The Deucalian

Sigurn Faldur

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The Space Between


From Oshima Station.
From colony of Taskeed.
A woman spread her wings.
And then she flew to Tatooine.

A woman.
A Deucalian.
Born under thunder.
Born bleeding in lightning.

And hers is the storm.
The storm of the raider.
Of the reaver, the reaper.
O great gale...my ravager.

The conquerors, they were hers.
She sees most in the windows.
The one beside her in the ship.
A transport for more than her.

She can make out faces in the stars as the vessel descends upon a world.
Of her father, her mother, her brothers and sisters, Deucalians of her clan.
They're far away, glittering on a black ocean, lighthouses, such lost pearls.
Will she claim them? Can this woman? Barely calling herself a Deucalian?

You don’t care for them. Says that voice inside her head. Gazes to her left.
The window on the transport. At her right, an old man snores. She ignores.
Sigurn Faldur sighs into the viewport, remembers her, remembers Mother.
She was taken away, a girl was enslaved; to her family she’s already dead.

They don’t know her, she doesn’t know them, neither of one another’s existence.
Sigurn Faldur, she is just a woman with a simple ship and an even simpler blaster.
She is nothing, she is no one, and her life is a thief in the night as stars greet clouds.
That ship descends into the atmosphere of the planet whose dunes know no bounds.

Deserts, stretching endless, with cracked wind wrapping around that darkness.
Turbulence, whatever it is, it is thunder and lightning within that woman’s head.
Like the wrath of Deucalia, the motherland, a storm is as violent as a Deucalian.
O desert of my death, there where dust is but the rust of ash, do beckon the raven.

And the ship swoops in, breaking past the dreadnought clouds all around.
The transport pushes forward from the welkin, curving, amid black blue sky.
Sigurn Faldur, the girl who became a woman, she opens her two weary eyes.
Tired of the fight, of surviving. Will there be answers then down in that town?

And the ship finds its landing, pillowing air in flumes, spitting like broken dunes.
Sand billows in gusts, particles in a mist dancing like wild embers, like night flies.
Fireflies, naked fire waking in a glow, Sigurn struggles to see the stars now so far.
She wonders if she should have even come here, come landing struts and gears.

The transport has an open floor for its occupants to disembark, thank you for boarding.
Sigurn Faldur, a woman is trapped. Rather, blocked in by that man who is still snoring.
“Time to go, young man.” The woman pats. The old man wakes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
A Deucalian, one would not call this woman. She is of plain everyday shirt and pants.

On Tatooine, the vessel landed, in a spaceport of a busy city.
A woman climbs out, thumb dipped under strap at shoulder.
A single bag is her backpack, with her ship out of commission.
She traveled light, blaster at her thigh, coming here on a mission.
Mos Eisley… Well...what do you have for me? Cantina. Door. Explore.

It is no longer thunder and lightning that Sigurn Faldur hears.
It is not the storm that the Deucalian reaver will ever fear.
Neither wind, neither rain, a warrior who endured in pain.
Deucalian, woman, space is an ocean. No…it is...a forest…
 
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Sigurn Faldur

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It happened in the night.
A girl, a woman, in flight.
Terrified, describes fright.
Running faster, can’t fight.

A woman, a girl, tall, small.
A mother, a daughter, fall.
Over the rock, they stumble.
Down the hill, they tumble.

“Up! Up! Get up!” The mother commands.
The daughter listens, gets up and stands.
They are off again, her hand in her hand.
Between the trees of frozen timberland.

A blanket of white drapes the great forest.
Sprawling across the mountains, the wood.
Winter’s fall, snowflakes whisper in a chorus.
Hand upon hand, motherhood by childhood.

“DOWN THERE!”
“THERE THEY ARE!”
“FAN OUT AND FLANK!”


Shouts rain from above amid the wind. A blizzard gallops toward them, a storm catching up on the heels of two women, biting, lashing tongue’s tip like a bladed whip, frost on lip, but legs don’t stop as limbs continue to flail.

Blaster bolts hail down, hammering onto the ground, that black earth, hard and unbroken, hidden beneath a bed of sparkling white like a cloud for a carpet. Snow crunches beneath their boots, four feet, mother and daughter, but behind them pursue the boots of others too, hunting their target.

Maybe a dozen, men and women, Human and more, stomping across the forest floor. A -fwoom!- whizzes past the woman’s head, a line of red light lighting up the night in a fraction of time before the bolt fades away in tune.

