In the Hands of the True Sons

I take two steps, perhaps three away from the corner we rounded, headed up towards the slaver market, and I see a last glance of the gazebo, and the Baron struggling to his feet. This somehow calms me as he and the woman by his side disappears from sight and then....nothing. From the dull, low pulse throb in the back of my skull, I would guess, someone clipped me, hard. And now, I am staring at my knees, as I have been for the last few minutes. My hair hangs down around my face, shadowing the glaring light that hurts my eyes. I remember thinking idly, that the light had to be a mage spell, it was so bright, yet gave off no heat. But now, its harsh gaze was shielded and my head rests limp at the end of my bloody neck.

"She's out cold", I hear one of them say, and I am content for the moment to allow them to believe anything that brought me a moments peace. My hands have long since gone numb, tied painfully tight behind my back, seated in a crude wooden chair. My feet, tied at the ankles to the legs of the chair itself, not long after I kicked one of them in the family jewels. I doubt he will be leaving an heir behind, I made sure the shot counted. Oh certainly, I took a pretty decent shit kicking for dropping the guy, but even still, it was so worth it, just to see his face.

"She's not going to talk." the voice coming from the one I dubbed 'Dumbass'. He did not care for the term, and I must admit, he knows his stuff. "Can you believe this bitch? I have worked guys over three times her size and they were crying like babies hours before this". Somehow, his words bring me comfort, and a for a moment, my lip curls into a smirk. It was my undoing, because the sudden unexpected sting of my lip causes just the slightest hiss from my teeth.

My hair is suddenly yanked back, and my head goes with it, revealing the blood stains upon my leggings where my split lip had been hovering above. The light once again assaults my eyes and I flinch, and a very loud man with nasty breath is once more screaming in my face. "well look who's awake..." he growls loudly, "I want names!" he spits at me, and through one eye, I peer back at him, "fuck you, you rebel shithead" I spit back, literally, doing my best to spray enough of my own blood back at him as to get him to flinch. It works, but I am repaid with another solid crack to the jaw, that sends me reeling, and my ears ring so loudly I can barely hear the asshole barking at me.

"What you fail to understand here, is your presence here is not welcome, nor will it be peacefully accepted". These words, come from the one calling the shots, standing somewhere off in the corner behind me, where I can not see him. But still, I know exactly where he is. I know he is a blue blood, through and through to my marrow I know the man is nobility. "Your time here is coming to an end, but before we make an example of you, you will be providing us with some much needed information. Failing to do so will only make this go far, far worse for you."

For some reason, his words strike me as incredibly funny, and I can not help the maniacally laughter that lifts from me, "Imagine that...someone does not like me". I can not help it, it just hits me as the best damned joke ever told and I lose it. I presume I was clocked again, because I really do not remember anything until I woke up staring at my knees again. It is significantly later, it is lighter in the room, but not by much. At some point, someone shoved a sack over my head and left me to smother or not as I would. I sit there pondering my very small list of options when I hear voices lift from the next room.

"You two head back, we will wake her up and start again". Somehow that idea does not sit well with me and I wrack my brain, and then do the only thing I can. I slow my breathing...to nearly nothing, and wait. I hear boots approaching, followed by another pair, slower, heavier. I do not move, I do not breathe, I wait as they approach. "hit her with the water" I hear Dumbass command his cohort, and I silently thank him for the warning. I am able to completely ride out the shock of the cold, and remain motionless. Taking the moment to draw in another long, slow, unseen breath. It is enough. "shit...check her" I hear, and suddenly the sack is yanked off my head.

I hold my breath, and as my head is tugged back, I am utterly resistless, and I feel the warmth of his hand beneath my nose, "She's not breathing..." there is a slight panic to his tone, and I feel a sharp sting to my cheek, "Come on bitch, we ain't done yet" he informs me, but I am utterly disobedient and continue to feign my death. "Shiiiiit" the sound he makes is beginning to take on the panic of a small child in a deep amount of trouble. "He said leave her alive....he specifically said...". My head is dropped and I sneak another shallow breath beneath my hair, and listen "If he finds out...dammit!!" the words rising in volume as the repercussions begin to build in his mind. "No, no, no".

Finally, what I had been waiting for, happens. I feel my bonds cut from my hands and I allow myself to fall to the floor, head first, and simply collapse there. "Fuck!!". Now his minion was beginning to panic, and was pacing the room, "What if we get a healer?". This got something thrown at the man, who quickly shut his mouth and left the panicking to Dumbass. I must say, he truly does throw himself into whatever it is that is occupying his mind, because he committed himself fully to the process, "I told you not to put that damned sack on her head!". Instantly his companion pipes up again, "Oh no you didn't, you told me to!!".

