Winged
A village in Scotland, 1559.
As many people would walk by, day after day in the small, dirty, scottish village streets, many may not have noticed the small child growing up along one moss-covered, cobble alley.
A young girl with fair skin and shoulder length, dark, curly hair in a too-small muddy-brown leather corset skipping up and down the street could easily be looked over by passerbyers. She sat down on a curb and snickered softly to herself as she watched her mischief unfold as the butcher across the street struggled on a stuck knob to his shop. He huffed in annoyance as he tugged on the knob. The huge man started to break a sweat, and sent his hand up and ruffled his sandy hair. The child snorted with laughter, almost forgetting her life. She covered her mouth with her hands with alarm and widened her dark brown eyes as the butcher's meaty head swung around to face her. He beckoned her over with his fat hand. She might have run off, but she knew her parents would want her to try her best for their family. She popped up out of her seat and ran over to the door the man was struggling with.
"Kid," he sighed gruffly, "you're a tricky one. Just like all them." He sighed again, clearly putting off what he was going to say, "If ya' open this door for me, I'll give ya' a slab of yesterday's pork." There wasn't anything to say about, the child had never lived a normal life, never gotten to just goof around and play. She had to get food somewhere, otherwise where would they? She nodded vigorously, remembering her young brother back in the alley, waiting with her parents. She darted forward, and with a big smile quickly twisted the knob and the door swung open. The butcher grunted a thanks and lumbered inside, ducking underneath the splintered wood frame. As the girl waited, she brushed some of her curls back from her dirt- streaked face. As she heard the huge footsteps coming close, she opened her hands expectantly, her dark eyes begging for the scrap… Only to get whipped in the face. She yelped and fell down to her hands and knees.
"That should teach you to trick me you dirty street rat!" He bellowed. As the door slammed behind him, she carefully reached her hands up to her face and touched the bloody mark. It was red and angry, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. As she started to get up, her entire body shaking from the blow across her face. She shakily begun to walk towards a particular sunlit alley. Tears ran down her dirty face. She started to run until she reached her home on the streets. She hoped her father and mother wouldn't be angry at her for being whipped, but they would understand her motives quite well. Hunger. Hunger, pain, sorrow, hunger. The child lived on the streets with her family, always begging for scraps in order to eat once a day. She kept on running and quickly ran into another person. Her mother. She also had long, dark hair, the girl almost was a perfect image of her. The child knelt down with her mother and let out a sob.
"Ohhh. Rowan, what's happened?" She asked. Rowan got her name from the tree that grew on the edge of the wood, where she was born. A boy's name, but her mother always thought the name was fit for a girl. It was the same tree that had made sure her family didn't starve to death in the winter, when they looked more like skeletons more than people. So they didn't die. Rowan hated being so close to death, but she would never trade anything for a different life. She loved her family.
"He told me that if I could open his door, he would give me pork. Actual pork Mother! I-I did, but then he whipped me." She whispered sorrowfully.
"Who whipped you?"
"The butcher."
"Rowan," She lifted up the girl's chin, revealing her mark. "Hey, hey, let's get that fixed up best we can." Best we can. Rowan knew that her family's best was never enough. As her mother dried up the blood with an old, dirty rag, they heard a hungry wail. Her little brother was around four, they didn't know how old they were, and always hungry, like all of them. Her father came around the corner and scooped him up onto his lap and shushed him buy giving him a few crumbs of bread. He had unruly, short hair, and always wore the same leather cloak and cap. Her brother was an image of him. He looked her direction.
"Rowan! What's happened?" Her mother explained. He shook his head sadly. "Better not ask for food next time, we all might have to take to survive this year." This year had been the hungriest of all. Her mother had lost her job of sweeping up at an old bar when it closed. Not that it earned much anyway, but any money helped feed them. All her mother could do now to earn money was sell her body to feed her little family. The little boy shivered and began to whimper again.
