Circle of Vengeance

"So. It is time then."

"I'm afraid so."

"Then let us leave. Our fates should be determined elsewhere."

***

A young lady is jolted from her slumber, her blue eyes wide and sparkling in the moonlight. Glistening lines of sweat trail down her fair skin as she pushes herself upright. She's had this nightmare before, many times. Still she is left breathless. Her words barely made a whisper as she called for her mother.

The door slid open and her mother moved silently across the wooden floor, avoiding the piles of clothes and worn looking books on sword fighting. Her long white nightgown clung to her fragile figure as she made her way to her daughter's side. She ran her fingers effortlessly through her daughter's auburn locks, brushing them back behind her tanned shoulders. "The nightmare again, Sica?" Her mother knew the answer.

Sica lost herself in the sigil on her mother's necklace while she considered the ever obvious question. She brushed the hand from her hair in annoyance. Her mother meant well and she knew it, but this was a nightly occurrence for the past decade. It was hard not to be annoyed.

"Of course Mama." Sica barely disguised her irritation. "I've always wondered how Papa could have lost. He was a great swordsman so I'm told."

Her mother's olive coloured eyes drifted with great sadness from Sica's face to beyond the window and into the moon's gaze. Sica noticed the change in her mother's demeanour and realised she still couldn't talk about it.

"Never mind," Sica said, reaching out to her mother's shoulder. "I will avenge Papa, this I promise you." She gave her mother a reassuring hug and relaxed back to her pillow.

Her mother shuddered slightly as she pulled the bed sheets up to her daughter's chin. She had prayed this day would never come.

***

Sica awoke the next morning to the sun, as if its rays had been poured upon her like a bucket of water. Oh no! She thought, I'm late again!

Bursting from the sheets, still slightly damp from the nightmare, Sica rushed around the room fighting everything in her path. She wrestled off her nightshirt while trying to select another from a messy pile beside a stack of books in the corner. Her eyes searched for her sword while her hands forced a pair of weathered pants over her undergarments. She thrust her feet into a pair of worn looking shoes and then nearly strangled the life from them with the laces. Tying her hair back with a dirty old string, she finally spied the hilt of her sword sticking out from beneath her bed.

Sica rushed toward the front door but slowed as she heard her mother talking with someone outside. They were speaking almost in whispers.

"...you'll use it then?" Her mother finished her sentence with great concern, but Sica struggled to even hear that much.

"I must." The voice was familiar, thus piquing her curiosity. Sica lent close enough to the window to see who it could be. Her mother stood close to a short but sturdily built man with a sword at his hip. His grey training garb looked worn and dirty not unlike his short hair and grizzled beard. Her mentor, Jason, was already waiting.