The Cost

Elise sat silently on the crest of the hill. She took one last drag from the cigarette in her mouth and flicked it away. A soldier approached from behind her.

"Ma'am," the soldier began timidly. "You're needed back at the camp, with the Commander..." It seemed she was reluctant to finish that particular thought.

Elise said nothing. She sat for a few more minutes, then she used her spear to get to her feet. "It's not worth it, you know," she said as she turned to walk to the camp.

The soldier hesitated. "What do you mean, Ma'am?" she asked.

Elise stopped for a moment a looked the young soldier in the face. She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. "I've been with the Legion since I was younger than you. Almost four decades now. Today was just another day where I lost friends. It's not worth it. It's not worth it... to be the lucky one."

Ice and Blood

Winter's silence enveloped the lake as Bradley looked over it's frozen surface at the fading light of the sun. It was finally over. He had been just a boy when he met Dawn at this very lake all those years ago, to welcome her home from the Academy. For him, it seemed a lifetime ago.

"Brother," a small voice said from behind him.

He smiled. "Annabelle," he said without hesitation. "You should go back to the castle. It's very cold today."

The young woman walked to his side. She was taller than he, and well-built. She had sandy hair, unlike his, which was such a shade of blond as to be nearly devoid of color. But their eyes showed without doubt their relation: the same icy blue-grey that their father's had been.

After a long moment, she spoke again. "Why did it happen, Brother?" Her voice was filled with confusion and sorrow. "Why did Father do that?"

Bradley turned to her and looked her in the face. He took her hand in his and ran her fingers across the scars that covered it. "Each of these scars," he said in a tone she had only heard him use once before. "Each of them, and the many more that you cannot see. Each of them came from the actions of the man who called himself our father."

Her eyes filled with tears. "But... why? Why did he hurt you? Why did he kill David?"

He turned back to face the lake once more. "It's cold, Annabelle," he said, "Just like him. Our father was as simple as a winter's day. He cared nothing for anyone, except for himself. He only wished to see himself elevated, at any cost. David died because a son who could not win him glory meant nothing to him. I got these scars for the same reason."  He paused and then turned back to her once more. What she saw in his eyes made her cringe back from him. "I killed him, and I would again, a thousand times for what he did to me. To David. What he no doubt planned for you."

Annabelle's voice deserted her as she became lost in her brother's eyes. They burned with a cold fire, a passion that was wonderful and terrible at the same moment. They frightened her beyond words, because it was the same fire she had seen in their father's eyes...

The fire faded, and he smiled sadly. "Let's go back," he said at last. "It's cold."

From The Desk of Dr. Nakamura

HARPER, JENNIFER A. (N: The 'A' stands for Ann. Not Anna? I wonder...)
Status: Reserve (N: Ha!)
Rank: O-5
Primary MOS: Intelligence
Secondary MOS: CLASSIFIED (N: Not even I could gain access, but that is to be expected.)
Age: 38 (N: She doesn't appear a day over twenty. See attached surveillance photos.)
Birth Date: August 19, 3792 (N: Officially, anyway...)
Height: 1.75 m
Weight: 63.5 kg
Medical History: <omitted> (N: No records exist that document her life prior to her entrance to the Lake Serenity Preparatory School in 3806.)
Blood Type: AB- (N: On a superficial analysis. Many anomalies that defy explanation.)

Further Details: According to our research, her early life is non-existent. There was no one who knew her prior to 3806. Her academic records are impeccable. Top marks in every subject from secondary school through post-graduate work. Her military record is equally flawless. Many awards and citations for a variety of things. Certifications in all manner of weapons and vehicles operations and repairs, as well as numerous technologies and devices many of which do not officially exist. One would expect no less from the officer in charge of GEMINI.

I, Doctor Yoshiro Nakamura, authorize the use of Lieutenant Colonel Harper's DNA in Project: ALAIN, Subject T.

<signature digitally removed>

Why I Hate The Internet: Language Matters

There are a lot of things that happen on the internet that I dislike, but I believe the one that bothers me the most is the kind of passive bigotry you see in a lot of comment threads and chat streams. I'm nearly certain it happens just as often in real life, but given the people i surround myself with I'm not exposed to it there as much.

