Where the roses bloom (Ruby Rose fan fic)

MESTIZO (Iselen P.O.V)

Mestiza. That was my first name, as far as I can recall. Of course, I've been called worst things: "monstrosity", "aberration", "mutant"... during a period of my childhood I was Miss "Get out of my sight", second surname "Don't talk to me". I remembered it as a calm and happy time. Of course, it didn't last long. Well, Iselen was my choice when I realized that I needed a name. I like it, for no special reason, but tomorrow I could change it. That's what happens when people around you don't give a shit about your life.

I'll tell you how things work here. I live in the East side of Alier river in a city called The Port, capital of this unnamed kingdom. Why it is unnamed? Because there's a West side of Alier river, with its own capital called... guess what? The Port. For Goddess' Sake! Luckily we're separated by a wide delta or we would have killed each other and I wouldn't have a story to tell you. So, this is all about "them" against "us", in fact it's "ones" against "others" because, although I live in the East, I'm actually in the middle of both. Here everything works like a mirror and the main law is "Monkey see, monkey do": everything that one side of the river achieves, the other has to have it in the same way or better. Preferably better so they can rub it in your face. Simultaneously, each kingdom has its own infighting , where every noble house wants whatever other houses have, but better and rubbed in their enemies faces. You see? I live in a playground surrounded by immature people.

There was a time, long, very long time ago, when we were one kingdom and Alier river had dozens of bridges that provided access to both sides of its deep canyon. Now only two bridges remain, one in the North close to the mountains and one in the South close to the capitals and the sea, both guarded by heavily armed troops to prevent raids. Nobody can remember why we started to fight but after hundreds of battles, thousands of deaths, sacking, fires and destruction nobody cares about the motive. Everybody here knows someone that has lost his home or their loved ones, someone that has been murdered, tortured or enslaved by one or other side. I highly doubt that reconciliation can ever be possible, there's too much resentment accumulated. So here we are, blocked after a long-term tug-of-war because both sides want the same: the right to use the name Alier for their kingdom (without "East or West" as an afterthought); the right to use the same name for their capitals (Port and Port, how original!); the right to use the trade routes in their own way, the right to be the wealthiest, the right to have the best ships, the right to be the military power, the right to be the coolest of the Universe. I strongly believe that the only right both sides have achieved is the right to be pathetic but anyway, my opinion doesn't matter.

I'm the consequence of one of those attacks that spread chaos and violence 25 years ago. We don't fight every day, you know, if we did we would have been all death long time ago. There's always tension but the real war activity is cyclic, the last period of hostilities led my father to come across my mother and raped her after the plunder of the village. I'm half-caste, but not because of my race, it's a matter of the position on the map: a soldier from the West raped a girl from the East after stealing her jewels and voilà, here I am. Hey! Being here has a lot of merit. There're few like me, most of the mestizo babies are aborted when their mothers realize they're pregnant, others don't survive to adulthood. It's hard to be a child in a world suffering a never ending war and, on top of that, you're a reflection of all that your family hates. Life turns difficult for you. People around me can only see "the West" in me, while the others could only see "the East". It's like being in limbo, I live on a carpet over a sliding floor and I never know when someone is going to pull it and make me fall on my ass. Fortunately, I'm too stubborn to jump into the river and commit suicide. Others have done it.

My grandmother made a huge difference in my life; she was a respectable person for what is normal here. She insisted that I must be born and my mother didn't dare to contradict her, above all because grandma was known for being a witch and a clairvoyant and, if you refused to do what she advised, things could get worse. I don't know what she saw in my future, but her determination saved my life. She used to call me "Little Bird", the best memory of my childhood, so I guess that's the reason why I have a bird tattooed although I don't think that a raven of dark plumage and piercing eyes hugging my back was what she had in mind. When my grandmother died I was already 7 years old and drown me in the river like a newborn cat would have been in bad taste. It's true that, from that moment on, my childhood was riddled with abuses, shouts and beatings but then I was stubborn and strong enough to survive; and astute enough to break through this hell. I believe that I get that from my father, a high rank officer from the West, at least that's what my mother says but I wouldn't trust her words: she's a snob, she's of good family but not aristocratic and she aspired to ascend the social hierarchy. Being raped by an officer gives more prestige that being raped by a foot soldier. She could be lying although, considering my job, I'm inclined to believe that my father wasn't an ordinary sergeant. Talking about job, I'm late... Let's go!