Click here to read Part One, here to read Part Two, here to read Part Three, and here to read Part Four. “Good, then let’s continue.” Amir sheathed his sword. “The gracious king has agreed to spare anyone punishment if they tell us what is going on.” Silence. “Well?” A young woman broke from the crowd. Her hair was knotted and soaking wet. Her dress of torn and covered in mud. She crossed her arms. “It will cost you,” she sniffed. “Cynthia, no!” someone hissed. The captain smiled and motioned for the soldiers to let her approach. “You look like a smart girl. Cynthia, right?” she nodded. “A name worthy of a princess. What can you do?” “I’m a seamstress.” Amir smiled again. “How would you like work in the castle sewing robes for the priests and the royal?” Cynthia nodded primly and turned to the villagers, scanning them. She lifted her finger and pointed at Isaac and his mother. “They’re the ones you want.” Katarina froze and gripped the stone wall. No! The captain snapped his fingers as a cruel smile tugged at his lips. “Bring them here.” Two soldiers broke off and marched over, swords extended. Elizabeth’s face went deathly pale and she gripped the shoulders of her son, but stepped forward with her head held high. The soldiers prodded them on. “Faster!” one growled and she tripped as she hurried to obey. Isaac quickly grabbed her arm and steadied her. Amir chuckled. “Your son?” he asked as he looked Isaac over. Elizabeth glared calmly back, her grip tightening. Isaac scowled. “Yes,” he spat. “I’m her son.” Captain Hanzan smiled. “And a feisty one too! Tell me,” he said, turning back to the seamstress. “What is it that these two have done?” The woman bit her lip, refusing to look the two in the eyes, and cleared her throat. “The boy listens to the stories of the old man on the cliffs,” she announced. “And spreads them to the village children. And then they all go around with them.” No one spoke. Words were gone. They were betrayed. Mothers cradled their children and drew them closer. Men clench their fists and glared, but in their glares was sorrow and despair. The wrath and storm of the Dethroner had come. All hope was gone... or was it? Never lose hope, the Light had said. But what could Katarina do? A couple men and women fell to their knees. “We didn’t know!” they shrieked and cried. “We didn’t know! Please! Mercy! We follow the priest! We follow him and the king and his gods!” The captain ignored them and snatched Isaac up at the neck. The boy struggled and tearing at the huge hands and kicking the air, gasping for breath, but Amir did not let go. “Where is this man, boy!?” he screamed. Isaac shook his head. “I’d...” he struggled, “rather... die.” The man shoved Isaac down into the mud and drew his sword up to Elizabeth’s neck. “What about her?” He smiled cruelly. Isaac pushed himself up, heaving. His mother shook her head, tears streaming. “Don’t Isaac! Don’t do it!” Thunder crashed as a lightning bolt split the sky. “Don’t tell him,” she sobbed. Isaac bit his lip, tears beginning to fill his own eyes. He shook his head. “Mother...” “Don’t!” she screamed. “For the Creator! For Him, Isaac! Don’t tell!”
“Well, boy?” the captain snarled and increased his pressure. Elizabeth flinched as some drops of blood began to trickle down her neck. Before Isaac could react, Katarina jumped out of the shadows. “Stop!” Everyone turned. “Stop,” she sobbed. “I know where he lives.” For moment no one moved, and then the captain lowered his blade and pushed Isaac’s mother away. “Good girl,” he sneered and pointed the sword at her. “You will show me. You hear?” Katarina’s gaze wandered to Isaac. He bit his lip. He was crying. She looked back at the murder before her and nodded. “Yes. I will show the way.” “Good.” Amir waved the soldiers to the villagers. “Bring them to the priest's sanctuary and let no one out until I come back. And I want a couple of you to come with me, while you,” he turned and grinned at Katarina, “while you and I go fix the root of this problem. The king will be very pleased.” The girl nodded quietly and wiped her tears away. Please, she prayed, Creator, let the others escape. “You might want to take as many soldiers as you can,” she added. “The old man often has visitors and he’s really good with the sword... he also,” Katarina added, “shows off what he can do with magic.” The captain smiled. “Good girl. You’re a very good girl.” He spun and beckoned over more soldiers. “I want ten of you.” He chuckled and added to himself, “A false prophet and dark sorcerer... the king will be very happy.” That will leave just a dozen here. A dozen against fifty. Katarina looked back at Isaac and smiled through her tears. Like helping you, he had said. That’s Light. Written by Evelyn Kelly Illustrated by Jeremiah K. Edited by The Flabbits Copyright © 2018 by The Flabbit Room
0 Comments