What I'm referring to is when someone says something like "that's gay" and when called out on it claims "it's not about homosexuals", or some other untenable claim regarding it's alleged non-offensiveness. Keep in mind, this sort of scenario occurs with misogynistic, transphobic, racist, classist, and ableist speech just as often and largely with the same sort of justification that boils down to this: "I didn't mean to insult the people that the word specifically refers to, just the people I meant to insult." Given the English lexicon, this is complete and utter horseshit. There are thousands of ways to say "That is bad" or "You are inferior" or whatever message you are trying to convey without resorting to using language meant to dehumanize, otherize, and otherwise demean entire classes of people who are unrelated to the issue at hand. If you cannot take the time to find a different word, then you are simply lazy, and evidently, have no interest in appearing open-minded. There is no justification for using bigoted language, when the available and commonly used vocabulary of the English language, in every single English speaking region, has a large number of alternatives.

Worse yet is the "for the sake of comedy" defense. While fairly common among the general public via "I'm only joking", it's very common among professional and semi-professional comedians and comedic personalities, which is just as, if not more problematic. The problem with this, of course, is that if you are in a situation in which you can speak to a large number of people, then you have a responsibility to uphold. While most of your audience may understand that you are "joking", the fact of the matter is, some (if not most) of them will miss the point of the joke, and laugh because you poked fun at an easy target, rather than your (presumably) intended target, the bigoted people themselves. At that point, you are not being "edgy" or "satirical", you're simply reinforcing negative stereotypes and justifying the views of the people in your audience who are bigots. Positive communication is paramount to advancement, as can easily be seen looking at any equal rights movement in history. Until actual egalitarianism reins, language choice is important.

As Tears Go By Part 3 (rough)

The ceremony occurred a few hours later. There were a number of important people in attendance. Indeed, it seemed that all of the nobility in the county was sitting there. The truth was only thirty or so select individuals were there, most were those close enough to the city to make the journey in a day’s time, with a few notable exceptions. Viscount Trajian was present, with his son Dracos and his daughters, Anna and Catherine. Viscount Patrick Valentine was also there, with his children, his son Vincent, who was a knight of the realm, his daughter Faye, and his niece, Marie. Even Earl Reginald Cain and his son Bradley were there.

The ceremony itself was a blur, a lot of high speech and pomp that seemed to last for hours, though it was probably only one. Autum swore an oath, and was given a number of symbols of office. The Count droned on about her duties and what was expected of her. At the end of the speech, she knelt and her seal was hung around her neck on a fine chain.

The ceremony concluded, and the assembled nobles exited the room in the structured fashion one expects from a court function, save the Count, Viscount Trajian, and Dawn. The two men moved to speak with Autum, but she took note that it appeared that Dawn hung back.

The Count spoke first. “Autum, Viscount Trajian has a request to make of you, if you will hear him out.” Autum, still too stunned to speak, nodded absently. “Very good. Should you require anything, I will be here.” He bowed in a courtly manner and returned to his high-backed seat.
               
Autum did not know what kind of man Viscount Trajian was, and did not know what to expect. “My lady,” he said in a smooth, silk-like voice and an accent that hinted of an exotic locale, “please, accompany me to the garden, where we may speak freely, and at length.” He gestured for her to follow, and walked slowly, but with purpose. She followed him.

Outside the audience chamber, she saw many of the nobles who had been present at her knighting, laughing and speaking with each other. When they saw her and Viscount Trajian, they invariably greeted them with salutes and gestures of respect. It all seemed foreign to Autum, and she began to wonder if it were not all a dream.

Outside the castle, they saw no one. The gardens were well kept, of course, and the small paths that ran through them allowed for a very pleasant walk in the early spring. But Autum’s attention was firmly on her feet as they walked. She was still in shock and it was only the fact that Trajian stood directly before her that she looked at him fully for the first time. He was tall man, slender, but clearly strong. While he looked like an aged man, the way he carried himself and the fluidity of his movements demonstrated that age had not robbed him of much of the strength and dexterity of his youth. His hair was a dark iron grey, long, but swept back from his forehead. His features were pleasant to look upon, with a strength and virility that spoke of the eastern corners of the empire. Autum, however, was fixated on his eyes. They were very dark, nearly black but with the vaguest hints of crimson in them. Autum thought for a moment that she was looking into the void, and when she finally broke the spell, she did not see the Viscount, but a monster posing as a man. A twisted figure from the depths of her imagination, but from the creature’s breast sprang a faint light. Though she was terrified, she felt her hand reach for the light, but as she did so, the twisted clawed hand of the creature grabbed hers. She screamed and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable attack.
“What is the matter, my dear?” the rich, baritone voice of the Viscount said.

