Fragments - Flash Anthology

Four

A sword, forged not in flame but by an ancient relic from the Old Gaians, rested loosely in a wooden sheath. Everything else on Gecica was imperfect: her tattered gray cloak, the baggy linen pants lashed to her legs with string at the ends, and her woven leather chest-piece that hid a thick cotton vest. Aside from her only weapon, the next most complex and streamlined tool she possessed was a pair of thick, black boots.

Nearby, a small bar was open to dozens too many to fit. Across the narrow dirt street, a stand-in fried chicken stall was flipping most of their wooden signs, warning those still unfed that supplies were dwindling for the night. Up and down the dingy, lively, and busy marketplace, most every other business was failing to appease the masses.

Instead of entering any, Gecica pulled out a small, dented brass tin of pemmican and nibbled on the meatiest bits with a sigh.

Along her hands were calluses and cut scars. Further along her right arm was a fresh wound, still wrapped with a bandage and a bit of medicated gauze held inside, pressed onto the cut. Even though her skin was without wrinkles, there were a few irregular lines from older wounds along her left cheek and across her chin.

Underneath her light wear, her chest was tightly bound to fit the used armor she had come by. There wasn't much to suppress when her height consumed some of her presumably feminine features. Indeed, if it were not for her face and her voice, most would not consider that she was not just a young man.

Though it was currently sated, Gecica's stomach was flat and always complaining. If she were to strip down and find a mirror or some still water, she would notice faint definition from her abdomen, shoulders, legs, and arms. But, of course, a scenario never arose.

Though she currently wore impressively thick and sturdy boots, there was a loop to tie them off on her leather chest-piece. Additionally, there were six other loops which were occupied by something, and one last one that housed her pemmican. Most of the objects were cheap, dirty objects she had found that served some useful purpose. For example, she kept a glass bottle tied up and filled with water, keeping a bit of cork in to plug its mouth shoddily.

As she was eating small bites of her stash, stray eyes were looking from peering and curious faces. Most paid no mind to her, but there were always new customers and travelers to the commoner's marketplace. And, of course, there were a few workers and owners of businesses that held their own concerns or scorn of Gecica.

The dim lights of oil lamps and ancient electric devices did just enough to show bits of her tanned skin and not much else. Only a few who were at just the right angle and right in front of her noticed her unusual features.

Unlike most of the people who passed her by, Gecica had bright blue eyes and bleached, dirty-blonde hair. Both were kept away from nosy people with the long cowl on her hood, but strands of hair and glints of color could be made out by those who looked carefully into her shaded face as she held up a bite of pemmican and delicately placed it in her mouth.

Anyone who saw her features or questioned the designs of her sword's hilt would be half-correct about her family and her identity; everything else about her fit her right in with the lowest of sell-swords.