My First Ever Arsenal
1421 Words
The following weeks precede like autumn leaves drying off the branches of aging trees.
Slouching air and orange skies make the atmosphere in Porma unprecedentedly dry and warm.
And the sight of the yellow forests makes me miss the rain.
To be forward, I'm planning on finding my feet outside the crystalline floors of Porma, sooner than I thought I would be wanting back into the outside territory.
I have put the world of Wecksling, my town, on the stake of a weighing scale, somewhere between love and hate.
Because in it, there are fewer places for someone like me, than there would be around the wastelands for stray dogs.
To look the part of a locality to which I'm about to venture into, I cover myself in knee-boots, a blue coat and wear a scurry scarf around my tied-up locks.
The hard sound of my steps descending the back gates of the castle's wedged path trails into silence, when my feet are on the soft ground of leaves.
I'm adventuring.
I head left to the stables and after gently caressing my horse on the muzzle, I take him into the forest.
The Sun hits the side of my cheek, warming down to the bone of my teeth. I ride out of the woods and arrive on the clearing with a sense of purpose for today's adventure.
The bunting grinds appear slightly through the tears covering the only biggest marketplace in Wecksling in airing flags of blue and black.
The only woman meandering among throngs of men, thugs, fugitives with their slaves in submissive pursue behind them is me.
But I'm wiser than let that be obvious or discovered.
My mind recalls how i had to oxidise my makeup and make my eyebrows and eyes look rouge with kohl and brushing to become like a man.
And the boots of the servants which I stole on my way over from the castle's infirmary.
I enter into the darkness of a barber's shop, the bare illumination here is just a big burning candle placed on the floor. I steal a glance at my appearance in one of the mirrors on the wall before deciding to step into the Sun.
And take the exit to the market's backside through the other door in the shop.
Gladly, no one in the shop paid me attention to have inquired if I was inside for service.
I take the road up from here, the slope hardens and flexes the muscles of my legs as I guise my walk to be like the men's climbing up the road beside me with little to no preamble.
The upwards slope ends where the house, my destination, appears.
Nothing covers the entrance of the brick cube where lives the seamstress, the only lady I know to exist, except for a teetered, dirty rag of cloth flying from the pace of wind.
I sigh and take my mask off as I enter.
"Hi there, Marsha." I say distinctly.
Passing a quick look at the dresses and heels hanging by the hooks.
She smirks knowingly before resuming her patchwork of laces and ribbons.
"You are getting good at this." She says, noticing my made-up demeanour.
"At being unladylike? Anyways, I need to buy some things for the ball coming up." I say, wearing off the jetlag it earned me to walk up to her parlour, hidden inside a block brick-walls and torn clothes to make it seem like anything but a dress shop.
"Take whatever you like, I don't need any money from you. I'd be happy to serve the only woman I know besides myself. Surprised, although, I am to see you untouched from the beasts. Only God knows what would happen if they knew there had been a girl among them, right among them." She says exhaustively.
The only dresses I have at Porma are from the fancy collection that my father gets customised for me, following suit in advise and in the opinion of the male tailors at the castle.
None of which I truly comprehend to be to my own liking.
"Marsha. If I ever paid my gratitude for your existence, I don't think even you'd understand how much it means for me." I say softly.
I hesitate before resuming, "But please. This is the only time I'm begging you. Please, let me help you, you can stay at the castle, you are not safe here in the outside. And this place-" the foul stench of urine and weed fill my nostrils.
"This is not the livelihood for you, Marsha. Please, let me secure this for you. It's the least for me in doing something for you." I plead.
She looks up from the cold floor, her gaze wet with a determination even I don't know in myself.
"This is home, Princess. My home." Her voice cracks.
Enough to silence me.
I pick out several shaffon dresses, skirts and trousers from the collection Marsha has tailored.
"Do you like these? I thought these were not going to suite you very much." She says, seeing what I've chosen.
"Glamour is not what I want. You have no idea how comfortable all this is."
She smiles.
As Marsha busies again in her work, I take the window of opportunity to quickly tie a pouch of gold coins on one of her newest dresses.
Something she knows I'll never stop doing, but also something we never talk about.
As I return close to the back gates of Porma, I carry down the dresses with me as I unsaddle.
The several guards that supervise the back gates are conversing around gardenia bushes.
Back in the bejeweled confines of my chamber, I hang each dress with a sigh of relief.
Then a knock on the double doors calls my attention.
"Come in." I close the wardrobe.
As I turn to face the servant looking in horror at me, I realize I'm still in the same clothes in which I went out.
"Uhm. Yes?" I ask assertively.
"Oh, yes. Your grace, there's a present for you." He says.
"So is there one everyday." I say exhaustively.
"The matter of it is that this comes from the reference of a special friend of yours." He says with suppressed suspicion and bows.
The doors shut as I look at the present wrapped in a clothe that is tied by a ribbon.
I walk towards it and unclothe the wrapping.
"A silverblade..." I bristle.
When I lift to read the sender reference, my breath is stopped.
*A present for the high lady, Riya.
From an old friend
The Seeivs
...
I step up the altar towards Father's throne as he sits, sipping on his favored grape tea.
I bow on my waist and step up the last level onto his dais as I crouch on the floor.
My gown pools around me as I look up at him.
"Why are you on the ground? Come here, sit beside me." He says gruffly.
"Can I ask for something?"
"Whatever you wish so. Is everything fine, Riya?" He asks more solemnly.
I smile, loving the familiar warmth rolling off of him.
"Father. You know I never had anything to ask from you until now. And I know I'm not much about objects either. Material and luxury were never on my list. Just like mother... but I want something from you, now. The only thing I will ever want from you in my life."
Father stands up and lifts me from the floor, he places a hand on my blush-pecked cheek and looks deep into my eyes.
"I want you to build something. An arsenal of my own weapons. And I'll need a trainer. I want to learn how to defend myself." I say.
Father furrows with tight lines of distaste before he catches the look of seriousness on my face and in my undertone.
He nods slowly.
And my heart practically jumps.
"Then Riya, an arsenal it is." He quickly places a peck on my hand and pats it with his own.
"Oh my god! I love you." I cry, covering my mouth.
He laughs.
"The first ever thing you could ask for could have been anything. But If an arsenal is your wish, then as commanded." He says and returns on his throne, Father's long cape cascades behind him on the shining levels of the dais.
And tears are covering my cheeks.
Knowing I will have my own weaponry.
But even so, I have to return the blade.
- Writer