Click here to read Part One, here to read Part Two, and here to read Part Three. Katarina didn’t know where she was running to — all she wanted was to run away. Voices called in the distance, lanterns moved far off, and the rain only pounded down harder. Gradually her feet slowed. She was tired and out of breath. She dropped onto a rock and buried her head into her hands as sobs began to shake her whole body. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs. Sobs crying for her Grandmother, sobs for herself, and sobs of anger. She was exhausted and hardly had the energy for tears. Hunching down for protection from the boulder, she hugged herself and shoved her hands into her pockets to kindle some warmth. Her fingers closed around something. She had forgotten the poem. Katarina pulled it out and flattened the parchment across her lap and read. The ink smeared as rain soaked the page. Weeping softly, she bent over to shield it. Love heals the deepest wounds. The words stood out on the page. She whispered them aloud and then screamed. Rage filled her every bone and she ripped the words into wet paper shreds. “Where was the loving Creator when my Grandmother died?” she sobbed and threw the torn pieces. When they landed on in the mud, she smashed them deeper with her heel and fell back wearily against the rock, energy drained. She paused, heaving, and, looking up, finally realized where she was. Before her the old man’s tent shivered in the wind. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and she gave in. Cautiously, she tiptoed to the flapping door and peeked inside. It appeared untouched from earlier that morning — or whatever time of day it had been. Katarina untied her soaked cloak and hung it over the cot. Then she rolled the potato out of the coals, tore it open, and scarfed it down. Exhausted, she fell across the mat and drifted into her dreams. Child. You ache. Katarina didn’t answer, her eyes fixed before her. Deep heavy darkness pressed in around her except for a single golden thread drifting around her. Power throbed through it like blood through veins. And love. And Light. Child. I was there, it whispered. I was holding her hand and crying for you. I was there. Pain may come but I never leave. The words were a lullaby. I was there. I was there. Slowly they cradled Katarina and peace seeped into her mind. I am with you little one. Never lose hope. Katarina woke with a start. The fire had died off a while ago and now it was cold in the tent. She lay quietly and held her breath, listening carefully. And then she heard them again: screams. Their echoes pieced through the wind and rain. Her stomach churned. She must be imagining it. But they came again: screams. And drums; there were drums beating. Heart pounding, she scrambled to her feet and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders once more. Outside the wind had increased. Lightning now flashed and zig-sagged across the pitch-black sky. Thunder boomed. The trees beside the tent bent low the to ground looked as if they would snap, but she didn’t slow to watch. Across the field her village was burning. Furious, crackling orange flames leapt from house to house, playing tag with the thatched roofs. Lines of soldiers stood along the edge while she could see more moving through the buildings in the blazing firelight. She could see them dragging shapes behind them. It was all chaos. Isaac. Where is Isaac? Katarina reached the edge of a cluster of homes and a woman stumbled from a doorway. Smoke streamed out behind her as she fell to her knees and gasped for air. She coughed and then peeled away the blanket from the bundle she cradled desperately. She murmured and bowed her head to kiss it. A baby. “You!” a soldier yelled as he spotted her. “Get up now.” The woman hugged the bundle tighter and struggled to stand. Katarina could now see the fresh burns covering her arms and dress, she could also see the symbol of the king on the soldiers’ sleeves. Lightning flashed above and the soldier ran at her. “I said now!” he screamed. He snatched the bundle and with his other hand balled his fist at her forehead. The woman fell back and then tried to push herself up and take back her child. Blood trickled down her face, anger filled her eyes. She yelled and clung to the bundle in his arms. The man growled and lifted the hilt of his sword. A loud crack resounded as he brought it down on the mother’s head. She crumbled into the mud and Katarina gagged in horror. The baby cried louder, but the man ignored it and wiped his bloody hand on its blanket in disgust. A soldier ran up and saluted. “Captain! Everyone is gathered.” “Good,” the soldier barked. “It’s time we get to the bottom of this.” When the two soldiers disappeared, Katarina ran to the motionless woman, but it was too late. Fury filled her. How could he do something so cruel? What is happening!?