They must too, that woman and that girl, before it’s too late. Between the trees, zigzagging, racing beneath the moonlight, making their escape as their hunters are chasing them. To take their lives? To shackle them and bind them? Dead or alive?

More bolts. Whether aiming to hit, the girl is glad they missed. Running, never stopping, hopping over foliage, urged onward by her mother; a woman grown, taller and stronger, harder than stone.

Furya Faldur, the name of her mother, her protector. A proven warrior, with bow, blade and blaster, as enemies chase after the woman and her daughter.

A young girl, born into the world of a Deucalian’s soul, gaze stone cold. She was a survivor, mother told her, had to be as surely as the trees were wood and the rock was stone. Of the axe, she learned to throw, was learning the bow, but of so little did she know.

“Keep running! Don’t stop!” If she did, if she dropped, it would be the end for both of them. Their enemy was gaining on them. They did not need to look behind to see.

One night far away from tonight, there the two were, in their home. In her arms, mother hugs daughter, holds her close, sighs through her nose.

“Slavers, pirates—scum, every one. They will show us no mercy. If they find us, you must move quickly. Run for your life, and do not look behind, Sigurn. Remember my words.”

Oh, she remembered them. She heard them in her head now as she had heard them then. As Sigurn ran beside her mother, hand in hand, she recited those words over and over in her mind.

Breathless, breathing faster, panting, breath is icy and misty. Knees are bending quickly, curled fingers are frigid beneath the gloves, but the love between a mother and her daughter is as unbroken as the earth, unbent as blood red iron and as unbowed as their hearts within this world.

This planet was supposed to be their hideaway, their secret place, their haven in the heavens. In the expanse, in that black ocean, a blue white marble between the stars. In their home, in wall art, are painted the songs of the Deucalians and their dromons. But home is gone.

No mercy. In the present, the past is a memory, but ever an echo of a girl’s future. Move quickly. A girl echoes to herself in a cold dark hell. Run for my life. In the woods, in the mountains at night, surrounded by her predators, a girl should be frightened, and she is, her heart is pounding, lungs tearing apart.

Do not look behind. Sigurn looked behind, saw the flashlights dancing in zigzags as the hunters chased her, lighting up the night. She slipped on ice. Falling from her mother’s arm, her head hit something hard.

“SIGURN!” Her mother’s voice sounded so close yet somehow so far away. It rang in her head, that echo again, blinding and deafening in an instant, like death.

“GET UP!” Not dead yet then but her eyes would not open up. Her feet had let up. Her back was cold and she couldn’t roll. “I’VE GOT YOU!”

The girl got up but somehow did not. The sky cradled her, clouds falling upon the crowns of trees as the shouts of enemies grew louder. Beneath the backs of her knees, at the back of her neck, two arms rest as a daughter feels her mother carry her onward into the night.

The girl can hear the woman panting, feel the breath of winter against her face, feel something wet slide beneath the hair on her head, slick on skin, skull thumping like a drum. Her eyes open, lazy in the moonlit haze of silky snowdrops, beyond the milky paste called land to land upon the stars in the dark so far.

“...The stars, Mama, are so very…far…”
“Don’t close your eyes, baby! Stay awake!”
A girl, a Deucalian, carried by a brave woman.
That windblown mountain as a girl’s eyes close.
 
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Sigurn Faldur

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There she is, here she comes again, there she sits, that one lonely Deucalian.
Troubles on her brow, with worries she can’t hide, silent visage is this woman’s.
Homegrown stone countenance, a face like mother’s fist, eyes into the distance.
It’s not a forest, it’s not a mountain, there’s no snow, just that desert of existence.

Mos Eisley, a city on Tatooine, in a cantina of drifters drifting, eating, singing, drinking.
Look on down from the ship, where the stars are still so high, with the clouds raining.
Look on down from the bridge, back to reality, cross the galaxy’s pathways, she sits.
A woman, Deucalian, in the cantina again, at the bar between men, alone, she sips.

Glass in hand, hold the gin, keep the beer, the whiskey, the wine, hers is warm mead.
On countertop turning, absentmindedly, twisting that cup like it’s an hourglass at hand.
Time is distant, fading away, ebb and flow, drifting tonic of bygone woe, drink of misery.
Remembering her, her own mother, Furya Faldur, O time ago, spread wing’s memory.

Why had she come here? Why are you here, Sigurn? Mother might ask. No...now I ask.
Sigurn Faldur, a wanderer, a poor woman’s excuse for a warrior, Deucalian, no, a mask.
She’s nothing, really, from the stars she came drifting, that black expanse, ocean’s span.
In a ship, not even her own, public transport, more the merry, the ferry o’er tanned land.