She opened her eyes. She looked once more on the figure of the Viscount. Was his vague smile kindly or sinister? She could not tell. She shook her head to clear it before she spoke. “It’s nothing,” she said at last. “Just… my imagination.”

Viscount Trajian raised an eyebrow. “And what did your imagination show you?” He said the word “imagination” with an odd emphasis.

Autum’s face grew flushed. She did not expect him to be so blunt with his questions. “For a moment, I… I thought that you were a monster,” she said softly, as she looked away in embarrassment.
Viscount Trajian laughed heartily, causing Autum’s cheeks to flash hotter. “Perhaps that is not so far from the truth.” He said it in a way that caused her a sudden chill. She looked at him once again. He was still himself, but he was smiling fully now, and she could see his teeth. They appeared to be inhumanly sharp. “You see me for what I am, but I wonder how?” Suddenly, his smile changed to a more human expression, and his teeth appeared to be normal, causing her to wonder if it was not another hallucination.

Trajian, as if reading her thoughts, spoke again. “The second time, it was not your ‘imagination’. I showed you what I thought you had already seen. It appears that I have broken my guise in vain, for you saw something else.” He paused and his smile grew world-weary and sad. “My dear, you are the first I have shown my true nature in nearly a millennium of life. The truth is, I am a monster of fairy tale that is rumored to prey upon people as a wolf preys upon sheep. The rumors and fairy tales, however, are rarely true, though they always contain a small kernel of truth. But you saw something else. Describe it for me, if you would.”

Autum’s mind raced. She was having difficulty deciding what she should do. The Viscount patiently stood and waited, and at length, his good-natured smile won her over. “I looked into your eyes, and saw nothing but blackness,” she said matter-of-factly. “When I broke my gaze, you appeared to be a twisted form of yourself, no longer human. You were covered in darkness… but you had a light… in your heart. It reminded me of what I saw when Dawn…”

The look in Trajian’s eye caused her to stop. “Go on,” he said gently. “What about Dawn?”

Autum hesitated because of the eagerness in his eyes, but his tone soothed her enough that she continued. “I saw a light from her eyes. I… don’t know what it was. It made her appear… attractive.” Again she felt herself growing hot, and she felt a faint stirring in her body that she did not yet understand.

Viscount Trajian was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was softly, and in tones hinting at discretion. “My lady, would you kindly come with me and do as I ask?”


She thought for a moment. Lingering fear made her hesitant, though his request seemed earnest and harmless. “Yes,” she said after a moment. He offered her his hand, and she took it willingly.

As Tears Go By Part 2 (rough)

She was born as a result of a drunken deacon’s play with a bar maid. Her father had told her mother to keep the child a secret, to not affect his chances at the priesthood. She had, but when Autum was very young, her mother died. Her father, though he had taken a vow of celibacy, took her in. However, because of his rectitude and honesty, he was denied entry into the priesthood for violating his vows. He tried to cope, but he crawled farther and farther into the bottle. He became increasingly violent when he drank, and eventually, he took his frustrations out on the young girl. Whether he remembered or regretted this, she never knew. When she was seven, he enlisted her into the military.

Though she was small for her age, she took naturally to the life of a soldier, thanks to her natural intelligence, diligence, and ability to follow orders. In a few years’ time, she was selected to participate in a training exercise for Dawn Stryfe, the count’s daughter, who was soon to be attending the Imperial academy.

Dawn was set to face her companion Bradley Cain in a contest of strategy. Bradley was to defend an abandoned fort, and Dawn was to take it. Unfortunately for her, Bradley had proved a cunning tactician and cut her off at every opportunity. Dawn surely would have failed, had Autum not made her way to the command area and given Dawn the advice she needed to take the fort.

However, Dawn did not accept the praise of those around her, instead admitting that it was Autum who had won this battle. It seemed that no one was willing to believe this fact, except Viscount Victor Trajian, and Bradley himself, having witnessed Autum’s brilliance firsthand.

