The Crowned Captive

Branches tore at her skin as she ran through the forest, desperate to outrun the hounds that would soon be on her heels. She knew that with every scratch, every drop of blood, she left an easier and easier trail. It could not be helped. She was so short on time. She could not stop. She could not hide. Running would be their only salvation.

Even the shadows seemed to reach out to trip her as she fled as fast as she could with her babe in her arms. Her eyes scanned the forest, trying to make any plan with mere minutes until their doom. Her magic was still there, hanging by a fraying tether; she had to use it right. One misstep and she was damned. Her daughter was damned. Her entire people were damned, and not even the gods could help them.

There, a whisper on the wind, she smelt smoke. Sweet relief sang through her at the scent. She sent a silent prayer that it wasn’t more soldiers and speared towards it. If she could make it, maybe she could hide her baby. Leave a message, get her home, and there was hope yet.

In the distance, she heard the confused braying of the hounds. Her eyes teared, threatening to trip her as they blurred her vision. So close, she was so damned close. One chance was all she needed; she was sure. There, to the right, she saw light reaching through the forest. A promise of a miracle. A cry broke from her lips as she saw her salvation.

The underbrush bit into her flesh as she sprinted towards it as fast as her legs would let her, the crimson fabric of her dress shredded. Her breath sawed through her in ragged gasps, lungs threatening to burst. Nevertheless, she ran. The gods had given her a chance, one chance, and she would take it. She would save her child.

She let out a ragged sob as she entered the clearing. The gods could give her this. One last shot at salvation, even though it was a fool’s hand. Frantically, she threw up a shield to dissuade the hounds with the dregs of her failing magic. The spell tore from her core with sharp pain, biting deep into her physical reserves. Darkness threatened her vision, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but she stayed upright, running for the cottage door. She refused to let her body fail her now.

The babe was silent as she rested her on the doorstep, ever calm despite the chaos that tolled around its first few months of life. Her ice-blue eyes glittered up at her mother, full of wonder, a lone loving gift from her father. The babe reached up, pulling at her mother’s golden locks with a smile on her face. It was a reminder of her part in their last moments together. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she kissed her babe’s forehead and stood back. A kernel of power, barely enough, welled up inside her as she closed her eyes and began speaking in The Old Tongue.

“She is Morana,” the woman began, the words like the whispers of the trees. “Kissed by the God of Death, she will be our Saviour. Through Death, Life will begin anew. Let her be our weapon and the planter of the new seed.”

Her vision went blank for a long moment, yet she held on to the fading edges of her consciousness. The toll of her magic words was all she could handle if she had the strength to lead them away. She bent down again, still speaking in the Old Tongue to her child, too tired to force the change of language.

“I love you, my child. If I survive, I will return to you. When you are called, your father may try and use you, but hold strong. Be your own person. You will know a life of love. I promise all this and more.”

She paused, guilt washing over her for the life she had just locked her child, her only child, into. Never would her babe know peace. Barking, nearer this time, pulled the woman from her reverie. She undid her necklace, the golden pendant heavy in her hands as she placed it over the babe’s head. Her last gift was given. With no time to waste, she heaved herself up on shaking legs and took off again.

The shadows seemed thicker now, clawing her down. The air itself was resistant to her legs. She could not run much longer. Hopefully, it would be long enough to lead them away. She tripped over a rotten log, and the underbrush reached up to bite into her skin. An unbidden cry escaped from her lips. The hounds grew louder, finally finding their trail. Her trembling arms were not strong enough to pull her up again. She glanced down, and her foot was at an unnatural angle and blood welled from deep lacerations scoring her stomach. The red of her tattered dress matched her open flesh against the alabaster skin now. She swallowed the panic and crawled then, any inch further an inch for her daughter. She could hear them clearer now, crashing through the underbrush behind her. Her fingernails bled as she clawed along the ground. Still, she moved.

Her scream echoed through the forest, shrill and ear-splitting, as the first hound broke through the underbrush and sunk its jaw into her calf, pinning her. Another burst through, circling to her face and then grabbing her arm. Her scream was hoarser this time, even her vocal cords threatening to give up on her. Other hounds circled her this time, their black silhouettes indistinguishable from the shadows at the edge of her vision. Death was reaching out his hand to take her. She felt herself reaching back to Him. Her pain ebbed as she welcomed his icy embrace.

“At bay!” A voice behind her barked. They let go of her. Blood poured from her wounds, her healing magic unable to stitch the flesh back together. A hand grabbed her side and rolled her over in the leaves and debris. She wished her eyes had given up on her then, but she was not spared that kindness.

“I have chased you for far too long,” the man spat down at her. His face was full of malice, contorted so much that she could no longer pick out the beauty she once saw. Those once-loving ice-blue eyes their daughter shared burned with nothing but hatred. She knew an outburst was close, his violence too hard for him to contain. “Are you going to come back willingly, or am I going to force you again?”

“I have the strength for neither,” she replied, a smile on her lips. Her body felt as if floating, the darkness closing over her. Finally, she hurt no longer.

“You could have been my queen, you insolent bitch. Now you will be lucky if you are anything more than my whore.”

“If I am lucky, you will kill me and be done with this game,” she whispered, too weak anymore to keep her eyes open. The man chuckled above her, no amusement in the sound.

“It would be foolish to imagine such kindness after you have hurt you have caused. You betrayed your people, you betrayed me.” He placed his boot on the side of her head, grinding her face into the dirt, a death blow so close.

“I do not care. I will rest peacefully knowing our daughter will never feel the wrath of her loving father,” she mocked, praying the final blow would tip him over the edge.

“Psychopathic bitch,” he hissed.

A boot connected with her stomach, driving any air from her lungs and fracturing something vital inside her. Despite it all, she smiled.

And the darkness embraced her like a loving friend.