There she goes, here she comes, there she is, here she sits, sipping on her sweet honey.
Sorry excuse for mead, closest a bartender could conjure, he’s no Deucalian, this barkeep.
She forgave him, didn’t think a blaster bolt for it, blaster at hip, can handle it, but not in a fist.
She’s violent, our Deucalian, when she has to be, but she’s no soldier—no, a woman’s all she is.

In a cantina in Mos Eisley, sipping her mead, viewscreen overhead, some Hutball game plays.
She pays attention, watching intently, but not really, distracted by imagination, illusion in a gaze.
Red Team, Blue Team, mercenaries chasing a woman and girl, hunting, preying, playing, game.
Time ago, years before now, when the woman was a girl, running with her mother, Furya named.

Baggage claimed, from Oshima Station to desert planet, little of it, black puffer vest, arms bared.
She wears those scars, though she’s no warrior, not like her people of old, upon her would glare.
Black tattoo, Deucalian too, but its meaning is meaningless, lost to her, whoever she is—Faldur.
Her mother was Furya, was fury, vengeance in flesh, fire of soul, a warrior born, not like Sigurn.

Mother… The word escapes her lips, a silent whisper in the vile atmosphere of this here cantina.
It’s not so bad really, doesn’t stink so much of death as liquor breath, but still a spaceport arena.
If you were here…you would know what to do…where to go… Thoughts are gone like wind’s bloom.
Furya Faldur, she was lost, yet her daughter remains, Sigurn Faldur, but she is no one. Just a tomb.
 
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Sigurn Faldur

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Her eyes, closed to the night, to the stars that are so far.
Above her, there was that sky, beyond the treetop crowns.
Skeletal things, twisted branches, dead limbs, white arms.
Covered in snow, black shadow, like those who surround.

Men, women, Human, alien. None of them are Deucalian.
A girl can’t see any of them, but she can hear them, oh yes.
In her head, which hurts her, pounding, behind black eyelids.
Darkness is her gaze, death to be her fate, a girl. Am I...dead..?

Awake.
Her very voice is faint, a thought, a pale echo that’s gone.
Wake. Like when you shout in a cave, when you scream, like that.
Distant, yet, like a roar on the horizon. Up. Wake. Up. Wake. Up.
Voice repeats. Begins to sleep. “Wake. Up. Wake up. Wake. Up."

No… A girl, tired as a dying fire, a fading flame, won’t listen to her.
It’s…not…me… She can’t think, can’t sleep, trapped in her dream.
Cold. I’m so cold. It’s so dark. Mama… Cold, but her head burns.
No…it…isn’t…my…voice… Noise, shouts from afar, now closer.

“WAKE UP.”
MAMA!?
“SIGURN.”
“M-Mother?”

And a girl’s eyes begin to open.
The sky is above her, a black ocean.
Stars above trees, burning, like emotion.
So high, so far, so hot, but a girl is frozen.

Pressed against something, or someone, which rests the back of her neck and legs.
“That’s it, baby, wake up for me!” A voice, a female’s, like she was, but, no, it’s older.
Not a girl’s voice, a woman’s, and she can see breath. Misty, like wind, getting colder.
“Don’t go to sleep!” Heavy words, panting, for the woman is running. “My…my head.”

“I know it hurts, Sigurn, but if you sleep—”
-PING!-
A loud thing, like a scream, echoing, scraping a tree.
“Lucky I missed, you bitch!” Distant words, but closer.
“If you sleep then you die!” And a girl’s eyes open wide.

“There!”
“Cut them off!”
“They won’t last long!”
“Hope you’re fucking scared!”


Fear. Oh, a girl knows what that feels like. Even with a woman so near, with Mother, a girl is scared.
A girl is frightened, can’t deny it, trying to blink herself out of it. Her eyes are open, open to tears.
Frozen on her cheeks, from the pain maybe, that dull ache in her head, like a hammer and flare.
Am I…crying? Was she dying? Such violence, their enemies bring, chasing. Never give into fear.

Mother taught her that and she remembers. Around a campfire, watching fireflies and embers.
Fear is an enemy, Mother said, though it pretends to be a friend. Rise against it, or it’s your death.
“River up ahead! Just hang on!” Ice in Furya Faldur’s breath. Looking up, Sigurn Faldur can see her.
Long hair, ash blonde, pale cheeks in sea of frost. Hard to see. Crying. If so, like blood, tears are red.
 

