor” The other man says after the doors close. The sixth floor, the paper floor.
“Paper aye” Is his only response.
“I suppose” and the elevator goes silence once again.
The wind brushed through the woman’s hair softly making her cheeks puff up before blowing the strands out of her face. It was the beginnings of winter, the air getting crisper with each day. She adjusts her gloves then begins to lower herself down to the grass, a thin sheet of frost covers it which in turn soaks her pants but she pays little mind to it. She stares at the headstone in front of her, follows the indentation of letters one by one then checks them with her fingers, pressing softly into the cold stone. It was in reality to check if it were real, not that she doubted it but maybe, just maybe she had had a mental break and imagined the last year.
Though the cold of the stone was real, the wind against her rosy cheeks was real, the water that drenched her bottom was real. She sighs, eyes watering but doesn’t let them fall. She lets them fill just enough then tilts her head back and blinks quickly. When her vision clears, she sees a woman staring down at her, her own long red hair almost brushing her forehead. The woman sitting jumps.
“How did you know her?” The woman doesn’t apologize, she just sits down next to her as she asks the question. She places a thick bouquet on the ground.
“She was… is, my best friend. What about you?” Her voice is quiet, quivering, lowly scolding herself for it.
“My sister” it’s plain, simple, right to the point. There is hint of any emotion but the other woman’s eyes widen, she tries to talk about nothing comes out. So she looks back at the headstone and takes a second.
“I didn’t know she had a sister,” she chuckles lowly “and I just called her my best friend”
“No one knew” the red headed woman looks at her “we were never close, I didn’t even go to the funeral.”
“Then why come now?” The question is fast, not even meant to be spoken so quickly she adds “sorry that was rude, you don’t have to answer”
The red headed woman just stares at the headstone. Now that she looks at the other she can see the resemblance, the arc of the nose and the big round eyes. Neither speak, for some reason it is comfortable.
“I never really was one to react to death” the red head begins “it is concrete but also spontaneous. You knew know which breath will be your last. I was never sad when anyone died, I never understood why others were. Death is just one of many endings, who’s to say it’s the last?”
She tilts her head towards the other woman, a small smirk on her lips. She realizes then why she’s so comfortable with this person despite the wind being freezing, her ass is soaked and her hair won’t stay out of her face.
“I’m Anna” she doesn’t answer the question but she doesn’t believe it was meant to be answered.
“Nice to meet you Anna, I’m Macy”
The dust was heavy in her nose, lung full of it as she coughs violently into the metal of her armor which was now heavy after hours of fighting. She drops the heavy great sword and it crashes to the ground with a thump. Her knees soon follow, settling on the ground along with the dust. When she looks around she is met with dread, the result of war. Men and women alike all had fallen and only few survived. The small village outside of the walls of the kingdom was destroyed, houses burned, memories along with it.
When her breath finally evens out she rises once again, surveying the area, it was quiet. What she had learned was after a battle there was no crying or screaming as many would say, it was only deafening silence. People wandering, lost and dazed. Just as she was, there were others doing the same, villagers and soldiers alike from both sides. It’s as if there was no battle moments ago, bodies scattered, no will to continue fighting.
Then she hears it, the first sound after minutes of silence, the piercing cry. It was a small baby, she could tell just from the sound. The house was half burnt down, she walks to it quickly and begins to move the rubble. The sound gets louder as she finds the source, a woman’s body lays on top of sound. She’s quick to check her but finds no sign of life, moving her aside she lays her next to the child who is wailing. It’s small, she is small, wrapped in a pink blanket tightly. The soldier removes her armor slowly, each piece clanks as it hits the floor. Slowly she picks up the baby and begins to rock her, shushing her lowly. Then she steps out of the rubble and away from the battlefield. The baby begins to coo after a bit and she feel the hot tears finally run down her own face, when had she cried last? She could not tell if her tears were of grief or relief but the weight slowly lifts as the battlefield becomes a speck in her vision.