Excellent, while those two bickered amongst themselves, my hands were slowly experiencing an agonizing case of pins and needles. My feet were still tied to the chair, but that was okay, I was working things out in my head while those two twits worked themselves into a tizzy. I had most of it mulled through when Dumbass provided me with the opportunity I needed. He squats down over me, to do what, I will never know, because as he reaches for me, I do the same to him, grabbing at him suddenly and jerking my knees suddenly towards my chest, tugging the wooden chair with them. I tug as hard as I can and slam his face into the corner of the seat and a most satisfying crunch of teeth on wood is my reward. It's enough to ring his bell, and with that, I have his weapon from his hand in a heart beat.

He did not have a chance after that. Truly the look of shock on his face as his own blade cut his throat, will never leave my minds eye. Not ever. You can not do that to a person, you can not, and not remember it every time you close your eyes. I do not have time to dwell on it, for as Dumbass bleeds out, his cohort is already on me. I am now at a serious disadvantage, and much to my dismay, as his shouts lift, two others enter the room. I had hoped it was just the two of them, but clearly I had miscalculated. I manage to get the dagger in my hand deep into the inner thigh of that loud mouth, knowing precisely where to cut, and soon, he too is down, bleeding out on the floor, far faster than his friend. It's just one of those things you pick up, little details that matter.

It takes a minute or two more, but soon I am back in my chair and my hands are once again tied firmly behind my back. However, this time, the view is far better than it was just a few minutes before. Now, instead of my lap, I am staring at two dead rebels, and somehow, once again, it strikes my funny bone. I do not think I have laughed so hard in my life. It causes the men in the room to take pause, each one staring at me with a mix of fear and revulsion upon their faces. Not one of them willing at that moment, to even approach me. It makes it all the funnier and I giggle my fool ass off, grinning through bloody teeth.

I hear boots upon the floorboards and that voice returns, "Clearly we have under estimated our guest gentlemen. I suggest we up our efforts to persuade her". These words do not bode well for me, but at the time, I could not find it in me to stop laughing. The boys came up with an idea, and started hitting me again. It worked, I stop laughing. Clever boys.

Reflection

My eyes open, and for a time I simply lie there, staring at the surface of a blanket, and the entire world is rocking, and for some reason I can not for the life of me understand it. The snort of a horse draws my attention and I shift my gaze towards my feet, and I see my little black mare walking behind me. Odd. Why is she walking?

It dawns on me that I am moving, and my horse is tethered behind the wagon that bears me home. Right. I forgot. I feel like shit. That is when I try to move and every muscle, every inch of me screams at my brain to STOP DOING THAT! And so, obediently, I lie still, letting the wagon rock me back to sleep.

A whip cracks out of the dark and cuts into my skin and I scream!! It is no use, the shackles bear me to the stone and there is no escape. Questions come, endless, probing questions, and the whip flies, again..and again...and again! A rock sends the wagon into a tussling jolt and I moan in my agony and once more I am staring at a blanket, tossed over a pile of hay, and the tops of passing trees as we navigate our way around the edge of Blackwood forest.

I am taken through the city in the dead of night, and a messenger is sent to fetch my commander. It occurs to me as I groggily spend the time weaving in and out of consciousness, that he was going to be pissed about this. I doubt I will see my feet to the floor sooner than I week, and somehow that just annoys the hell out of me. I hear the two men sent along with me talking to each other, their hushed whispers exchanging theories about exactly what had happened to me. I did not offer my point of view to the conversation. Let them talk.

It is some time later when I hear my commander's deep voice, looming somewhere over me, and yet I truly lacked the interest to open my eyes and so I left him to rant at the men bearing me home. When my eyes finally do open again, it is because of the tearing pain that rips my wounds open and sends a fresh soaking of crimson into the bandages. I am being carried into my home, over the shoulder of someone who's face I have yet to see. He is gentle when he puts me down, though he seems relieved to be done with me and hurries from the room. I am just as glad to see him go, and I forget him entirely as my eyes close again.

A blur of a woman arrives, floating around my room like a ghost, talking to me as she pokes and prods at my wounds, driving me to a fury. However, I am too tired to complain beyond a soft groan or a grimace of protest. For a week I lie this way, slowly regaining my strength, allowing my mind plenty of time to play over the events that brought me to my unexpected leave of absence.

And so it goes, until one day, I place my feet to the floor, stand up under my own strength and look at the woman who has nursed me dutifully, and tell her, 'thank you, your services are no longer required'. She nods, rises to her feet with a graceful curtsy and collects her things without a word, departing with a small nodded bow. I collapse back to my bed and struggle to wrap my covers around me, my facade having worked just long enough to get rid of that ever present invasion of privacy. Now then, perhaps I can finally get some sleep.

The Journey Home

It is dusk again before I step out of structure that currently suits me as shelter, and pull and lock the door behind me, then lifting my hood against the curious and hostile stares. Even now, even without my uniform on, I see the disgust in the eyes of the men who know me, or know of me. There is still that ever present hostility that lurks as a palpable tension that seems to cocoon itself around me, yet no one, not a single one of them, steps forward to challenge me. I am unarmored this night, I bear no weapon, I wear nothing but my street clothes and a cloak, and yet those who recognize and hate, dare not bar my path. Somehow, this soothes me, calming my jagged nerves, as I head to the stables to collect the mount that is, without a doubt, prepared and waiting for me.