Sigurn Faldur

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River. Rain. Mother. Mountain of name. Gone, lost, like morning dew across windswept plain. Furya Faldur.
Mother’s name sits on her lips beside a glass rim. Sees her beneath eyelids, eyes are open, Sigurn Faldur’s.
Behind her eyes, her spirit whispers, ever near, by dry tears, no matter the distance. Mama.
A little girl called a long, long time ago in a forest far, far away. In snow, in blood—such trauma.

Beneath the stars, all those years ago, in the dark, with her frozen throat, not coated, like at this bar.
The mead is tepid, like a lukewarm dream, not as warm as it ought to be, but a good enough drink.
You have my heart, a woman thinks, a Deucalian, born of rock and bred of stone. Never worlds apart.
Pathetic, really, to repeat the lyrics of the cantina’s music, some silly singer in the speakers. A dream.

No, for her, for Sigurn Faldur, her memories were much like a nightmare. Freedom was robbed.
From the womb of freedom she came, a Deucalian whose legacy was bestowed, so unknown.
Furya taught her what she could, passed along the songs of a long lost people. Just mist in a fog.
Glass in hand, Sigurn turns it, stares at the bottom of amber nectar, the mead warming bone.

It would be, if with no need on a hot desert planet like Tatooine, but the Deucalian is so cold.
Deucalia, harsh and punishing, it pushed them to be. Cold and grey and cruel. Mother told.
A true warrior, Furya Faldur, not like her daughter. Sigurn had learned little, wasn’t worthy.
Glass to lips, she drinks deeply beneath synth beats, a chick’s lyrics, a heart ever thirsty.

“How about another?” Asks the Duros bartender.
The woman looks up, his existence, remembers.
Her lips closed, a quiet gal, and nods in gesture.
He moves along, takes a bottle, pours it for her.

“Looking for work?” He’s asking casually, making conversation given the establishment they’re in.
Another sip, watching a droid clean up behind the counter, an old thing, aging like the Deucalians.
“Asking to hire me?” Sigurn holds his gaze, her own face unfazed, a sheet of ice and shrewd eyes.
“I got enough hands,” he shrugs. “But plenty of salvage, repair, transport work. Whatever’s right.”

“Good tip. I’ll think about it.” Passive thanks, her tone so straightforward, but genuine at the man.
Sigurn Faldur had not come to Tatooine to fix machines but she needs credits. Yeah…and answers…
“Nice tats,” came a voice from a stool at her left. Human man, cool countenance, pointing hand.
“Thanks.” He didn’t appear to recognize them but looked like, if she stood up, he’d say ‘Nice ass.’

Always one of them in a cantina but you got the wrong mama. Whatever you want, I don’t wanna.
She barely glanced at him, keeping her gaze on the bottles of liquor on the wall, keeping distant.
“Heard you’re looking for work.” Bright spark, this one. He sat close enough to the conversation.
“If the pay’s good, sure.” But she’s no hooker. Still, other work from others. “Something to offer?”

“You good with your hands?”
You have no idea, my man.
Deft hands, to steal and kill.
“I need a pair. Name’s Bill.”

He extends his right hand but Sigurn raises her glass, gesturing back, no toast, mead in throat.
“Sig.” She said simply, feeling no need for the full vocabulary of a name that’s so meaningless.
“Ha. Like ‘cigarra’. I dig it.” Kay. “Anyway, you know to fix ships? Speeders, specifically, that is.”
“Sure. I grew up learning the trade.” I was raised as a slave. Can he pay? “What's the business?”

“I salvage ships, patch ‘em up, turn ‘em around for a pretty profit. Sound like your gig?”
Sigurn shrugged. “Maybe.” Licking her lips, mead is sweet, like dried honey. “The pay?”
He gave her a figure that sounded swell enough to Sigurn. “I can tell you more about it.”
He finished his beer. “Show you. One such speeder out back. Meet me in five minutes.”

The way he said it indicated that he wouldn’t wait. If anything, he sounds like he knew his game.
Still, whatever his way was there was a shady element to his character that a gal like her knows.
Gal like you, Sigurn Faldur. You learned to survive in the shade. He left, with nothing else to say.
Crime pays. In more than one way. A thief knew the game. To the Deucalians. Sarcasm’s toast.
 
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Sigurn Faldur

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Bells. Bells in her head.
Bells. Chimes of death.
Hers, a lone Deucalian.
A girl, and a barbarian.

There in the dark cold.
A frozen forest so old.
The girl must be bold.
Within Mother’s hold.

