White Crow

White Crow:

            That ignoble world saw the eternal traveller passing by, her gaze hovering through the scenery as she struggled to conceive how that agonising land looked like before her birth, a land which even nowadays men and women blood was shed for.

There was a sort of sad joy when we knew ourselves being the heirs of a destroyed wasteland, so close to ignorance that our traveller would have never abided.

Furthermore she, Bielaya Varona, dissented from the ancient sage: this world wasn’t the best possible one, whereas possibly it was one of the worst worlds ever imagined: Zorya’s authority and law spread over a whole continent whose territories, subdued by the Empire, were making an attempt to rise from their ruins only to be able to breathe.

Bielaya Varona, the White Crow, was an Executioner, she operated as an arbiter and punisher, sent to any corner of the Empire, notwithstanding how abandoned or remote it was, in order to solve the most variegated legal affairs at her own discretion. Zorya’s court had three Executioners and the common people believed they were sorcerers or assassins.

They called her Cuervo Blanco in those lands of Viridia, thriving in the past as a commercial enclave, now devastated by magic and war. She had work to do.

The throne hall was an imposture: the guard, comprised by mean and women quite uneasy by this time, tried not to look at those robust oak gates as if they were exorcising their fear out from their heads to no avail.

–Remember she’s only a woman! –Alba’s vigorous voice, the last on by lineage of the house of Tulia in the ancient Viridia, aimed to comfort her royal guard. All of them have heard rumour about the Executioners if not have crossed paths with them in some unfortunate occasion, there was no need to add anything more.

The gates burst open, five corpses without their respective heads blew in as if they had been thrown inside the room by a powerful force.

All the members of the royal guard started questioning their salary.

Yes, there was one woman there crossing the threshold who nonchalantly sheathed a pair of swords covered in blood. She was clad in a white tabard, black breeches, dark leather boots and shoulder armour. Judging by her outward appearance she didn’t look like someone important, the only remarkable element among her clothes was a pendant with an emerald on her neck.

–I’m Bielaya Varona, in your lands I’m known as Cuervo Blanco. I don’t err while assuming I’m before Alba Tulia, governor of Viridia? –she didn’t wait any answer and went on–. I must admit that the Empire has been… negligent regarding Viridia and its archaic caste of rulers. No one can trust a queen’s word, not even a kneeling queen’s. You are sentenced to death as charged with conspiracy, sedition and rebellion against the Empress Zorya, your line will be erased from…

–Kill that mongrel! –the queen commanded.

The guards, at least most of them, clad in their armours and wearing their weapons, feeling safe, went forth.

She looked at them and their armours started to constrain and crush their bodies, their bones’ cracking was terrifying. The throne hall had never been host of screams of pain like those of the experienced guards as they were devoured by their breastplates.

Not all the guards had attacked her and, considering their situation, they dropped their weapons to the floor and fled, passing by the Executioner who decided to spare their lives. One of them even muttered some grateful words as she left.

A baby’s cry could be heard.

Bielaya Varona stopped and, after considering that unforeseen circumstance for a couple of seconds, found a solution:

–Give up your name and right, renounce to this house and its riches.

–Zorya has sunk so low that she believes my honour is her property?

–Your honour? –the Executioner repeated, spitting every word with disbelief–. Perhaps it’s a quite abstract concept, your life, on the other hand…

The queen began to bleed by every hole in her body when her internal organs exploded.

Bielaya Varona also silenced the remnants of the guard, which have been slowly dying, skulls torn to shreds by only one of her thoughts.

Now she could listen better.

Now the baby’s weep was clearly perceived.

The White Crow distinctly remembered the exact moment when those strangers killed her new-born by bashing his head against a wall. In that instant the reality itself got divided, particle by particle, submitted to her battered will, and around her only blood and dust remained.

But she had to focus on the right now…

Had she aware of their powers before, had she been able to control them… then, maybe…

But she had to focus on the right now, really…

A man appeared from behind the throne, he was armed with sword and shield and wore a proper chainmail.

–I won’t give my son’s life without putting a fight, your last words? –to that ridiculous threat she could only answer with a scornful snort, meanwhile, she carefully examined that man: this father had been crying for his wife and his men, but he didn’t look like a usual man of noble birth, for he had a real warrior’s determination. Other than a warrior outfit, naturally.

–Servio Ianio? –the Executioner enquired–. I have uttered so many last words in my life that I have none left, therefore I would like to reaffirm my offer since also the Iania house has been accused with sedition, conspiracy and rebellion: renounce to your name and my mission will be accomplished at the same time that you keep your lives intact. It’s a simple decision.

The man called Servio Ianio, pondered those words for an instant, then he sheathed his sword and took his son with a protective gesture while he distrustfully stared at the White Crow.

–That’s a curious proposal from a woman who have killed at least a dozen of people, among whom my loved one was.

–Your queen has deemed her honour as more valuable than your lives and now she’s dead. She had a choice when no other Executioner would have…

The man and his cub disappeared without any warning. Bielaya Varona closed all the hall doors, one by one, with her mind power.

And waited…

As if through a waterfall, she started to hear the baby’s sobbing again and she saw Servio Ianio and his son once more time. They were at the same spot before her and now the little child was howling at the top of his lungs.

–By Zorya! –the Executioner said–. He cannot possibly have more than twelve months… –she mentioned with amusement.

–Are you going to kill me? –the father asked.

–Not if I can avoid it. Do you want your son to live? –she probed enthusiastically–. I have plans for him… –she went on, as she had thought of a couple of options already–. Dispose of your name and your rights over this land, let me train your child, I know of a safe shelter where we can hide. You can come with us.

–Otherwise we will die.

–In all likelihood, but not by my hand or my desire –she agreed–. Unless you wish to die now pointlessly. It’s a simple decision –she said again.

Servio glared at her and, reluctant, started reciting:

–By the sun and the moons, may my name be extinguished from the last name of my house, I surrender before my ancestors and before eternity. May the ancient gods forgive me.

–Let’s go –the Withe Crow had no more time for ceremonies–, take a servant’s cape and follow me.

Servio swallowed his tears and his complains and then he reasoned that perhaps it wasn’t a time to speak. Once he covered his head with a hood, they began to walk. What would happen with the meagre remnants of the kingdom? Would Alba had a decent funeral or would she be eaten by the crows? Were their friends alive, have his letter reached their relatives? What about the plebs, how could they would be able to keep on with their lives? What would occur to his son under that woman’s guardianship? Could he end the Executioner’s life despite of her immense power and run away with his son? Would they be safer if in case the succeeded? Was it possible to killed the Cuervo Blanco or trust her? Was it wise?

What Bielaya Varona had said wasn’t true.

Every step he took forward was a decision and none of them were easy to make.

White Crow by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under a Creative Commons Reconocimiento-NoComercial-SinObraDerivada 4.0 Internacional License.
Creado a partir de la obra en https://parafernaliablablabla.blogspot.com/.