"Rouland is cold again," Rowan's mother sighed, "can you fetch some food for the fire?" Rowan nodded and stood back up. She looked around cautiously at the fading sky, being about at night as not only a child, but a girl was very hazardous, she would have to be quick. She trotted around grabbing wanted posters off the walls and the stinking ground. Rowan wrinkled her nose at the smell, but continued nonetheless. As she skipped around the mossy cobble streets, she heard a noise. Rowan froze faster than a rabbit. With soft footsteps, she quickly darted back to her family's alley with her stack of posters. Her mother stood up as fast as lightning as Rowan stopped abruptly in front of her.
"What is it?"
"Hopefully nothing Mother. I thought I heard a noise." Her mother sighed.
"You can never be too careful at a time like this." She was right. The English were always on their border, and threats of attack lingered and poisoned the mood throughout the small village. Rowan dropped some of the paper on the struggling fire and watched it curl. The fire is like us. She thought. Struggling with never enough food.
The next day, early in the morning before anyone else saw her, Rowan climbed the wiry tree in the nearby schoolyard. Only high-born children were allowed to attend the school, and Rowan's family couldn't even dream of an education. But Rowan did. The tree had a semi-dense cover of green-grey leaves and overlooked the one-room classroom. Four years ago she had discovered that she could educate herself by sitting up on the tree and listening and watching the teachers and children. Rowan didn't have any parchment for writing, so instead she dre the strange letters on the trunk of the tree with charcoal from the previous night's fire. It didn't last long, but the girl always hoped she could use her skills to help her family. At first the students and teachers tried to get rid of her by trying to throw rocks, hit her with a too-short broom, or call her names like 'rat' and peasant'. They usually missed, plus Rowan was used to the insults. Some even tried to climb the tree. Luckily for Rowan, high-born children weren't taught any of these skills.
When the school children arrive, some give her a glance, and other just walk by, used to her by now. Tears sprung into Rowan's eyes as one girl with braided blonde hair placed a shiny ripe apple in the crook of one of the low-hanging branches as she noticed the whip mark on Rowan's face. She quickly wiped them away and nodded thankfully at the girl.
"Thank you," she whispered. The girl nodded back and entered the building. Soon the bell rang and class started. Rowan Climbed down quickly and snatched up the fruit and tucked it into the pocket of her cloak. She took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air and turned to the window. The teacher glanced up at her, walked over and slid open shutters- despite the cool air. When the class finished all of the children of all ages streamed outside and out the gate. Rowan glanced around and was just about to climb down when a sharp rock hit her square in the back of her head. She started to sway, black growing at the edges. The laughter of some of the children seemed to echo inside her head as her eyes started to close. She grasped weakly at the rough tree trunk in vain. If she fell, she would have no chance against the bigger, stronger children. Then her foot slipped, and Rowan tumbled down out of the tree and saw nothing but black.
When Rowan awoke, she had no idea how long she had been out. It could have been minutes, or even hours. She pressed her hand against the spot where the rock hit and flinched back when she felt the trickle of warm blood come off with it. As she examined the blood on her fingers, she noticed that the bullies had used the a rock and carved words into her skin. She grit her teeth with pain and silently cursed the teens. Deeply carved into her flesh read the words 'Pagan Witch'. She couldn't help it, tears began to flow. She sobbed. Too often these things happened. Scotland was a Catholic country, and Pagans of different beliefs like Rowan were torchered and hung with even the slightest fib of guilt or witchery from even the most trusted neighbor.
Alarmed, she checked her pocket for the apple, and with a sigh of relief found that it had not been damaged. She didn't have time for pain. She reached down and ripped off a strip of cloth from her corset and tied it around her bloody wrist, hiding the words. Carefully, she felt around her cloak and felt the outline of the small ring her mother had sewn into the folds. Rowan remembered what it looked like, but only vaguely. The famous Pagan symbol of the deer, all carved in gold to fit her finger. Her mother had told her she must keep it with her at all times for a very good reason. There were another division of Pagans, more orthodox. Some of their practiced included human sacrifice. Rowan shivered. She must keep it on her so that orthodox Pagans knew she was not a sacrifice and wouldn't mistake her for their prey to feed the creatures in the wood. They claimed it needed blood to survive.
