Brione had never looked up to the ceiling of the little house. Not that she recalled, at least. She remembered lying next to the window, in her childhood, and watching the moonlight trespassing its cracks, touching her skin. However, she had not even a distant memory of looking up to the dark and old boards that were there, making abstracts patterns.
That day, nonetheless, she was facing the ceiling. It was the only thing she had to hold on to. She was trying hard to focus in any imaginary point that could give her some comfort.
"Push, milady!" the old woman's voice sounded on her ears and she cried.
Pushing was all she had been doing for almost three hours. Three hours of unstoppable pain, where she could feel like her bones were breaking and her center was tearing apart.
When she arrived at her childhood village, Brione was surprised by the good news that there was still survivors from the Mashians passage there. The men under Iran of Masha had spared the elders. And it was exactly a woman with snowy white hair that was helping her bring her child to this world.
Suddenly, a contraction helped her and she arched her body. Finally, the relief. She faced the old woman, who gave the baby a soft slap. The loud cry of the child made the queen smile, but it died on her face as soon as she faced the woman.
"It's an unclean," she sounded scared. "An unclean redhead," she repeated, pitifully.
Brione felt her heart bleeding. She had held to the hope, even if it was just a small one, that her child would be born a pure cashean, for Lugus had subjected her a few days before Iran.
She looked at the old woman again, stretching her arms. She suddenly noticed her fearful gaze.
"It's a girl."
Brione let her arms fall, exhausted, over the bed. Soon her back were sliding, while an uncontrolled cry escaped her throat, making her sob loudly.
By Cashel! A girl! What a terrible fate! A man, no matter how unclean he could be, had still some hopes to protect himself. But, a woman… A girl? What would her destiny be? Rape? Abuse? Harassment?
A white woman with red hair in a land of black people who hated the other race.
"We should kill her, milady," the old woman advised her. "Killing her would be the most merciful thing to do, right now."
Brione raised her eyes. She saw the little White legs moving while she was crying. That little being, searching for something, was so helpless in front of all the horrors that waited for her.
"Give me my daughter," she asked.
The old woman gave her the baby. The contrast between the fair skin against her dark breast made Brione smile. The girl, feeling the touch of her mom, instinctively searched for her breasts. As long as her mouth captured a nipple, the queen laughed.
"I went against a king for this child. I won't give up on her."
A truth that she would carry with her until the end of her days.
***
"How should we name her?"
Brione faced her little Randu and smiled. In fact, even after three months of the little girl's birth, she didn't find the courage to name her.
How could she? She was so afraid of giving her love, even though, at the same time, she would hold her against her chest and caress the milky cheeks. It seemed like a matter of days, hours… until life would take the baby away from her.
"I don't know" she replied. "How do you think we should call her?"
Randu looked at her, bemused. They were sat at the wooden table, in front of papers and old books. Brione had learned to read in the castle and made sure to teach it to his son. She managed to get some white papers and unused parchments in an abandoned house. The graffiti had been given to her by the same old woman who assisted in her daughter's labor.
"She has the eyes of the stone," he pointed to his sister. "How is it called?"
Brione had put the necklace in her daughter as soon as she was born. It was a living memory, a reminder of how much she fought to have her.
"Emerald."
"Then, mom" he smiled "this shall be her name!"
The woman smile in face of his excitement.
All of a sudden, a sound outside the house got her attentive. She searched for a dagger, the only protection she had, and ordered her son to get closer to the cradle.
"Who is there?" she yelled.
Hearing the panic in her voice, she scolded herself. She had learned with her father to handle a sword. However, there was no long blades there. Even then, she would fight as a lioness to defend her offspring.
"I'm a traveler, milady," the man informed her. I'm looking for a place to rest.
She opened the door, slowly, and noticed a lonely compatriot on the other side.
"Are you alone?"
"Since I came to this world," he laughed. "Would you please direct me to a barn?"
