Fiction: Son's Blood - Chapter Two (Part 1)

Bracer was still called Arista when she gave birth to Alonder's son. The girl, not quite fifteen, was frightened by the infant, his hungry mouth searching for her sore nipples, his face reddening with angry wails when she did not meet his need fast enough. Yet, when she ran away, it was not really the baby she had fled. Now, reconciling the images of the red-faced infant and the pain-wracked soldier, Bracer wished she could have made him understand that before he died.

She stroked the hexagonal badge once more, recalling how her own hair had once been that color. Later it turned to auburn, giving way now to gray. She had never been happy with the color, perhaps still haunted by the tales of Shefar and Dogu. Alonder's mother, however, held the copper tresses in high regard. She was greatly disappointed that her grandson did not have the red-orange hair that would prove his kinship to the Venire family.

Arista knew that her husband's family valued her only for her blood. All along, they mistreated her, forcing her to work as a servant in the household. Even after giving birth to the heir they desired, the girl knew they would not spare her. In fact, Alonder's mother acted as if Arista had pitefully chosen to bear a dark-haired child. The girl knew things would be even worse for her once she'd recovered from the birthing. Before they knew she'd regained her strength, she ran away.

The stable door opened, driving away her thoughts of the past. Bracer quickly shoved the wrapped sword back beneath the hay in her cart, hoping the returning stable boy did not notice.

As he led her horse to a nearby stall, Bracer forced herself back to some semblance of strength. A warrior woman could not get emotional over a kill. The idea turned her stomach now, despite its truth. Theirs had been a fair fight. Why did it haunt her? Because his flesh had formed within her own, was his life more difficult to take?

When the lad had finished, he gave her a nod of courtesy mixed with curiosity, then left. She watched him exit with detachment. Her son had once been that age, yet she found that missing his growth mattered less than it should have. Bracer felt grief, but no regret for the choices she'd made. She had fled the responsibilities of being a wife and mother, even though those were the things most girls longed for.

No, she realized, I would not have liked that life. I loved being free, wandering, loving Kinsa and those before her. Bracer would not have wanted to change the way she lived. But, if her young husband had somehow found her. If Lon had been willing to let her be both mother and soldier, she would have stayed with him.

Bracer's purpose for returning was not to lament the life she had lost, nor even to mourn the loss of her son. That the Hordavan captain might really her son seemed too improbable. Still, the incident had reminded her that she had a son somewhere. The idea that she might yet meet him in battle worried her. She could not trust her skill as a fighter, if she began searching the faces of her foes for traces of Alonder and herself. What if doubt made her hesitate to deal a death blow?

"The warrior who cannot kill does not live," was a proverb oft repeated around campfires. Bracer believed it enough to feel driven to locate her son.

She imagined she'd find him safely tucked away in the merchant trade of Alonder's family. Once reality set her dark fantasies to rest, she would have resumed her life as a mercenary soldier. But now?

Her son was dead. She no longer needed to fear meeting him in battle. Yet she felt reluctant to return to soldiering. There were other ways to earn money with a sword. Perhaps she could become a caravan escort, or a bodyguard. Maybe she should return to the wetlands and train other girls at the fighting school where she had learned warfare.

What I really want to do is find a way to make up for taking my own son's life, she admitted. But she did not understand why she felt so guilty. And why am I staying here? she wondered, knowing that another meeting with Alonder would only bring more anguish.

The practical side of Bracer began taking over. She should leave now. Staying to see Lon again was pure folly. He'd made his attitude toward mercenary swordswomen quite clear. If he discovered who she was, his reaction would only add to the guilt she already felt. More than that, if he should guess that she had killed his son, Alonder was in a position to have her swiftly executed.

Death was not the method she'd choose to redeem herself. But, she felt drawn to Alonder. While his family had mistreated her, he had been only kind and loving. If his service to Shasteral had not kept him away so much of the time, Arista would not have needed to run away.

Still, she argued to herself, abiding here could never have been as satisfying as her life of adventure. Yet she wondered what might have happened if her husband had found her later, and had been willing to let her be both soldier and wife. Perhaps then she could have enjoyed being a mother.

Seeing Lon after so many years confirmed one thing. She had loved him. Even now, she wanted to hold and comfort him. Tears started to film her eyes again, but she wiped them quickly away with the sleeve of her dress. The rough material made her stop and stare down at the coarse, ugly garment.

Why am I still in rags? she wondered. Lon knows I'm a swordswoman. If I am going to face him again, I might as well look the part.

In order to disguise herself, she'd used black root pulp to cover the few reddish glints still in her hair. As her gray hair resisted the dye, most of it still showed. That seemed appropriate for an old peasant, and would fit, as well, the aging mercenary she intended to portray now.

But what identity could she use? Alonder would want a name, possibly more. Never a facile liar, Bracer was not sure she could stand up to close questioning. She needed a complete identity to replace her own; a new birthplace, parents, history. Who had she known intimately enough to have picked up all those tidbits of past life?

Kinsa, of course! Bracer felt comforted by the memory of her not so long dead companion. It would be nice to be teamed with Kinsa again, if only in spirit. They had been traveling companions, swordmates and lovers for almost seven years. Nothing but death could have come between them. They had shared each other's secrets and dreams, joys and sorrows. Bracer would have no difficulty portraying her old friend.

Tomorrow, she told herself, Kinsa the swordswoman will appear before Lord Alonder, Chancellor of Bacaria. She pictured the meeting in her mind. Perhaps he would let Kinsa comfort him. Just as you would comfort me if you were here.

She closed her eyes, hoping to evoke a sense of her old companion's presence. Instead she found herself recalling their last moments together. Did all my luck leave with you? Bracer wondered. Or was my betrayal of you what brought this curse upon me?