Rowan shook her head to cleared the thought. Her family were very devoted to their religion, but would never kill or harm anyone without thought.
When she arrived back home her mother and father fussed over her, apparently she had been gone an awful long time.
"I thought you were dead!" her mother fretted. She shook her head sadly as Rowan pulled the bandage off her sore arm. Her father gasped. Even little Rouland started to cry. Rowan embraced him in her arms and let him sob.
"Shhhhh. It's ok," She whispered. She pulled the apple out of her pocket and let him take the first bite. Tears started to run down her mother's face, as silent as the night.
"You should have never had to grow up like this, you should be out there with all of the other children, playing and running around!" She hugged her mother.
"I wouldn't trade this life with you for the world." She said softly.
Chapter 2:
It had started to get colder outside, the air like needles inside Rowan's lungs. She didn't care in the slightest. As she danced around with her brother in the streets, she forgot everything. All there was was the small snowflakes, herself, and Rouland. Rowan picked him up and swung him around. They laughed like they had never laughed before, Rowan felt the noise traveling throughout her body, filling her whole body. The snow didn't stick to the ground, but she couldn't have cared less. She giggled and jumped to try and catch the small flakes. Winter was horrid for her family, but at times like this she would live all of those cold nights over and over just for these moments. Rowan had stopped attending school, but the teacher still came by on her street and pretended to drop parchments that listed information and lessons so that she could still learn. Her breath coming in happy gasps, she set down her brother and retied the ever loosening bandage on her left arm. The one hiding the scars. Luckily the kind physician that lived nearby was also Pagan and took pity on her. He had treated the wound and assured her that it would not be perminite and would disappear in a few weeks. Rowan took her brother's hand and they ran up and down the streets to the main square.
"Sorry," She puffed, still short of breath, "It's time we try and earn something so maybe we can eat today." Her brother nodded and grinned.
"What's so funny about begging?" She asked, surprised.
"I-I-I wan' apple!" He giggled. She smiled. Then whispered,
"Tell you what Rouland, go and try to beg for an apple from the seller, he has plenty left. She winked and he giggled, understanding, and then tottered away with his best puppy face on towards the cart. Feeling a trickle of mischief, she pretended to have a place to go past the apple cart. She quickly, faster than a snake, snatched up two beautiful light green apples and shoved them in her pocket, one for each of them. They would have a great dinner tonight. Mother and Father would get their begging money and buy food later, the penalty for stealing with adults was death- whereas with children it was expected. Attempting to suppress a smile, she put her head down and her hands in her pocket. She had a lot of practice. She apologized to the aggravated carter put on a show of how hungry they were. He started to reach for a bat, an easy way to deal with children. They quickly scurried away and into a nearby alley, giggling.
"Did you get dem'?" Rouland giggled in between breaths. She nodded, a huge grin on her face. She ruffled his dirty, dark brown hair.
"Nice job!" She whispered. She pulled the twin apples out of her pocket and his eyes lit up as he greedily snatched it out of her hands. "Don't eat it too fast," She warned. "We don't know when the next one is coming." He nodded seriously, and took a small bite and chewed slowly. She copied him.
"Al' right," She said, mouth full, "time to go." She stood up and pulled Rouland up with one hand, the other tightly gripping her green treasure. She took another bite and then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She took Rouland's apple and shoved it into her pocket along with her own. "Let's give the rest of these to Mother and Father, there's not enough daylight left for begging. He pouted as they trotted down the streets. He knew she was right. Rowan didn't let go of his hand until they turned into their alley. She stopped in her tracks. Standing with her parents was a strange man. A chill went down her spine as she saw his face. He had pale skin and light brown hair neatly kept back and slicked down. He wore a nice leather suit, but his face was as cold as ice. His pale blue eyes reminded Rowan of the vampires in the tales her mother told at night. Self-consciously, Rowan rubbed the bandage on her arm. He looked her up and down.