Nonetheless, the Count was prepared to elevate her family to the peerage, until it came to light that her father had been killed in a tavern brawl.

The news had struck Autum like a blow. She did not hate him, despite his cruelty towards her. He was, after all, her father. The only family she'd known. She did not cry, but for the first time, she thought about the future. Her future. Without him, she had no home to return to. In the past few years, se had grown and matured. She had seen only eleven summers, but she no longer considered herself a child. But in that time, the simple life of a soldier had made her fall complacent in its routine and its monotony. She had not considered what might become of her should she choose to leave that life.

It was a day like any other, it seemed. She sat in the barracks, thinking about what would become of her. She supposed now that she’d be a soldier all of her life. It was then that Dawn came into the barracks. The other soldiers were transfixed, not expecting to see the daughter of the Count here. The young baronet merely strode with confidence right up to Autum, and smiled in a devilishly charming way.

“I never got a chance to thank you properly, for all of your help,” she said softly, “So, I’ve made an arrangement with my father. You’re to come to the castle.”

Autum was a bit shocked at the sudden appearance of Dawn.  It took her a moment to comprehend what Dawn was saying. “When?” was the only thing she could manage to say.

Dawn giggled. “Now, of course.” Autum got up and began making her way to the door, but Dawn put a hand on her shoulder. “You might want to gather up your personal effects. I’ll help you with them, if you wish. Father was going to send servants, but I told him you might not go for that.”
Autum paused for a long moment. Realization had dawned, but she was still in disbelief. “What… do you mean?” she asked slowly.

Dawn giggled a second time. “I mean, that if you’re going to live there, you’ll probably want your possessions, right?”

Autum’s vision blurred. It was all so sudden. But in a moment, she collected herself and steeled herself against the inevitable. It couldn’t be what she was thinking. Why would it be? In silence, she gathered her things. Dawn tried to help, but each time Autum politely declined assistance.

When they arrived at the castle, the Count received them as he would receive a visiting dignitary. The Countess sat on his left, with their eldest daughter standing beside her. To the Count’s right stood Viscounts Mark Stryfe and Victor Trajian. The Count’s young son Samuel, stood beside his uncle. The Count stood as they entered the room and bowed in greeting.  Dawn returned the bow without hesitation, but Autum was awestruck. She did not know at all how to react to this new situation.
She didn’t come out of her state of paralysis until the Count began to speak. “Welcome, Lady Autum,” he said in a booming voice. “I would like to extend my apologies for not coming to the barracks to get you myself, but my daughter insisted that she go alone.”

Autum’s faculties returned to her at once, and she fell to her knees in an awkward kneel. “My Lord,” she said in a halting voice she did not recognize as her own, “it is not necessary for you to trouble yourself on my account. I am merely a soldier. I am undeserving of the favor you have shown me.”

The Count laughed. It was not a cruel laugh, rather a mirthful, pleasant sound. “Were you but a soldier, you may be correct, but as of today, you are a knight of Lennaire. You have inherited the title of your father,” he said.

“My father was not a knight,” Autum replied, feeling her throat tighten.

The Count smiled impishly. “Not while he was living, no,” he said. “But I made good on my promise to raise him to the peerage, even if it was posthumously. As he is deceased, the title falls to you. There will be an official ceremony this afternoon. You may rise.” Autum stood shakily. “However…” the Count continued, “you are still only a child. I cannot allow you to live on a fief on your own. For this reason, I have appointed a steward to your estate until you have become an adult, and are capable of maintaining your own land. Until that time, you may live here, in the castle.”

Autum’s legs gave out as the Count finished, but Dawn’s arms shot out to support her before she fell. She could not believe it. “Thank you,” she managed to stammer after a pause.

Autum could not recall what transpired after that. There seemed to be more talking, but she did not hear it. When she came to her senses, she was in a large bedchamber. Her things were all placed carefully on the bed, and Dawn stood next to her, smiling at her.

For the first time, Autum looked at her fully. She was short for her age, which Autum gauged as thirteen or fourteen. She kept her dark hair tied back loosely, and her features were soft and delicate. But what struck Autum most were her eyes. They were a deep green, almost emerald-colored, and they seemed to emit a strange light that enhanced her already attractive face.

