Here I am. The rain is pouring all around us. But the most recognizable feeling I have is her tears dripping off of the tip of her nose and streaming down her cheeks, dampening my face and collar as she holds me close. I feel her take in ragged breaths and pull me even closer to her body, like she could physically keep me tethered to this earth. She gasps for air between sobs, as she begs to the gods for my life to be spared.
Now I know what you're wondering. How the fuck did I get here? Well my friends, that is a very interesting story indeed. Why don't we start from the very beginning?
I was taken into a very poor family. My father was a farmer, and my mother a wench. I am an only child, being it that my father was going on his sixtieth year of life when I arrived. Now I know what you're thinking. Arrived? Taken? What in the blue blazes is she on about? You see, I was adopted, I guess you could say. In reality, My father was taking his produce to the local market one day, when he found me. I was hidden in his basket of tomatoes. My parents don't talk about why or even how I got there, but they say that they were blessed from the gods.
I was always a bit of a scrawny thing. I was and still am, very tall for my age. And being skinny didn't help, so I ended up looking like a beanpole. I have startlingly blue eyes, and sunny blonde hair. My skin is a mix of tan and a cream with a smattering of freckles from working in my fathers fields everyday. He plants crops like potatoes, wheat, corn, tomatoes, and things of that nature. We also have an orchard where we keep our apple trees. From the time I could walk, I would help in the fields. From sun up, to sun down. It is typically frowned upon that my father allows me, a female, to help in the field but since he hasn't a son, I will have to do. He and my mother have always been supportive of me and my decisions to help with the mans work. We also have my cousin, Sugar. She is the same age as me, 18. She helped my mother with the typically feminine chores such as the cooking, cleaning, etc.
That is, until I was 12. When I was 12, my mother developed the measles. She was bed ridden for weeks, until she finally passed. After that, our family was never truly the same. My father was an empty shell of what he once was. He was always sad, and at night and the wee hours of the morning I could hear him crying in his room. One day, Sugar was at the market to buy more butter, and I was working in the fields with my father. I was harvesting corn on one side of the field, and he was pulling tomatoes on another side. I had just placed a stalk in my basket, when I heard a loud THUD. I swiftly turned around and spotted my father on the ground, clutching his chest. I scampered over to him and cradled his head in my lap.
His breaths were slow and ragged. "Dad?" I asked, forcing my voice not to crack. "My beautiful Brittany." He choked. I let a few tears release themselves. "Save your breath father." I told him. "My dear….I haven't much time." He croaked. "I will be reunited with your mother…." He trailed off. I shook him lightly. "Don't speak of such things father. You will be fine, I promise you." I sobbed, still gingerly holding him. "But I wish for such things." He sighed. "I love you Brittany…..wherever I go…I will….watch over you.." And with that, he took a final shaky breath before exhaling. His body stiffened, and his eyes glazed.
Now, it's just me and Sugar. At times I still visit the graves of my parents, under a large oak tree in the orchard. Sugar still does the household chores, and I still do the work in the fields. We have grown closer because of these circumstances. She is more like a sister to me than a cousin that I am not even related to.
Background aside, lets go back to when this really started.
"Britt!" Sugar calls me from the back stairs that overlook the fields where I'm working. ""What's up Sug?" I ask walking up to her while dabbing a strip of cloth at my forehead. "Can you go fetch some new bowls from the market?" She asks me. "Sure, do you need anything else while I'm out?" I reply. "That will be all." She says. I nod and head toward the front of the house. Once on the path that leads toward the town, I start jogging, my golden hair whipping around behind me. I'm wearing tight fighting breeches, worn leather boots, a loose top accompanied with my vest. My sleeves and breeches are rolled up because of the ungodly heat of the fine June day.
I jog past a few locals who call out to me to greet me, or ask me how the farm is. I reply to them, and make polite conversation before gazing at the items at the market. I purchase the bowls for Sugar, along with a gift of a new sash for her hair. As I observe the items on display, I find an arms dealer. I approach him, thinking that a method of protection for Sugar and I should be used. I observe the items on display, and pick up a dagger that has cloth wrapped around the hilt. "How much?" I ask the monster of a man behind the booth. He looks down at me and growls, "Two crowns." I pull the gold out of my pouch and place them on the counter in front of him and pick up the dagger and place it in my belt.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a cloaked figure approach a booth selling fruits of differing varieties. Behind the figure, another person approaches. I absent mindedly place a firm hand on the hilt of my new weapon as the person continues to move toward the unsuspecting figure. The approacher seems to be a man, a few inches taller than Brittany, with a gnarled scar running from his cheek to his knotted jaw. He suddenly seizes the arm of the cloaked figure and sneers as he says something to them. The person tries to pull away once more, and this time his sneer turns into a wicked grin as he puts more force into his grasp. As the person struggles to free themselves, I decide that they might need my help. I step quietly behind the man, pulling my dagger from my belt. Within the blink of an eye, my weapon is at his throat.
"Woah, wha-" He starts, but I cut him off.
"Step away and raise your hands into the air." I state calmly. He complies, not before turning around suddenly and grabbing me by the collar so roughly, that I drop the dagger. Swiftly, he lifts me off of the ground and kicks the dagger away. I turn to the cloaked figure, who is just standing there. "Run!" I yell to them. Suddenly, his fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back. The man snorts gruffly as he looks at the retreating figure running away. Still holding me by my collar, he shoves me angrily to the ground. "There." He snorts. "That will teach you for meddling in others affairs." And with that, he stomps off. I lay on the ground for a moment, trying to regain my breath. Everyone else busies themselves with other tasks to avoid a similar fate.
I stand and brush my clothes off, before gingerly touching the spot he hit. I wince as I pull my hand away, with fresh blood on it. I walk over to where he kicked my dagger, and raise it to use it as a mirror. I wince as I look at a reflection of a person with a large gash running along their jawline, along with a nasty yellowish bruise to accompany it.
I start on the road for home, until I'm suddenly pulled into an alley between booths. As I face to look at the person who did this, I discover that it's the person I helped. What a small world, huh?