"There are no barns around. There are some abandoned houses ahead though, you can sleep in one of them," she advised him.
The man nodded. He was clearly not a threat. When he turned back, Brione noticed the hammer tied against his bag.
— Are you a blacksmith? —she questioned him, anxiously.
She recognized the instruments. It was his father job, after all.
"I'm the better swordsmith in the whole kingdom," he bragged.
Her eyes sparkled.
"Are you married?"
"No, milady."
"Do you need a woman?"
She was so straightforward the man's eyes widened, in surprise.
"I'm so sorry, milady. You're the most beautiful woman that ever crossed my path, but I'm just a..."
"I'm not looking for marriage. I'm wondering if you need a woman to relieve yourself."
A sinful agony spread through the man's body.
"Well..."
"The only thing is you can't cum inside me." She pointed to the cradle, taking advantage of the blanket that was covering the color of the girl. I have already two kids. I cannot afford another, for I won't have how to support them.
The man nodded, understandingly.
"Make two swords and bring them to me. One for a man and the other slightly lighter, to be handled by a woman. After that, I will give you a prize."
With no further ado, she closed the door.
***
Brione knew the creation process was long and difficult; much more without an anvil ―there was none in the village. However, three days after, the man appeared right in front of her eyes.
She held the swords in her hands, watching them one by one, noticing every detail, mesmerized by such a good job.
"Randu," she called out her son, who was finishing harvesting the strawberries they had planted a while ago.
"Mom," he approached, with curious eyes.
"Go to the forest to look for raspberries. Bring me a lot."
"But isn't it too far," the child inquired, since the protective mother never let him get too far from her.
"There's no problem," she answered. "Return only when you have many with you."
While the boy was walking away, Brione entered the house with the man behind her.
***
The tinkling of the sword spread through their surroundings. Randu backed off while watching his mother advancing powerfully against him. It was different from the time he was just his father's pageboy and held the sword for the first time.
"You won't have the time to learn the beauty of the art, Randu," his mother insisted, as soon as he fell on the floor, hurting his bum. "You will need to become a man before the due time. I need you too much, my son; you have to protect your sister.
He stood up, nodding.
Once again, his mother went forward.
"To the right," she warned him. "Protect your right side. You project your body too much to the other side, but you never know where the attack may come from."
Once again, their swords were striking against each other.
Suddenly, his mother halted.
"Randu," her call made him look up at her, confused.
"Yes, mom?"
"Promise me you will always take care of her."
"I promise you, mom."
The answer was straight. Well, he loved his little sister, with her green eyes and hairs like fire.
"You will need to teach her to fight, Randu," she said, in a cold tone. "You have to learn the sword art. Even when you have nothing left to learn with me, you must practice every day and perfect yourself. Afterwards, you must teach your sister everything. Do you understand me, son?"
"Yes, mother."
The woman nodded, with tears in her eyes.
"Don't let them hurt her," she mumbled once again.
Then, they got back to the training.
***
Brione, the former Queen of Cashel, always knew she would die young. No, she was no pythoness, neither was she able to see the future. It was just a morbid sensation she had through her life, which got even stronger after her daughter was born.
Therefore, while she was fighting to breath, lying on her bed, taken by the intense cold that seemed to slice her bones and take off her oxygen, she slid her hands over the red curly hair of the one-and-a-half-year-old daughter, who was sat beside her mother.
"Drink it, mom."
Randu placed a bitter tea against her lips and she took it only to please him. He looked so mature, a man, despite his age.
"You promised me one day, my love..." she started, but was cut by a cough.
"I've made you many promises, mom," he laughed, trying to give her some joy.
"You might never abandon your sister!"
"I would never do this, mother. She is my blood. We came from the same womb.
Brione nodded.
"You deserved to be a king, my son," she mumbled. "However, you became something even better." She closed her eyes. "You are a worthy man."
Those were the last words she ever said.