“Something wrong?” Dawn asked, still smiling.

Autum started and blinked to clear her head. When she looked back at Dawn’s eyes, the light she had seen before was gone. “No,” she said at last, “no, nothing’s the matter. I just… I’m not used to all this.”

Dawn laughed. It was a clear, calming sound to Autum. “Well, of course not,” she said when she had finished. “It’s got to be an adjustment for you. I can’t imagine a soldier’s life prepares you for this…”
Autum smiled despite herself. “No, it really doesn’t.” As she moved to put her things away, she expected Dawn to leave her, but she was surprised when the other girl merely walked to the nearby chair and sat down.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dawn said as she threw her legs over the arm of the chair. “In fact, it will get incredibly boring. That’s why I can’t wait to get out of here…” Dawn’s  voice trailed off and a far-away look came into her eyes, and as Autum looked, the light she had seen earlier returned, brighter than before. Dawn snapped back to the present and smiled ruefully, causing the light to vanish. “Sorry, ma cheri,” she said softly. “I suppose you want some privacy, before the ceremony.” She stood and bowed gracefully to Autum.

As she was turning to leave, Autum’s hand caught her shoulder. “Thank you, ma dame,” Autum said in a near-whisper.

Dawn turned to face her fully, and to Autum’s surprise, wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re welcome, ma cheri,” she replied, and planted a kiss softly on Autum’s cheek. Autum pulled away quickly and covered her face with her hands, as she felt the hot crimson rise. She heard the other woman’s footsteps exit the room, and the door softly close behind her.

As Tears Go By Part 1 (rough)

 Dawn sat in the main chamber of her home at Seraph Falls.  She was contemplating the years that led her to this moment. The rebellion in Gildour that had caused her to go to war for the first time. The many battles with the men who would later become the Crusaders. Dietrich’s assassination of the emperor and usurpation of the throne. The betrayal of Earl Cain. The arrival of the people from across the sea. And most recently, the reemergence of the Crusader called Megrim.

Fifteen years, and less than a third of them spent in peace. She thought about her children. Nine all told, and Hilda was carrying another. She dearly loved each of them. Misty, Aurora, Vincent, Alexander, Charles, Aeris, Edward, David, Jacy… She wondered what would happen to them if the turmoil she had lived through should return. Would they be taken care of? She knew that her father did not approve of some of her relationships. She knew, at least, that Hilda’s children, and those that bore the name Valentine would be well taken care of. Bradley would care for his nephew, surely. But what of Jacy? The young boy, who has not yet seen a single winter, is the son of a woman who came across the sea. Sitsi is her name. Dawn cared for her, and her child, the same as she cared for all her children and lovers. But if she should die? What then? Who would care for them?

She turned an eye to the red-haired woman sitting nearby on the floor, plucking a zither and singing softly to herself. “Smiling faces I can see,” she sang, “but not for me…” A sad song, but a happy tune. The woman caught her eye and smiled sadly. “Returned to us, have you?” she said teasingly. “I thought you’d be sitting there lost in thought for hours yet.”

“Autum,” Dawn said softly. “I was thinking about what we’ve been through, over the years, and… what might become of my children.”

Autum nodded, and her face grew very serious. “You worry for your youngest son.” It was not a question. “If the unthinkable should happen to you, I will care for the child, and all of the Ayania, as I have.” Dawn was cheered by this, but Autum’s face remained grave. “You are right to worry, though. I’m afraid that these past years have only been indications of things yet to come. We may once again face wars and conflict.”

Dawn remained silent, and once again she dropped her head and began ruminating on Autum’s words, and whatever thoughts came to her. Autum was neither surprised nor distraught, for she too was thinking of the past.

A Lonely Moment In Time

I came home late one night,

Couldn’t find my key, tried knocking on the door,

I could see the bedroom light,

It went out, heard footsteps on the floor.

Kicked it in a bout of rage,

Couldn’t feel the pain, couldn’t think any more,

Walked in with a gun in my face,

Can’t believe that I never knew the score.

When the people that you love are gone, you’re alone.

I’m sorry my existence isn’t very noble.

Grief changes shape, but it always goes on.

