To be a hero

When at last the Nathrendi Empire was overthrown, the victorious Queen of All Heavens called a grand audience.

All the mightiest heroes of the rebellion-knights and Word-Scribers and generals-gathered to hear her words.

“I have need of champions to guide us into this new era,” she said.

The assembled crowd enthusiastically agreed, for each and every one of them knew they were the worthiest of all.

“Go seek the lost tomb of my mother,” the Queen declared. “There you will receive a vision. Those who return and tell me what they saw will become my closest companions.”

The room was emptied at once, all eager to receive what was surely their inevitable reward.

Five years later, only six people returned. To the disbelief of the court, none were legends of the rebellion, nor song-fabled adventurers.

Instead, six young girls knelt before the Queen of All Heavens.

“Tell me, then, what did you see at my mother’s tomb?” The Queen asked, over the doubts and accusations of her advisors.

“I saw a family surrounded by a field of flowers, happy and content.” said the first, an elf of golden hair and noble poise.

“Then you shall be my Chrysanthemum Valkyrie, first and foremost of my companions,” the Queen responded.

“I saw the mother reading ancient tome, filled with knowledge of old,” said the second, a fae girl whose eyes were filled with curiosity.

“Then you shall be my Aster Valkyrie, seeker of all that which is lost,” the Queen responded.

“I saw the father shining a lantern at the tree-line, keeping the darkness away from the rest,” said the third, a draicos whose skin and scales burned with power.

“Then you shall be my Peony Valkyrie, defender of the defenseless,” the Queen responded.

“I saw the sons tending to a broken shrine, skillful and devoted,” said the fourth, a dwarf of calm and careful words.

“Then you shall be my Verbena Valkyrie, shepherd of all who have faith,” the Queen responded.

“I saw the daughter caring for a wounded animal, healing all its wounds,” said the fifth, a beastfolk girl whose beauty was exceeded only by her kindness.

“Then you shall be my Cherry Blossom Valkyrie, keeper of my people’s health,” the Queen responded.

All eyes turned to the sixth and final girl, but she said nothing. Indeed, she had hardly made any sound at all. She was human, as plain as any, and badly out of place in the Queen’s court.

Only after a long silence did she finally speak.

“My Queen, I saw the field burn.”

-From The Song of Flowers

Being a hero was terribly difficult work, and there was always more of it. It was something that required constant attention. There were all the necessary personal deeds, certainly: saving lives, caring for the weak, and so on. But any would-be hero quickly learned that this was the least of it. Far more taxing and important was maintaining one’s image as a hero. Anyone could fight off a thief, or throw a few coins to a starving child. Those were merely good people. A hero did far greater things without hesitation and, crucially, did even more the next day. To stop the work, to let others see you pass up the chance to help even one person, was to invite doubt. People forgot their heroes quickly, and had little love for those who failed their expectations. Countless were those who aspired to greatness and had lost everything for it.

It was fortunate, then, that Ashreida Solace was very good at being a hero. Some called her a thief, but she was so much more than that. “Thieves” were selfish blights on society who took other people’s things for the sake of the briefest satisfaction. What Ash did was give luckless people something they could never have otherwise: hope. She gave them a home, a purpose, and the protection of numbers. In return, all she asked was that they compensate her a little bit for her troubles. How the people under her care got that compensation was none of her concern.

At only sixteen, Ash had established her heroism with remarkable speed. While the downtrodden and destitute had a reputation for being vicious, untrustworthy, loners, Ash had discovered that most were more than happy to at least pretend to work together if it meant that their next meal was more secure. The majority of Ash’s people would not have survived the streets on their own. Though many were still more than a little surly and standoffish, Ash knew all were grateful for what she had done. For Ash’s role was far more than mere figurehead: it was she who organized people, she who knew best where the spoils were and the guards weren’t. She was always willing to lend an ear, or a word of advice. There would always be those who grumbled about such a young girl being in charge but, so long as the voices in her support were louder, they were only noise. Ash had carved out her little corner of the underworld by doing her best to keep her people safe and fed, and it was in everyone’s best interests for that arrangement to continue.

Which made it especially problematic that one of her people had just presented her with a person they had kidnapped.

Ash reclined across her “throne”-a large green leather armchair that had not legally belonged to anyone for quite some time-hoping that a sufficiently deep scowl could buy her enough time to figure out how she was supposed to deal with this catastrophe. If Carvus-because of course it was Carvus-was at all effected by Ash’s theatrics, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stood before Ash in the debris strewn room that served as a meeting room for the gang, congratulating and being congratulated by his two cronies whose names Ash could never remember.

