Note: Just so ya'll know, a good chunk of this scene is very dark and sinister. The only reason I ever, EVER write in this extremity is if it is necessary to the plot and then only when I am using an allegorization between God and the devil. So, before you proceed in the reading of this excerpt, I want you to know that this side of the story will come out as evil and God's Light will outshine the darkness more and more as the story unfolds.
Smoke curled into the night, vanishing into the dark heavens above. Slowly, the procession snaked around a fire that cackled its menace. Tongues of flame leapt into the air as a dozen figures tossed herbs into its fieriness of its fiendish depths. Arrenia propped herself upon her elbow, eager to get a better look at the scene before her.
“Get down!” came the commanding whisper.
“I want to see!” she said.
Chills ran through her, freezing her to the bone in terrified fascination. One of the figures- the one in whom Castor had taken a peculiar interest in when they first spotted this band of travelers- turned in their direction and started walking forward, seeming to screen the area as if he suspected something. Features wreathed in a cloak of a ghastly wraith, he approached with the aura of an apparition. Horrified thrills ran through the girl as her imagination began to run across its wild plains. Who was the man behind overshadowed with the huge garment? Though fear ravaged through her, begging her to look away, she found she could not.
Castor pushed her head down. “Are you a fool, Arrenia?! They’ll see you!”
Arrenia’s senses sharpened as she felt the cursory gaze scan over her. She trembled, her fear taking full effect. Part of her wanted to know what was happening as thousands of images raced paced her mind. If only she could peek up once more!
She bit her lip. No, no! She mustn’t! Castor was right- she would be a fool.
Time ticked by, seconds inching into minutes, minutes stretching into what seemed hours. There they lay, his hand shoving her head into the ground. Breath clotted in their throats, every sound magnified in the dangerous quiet around them.
At long last, Castor rose slightly, motioning for her to do the same. She peeped over the tips of grass, looking over their swaying heads and at the scene before her.
The firelight spread across the ground, dancing across the figures of the night. They no longer proceeded around the dancing flames, rather they sat in staid stances, heads bowed and knees tucked beneath them. A chant hung in the air, as threateningly quiet and cuttingly clear. In unuttered consent, they joined hands, slowly raising them upward. The chant escalated into a crazed screech. Then, all at once, the scene exploded into a maddening flurry of activity.
Screeching and chanting in turn, the figures beat the ground, flailing their arms and bringing them down. Appearing from nowhere, men emerged from the dark depths of the forest and dashed to the center of the circle created by the figures. Clad in the skins of a serpent, they wove in and out of the menace blaze. Sinuous snakes wrapped about their wrists, writhing to the ecstatic shriek ringing throughout the air. Then, uncoiling slowly, they slithered to the ground.
The figure who had held Arrenia’s undivided fascination appeared at the entrance of a tent, holding a ball crafted of crystal. Sound ceased, plunging all into a silent void. Inside the ball was the face of a girl, her eyes black as coal and hair dark as ash.
Arrenia caught her breath. “Isabel.”
Castor cocked his head, looking at her, only to find her glued to the scene. When she didn’t even give him a glance, he returned his attention to the happenings at hand.
The man held the ball aloft, allowing all to see. Thunderous applause rumbled through the night, drumming in the ears of all who heard. The girl in the ball smiled, flashing flawless teeth into a cruel grin.
Cleaving his way through the crowd, the man approached the raging flames. Setting the ball upon the ground, he probed into the folds of his cloak, producing a small bag. Reaching and grabbing handfuls of matter, he tossed it, watching it be consumed by the ravenous hunger of the hearth. Skirting the fire with slow steps, he began to mutter in a voice of near inaudibility.
“Dytok mika li kaarum,
Mun mika deak sadak,
Nwu li krokum,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Taka nwu magahata,
Ko mea ka ta,
Oke nalaka megun,
Ko la nwu nak,
Ko la nwu nak!”
Arrenia leaned towards Castor. “What does it mean?”
Without looking away, he repeated it, confusion filling his words.
“Die, they must,
For they do not say,
You are king,
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
Take your revenge.
Come here to us,
Oh blessed snake,
We need you now,
We need you now!”
Arrenia fell silent, the chill of the night suddenly closing in around her. She shivered, the reality of the words penetrating to her bones. They were talking about someone.
