A New Day

I watch as the Captain tears out of the stuffy enclosed room as fast as she can without running. I cannot help but smile a bit but the expression soon fades to the worried frown I seem to have worn for days. I look down at the reports I finished some moments ago and sigh heavily before looking at the elderly woman who has kept watch on her reluctant ward, the poor woman looks as tired as I feel. Picking up everything I brought I make sure to leave nothing behind, the last thing I need is to have to spend yet more time coming back here. I pause a moment as I realized I can no longer avoid using the Captains office while she is off duty, while I may have hated this stuffy room at least it offered me an excuse not to use the office. I cannot help but think of it as her's and feel horribly uncomfortable feeling like I am taking it over. "Just for now," I mutter, "she will be back soon enough." Feeling a bit better with this assertion, if only to myself I nod to the woman who takes no notice of me as I begin to head out.

Passing through the door I observe that the Templar who has been statue like in his ever present stance by the door, is conspicuously missing. "No reason for him to stick around I suppose." I mutter to myself then frown as I realize how much I am doing that lately. I shake my head at myself and begin to head out of the Temple proper pausing at each of the side Temples to pay my respects to the gods. I figure at this point I can use all the help I can get. That done, though not without a frown and quick glance away by the priests, I step out onto the streets. I pause briefly before sighing and figuring it is time once again for patrol, so resolved I begin heading to the Stockaid to drop off the reports in the Captain's office. As I walk I cannot help occasionally reaching up to touch the hilt of my sword and think back on the faces of the men who died that night, the men I killed.

I remember it so clearly, the smell of that room, the sounds, the smoke, and how I had memorized the positions of each man before visibility is lost. How focused my mind was in that moment and how clearly I could plan every move, every motion as though time stopped. I watched as I did the same moves that I had practiced hundreds of times in the graveyard against the undead. The thing I remember most though was when it was over and I saw their faces looking at me, their dead eyes staring into mine with accusation. It no longer mattered then that we were on separate sides of a conflict that can only end in blood, it didn't matter that they spent days torturing my Captain for the same reason they would happily kill me. All that mattered then, was that it was my hand that ended their life, and that has haunted me since. Suddenly I feel something moving towards my face and without thinking I grab it and squeeze hard.

A loud "EEeek!," is the result and I realize that a soft female hand is gripped tightly in my own. Looking down the arm attached to this hand and to the face of the owner I see my eldest sister looking back at me in pained shock. I release her hand and use the one that had so recently captured her own to rub my eyes. "What do you need Lyra? I do not have a lot of time today." I can feel the offended waves roiling off of her and hear her suck in a sharp affronted breath before the explosion of her words roll over me. "What do I need? What do I need indeed! I am not the one standing in the middle of the Gazebo mid morning staring into space like a lack wit touching a worn out hunk of iron you claim to be a sword. Isn't it enough you stain our family with this foolishness of yours, that now you have to act like an imbecile in public to boot. You realize don't you, that you have made our family a laughingstock?" Taking my hand from my eyes I look at her tiredly and see her in her best dress breathing heavily, red faced. I realize then that I don't know her any longer, that my parents and siblings and the whole street of people I thought I knew while growing up, they are all strangers to me now. What is worse by far, is that I fear that the one I know the least, is myself.  She must have taken my silence to mean I have relented because she seems to calm down and step towards me putting a timid hand on my arm, the first time any of my family, barring Kethren of course, has touched me in kindness since the night I left. "Don't you see what this choice of yours is doing to you? To us? Look at you, exhausted and staring at nothing in the middle of the street. This isn't right and it isn't healthy. If you come home I can talk to Ma and Da for you and we can work something out. Maybe Jethra will still take you, scars and all. Wouldn't you like that now that you have had your little adventure? You got what you wanted right? You have made your grand statement."

In that moment I can see it, what she describes. I can see myself in a dress very like her own, a fish sellers wife or maybe a bakers. Having child after child to a husband who spends the money he earns on drink and prostitutes as I saw so often from the other families on our street. Living in a one room shack because we could not afford better and watching as the meager food I am expected to cook goes directly into his gut with little to nothing for myself and the guaranteed endless supply of children. I can feel from this vision, the helplessness of the situation, the feeling that my life is not my own and see myself going deeper into oblivion until I simply fade away and cease to exist. Blinking I look at her a moment before sighing and patting her callused hand with my scarred one. "I am sorry Lyra, I don't think it will work." It takes her a moment for my words to sink in, but when they do she yanks her hand off of my arm and begins to stalk away. Three paces from me she turns opens her mouth a time or two before her poisoned words find their way past an angry mouth. "Just so you know, if you end up dead the family isn't paying for you death rights. Your new family, the militia," she spits the last word out with hate, "can take care of that for you. Just remember I gave you a chance to be a proper woman but I guess that is just too good for you isn't it? Oh and the rest of the family will probably come find you at some point. Just to give you the same opportunity I did, I guess they might as well not bother. For some reason we were worried about you, wasted effort if you ask me." With that her nose points skyward, she turns sharply on her heel, and off she stomps with angry little steps. Every inch of her the indignant little female, the very personification of everything they want me to be, the very thing I tried  so hard to be, and failed for so many years. With another tired sigh I finish my walk to the Stockaid noting which of the men are on rotation and which are off patrol, noting the disgusted looks from some, and the friendly demeanor from others.

My final thought before I head out on patrol myself is that the ones who greet me with a smile are the ones I trust the least. Perhaps I am becoming paranoid but then perhaps that will save my life. Touching my sword again I remember the feel of the Captains daggers and begin planning a trip to the weapon smith for a steel sword, iron does not stay sharp nearly long enough for my comfort with the winds of change from storm I feel brewing.