Sobbing, she pushed the woman’s eyelids closed and slipped into the shadows after the captain. She had to find out what was going on. In the open square surrounded by blazing shops, the villagers, her friends, and her neighbors, were lined up before dozens of soldiers. The captain marched up, shoved the baby in the closest woman’s arms, and then continued down the line. “I am Amir Hanzan,” the man shouted, “one of the king’s most trusted captains, and I’m here to tell you his Majesty is not pleased! He has been hearing distressing news! Reports of your actions have reached the palace!” Hanzan scowled down the lines of villagers. Some avoided his gaze. Some stared back definitely. Some were weeping quietly. Lighting lit the world and Katarina finally spotted Isaac. His forehead was bleeding and his clothes were torn. He glared fiercely at the soldiers and his hands were clenched, but his mother held him back. Hanzan paced the other way and continued. “He has heard of rumors spreading lies; he has heard about your plans for rebellion and the chaos you are spreading to overthrow him!” he spat. “And now you will pay unless you recant your actions and swear loyalty to the great King!” No one spook up. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. “Well!?” the man screamed. Out of the line a old man stepped forward. He was breathing hard and hate filled his eyes. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he yelled back. “But I do know you are a murder, and if this is what the king has sent you to do, I will curse his name for it.” The man spat and drew a crude, old dagger from his belt. “I will fight to the death to rid my village of both you and him!” The captain scowled. “You will regret those words,” he growled and charged, stabbing the old man clean through with his sword. Women and children screamed, but the old man merely struggled for words, eyes wide. Blood seeped from his stomach and trickled out of his mouth. Finally, he managed to gurgle something and then went limp. The dagger fell from his hand. “And so shall be the end of everyone who stands against the King!” the captain cried out and shoved the body away with the sword still protruding from it. A foot soldier handed him a replacement. “Anyone else?” Hanzan snarled and turned back to the rest of the villagers. No one moved. Written by Evelyn Kelly Illustrated by Jeremiah K. Edited by The Flabbits Copyright © 2018 by The Flabbit Room Click here to read Part One and here to read Part Two. The tent was quiet but outside the storm raged on. Katarina rose to her feet and set her potato back in the smouldering coals. She was not hungry and she did not have time to spare. She must brave the strengthening storm and find the Midnight Stag before her Grandmother ran out of time. As she reached for the tent’s door, however, something white and fluttering caught her eye. A scrap of paper was stuck beneath the man’s sitting mat and flapping desperately in the strong wind. She picked it up and unfolded it. Surely I shall see the sun, Rise beyond the distant shores, Flaming red to break the night, And shatter darkness with the light. For love conquers the worst Love endures the worst, Love touches the worst, And love heals the deepest wounds. Love is a sword, Love is a word. Love is a smile to the hurting Love is Light in the Dark. So carry not hate, But love For it is the weapon of True Kings, And love always wins. Katarina read the words again and paused thoughtfully, then slid it into her pocket. Love heals the deepest wounds? she wondered. She bit her lip and breathed in shakily. Was it too much to hope for? Wind and rain slapped her in the face as she ducked out of the tent. The heavy drops stung on her arms and she hunched over and ran forward against the strong blasting weather. Before her, the shapes of the boulders were only black silhouettes. And then she stopped and stared. There was the silhouette of a stag, she could see no features, but it was there. The shape turned and faced Katarina. The girl’s heart skipped a beat and she forced herself to breath. Her hands tingled.
“I—” she stuttered but her words were lost to the wind. Young one, I know. The words echoed softly in her head. Katarina blinked. Power. She could feel it on the other side. The mind of the Midnight Stag had brushed against her own. The Creator is gracious and has told me of your cries. Again she felt it: power enough to tear down an entire city in a heartbeat; power to bring a storm; power to heal the sick. Katarina gulped. Her clenched hands felt clammy and her whole body was trembling. “And?” she whispered. The power is His, the Stag said gravely. To heal or hurt. To show mercy or bring justice. Today He does not ignore the cries of the others. Neither does he ignore the one that is a dethroner, murder, and thief — all to serve himself, his desires, and his own gods. One day punishment will be brought before him. This is the hope that I pass to you so you may pass it on to others. Katarina bit her lip as everything around her began to blur. “I don’t understand... but— but my Grandmother? What about her?” Hope to pass on. Hope to live on-- “But—” The silhouette began to fade and the voice grew quieter. Hope to grow and strength. Hope for the Dawn-- “My Grandmother!” Katarina screamed. “What about her?” Light lives forever, the voice continued steadily. Light rises even in the darkness. Live that Light and in the dark you shall rise for others… Go home... Live the Light. The whisperer faded and Katarina was alone. Waves beat against the cliff wall below and wind whipped her cloak. “The Creator heard my cry,” she whispered, lip trembling. “Then did my Grandmother—” her words stopped short as she remembered what the stag had said: “Love heals all.” Was it possible...? If the Creator loved her than wouldn’t he heal her Grandmother? Katarina turned and ran. Wind fought her flight across the fields and tried to tear her away from the path. The ground was softer and her feet sunk. Mud splattered her dress and her hood ripped from her neck. In the distance she could barely see the lights of the village, blurred by mist and rain. And then the wind carried a distant wisp of mournful music over the fields. She began running faster and recognized the shape of her own hut. Shadows of people lined at the door, the light of lanterns dancing across grim faces. Many avoided her gaze. Others shook their heads sadly — empathy alight in their eyes. “No,” Katarina croaked and felt the world spin around her. “No!” She shoved them out of the way and stumbled into the small room. Isaac leapt to his feet from where he was kneeling with his parents. Tears streaked his face and his eyes glistened with more. “Katarina!” he said and reached for her hand. “No,” she said and stared at the cot, slowly backing away. Her grandmother didn’t move. “No!” she screamed. If loves heals the deepest wounds then there is no love here from the Creator. “Katarina!” The girl didn’t answer but turned and ran. The cold air of the night embraced her and the dark of the storm fell around her. Written by Evelyn Kelly Illustrated by Jeremiah K. Edited by The Flabbits Copyright © 2018 by The Flabbit Room |
WelcomeWelcome to The Flabbit Blog! Here you will find writings by the many members of The Flabbit Room, most of which will be set in the world of Ildathore. Categories
All
Archives
April 2020
|