The shadows seemed to lengthen and shift, swallowing the ground in their murderous jaws. The wind whispered through the boughs of the trees, its rustling dialect incomprehensive and dreadful. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled to a moonless sky.
Smoke curled into the air, slithering upwards and curving into the form of a serpent. A sharp command split the stillness, and all- even the snakes, even the girl in the ball- fell prostrate.
“Oh, sacred snake! We are your humble servants, as you well know,” the one who had emerged from the tent said. “We ask only your guidance, for we are at a loss for what to do.”
Lids closed over the scarlet orbs that sat in the socket of the eyes. Then, a voice, horrible, hissing, and the epitome of evil, cut through the atmosphere. “Mmmm…you have something to show me, I think…” The eyes opened again, flashing the face with a brilliant black interest. “Yes…you have something to show me.”
Pulling an old sheet of paper from the depths of his sleeve, the man extended it to the serpent. “We found this in a heap of clothes. Oh, snake! You have forever possessed an interest in the fate of the half-medallions. I have presented it before the assembly here gathered, and we have reached a conclusion that you alone should decide what to do about the information presented hence. We come before you, our heads bowed, seeking your guidance. Do not refuse this one request.”
For a moment, not a word was spoken. Arrenia held her breath, her hand upon the medallion which now hung from her throat, wanting to hear, but yet afraid to know.
“Yes…I am interested,” the snake began. “I have sought this for a long time….”
“But what is to be done?”
“This girl of whom you spoke in the past- she is still within your clutches?”
“Yes….”
The snake stretched its neck down until it stared into the man’s eyes. “Then I will give you no second chances. Kill her. Hunt her if need be, but I want that medallion.”
The man dipped his head. “As you wish, Sire.”
Incanted inferno shriveling to a spark, the creature slide back into the fading flames. Castor tapped Arrenia on the back, signaling her to follow him.
With the sounds of the dispersing party ringing in their ears, they inched over the ground. Noises of the night ceased as they gathered grass into their hands, pulling themselves forward. Sharpened by the silence, their sobered senses remained poised, ready for any sound indicating their discovery.
The canopy of trees swallowed them whole, spinning dark silhouettes about them in a protective guise. Once the hues of the hearth of could be seen no longer, Castor stood.
“Right. We must be quick.”
“But where are we going?”
He turned about, staring down into her uplifted little face, ashen and drawn. Her lower lip trembled before she sealed it into a firm line. Long eyelashes failed to veil her wide-eyed innocence. He knelt before her, fully aware of every ounce of trust she thrust upon him. Oh, how he wished he knew how to comfort her! Hadn’t she comforted him earlier that night? She had taken his hands…just like so…but what came next?
He sighed, caressing the little hand now resting in his own. Ravaging his brain, he searched into the recesses of his mind, but all that came out was, “You do realize, Arrenia, that you can no longer remain here.”
Sinking her teeth into her lip, she nodded, turning her head away. Mental beratings raked through his mind. Couldn’t he do better than that?
He looked at her- small, shivering and abject- and in sudden wave, such as that crashes onto the shore during a tumultuous tide, wanted nothing more than to collect her into his arms, to tell her that this long, dark night would pass and day soon would come.
But there wasn’t the time, and that he knew well, and no way to take back his words. So he stood, allowing practicality to conquer the turbulent sensations within his soul. “Come, we must go.”
For a moment, there she remained, her head still resting between her shoulders. They rose and sagged, slow and steady, to the beat of her breath. Long expanses of time sprawled before them, silence echoing in the void of sound. A light drizzle pattered upon the ground, churning the dirt into mud and filling the earth with its dampened chill.
Then, gradually, her grip tightened about his own. Climbing to her feet, she flipped her hair behind her, sending a shower of small droplets hurling into the air. Jaw stuck out in resolution, she stared into the face of fate, defiance flaring from her eyes. With a nod of her head, she said, “Right. I will do this.”
A pause filled the atmosphere. Her fingers loosened their constricting clench. “But where will we go?”
Turning her towards him, he placed his hands on her shoulders. The clouds drifted from their place in front of the moon, pouring light into the glade and sweeping the rain away with it. She stood there staring, wide-eyed and innocent, scared and helpless, like a wounded creature waiting for aid. Waiting and not knowing if it will ever come.