I lay a pair of gold coins in the palm of the boy who fetches me the familiar black mare, fully tacked and ready for the journey. She is a calm, fleet footed little thing, and somehow having her to bear me to my fate, is another pacifying influence, and I smile and lay my gloved hand upon the length of her nose, murmuring my hello's to the beast. My leg is up and over her back and with a glance back I urge her to a sprint with the heels of my boots, "come now, Mother is waiting" and we are off like an arrow into the gathering darkness.

Just beyond sight of the lumbering walls of the city, I reign her in and we settle to a comfortable canter, and I feel my nerves rising. It has been a long time since I truly returned home. Nearly seven years ago I lost my way, and I have wandered directionless ever since. Will Mother even recognize me now? Will she be able to look upon me, and not turn away in revulsion? Will she hate me? These questions, chatter like small birds perched upon my shoulders, the words sharp in my mind, poking and prodding at the shadows of my past, finding those tender, infected memories that taint my dreams. I shiver beneath my cloak as the cool night settles in once and for all in the realm and the mists of the forest begin to send fingers of fog over the fields, spreading from the edge of the woods like a silent hunter.

I arrive at the gate after what seems an entirely too short journey, and I dismount, leaving the little mare in the hands of an gnarled man with very few teeth. Another few coins slip from my hand and I walk the street alone. Each step I take, carries me past small homes, lit from within by candle and lanterns, each one taking more effort to complete. Inevitably I am brought to a familiar iron gate, and as I pass through, I lay my hand upon a stone statue and speak to it as I pass, "watch the door" I command the gargoyle, who does nothing in return but stare at me through dead, stone eyes.

I pull the cord that sends the bell on the inside into a momentarily clamour, and soon the door opens and a small, meek woman steps in side. "He is expecting you" the familiar voice offers. "Take me to him" I reply, offering no smile, no courtesy to the woman. I am brought to a large wooden door and I waiting for the reply as the tiny woman knocks to announce my arrival. I am led inside, and as quickly as she arrives, the woman flees, closing the door behind her, leaving me to my fate.

I stand there, facing my host again, and he asks me if I am prepared. Prepared? Is that even possible? No, of course not, and yet, my own lips betray me and tell the man, that yes, I am ready. I marvel at my own insanity, as I calmly turn and follow him out of the study, and he leads me into a part of the structure I had never seen before. Once I step past that threshold and the door closes solidly behind me. I know it is now too late. I must face her and be judged. There is no going back.

I step down the stone corridor, lead to her without fail, and I stare at what awaits me. Well, ready or not Mother...here I come.

Revelations

I sit there in the cool leather chair, and wherever it touches my pink skin, it feels soothing. I am clean. Cleaner I think than I have ever been in my entire life. I sit across from my host and wonder as he smiles pleasantly at me from across his desk, if I have not perhaps fallen into the hands of a maniac. It is entirely likely, and yet the matter does not seem to bother me much. No, what was really shattering my world in this man's presence, is the fact that every tiny little verbal push he ushers my way, seems to cause me to accidentally stumble into an undeniable truth as to my own crimes. I confessed them out loud to him, and he patiently spoon feeds me little snippets of reality until I am able to puzzle out my own conclusions. And much to my dismay, my conclusions do not bode well for me.

I am guilty. I have so utterly failed in my task, that my mere presence here is a gift, one I am truly unworthy of. How could I have strayed so far off my path? Without me even noticing it was happening? I thought, that all along, I had been luring him to her, and all the while, he had been tugging me away. How cruelly I have insulted her, and how utterly patient she has been with me. I am so beyond regretful, that I can barely look at my own reflection.

I leave his office, find my horse by the gate and mount it with considerable difficulty. The ride down the road is pain filled, and yet I bask in it. I deserve it. Night is nearly upon the land, and dusk has stretched its grey hands into the depths of Blackwood forest. I ride at an easy pace, not pushing the little black mare past her casual effort, reflecting on the ride home, enjoying the sting of the motion the horse brings to my skin.

"Do you wish to find salvation in your storm?" he offered me, "return to me tomorrow night". It is my greatest wish to make this right. I have made arrangements for my extended leave and get myself home to set my things straight and get some rest. Something tells me, I am going to need my strength.

I find my bed, and set myself to it, tucking beneath the blanket and wait for sleep to come. But in spite of my best hope, sleep eludes me again. I lie there well into the night, staring at the dark thatched roof above, but all I see is the ghosts of my past, the obligations of my present suddenly clashing within my mind and it leaves me to wonder, will I have paid my penance when I find myself at the other end of this journey?

I have no idea how long I laid there before sleep finally came to me, and when my dreams come, they are brutal in their naked revelations, of just how far I have fallen. Oh the regret. The dawn finds me this way, crying my remorse into my empty room, unaware, unheard, asleep and yet still unable to rest.