You can’t fight the march of lies, it goes on and on and on. It goes on

Walking through the streets in the dark,

Heard a car, turned to see who was there.

Whatever happened to a person’s heart?

Years ago they’d never even dare.

Broke my arm with a tire iron,

Broke their teeth with a boot to the face,

Decided to run like their car was on fire,

Felt like I was just walking in place.

When the people that you love are gone, you’re alone.

I’m sorry my existence isn’t very noble.

Grief changes shape, but it always goes on.

You can’t fight the march of lies, it goes on and on and on. It goes on

I guess that the fault is all mine,

I never knew that I could do that at all,

Guess they didn’t think I’d have the spine,

Well, I guess they’ll have a hard time to recall.

Can’t go back to the daily grind,

I got a few more hours to fill,

Wonder what was going through their mind,

When they realized that they were mine to kill.

When the people that you love are gone, you’re alone.

I’m sorry my existence isn’t very noble.

Grief changes shape, but it always goes on.

You can’t fight the march of lies, it goes on and on and on. It goes on

When Red Blosoms Fall, Part 2

I was so young then. A peasant girl in a little village. I don’t even remember if it had a name. Not that it mattered, really because it might as well have been the world. It was all I knew, aside from my family’s farm. We were on our way to the village with our father to sell our crops. We could see the smoke from miles away. Blacker than death, blotting out the horizon. Gene and I didn’t know what it was, and thought nothing of it. But our father knew something was wrong. But he kept driving the cart, at a slower pace than usual. We came to the crest of a hill, and we saw it. The entire village was in flames. Armed men were slaughtering any person they could find and setting fire to the thatch of the huts. My father got down from the cart and walked a few meters away. Gene and I didn’t even notice. 

Then we heard a tiny whimper, and it snapped us from our daze. We looked and safe our father cradling two small children in his arms. The boy appeared to be younger, though not much, and he was covered in blood. The girl, however, appeared unharmed, but she would not speak.

My father surveyed the scene. He saw them making their way out of town. Thinking quickly he told us to loose the mule and turn the cart over and to hide under it with the children. We were to go home, as soon as we heard the men fade from hearing. 

The first time I heard that voice, I hated it. He spoke with a subdued arrogance, softly, but with unknowable malice. “Greetings, my good man,” he said as if he were spitting curses. “My men and I saw you here, on this hill and wondered at your stopping. I see you are having some trouble with your cart. Perhaps we could be of aid?”

My father laughed, the kindly laugh I’d give anything to hear once more. “No thankee, sire. ‘M afeared that won’t matter no how, seein’ as how yon village, ‘t won’t be needin’ me crops tadee, it seems.”

                The man chuckled at this. Such an evil sound I have not heard since. “True, my good man, but mayhap you may be of service to us. We are looking for two small children, a boy and a girl. The boy was injured in the ‘accident’, you see, and we are quite concerned for his health.” Beside me I felt Gene put a hand over the boy’s mouth to contain the scream welling up in all of us. 

My father was quiet for a long time. I imagine he had that contemplative look on his face he often got when asked a difficult question. “Chil’en, ye say?,” he spat with purpose. “Aye, I believe I seed the chil’en ye’re after.” Gene had to physically restrain the boy. The girl remained utterly silent, but I had to restrain myself. I did not want that man  find them. I did not want that man to find me. “They come a-runnin’ up this hill a screamin’ an’ a-hollerin’. Startled me mule an’ I nearly took a tumble with me cart, if’n you get my meaning.” 

The air seemed to bristle. “And where are they now?” the man asked brusquely. 

My father took another moment, probably to pluck a bit of sweet grass to chew on. “Can’t rightly say,” he replied. 

They clearly had no patience for the slow, meandering conversational style of country folk. “What? Which direction did they go in?”

Again, there was a long pause, my father no doubt paring his nails, or looking contemplatively at the clouds. “Yonder ta th’ hills. Seemed like they were makin’ fer th’ river.  Fer ta wash the blood off’n tha boy, were it my guess.” 

The sound of several men tromping off came to us and we almost let out an audible sigh.  But the man’s voice cut us off before we could. He did not sound like he had moved. “You know the hills, dear friend, we would like you to guide us through them to the river.”  My father apparently made some indication of hesitance, and we heard the sound of metal scraping leather. “That was not a request, friend.” 

