Lilly of the Valley

Prologue

My mother and father wrote their accounts years ago; starting as soon as they could write and ending before they knew it was time to go home to the invisible warrior's tribe.

It is always our practice to pass down our historical accounts, not to keep traditions but to learn from past mistakes and make better decisions. In this thousands-years-war, we know not when we will die, much less if we would have a child to remember our legacies.

It is only fitting that I write my account now, after starting a new life with my husband. I cannot, however begin a new life without first referencing the old.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My Dear Child,

You were born to a long line of warriors for the King of Leorrin. A kingdom neighboring this one claims it does not even exist, yet here you are--living proof.

You will call me mother, but my name is Bazyli, Stephanie, Ethan, Leorrin, Gratia Lilliana. When you are older you will introduce yourself in a similar fashion-- but enough about protocol. If you are anything like me or your father, you will want to get straight to the juicy details. If so, you may skip ahead, dear child.

When you are ready, you may return for some more of the "boring" details.

~~

I took care of myself. Your grandfather, King Bazyli, was fighting the fiercest war and yet still endeavored to be regarded as the kindest King. Knowing the future for your father, he commanded my parents and the majority of his warriors to live on one side of the kingdom. On the other, the King's Men fought without mercy for the enemy and without endangering the people.
My mother and father, your grandparents, refused such safety when the King had need of them. Something I desire to do all my life.
The King decided to split his kingdom in two-- a land flourishing and beautiful for years of peace and prosperity and a battlefield set aside for war alone. The King planned, instead, to send those not yet old enough to fight to the other side. Your grandparents agreed, those that were unwilling to fight, afraid, unable, or underage should be sent to such a place.
I was among that count.

My mother's tome, like the one you hold in your hands, wrote the conversation in vivid detail.
---------------------------

King Bazyli stood before his State Advocates and posed the question to himself, "Is there any other plan than to spilt my kingdom in half?"

The room was deathly silent as the King took his slow strides toward the closed door. The shadows of the room hid his face from the members until he stopped before the arrowslit. What little light that was in the room came from the evening sun pouring inside. His footsteps came to a slow stop before the son of the King raised his thoughts.

"The people have your heart, dear King. Is it not pleasing in your sight that those who cannot or will not to fight will be saved?"

"Why is it that we have warriors of the King that will not fight--?" A woman interjected. Perhaps more musing allowed than participating in the conversation. Then, corrected herself, "It matters not. King Bazyli, you would not force someone to die for you if they are unwilling. We cannot expect them to fight for you if the choice is not there."

"Yes, which is why the decision to spilt the Kingdom is both wise and troublesome. My people will not hesitate to stay by my side, but others.... Though I love my people, the farther they are from me, the less their love is returned to me."

"Nevertheless, a benevolent King does not force his people to love him. Though he does everything in his power to save them."

"Nevertheless." The woman's voice echoed.

"Nevertheless." The King sighed, knowing his son spoke the truth. "Then, it is decided. My Kingdom is to live with my warriors fighting on one side, valiantly, and the young ones, foreigners and unfaithful on the other. No man is to be forced to join the war effort.

"Anyone unwilling to war for their King is as good as an enemy." the woman thought aloud again. "It's treason, and when the war is over they will suffer the same fate as the attackers.

"Yes. When the war is over." the son echoed, longing tinged his voice for those who knew not what choice they were making in ignoring the war all around them.

"My Lords, pardon the interruption, " another voice chimed in.

"Speak, Warrior."

"I have already pledged my fealty to you, yet my child is much too young to join in the war. Will she be safe?"

It was that day, my mother heard the most fearsome words from the kindest King, "My dear Stephanie.... No one is safe from war."