For Her

Women did not fight. The sentence that she was scolded with her entire life. Even now it still didn’t make sense to her. Her whole life she fought. Hands had been bruised, torn and scratched from being pushed down to the ground multiple times for standing up for herself, the crack of her head hitting the dirt when she was shoved would be in her memories permanently. In the beginning she had fought for her mother, when her father, the town drunk, would take his anger out on his wife. The small little girl running up to her own father screaming, kicking, and hitting had tears in her eyes her father failed to notice before he grabbed the child’s arm, throwing her across the room. Her mother while screaming and making an effort to get to the child was hit in the face multiple times.
She was nine years old when her mother was found dead from multiple head wounds inflicted by her husband.
“You would think she would try to defend herself in some sort of way. Correct?” The girl looked at the man who spoke, his words finding a place in her memory where they would last forever. Two men were carrying away her father, who was in hysterics from realizing what he did.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” another man said, “Women don’t fight.”
Five years later she still clung to those words, wanting, needing to prove them wrong. Those men were warriors. Men gifted with skills and knowledge on how to fight. Only few were chosen, at the age of fourteen boys were taken from homes, orphanages, even off the street, to have a chance to serve the nation where they were born, to serve the upper class, and to serve their king.
Her brown orbs skimmed the words and pictures of the book she held in her hands. It was a children’s book, a book only smaller children would normally look at when they began the process of reading. Her eyes had been staring at it for months, as she slowly taught herself how to read.
“What be this?” The book was torn out of her hands, bewilderment had caked her face as she took in what had just happened. An older, slim boy with dark hair looked down at her and grinned with the book in his hand. “What reason would you need for looking at this over and over again?” Her gaze at him was strong and bold, she refused to answer him, this was not the boys first time attempting to get under her skin. But this time, he was doing a decent job. “Not speaking? Have you grown shy?” His voice alone was enough to irritate her, It was deep but raspy, with a slight lisp to go with it. A smirk grew on his face when he noticed the girl’s increasing anger. His hand grabbed her chin when she looked down at the book in his hand. He wanted her attention and chose the worst way to do it, his wrist was broken before he even had a chance to pull his hand away.
She was quick and took his hand and rolled, keeping a tight grip. He was on the ground, his hand crooked and tears streaming down his face.
“Don’t you ever put a hand on me again,” her voice was raspy from lack of speaking but was loud and firm enough for even the boy on the ground in pain to understand.
“Pathetic,” the voice was sudden, sudden enough for her to let go of the boy’s hand and stand up, “You would think a boy two heads taller than her would win, disappointing you are.”
“Warriors,” her whisper never did catch the attention of the two men in front of them, they were already looking for stronger males at the orphanage where she was. The boy sprung up and fled inside to where one of the women would calm him down and treat his wound. She would have to agree with the men, truly pathetic.
“I see no potential here,” the man stated it with slight disappointment, “His royal highness will be displeased.”
“Wait!” Her voice made both heads turn around, her hands, now even in fists were shaking, “Take me with you, I shall be no disappointment to his highness.”
“Child are you mad? Or perhaps confused?”
“Only young men are taken to be warriors,” both men spoke right after another, staring down the girl.
“I am neither, I only ask for a chance.”
“Women don’t fig-”
“You just witnessed me break that boys wrist, I can fight.”
“I witnessed a weakling getting what he deserved. You have not anything it takes to be a warrior.”
“That’s not the truth. I’m stronger than most girls, I have more bravery than any child here, male or female.”
“Bravery? You believe that is what it will take to become one of the king's most valued part of an army?”
“Not at all. But I’m truthful when I say that I am brave enough to speak to you and ask for a chance, even brave enough to do whatever it takes to become a warrior. All I ask for is a chance.” One of the two men knelt down making eye contact with the girl. He searched her face then looking for something, what it was, the girl didn’t know.
“Look at her build. She be truthful when she said she was stronger than other girls,” He said.
“What would it matter? She still be a girl, women are not warriors.”
“How shocked would an attacker be though? Seeing his opponent as a woman would be a shock and a great tactic towards victory.”
“You’re mad,” the taller of the two said, his voice thick with disbelief, “His highness will not be pleased, but angered.”
“Or he’ll think it’s brilliant,” the other replied a smile on his face, “Come with us.”

She walked five miles, well practically jogged, keeping up on foot with the men on their horses. They gave her water when they arrived at the outside of the palace.
“We shall meet his highness right away, you best pray he listens to this nonsense.”
“He shall want answers, he will listen,” although determined, there was a slight wave of anxiety in the man’s voice, which lowered the girls hope.
The doors lowered, their chains, metal on metal producing sound that was heard until a loud thud silenced it. Both men, after giving their horses to the stable boy, proceeded into the palace, where the king would be sitting, waiting for his new arrivals. The bricks on the walls were the only thing she would look to besides the feet of the men she followed, it was a long path which was dark and gloomy which reflected the child’s nerves as her feet strolled along.
“You have returned! I am glad.” His eyes were soft, filled with wisdom. The slight smile on his face was the small spark that lit up the room. His beard was long enough to cover the middle of his chest and slightly cover the cross he wore. His smile faded when the child was visible to him. His voice dropped an octave in confusion, “What be that?”
“A child my lord, to serve you,” One of the two men spoke, his confident tone replaced by one with uncertainty.
“I have enough servants. You were out for new warriors, were you not?”
“We witnessed this one break a boy’s wrist two heads taller than she, we both were impress-”
“Are either of you two blind? Or am I perhaps? I see a female child in front of me. Am I wrong?” His tone was cold and his once soft eyes had grown hard. There was a single pause before one of the men spoke again.
“Imagine the confusion of an enemy my lord, would you not be slightly stunned if it be a woman fighting against you? I stand by myself when I believe and say it's a strong strategy.”
“While I agree, what if she doesn’t have a warrior in her? I don’t feel the need to waste my time if she will die soon anyway.”
“I have tried since my mother died to prove all who said that wrong,” she spoke for the first time in hours, her tone as confident as her kings, “I begged these two for a chance to not only prove myself, but to serve you and be one of the best warrior's you have. They have blessed me with that. But I be honest when I say I will do whatever it takes to be one.”
“I’ve heard many words out of many people,” He spoke completely different, his tone shifted back to one with slight laughter and a hint of a smile, “But you, be the only one that I have seen with the most passion. I have an Idea, something for you. But first I want your history. What would make you want to become this,” he gestured to the men on her right, “What makes you, you?”
“I was born into poverty by two young parents, my father worked until he could sleep for days, while my mother took care of me and my two other siblings. I was about five when my father would come home late and swat us away. He would drink the stress of work away but come home the worst man I ever met,” She paused at the memory, “He beat on my mother when even the slightest thing would upset him. I was nine when he killed my mother.” She wasn’t even fazed. She was still so use to everything that went wrong, everything became numb. “I was taken away from my sisters at age ten, I haven’t seen them since my tenth birthday to be exact. I have been with myself for three years alone now. I’ve been told multiple times that everything I do is wrong and I’ve been looking for a chance to make it right. Hopefully this is it.”
The silence in the room after her words stopped was deafening, her gut wrenched at the negative things her king could be thinking.
“What be your name child?” He spoke softly, still processing everything she had said.
“Ruby.”