"This is the one? She seems like an okay specimen." His voice lacked any warmth. Goosebumps popped up on her arms. She had a bad feeling about this man. Her mother's frightened voice broke the silence,
"Rowan, this man, Cortez, is a scientist who would like to run a few tests on you. H-h-he needs someone willing to do this. He offered to provide his backyard shed for us during some of the cold months." That was it. Everything in Rowan screamed at her to run away, but this small shed the man offered could save her family. She was silent.
"Rowan?"
"Yes," She whispered inaudible.
"Hmmm?" The man sneered.
"Yes Mother, we need this." She forced out.
"Well then, our deal will be complete when I'm finished with your daughter." Rowan wanted to carve the smirk off the man's face with the rusty dagger her family owned. Rouland clutched onto her leather cloak.
"Don't go Row!" He begged. She knelt down.
"Shhhhh. It's okay Rouland, I won't be gone long- plus, I will get you twice as many apples as we got today when I return! Just… be strong." She kissed his forehead and wiped the tears of his freckled, mud-stained face and kissed his forehead. She pulled the apples out of her pocket and handed them to him. She ran right into the arms of her parents. Silent tears trickled down her face.
"Hey, hey! You will only be gone a day or two!" Her father cooed. Her mother kissed her cheeks.
"See you soon my little bird." She said softly.
"Ready?" Just the way the man sounded chilled her to the bone. She looked down and nodded. Rowan shot one last look back at her family and waved. She could tell they all shared her unease.
The man traveled fast, and Rowan had to jog to keep up to him. She didn't dare speak. They walked past shops, beggars, and sellers, but they just kept walking. Just as Rowan felt like she was about to fall over from exhaustion, Cortez stopped abruptly. As he spun on his heel towards her, she ducked her head and pretended to examine her holed shoes.
"We're here." He spat. He swung open the huge, windowless wooden door and shoved her inside. He stopped pretending. Cortez drew up his hand and before Rowan could duck or prepare, he smacked her full on in the face. She fell onto her knees and held her hands up to her face, too shocked to even cry or process what had happened. "Listen now you! I'm the one in charge, and from now you only do what I say if you ever want to see your pitiful family again!" He had been acting the whole time. He never intended to bring her home. Dumbfounded and numb with shock she nodded. Silent tears streamed down her face. "Look at me!" He roughly forced her head up. She looked at him in the eyes, not caring about the hate that filled them. "Cmere'!" He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her onto her feet. Rowan shreaked. Cortez hit her again. He opened another door. Out of it wafted a horrid smell of chemicals...and blood. Rowan gagged. He grabbed her and shoved up to the second floor. Cabinets lined the walls, filled to the brim with liquids in a variety of containers. At the far corner was a neat bed with a dirty patchwork quilt. There was one grubby window, sunlight streaming through it. In the center of the room was a post with ropes attached. Rowan felt like throwing up when she saw what surrounded it. Blood, dried and staining the ground. Cortez grabbed her roughly from behind and pushed a dirty, bloodstained rag inside her mouth to gag her. Rowan choked and tears sprung to her eyes. He pushed her into the post and it dug painfully into her back. Cortez violently tied the frayed ropes around her hands and behind the post. She bit back a scream. Cortez grabbed a whip. Rowan froze. Cortez advanced closer. She gave a long piercing screech into her gag as the whip cracked down on her back. She sobbed. He kept hitting her again and again until her back bled and became numb with pain.
She started to see black creep into her vision as her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the floor, still tied. She felt the warm blood trickle down her back and onto the ground, her hands were sticky with it. After many more hours of struggling to remain conscious, she saw black. When she awoke, there were no illusions of home. Right as her eyes opened, she knew where she was. Hands tied and covered in blood. She started to cry into her dirty gag when she remembered her mother and father, anxiously awaiting her return. Her brother, his dirty face and and mischievous grin that always crept into his eyes. She even missed her teacher, always dropping her papers that could easily be disposed of, but had promised her family hope of a better life.
She snapped out of her memories as soon as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Cortez. Hate flooded her eyes and she clenched her fists. He came into view. His eyes were cold as ice, but he wore an neat, formal outfit, hair in a small pony tail at the back of his head. Fear struck Rowan as she saw his bloodstained apron on, ready for testing. He grinned lopsidedly and cruel when he saw her.
