The beginning of the end.
It’s the Middle Ages where swords are the most dangerous weapons there are. It’s dry and hot and everyone is threatened. Everything is threatening to them from each other, to their brothers and sisters, to their mothers and fathers. The houses are small but suitable. The children look like heavenly avengers. Their parents, they well; they look like they are the devils’ associates, with a dead and empty look in their eyes. Looking back at it now, I see that it was a bad idea to have done what I did but there’s nothing I can do about it now for choices were made and I made mine, even if it led me to this. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I will get back to that.
Unfortunately, I’m on the brink of death looking at the scorching sun as a man I thought I knew of for years looked down at me with malice, aiming a sword at my heart. I’ve done many things in my life and some I’m not proud of but others; others were what made me what I am today, which forced me to become what I am today. As I looked around and saw the heat waves rising off from the dry desert sand with drops of sweat and blood rolling off of my forehead onto the sizzling dry floor I sometimes wonder what it would be like; what my life would be like if I had done things differently like never have taken pops’ place in this war or never have been underestimated when fighting because I can tell you now that they have all underestimated me, each and every one of them all because I’m a Girl…
At the beginning of this story, my story, all really started with the death of my mother and brother. We lived in a comfortable little house on the outskirts of town where little to no people traveled, only the nomads roamed around trading with us before moving on. We managed to get by with little to no problem from anyone. In fact, my mother was a well-known baker even a healer of some sort when times called for it and my little brother was at the stage where he was cute, chubby and adored by everyone with a few missing front teeth and a dimple on his cheek. We were a happy family... Until the day the wildfire spread throughout the town. My father and I were busy training in the fields that day; he wanted me to know how to defend myself against everyone and everything, whether it is people, the weather or something supernatural he wanted me prepared.
I never knew why he taught me how to be prepared from the supernatural for back then there was nothing to be worried about, or so I thought. My mother and little brother, on the other hand, were both in the house busy baking something when the fire reached them. The first thing we heard were the screams that were being emitted from the house, high pitched squeals of terror so loud it shook the earth sending the birds fleeing for their own safety. When we arrived all that was left was a pile of ashes as the fire raged on and spread further.
All we could do was watch as the fire destroyed everything in its way, my mother and brother included. We were crushed to the bone and filled with a deep gut-wrenching sadness. I looked at my father with tears streaming down my face and asked, “How do I protect myself from this?” He simply hugged me as tightly as he could almost like he wanted to squeeze the sadness and pain from my chest while I returned the gesture, clinging to him as we cried and said, “You can’t.”
After that my father decided that he was not going to train me anymore and that he was going to become a man not worthy of anything, not caring for anything but the death of his wife and son. He stopped living. We had to rebuild the house and little by little it took form until we had a small little farmhouse big enough for only the two of us. Afterward, he locked himself in his room and wallowed in misery. A few months later an illness overtook him, causing him to be deathly ill when we least expected it. He lost weight daily and didn’t eat properly. Weeks later he was just skin and bone, barely walking and when he did he need a cane of some sort to do it otherwise he just stayed in bed. When I heard the doctors tell him that there were only a few things they could do to help- even though they were not sure if the treatment was going to work they were still positive about it- I was shell-shocked. It went from bad to worse when a warrior arrived while we were both at the apothecary for his treatment that one day. The warrior stayed at our house and waited for us until we came home that evening. I allowed him to come in and as he conveyed the message, I think the world went quiet as we both froze in fear and terror.
“One male in every family must sign up at the war offices for war training to ensure the protection of our country and our freedom. If you do not comply it will result in death.” He left silently after that. I heard my father let out a shaky breath as he sagged into a chair, hopeless and defeated.
“No!! You can’t go. You can’t leave me here all alone to fend for myself while you go off to fight in a war that will never end.” I shouted my voice a near whisper in the end.
“I have to; for it is the only way to guarantee your safety and to do my duty as a citizen of this country. I will not have it any other way. If I am to die, I die my way.” His voice made me freeze. It was dead, lifeless and rejected. He walked off to his room after that, his gait that of a man on his way to greet death at his door. A letter of proof came two days later, confirming my fears. No, I will not allow anything to happen to the last person in my family; I will not let him be set up like a pig for slaughter. He is an old man and ill. It cannot be this way; I will make sure of it. I walked out of the door and into the field as I let out the fear that had welled up inside of me by letting out a scream for the whole nation to hear, full of anguish and filled with despair. When I walked back I was feeling better, determined and confident that I was going to make my family proud. Whatever is left of it anyway, my way.
Thing is I always wanted to go off to the war, to fight and protect someone other than myself. So I think that if I go in his place I can keep my father safe and go live my dream, not that fighting and potentially dying is a dream a woman is supposed to have, but nevertheless I wanted to do it. The thrill of fighting has always appealed to me and now that I have a chance of going off to war I was going to take it without a second thought.