At night, in the white, in the grey.
Mother, Furya Faldur, is a blade.
Daughter, Sigurn, not so brave.
Mama carries her into the fray.

In the night, that is when the bad ones came.
From north, south, east, west, falling as rain.
Like snow, harder, sharper, to enslave, slay.
The storm of monsters digging two graves.

Over the mountains and into the forest, beneath the shadows of the stars.
In their house, a girl was sleeping, like she wants to now in Mother’s arms.
She remembers, in fireplace’s embers, their cabin in the woods, the alarm.
Surrounded, mother woke her daughter, shot a way out, began to run far.

“They found us,” Furya announced. “We must run!” On and on the pair ran.
Into the woods, between the trees, escaping their enemies on snowy land.
Their cabin behind them, Mother knew the route like the back of her hand.
Hand in hand, they escaped, chased, while Furya’s blaster had blasted back.

Pistol in the grip, the woman had lost it on the hill, while the wolves closed in for the kill.
Sigurn plays the moments backward, wonders if she were older, she’d have helped her.
If I was stronger…faster…smarter… In her mother’s arms, slowing her down. This...chill...
The monsters, they want her, mother, daughter, but Mother runs while her legs burn.

Shouting behind them, such violent voices, such brutal beasts. Sigurn’s ears are open.
She hears the wild wail of a blaster bolt. It misses. She sees stars. Her eyes are open.
A girl’s head burns even though her body is cold, chilly, gazing at that sea, sky, ocean.
Stars…so...pretty… An arm on the backs of her knees, legs dangling. Space. An ocean...

Her vision is blurry, maybe she is going to sleep, eyes so misty, no, wait, she sees a flurry.
It’s snowing… Snow falls, flakes of frost, dancing on the palm. A charcoal sky. Grey clouds.
So…snowy… Thinking beneath, words are weak, her head bleeds, but can’t sleep, too early.
Pretty as a lily. Falling heavy, under moonlight sparkling, white trees once green. The sound.

Like shaking snow from leaves. Twinkle...twinkle...little star… Deuca…la…la… Sounds of a river.
In the distance, creeping closer, just as Mother had told her, and a daughter listened. Mother.
River up ahead. Just hang on. Mama… Her head, it throbs, hit it on a rock, the pain is strong.
Rushing water, flowing yonder, it is too dark to see, but a girl can hear, as the pair run along.

Arm on the back of her neck, head dangling, a girl’s body is limp, she’s resting, and she’s weak.
Mother cradles her, as daughter cranes neck, eyes peering between the trees, wanting to see.
Darkness, the dark is dead ahead, black as death. “Where’s the river, Mama?” Sigurn pleads.
Eyes above, on a woman’s frozen face of strength, misty breath. “Not far… Don’t fall asleep.”

A daughter will obey her mother. Even as winter’s teeth tugs at her. As the cold eats her fingers.
Biting the tips, numbing the bones, ice in her throat. Even as that girl’s head aches and it burns.
In arms rocking, on snow crunching, on white woodland carpet running, running from monsters.
Behind them, getting closer, shouting at them, roaring like lions, howling like wolves. “It…hurts.”

And then, in the darkness, the trees begin to open up, and she sees.
Glittering in the moonlight, bed of snow, white, then blue, shimmering.
“There it is!” Mama whispers, running, no, like a horse, she’s galloping.
“Mama...too cold to swim,” Sigurn pants, so tired, water like a dream.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Furya reassures her. Comforts her daughter. Hugging, holding, carrying her.
“The river will carry us.” Across the snow, through the trees, into the forest, and now at the river.
Midnight blue, like liquid sapphire at night, captures her eyes, burbles, echo to the sky, murmurs.
“It’s so happy…” Hopping over rocks, that water, with pale white light from the moon in glimmers.

“There’s the raft,” Mother gestures. At the river bank, a simple wooden thing, there was their raft.
Roped to a stick for a post, stuck into the earth, poking out of the snow. From arms, a girl lands.
“You’re okay, Sigurn,” Mother tells her. Daughter listens as she’s placed on the raft. “And brave.”
Mama smiles. Her hand is cold on Sigurn’s cheek. “My little warrior, my daughter, who I made.”

Sigurn points past her, into the noise. Left, right, behind, flashlights. “The monsters are coming.”
“They are nothing, child.” Hand squeezes arm. Breath of ice. Eyes into eyes. “They are nothing.”
Sigurn can’t help but smile back. “We are the Deucalians. We do not give into fear. We take it.”
Looks behind. Closer. Eyes into eyes. “I need to cover our tracks. You go first. Then I’ll hop in.”

