Freedom's Horizon (WLW)

Part Two: Chapter Twenty-Five

August 1106, San Vito Lo Capo Beach, Sicily, Italy

Even in those days, fighting alongside her brethren was Esme's way of life. However, Esme Caminante was not her name and her life was quite different, for in the beginning, she was known by and led another. Talia Nyström was raised as a warrior. Her family was killed not long after her birth and the only person to look after her, to raise her, was her Uncle Mikkel Nyström who was a warrior through-and-through.

She was raised as a boy was in those times, trained to fight alongside her Varangian brothers, and sought out the thrills of adventure. It was all her uncle knew and became her way of life as well. She thrived in it, enjoying the plunders of war and seeing all the world had to offer over landscapes her mind hadn't the time to even register. Talia journeyed alongside her uncle to Sicilia once he was appointed general of a Norman outfit, but the idea of a woman serving to guard an esteemed member of society was unfathomable at the time and Talia soon found herself moved to another brigade.

At first, her peers treated her as if she were dirt, seemingly disgusted by the presence of a woman on the battlefield. Then they saw her fight. Through battle, she earned their loyalty and friendship, finding a family much like her old. Her regiment was assigned to a lookout post near the coast upon returning from victorious battle and she found herself mesmerized by the ocean's vast length, constantly wondering what lay beyond it, further south than she'd ever traveled.

That was where she first saw her. A small woman traveled alone along the beach picking shells and stopping every now and again to gaze at the sunset. Talia was entranced. The woman's silken, black hair was tied up in braids, sending errant strands swaying in the breeze along her forehead and neck. Her dress wasn't dirtied, nor threadbare, but it also wasn't something a woman of great stature might wear. It suited her so well, yet left something to be desired. As if sensing Talia's gaze, she turned her head and eyed her atop her lookout perch.

Suddenly, a hand came down on Talia's shoulder, startling her and rattling her armor and shield. "Haha! I am to relieve you, Nyström. The general has summoned you." It was her best friend and the man with whom she'd gone into battle many times, Symon. He sent her a nod and she turned to him, giving his arm a firm pat and watching the ruby in his earlobe shine with the last bits of the sun. "I trust your watch was rather mundane?"

"Yes, sir." She secured her helmet and made her way to the stairs, lifting her axe so that she wouldn't plummet them before she ever got started.

Once Talia was to the bottom, she rounded the corner and spotted the woman still walking along the beach. Several fishermen were bringing in their haul and the woman watched as they slung heavy sacks of fish over their shoulders, moving them to the large baskets in their horse drawn buggy. She appeared rather interested in them for some time, then her face contorted and she gazed down at a necklace draped around her neck.

For a woman who appeared as though she didn't come from substantial earnings, she had quite the ruby hanging along her neck in an amulet that rested on her chest. She should have been more careful wearing something that valuable in public, unguarded on a beach no less. Talia glanced back up at the woman's face to find her staring right back at her. She narrowed her gaze through her helmet and veered away, but felt a tug at her forearm. Talia spun around, her axe defensively raised, and fell entirely hypnotized by the chestnut eyes that stared back at her. How did she...?

"Your name, soldier?" The woman asked as she ran her eyes up and down her length.

"Talia of House Nyström, my lady." She dipped her head and removed her helmet once more, her round shield jostling about behind her with each move and rubbing along the small of her back. The woman's eyes hit her hairline and she tilted her head to the side, looking at her body again. "I must make haste. Pardon me, madam."