The Last Priestess: Part III

Chapter: Prologue

Opening her eyes under the blazing sun, Anabelle Abbott knew she was dreaming. This had to be a dream, because if it wasn't, she was in far more danger than she knew. Dream or not, everything around her felt so real. There was no transparency to anything in this environment. She moved to the side, trying to stand, or move. Her wrists were tied behind her. She was being held captive-she had worked that much out already. Her heart began to beat faster as panic set in. Anabelle settled her breathing as much as she could. She had to keep it together. Cool, calm, and collected would find answers, but panic only brought more trouble.

The bonds holding her wrists tightly behind her back stung her skin whenever she struggled, but the resourceful woman determined that the material fastened to her was tied to another object. The next piece of this puzzle to solve was who had decided to hold her here, and why. Was there a ransom to be gained? Was being taken meant to be vengeance for some insult or offense? Looking to her left, then her right, there was no one to ask or help. No one had stayed to keep watch of her actions. What if she escaped? She had nothing to free herself, and the sun burned her deep blue eyes each time she looked to the afternoon sky. The heat continued to cause her thoughts to wander more frequently, unable to stay focused upon any method of breaking free. She had no sign that anyone would pass through this area. There were tracks at her feet, but who knew how fresh they were. No one had come to check she was still in position, or claim responsibility for their cowardly kidnapping.

Eventually, Anabelle tired herself out. Her eyelids began to flutter wildly before finally closing. She was losing consciousness quickly. She didn't have the strength to open her eyes when voices could be heard coming closer to her. Her body was too weak to move. She listened carefully, making out three male voices.

"Over here!" One of the men called to the others. "There is someone here. She is hurt. Help me untie her."

For a few minutes, Anabelle sensed that the other two men did not approach.

"We cannot just leave her." The man cutting her restraints lose stated from beside her. He gently placed a hand to her forehead. "She suffers from a fever."

"It is not yet time for her to arrive." One of the other men finally moved closer.

"I won't leave her here to die."

Anabelle wanted more than ever to open her eyes, or speak to whoever surrounded her. She wanted answers. She had not learned anything from what they said.

"Find space to keep her hidden, and build a fire. Keep her warm. We will meet you ahead by morning." The third voice spoke.

Anabelle felt herself being lifted, her hands freed, before feeling herself succumb to a long sleep. A fair amount of time passed before her eyes felt heavy, slowly opening, adjusting to the darkness of the changed area she found herself in. Night had fallen, leaving only a small fire to illuminate the surroundings. She didn't move yet, but took note of her new area of captivity. Now she was awake again. She was free to get away, to run. But where would she run? She still did not know where she was. What she did know was that she appeared to be in a cave of sorts, her head now rested upon a rolled up piece of clothing. She slowly twisted her head to the area that the fire had been built in. Her neck ached and she had a pounding headache.

"Aspirin." She spoke, her voice sounding scratchy and weak.

Her eyes then caught sight of movement. Someone was beside the burning fire. Anabelle watched closely as his face soon came into focus under the light. He looked momentarily frozen; his eyes enchanting her as he stared back. Anabelle couldn't turn away, even as he stood to approach her. Her first instinct was to get up and defend herself. She considered the idea that this was the person who had put her in that restricted position in the first place. Then, no, she thought. Her thoughts were starting to clear. Someone had untied her, and moved her to safety. Someone had the moral decency to save her.

"Don't move. You're still hurt." His soft tone informed her. "You were tied in the middle of nowhere. We happened upon you by coincidence. Do you know who did this to you?"

Anabelle tried to shake her head, but it hurt too much.

"You have a fever." His eyes purposely met hers again. He smiled, and Anabelle was taken in by his gaze. She believed him when he said, "I won't hurt you. You have my word."

"Where am I?" She questioned, daring to trust him.

"What is your name?"

He hadn't lied to her. Anabelle tried turning onto her side, but the movement sent a sharp twinge of pain shooting through her entire body. She tried, but couldn't hide the pain. She did her best to relax as a pair of hands helped to keep her still.

"You really shouldn't move."

Anabelle agreed, moving her shoulders back to the ground.

"Anabelle." She then said. "My name is Anabelle."

The man smiled again, moving a cold cloth over her forehead, the repetitive action lulling her into sleep. Chilling winds woke her a short time later. Forgetting her injuries and the environment she found herself in, Anabelle sat straight up. The deep sting of pain in her chest radiated into her lungs, burning with every breath she took, causing a groan in pain. Her head still ached, but she felt the same light touch of hands, helping her to lie back slowly.

"I'm sorry." She said. "I forgot where I was."

"You must be more careful." His hands ran down her arms before moving away completely.

Anabelle looked up as he sat beside her again. She was met by the same captivating pair of eyes.

He smiled weakly. "You are safe here." He assured her. "No harm will come to you, but you must rest in order to recover."

"Did you happen to tell me your name before I passed out?" She questioned, gaining an almost inconspicuous reaction.

She felt the heat from his hand as it ran over her forehead again.

"I did not."

So, she had been sleeping here, cared for and watched by a strange man, and she did not yet know his name. That was kind of a problem she decided.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" From her forehead, his fingers moved slowly down her cheek, and over her neck.

"My name is Mordred."