This is another scene from my WIP. With the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the conversation about what makes a hero popped into my head. I am editing some plot points out, and there is strong language. I hope you enjoy.
What Makes the Hero
The weight of my sword in my hands brought me comfort. I forced myself to move slowly and deliberately, making every stroke perfect. Instead of making my fears about Ash disappear, my focus only brought them to the surface.
Tiger and I had just begun working with sword. Uncle Derek had started teaching me a year ago, but I had only learned basic strokes and patterns and none of the abilities Tiger could wield with a blade. I only knew how to start a weapon ringing. I didn’t know how to send my waves of dark energy out without becoming sick myself—a least when I was me, and not the Darkness. Would that be good enough? How could I be like Makke and not have any doubts?
“Always the warrior, Maria.”
I whirled to see the man from the museum. His green eyes shone like emeralds, blond almost white hair neatly braided over his shoulder.
“You have met my daughter, and my paramour.”
In a moment, it all clicked together who he was.
“Utgardi,” I said, and sheathed my sword. The father of death. The lover of the Darkness.
The god made a polite nod. “Surprised it took you this long,” he said with a smug smile.
I grabbed the nearest object– a rock—and threw it at him. Utgardi blinked out of existence and reappeared when my flying object was out of range.
“Ash was taken!” I cried out. “You could have stopped this from happening. You’re a fucking god, and now you show up when the shit has already hit the fan?”
“Don’t be so certain of that, Little Bird. When gods become involved there are forces at work you barely understand yet. Ash has you to save him,” Utgardi said, folding his arms over his chest calmly.
“Is that why none of you divine powers saved my family?” I spat out. Here I was talking to a god—trying to tell me there were things gods couldn’t do, when I knew very well from the Darkness gods could do more than I imagined.
His face softened. “I’m sorry about your family. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I wish I could have changed it.”
“But forces at work, huh?” I knew I was baiting him, but in that moment I didn’t care.
“If gods interfered any time a mortal got hurt do you think that would help matters?”
“I think if you don’t use your powers to make a difference what good are you except to get drunk from your offerings.”
“I can’t explain it, you just need to accept.”
I made a harsh bark that could not have been mistaken for laughter. “I am not one to accept things.”
“So I’ve noticed. As difficult as that makes, you, its also a strength. One that is quite endearing.”
If I didn’t know better, I would say he sounded fond of me.
“It is time for you to start being the hero you are.”
“I’m not a hero.” I said. The grief from all I had lost stabbed me. A hero would never have let those she loved down. “If I was a hero I would never doubt, or sway, or be afraid.”
“You’re wrong,” Utgardi said. “Makke was younger than you when her village was destroyed, and she was taken with Aliannora to be a prize of war. She was daily beaten and raped by the man who murdered her family. You had one night of torture, she had years. Makke failed. Makke had doubts. But she went on.
“The hero isn’t the person without doubts, or with no fear. The hero is the person who picks up the sword from the charred remains of the fighter who lost before them, and continues. That keeps going, despite choking the smell of burnt flesh, blood, and fire. That even though fear leaves them almost paralyzed, they walk on. They fight the dragon. Sometimes the hero wins, sometimes the hero loses. But the hero is the one who doesn’t give up, and still fights for what is right. Even if they don’t think they will win.”