"Hello there 'Little Bird'," He mocked. She balled her hands into fists and swallowed back tears. He started to circle her, his leather shoes making sickening sucking noises on the blood below. "Do you know why I picked you for my subject?" he sneered. Not waiting for an answer he continued, "I choose you because our world can do without you and your kind." He spat out the last part. "Peasants. Filthy peasant scum, that's what you and your precious family are. In his hand was a rusted, bloody, cruel-looking needle. He continued to circle. Rowan felt like a trapped animal, stuck in a cage. "Your kind need to be eradicated. Wiped out. Killed. That's why I choose you. My tests could kill you, maybe not. Who cares about your common type. Your plain. Your nothing special. I could kill you in one blow of a sword." Rowan felt sick, but rage trembled on inside her. He advanced towards her and ripped off the bandage on her arm. "Yea. I know about this mark too Pagan. I've been following you for quite a while now Rowan. I just had to wait for your family to become weaker than it already was, which was hard to believe was even possible." Her blood boiled. He darted in towards her and plunged the needle deep into her neck. Rowan screamed as the pain traveled down into her spine. He injected a bluish liquid into her. As he pulled the needle out he grabbed her shoulder and forced her onto her feet. Cortez smiled. A shiver went down Rowan's spine. She couldn't tell if it was a spasm or the cold, dankness of the room.
It had been days, or had it been weeks? It was dark, and Rowan had stopped counting the terrible, pain-filled days she had suffered. Days of injections. Days of whipping. She tried to swallow, but she had lost the ability to long ago. The floorboards creaked and Rowan flinched. She had turned into an animal, flinching and twitching at every sound or movement. She sank down onto her knees and sobbed with no tears, she was too dehydrated. She looked down at her tattered corset, her ribs jutted out unnaturally. Her hair was a mess on top of her head, her face was gaunt and a shadow had appeared in her eyes. A shadow of pain. A shadow of loss hope. Rowan didn't even remember what it was like to feel no pain. Her hands shook and her insides begged for water and food worse than ever before. The black surrounding her vision never seemed to go away either, always on the brink of life and death. She coughed violently. She bought her hands down from her mouth. More blood. Rowan gazed longingly out the window. Tears flowed. Footsteps. She froze and turned. Cortez looked down at her cooly. Did he look gaunt too? She couldn't tell. Her heart ached for her family. Rowan jumped as Cortez doubled over and started hacking. When he finally stopped, he turned his icey eyes on her, a thin trail of blood dribbling down his chin. She looked at him in horror.
"I'm fine. Don't look at me like or else!" He spat. She averted her gaze to the ground, the sudden movement tightening her binds. She clenched her teeth to avoid showing weakness. He stumbled over to his tidy bed and sat down on it with a thud. "Consider yourself lucky child, no tests today. I'm not feeling quite myself." His voice slurred. Her hands shook nervously once again in fear. "I'll kill you one day, don't you worry." He closed his eyes. Rowan silently thanked the Pagan gods. She slumped back in relief as snores started to emit from his throat. She herself curled up on the floor and slipped into an uneasy dreamless sleep.
As a wiry light crept into the horrible room, Rowan's eyes flickered open. She sat up against the post rigidly and looked around the room. When her eyes fell on Cortez, her stomach dropped and fear like never before flowed. She screamed. His hair was messy and unkempt, but that was the least of the problems. Boils covered his hands and face, and his once sharp blue eyes were grey and staring into nothing. His fingers were curled up and as black as if he had dipped them in charcoal. He was dead. The plague had hit. Rowan screamed again and used her legs to rapidly shuffle as far away as her bonds would let. Her eyes widened in terror. The plague spread rapidly, and just being in the same room as the infected could mean the difference between life and death. She violently started to chew on her gag, attempting to rip it in half. She sank her teeth into the brittle cloth and started to feel the fibers tear. Rowan bit down harder and harder until she hear a snap. She spit the gag out of her mouth and yelled for help.
"HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP!" She called out desperately. No one came. She glanced anxiously at Cortez. Only hours ago he had been walking. Talking. She would have to wait until later to feel joy. If there even was a later. She could taste the metallic taste of blood in her mouth from her struggle. She started to tug on her bindings. "HELP! PLEASE!" She turned sharply and use her mouth to pull the same stunt on the thick ropes. Nothing happened. She looked over at a knife Cortez had used to torture her. She shivered but slid down on her back and shot out her legs. Success! She flicked the knife over towards her and grabbed it in her teeth. It was dull, but it was also her only chance she would ever see her family again. Finally the rope snapped and Rowan quickly grabbed the knife in her hand and started to saw the other side. Her wrists were red and angry from pulling. Finally she cut the other rope and ran to the other side of the room. She pressed herself to the wall in an attempt to distance herself from the infected corpse. She rattled the knob desperately in vain- it was locked. She skidded over to the window, banging on it desperately and shouting for help in the empty streets. She started to sob.
"Please….Someone...The plague…." No one came. Just then, a short, pudgy boy with dirty blonde hair dressed in dark blue trousers appeared in the street. He looked at her incredulously. She perked up and banged harder on the dirty window. "HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!" She hollered desperately. The boy clearly didn't understand and started to make faces at Rowan. She screamed. Then, laughing, he picked up a large stone and hurled it right at the window. It hit her square in the face. The boy ran away. Rowan shot backwards and crashed into the many shelves of chemicals behind her and blacked out as pain overcame her.
Chapter 3:
Rowan didn't know or care how long she was knocked out. She let out a groan of pain and clasped her hand to her head. She couldn't stand, and she was still in the room with plague. Her head pounded and the world spun before her eyes. Her head was sticky with red. Every movement, every breath was agany. She turned her head and gasped. There were two long rips on the shoulder blades of her corset. Sprouting out of them were two large, feathery, light brown wings. She had wings. She felt around her body. Along with the wings, she had two small horns. They were the same color as her hair and very small, but they were there. Rowan gaped, wings? Wings were for birds, not people! At least in reality anyway. She ran her hand down the velvety feathers, she had never felt anything so soft before- her family could never afford such luxuries. She soon snapped back to reality, her heart still pounding in her chest. Plague. She jumped up and ran towards the broken window, most of it still intact. She glanced back at Cortez, her stomach lurched at the sight of his dehydrated body. Rowan began to backup and inhaled sharply. Most birds learned to fly by being pushed out of the nest, she guessed she would have to do the same. She closed her eyes tight, her wings ruffling nervously, and shot out of the high window. She felt the wind rushing past her face as she fell,
"I'm going to die!" She screamed inside her head. Right as Rowan was about to plummet to her death, she shot out her brown wings, each bigger than she was herself, and flew. Rowan laughed, a happy laugh she hadn't known in a long time, as she soared through the mismatched townhouses. She was flying. Townspeople below in the grubby streets stared at her in shock and rubbed their eyes after she passed. She was no angel, Rowan was sure of it herself. She remembered her family. Little Rouland, his dark, unruly hair and lopsided childish grin. Her mother, with her kind and loving arms ready to wrap around her. Her father, never leaving them, no matter what. She circled the village several times looking for them. Then she saw the soldiers. They were gathering in the streets not far from the village, their swords and nets ready, staring up at her with shocked human eyes. Not at all like Cortez, but most likely wanting to take her away. She shivered. She soared down and landed with a thump in a nearby alley. She ducked behind a wall as a crowd of soldiers swarmed by. Her breathing was loud and labored, all of her fun dissolved instantly and was replaced with fear. They were coming for her. She saw one of the soldiers pause by a rotten wood post. He produced a flier and stuck it on the pole. On it read: WANTED BY QUEEN MARY; THE CHILD WITH WINGS. Under the bold title was a rough sketch of her. Rowan's heart sank. Wanted by Queen Mary. She slipped back into the shadows, jogging silently through the maze of alleys she had grown up in.