“M-Mama!?” A girl is frightened, dazed. Must be brave...
“I’ll be right behind you. Be right beside you. It’s okay.”
Trees flanked the bank, a screen. “Spread your arms.”
An eagle. “Our people. Find them, child. In the stars.”

“Don’t leave me!”
“Child, I’m your heart!”
Hand on chest, heavy.
“So close no matter how far.”

Flashlights are brighter, Mother takes a branch, twigs and leaves, and she stands.
Hand having loosened the rope, her boot pushes, the raft drifts, and she backtracks.
“I’m right behind you. Right beside you.” Footprints fading, snowfall burying by branch.
The raft begins to float away, disappearing behind trees, when against rock it hits a snag.

Daughter watches as Mother doesn’t look back, standing before the river, light shining on her.
All around, slivers of bright light, yellow not white, not like the moonlight, beams, and cylinders.
Water all around Sigurn, gurgling, pulling at the raft, but it’s stuck on a rock, so Sigurn can watch.
Mother stands tall as a mountain, her back to the river, between branches her daughter stares on.

She had no blaster, but Mother’s hands are another matter.
She had fended off a wolf with a shard of glass and dagger.
Sigurn had watched Furya Faldur then and watched her now.
On her back, on that raft, watching Furya Faldur stand proud.

Her pistol was lost but her weapons aren’t gone.
“There she is!” Too late to turn back, suddenly arrive.
Flashlights in hands, on blasters, Mother they are on.
“Where’s the kid!?” A man of four or more, left and right.

“In the trees,” Furya Faldur speaks. “Hiding from her enemies.”
Mama. Sigurn gazes at her, hidden within the distance. Please…
The woman stands still, a statue in the snow, a tower by the trees.
“If you want her,” Axe and sword unsheathe. “Come and claim her!”

A blaster lowers, trades it for the stick, a stun rod. “Take this bitch!”
And the monsters begin to close in. And Mother becomes a whirlwind.
Sigurn can’t look away, eyes wide, as Mother swings her axe in her fist.
Blood spurts in the light, blade on throat, another man her sword finished.

Left, right, she fights, a wolf in her own right.
Mama… She dances, there in the moonlight.
A baton comes at her, she dodges, slashes.
Opens a chest, turns, swings, more gashes.

The raft moves, turned by the river, against rock, water splashes.
“...M-Mama…” A girl whispers, eyelids lazy again, as axe smashes.
Sigurn hears a gasp just then, it’s Mother’s, as a stun rod lashes.
She gets up, roaring, her sword is a storm, and a blade thrashes.

The raft moves again, turns Sigurn around, she can’t see her mother.
MAMA! “Mama..?” Her voice in her head, over and over again, it burns.
And the river begins to pull the raft away. Brave… Brave... Brave! SIGURN.
Metal scrapes, axe and sword against more, for so fierce is Furya Faldur.

“Find them, Sigurn!”
Mother’s voice as raft turns.
“Find them in the stars!”
Voice fades beside a blaster.

Deucalians, of Deucalia.
Their people, her clan.
Eyes close on the raft.
It’s so cold. Yes…Mama…
 

Sigurn Faldur

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A wind drifted outside the cantina, in the city streets of Mos Eisley, and a woman drifted within it.
Across the floor, out the door, a breath of fresh air, if trapped with the sweat and stench of a city.
A back exit, she had taken it throughout her life, disappearing into wind, she never really existed.
Ironborn, sea, snow, forest, and duracrete, the stars, now the sand, but none of it all that pretty.

A girl’s dream. A fool’s dream. A woman thinks as she looks around in that back alley out in town.
The man had said to meet him out back, to link up with him for a speeder that needed fixing up.
She didn’t see one, did not see him, saw the walls of buildings, barrels, garbage and other stuff.
Am I too late? Was kind of sketchy anyway. Guess this guy didn’t wait. Oh well. Other jobs anyhow.

She looked up, sighing into the wind, spying the twin suns of Tatooine far beyond the purple sky.
Night would follow, another day to fade and die, and Sigurn Faldur would still be alone and lost.
Are you out there? Drifting between the stars? Sailing the currents and winds of our ancestors beyond?
Her mother spoke of it, and though her daughter heard a gust of sand it was swept by their cry.

