I Am Warrior

Two

TWO

By the time the dawn stretched over the trees that covered the horizon in a sea of pinks and corn blues and golds, Imogen's mind was made up. She knew from many sources that the one place they sent disobedient citizens was the one place they didn't want to go; the front line. It meant certain death, but Imogen knew well her brother's capabilities. He was strong, clever.

Before their father had died, he had taught Samuel every skill he knew as a commanding officer. After that, Samuel had in turn taught Imogen the same things, for no other reason than to protect herself if she had to.

The thought brought a humourless grin to her face. Who knew she'd be using the skills Samuel had taught her to risk her life instead?

Imogen strode quickly to where Samuel's sleeping mat lay and lifted it up to reveal a thin square plank of wood that concealed a hidden compartment in the floor. She only knew it existed because she'd seen Samuel lift their father's sword from its depths late one night, where the glow of the moon had turned the blade blue with an ethereal gleam.

She did the same thing now, carefully pulling the long blade from its hiding spot. As she drew the weapon from its leather scabbard, the hiss of leather on metal sang like a confirmation to her partially formed plan.

The shiny iron glinted like molten gold in the sun's morning glory and as she slid the blade back into place with a snap, she knew her fate was sealed.

She was going to find her brother and she was going to save him.

Imogen did not believe for a second whatever charge the Tsjin had placed against him was true. The very continued existence of both she and Samuel contradicted it. So she would find him, and they would leave this forsaken city with its cruel government and brutal police squads. They would live in the mountains instead, Imogen decided. Peaceful and away from any prying eyes.

Resolve hardened, she slipped into some of Samuel's clothes. They were a little too big, wide at the shoulders, long at the arms and at the legs, but they did well to cover her femininity.

Taking the unsheathed sword in her hand, Imogen grasped the ends of her long, wild black hair and cut through it, letting it fall in uneven chunks around her shoulders. The curse of indecisively wavy hair became a blessing in that instant; rather than falling straight, it turned into a matted curtain on her head.

Satisfied, she re-sheathed the sword, grasped it firmly in her hand and, without another backward glance at the desolated home behind her, set off to find her brother.

~~

'Name.' Growled an angry looking man with a weathered face and tiny eyes placed close together. He leaned uncaringly on an unsteady wooden table, a long sheet of paper covering what his large beefy mass didn't.

Imogen felt her heart flutter as it always did when she found herself in a dangerous position, however years of practise and playing poker had taught her a thing or two, so she looked the man in the eye and assumed an air of confidence, lowering her voice as far as possible. 'Darcy.'

The man leered at her. 'Don't look like no Darcy.' He stated, 'You look more like a girl.'

Imogen kept her cool, refusing to let the fresh wave of nerves at his accurate guess screw with her preconceived planning. She arched her brow in an imitation of disbelief. 'That's what my brother told me too. Anyone else says it and I'll begin to think it's true.'

The man snorted, but his eyes remained cold and unfriendly. 'Age?'

Unfazed, Imogen sprouted off the number she had rehearsed. '14, sir. 15 this coming summer.'