Rowan slinked around, assuming her role of a shadow. She tiptoed along long stretches, occasionally turning a left or right. Finally she saw an open alleyway, light gleaming through. She ducked back behind the wall as she saw several people gathered around a makeshift bed consisting of two crates that had been shoved roughly together. Laying messily on top was a ratty, thin sheet. There was a small child in the makeshift bed, lying still, but clearly still alive. Its small hand hung over the edge of the bed. The fingers were blackened. She retreated further behind the alley wall. The child gave a feeble cough. Rowan could hear sobbing and see the shaking shoulders of what she suspected to be the child's parents. Her heart sank and she was overcome by grief and sympathy for the couple, not to mention the child.
The other people crowded around the child wore black, beaked masked. The sign of the plague. She swallowed hard. As she backed further away, confused that these people were in her alley, when the woman stopped sniffling and looked at her. Rowan gasped. It was her mother. Her mother started urgently tapping the man beside her; her father. She ran towards them, engulfing them in a huge hug. Her mother began to cry again as she fussed over her..
"Rowan! Rowan! Rowan!" She cried. "You're alive! Oh my sweet little bird!" Rowan was filled with so many emotions, she didn't even know where to start. Her father lifted her into the air. Rowan spread out her wings unconsciously. Her father gasped, and her mother covered her mouth with her hand quickly. Her father dropped her quickly. He looked at her and noticed her horns as well.
"It was you! 'The Child With Wings;' It was you!" Rowan nodded silently and pressed her finger to her lips. Quickly, her father removed his special hat and placed it on top of her dark curls, hiding her horns. He then took his huge, heavy leather cloak and draped it over her shoulders, buttoning it in the middle. She embraced him thankfully. Then she froze. It hit her. The dying child in the bed. She turned slowly to her parents.
"Mother, Father, where's Rouland?" She began carefully. Her father inhaled sharply. Her mother buried her face in the shoulder of his jacket.
"Rowan… I think you know." He sighed. 'No. It couldn't be' she thought furiously to herself. Rouland was the feeble child on the bed. She ran over to the bed desperately. The masked, cloaked people stepped back to give her room. There was her brother, his hair messy and unkempt. He was pale, so very pale. His eyes fluttered open and he whispered in his young, high voice.
"Row…." His sentence ended in a fit of coughing. It was Rowan's turn to pale. She reached out to touch his forehead but quickly snapped it away. She couldn't even touch her little brother.
"No. No no no no no!" Her voice rose into a hysteric wail, but Rowan didn't care. Rouland wasn't going to survive. Her mother sobbed behind her, her father gripping her shoulders tightly in a effort to stay strong. Rouland whimpered.
"My belly hurts, I wan' apple.." Rowan lifted her head quickly. She would get him anything to help him, even in just a tiny way. Pulling the heavy leather cloak around her, she dashed out into the street in search of the apple cart, tears streaming down her face. Her mother called out for her as she ran, but Rowan ignored her. All that mattered was Rouland. She jumped over rocks and stones and dodged people until she came at the cart. A ripe red apple sat on top of the pile of round fruits. Rowan snatched it and half stumbled, half ran back to her brother. He lay right as she found him, but something was different. Her family was gathered around him, and even her father was crying. The masked men stood a few feet back, waiting. Rowan joined them, sliding her hands into her mother and father's.
"Rouland I brought…." She looked down and sank to her knees. Laying there, paler than ever, was her brother. But this time, he was dead.
Chapter 4:
No. It couldn't be. Rowan sat there, stunned as her parent cried silent tears behind her. She felt stunned. Rowan let the shiny apple roll out of her hand and onto the ground with a light thump. She felt like crying her eyes out, but the tears simply never came, she was too stunned to try anyway. A million emotions rushed over her at once. Fear, anger, regret, sorrow. She tried to swallow them down but her tongue was as dry as the gag she had escaped from.
She didn't move. She didn't speak. All Rowan did was stare. She just kept staring. The men in the plague masks moved forward and and gently lifted up Rouland's lifeless body in a thin sheet. Rowan felt like she should kick and scream to get them to bring him back, but she knew it would be useless.
TO BE CONTINUED