She heard the rushing ocean, the leaves rustling between the trees, like the sand was just a beach.
She heard the drunken laughter and speech of others in the alley beside her, and a whistle ahead.
It wasn’t from them. It was in the distance. Her gaze lowered and landed on a stretch of the alley.
A man watched her, the same man, waved a hand as if to beckon her, but disappeared just then.

Sketchy, Sigurn. Then again, sketching patterns of death belonged to the hands of Deucalians.
Either ‘out back’ meant a garage further along or this guy was shadier than a simple mechanic.
Who needs a pair of hands and a face who won’t complain. Not from around here, and he knew it.
A proposition for profit. May as well listen. So Sigurn stepped forth across the sand so very alien.

It sunk beneath her boots, crunched not too differently than snow, like that moment so long ago.
Buildings beside her, wider if smaller than trees, uncertainty up ahead, her hand on the pendant.
It hung on her chest, behind her vest, and she felt compelled to hold it, gazing on flesh and bone.
So far from home. But I guess I never really had one. A gift from her past, so priceless, no mere object.

Furya Faldur, a warrior, a mother, who protected her daughter, saved her, from the other hunters.
All those years ago, where the road was their home, together, never alone, both prey and predator.
We ran. We hid. We plucked bow and swung sword and swung fist. But would you run? Or would you walk?
Forward, into the unknown, whether the risk. Maybe that’s why Sigurn moved as an arrow nocked.

Even if this is a trap, I will not go back. Stubborn, Mother might say, but for Sigurn it was too late.
“Nice tat,” called a man, but the voice did not come from ahead. It came from behind her back.
“And not a bad ass,” laughed another. Ugh. So she turned, wondered if these were yet the same.
Men from earlier, but they stood firm, all six of them. Huh. Maybe not. Maybe this really is a trap.

“Fuck off.” Sigurn said simply, eyes into eyes, looking between the fools on her left and her right.
She might have told them she didn’t want any trouble but their words showed what they wanted.
They snickered, slowly advanced and began to surround her, circle her, like buzzing gnats and flies.
“You got a mouth on you. You need to learn a thing or two.” She shrugged. “Oh, I’m just being honest.”

“So are the odds, bitch.” A voice at her six. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” At three.
“Funny…” Sigurn breathed. We are the Deucalians. Said a voice. “I was gonna say the same thing.”
We do not give into fear. So Sigurn Faldur became an eagle and spread her arms like wings.
Enemy at nine o’clock, he roared, gave himself away, came in crazed and with a fist to swing.

She tilted her head back, let his fist swing past, clocked him in his jaw with her own knuckles.
She hit fast, hit hard, like a bolt of lightning, sent him stumbling backwards, as another swung.
He came in from the other side, right hook, so Sigurn dodged, lunged and punched into his gut.
He buckled. Hands on sand, she swept her leg into another assailant, tripped him, he stumbled.

She rose. An uppercut into one other just coming for her, slamming into his chin, and he crashed.
The others advanced. Grunting, yelling all around her, bombarding her with all kinds of smack.
She kicked one in the chest. He flew. One grabbed her arms just then. Fist to face, and a crack.
Her lip split, blood spewing in an instant. She swung her head back, heard a yelp, and she thrashed.

The man behind her supported her as she leaned back, propelling both feet into her punisher.
Boot to chest, boot to face, and he staggered, as the remaining attacker just then dove into her.
Her feet found sand just as both of them crashed and she landed on her back, him on her chest.
Arm raised, blocked his swing, the other found her cheek, as a blaster bolt sounded out just then.
 
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Sigurn Faldur

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M-Mama… A girl is frightened, dazed. Must be brave.
Trees flank the bank, a screen. “Beside you. It’s okay.”
Furya Faldur. A girl’s mother. Sigurn Faldur. A warrior.
Parent. Guardian. Gave heart. Nothing else mattered.

“Child, I’m your heart!” A mother had promised her.
“So close, no matter how far.” Sigurn did remember.
Right behind me. Right beside me. Mama promised.
Moments later, however, words were in the wind.

Their hunters, their killers, came toward them just then.
In moments, they had caught up, like predators hellbent.
Water all around Sigurn, gurgling, pulling at that very raft.
But it was stuck on that rock, so all Sigurn can do is watch.

Mama stands tall as a mountain, with her back to the river.
She had no blaster, but Mother’s hands are another matter.
Axe and sword, she flies forth, attacking all of her attackers.
A whirlwind of vengeance, yes, is her Mother, is Furya Faldur.