“Be happy ta, sir,” my father said clearly shaken by this threat. “Don’t have much to do elseways.”

After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, they also made their way away from the cart. To make sure we were safe, we waited for several long minutes before we crawled out. Gene went first and verified the coast was clear. He then took the children down the hill, and quickly started making his way back to our farm. But I wanted to see the man whose voice pierced me so. I crept to the side of the hill towards the river and saw them walking. As I watched, the man who stood closest to my father, the man who I knew was the owner of the voice, looked over his shoulder, directly at me. For a tense moment, our eyes locked and all I could see was black hatred radiating from them. He stopped short and pulled my father to a stop as well. They conversed quietly, but the look on my father’s face betrayed him. The man motioned for me to come down. For the first time in my life, my blood ran cold. It’s a feeling that’s so familiar now, but then it was completely alien to me. I steeled myself and took the first step. It was like trying to walk with large rocks tied my ankles. But I stepped confidently, almost brusquely down the hill. I saw my father’s face regain its color as it became apparent that I was alone. 

The man looked me up and down. “This man is your father?” he said. 

“Yes,” I replied. My voice was serene and calm, completely free of emotion.

“Did you come with him to town?” he asked. 

“No,” I replied in the same even tone. “I came to tell him that my brother brought home the spring chickens and we would like to know where we should put them.” 

We never owned chickens, and my father caught on to my meaning quickly. “Have ‘im feed ‘em fer now and if’n I ain’t ‘turned afore supper, have him put ‘em down-cellar.” 

The man was clearly not interested farm talk, and hastily interjected. “Is there anything else you need, young lady?” he said as contemptuously as if I had spat on him. 

“No, I do not need anything else.” I said the sentence as simply and serenely as if I were replying to a neighbor from whom I was borrowing an egg, but as I did I locked eyes with the man again. To my surprise, he flinched at my gaze. 

“Then be off with you,” he said roughly. “Your father and I have more important matters to attend.” He turned away from me and turned my father with him.

I caught up with Gene and the children, and told them father’s plan. We didn’t really have a cellar, but there was a dry well near our home that led to a small cave. I knew this was where my father meant to keep them.  We arrived home just in time for the midday meal, and told our mother of the goings on. She cleaned the children up and fed them well. The boy seemed to be recovering well, though he had several deep gashes in his left arm. The girl seemed to be getting better. She still did not speak a word, but she was smiling and interacting with us at least. All in all, it seemed like we were in the clear. 

Several hours passed and our father never returned. We took the children to the well, and made them comfortable in the cave. We gave them a few small candles and some straw mats to sleep on. We advised them to go sleep soon, and told them tomorrow we’d go back to the village and help find their families. 

But that never happened. Almost as soon as we returned to the house there was a loud thump on the door. We all stood in silence until my mother went to see what it was. She screamed. Gene and I rushed to her side and saw it. Our father’s battered and mangled head lay at her feet. Gene began retching. I looked up and locked eyes with that same man. He was standing twenty feet away with ten other armed men. I stared at him, and he saw something in my eyes which made him uncomfortable. He flinched once more before he finally spoke. 

“Where are they?” he said, speaking almost directly to me. I just continued to stare. He grew angry. “If you do not tell me,  I will burn this place to the ground, and kill all of you.”

Despite the horror of the situation, I felt a serene smile cross my face. “Then you will never find them.” I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder, but the man, quick as lightning, grabbed his bow and loosed an arrow into her chest. I felt her grip loosen and heard her fall. Gene screamed for her, he cursed the men, he cried righteous tears. But I felt nothing. I did not feel sorrow, nor fear. I did not even feel hatred or rage at this man. I only felt cold. I never let my eyes leave his.

He had Gene and I bound while his men searched the house. He cursed us and threatened us. He told us of the horrors he had planned for us. And I continued to smile and stare directly into his eyes. As each minute passed, he spoke more frantically. Finally, his men indicated they had found nothing. He told them to burn the house and search the grounds. 

