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Author Topic: Baby Blue-eyes  (Read 641 times)


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Baby Blue-eyes
« on: October 20, 2008, 11:50:44 PM »


No answer. Estera Brezeanu wiped her flour covered hands on her apron. She was short of blueberries for her pie, and so she sent her husband out to fetch a bowl. What could be taking him so long, surely that was the door she heard.

"Mihail?" She called again as she turned down the hall and looked to the shadowed figure in the door. "Mihail?" But it was not Mihail, the mans stature too large and muscular to be her husband. She paled, backing away from the towering man as he began stalking towards her. Ridden with fear she turned to run but he was too fast as he caught her in the kitchen reaching for her butcher knife. He grabbed her as she slapped his face, ripping his kercheif away. "Outlander! Brigand! HELP!" She cried out, staring into eyes of blue as he pressed her against the wall. She could feel his heated breath upon her and at last could smell the coppery aroma of blood that smeared her dress and apron as his hands explored her figure. She bit his hand as he tried to caress her cheek, his backhand so forceful her sight left her. He had knocked her out cold.

She woke. Crumpled on the floor, sore and bruised. She wept as she crawled across the floor to the door, managing at last to get to her feet she made her way outside where her husband should have been picking berries. She stumbled about, tears streaming as she knew full well what the fate of her beloved would be, and it was there she found him laying near a bowl of overturned berries, his neck snapped. She dropped to his side, crying over his fallen form throughout the day.

Weeks passed, her husband only having been buried so recently. Her courses had not come, and she knew well enough what that meant. A midwife of Hala, she was aware she was with child, but whose? She could not bear to risk being rid of it, and the child having been Mihail's and all she had left of him, and yet could she bear the child of another man if it was not Mihails? She sought the wisdom of her mentor, who advised her that is was not the fault of the child and it is not the child that should suffer death before knowing life no matter who it belonged to. Estera knew she was right, but with such heartache her thoughts were less than clear.

Seven years later

Marika was a gentle child born to Estara, and though she bore her barovian heritage, her eyes are what revealed who her father was. It pained Estara, but despite those eyes she could love her child no less, as the child was a part of her. She knew Marika would struggle amongst her people with those eyes, but she would teach her daughter to persevere and never give up. And struggle she did, as she was given the gift of literation by the Hala priestesses it was the children within Zeidenburg that caused her struggle. The girls ostracized her, and the boys bullied her. Yet throughout her teachings she learned to take their pokes with a grain of salt. It made her stronger, though it also made her withdrawn and what others construed as shy. Yet it was not that she was shy, merely had nothing worthwhile to say to those who looked down their noses at her.

Estera told her nothing of her conception, nor did she ever mention why her eyes were the color of the sea other than she was blessed by Hala. Her father. The story, was simple to tell her curious child. He fell defending their home against the brigands that sought to steal from their farmstead. Chasing them off, though taking a mortal wound.

Marika was proud of her father, even never having known him. She took it upon herself to begin training in her back yard. Striking at the old tree with a sharpened branch. When caught by her mother one day and asked what in Barovia she was doing her only response was, "With papa dead, we've no one to protect us. I'll make him proud, and I'll keep us safe!" Her mother smiled, and simply shook her head bidding her child inside before the night fell.

Twelve Years later

Times were hard for her, but as she grew stronger, her mother grew weaker with age. Between the brigands and the rebels, times were hard. And so she took to working for the local blacksmith. At first it was cleaning the tools, then lead to polishing the finished work before it was delivered. She came to trust the man who treated her like a daughter, his own having been killed by the rebels in one of their many battles. He taught her the art of swordsmanship, both simple and exotic and eventually began teaching her the trade, though she did not quite grasp it she listened attentively just the same to please him. But lessons were cut short when the bells began to ring, and the alarms sounded. The market was under attack again.

"Mother!" She began to race off when Stefan grabbed her. "Wait!" He pulled a suit of armor he made especially for her and helped her don it, then handed her a sword and shield. Together they made their way to aid the Boyars against the assault. So many casualties already, both barovian and gundar. Marika looked around in a panic for her mother only to find her crumpled on the ground.


She rushed forward, not hearing Stefan calling out to her, nor seeing the gundar coming at her flank. He rushed forward, but something stopped him from reaching the blue-eyed barovian. Stefan. The gundar found the weak spot, and he took a fatal wound protecting her. She turned her head slowly from her mother, to the man who saved her.


She rose slowly, swinging her blade upwards in rage severing the gundarakites head from its body. The body dropped, twitching and with it, stefan crumpled to the ground. She kneeled cradling his head in her lap as he looked up at her, with clouded eyes.

"That's my girl. You showed him da?"

He died in her arms, she wept twice that day as she saw to both her mother and stefans burial. Both buried beside her father, she gathered only what she needed for defense. She sold the horses to the Burgomaster, as well as her farm and began her journey east.

"Maireann croi eadrom i bhfad"