His head dropped, fingers digging into her shoulders. “Oh, what do I say!”
She watched as the firm backbone of a warrior she once knew snapped beneath the burdens of the world, shedding the armored mask of emotions and leaving him susceptible and shaken. A rush of pity surged over her, whisking away her fear with its tidal torrent.
A spark within her burst into flame, thawing the icy corners of a heart frozen with fear. He had done so much for her- and he of all people! He could have- by rights he should have- put her to the sword, but instead he had shielded her with his own dignity, sacrificing it for the life of an enemy.
Her eyes swam in a pool of hot tears. And what had she done to repay him?
“Don’t.”
He raised his gaze slightly. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say anything. I understand.”
She caught her breath as his stare seeped into her soul, taking her up in its caressing, protective hand, allowing it to sweep her troubles away. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the rugged bristles beneath her smooth fingertips. She felt him reaching deep into her secrets, overturning them and leaving them raw for the world to see.
And yet, for once, she found herself defenseless. For once she couldn’t move, bound as she was in his restricting grasp. Her heart began to beat, palpitating unchecked. She wanted to speak, but all words perished on her lips as he gathered her into his arms and held her there. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. Nothing existed save for the sensation of this embrace.
As he pushed her back, a wave of sad longing flooded the forest, chilling everything it touched. Arrenia shivered, her eyes leaking streams of tears. Oh, why did this have to happen?! Why couldn’t she stay?!
Gulping down his grief, Castor said, “Come, little maiden. It is home you must go. In which direction lies your village?
Arrenia hesitated, the night air nipping at her skin, the truth biting into her tongue. A slight breeze danced around her legs, trifling with her skirt as she stood there, the uncertainty shining from her being filling the air with a soundless yet explosive sense. If she made one wrong move…what would he do?
She could always lie. Just this once, her words could be untrue. Forestalled would his warrior’s wrath be, and perhaps her falsehood would escape his notice.
But had he ever betrayed her that she should do the same to him? Did he not protect her while the risk of his own blood loomed over his head?
Her long hair fell before her as she stared at the ground and sighed. Her hands in a neat knot before her, she pondered the point upon which she must now answer. Could she trust him with her very heart and soul? If she told him the truth, told him the very thing which separated him from her and held them apart, would he continue to respect her life? She knew what his duty would be, which course of action would hold him in great honor above the rest of his people….
Her hand slid around her throat. The blade’s keen edge crept into her mind, as did the sharp sting of its scratch. Her muscles twisted into tight cords, her stomach knotting uncomfortably.
But, from her heart came another tale, rising from deep within her, pushing its way upward and spilling into her mind. She unfolded fists damp with the sweat of her palm, bringing her head up slowly.
She jumped slightly as their gazes fused together, a fiery spark leaping into her chest. There it burned, increasing its heat until she sweltered beneath it, completely overcome and subdued. Her lips parted, the words issuing forth, her mind nullified.
“I don’t live in a village, Castor.”
“What do you mean?” His stare intensified as he knitted his brows.
“I…I’m not who you think I am.”
Noting the sudden tremor in her voice, he took in her wide eyes and tensed posture. Taking a step forward, he said, “You fear me.”
She took a step backwards. Gulping, she nodded. How could she not be, when one look of his eyes scaled the walls of her defenses, leaving her weak and helpless?
He smiled gently, taking her chin in his hand. “You need not be, little one. Tell me, what’s troubling you?”
She drew in her breath. “If I told you, would you promise not to hurt me?”
Dipping his head, he rested his hand upon his heart. “Upon my honor, little maiden.”
Her mind raced in wild, nervous terror, fists rolling into frightened balls. Eyes skimming over the elaborate hilt of his sword, she sucked in her fear.
“I live in the palace of Lydacia, the very one which your people tried to conquer. Castor… my name is Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia.”
She waited, expectancy constricting her soul. Inhaling slowly, she cleaved the oxygen from the air. Her insides twitched and fluttered, then fell into a stagnant stance. The wind halted its whispers, the boughs of the trees finally ceasing their hypnotic sway.
Glance unaverted, Castor placed a foot forward, fingers embracing the handle of his weapon. Metal rang against metal as he slid it from its sheath. If she gasped, he did not know it. All he remembered was the closing of her eyes, the turning of her head….
He raised his sword, rage coursing through his veins….
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