I never took my gaze from him. He continued to grow increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, he shrieked. “STOP FUCKING LOOKING AT ME! I SWEAR I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT OF YOUR FUCKING SKULL!” I did not react at all. He drew a dagger from his hip and advanced towards me. I never let my gaze leave his eyes. As the blade cut into my flesh, I expected to wince from pain, but I never even felt it. I continued to smile and look deeply into his eyes. I watched as his eyes searched for any indication of pain from me, but I did not give him any satisfaction. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes grew larger and larger. Finally he pulled the eyeball from its socket and held it in front of my good eye. “LOOK AT IT!” he screamed, “LOOK AT IT!” My smile and my gaze never left his. “STOP FUCKING STARING!” He averted his gaze from my face to the dangling eye he held in his hand. A sound I cannot identify escaped him and went completely berserk. He threw the eye to the ground and began stomping on it, all the while screaming at me to stop staring. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he regained his composure. “Alright,” he said cruelly, “Watch this.” He grabbed Gene by the hair, and dragged him to the fence. He stretched him out on one of the posts and began frantically cutting at him. Gene screamed and cried, and begged him to stop. His cries only served to invigorate the man. For an hour, he cut Gene’s arms, chest, and back, with the precision of an expert torturer, only doing enough damage to cause pain, without allowing him to bleed out. Then he produced a whip and began lashing my poor brother without mercy. Hours passed. How many I could not rightly say, but finally the man grew tired. He threw a glance over his shoulder at me, and saw that in all that time my expression had not changed. He shrieked and ran towards me with the whip raised above his head, he swung it but it went flying over my shoulder, still clutched in his hand, as blood from his wrist covered my left side. 

He did not scream or make any sound at all. He just stared at the stump in disbelief. He looked into my eyes once more, and I finally spoke to him. “Now, I will kill you.” He screamed and ran, never sparing a second look to the small girl who had just severed his hand.

She was short, a little older than me, and quite cute. She wore finely crafted mail with a green sheen, and wielded a fine sword. Her fiery hair was unbound and far down her back, and her eyes were deep blue with just a hint of grey, like the ocean after a storm. For the first time in the ordeal, I began to feel something. I felt nothing but relief and admiration for this woman, as she cut free my brother and looked over his wounds, and did the same for me. But as soon as I was free, the cold feeling washed over me and I gently pushed her aside. 

“Gene,” I said calmly. “Take this woman to the children. Hopefully, they are still safe.”

“What about you?” he asked through the indescribable pain he must have been feeling. 

“I’m going to ensure this never happens again. To anyone.” I didn’t wait for a response. I began walking after the man. Gene called after me, but I could not make out what he was saying. I didn’t look back.

It wasn’t long before I picked up his trail. The blood and careless trail led me to the nearby woods. Cautiously, I entered. I heard him before I saw him. Cursing and mumbling to himself, “Just a little girl… she was just a little girl…” He had stopped to bandage his wrist. I walked silently up behind him.

As if I had spoken, he started, and turned in a panic. “No…” he said softly, locking eyes with me once again. “No, please… have mercy. Mercy… MERCY!”  He was crawling backwards away from me now, but he quickly backed himself against a tree. He continued screaming for mercy until I quieted him with a gesture.

“What is your name?” I said calmly.

For a while, he said nothing. He just stared into my eyes with all the horror and pain he had expected from me. “Hallas.” He said at last. 

“I’m Hilda,” I said as I took a single step forward.

He shrunk away but his eyes never left mine. “Wh- what are you?” he whispered, barely audibly.

“I’m just a little girl,” I said and the smile finally faded from my face. The look that replaced it caused Hallas to shriek as if he had looked first hand into the fires of Hell. He tried to stand, but he tripped over a root or a rock as I advanced. 

He quickly rolled to his back and looked up at me. “Please… please, spare me…” he cowered and begged. 

I kicked out and struck him in the jaw. “How many times have your victims begged you for mercy and you gave them none? How many people have you tortured and killed? My father, my mother, my brother… those children?  You do not deserve mercy. Perhaps, God in Heaven will show you some, but I will not.” 

I do not remember what I did. How I did it. I remember he screamed. Begged me to kill him quickly. I don’t think I did. It seemed like hours later when I walked out of the forest again, covered in blood. I ran into a woman on horseback. She told me her name was Elise and that my brother was looking for me. She looked at my eye and at the blood on me. She merely shook her head and bandaged my head. Then she took me to a military camp and… that’s where I met you…