Suddenly her daughter cannot see her mother. “M-Mama…”
A raft dances, she hears a gasp, but she’s sleepy in trauma.
Sigurn had hit her head only moments earlier, but hears afar.
“Find them, Sigurn!” She beckoned. “Find them in the stars!”

Deucalians, of Deucalia.
Their people, her clan.
Eyes close on the raft.
It’s so cold. Yes…Mama…

And by then, the girl’s world had blackened, and she had slept.
Slumber had taken her, as a raft drifted into the current, wept.
Tears in the stream, vacant of rain, but hey, it was just a dream.
Yes, she dreamed, she wept, she bled, as darkness is her sleep.

When Sigurn Faldur woke, it was to the clouds of snow’s blight.
A flurry of flakes, droplets; a shower of frozen rain, bright white.
The girl breathed as easily as can be. So close, no matter how far.
Given her circumstances. Couldn’t be much more from the heart.

She remembered, yes, the death and sacrifice of her own mother.
Forever trusting who we are… Her stiff lips. And nothing else matters...
She knew what Furya Faldur wanted of her daughter this moment.
Fight. Sigurn blinked to the sky. Survive. Hungry. Thirsty. Wounded.

The river’s current took her, the wooden raft floating into the distance.
Where it went—north, south, east, west—no telling of which direction.
Yet Sigurn Faldur would drift, she would float, and she would make it.
Her mother had provided her life, and her daughter would not give in.

Never opened myself this way. Heaven-spun silver within her vision.
Life is ours, we live it our way. Sigurn reflected; river a mirror image.
“Trust I seek…” Words split between her teeth. “And I find in you…”
“Every day…”
A girl speaks. “For us…” To unknown. “Something new.”
 

Sigurn Faldur

Character
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Her cheekbone throbbed from the punch. Her split lip pumped blood. But Sigurn just looked up.
So did the assailant laying atop her. They shared that moment. The blaster was a distraction.
It hadn’t hit her. It hadn’t hit him. They both gazed into the distance and observed the shooter.
It wasn’t one of his accomplices. Those idiots were wounded too—and none of them moved.

Except just then. Another shot. Another bolt to the sky like lightning reversing its own thunder.
“Who the fuck is this guy!?” “I don’t know!” “Let’s get outta here!” They encourage each other.
That meant her own guy too as he promptly got up then rushed off with the rest of his friends.
So that left just one person in the shady back alley of Mos Eisley. Not really alone. Not precisely.

She slowly rose lest whoever that shooter was ended up just being as drunk as her attackers.
Not all of them were, to be fair. Clipped me good. Bastard. She wiped her lip, sat up, stood up.
Eyes on the horizon, although there wasn’t much of one beyond the buildings of this sandy city.
Gaze lowered, resting on the figure in the near distance, hovering in those shadows. Just stood.

“If I move like those buffoons…”
The woman began, unfazed by the pain in her face. “You gonna shoot?”
He hadn’t shot them at that but maybe he saved the best for last and just might shoot her in the back.
A stupid concern, maybe, but they were stupid too, and stupidity seemed to be the thing of the evening.
“No.” His tone was as deep as it needed to be so as to be carried, but gravelly, in a way “I came for you.”

Came for me? Hell does he mean? “If you’re looking for a fling or something, well, sorry, buddy, but—”
“Ha,” he laughed. “Not that.” When he stepped forward, Sigurn breathed in relief as much as curiosity.
“I came back.” She suddenly wondered who this man was, really. The very same man from that cantina.
The same man who had offered her a job, asked her to come to the back. Eh I guess it wasn’t some trap.

“Sorry about that.”
He holstered his pistol as he came closer. “When those bozos came I couldn’t wait.”
Right… That convinced her even more that his speeder gig was shady business. A bit like this damn alley.
“Well,” Sig sighed. “Bill, right?” He nodded. “Can’t say I ain’t glad you came back. But, uhh, I was doing fine.”
He laughed. “I noticed. I’m glad I wasn’t on their side. They met their match. Where did you learn to fight?”

She went quiet. Not so unusual for her. Silence could be captured in her countenance at any moment.
But, at the moment, she was hesitating on how to answer, even whether to answer. Mother taught me.
“In back alleys.” There’s that chuckle again. They were getting along already. It was something at least.
“Well, maybe you can tell me more. Follow me. I’ll show you my store. Get you fixed up. Like that lip.”

All right, Sigurn Faldur, daughter of Furya… Out? Or in?
“I’ll go with but only on one condition.” She stared at him.
“Which is..?” She licked her lips, dried by a desert wind.
“You tell me all about that Mandalorian pistol at your hip.”
 
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