Power of three

Lucrezia Iunia Bruta; Somewhere; Possibly around the tenth month; building the shrine

“So, young Luce, strike that point.” The nana-Ingrid ordered, pointing at a point slightly on the right of the center.

I turned towards the other person with a risen brow, at the overly familiar shortening of my own name.

“I…isn’t this overly familiar?” I was able to whisper out, my voice showing my own reluctance.

I had already started using their names, going over that…

“It’s useless, do not try to make her use your full name. I tried.” The peregrino-Victor, he who wins, shook his head at the impossible situation, and then continued to speak to the spirits, who had already made the cracks I made shallower, and the stone, which was already white, almost luminous.

I turned back towards the-towards Ingrid, who had a wide smile, her green eyes smiling alongside her mouth.

Impishlly.

“You will always have this kind of behaviour, will you not?” I asked drily, my voice trying to sound as my mother sounded.

She always was good at making me feel how disappointed she was, so it was a good tone.

Only that this small daemon, not a nana, simply answered with the same smirk and with a “Yep!”, making my lips and eye twitch, a certain sense of deep annoyance rising up from my guts.

“As I said;” The medicus spoke up from beside me, his tone not giving me much hope in this instance: “she has been using Vic since I knew her. Just let it go, and start doing as she said. The spirits are already starting to be annoyed.”

I definitely did not huff, and I definitely did not puff out, my breath coming out in a small white cloud.

“So, as you understood resistance if useless, punch where I did point if you please, your holiness.” the nana said, her impish behaviour not abating in the slightest, and so, without a word to not give her any satisfaction I punched.

And the rock gave way, without cracking where I didn’t want it to crack, and without bleeding or hurting my knuckles overly much.

Ingrid clapped her hands, overjoyed by such a simple action, then, after staring at the rock, showed yet another weak point, my blessings burning at the trial in front of me.

Trial that I half wished to continue, half dreaded to fail again, seeing the cracks and the failings of my previous actions.

I would not fail this time.

So I punched again.

Ingrid, the nana, marked yet another point.

I punched.

Point.

Punch.

Point.

Punch.

I didn’t feel the pain of the rock, the medicus doing his own part of the project as well as he could, while also watching without fail that my own body did not betray me in this crucial point.

Ingrid, on her part, continued to smile, and chuckle, and point. If I had been older, or more prideful, I would have been angered by her behaviour, but somehow I found it…endearing.

Maybe it was the medicus own sour and brutal words, which I had been used to. The Peregrino did not have much courtesy, which was useful to be completely understood, even if lacking to the normal Citizen.

I am sure Cato would not have been endeared by such behaviour, like I was not, by half.

But I continued to punch, the dourness of the medicus helping temper the eagerness of the small huntress.

After ten punches, I could see that the rock was giving way, steadily and without giving much problems this time.

After twenty, a small hole was made, the rock giving way in front of steady strength, knowingly used by the small huntress, and weakened by the dour medicus.

I could see my own idea taking form, not majestic but sincere, nor great but a first step.

It was not a great temple like in the Urbe, nor was it one of the great works in the Magna Grecia, but it was mine.

Mine with their help, and while one part would still feel somewhat the sting of being lesser than what my family was, and another part would feel the pride stinging my own soul, my own being, for not being as high as my great ancestors, who would have been able to do this without feeling the sting of failure..

A bigger part was feeling elation.

We were creating this, our own knowledge and abilities in concert, as my ancestors did, both plebians and patritians working for the wellbeing of the Urbe.

And I, as one who was the descendant of the first consul, was creating this.

Maybe my mother would look down to this as crude.

Maybe my fellows would look at this and feel shame for me.

But I did not, could not, and simply continued to do the work as Ingrid, the nana, and my own punches gave away the rock weakened.

I was no longer the noble of the Urbe, I was simply Lucrezia.

And so, after thirty or so punches, the alcove was ready, in its rough beauty, waiting for the offerings and the statues.

I did not have the second, for which I felt shame, but the first was gratuitously offered by the medicus, incense and pine and olive and all connected with religion and immortality.

After this, I would chisel them from that very wood.

After this, I would give the gods, even if they were unable to hear my praise and prayers, an home even in this far off land.

“So, what are you waiting for?” the huntress, the nana, Ingrid asked, tilting her head and curiously waiting, while the medicus, the peregrino, Victor waited with a candle in his hand.

So, with a calming breath, with my heart beating like a wardrum due to my own failings, I took the candle and lighted up the incense, placing it in the alcove in offering to the ancestors and to the gods.

Then, I took a breath, to start my own offering in voice.

Only that, without any kind of forewarning, the altar lighted up, so much that I had to shield my eyes from it.

It seems that the gods had something to say, to me or to the world was still to be known.

But, considering future event, it was probably to the world itself, a challenge maybe, or maybe an insult for not knowing them.

In any case, the only thing I saw was light, a feeling of home, and not much more.