The problem at hand lay at Carvus’ feet, tied up enthusiastically but clumsily. Though the person wore a full body, black cloak that was probably worth more than everything else in the room combined, the hood had fallen back at some point, giving Ash a clear view of the person within, and a clear sense of just how trouble she was in. It was a young human girl, no older than Ash, though that was where the similarities ended. Where Ash had a mess of short, pale hair atop a small head which in turn topped a similarly undersized body clothed in the finest tattered leftovers, the captured girl was tall, with ebon hair long enough to disappear behind her cloak. Everything about her, from her fancy cloak to the luster of hair to the simple fact that her light brown skin was clean, screamed that she had lived a life where she had wanted for nothing. The image of her lying in a room of bare, cracked stone was almost hilarious in the contrast. Ash immediately decided she wasn’t local, because no one from the city and rich would be stupid enough to go somewhere where they could get kidnapped by two-bit thugs.

The most striking thing, however, was that the girl was completely calm. No panic, no screaming for help. She just lay on the floor silently, ice-blue eyes taking in her surroundings. Most likely, she too knew what Ash did: while petty theft typically went overlooked, kidnapping was the kind of crime that got the authority’s attention, and usually got the perpetrators dead in short order.

But then Ash was out of time, because Carvus was saying something.

“…and this is what real money looks like. No more skulking around the gutters, grabbing handfuls of coin. We’re big time, now.”

Carvus was a large man, covered in muscle and cruelty built on a lifetime of feeding on anyone weaker than him. He spoke with total confidence, as if he was accusing Ash of something. There was no doubt that this was a play for her position.

“We’ll only be ‘big time’ until the guards storm in here and kill everyone,” Ash snapped, as forcefully as she could. “There’s a reason I tell everyone to be careful, and not to get in to anything too deep. We are small time! That’s how we stay safe. We don’t do ransom!”

“No, you don’t do ransom, girl.” Carvus stepped forward. Ash struggled to stay calm as he closed in on her. From the way his cronies were grinning, they and Carvus smelled blood. It was no secret that they chafed against the loose rules that Ash had imposed to keep the gang out of sight and this, evidently, was the chance to turn things more to their likings they had been waiting for.

“I get it,” Carvus said, voice all mocking compassion. “You’re scared. Of course you are. You’re such a young, little thing. You don’t have the guts to get out there and take what should be yours.”

If Carvus was counting on his size to cow Ash, he was mistaken. Fear just made her fight harder. It was what had gotten her this far. She jumped out of her chair and walked right up to Carvus, and stared straight up at his eyes.

“Fine. Let’s do this. What’s your plan, exactly? Just walk around town, asking if anyone wants to pay for some rich girl? Do you even know who she is? And what’s next? Even if you do find her family or whatever, and even if you can make they give you whatever you think a lot of money is, do you really think they won’t just go straight to the guards the second you’re gone? You’d be on the gallows by the end of the day!”

This got Carvus to pause. Whatever his strengths were, thinking ahead wasn’t one of them. Braggart he may be, he had no desire to deal with people who could fight back. He shuffled back to his cronies, and they discussed amongst themselves for a moment. Just when Ash dared to think the immediate crisis might be averted, the big man turned back to her.

“Fine, we’ll get rid of her,” he snarled. “Happy?”

He stepped over to the tied-up girl, pulling a crude knife from his belt. He was above the girl in a second, weapon raised. Ash didn’t have the chance to protest.

That whole time, the captured girl had been still. But as Carvus’ hand fell, she did something under her cloak that suggested she was not particularly restrained. With no warning at all, Carvus flew upwards and slammed into the ceiling with a crack that was not entirely the wood. Then, implausibly, he stayed there, pinned to the ceiling by nothing and yet unable to do anything but groan in pain. His knife clattered to the floor.

As Ash and Carvus’ cronies stared in mute shock, the girl at last moved. The rope fell into a loose pile as she stood. She straightened her cloak and brushed off the dust with no acknowledgement of anyone or anything around her.

But as she did so, Ash caught a glimpse of what was underneath the cloak, and the blood drained from her face. The girl was wearing some kind of armor, but the only thing that mattered was flower design embossed on the chestplate. That made things easier, Ash supposed. They didn’t have to wait for the guards to find them: everyone in her gang was already dead. She looked at Carvus’ cronies.

“You morons kidnapped a freaking Valkyrie?”